Mr. Right Next Door. Arlene James

she said, and felt a spurt of relief when he shook his head.

      “I always wanted one, though.”

      Denise sighed as they turned back into the foothills and left Fayetteville behind. “So you lived up here, hmm?”

      He nodded. “My dad’s still up there. Delia—that’s my sister—thinks he ought to move down to Little Rock with her, but he says he’ll never leave my mom. She’s buried up there near the house.”

      “Is it safe for him, so far from everything?”

      He shrugged. “He says it is. Personally, I lived without indoor plumbing and electricity until I walked out of high school and into the University of Arkansas, and I didn’t find anything particularly ennobling about it. But Dad says that life is best at its simplest, and frankly I see no reason for him to change his life now just because he’s into his mid-seventies. He wouldn’t be happy anywhere else.”

      “You must worry about him, though.”

      He inclined his head at that, saying, “I don’t worry about much, frankly. If I see a problem and I can fix it, I do, but worrying never solved anything so far as I can tell. Actually, as far as Dad goes, I admire him, and I always did, even when I was lost and so miserably unhappy I didn’t know which way to turn.”

      “And when was that?” she heard herself asking.

      He considered a moment. “Oh, about ten years ago. That was the worst of it, anyway, though it had been building for a long, long time.”

      “And now?”

      “Now I love my life,” he said, grinning broadly. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted except...”

      “Except,” she prodded, and he turned his head to settle a look on her that was clearly meant to remind her that she had asked.

      “Except someone to share it with,” he said softly, and the yearning in his eyes made her turn away. She felt a bit sorry that she had asked, a little panicked, even, because something seemed to flutter in her chest when he looked at her like that, something she was too mature and too battered to feel, something that didn’t belong in her second five-year plan, something that made her wonder if she had left out an important element. She pushed away the thought, fixing her mind on business, and she remembered what she had meant to tell him about Chuck, the warnings she ought to issue, the instructions she felt he needed to make this little charade work.

      She spent the remainder of the drive doing just that, briefing him much as she would have a team going out on a major sales push. If he looked at her occasionally as if she secretly amused him, she let it pass without comment. After all, he was a friend doing her a favor, and a huge favor at that, not a subordinate questioning her judgment or instructions. He seemed to understand all that she had to tell him, commenting once that he knew Chuck’s type all too well and another time that she shouldn’t worry about the primary reason for the meeting-that being business-falling victim to the secondary reason, which he referred to as “nipping Chuck’s extracurricular proclivities in the bud.”

      “I’ll leave the former to you,” he said. “Just you leave the latter to me.”

      She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, but he reminded her of what she wanted to forget, specifically, that they were supposed to be in love or very close to it. He was right, of course. A casual date would do nothing to short-circuit Chuck’s disgustingly sexual approach to her. A lover would—hopefully. The possibility existed that this would all be for nought. Chuck could be vicious enough to demand sexual concessions no matter what her personal situation, but her read on the situation was that he considered her fair game because she was unattached, so the obvious solution was to attach herself quickly to someone. And who else was there besides Morgan Holt? She was new to town, after all, and he had expressed an interest, but that was before he’d understood that she had no interest in anything more than friendship. Now that they understood each other, he’d proven a true friend, and that alone made him the appropriate candidate for this kind of date, not that this was a real date or anything. Certainly not. But it did feel oddly datelike even... She sat up a little straighter. Romantic? No, of course not! What could be romantic about pretending, about campaigning toward a goal? This was just another end run around the next fellow in her way. This was business. So what if the man with whom she’d chosen to align herself looked good enough to eat? So what if in an unguarded moment he made her heart beat a little faster? So what if the night was dark and soft and she felt cocooned in luxury and utterly feminine for the first time in so long that she couldn’t remember ever feeling so, and the smile on his face and the appreciation in his eyes somehow caused a secret little thrill deep within her? So what?

      So she was in trouble. That was what.

      And, by golly, someone was going to pay. She narrowed her eyes, smiling when she imagined good old Chuck comparing himself to Morgan Holt and falling far, far short. Oh, yes, he was going to pay.

      Chapter Three

      Morgan pulled the Mercedes beneath the covered drive of the sprawling, rustic inn and rolled down the window. A white-jacketed valet wearing a small headphone bent forward and looked into the car. Morgan smiled. The Mercedes was eight years old, but the odometer had less than forty thousand miles on it, and the condition of the car was absolutely pristine. Morgan felt not the least desire to “trade up” to a newer model and wasn’t sure that he ever would. The young valet returned his smile and swiveled down the tiny microphone suspended in front of his mouth.

      “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

      “We’re meeting another party,” Morgan said, deferring to Denise.

      She leaned forward and looked at the valet. “A Mr. Charles Dayton.”

      The valet maneuvered the microphone back into position and spoke softly into it. “Mr. Charles Dayton.” He pressed a fingertip to the speaker nestled inside his ear and his smiled broadened and warmed. He nodded to Morgan and Denise. “Mr. Dayton has arrived. Your names please.” They told him, and he relayed the message to whoever was on the other end of that microphone, then signaled to another valet, who quickly stepped up and opened the door for Denise, while the fellow with the mike did the same for Morgan.

      Morgan strode around the car and caught up to Denise, who had already started up the steps. He slid his hand against the small of her back, pleased with the light, taut feel of her body, and leaned close to whisper into her ear. “Slow down. This is one battle that must be fought leisurely.”

      She slowed her stride, bowed her head slightly and nodded, slanting him a sly, grateful look that made his breath catch. If only she knew how loverlike he felt and how delighted he was that she’d given him this opening. Oh, his offer of friendship had been genuine enough, but only because he hadn’t seen what else he could do. Even at that, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d closed the door on him and his casserole. Instead, she’d let him inside and all but handed him the key to unlocking her so tightly buttoned-up self. He knew now that she had suffered great loss and hurt and because of it had closed off her emotional self, focusing all her energies on her career. Morgan knew from experience that a career could make a very poor partner with which to share a life, and he, for one, was more than ready to share his life with someone special. It was time for him. The question was, was it time for Denise? He knew that he was not going to look elsewhere until he found out. She drew him, this sleek, contained woman, and had done so since he’d first laid eyes on her.

      The thickly timbered door of the lobby opened of its own volition as they approached, and another white-jacketed servant bowed them through, pointing as he did so toward a broad hallway on the right. Denise looked around her as they walked side by side through the expansive lobby with its warm aura of rusticity, taking in the massive beams, unglazed brick floors, and gargantuan, freestanding fireplace built of native rock and currently roaring with a small bonfire. The inn was famous for its homey luxury, mud baths and excellent food. It was perhaps infamous for its almost fanatically insured privacy, making it a favorite trysting place for well-heeled cheaters and the very, very