CHAPTER ONE
The man behind the office’s only desk lounged with an easy grace, his feet propped on the edge of its sleek glass top. Lively blue eyes beneath dark red hair gazed back at her, taking her in from head to toe. Samantha “Sami” Pepper had dressed especially carefully for this interview, even investing in a new pink linen suit that hugged her hips yet didn’t call too much attention to her annoyingly large bust. “I’m sorry,” she said, clasping a crumpled paper to her chest. “I thought this was Mr. Lawrence’s office.”
The man tossed a thick clutch of papers onto the desk and rose. “At your service,” he said, rounding the desk and smiling down at her. “Flynn Lawrence.”
As he moved, Sami saw the similarity in the lithe body, the sexy air of assurance and command. Sean hadn’t mentioned a brother. Or had he? Two years had passed since she’d seen him. “Are you related to Sean?”
The light in his eyes dimmed. He nodded.
“May I speak to him?” She glanced at the survey response in her hand. The return address had been clear. Lawrence Enterprises, at this address in an industrial area of New Orleans.
“No.”
“Oh.” Sami blinked. But she was a woman on a mission. Moving farther into the room, she said, “I realize I don’t have an appointment, but I’m leaving town tomorrow and I received this response only today.” She held out the survey form that was unfortunately beginning to feel damp and mangled. “Your receptionist did say she was sure you wouldn’t mind if I popped in.”
A snort of laughter sounded from across the room. “You’ve got her well-trained,” said a man in a husky voice that sounded terribly familiar.
“No need for the peanut gallery,” Flynn Lawrence said over his shoulder.
Sami turned toward the other man’s voice. He was heading toward her with a slow, graceful stride, an easy grin on his movie star-gorgeous face. She gasped. “You look exactly like Cameron Scott!”
He nodded and extended a hand. “Guilty. And you are?”
“Sami Pepper.” She shook hands, gazing almost shyly at the larger-than-life star. It wasn’t his action movies she admired; it was his fairytale marriage the tabloids loved to document.
“Nice to meet you.” The actor cocked his head toward the other man. “Flynn here has terrible manners. He should have offered you a seat by now.”
“Oh, that is not at all necessary,” Sami said. “I’m looking for Sean Lawrence, not Flynn Lawrence. Mr. Scott, may I say you and your wife’s love story is more romantic than any film ever made. And I love your wife’s children’s books.”
“You have children of your own?”
“Oh, no.” Sami sighed. “Not yet. I’m not even married. But all my friends have kids and I love reading your wife’s stories to them. My favorite one is Sniggle and Snaggle Hike the Grand Canyon. Please tell her how wonderful a writer she is.”
“Why don’t you tell her? We’re having a few friends over for drinks and dinner. Flynn is coming.” He turned toward Flynn, his expression gentling. “But maybe you should help her first with what she needs from your brother.”
Sami fluttered the survey response she was carrying. “Thank you so much, but I’m leaving town in the morning and the last matter I have to check off on my list is my follow-up interview with Sean. If you can just tell me which office is his that would be most helpful.”
Looking across the room, Flynn closed his eyes for a moment and then met Sami’s gaze. “I’m Sean’s executor. If you had business with him I’ll help you in any way I can.”
Executor. Sean was dead? Sami closed the space between them and reached a hand to his forearm. With a gentle touch, she brushed her hand briefly against his skin. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “So very sorry.”
“You are a very sympathetic woman,” Cameron Scott said. “That gesture was very heartfelt.”
“Yeah, well, sympathy doesn’t unbury the dead,” Flynn said, edging his arm away.
“Of course it doesn’t. It must have just happened. He sent this questionnaire back so recently. It can’t seem real yet.”
“What questionnaire are you talking about?” Flynn said.
Sami indicated her paper. “My Dating Analysis Questionnaire. I sent out 177 surveys, to each of the men I’ve been on a date with in the past thirty-one months.”
“Why are you surveying the men you dated, Ms. Pepper?” Cameron asked, as if he were interested in the answer.
Flynn Lawrence, on the other hand, was staring at her as if she’d said something completely crazy.
Sami placed a hand on her hip. “Plenty of men want to go out with me, but after a second date, they almost always disappear. Do you know I have never been on a third date with a man? Oh and by the way, it’s Doctor, not Ms.”
Flynn gave a low whistle. “That last comment might give you a clue.”
Cameron chuckled. “This old married guy wants to get home to my family. Why don’t you two follow along together and duke this out?”
Sami turned toward Cameron Scott. She was awfully tempted to accept his invitation as she would love to meet one of her favorite authors.
Sami glanced over at Flynn just in time to see him drawing a finger across his throat and shaking his head at Cameron. He couldn’t have made it any clearer that he did not want to be stuck with her company. But then she considered that having recently lost his brother, Flynn might not want to be social. She lowered her purse off her shoulder and tugged out the return envelope to check the postmark date.
“Oh, my,” she said. “Your brother must have died within the last week.”
Flynn snatched the envelope from her hand and crumpled it. “He’s been dead thirty-two days.”
“But…” Sami looked from the survey form back to Flynn. “Who sent this then? You?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
His jaw clenched. “It was in his papers. I didn’t want his widow to find it or to receive a follow-up. And the way the cover letter was worded I gained the clear impression that a second and maybe a third would be sent.”
Sami nodded. “I do like to be thorough.” She held out her hand, reflecting that Sean had married, a goal that continued to elude her.
Flynn returned the envelope.
“It was very thoughtful of you to spare your sister-in-law.” She couldn’t help but sigh, though. “Even though it means that all the men who responded married someone.”
“Ever consider you might be trying too hard?” Flynn was looking at her as if he were studying a piece of sculpture in a museum. “My policy is to turn off the brain and let the libido run the show. It’s never failed me.”
Cameron shook his head. “The tragedy of the perpetual playboy.”
Sami nodded. “Sean was like that, too. But he must have fallen in love. And gotten married,” she added softly.
“And had a baby who will never know his father,” Flynn added, sorrow in his voice.
Sami couldn’t restrain her innately sympathetic nature. She reached out again and touched him on the arm, patting him the way she would one of her dogs who needed to be comforted. “How did he die?”
Flynn shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sami remembered that Sean drove like he was competing in a Formula One race. “Was it a car accident?”
“Yes, damn it.” Flynn pulled away from her touch. “He swerved to avoid hitting a dog, lost control, and slammed into a tree.”
“I am so sorry,” Sami said.
“Don’t. Just please don’t,” Flynn said. He gave her a brief smile. “I realize you mean well and it’s a shock to you, too. I guess you went on a date with him.”
“Two, actually.”
“He must have liked you.” Flynn gave a ghost of a grin. “We were both one and done guys, up until the day he met his wife. Then bam, he was a goner.”
Sami sighed. “How romantic. I’m happy he had that joy.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” He stared across the room, his jaw working.
Cameron clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m out of here. See you two at the house. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Jonni would love to meet you, Dr. Sami Pepper.”
“Thank you,” Sami said, first smiling at Cameron Scott and then eyeing Flynn Lawrence with a speculative glance. As soon as Cameron passed through the doorway, she said, “You really do not have to go with me. Give me the address and I’ll pop in, meet Jonni Scott and be on my way.”
Flynn shook his head. “Oh, no. What Cameron wants, Cameron gets. He’s my number one client.”
“Oh,” Sami said, processing his statement. “Are you in real estate? Your brother was a physicist.”
“Not real estate. I’m a personal manager. Movie stars, musicians, that sort of thing.”
“Do you enjoy your profession?”
Flynn looked at her as if no one had ever asked him that question. “What’s not to like? All the money and women I want.”
She tipped her head to one side. “I see.”
“You see what?” He sounded annoyed.
Sami shrugged. “I would suggest that you have yet to achieve the top level of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.”
Flynn turned back to his desk, opened a drawer, and snatched his keys. “You brainy types can be very annoying. What kind of doctor are you? Surgeon? Endocrinologist? Otolaryngologist?”
“You know, I never manage to pronounce that last specialty without mangling the nomenclature,” Sami said, giving Flynn one of her sweetest smiles. She was sure he didn’t mean to sound sarcastic. It had to be his grief and pain talking. Sean had been one of the nicest guys she’d ever dated. They’d met while each was at a conference in Las Vegas and had played goofy golf. It wasn’t until the second date, after she’d stayed up all night to brush up on quantum mechanics and Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, determined to make sure he was impressed with her ability to speak his language, that things had gone the familiar downhill route of all her second dates. He’d made an excuse to ditch her right after dinner. She’d never heard from him again.
And now he was dead. And his brother clearly grieved his loss. Sami tucked the envelope and survey response into her purse. “I’m not a medical doctor,” she said. “I have a Ph.D. in philosophy.”
Flynn Lawrence gazed at the pink and blonde bit of feminine perfection standing so close to him. In a perfect world, he and this babe would be on their way for a drink, dinner, and then hot sex, preferably at her place so he could yank his jeans back on and be out the door before she could ask him if he preferred a bagel or pancakes for breakfast. He had a woman he’d met last night lined up for exactly that mission and now here he was saddled with escorting this hopeless romantic to Cameron and Jonni’s. Five minutes around those two love birds would have her sighing and dreaming of happily ever after.
Flynn had his rules. He did not hit on women who had Husband and Baby penciled in on their Day-Timers. “Philosophy. That explains a lot,” Flynn muttered, striding to the door and waiting for her to follow him.
“The fact that I have earned a doctorate in philosophy explains nothing,” she said, rather primly. “Logically, you might conclude that should you require medical attention, you should not call me.”
Flynn jerked his head toward the doorway. “End of lecture, Dr. Pepper.”
Sami followed him out of his office, pulling sunglasses out of her purse. “I’m sorry I corrected the Ms.” She propped the glasses on her perfect button of a nose, a nose that was actually kind of appealing. Flynn studied the curve of her upper lip, the plump pink curve of her mouth. If only she’d stop talking, she’d be quite kissable.
“You were only being precise,” he said, pushing open the outer door.
“It’s automatic,” she said. “I mean it comes out of my mouth without my brain being engaged.”
“Honey, I know what automatic means.” He popped his sunglasses on.
She had the grace to blush. “Well, of course you do. Who wouldn’t know? Look, I said I’m happy to go on my own.”
Flynn shook his head. Parking at Cameron’s was going to be a struggle. He could pull into the Scotts’ garage but she’d be left to seek street parking. When it was this easy to make Cameron happy, though, he didn’t mind doing it his way. And despite her somewhat wonky way of speaking, the blonde was pretty darn attractive.
He guided them to his reserved parking space. Sometimes when he was in New Orleans on business he rented a car, but today he had one of Cameron’s spare Volvos. He opened the passenger door and as he did he remembered that Jonni kept a child’s safety seat in the back of all their cars. He didn’t mind it being there when he was the only passenger, but having a car seat in the back when he was driving with a hot babe gave him the willies. He didn’t want to be that man, not now, not ever. Blocking her way, he said, “What say we take your car? I’ll take a cab back from Cameron’s and pick up my wheels later.”
He watched as she leaned around him, peering through the darkened windows.
“Hiding one of your babes in there, Mr. Lawrence?”
Flynn slammed the door. “Where’s your car?”
“Follow me,” she said, heading in the direction of the Visitor parking.
She walked with grace and surprising speed, her hips swaying just enough to catch his eye. Nice hips. Tiny waist. The only thing wrong with her outfit was that short box of a jacket. He sped up his pace, to walk alongside her, close enough to check the inviting gap in the button-less jacket. A hot pink camisole showed enough to hint at the generous swell of her breasts.
She stopped abruptly and clicked her key fob. His eyes on her cleavage, Flynn didn’t see the concrete bumper of the parking spot. His foot hit the edge and he tripped, barely saving himself from a fall. He bit back a curse.
“Mindfulness, Mr. Lawrence,” she said. “Staying present in the moment is the key to a calm mind.”
Hell, he’d been more than present. He’d been about to savor a virtual taste of the creamy flesh peeking from her cami. That lecture hall voice brought him securely back to the moment. “Are you always so…so…?” He couldn’t think of the right word to describe her combination of allure and annoying-ness. He knew that wasn’t a word but his brain couldn’t come up with anything better.
“Precise?” Sami shook her head and opened the driver-side door of a small but sporty- looking Honda. “I am programmed to strive for perfection, but sadly, I tend to fall short. And if I begin to feel anxious or out of my element I use words to cover up any shortcomings.”
“Silence might take a heck of a lot less effort,” Flynn said. “I’m happy to drive.”
“Thank you, but I prefer to drive.” She slid behind the wheel. “I enjoy being in control of my destiny.”
He got into the passenger seat. It wasn’t worth arguing over, but he hated not being the driver. Men drove. Women sat in the passenger seat. He never thought of it as sexist; it was the way he lived his life.
“So it must make you crazy that you didn’t get everyone to answer your questionnaire.”
Sami gunned the engine and swung out of the parking spot just as another car pulled out opposite her. The other driver laid on the horn and Sami did, too. Then she switched out of reverse and roared out of the lot, barely slowing at the stop sign. “Let’s not discuss my questionnaire,” she said. “You and I have never gone on a date; therefore your input would be meaningless.”
Flynn held onto the arm rest with one hand, the edge of his seat with the other. “Have it your way, Dr. Pepper.”
She raced around a delivery truck. “Why don’t we drop the doctor nomenclature? You may call me Sami.”
He flashed a grin at her. “Okay, Sami.” He closed his eyes briefly as she swung onto the Earhart Expressway, ignoring the “No right turn on red” sign. “So, Sami, where do you work?”
She wrapped a hand around her hair, pulling it to one side and giving him an improved view of her cleavage. “St. Charles University. Philosophy department.”
“Hmm,” he said. His favorite part of school had been spring break. “So you teach classes?”
“And research and write.”
“Funny, I’d think everything had already been discovered in a field like that. It’s not like philosophy is gene mapping or discovering a cure for cancer.”
“There’s always more to learn. About everything.”
Her breasts rose and fell quickly under that dowdy jacket. Flynn noted the move with heightened interest. “That research and writing thing. That’s what led you to develop that questionnaire?”
She nodded. “I was seeking information from which to form a hypothesis that would allow me to achieve my personal goals.”
“Whoa,” Flynn said. “Can you say that in English?”
She cast a sideways glance at him. “I want to get married and have babies. But I’ve never gone on more than two dates with the same man. My questionnaire was a means to study what is causing me to fail.”
Rarely was Flynn at a loss for words. He stared at the luscious armful of female only a few inches from his touch. What man wouldn’t want to strip that jacket off her body, tease that camisole over her head, and slowly, oh so slowly explore every curve? And those rosy lips were made for kissing. He shifted in his seat. Damned if he wasn’t getting hard just picturing this woman naked.
“You’re doing it,” Sami said, in a forlorn voice.
Flynn jerked out of his fantasy. “Er, doing what?”
“Thinking of having sex with me. Once. And then dropping off the planet.”
“No. Well. So, okay, I was. What’s wrong with that?” Flynn reached over and brushed his fingertips along her cheek. “You are one gorgeous woman.”
Sami pounded a hand on the steering wheel. The light at the end of the expressway turned red. She slammed on the brakes. “I have a rule. No sex on the first date.”
“Sensible,” Flynn murmured, thinking the opposite. Then he thought of his brother. “What about on the second date?”
“That depends.” Sami gunned the accelerator. “But that’s personal and I don’t know you so I believe we should change the subject.”
He gave her one of his slow smiles. He’d bet he could make her break her rule about first dates. But it wasn’t something he was going to put to the test. Just the possibility that she and Sean might have done it made something inside him tighten up. He missed his brother so much he couldn’t stand it if he thought about him too often. “Good idea,” he said.
Sami slowed the pace of the car and concentrated on avoiding the worst of the potholes on the well-traveled street. What was it with guys? She knew he’d been staring at her breasts since they’d gotten into the car. He was way more intrigued with what she might look like naked than with exploring the theoretical bases for questionnaire development in her search for true love. What had Cameron Scott said about Flynn? The tragedy of the perpetual playboy. And Scott should know. His sexual exploits in his pre-Jonni days had been fodder for the tabloids for years. He and his pal carried mirror DNA. “I need our destination,” she said, swerving to avoid a Coke delivery truck stopped in the lane of traffic. A few horns blared but she ignored them. Driving in New Orleans was fun.
“Right,” he said.
She saw him loosen his grip on the seat. “Seriously, Mr. Lawrence,” she said, “you have nothing to fear from my driving style. It is one area in which I allow myself free expression and I have yet to suffer an accident.”
“In every other aspect of life you maintain rigid control?”
“That would be a valid conclusion.” She glanced over at him. To her surprise he was laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone like you. Ever. You lecture me on living in the moment and then proclaim you are in control of your life 24/7. Babe, you need to let go. Live a little. Quit driving with the brake on.”
“When I need advice, Mr. Lawrence, I will research and locate an appropriate, qualified resource.”
“Pull over.”
“Here?” Sami indicated the warehouses and rundown commercial buildings.
“Yep.”
Maybe he had to find a restroom and didn’t want to ask. Sami slowed and pulled to the curb by an empty lot. She turned toward him, expecting him to be getting out of the car. Instead, he was leaning toward her. He pushed his sunglasses atop his head and slipped hers off her face. Too late, she noted the dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Mr. Law—“
“Hush,” he said, his hands around her head, pulling her close. He tilted her face and as she opened her lips to ask him if he’d lost his mind, he lowered his mouth to hers. Sami gasped. He nuzzled her mouth with his and when she gasped again, claimed her mouth, her tongue, her throat.
She moaned and tipped her head back. He leaned into the kiss, and moved one hand to her knee, teasing her until she moaned again and kissed him back greedily.
Slowly, he lifted his hand from her inner thigh, raised his head, and threw himself back against his side of the car. “Damn,” he said. “I never should have done that.”
Sami snatched her sunglasses back while she commanded her pulse to quit pounding. She smoothed her skirt, all the while refusing to look at Flynn. She should have been angry with him, but she was far more upset with herself for responding to his kiss. She knew darn well he saw her as just another babe, another score. He certainly wasn’t interested in her as a person. “You are correct,” she said, once she thought she could maintain a calm voice.
“Have you ever done something you know you shouldn’t have done?” he said, quirking a brow at her.
Sami put the car in motion while she considered his question. Reflection helped her restore her breathing and her sense of self-possession. “I don’t believe I have,” she said at last. “You have yet to supply me with the Scotts’ address.”
He named a street address in Lakeview.
Sami entered it into her GPS.
He’d started whistling under his breath. It wasn’t a tune she recognized but she could tell he was a good whistler. Listening, she followed the directions in silence. After that kiss, there wasn’t much to say. They would arrive at the Scotts’; she would meet her hostess, stay a short while, and be on her way. She’d never see Flynn Lawrence again.
She bumped over the horrible streets of Lakeview, still in terrible shape years after the levee failures. Probably because she was forced to drive slowly, he’d let go of his grasp on the seat and armrest.
He stopped whistling. “Where are you going tomorrow?” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Back at the production office you said you were leaving town first thing tomorrow.”
Ah, so the man did have listening skills. Sami considered whether she should tell him, but didn’t see any harm in making conversation. They were almost to their destination. “Nashville.”
He made a noise that sounded as if he had swallowed a bone and it was stuck in his throat.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He punched his chest. “Sure. Swallowed funny. Why Nashville?”
“I’m teaching a summer class and house-sitting for my parents.
“Parents. As in your original mother and father?”
Sami looked over at him. “That’s an odd question, but yes, my birth parents.”
“No divorce and remarriage in your family line?” He sounded both wistful and belligerent.
Sami shook her head.
“Siblings?”
She shook her head again.
“I guess that’s why you’re seeking true love. You’ve seen it’s possible.”
Sami decided not to reply to that observation. “And what about your family?”
Flynn waved his hand. “Oh, the usual. Single mother. Two latch key kids. A sperm donor who couldn’t be bothered sticking around.”
Sami’s instinct was to speak words of comfort. This man was carrying a chip on his shoulder, the pain of a little boy who’d never known his daddy. But if she said anything kind, he’d reject it. She’d seen that when she’d offered sympathy for Sean’s death. “Ergo, Mister Playboy?”
He shrugged. “Let’s not analyze me, okay?”
Sami hit the brakes, right in the middle of the street without checking her rear view mirror. “So it’s okay to analyze me but not you? What kind of a game is that?”
The screech of brakes rent the air.
She tensed, but no impact followed. The car behind her had stopped in time.
Flynn stared at Sami. “You swear you’ve never been in an accident?” Why did he have trouble believing her?
She nodded. “No harm done.”
“This time,” Flynn muttered. “Turn right here, then into the second driveway.”
She hit the brake and he almost hit the dash. He reminded himself to always fasten his seat belt with Sami behind the wheel, and then as quickly remembered he’d never see her again. He’d be taking a cab back to collect his car. Funny, but the ride alone in the car with only himself for company would be pretty dull. He pushed that thought out of his mind. As soon as she stopped the car, he jumped out and rounded to the driver’s door. Sami was already pushing the door open.
She stepped out, showing a whole lot of leg as her linen skirt hitched up. He pulled his gaze away.
“Do you mind a man holding a door for you?”
“I really don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never considered the question.” She pulled her sunglasses off. “I’m used to doing things myself.”
Her eyes were a remarkable green with flecks of gold. Flynn pocketed his sunglasses. “You have amazing eyes,” he said, studying them closely. “More emerald than jade.”
Sami slipped past Flynn, safely out of his reach should he attempt another stealth kiss. “And you have a remarkably smooth tongue,” she said. “Shall we go in?”
He didn’t budge. “Do you have a rule against compliments?”
“No, of course not.”
“Hmm, you sure?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Who wouldn’t enjoy a compliment? A heartfelt compliment?” She’d actually been a teeny bit thrilled at what he’d said, until she remembered who was speaking. Flynn Lawrence, ladies’ man.
He smacked his forehead. “You think I’m just playing with you, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She tipped her head to one side, considering the gleam in his eyes and the quirk to his lips. “I think you’re a bit like a cat that goes after a mouse because it can’t help its nature. Nothing can distract the cat from batting the mouse about, until suddenly it’s dead. And as soon as the mouse quits moving, the cat is done with it. No more challenge.”
He gave a low whistle. “I do like a challenge.”
Sami shook her head. “No you don’t. You like to pretend you do, but if you don’t get what you want instantaneously, you move on. Am I right?”
He frowned, moving his gaze from her to some point over her shoulder. Clearly he was focusing on some memory, some faraway scene. “Let’s go in,” he said, turning abruptly toward the sidewalk that led around to the front of the house from the drive.
She’d hit a nerve. Perhaps it had to do with what he’d said about his daddy being a sperm donor. Perhaps she should have gone into clinical psychology rather than philosophy. At the time she’d chosen her major her parents had sat her down and explained how disappointed they were at her decision. For her parents, nothing mattered outside of the hard sciences. For them even psych would have been a poor choice.
Sami followed Flynn up the sidewalk. They reached the door without either one of them speaking. He raised his hand to knock.
“I don’t know why,” he said, “but I’ve enjoyed meeting you. Sometimes I find myself in Nashville on business. I don’t suppose…”
Was he asking her out? Sami stared at him, eyes wide. Was he possibly interested in her as a woman, a person, a human being with thoughts and feelings and goals and actualized potential? Or could he simply not help himself? Did he need to score with every “babe” he met?
“I don’t—“
The front door flew open. Two youngsters raced through, throwing their arms around Flynn. “Uncle Flynn! Uncle Flynn! I lost a tooth. I lost two teeth!”
He dropped down and collected the kids, one in each arm, and carried them into the house. “Erika. Larry. Tell Uncle Flynn all about it,” he said.
Sami’s jaw dropped.