The Princess and the Cowboy. Lois Faye Dyer

the morning after he’d broken off their affair. The box was unopened, his note still sealed in its envelope. The messenger who brought back the items had told his secretary Lily herself had written Return To Sender in black script across the front of the envelope.

      Justin had left Seattle the next day and had rarely returned over the following two years. Long days spent in punishing physical labor had exhausted his body but hadn’t stopped his mind from thinking about her. Finally, after months of pain, the ache in his chest where his heart was went numb. He figured that meant he was finally over her.

      But you haven’t stopped thinking about her. You haven’t forgotten her.

      He tuned out the small voice in his head and went back to his list-making, forcing himself to write despite the distaste he felt for the task.

      He jotted down the names of three unmarried women before he stopped abruptly, frowning at the list. Every one of them was a business connection he’d met through HuntCom. They all knew he was billionaire Harry Hunt’s son.

      How the hell am I going to find a bride if they can’t know who I am?

      Despite equating the Bride Hunt with any other project he’d done for HuntCom, Justin felt a distinct reluctance to make the very personal details of Harry’s demand known outside the family.

      I suppose I could use a pseudonym and join an online dating service. Almost immediately, he dismissed the thought. Too time-consuming.

      He stared at the rooftops—marching in neat blocks down the hill between him and the waterfront—while he considered the problem.

      He drank his coffee and watched the marine traffic on the waterfront, his thoughts drifting back to Lily Spencer. He ended his relationship with Lily when he’d realized she was a woman who wanted marriage and a family. Neither of those two commitments were in his future. He’d walked away from her so she could find what she needed.

      He punched in the phone number for her shop, frowning as he realized he still remembered it, even though he hadn’t dialed it in years.

      “Good morning, Princess Lily Boutique. How may I help you?”

      “Is Lily in?”

      “May I ask who’s calling?”

      “Justin Hunt.”

      “One moment, please.”

      Justin paced impatiently, listening to the murmur of female voices and occasional laughter in the background.

      “I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt.” When she finally came back on the line, the feminine voice was distinctly cooler than before. “Ms. Spencer isn’t available.”

      “When do you expect her?”

      “I’m afraid I don’t know,” she said politely. “May I take a message?”

      “No message.” Justin hung up, convinced the woman was lying.

      He suspected Lily was somewhere in the shop or in her workroom one floor above, but had refused to take his call.

      When he’d abruptly ended their three-month affair, Lily hadn’t cried or called him names. Unlike other women he’d dated and broken things off with, Lily hadn’t made a scene at the restaurant. Instead, she’d carefully folded her napkin, stood and walked out without a word.

      Maybe that was another reason he needed to see her—maybe he wanted her to yell at him and tell him what a rat he was for dumping her. Then he could apologize, and if he was lucky, she’d forgive him. At least then she wouldn’t hate him for the rest of her life.

      With sudden decisiveness, he grabbed his keys from the counter and left the apartment. Ten minutes later, he parked the Escalade on Ballard Avenue and jogged across the brick street, dodging traffic.

      The mannequins in the bowfront display windows of Lily’s shop wore white lace bustiers and garter belts, and were posed against draped black satin. Justin stepped inside, the shop’s interior an Aladdin’s cave of jewel-tone colors and sexy silk and lace women’s underwear. The air had a subtle floral scent, and the designs and textures of the lingerie were extravagantly feminine.

      The door eased shut behind him and he paused, searching the room. Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of Lily.

      Several women browsed the racks and shelves. All of them gave him curious glances. He ignored them, scanning the shop, hoping to find Lily. She wasn’t there.

      “May I help you, sir?” The willowy redhead behind the counter left a customer sifting through a basket of lacy thongs and approached him.

      Justin recognized her voice; she was the woman he’d talked to on the phone earlier.

      “I’m looking for Lily.”

      The redhead’s eyes widened, her smile disappearing. “I’m sorry, sir. She isn’t in.”

      “When do you expect her?”

      “I’m not sure. Would you care to leave a message?”

      “Yeah, sure.” He took a card from his pocket and jotted his cell-phone number on the back, followed by the words call me.

      The salesclerk took the card and glanced at it. “No other message?” Her expression was sharply curious.

      “No.”

      “I’ll make sure she gets the card.”

      “Thanks,” Justin drawled, suspecting his card would hit the trash can as soon as he left the shop. He wondered if Lily was upstairs in her workroom, avoiding him.

      Short of forcing his way through the Employees Only door behind the counter and climbing the stairs, he couldn’t be sure. And he didn’t want to go there—there were other ways to reach her.

      Tonight he’d drive to Lily’s town house and knock on her door unannounced. He’d apologize for ending their affair, make sure she was having a happy life, ask her to forgive him and leave.

      He left the shop and waited for a break in traffic before crossing the street to his SUV.

      Not being able to contact Lily easily had made him even more determined to see her.

      Justin drove back to his apartment and forced himself to wait until evening, giving Lily plenty of time to go home before he sought her out.

      Lily lived in Ballard, an older but upwardly mobile community edging the waters of Puget Sound just north of downtown Seattle. The newer brick-and-wood building was split into six town houses, each with a small square of grass out front.

      Rush hour and dinnertime were past and the neighborhood was quiet, with only an occasional jogger accompanied by their dog, or a young couple pushing a stroller along the sidewalk passing by.

      The walkway to Lily’s home was swept clean and edged with flower beds filled with red Martha Washington geraniums and green ferns. Justin rang the doorbell, idly noting the small, tidy porch with its wicker bench and the dried herb wreath that hung on the wall above it.

      The minutes dragged by. Impatient, he pushed the button again, the ring of the chimes muted through the thick door.

      Maybe she’s not home. Disappointed and frustrated, Justin half turned to search the quiet street, but saw no one. In a last attempt before leaving, he turned back and pushed the bell one more time.

      The door opened abruptly.

      “What?” The single word was filled with annoyance. A frown veed sable brows above green eyes that widened, flaring with shocked surprise as Lily stared at him.

      Deep inside Justin, something that had been unsettled calmed, the emptiness that had been his constant companion for months eased and filled. His memory hadn’t betrayed him. The green eyes, high cheekbones and lush mouth, with its full lower lip, were exactly as he’d remembered. Lily’s shoulder-length hair was tousled, the sunlight glinting