Undercover Princess. Suzanne Brockmann

been hysterically funny, except that Helena’s death still hurt far too much for him to even think about laughing.

      And as far as the rumors went, Trey hadn’t done completely all that he could to squash them once and for all. No, after that woman’s magazine had chosen him as “eligible bachelor of the month,” he’d actually been grateful when the dark rumors had resurfaced, and the flock of gold diggers pursuing him had vanished.

      Vanished as surely as Kathy Wind had when she’d left the estate late this afternoon.

      Trey stared at his fax machine, willing it to click on. But it was silent. It was nearly eight-thirty in the evening, and he still hadn’t received Kathy Wind’s references.

      “I’ll have my driver pick up Diana,” Penelope Sutherland decided. “We’ll stop at your place at seven for a small glass of wine before heading over to the club. Tell your housekeeper to dress for the occasion, please.”

      Trey sighed. “Anita will already have gone home for the night.”

      “What kind of housekeeper leaves when you need her most?”

      “The kind with a family of her own. And I don’t think answering the door and pouring wine qualifies for ‘needing her most.’”

      “I don’t know why you put up with her—”

      “Mother, don’t.” Trey cut her off before she started in on lecture number 612 on “Reasons to Hire a New Housekeeper.” Penelope didn’t like Anita, couldn’t understand that Trey liked the fact that the friendly, vivacious Mexican-American woman dressed and acted so casually. Trey’s mother didn’t get it. She didn’t understand that he didn’t want to live in a mausoleum filled with silently grim servants who bowed and scraped and kowtowed. He’d had enough of that when he was growing up, thanks.

      It was dark outside, and the window reflected his blurred image. Poor little rich boy. He turned back to his desk, to stare at his fax machine, which was still silent, damn it.

      “Thursday at seven,” he said. “It’s in my book.”

      “You should call Diana to confirm.”

      “You’re picking her up,” Trey countered. “You call Diana.”

      Penelope sighed. “If you don’t call her, it’s not going to be a real date.”

      “Guess what, Mom? It’s not a real date.”

      “Trey, you know how much I loved Helena.” Penelope Sutherland had loved Trey’s wife like a daughter. She’d been best friends with Helena’s mother since grade school. “But enough is enough. It’s time to move ahead with your life. Time to have some fun again.”

      Fun? With Diana St. Vincent? “Yeah, look, Mother, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you Thursday, all right?”

      Trey rolled his eyes as he hung up the phone.

      Diana St. Vincent, the heir to the James Company fortune, was smart, she had an unerring fashion sense, she was socially connected, and she was loaded. But she was also cold as hell. Trey had known her for several years, but he still couldn’t even imagine what she did for fun.

      Unless, of course, his mother was talking in vaguely polite euphemisms, and by fun what she really meant was sex. It was time for Trey to have some sex again.

      And yes indeed, after three years, there certainly were times, every now and then, when Trey could imagine maybe, just maybe, having sex again.

      Oh, yeah.

      That was quite possibly the biggest understatement of the decade.

      And tonight—God help him—was one of those nights when his imagination was running wild and he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about sex.

      And not the pleasant, politely proper sex he’d shared with Helena during their eleven and a half years of marriage. He’d loved his wife, but when they’d made love, he’d always, always held himself back. She was so well-bred, so gentle and refined. He’d always been afraid he might shock her.

      No, tonight he couldn’t stop thinking about raw, ragingly passionate, heart-stoppingly, gut-wrenchingly, completely insane sex. The kind where it’s almost like an out-of-body experience because you can’t tell where you end and your lover begins. The kind where you lose yourself in the sheer potent ecstasy of a single kiss and—

      Trey opened his eyes, suddenly astutely aware that the fantasy lover he’d just been imagining in his bed was none other than the candidate for the position of temporary nanny, Kathy Wind.

      Oh God, where had that thought come from?

      Kathy was pretty enough, and sure, she had a body that would probably cause a small sensation if she wore a bikini onto a beach. But that woman probably didn’t even own a bikini. She seemed far, far from the raw, screaming sex type.

      She was warm cocoa and cookies, soft and sweet, wrapped in a fleece blanket in front of a crackling fire.

      She was little-sister material, while Diana St. Vincent…

      It was likely that beneath Diana’s cool facade burned searing passion.

      She was a beautiful woman. Thick black hair, porcelain perfect features, a body to die for and the ability to show it off in a very classy way. Diana St. Vincent probably owned a dozen bikinis. And she’d made it clear that Trey’s advances would be more than welcomed.

      But he knew that any intimacies he shared with her would have a very steep price. Marriage.

      And the thought of marrying Diana St. Vincent left Trey stone-cold.

      She didn’t care about him. Not one bit. Like all of the others—even like Helena—she couldn’t see past his bank account to the man beneath.

      And he wasn’t going to do that again. He’d rather spend the rest of his life alone than be conned that way again. And alone was most likely the way he’d remain because most people—both men and women—couldn’t get past his huge fortune. They were either completely intimidated and stayed away, or they wanted a piece of it, and were willing to do anything to get it.

      What were the chances of his ever finding a woman who said, “The hell with your money. Burn it for all I care. All I want is Trey the man.”

      No, all the women he’d ever met had been far more in love with Trey-the-wallet.

      It wasn’t too hard to understand why. It wasn’t as if he were a warm, friendly, open, expressive person.

      In fact, many, many people had labeled him icy cold, both socially and at work. Especially at work.

      The truth was, he wouldn’t want to work for himself. And he wouldn’t blame Kathy Wind at all if she simply never faxed her references—if she turned and ran, and he simply never heard from her again.

      That would be a damn shame. Stacy had liked her. Stacy had actually stopped into his office about an hour ago to find out if Kathy’s references had checked out. Dear God, was that a miracle? The idea that Stacy might actually like her nanny…?

      Except Kathy wasn’t their nanny yet.

      Trey closed his eyes, praying to whomever might be out there listening. Please, please, please don’t let Kathy change her mind. If Stacy liked her, Doug would like her, too. His children desperately needed someone with such a warm, sweet, completely sincere demeanor in their lives.

      They needed cocoa in front of the fire.

      And as for Trey…He’d keep his thoughts pure from now on, at least when it came to Kathy Wind. It was absurd, really, what he’d been thinking. But he could explain it easily enough. He was tired and obsessing over the fact that he wanted her to fax her references, that he wanted her for this job.

      Somehow all his various wants and needs had gotten cross-wired. That was all. No big deal.

      With her direct honesty and appealing sincerity,