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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 ignored the disbelief in his cousin's
tone. "Keep an eye on the brat. I'll be home first thing in the
morning."
    "Not a problem." Troy sounded aggrieved.
"Little pest dogs my every step."
    Dean spent a pleasant moment imagining his
half-brother dogging Troy's every footstep. It was precisely what
his trust-fund cousin deserved. "My condolences," he said dryly,
and rang off. Then he drew in a deep breath and, no longer
diverted, let his gaze wander to the clock radio on his hotel
nightstand.
    Seven-thirty, the red numbers announced.
    Seven thirty. Half an hour past the deadline.
She hadn't called. She wasn't coming.
    Dean felt a sinking in his gut. Guiltily, he
realized the sensation was relief.
    She hadn't called, she wasn't coming. He
didn't have to be married to her. He didn't have to live with her.
He didn't have to    to   
    Dean leaned his head back on the chair and
huffed a sigh. He didn't have to live with her tempting tail in
front of him. He didn't have to resist her dangerous allure. He
didn't have to be reminded, over and over, that he was more his
father's son than he'd ever wanted to admit.
    His eyes closed tight. It was a hard lesson
to learn at thirty-eight years of age, that he was completely
vulnerable to his hormones. The whole time he'd been alone with her
in the conference room, he'd had to struggle to keep his mind on
the matter at hand. He'd had to work like mad to keep her from
guessing his true thoughts.
    Was she as soft under that sweat suit as
he imagined? Would her skin be as silky, her flesh as
giving ?
    Dean opened his eyes and released a rough
laugh. Oh, he liked sex as much as the next man, but on his terms,
and under appropriate conditions. These were not his terms, nor
were conditions the least bit appropriate. It was all too much like
one of his father's tawdry misalliances. He and this Kelly had
absolutely nothing in common. There was nothing on which to build a
true and mutually respectful relationship. He didn't even know her,
for God's sake. But that didn't matter. In the conference room with
her he'd still wanted   
    Dean jerked himself forward in the chair. All
right, enough. He knew perfectly well what he'd