The Beaumont Brothers. Sarah M. Anderson

in a nice place with a reasonable rent—and covered the down payment and security deposit, with promises to help every month—her folks had fallen behind. Again. But instead of telling her and giving her a chance to make up the shortfall, they’d done what they always did—picked up in the middle of the night and skipped out. They didn’t know how to live any other way.

      The Beaumonts had been here for over a century. What would it be like to walk down halls your grandfather had built? To work in buildings your great-grandfather had made? To know that your family not only took care of themselves, but of their children and their children’s children?

      The driver opened up their door. Serena started to move, but Chadwick motioned for her to sit. “Take the afternoon off. Go to Neiman Marcus. I have a personal shopper there. He’ll make sure you’re appropriately dressed.”

      The way he said it bordered on condescending. “I’m sorry—was my black dress inappropriate somehow?”

      It had been an amazing find at a consignment shop. Paying seventy dollars for a dress and then another twenty to get it altered had felt like a lot of money, but she’d worn it more than enough to justify the cost, and it had always made her feel glamorous. Plus, a dress like that had probably cost at least five hundred dollars originally. Ninety bucks was a steal. Too bad she wouldn’t be able to wear it again for a long time. Maybe if she lost the baby weight, she’d be able to get back into it.

      “On the contrary, it would be difficult to find another dress that looks as appropriate on you. That’s why you should use Mario. If anyone could find a better dress, it would be him.” Chadwick’s voice carried through the space between them, almost as if the driver wasn’t standing three feet away, just on the other side of the open car door.

      Serena swallowed. He didn’t have her backed against a door and he certainly wasn’t touching her, but otherwise? She felt exactly as she had Monday morning. Except then, she’d been on the verge of sobbing in his office. This? This was different. She wouldn’t let her emotions get the better of her today, hormones be damned.

      So she smiled her most disarming smile. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Despite the generous salary you pay me, Neiman’s is a bit out of my price range.” Which was not a lie. She shopped clearance racks and consignment stores. When she needed some retail therapy, she hit thrift stores. Not an expensive department store. Never Neiman’s.

      Chadwick leaned forward, thinning the air between them until she didn’t care about the driver. “We are attending a work function. Dressing you appropriately is a work-related expense. You will put the dress on my account.” She opened her mouth to protest—that was not going to happen—when he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Not negotiable.”

      Then, moving with coiled grace, he exited the vehicle. And made the driver shut the door before Serena could follow him out. “Take her to Neiman’s,” she heard Chadwick say.

      No. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t right. This was wrong on several levels. Chadwick gave her stock options because she did a good job on a project—he did not buy her something as personal, as intimate, as a dress. She bought her own clothing with her own money. She didn’t rely on any man to take care of her.

      She shoved the door open, catching the driver on the hip, and hopped out. Chadwick was already four steps away. “Sir,” she said, putting as much weight on the word as she could. He froze, one foot on a step. Well, she had his attention now. “I must respectfully decline your offer. I’ll get my own dress, thank you.”

      Coiled grace? Had she thought that about him just moments ago? Because, as Chadwick turned to face her and began to walk back down toward where she was standing, he didn’t look quite as graceful. Oh, he moved smoothly, but it was less like an athlete and more like a big cat stalking his prey. Her.

      And he didn’t stop once he was on level ground. He walked right up to her—close enough that he could put his finger under her chin again, close enough to kiss her in broad daylight, in front of the driver.

      “You asked, Ms. Chase.” His voice came out much closer to a growl than his normal efficient business voice. “Did you not?”

      “I didn’t ask for a dress.”

      His smile was a wicked thing she’d never seen on his face before. “You asked me what I wanted. Well, this is what I want. I want to take you out to dinner. I want you to accompany me to this event. And I want you to feel as beautiful as possible when I do it.”

      She sucked in a breath that felt far warmer than the ambient air temperature outside.

      His gaze darted down to her lips, then back up to her eyes. “Because that black dress—you feel beautiful in it, don’t you?”

      “Yes.” She didn’t understand what was going on. If he was going to buy her a dress, why was he talking about how she felt? If he was going to buy her a dress and look at her with this kind of raw hunger in his eyes—talk to her in this voice—shouldn’t he be talking about how beautiful he thought she was? If he was going to seduce her—because that’s what this was, a kind of seduction—wasn’t he going to tell her she was pretty? That he’d always thought she was pretty?

      “It is a work-related event. This is a work-related expense. End of discussion.”

      “But I couldn’t possibly impose—”

      Something in him seemed to snap. He did touch her then—not in the cautious way he’d touched her on Monday, and not in the shattered way he’d laced his fingers with hers just yesterday.

      He took her by the upper arm, his fingers gripping her tightly. He moved her away from the car door, opened it himself, and put her inside.

      Before Serena could even grasp what was happening, Chadwick had climbed in next to her. “Take us to Neiman’s,” he ordered the driver.

      Then he shut the door.

       Four

      What was wrong with this woman?

      That was the question Chadwick asked himself over and over as they rode toward the Cherry Creek Shopping Center, where the Neiman Marcus was located. He’d called ahead and made sure Mario would be there.

      Women in his world loved presents. It didn’t matter what you bought them, as long as it was expensive. He’d bought Helen clothing and jewelry all the time. She’d always loved it, showing off her newest necklace or dress to her friends with obvious pride.

      Of course, that was in the past. In the present, she was suing him for everything he had, so maybe there were limits to the power of gifts.

      Still, what woman didn’t like a gift? Would flatly refuse to even entertain the notion of a present?

      Serena Chase, that’s who. Further proving that he didn’t know another woman like her.

      “This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

      They were sitting side by side in the backseat of the limo, instead of across from each other as they normally did. True, Serena had scooted over to the other side of the vehicle, but he could still reach over and touch her if he wanted to.

      Did he want to?

      What a stupid question. Yes, he wanted to. Wasn’t that why they were here—he was doing something he wanted, consequences be damned?

      “What’s ridiculous?” he asked, knowing full well she might haul off and smack him at any moment. After all, he’d forced her into this car with him. He could say this was a work-related expense until he was blue in the face, but that didn’t make it actually true.

      “This. You. It’s the middle of the afternoon. On a Wednesday, for God’s sake. We have things to do. I should know—I keep your schedule.”

      “I hardly think...” He checked his watch. “I hardly think 4:15 on a Wednesday counts as the middle of the afternoon.”

      She