How the hell had she gotten him to talk so much? With the exception of the creditors and the banks, he hadn’t told anybody about the sorry state of his life. Talk about a cluster, it had been all of that—one grand tsunami, disrupting whatever life he’d thought he’d had, which had pretty much been built with too much money and too many fake friends. Even the girlfriend he’d thought would become his wife had dumped him when the trouble started and the money ran out.

“So, you were in real estate and you bet all your money on a high-risk deal and lost?”

“Pretty much.” Hearing the words spill out of the woman’s soft lips like she was trying out cuss words was a real eye-opener. Not in a good way. The truth was he’d been so damn arrogant, so full of self-importance and the desire to be number one, that he hadn’t thought he could fail. The riskier the investment, the better. When the “wins” toppled his competition, it made him more untouchable, more sought after, more “godlike.” Only he wasn’t, and he’d found that out the hardest way of all—self-destruction. No one questioned the business deals that included acquiring distressed commercial real estate, pumping money into the buildings, and selling them off at a huge profit. There was one particularly high-risk project he should have avoided, but who was going to warn him against it? Nobody warned a king. Not business associates or banks, not friends or a girlfriend. Would he have listened to them if they’d expressed concern about leveraging so much when he already had more than enough?

Of course not. This deal was personal. This deal was about who would rule commercial real estate: Pete Finnegan or Marcus Attican, his nemesis and main competition. It was all or nothing and they both knew it. When a person believes he’s invincible, he’s going to jump off the building, right? Because he’s not going to get hurt. Hell, he won’t even get a scratch. So, Pete jumped—and fell—hard, fast, and with such force that all he had left after the destruction was a narrow escape from bankruptcy, a disgraced name, and a ton of regret. No business associates, no friends, no Heather.

Pete shared this story with Elissa, all of it, though later he’d wonder why he’d done it. Maybe it was the way she tilted her head and listened with what looked like complete interest, rapture even. Nobody had done that in a long time, unless he’d been talking numbers and bottom line. But Elissa, whose last name he didn’t know, acted as if she cared. Or maybe it was just another part of the pretending they’d agreed upon earlier—pretend the outside world didn’t exist—just for a little while. He hoped it wasn’t that, hoped maybe one person in this screwed-up universe actually cared about what he said.

But who the hell really knew?

“Why didn’t you stay in California? I’m sure you could have found something else to do while you built up your business again.”

She said it with such sincerity that he told her the truth. “I torched my career so bad I had to come this far to get away from the fallout. Besides, it was time to head back this way.” He shrugged, toyed with the frayed edge of his jeans hem. “California didn’t feel like home anymore.”

“Of course it didn’t,” she said, her voice soft and comforting. “Home is the only place that feels like home.” She paused, her eyes bright. “Unless you find someone to share your life. Then anyplace that person is feels like home.”

Pete cleared his throat, looked away. “I guess.” Heather had a lot of ideas about what she thought home was, but he doubted they were as simple as “wherever he was.” They were wrong for each other on so many levels, and it took his business and his life to explode for him to understand that.

“So, tell me about the place where you grew up.”

He slung an arm across the back of the couch and smiled at her. He could get used to the comfortable conversation and the curious interest. And he could certainly get used to looking at the attractive woman at the other end of the couch. “I grew up in a small town where everybody had an opinion about everything and they didn’t hesitate to offer it, whether you asked or not. The older I got, the more it bugged me. I mean, really pain-in-the-ass bugged me to the point where I’d do stuff just to get the rumors going. My old man was furious when he found out I was doing it to torment some of the busybodies. He said it was immature and disrespectful.” Pete shook his head, recalled the days when he and his father had shouting matches that could be heard all the way down the street. “I was a jerk, but I never saw it that way. They sent me off to college and I made it through half of the second semester before I flunked out. You have no idea what it’s like to come home to a place where everybody knows you flunked.”

“I can’t imagine.”

The faint pink on her cheeks told him she’d probably never jaywalked or gotten a speeding ticket. Well, he’d done both and a lot more back then. “It wasn’t pretty, neither was the six o’clock start time in the cabinet factory where I worked because my father said I wasn’t going to lie around like a cat all day and prowl all night.”

She hid a smile. “I guess you’d call that tough love.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Did you make amends with your father?”

Pete shrugged. “It’s a work in progress. He’s a no-nonsense kind of guy. Doesn’t go in for deep thinking or fancy words. Don’t kid yourself, though. He’s one of the wisest men I ever met and it took me a lot of years to realize that.” Actually, he hadn’t figured that out until he was close to thirty, and when the business went belly up, he’d thought about his father’s comments regarding true friends versus the ones who’ll only show up as long as you’re paying.

“What will you do when you finish here?”

Now that was the fifty-million-dollar question. He’d given it a lot of thought, but for a person who’d once believed he only had to blink to make money, he didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know. I’ve spent the last few months doing manual labor and I have to say, there’s a certain reward that comes from creating and fixing things.” He grinned, saluted her with his wine glass. “I’ve also mucked out my share of stalls and that would not be on the list of my life’s ambition.”

“So…” She tilted her head to one side, her long hair brushing her shoulders. He bet her hair was silky-soft, wondered if it smelled like the flowery scent in the bathroom. “You like creating and fixing things, you don’t like mucking out stalls.”

He nodded. “Right.”

“Would you ever get back into real estate?”

That was a question he’d asked himself several times a day, more so in the beginning, and not so much these past few weeks. Even if he were to consider it, there would have to be so many conditions, and the scenario would have to be perfect. “I really don’t know. I was very good at it, but I wasn’t a nice guy. I was a jerk who thought he couldn’t lose.” His voice dipped with remembering. “I made a lot of money, a sick amount, and I surrounded myself with people I thought were my friends, but they weren’t. Friends tell you when you’re screwing up and when you’re full of yourself, but nobody ever did.” He rubbed his jaw, met her gaze. “I don’t want to be that guy anymore; that’s what I do know.”

“I’m glad.”

Shit, had he just admitted he was a loser-asshole? Not exactly. He’d admitted he’d been one, as in past tense. That was different. Wasn’t it? Pete clamped his mouth shut. He needed to cool it with the confessions for a while and get Elissa talking, but it was so damn easy to open up with her.

Why? Oh, right. Because they were pretending the outside world didn’t exist. That’s why. It wasn’t like she had some special hold over him. He never let a woman close enough to get inside his head—not even Heather, and he’d thought of marrying her.

This whole “open up and share” had to do with the pretending stuff they’d decided on over dinner. He was cool with that. Very cool. As long as he understood what was happening and could control it. Pete blew out a sigh. “Your turn. What are you going to do when you leave here?”

“I’m a nurse. I worked in a hospital for a few years on a post-surgical floor, but what I enjoyed most was being a companion to a woman dying of cancer.”

“Really? That sounds…depressing.”

“It wasn’t as depressing as it was sad. All the lost hopes and dreams.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “People our age have our own dreams and wishes, and we think we’ll have years to see them fulfilled. But we don’t really know, do we?” Another sniff. “Mrs. B was estranged from her family, so I became her family. I cooked for her, accompanied her on vacations and doctor visits. I even helped her plan her funeral, all according to her wishes. She was very precise, a true lady, and a friend.” She cleared her throat, clasped her hands in her lap. “Yes, she was a friend to me, and all she asked was that I handle a few items of correspondence for her when she passed. That’s all.” Elissa sniffed again, dragged her gaze to his. “That’s the least I can do for a friend, don’t you think?”

Pete nodded. “Absolutely. It’s the least you can do.”

* * *

Pete slept on the couch, wished it were a foot longer so his feet didn’t hang off the edge, and he sure as hell wished it were more comfortable. But furniture was limited in this place and sharing a bed with Elissa—for sleeping— wasn’t an option. Not that she’d invited him, because one look and three seconds with her told a guy she wasn’t that type. Nope. This woman was the kind you brought home to meet your parents, married, moved with to the suburbs, and had a kid or two. He’d always been very good at spotting them—and avoiding them. Women like that weren’t playing games; they were about relationships and commitments and the only reason he’d puked out his past to this one was because…because why? He dragged a hand over his face, blinked open his eyes. Oh, yeah, because they were miles away from anybody they knew, inside a cabin, and it was all pretend.

That made him feel better.

He sat up, padded into the kitchen, and started the coffee. There’d been a time, before Heather convinced him he needed a chef, that he’d enjoyed playing around in the kitchen, concocting dishes and taking a stab at growing his own herbs. She’d squashed that venture, insisting he didn’t have time for such mindless endeavors. Why had he listened to her? Cooking and growing herbs relaxed him, gave him a sense of accomplishment. Pete thought of all the ways he’d been sidetracked in his life as he washed up, tossed on a fresh shirt, and fixed an omelet and rye toast.

“Elissa?” Pete knocked on the bedroom door, waited for a response, smiled when he heard a muffled groan. “Breakfast is ready.” Another groan and an unintelligible response. “Hurry up or it’ll be gone.” That got her moving and sitting at the table by the time he poured her coffee.

“This is delicious,” she said, forking a piece of mushroom and egg. “You should have called me.” She glanced at him from a still-foggy haze of sleep. “I would have helped.”

“No need. I like cooking, and it’s been a while. Besides, we’ve got a full day ahead and I wanted you well rested. I posted a list on the refrigerator and if you’re still game, we’ll knock it out together.”

She squinted at the fridge. “Sure.”

“Do you know anything about painting?”

By late afternoon, he learned that not only did the woman know how to paint a room, she did a helluva job with trim work. No globs on the ceiling, no paint on the floor. Plus, she didn’t flinch the way Heather used to when he played classic rock. Elissa liked it, sang to AC/DC and Bon Jovi. Damn, she even got him to belt out a few lines. That was no easy task.

Elissa had a lot going for her.

She didn’t talk too much and when she did, the topics weren’t filled with nonsense.

She didn’t seem to need layers of makeup and hair products to start her day.

She listened. How was that for a novel approach to friendship?

She had a laugh that made him want to join in.

And when she looked at him, she really looked. Her lips were soft, her body curved in all the best places…

Crap. Pete pushed the man-in-hunting-mode thoughts aside and went back to the nonsexual assessments. Too late. His brain had wandered down the road of “how can you ignore the hot-blooded female in front of you” and once the thought was in his head, it spread to other parts of his body, the parts that had no business thinking about her. Damn it. Was he really going to ruin a good thing by being physically attracted to her? It wasn’t as though she was drop-dead beautiful like Heather or any of the other women he’d dated. And she didn’t have that I’m-going-to-have-you look that used to make him hard and planning for the party. Elissa had something more tantalizing, more compelling: fresh-faced honesty and words that didn’t begin and end with sexual suggestions.

And that made her irresistible. He slid a gaze her way, landed on the roundness of her butt. Shit. He wanted her. So what? Wanting and having were not the same. Just because he wanted her did not mean he was going to have her.

Did it?

Well, did it?

The answer came the next evening, after dinner. They’d spent the day painting the dining room, and while Pete crawled on the roof to nail down loose shingles, Elissa picked up branches and twigs from the yard and tossed them into the trash bin for burning. Spring had made the area lush and green, the air crisp, filled with birds and the crackle of small animals in the woods. The fresh air and nature’s surroundings brought him peace. When Pete glanced up from his hammering and spotted Elissa, face turned toward the sky, eyes closed, a perfect smile on her lips, that brought him peace, too.

They talked about what it would be like to live in the woods, debated whether will beat out strength—they both agreed it did—and how, on any given day, an ordinary person could accomplish an impossible task, given will and circumstances aligned.

There was so much to this woman that Pete didn’t know, so much he wanted to uncover… She seemed equally curious to learn about him. Why? Was it because they’d shut out the world, or was there another reason, a deeper one involving fate and destiny?

“Fresh paint really does make a difference, doesn’t it?”

“Huh?” He’d been thinking about fate and destiny, not the benefits of fresh paint. “Oh, right. If you want to knock a few years off something, paint it.” That made her laugh and he guessed what she was thinking. “That doesn’t include people.”

She lifted her glass of wine, saluted him. “It was worth a try, wasn’t it?”

“Trust me, you do not need to shave off any years.” He studied the high cheekbones, the smooth skin, the full lips. “You’ll be beautiful at seventy.” Clearly, she wasn’t used to compliments because her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink, spread to her neck.

“My grandmother always said I was healthy-looking.”

“You really don’t like compliments, do you?” What woman didn’t want to hear how beautiful she was? None that he’d known.

Elissa shook her head. “I’d rather you told me I was a decent person with a brilliant mind.” She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear, cleared her throat. “We were raised to be practical. No room for big egos in our household.”

“It’s not like you’ve got your face stuck in a mirror. I’m beginning to wonder if you know how beautiful you are.”

“Beautiful? Uh, no.”

“You don’t think you’re eye-catchingly great-looking?”

“Of course not.” She gulped the rest of her wine. “I’ve known people who are, like Zachary’s other fiancée. I’m not one of those people, and I’m fine with that. It is what it is. If I were drop-dead beautiful then I’d have to worry about my hair and makeup being in place, and then I couldn’t go in public unless I looked the part. No thank you. I’m fine with ordinary.”

“Trust me, Elissa, you are not ordinary.”

She actually laughed, as though she thought he were so far off base it wasn’t funny. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“What?” It was his turn to blush. “No, of course not.”

“Oh.”

She said it like she was disappointed. “Elissa? What’s going on?”

She dragged her gaze to his. “If you were trying, I’d rather you didn’t use a line on me.”

“It wasn’t a line.” He paused, his voice thick with emotion. “And if we got together, it would not be a staged seduction.”

“Good.”

“It would be because...”

Her eyes sparkled. “Because...”

“We both wanted it?” he ventured.

Her lips parted. “Uh-huh.”

Need fought with common sense; need won out. “So, do you…”

“Pete.” She reached for him, kissed him with such passion, his world exploded. Hard. Heavy. Complete. Another kiss, this one deeper, more consuming.

He broke the kiss, cupped her chin with his fingers. “Are you sure?”

A dip of her head, followed by a breathy, “I don’t want you to stop.”

His conscience kicked in. Did she understand this wasn’t going to be about more than lust and passion? “I’m no good at relationships.”

“I’m not asking for a relationship.”

Women like Elissa didn’t outright ask, but the implication was there, especially when they said it wasn’t. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He was dying to bury himself inside her right now, but she deserved more than just sex. Why couldn’t she see that?

“I understand. You don’t want a relationship.” Her voice turned soft, swirled through him in a rush of heat. “I get it.”

“I’m not sure you do.” How many men had she known like him? A handful? Less than that?

“I’m a big girl. I know exactly what you are and aren’t offering.”

“Elissa.”

“Stop talking.” She reached for the top button of his shirt, rested a small hand on his belt buckle.

“I can’t make promises.”

“No promises.” And then she smiled. “This is all pretend, right? We can do whatever we want and it’s just the two of us.”

But that wasn’t quite true. He knew it as he eased the shirt over her head, unfastened her bra. Knew it when he cupped her breast, brought his lips to a nipple and sucked the sweetest, most tender flesh he’d ever tasted. And when they were both naked and their gazes locked seconds before he entered her in the purest free-fall of ecstasy he’d ever felt, the truth burned between them.

This was about so much more than sex.

This was real.

* * *

Elissa and Pete had spent the last twelve nights together, making love until they fell into an exhausted sleep, bodies tangled up in one another, breathing soft and even. Content. But the lovemaking wasn’t confined to the bed or evenings. The need to be together in a physical way burned deep and bright between them. They’d made love after breakfast, against the kitchen counter, on a dining room chair, in the old tub. Outside, against the worn cabin siding. Goodness, they’d even made love in his truck after a return trip to town! She wanted him, all of him, and it seemed he felt the same way.

It had never been like this with Zachary or any other man. Nobody was like Pete. Nobody could make her tingle and burn or lose her inhibitions the way he did. And that scared her as much as it excited her.

She’d told him she knew they weren’t long-term, that she understood he was no good at relationships and didn’t expect one from him. When she’d said the words, she’d meant them, but that was before he touched her, before he filled her with want and need, before he showed her how good it could be between them. Not just the sex, but all of it. They’d worked side by side these past several days, fixing up the cabin, turning it into someone’s home.

What would it be like if she and Pete lived here?

“Hey, sleepyhead. Plan to sleep all day?”

Pete stood in the doorway, long and lean, dressed in flannel and jeans. His gaze darted from the dip in the sheet that exposed a good portion of flesh, moved to her face. “You should have called me.” She eased out of bed, stretched, enjoying the way his eyes followed her as she slipped into her panties and bra, pulled on a T-shirt. Elissa had never quite understood the sexual control some women exercised over men, maybe because she didn’t think she was capable of it. She’d never felt overly sexual with Zachary, but with Pete, the push-pull of her sexuality wasn’t intentional or contrived. It just was.

“Come here,” he said, his voice rough, his expression unreadable. She moved toward him, placed her hands on his hips. He framed her face with his large hands, studied her. “The work’s done here. We’ll finish up today.”

“I know.”

“We can stay a while, or not, but whatever we decide to do, I need to be honest with you.”

“Yes?” Here it comes. He’s going to tell me he’s moving on…

He cleared his voice twice. “I don’t know about you, but for me, this pretending doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.”

Pete wasn’t pretending; he cared about her, and he was going to admit it. Oh, but she wanted to hug him so tight and cry, but she didn’t. Instead, she managed a serious “I know.”

He pulled her to him, buried his lips in her hair. “I think we’re going to have to talk about it.”

“Uh-huh.” Elissa closed her eyes, breathed in his scent, as the truth slipped out. She was falling in love with him. Could he find it in his heart to return that love?

The “talking” started later that afternoon, when Pete told her about Magdalena and the couples he’d observed. Of course, he didn’t know she knew about Magdalena, and he certainly didn’t know her connection to the heartache that almost happened there. How was she ever going to tell him about that? Or that she’d mailed the letter to Nate Desantro the day they drove into town? She’d have to tell him, but not yet.

“I’ve seen a lot of couples since I’ve been back in Magdalena. They’re not crazy rich, not by most people’s standards, at least not the ones I knew. But they’re happy and they seem content. Some of them have been together for decades, others just a few years.” They sat next to each other on the couch, his shoulder slung over hers, thighs touching, her head resting on his chest. “The ones our age are having kids, and they don’t seem put out by the extra mouths to feed or annoyed they’re giving up free time. Hell, they seem to enjoy it.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head, murmured, “Maybe that’s what real wealth is. You just have to find the right person to help you see that, and share it.”

Elissa tightened her hold around his waist, whispered, “I think you’re right.”

“I’d like to have more money, but I’d rather have the right person beside me, step by step, through good times and not so good ones. My mother told me Nate Desantro had a rough road with his mother-in-law. The damn lady tried to break up his marriage with some fake seduction thing. Can you imagine that? What kind of parent does that to her own daughter?”

That’s not what Mrs. Blacksworth had told her. She’d sworn Nate had been involved and he was the one to turn her daughter against her. “I’m sure there’s more to the story.”

“More? I doubt it unless you want to add psycho and witch to the mother-in-law’s name.”

Why would Mrs. Blacksworth lie to her? What was the point? Elissa wasn’t a relative; she would not have judged. “I’m sorry,” was all she could manage. She would have to tell Pete the truth, but not tonight. She’d tell him in the morning. And then she’d destroy the notebook.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about her or whatever lies she told. All I know is my mother said she tried to ruin good people, and my mother’s usually in the know about this stuff.” He laughed, sifted a hand through her hair. “She’s a little bit of a gossip. Drives my father crazy.”

“I’ll bet.” When Pete heard her story, he’d understand, wouldn’t he? He’d see that she’d believed a dying woman because she hadn’t thought such a person capable of causing harm on her deathbed.

“Okay, now I’m really done with that woman.” His voice gentled. “I want to talk about you and me.” He paused, added. “Us.”

Elissa sat up, hesitated. “Us?”

“Yeah. What I feel for you is real, not some pretend crap I made up to protect myself. I’d like to spend more time with you—” his eyes glittered, his voice dipped “—in the real world outside of the cabin. Will you come back to Magdalena with me? Meet my family?” A dull rose shot from his neck to his cheeks. “If you feel the same way, that is.”

“I do…feel the same way.” She stroked his cheek, kissed him. “I’ll come with you. Anywhere you want to go.”

“Let’s stay here a few more days, and then we’ll let the outside world bombard us, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” She clung to him, wished she hadn’t gotten involved with Mrs. Blacksworth’s agenda. But there was no going back now; she’d done it and the sooner she told Pete the truth, the sooner they could move forward. They’d get past this. They cared about one another. People who cared about one another stuck together and forgave each other’s missteps.

Didn’t they?