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That's my offer, Miss Williams. Take it or leave it."
    Her laughter died as she met his unwavering gaze. He was absolutely serious. He actually meant to fly her home with him. He didn't know her, he couldn't possibly like her, yet he was that committed to keeping his word.
    Kelly swallowed. She'd only met one man in her life as committed. Her father, the minister, who'd taught her from the cradle the importance of integrity.
    Dean snicked closed the latches of his briefcase. "A call to me here at the hotel by seven will get you a ride to the airport in time."
    Kelly licked her lips. She wouldn't do it. She wasn't married, not really.
    "Think it over, Miss Williams. I'll be in room 814."
    "No," she said, but her voice cracked.
    "You need to think it through." He stood.
    "No." What was there to think through? "You don't love me. You don't even know me. We're in Nevada, we should get a divorce."
    "Room 814," he said. "Just in case."
    ~~~
    Five hours later, Troy's lazy voice crackled over Dean's cell phone. "So, has she called you?"
    Seated at the mini-office he'd created on the table in his posh Las Vegas hotel room, Dean turned another page in the quarterly report he was reviewing. "No, she hasn't called. Apparently neither my money nor my social position were sufficient incentives." He paused. "Lucky for you."
    "Lucky for me?" Troy guffawed. "This was all your idea, Dean. I didn't tell you to go marry a showgirl. All I said was—"
    "Yes," Dean interrupted. "I know what you said."
    Troy barreled on anyway, gloating. "What I said was for you to do what you wanted for forty-eight hours, instead of what you should."
    Dean closed his eyes. His stomach twisted, the way it did every time he recalled Troy's misbegotten hypnotic suggestion. Do what you want instead of what you should . Ridiculous. How could he have wanted to fly off to Las Vegas? How could he have wanted to strike up with some—some show dancer? And marry her!
    Still, it had happened. It was fact. And Dean had had to deal with the consequences of his actions; soberly, responsibly, and completely. He'd had to offer her his name and his home.
    "So you're coming back a single man, after all." Troy sighed. "I suppose that'll make Felicia happy."
    "Felicia?" Dean frowned, unable to fathom what this young woman, a distant relative on his mother's side, had to do with anything.
    "Never mind," said Troy, with a chuckle.
    Dean decided to heed Troy's advice. He had enough problems without worrying about Felicia Thurgood, whatever might be wrong with her. She was blessedly not his responsibility.
    So Dean turned his attention to the one person who might, at a stretch, be deemed his responsibility. "How's Robby?" he asked Troy.
    "Better," Troy returned promptly. "Or at least your little half-brother will be better, now that I can tell him you aren't on the hook any more."
    Dean's fingers worried the sheet of paper he'd been turning. "So he's still there."
    "Where else would he be?"
    Dean stifled a sigh. Robby, nine years old, really shouldn't be one of his responsibilities. Dean hadn't married a European rock star less than half his age and gotten her pregnant, despite the obvious inability of the woman to deal with real life, let alone a child. It was almost a mercy Robby's mother had killed herself by skiing drunk in the Alps a few months after his birth.
    Now Dean frowned. "I thought Robby's father might have put in an appearance by now."
    Troy made a scornful sound.
    "I sent a telegram," Dean protested.
    "To a yacht in the Mediterranean? Besides, even if he got it, your father isn't about to interrupt his pleasure for your convenience."
    Dean rubbed his forehead. This was most certainly true. Kirk had never interrupted anything, ever, for Dean's convenience. "I'll send a personal messenger," he told Troy. "It's the third time Robby's been suspended from school this year, and it's almost summer vacation. Kirk is going to deal with this."
    "Kirk is, huh?" said Troy.
    Dean