Chapter 1

The door to Max Varela’s office banged open just as he was swallowing two painkillers to combat the headache that had his temples clamped in a vise.

A dark haired woman in a white blouse and navy-blue skirt strode halfway into the room and stopped, her hands twisted together at her waist. “Max! Hello! You must wonder what I’m doing in your office after seven years, but I—”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Varela.” His assistant, Pauline, followed right on the woman’s heels. “She says you’re a personal friend.”

Recognition—and another reaction he tried to shove aside—slammed into him. “Emily Wade. In New York City.”

She used to wear her hair in a thick braid that had made his fingers itch to unravel it, but now the gleaming waves flowed over her shoulders. He felt the pull of her low in his body . . . and hated himself for it.

He made a deliberate effort to rise slowly. “It’s all right, Pauline.”

“I’ll let you know when your next appointment arrives.” His assistant walked out, closing the door behind her with a snap.

His gaze lingered on Emily’s full mouth with the corners that tilted upward as though she was always on the verge of smiling.

When she gave him a nervous look, he realized he was staring. Compelling himself into motion, he came around the desk and held out his hand. “I’m happy to see you,” he said, flinching inwardly as her slim fingers touched his and sent heat rushing over his skin. “Let’s sit down.” He walked toward a plush sofa and chairs placed by the huge arched window that framed a view of the skyscrapers of midtown Manhattan.

Emily perched on the edge of one of the chairs and smoothed her skirt over her knees before knotting her hands together again. For a woman who had the determination to get past the formidable Pauline, she seemed surprisingly uncertain of herself.

He sat on the sofa and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles in an attempt to appear unaffected by her presence. He couldn’t begin to imagine what had brought her to his office. The last time he’d seen her had been at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina seven years before. With her husband, Captain Jake Wade.

“I didn’t know Jake was stationed in New York now,” Max said. “How is he doing?”

She looked down at her hands and then back at him. “He’s dead. Three years ago. Killed in the line of duty. They couldn’t even tell me where, because the mission was so secret.”

Pain slashed through him at the news. The military had hired Max as a civilian consultant after they heard about the superhard but flexible polymer he’d created for his PhD thesis. He and Jake had worked together on the Marine base for about six months, using his polymer to develop lighter, stronger body armor. Max worked on the science of the armor while Jake made sure it was practical for a soldier to use in the field.

Their relationship had begun with a respect for each other’s abilities before it surprised Max by growing into a deep and easy friendship. Which was something Max valued, because he’d known very few people he could call friends.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. He felt guilty, too, that he hadn’t kept in touch with Jake after the project was completed and Max moved to New York. But it had been necessary to cut both Wades out of his life in light of his unacceptable feelings for Jake’s wife. He didn’t want either one of them to ever know his guilty secret. “He was one of the best men I’ve ever had the privilege to know. A true hero.”

While Max had been running experiments as a graduate student in the laboratory at MIT, Jake had been in the thick of fighting for his country. Jake had never spoken of his missions, but his men had shared stories of their commander’s bravery with Max. They would all follow Jake into hell if he asked them to, because they had total faith that he would bring them out again.

“Yes.” She looked down at her hands again. “They awarded him a whole pile of medals posthumously, which means that he saved others at the cost of his own life.” When she raised her head, her expression was composed. “I’m glad you remember him as a brave and honorable man.”

He nodded. “My deepest sympathy to you and to your daughter.” He pictured the two-year-old child who had often been balanced on Emily’s hip as she welcomed him into their home for one of the many dinners Jake had invited him to join. Emily had always greeted Max with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. After a while, he had found ways to avoid her greeting, because just the innocent brush of her soft lips would give him a hard-on. Which made him feel like the lowest variety of pond scum.

Emily nodded and then took a deep breath. “I know you have an important meeting soon, so I’ll be brief. I’ve come because I need your help.”

*

It was difficult to gather her thoughts with Max’s dark gaze boring into her. He’d shaved off the grad student’s beard he’d sported seven years before. His uncovered jawline was sharp, his chin decisive. And his mouth was . . . something she’d rather not think about.

He’d always had the ability to unsettle her, but it had evidently intensified over the intervening years. Of course, he’d gone from being a newly minted PhD to the incredibly successful CEO of V-Chem Industries. He wore power and wealth with the same ease that he wore his dark gray suit and silver tie.

If that wasn’t enough to intimidate her, the size of his office was. Vast stretches of thick carpeting separated a huge sleek desk loaded with computer monitors from a conference table that seated eight and from the conversation area where she now sat, holding on to her precarious courage with both hands.

But approaching Max was her last hope for the children and the dogs, so she needed to focus.

She straightened her spine, the way Jake would when he came to attention. “I’m the director of the Carver Center, which is an after-school program for disadvantaged kids, ages eight through thirteen, in South Harlem. We have an idea for adding an extra dimension of responsibility and love to their lives, and we applied to your Catalyst Foundation for the money to fund it. However, the application was turned down, and we don’t have time to apply elsewhere, so I was hoping I could persuade you to reconsider.” She sent him a pleading look. “Quickly.”

The dark arcs of his eyebrows rose in surprise. “I don’t handle the grants from Catalyst. All decisions on funding are made by Shelby Laird.”

Emily flinched inwardly because she knew that—all too well. She’d been called in for an interview with the tall, skinny Ms. Laird of the pale hair and eyes, who had looked down her nose in a way that made Emily feel like a frumpy worm with pretensions. The woman had dismissed Emily’s idea as impractical and a waste of Catalyst’s money. But Emily knew it would make a huge difference in the kids’ lives.

“I’ve spoken with Ms. Laird already,” Emily said, her heart sinking. Max probably wouldn’t want to overrule his foundation manager.

However, she had to think of the three kids who’d each told her they wanted a puppy for Christmas but knew they’d never get one. The longing in their faces and voices had wrung her heart and then sparked the idea that had brought her to Max Varela’s office in a last-ditch effort to make it happen.

His eyebrows rose again. “What, exactly, is your idea?” he asked in that deep, rumbling baritone of a voice she had always thought sounded like a jaguar purring inside a cello.

“We call the program K-9 Angelz,” she said. “The kids we serve are so often treated as though they don’t matter, so we’ve found a way to make them feel needed and loved.” She held his gaze, willing him to understand. “Each one of them will be assigned their own dog to take care of after school. The dogs will live at the Carver Center. I can get crates and pens donated, but we need a place where we can let them outdoors to exercise and play with the kids . . . and, um, do their business when the kids are not around. I don’t have the staff or the funds to hire dog walkers to take them out as often as they would need to go.”

She paused for breath and to gauge his reaction. When she’d mentioned the dogs, it was as though shutters had closed over his face, and she’d seen a subtle withdrawal in the shift of his wide shoulders against the sofa’s back. Did he dislike dogs? She’d thought that some of the body armor Jake and Max had tested was for the K-9 units, and Jake had never mentioned any issues with Max and the dogs.

So she hurried on to describe another element in the plan. “We’d also like a place to plant vegetables that the kids would help grow. We could use our harvest in the meals the center serves. Think how great it will make the kids feel to know they’ve grown the food they’re eating.”

At this point, she’d hoped for some flicker of interest to encourage her. Max was certainly paying attention—his dark eyes never left her face—but his expression was unreadable. She squared her shoulders and plunged back into her speech.

“Just recently, the empty lot beside the Carver Center was put up for sale for half a million dollars. We had a mortgage lined up and were setting up a capital campaign to fund the payments when a developer offered a hundred thousand dollars more for the lot.” She forced herself to uncurl her fingers out of the tense fists on her lap. “The owner of the lot wants to sell it to us, but he also wants to maximize his profits, of course. And the developer needs to close the deal before the end of the year. Since it’s mid-December, that doesn’t give us much time to raise the extra money.”

Even worse, when they had requested an increase in the mortgage, some higher-up loan officer from outside their local bank branch decided to cancel the whole mortgage commitment, saying the center wasn’t a good credit risk. But she wasn’t going to share that with Max.

“I begin to see Shelby’s issue with your request,” Max said. “Over half a million dollars for a dog park and a few rows of vegetables seems like an underutilization of funds.”

Despair clawed at her chest. She leaned forward for one last desperate entreaty.

“That’s just the underpinning of the program. It’s half a million dollars to give these children a sense of being important in someone’s life, of being loved unconditionally. To teach them what it’s like to have another living being depend on them. I bring my dog to work every day, and I see what an incredible effect she has on the kids. Just think how much more they would grow and blossom with their very own dogs to love.”

Emily realized her voice had gotten louder as her speech had become more impassioned. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But we were so close to making this happen and now . . .” She gestured in helpless frustration.

“How much cash do you have on hand?” he asked.

She tried to keep her gaze level as she gave her pathetic answer. “Not quite sixty thousand dollars.”

He ran his hand over his ink-dark hair, shorter than in the old days, but still thick and waving down to his collar. “I see your problem.”

She sighed. “Our board members are deeply committed but not wealthy or well connected. We had hoped to have more time.” She could see refusal in the downturn of his mouth so she talked faster. “Please, come see the center and the lot. I think you’ll be impressed with what we have already accomplished, as well as our vision for the new program. Give us a chance.”

He started to shake his head.

She closed her eyes, refusing to see his rejection. She had one last card to play, one she had hoped never to use. But it was all she had left. She opened her eyes and reached out in supplication. “In honor of Jake’s memory.”

Max stared at her for a long moment with an odd, arrested expression on his face. Then he made a gesture of apology. “I wish I could, but my schedule is wall-to-wall for the next couple of weeks. I, too, have a deal to close before the end of the year.” He stood. “I’ll ask Shelby to reconsider your proposal.”

Emily wanted to collapse in a heap on the floor and wail. Instead, she forced a smile and a gracious nod.

“With your endorsement, I’m sure Ms. Laird will grasp its merits this time.” Emily was sure Ms. Laird would do nothing of the sort, even if Max spoke to her about it, which she was not convinced would happen. However, she rose and held out her hand. “I’m sorry to intrude on you when you’re so busy, but, honestly, I was desperate.”

Max took her hand between both of his, so the warmth radiated up her arm. Despite her profound disappointment, her body reacted to him with a liquid slide of heat low in her belly. It felt oddly disloyal to lust after a man she’d known when she was married to Jake.

Yet her friends told her it was high time she started to date again, so she shouldn’t feel guilty about a normal response to an intensely attractive man. He was completely out of her reach, which meant there was no danger of anything happening between them.

He had said something in that smooth growl of his that vibrated right down into her bones, but she’d missed the words. “My apologies,” she said. “I was lost in the past.”

The hard contours of his mouth softened into a reminiscent smile. It nearly undid her when white teeth flashed in contrast to the olive of his skin. “Those were heady times. Jake and I felt we could make a difference.”

“You did,” she said. “Jake was so proud when his fellow Marines began to use your body armor. He personally knew of at least half a dozen soldiers who were alive because of it. And I’m sure there were many more.” She had been proud, too. And then furious when he died, in spite of the armor.

Max’s smile faded. “I wish it could have saved him.” He released her hand as his assistant’s voice came from a speaker on his desk, saying his visitors had arrived.

Emily wanted to beg him to wrap her hand in his warmth and strength again, but she flattened her palm against her thigh. “Thank you,” she said. “For your time and your sympathy.”

“Please give Pauline your phone number so we can keep in touch,” he said, walking beside her to the door.

But she knew he was merely being polite. A man like Max Varela had no reason to keep in touch with her.