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  “Your father missed out by not getting to know you,” Brock said, turning toward her.

  “I missed out, too,” she said.

  “Have you ever met him?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “He moved to Chicago and never came back. My grandfather stepped in to give my mother and me financial support, but—” She shrugged. “I was more of an irritation and burden than anything else.”

  “Irritation,” he repeated, sliding his finger over her jawline. “You know that pearls are created by the irritation of a grain of sand.”

  “I’ve never been called a pearl before,” she said.

  “Can’t imagine why,” he said, rubbing his hands over her shoulders. “Seems obvious to me.”

  She smiled. “You’re a charmer.”

  He shook his head. “I’m just calling it the way I see it.”

  “I have a small gift for you,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “For Father’s Day,” she said.

  “I’m not a father yet.”

  “Close enough,” she said. “Check out your BlackBerry.”

  The smile on her face jacked up his curiosity. “What have you been up to?”

  Her smile grew wider. “Don’t ask me. Check it out for yourself.”

  Brock went to his phone charger and picked up the BlackBerry. Noticing there was a message, he pushed the button.

  “Turn up the sound,” she said.

  He listened as a disco tune began to play and the ultrasound image of his child danced across the tiny screen. He felt joy shoot through him. “Look at him move,” he said. “Or her.” He watched, amazed at the sight of the tiny little combination of him and Elle. Unable to resist, he played the video again, staring at his dancing baby. When it ended, he played it again.

  Elle gave a soft, throaty giggle. “You like it,” she said.

  He met her gaze. “I do.”

  “Here’s your Father’s Day card,” she said, handing him an envelope.

  Feeling a strange dip in his gut, he tore open the envelope and read the card. As he read, it hit him hard that his life was changing. Moved, he stared at the card and wondered if his mother had ever given his father such a card. And if she had, Brock wondered if his father had cared. He’d known his father wasn’t particularly emotional. James Maddox had been determined to build the most successful advertising agency in San Francisco. James Maddox had also wanted a beautiful wife. James Maddox had also wanted children. James Maddox got what he wanted.

  He’d been a demanding man. At times, Brock had sweated meeting those high standards. He knew his brother had struggled with those standards, soared past them, and flipped the bird at them. Brock actually admired his brother for that.

  As much as Brock had revered his father, he’d never felt close to him. Did he want that same kind of relationship with his own child? Brock frowned.

  “What is it?”

  “Just thinking,” he muttered.

  “About?” she asked, lifting her hand to his cheek.

  “Being a father. Figuring out what kind of father I need to be,” he said. “Different than the dad you didn’t have. Different than the father I did have.”

  Elle swallowed audibly. “You’re going to be amazing,” she said, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.

  “How can you be so sure?” he asked.

  “I know you have an amazing mind and incredible drive. But I also know something a lot of other people don’t know. You, Brock Maddox, have an awesome heart.”

  Nine

  As Brock reviewed some new copy for the Prentice campaign, his intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

  “Flynn Maddox is here,” his assistant said.

  Brock smiled. “Send him in.”

  Flynn burst through the door. “How’s married life?”

  “I could ask you the same,” Brock said, standing and slapping his brother on the back.

  “Couldn’t be better,” Flynn said. “I just want to thank you again for keeping those divorce papers out of my hands all those years ago.”

  “Your marital problems were partly my fault. I realized that,” he said. “I’m glad you’re happy now.”

  “Happy as a clam,” he said. “How about you?”

  Brock nodded. “It’s going as well as it could.”

  Flynn rocked back on his heels and studied him. “Could be better?”

  “I didn’t expect to feel this much for her. I don’t know how to handle it. Every time I try to guard my feelings, she finds a different way in.”

  Flynn’s lips lifted in a half grin. “I like this. The woman has knocked my rock-solid brother off balance.”

  Brock swore at him.

  Flynn chuckled, then his smile fell and he shook his head. “You’re not sure about her because of her grandfather, right?”

  “Wouldn’t you wonder the same?” Brock asked, pacing to the other side of his office. His doubts made him feel like a caged animal.

  “Now, with Renee?” Flynn asked. “No. It sounds corny, but love is rare. You shouldn’t fight it, or you could miss your chance forever.”

  Brock felt a lump of emotion in his throat. “How did you let go?”

  “After I lost Renee the first time, I knew I had to do everything I could to keep her when I got her back. But you don’t always get a second chance. And it’s not easy. If you need proof, look at Renee and me. Even though Mother has done her best to keep us apart, we’ve managed to overcome her this time.”

  “You’re right about Mother,” Brock said. “She tried to poison Elle against me. I decided she needed to live somewhere else. I paid for a new place for her.”

  Flynn whistled. “I’m sure that wasn’t cheap.”

  “It was necessary,” Brock said. “She’s a bored and unhappy woman. I just wish she would find a wealthy husband who would take her away and occupy her.”

  “You and me both,” Flynn said. “You and me both.”

  When Brock was forced to work through the weekend on a project for Prentice, Elle decided to take action. Picnic basket in hand, she walked into Maddox Communications and smiled at the security guard. “Elle Maddox. I’m going up to see my husband,” she said, pointing to her basket. “I want it to be a surprise.”

  “May I see your ID?” the man at the desk asked.

  His request gave her pause, but she pulled out her driver’s license. “Here it is,” she said and smiled.

  The man checked a list. “Wait just a second please,” he said, picking up his phone as he stepped away.

  Curious, she watched as he spoke on the phone. What was this about?

  The security man returned and nodded to her. “If you’ll wait just a couple moments,” he said.

  Her stomach tightened. “Isn’t my name on the approved list?” she asked.

  “Just a moment,” he said, clearly hedging his response.

  The elevator doors opened and Logan Emerson entered the foyer. He met Elle’s gaze as he walked toward her. “Mrs. Maddox,” he said with a nod. “How are you tonight?”

  “I’m fine,” Elle said, recognizing the man who had caught her in the worst deception of her life. She couldn’t blame him, and yet at the same she couldn’t stop the heat of humiliation. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” he said, glancing at the basket she held in her hand. “Dinner?”

  “A surprise for my husband,” she said.

  He nodded again. “Mind if I look?” he asked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked meal.”

  She didn’t believe him for a second but she opened the basket. “Roast beef sandwiches with cheese and just a hint of horseradish on whole wheat of course, so we can pretend it’s healthy. Whole wheat pasta with sundried tomatoes and pesto. And chocolate pie with whipped cream.”

  Logan winced. “Ouch. When was the last time I had homemade chocolate pie with whipped cream?”

  “Do you want mine?”

  “Is that a bribe?”

  She narr
owed her eyes in anger and lifted her chin. “You son of a bitch,” she said. “If you haven’t changed every computer code and key in that office, then you’re not worth your fee. And I will tell Brock the same thing. I’m just here to see my husband for dinner,” she said in a low voice, more desperate than she’d intended.

  Logan held her gaze for a long moment. “I guess this means I’m not getting any of that chocolate pie,” he said.

  “You guess correctly.”

  “It’s my job to protect Maddox and Brock,” Logan said.

  “You keep doing that,” Elle said. “And it’s my job to look after Brock and our marriage. Frankly,” she said, lowering her voice, “I’m glad you caught me.”

  He blinked, a flicker of emotion flashing through his eyes before his expression became inscrutable. “She’s cleared,” Logan said to the security guard.

  “Just for tonight?” the guard asked.

  “For anytime,” Logan said. “Any questions from anyone, ask me.” Logan turned to the elevator and swiped his card. Then he extended his hand. “Mrs. Maddox, your husband is hunched over his desk. He needs a break.”

  Feeling a strange combination of triumph and gratitude, she walked toward the elevator. She stopped just before she stepped into it. Sighing, she pulled out one of the pieces of pie and gave it to Logan. “No obligation. No payback. No bribe,” she said. “Enjoy it and find a woman who will bake a pie for you every now and then.”

  She walked into the elevator and punched the button for Brock’s apartment. Gripping the basket tightly, she counted the floors as she rose. Finally, she arrived on Brock’s private floor and tiptoed into the darkened suite. She and Brock had spent so much time here. She smiled as she remembered sharing Chinese takeout, laughter and amazing sex. She remembered holding him and feeling him relax in her arms. Brock was always so tense; it gave her such pleasure that he could actually feel at ease enough with her that he could rest.

  Tonight, she hoped she could help him the same way she once had. The room was actually a bit chilly. She glanced around, glimpsing a fine layer of dust and smelling the faint scent of mustiness. “Oh, my goodness,” she murmured and turned on the light.

  If she didn’t know better, she would suspect that no one had been here since the last time she and Brock had shared a night together. That couldn’t be possible, she told herself. She slid her finger through the dust on a table against the wall and walked toward the bedroom. The large bed was neatly made, the bedside tables empty. She walked into the bathroom and there was nothing on the counter. She rubbed her fingers over the bristles of the toothbrush. They were dry.

  Elle couldn’t deny the fact that the clear evidence of Brock’s absence comforted her terrified heart. She hated the idea that he might have replaced her. Every indication suggested that he hadn’t.

  She pulled the bottle of red wine from the basket and poured it in a glass she pulled from the cabinet. Inhaling deeply, she savored the bouquet of the wine and then poured herself a glass of sparkling water the chef had packed for her. She pulled several candles from a different cabinet and lit them. After she set out the picnic, she took the backstairs to Brock’s office and knocked on his closed door.

  No response. She knocked again.

  “Hello?” Brock’s voice said from the other side of the door. “Who is it?”

  “Your evil wife,” she said.

  The door immediately opened and Brock stared her, his shirt loosened, his tie discarded, his expression stunned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Dinner,” she said and kissed his cheek.

  “Where?” he asked, looking at her empty hands.

  “Upstairs,” she said and smiled. “If you can spare a few minutes.”

  Brock met her gaze and his lids lowered in sexual response. “I haven’t been to my apartment since the last time you and I were together,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “Time we changed that, don’t you think?”

  He took her hand and slid his fingers through hers. “Sounds good to me.”

  She led him up the back stairs to the apartment where she’d left candles glowing in the darkness.

  “Nice,” he said.

  “It gets better,” she said and led him to the low table in the small den where they’d shared so many meals before.

  “What made you do this?” he asked as he lowered himself to the floor.

  She followed him to a sitting position. “You’ve been burning the midnight oil too much lately.”

  “Just one night,” he said, reaching for his sandwich. “Oh, my favorite.”

  “Try three nights,” she corrected.

  “That long?” he said, surprised. He took a bite. “This is heaven. Oh, and pasta salad.” He took a long sip of red wine and sighed. “You are my dream come true.”

  “Anyone could have brought you a roast beef sandwich with horseradish, pasta salad and red wine,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Nobody but you could be sitting across from me. Nobody,” he said, “but you.”

  “How can I resist that?” she asked.

  “I damn well hope you can’t,” he said and chomped through the rest of his sandwich, washing it down with wine. “How’s the bedroom?”

  She shot him a demure look. “How would I know?”

  “Are you saying you don’t know?” he demanded, pouring more wine into his glass.

  “I think the bed needs to be exercised,” she said, sipping from her own glass.

  “Any chance you’ll exercise the bed with me?”

  She leaned across the table and pressed her mouth to his. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  As dawn broke through the curtains the next morning, Brock struggled to bring himself to a wakeful state. He fluttered his eyes open and tried to focus. Groaning, he started to get up.

  He felt Elle slide her hand over his waist to his abdomen.

  “It’s too early,” she whispered.

  “Can’t argue with that,” he said and turned toward her, pulling her warm, sexy body against his. “I can’t decide if it’s totally bad or totally good that you came to see me at the office.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair. “You better say it’s totally good,” she said.

  He chuckled and slid his hands down her waist to her bottom to pull her against him. “Totally good,” he said and groaned as he felt himself grow hard. He swore under his breath.

  She rubbed her sweet lips against his mouth and wriggled her honey-soft nether regions against him where he was hard and already wanting. “Oh, Elle, I can’t get enough of you.”

  He pulled her against him and slid against her wetness, seeking, wanting, needing. He found her swollen opening and thrust inside her.

  She gasped and the sound aroused him even more.

  “Brock,” she whispered. “I need you.”

  “You’ve got me,” he promised, thrusting inside her. “In every way.”

  She enclosed him with her wet velvet, gasping and begging. The sound of her breath and voice made him crazy. He craved her with every inch of his being. The sensation of her silken warmth drove him over the edge. With just another thrust, he felt his climax roar through him, sending him into a spasm of pleasure.

  “Elle,” he whispered, sinking down on her.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, clinging to him. She rubbed her lips over his ear. “This almost makes me want to move into this apartment.”

  A chuckle rumbled up from his gut. “I’d never get any work done.”

  “You did before,” she said.

  “That was tough. You were a major distraction. I couldn’t wait for the end of the day when you and I would escape,” he said. “Now that you’re pregnant and you’re my wife, it’s just as strong as ever.”

  “Really?” she asked, her gaze puzzled as she stared up at him. “You don’t seem to have a problem coming home late.”

  “The company’s in a transition period. That will change,” he said. He was trying
to put the pressure on Golden Gate, but he couldn’t tell Elle about it. He wanted to, but she was too close to the situation emotionally. He knew she felt some tug of gratitude toward her grandfather. The knowledge dug at him, but soon enough, he would remove that obstacle between them.

  She gave a sigh. “Until then, I guess I’ll have to rescue you every once in a while.”

  “Rescue me?” he echoed, wondering what she meant.

  “From work,” she said. “I’ll bring you a meal and use it to lure you up to your office apartment. And then who knows what else will happen?” she said, grinning up at him.

  That day, as Elle began work on a picture display for Brock in the sunroom, the doorbell rang and Anna appeared. “Mrs. Maddox is here.”

  Elle lifted her eyebrows. “Which one?” she asked, hoping it was Renee.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Mrs. Carol Maddox,” the housekeeper said.

  “Oh, there you are,” Carol said, coming from the hallway. She smiled at the housekeeper. “No need for formal announcements. We’re family here. You’ve made a lot of changes in a short amount of time. The house has a more sparse feel to it,” Carol said. “How does Brock like it?”

  “Very much. I’m trying to create a combination of new and traditional. Bree has helped me,” Elle said.

  “I didn’t know she was an interior designer,” Carol said.

  “She has an amazing eye,” Elle replied.

  Carol stepped closer and studied the photo display. “What’s this?”

  “A surprise for Brock. I know his memories of his father are important to him, so I wanted to display them in a meaningful way.”

  “Oh, look, there are even a few of me in there,” she said with a bite in her tone. “At the hospital and at Brock’s graduation. Don’t mind me. I’m just the mother,” she said and gave a brittle laugh.

  “The focus of the subject is Brock’s father. I see it as a memorial of the best of him,” she said.