Only You

by Bonnie Pega

  Only You is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  2014 Loveswept eBook Edition

  Copyright © 1992 by Bonnie Pega.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 978-0-307-82255-0

  Originally published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, in 1992.

  www.readloveswept.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  The Editor’s Corner

  Dedication

  One

  * * *

  “Love, Inc.? What on earth is Love, Inc.?”

  Maximillian Shore pressed his intercom button as he stared at the note in his hand. “Patsy, would you come in here a minute, please?”

  The very second Patsy poked her head in the doorway, he waved the note in the air. “What is this note you left me? Love, Incorporated?”

  “I don’t know, boss. I just took the message. I didn’t interrogate her.” Max reflected that as secretaries went, Patsy was a little insolent. However, as sisters went, she was okay. The relationship was easy to spot in their identical brown hair and blue eyes.

  “Her?” Max asked.

  “Her. I didn’t catch her name, but she did say she needed to speak with you right away on a matter of some urgency.”

  “And she didn’t mention what the urgent matter was?”

  “Nope.” Patsy flashed a teasing grin. “What’s the matter, bro? Got an outstanding bill at our local massage parlor?”

  “Sure,” Max snapped back. “I spend all my evenings there.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. “What makes you think it’s a massage parlor anyway?”

  “With a name like Love, Incorporated? C’mon. What else could it be?” Patsy gave a saucy smile and went back out to the front desk.

  What else indeed? Max wondered as he picked up the phone and dialed the number on the note.

  The female voice that answered was soft and low and made Max think of candlelight, whispered conversations, and satin sheets. “Hello. You have reached Love, Incorporated. No one is in right now, but if you will leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you.”

  It made sense to have an answering machine, Max decided. That way, she could weed out undesirables—like vice cops—before having to talk with them. In some lines of business, one couldn’t be too careful. Max didn’t leave a message though. If she wanted to talk to him that much, she could call him back. He resisted redialing the number just so he could hear that voice again.

  Max glanced at the gold watch on his tanned wrist and stood. Damn, he had promised Jackie he’d meet her at six and it was five after already. She’d have his head for being late. Well, why not? he thought ruefully. She already had everything else. The house, the car, the bank accounts. The shirt off his back.

  As he shrugged on his jacket, he looked at the note again and muttered, “Love, Incorporated. Interesting name, that.” It would be even more interesting to find out what a massage parlor, or whatever it was, wanted with Shore Efficiency Consultants.

  Caitlin Alexandra Love couldn’t wait to change clothes. She hated dresses and hose and high heels—especially high heels. She kicked them off, giving a delicate snort. They were certainly not designed for comfort and were more like ancient instruments of torture even though they did make legs look better and women taller.

  Caitlin knew she was small, topping out at five feet three if she stood on her tiptoes, and possibly, hitting one hundred and five pounds after a heavy meal if she wore her winter coat. However, she didn’t care. She had never cared about being bigger.

  Except once, she admitted to herself. Only once in her life had she found her small stature to be a disadvantage. She hadn’t been able to fight long enough or hard enough to—

  Abruptly she switched her thoughts from that disturbing line and tugged on comfortable faded jeans and an equally faded loose red T-shirt.

  Sighing, Caitlin stooped to pick up the discarded heels and tossed them into the closet. Her feet would never be the same, she mused as she wiggled her aching toes. She hadn’t worn heels in over a year. She wore flats or sneakers everywhere, even to Sunday school. How she hated dressing up—especially to impress IRS auditors. It had worked though. She hadn’t had to pay more than a few hundred dollars. Of course, it could have been her poor, baggy-eyed accountant who saved the day.

  “Mom? Oh, Mom!”

  Caitlin opened her bedroom door. “In here, Jordie.” She heard pounding footsteps that sounded like a herd of stampeding buffalo and braced herself.

  A miniature golden-haired whirlwind attacked her with an exuberant embrace. “Mom, Mom, guess what? We played Mrs. Scott’s class at recess in kickball and guess what? We won. I kicked the winning ball and Mrs. Joseph said I was a good player and …”

  Caitlin looked down affectionately at the small boy who chattered away. She ran a hand over his curly hair, so like her own. The gold-flecked brown eyes were hers, as were the upturned nose and determined jaw. There was nothing of his father in him, thank God.

  “That’s terrific, Jordie!” Caitlin gave him a quick hug. “I’m glad you had such a good time today. Now, do you have any homework?”

  He grimaced. “Do I have to do it now? Can’t I play first?”

  “We’re going out to dinner tonight, remember? You need to do your homework now. I have to go to work for a while this afternoon to make some calls. You can do your homework there, if you like.”

  “Aw, Mom, it’s your day off. How come you gotta go in on your day off?”

  Caitlin dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Sorry, pal. When you’re the boss, sometimes you just ‘gotta.” ’ When he still didn’t look too happy, she resorted to bribery. “How about some carob granola bars when we get there? I made some just this morning.”

  At his sudden smile, she smiled back. They had played this scene so many times since school started that it had become routine by now. She bundled Jordie into her ancient van and headed to work.

  What in the world was he doing here? Max wondered as he maneuvered his car down the narrow streets lined with warehouses on either side. Silverdale wasn’t as big as nearby Charlottesville or Fredericksburg, but it was large enough to have an industrial district. And Love, Inc., sat right smack in the middle of it.

  Max pulled into a parking lot much in need of repair. The only other vehicle in it was an old battered van with a bumper sticker that said LET US PUT A LITTLE LOVE IN YOUR LIFE. This had to be the place. He’d found the address in the telephone directory the previous night and hadn’t been able to resist driving by to see what kind of business it was. So far, he couldn’t tell.

  The building was a strange one—a long, low warehouse with arching roofs. Not a very impressive exterior, but perhaps one didn’t need an impressive exterior when one ran a—a what? A massage parlor? An “escort” service? He just couldn’t figure out why it needed so much room. The building encompassed what amounted to a full city block, if not more.

  Max parked his car a res
pectable distance from the dilapidated van. After all, there had to be some reason for all its dents and scratches. No sooner had he shut and locked his car door than a small boy appeared.

  “Wow, nice car, mister. Is that a real phone in there?” he asked, pressing a chocolate-smeared face against the window and peering inside.

  Max winced. “Yes, it is. Here.” Max held out a clean handkerchief to the boy.

  “Oh, no, I can’t take this,” the child said immediately. “My mom says I can’t take anything from somebody ’less I know ’em.”

  “Well, your mother sounds very wise. How about if I introduce myself? I’m Max Shore.”

  “I’m Jordan.” He offered a grubby hand.

  Max shook it gravely and said, “Well, Jordan, now that we know each other, maybe you’d like to use my handkerchief to wipe the chocolate from your hands and face.” Max rubbed a smudge from his own hand before giving the cloth to the boy.

  “Sure, ’cept it’s not chocolate. It’s carob.”

  “Carob. Okay. Does your mother work here?” Max asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, yes, sir,” Jordan said, handing the dirtied handkerchief back to Max. “She’s makin’ phone calls and stuff today.”

  “Phone calls?” Did that woman dare make God only knows what kind of phone calls while her child wandered around the streets?

  “Jordie! Get back in here right now, you scamp. You know you’re not supposed to play out there.”

  She was an angel, Max thought as he looked up, complete with golden curls and dimples. Well, he amended as his eyes swept over lush curves, maybe not quite an angel. After all, that was the voice. The voice that had haunted his dreams the previous night. A voice guaranteed to make a man long to hear it husky with passion. A voice that ran a massage parlor? Or an escort service? Or a sex-by-phone racket? And what did that voice want with Shore Efficiency Consultants?

  No time like the present to find out, Max decided, walking over to her and holding out his hand. “Hello, I’m Maximillian Shore from Shore Efficiency Consultants. Max.”

  Her eyes were the most delicious shade of brown, with gold flecks like sunlight reflecting from a pool of coffee. Her nose tilted the slightest bit at the end and her chin, though determined, was delicate and pointed. Her body was slim but all nicely rounded curves that were evident even underneath frayed jeans and a baggy T-shirt. She was what his grandfather would have called a “pocket Venus.” She was what Max called pure temptation.

  Caitlin looked from Jordan to a large, tanned hand with reddish-gold hairs glinting on the back of it, and well-manicured fingernails. She glanced at her hand—dainty compared with his—then noticed the dark soil that ringed every fingernail. She quickly placed her dirty hands behind her back like a schoolboy expecting a whack on the palm with a ruler.

  Looking up to say hello, Caitlin had to tilt her head back to see his face. He must have been ten or eleven inches taller than she. And all of that six feet plus was lean and dangerously male. He carried himself with the kind of sheer power and easy confidence that would attract women. But not her, Caitlin told herself.

  He did give her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach though. It made her wary and she found herself inching back a little.

  “Mom.” Jordan tugged on her T-shirt. “Mom.”

  Caitlin turned to her young son. “Yes, Jordie?” Why did she feel as if she had a mouthful of sawdust?

  “Mom, he has a phone in his car and everything. It’s real neat.”

  “I’m sure it is, honey.” Caitlin looked back up at Max and smiled a little nervously. “Mr. Shore, you didn’t need to drive all the way over here. You could have just called.”

  Not on your life, Max thought. I wouldn’t have missed seeing you for anything. “I was already on this side of town and figured I’d stop by and see just what Shore Efficiency Consultants can do for your, er, business. How would you like my company to help you?”

  “Well, it was my accountant’s idea,” Caitlin admitted. “He wasn’t very happy when I had a little trouble finding all my records for the IRS.”

  “I see. You’re the owner?”

  “I am. Caitlin Alexandra Love. I think you’ve already met my son, Jordan.”

  Her last name was Love. So that explained the Love, Incorporated. “What sort of business do you own?” Max couldn’t wait any longer. He just had to know what she did for a living.

  “I deal in organically grown herbs. Some I grow here, others I import.”

  “Herbs? Like for cooking?” Max tried not to show his relief that she wasn’t involved in some illicit racket.

  “We do handle culinary herbs. However, we also deal in medicinal herbs.” Caitlin could see the skeptical look on his face and knew what he was thinking. Any mention of medicinal herbs always conjured up images of wizened old women living in one-room mountaintop cabins, dispensing love potions and tonics. Well, she acknowledged, it wouldn’t hurt if he was suspicious of her. That was a lot easier to deal with than desire. Anything was easier to deal with than desire. Desire frightened her.

  “Would you like to come in and walk around?” she offered hesitantly. Wearing a conservative European-tailored suit and hand-tooled Italian leather shoes, he wasn’t exactly dressed for a greenhouse. But he did look good, Caitlin had to admit, though she tried not to notice how good.

  “Yes,” Max said, “I would.” It might be best if he investigated this herbal business very carefully before deciding whether or not to take on the job. Although, working on Love, Inc., could have its advantages, he decided as Caitlin turned and headed toward the door, her firm bottom swaying from side to side.

  The reason for the peculiar arching roof became apparent when they entered. It was made of transparent heavyweight plastic shaded only by an open-weave cloth so dappled sunlight reached every corner of the interior. Gravel covered the floor and long benches supported hundreds, perhaps thousands, of potted plants. Floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with bags and cartons lined one end of the building.

  “The office is back here.” Caitlin led the way to the far corner.

  Max picked his way across what amounted to a small obstacle course comprised of tables, lengths of watering hoses, and bags of potting soil. He didn’t want to think about what the gravel was doing to the soles of his shoes. But things were well organized, he thought. Considering. All the plants were lined up in neat, labeled rows, each with its own watering siphon. All the packages on the shelves were marked and organized alphabetically.

  The office was another matter altogether, and Max groaned inwardly when he saw it. No wonder her accountant had threatened to walk out. It was a wall-to-wall disaster. A small mountain of paper adorned the top of the lone file cabinet. A whole mountain range marched across what he could only suppose was the desk. Assorted cardboard boxes filled with more papers were stacked on the floor. Mail covered half the telephone and he saw the cord to what he assumed was a calculator hanging off the end of the desk. The calculator itself was completely buried. He’d have to take this job, Max told himself. She needed him.

  She was entirely too gorgeous and distracting, however. Something told him that she was the kind of woman he could get involved with and he feared getting involved. He could ill afford to be, especially after Jackie. He couldn’t afford the emotional energy, and he couldn’t afford it financially.

  The company was the one thing Jackie hadn’t gotten away from him, and for the past two years he’d put his heart and soul into it. The first six months after the divorce, he’d even slept in his office. Partly out of dedication, but mostly because he couldn’t afford the rent for an apartment. Almost everything he earned he’d channeled back into the business. Even the expensive suit and nice car were business related. After all, an efficiency consultant needed to project a successful image.

  He was doing well now. So well that he could give this assignment to any one of several people working for him—Michael, maybe, or Emily Jane. No, not Michael. He was too slick, a b
it of a ladies’ man. Max didn’t want him around Caitlin. He’d give it to Emily Jane instead.

  “Well, what do you think?” Caitlin asked. “Is it hopeless?”

  “Not at all,” he replied. “But I think it will require my personal attention.” Damnation! So much for giving it to Emily Jane. “First I need to find out what it is you’re looking for from Shore Efficiency Consultants, what it is you want us to do.”

  “I need help in organizing my office. You can feel free to do it any way you like. I just have to have really good record-keeping.” Caitlin sighed. “The IRS audited me this year and I couldn’t find half my receipts. That’s why my accountant rebelled.”

  I shouldn’t wonder, Max thought, casting another glance around the office. “We should be able to organize it and set up a record-keeping system in just a week or two. I’d like to meet with your office personnel this Friday, if I could, to discuss present office procedures.”

  “You’ve already met with my office personnel,” Caitlin said dryly.

  “You’re it?”

  “I’m it.”

  “Ah, right.” Max paused. “Would it be okay if I spent a day or two looking over everything?”

  “I—that would be fine,” Caitlin murmured even as she thought that he was too disturbing to have hanging around, even for a day or two.

  She made a mistake then and looked up directly into his eyes. There were blues and there were blues—slate blues, baby blues, cornflower blues, navy blues. But she didn’t think anyone had ever coined a name for the blue of his eyes. And those eyes were currently darkened with hazy appreciation. Caitlin swallowed hard, her gaze glued to his. Her heart began to pound and she felt breathless.

  The moment was full of tension and attraction, wonder and fear. It was also over quickly because Jordan tugged on Max’s sleeve. “Mr. Shore, next time you come back, can I talk on your car phone? Can I? Please?”

  With relief Caitlin turned away from that mesmerizing gaze and admonished her son. “Jordan. Mr. Shore doesn’t have time for—”