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Meg was in trouble. Big trouble.

When Cruz opened the car door and slid inside, the edges of his dark hair were damp with sweat. He flipped the air on high and turned to face Meg. “We’ve got a little bit of a situation here,” he said.

Meg’s stomach clenched. Cruz’s voice was soft, not giving anything away. But he couldn’t control the emotion in his eyes so well.

“What?”

He put his hand on her arm. “Somebody was in your apartment and they did a real job on it. I want you to stay here until they work the scene.”

In her apartment. A real job. She let out a deep breath and sank back into the seat. Cruz dropped his arm, giving Meg the chance she needed to wrench open the door and bolt across the street. He didn’t catch her until she was at the steps.

“Meg, damn it,” he said. “It’s bad.”

“I have to know,” she said. “Please …”

As a child, BEVERLY LONG used to take a flashlight to bed so that she could hide under the covers and read. Once a teenager, more often than not, the books she chose were romance novels. Now she gets to keep the light on as long as she wants, and there’s always a romance novel on her nightstand. With both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director, she now enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime.

Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com or like her at www.facebook.com/BeverlyLong.Romance.

Beverly Long

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Lydia: so sweet, so beautiful. You are loved!

Meg was halfway through her salad when her office door swung open. She looked up, saw him, swallowed too quickly and coughed as if she had a two-pack-a-day habit. When she finally stopped, her eyes were tearing.

Cruz hadn’t moved from the doorway.

His gaze lingered on her face, bold, blatant. Heat was the immediate reaction, starting in her neck and flooding her cheeks until finally it seemed as if the top of her head might explode. Finally, he shifted his gaze and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

The curtains on the big windows were open and he studied the hotel’s towering cypress trees, the manicured flower beds and the exquisite stonework. He gave no indication that he was impressed by the lushness of the San Antonio River Walk. Turning ever so slightly, he inspected the room, looking at the cherry desk, the matching credenza, the leather chairs. “Nice digs,” he said finally.

Her first corner office. She’d worked twelve-hour days for the past year to earn it. “It’s fine,” she said, ignoring the impulse to defend the space.

He nonchalantly rubbed his hand across his chin. Her mostly empty stomach jumped when she saw that he wasn’t wearing a ring. It was pure craziness that she wasn’t sure if that made her sad or happy. She didn’t want him to be alone. Had never wanted that. But then again, she couldn’t stand the thought of him being with someone else.

Which was why she tried not to think of him at all. And most days, she managed pretty well. Leaving him had almost killed her. She couldn’t risk that kind of pain again. “Look,” she said, “I don’t mean to be rude but I’m pretty busy.”

He tilted his chin down. He needed a shave. “It’s been a year, Meg, and you don’t have ten minutes?”

It had been one year and twenty-two days. She’d seen him only once during that time period, but he’d been unconscious, probably hadn’t even known she was there. “I’m sorry. You caught me a little off guard.”

He nodded and continued to boldly stare at her. Her bare arms felt chilled and she resisted the urge to pull at the edges of her V-neck blouse.

She stood up fast. So fast that her skirt caught the corner of the plastic container on her desk and flipped it. Salad spilled out onto the desk.

She ignored it. There’d be plenty of time to clean up the mess later. When he was gone.

“I like the hair,” he said, surprising her.

She wore it shorter than she had before. “Yours is longer,” she said. He’d worn a buzz cut for years and while his thick dark hair was still cut close, it was long enough for anyone to see the natural wave. Other than that, he looked the same.

She thought she recognized the faded brown cargo shorts and the T-shirt that was stretched across his broad chest. She definitely knew the well-worn sandals.

He looked at the nameplate on her desk. “Senior Vice President, huh? Congratulations.”

It was her turn to nod. He’d never been a jerk about her working. Maybe because he’d been raised by a woman who had worked way too hard. “How’s your mom?” she asked.

“Good. Still at the hotel but she’s finally cut back to part-time.”

Maria Montoya had been the hardest working, most welcoming woman that she’d ever met. Her husband had left her and their four children when Cruz, the oldest, was just twelve. She’d managed to hold her family together, to feed and clothe them working six days a week cleaning rooms at a hotel. When Meg had told her goodbye, it was the first time she’d seen disapproval in her soft brown eyes.