One Night Stand Bride. Kat Cantrell

add some of mine to the rotation. A clown is a clown, right?”

      The long pause boded badly. Roz braced for the next part.

      “To be frank, Ms. Carpenter, the hospital board would not appreciate any association with a charity you helm,” Ms. Smith stated bluntly. “We are required to disclose any contact a patient has with outside parties, particularly when the patients are minors. The clowns must have accreditation and thorough vetting to ensure we’re not exposing patients to...unseemly influences.”

      Roz went hot and then cold as the woman’s meaning flashed through her. The reputation of the charity’s founder preceded her apparently. “I take it I qualify as an unseemly influence. Then may I be as frank and ask why you bothered to call me back?”

      “Strictly in deference to your father. One of his vice presidents is on the board, if you’re not aware,” she replied tightly. “If we’ve reached an understanding...”

      “We have. Thank you for your candor.” Roz stabbed the end call button and let her cell phone drop to the desk of a successful charity head. Too bad that wasn’t who was sitting at it.

      Wow. Her hands were shaking.

      And because her day hadn’t been crappy enough, the door she’d forgotten to lock behind her opened to the street and Hendrix Harris walked into her nightmare.

      “What are you doing here?” she snapped, too off-kilter to find some manners when she’d already told him to step off once today. “This is private property. How did you find me?”

      Not one perfect brown hair out of place, the man waltzed right in and glanced around her bare-bones operation with unabashed curiosity. “I followed you, naturally. But I didn’t want to interrupt your phone call, so I waited.”

      “Bless your heart,” she shot back and snatched up her phone to call the cops. “You have two seconds to vacate or I’m going to lodge a trespassing complaint.”

      Instead of hightailing it out the door—which was what he should have done—Hendrix didn’t hesitate to round the desk, crowd into her space without even a cursory nod to boundaries and pluck the phone from her hand. “Now, why would you do a thing like that? We’re all friends here.”

      Something that felt perilously close to tears pricked beneath her lashes. “We’re not friends.”

      Tears. In front of Hendrix. It was inexcusable.

      “We could be friends,” he announced quietly, without an ounce of flirt. Somehow that was exactly the right tone to burn off the moisture. “Friends who help each other. You didn’t give me much of a chance to tell you how earlier.”

      Help. That was something she needed. Not that he needed to know that, or how grateful she was that he’d found a way to put her back on even footing. She didn’t for an instant believe he’d missed her brief flash of vulnerability and his deft handling of it made all the difference.

      The attitude of the hospital lady still chilled her. But she wasn’t in danger of falling apart any longer, thank God.

      “Because I have a zone of crazy around me.” She nodded to the floor, near his feet. “There’s the perimeter and you’re four feet over the line.”

      Problem being that she liked him where he was—one lean hip cocked against her desk and all his good stuff at eye level. Naked, the man rivaled mythical gods in the perfection department. She could stare at his bare body for hours and never get tired of finding new ways to appreciate his deliciousness.

      And dang it, he must have clued in on the direction of her thoughts. He didn’t move. But the temperature of the room rose a few sweat-inducing degrees. Or maybe that was just her body catching fire as he treated her to the full force of his lethal appeal.

      His hot perusal did not help matters when it came to the temperature. What was it about his pale hazel eyes that dug into her so deeply? All he had to do was look at her and sharp little tugs danced through her core.

      It pissed her off. Why couldn’t he be ugly, with a hunchback and gnarled feet?

      Which was a stupid thing to wish for because if that was the case, she wouldn’t be in this position. She’d never have hooked up with him in Vegas because yes, she was that shallow and a naked romp with a man built like Hendrix had righted her world—for a night.

      Now she’d pay the price for that moment of hedonism. The final cost had yet to be determined, though.

      Hendrix set her phone down on the desk, correctly guessing he had her attention and the threat of expulsion had waned. For now. She could easily send him packing if the need struck. Or she could roll the chair back a few inches and move the man into a better position to negotiate something of the more carnal variety. This was a solid desk. Would be a shame not to fully test its strength.

      No. She shook her head. This was the danger of putting herself in the same room with him. She forgot common sense and propriety.

      “Since I’m already in the zone of crazy,” he commented in his North Carolina–textured twang, “you should definitely hear me out. For real this time. I don’t know what you think I’m proposing, but odds are good you didn’t get that it starts and ends with a partnership.”

      That had not come across. Whatever he had in mind, she’d envisioned a lot of sex taking center stage. And that she’d have to do without because she’d turned over a new leaf.

      A partnership, on the other hand, had interesting possibilities.

      As coolly as she could under the circumstances, she crossed her arms. Mostly as a way to keep her hands to herself. “Talk fast. You’ve got my attention for about another five minutes.”

       Two

      Hendrix had been right to follow Rosalind. This bare storefront had a story behind it and he had every intention of learning her secrets. Whatever leverage he could dig up might come in handy, especially since he’d botched the first round of this negotiation.

      And the hard cross of Roz’s arms told him it was indeed a negotiation, one he shouldn’t expect to win easily. That had been his mistake on the first go-round. He’d thought their chemistry would be good trading currency, but she’d divested him of that notion quickly. So round two would need a completely different approach.

      “What is this place?” he asked and his genuine curiosity leaked through. He had a vision in his head of Rosalind Carpenter as a party girl, one who posed for men’s magazines and danced like a fantasy come to life. Instead of tracking her down during an afternoon shopping spree, he’d stumbled over her working.

      It didn’t fit his perception of her and he’d like to get the right one before charging ahead.

      “I started a charity,” she informed him with a slight catch in her voice that struck him strangely.

      She expected him to laugh. Or say something flippant. So he didn’t. “That’s fantastic. And hard. Good for you.”

      That bobbled her composure and he wouldn’t apologize for enjoying it. This marriage plan should have been a lot easier to sell and he couldn’t put his finger on why he’d faltered so badly thus far. She’d been easy in Vegas—likable, open, adventurous. All things he’d assumed he’d work with today, but none of those qualities seemed to be a part of her at-home personality. Plus, he wasn’t trying to get her into bed. Well, technically, he was. But semi-permanently, and he didn’t have a lot of experience at persuading a woman to still be there in the morning.

      No problem. Winging it was how he did his best work. He hadn’t pushed Harris Family Tobacco Lounge so close to the half-billion mark in revenue without taking a few risks.

      “What does your charity do?” he asked, envisioning an evening dress resale shop or Save the Kittens. Might as well know what kind of fundraiser he’d