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her back as she battled for composure. Since she was opposed to any nonsexual type of embrace, this was another “intimate” first.
    What the frick?
    They’d never been emotionally close. Harper had made sure of it. She’d even ended their affair. Yet tonight they’d connected on a new level. He couldn’t fathom the reason or catalyst, unless … “You mentioned a man.”
    She tensed.
    “‘I’d never know a moment’s peace. He…’ He, who? An abusive ex? A stalker?” Given her beauty and preference for kink, he could easily imagine Harper falling prey to a dangerous man.
    “No. Nothing like that. I just … I let down a lot of people back home. Including myself. There’s nothing there for me anymore. My work is here. People depend on me. I can’t fix things if I can’t fix things.”
    He had no idea what that meant. She’d been rambling against his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. But he felt her tension and sensed she wasn’t being entirely truthful. Quick on her publicist feet, she kept spinning the conversation away from what Sam sensed was a deeply troubling issue. She was proud or stubborn or scared. Maybe all three. One thing was certain, she was adamant about not abandoning those she deemed in need.
    “There are lots of good women, Sam, but, like great cupcakes, not all of them are sugary sweet.”
    He looked past his own narrow mind and put himself in Harper’s clients’ shoes. Knowing you could count on someone to save your bacon was a bona fide blessing. He remembered how Harper had sent cupcakes home for his kids, how she’d drawn Ben out of his shell by telling him about the superheroes she’d represented at Comic Con, the way she’d soothed Mina’s ruffled boa feathers when the kids had made fun of her obsession with tiaras. He flashed on the time she’d taken control when the paparazzi had swarmed Rae. Harper was bossy and arrogant, always in control.
    But somehow always saving the day.
    “Your perfect cupcake could be the one with kick. And if you sink in deep enough, long enough, maybe you’ll taste the sweet among the spice.”
    Sam sorted through scattered thoughts as Harper vented against his shoulder, cursing her former employer for putting her clients at risk. He didn’t ask how she planned on helping the celebrities on her client list when she’d been canned. He didn’t mention that her devotion to a bunch of narcissistic, kamikaze B-listers and reality stars struck him as over-the-top. Questioning her judgment wouldn’t quell her misery. Offering a possible solution might.
    “Marry a U.S. citizen and your spouse can petition for permanent residency.”
    “Brilliant, Rambo. With a slight glitch.” She pushed off him now, a trace of her normal snark seeping through the anxiety. “I don’t do relationships. There is no steady someone. No single male friend who would give up his freedom solely as a favor to me. Where do you suggest I find a husband? Match.com? Craigslist?”
    “Sugar Creek.”
    Harper blinked. “Who—”
    “Me.”
    She looked at him as if he was crazy, and maybe he was. Hard to grab hold of a sane thought when your head’s spinning. Finding Harper in panic mode, experiencing her vulnerable side—Christ, he hadn’t been aware she had a vulnerable side—had messed with Sam in a major way. That kiss confirmed their intense sexual connection and hinted of something deeper. This moment, he knew four things.
    He was sick of waking alone every morning.
    Weary of being a single parent.
    Done with searching for Paula’s clone.
    Most importantly, Ben and Mina liked Harper.
    She wasn’t his ideal choice in a wife or mother, but she damn well stirred his blood. She wasn’t perfect but neither was he and how many couples had perfect? Sensing she needed to be saved from someone or something provided a second incentive. Sam was hardwired to rescue and protect—an adrenaline high chased with a shot of contentment.
    “By the way,” he added, knowing how