Megan Roarke hated shopping.
Her older sister often teased that there was something
defective in Megan's double-X chromosome that she balked at
going to the mall. Of course, Megan couldn't expect her to
understand. Ashley was "the beautiful one"—the
one who looked good in anything and drew glances of
admiration wherever she went.
Megan, on the other hand, had always been referred to as
"the smart one." She'd started to read when she was
three years old and had spent most of the next twenty years
with her nose in a book. She read everything she could get
her hands on—from fantastical stories about magical
lands to biographies of world leaders to technical manuals.
Books were her bridges to so many different places,
knowledge was the key that opened new worlds—and a
whole lot of other clichรฉs that hid the real truth: she'd
been a painfully shy and socially inept child who found
refuge from the harsh realities of life between the covers
of a book.
And through her reading, she'd learned that the childhood
labels attached to herself and her sister did both of them a
disservice. While Ashley was undeniably beautiful, she was
also a smart and savvy woman; and though Megan accepted that
there would always be people who were intimidated by her
high IQ, she knew her intelligence wasn't the sum total of
her character.
Still, she didn't bother to try and dispel the stereotypical
image people inevitably formed when they learned that she
was a scientist, because she
was a lab geek. She
loved her work, and she would much rather spend time with
formulas than people. Not that she disliked people, exactly.
She just didn't understand them. Elemental properties were
consistent and chemical reactions were predictable. Human
beings, on the other hand, always seemed
inconsistent and
unpredictable.
Ashley claimed that was what made people so interesting, and
she would know. Not only had Megan's sister enjoyed an
active social life before she'd met the man who was now her
fiancรฉ, she taught first grade at a local school and
absolutely thrived in the environment of incessant noise and
unending chaos that was created by twenty six-year-olds in a
classroom.
But it was the recent engagement that was the cause of
Megan's dreaded trip to the Pinehurst Shopping Center.
Apparently it wasn't enough that Trevor had put a ring on
Ashley's finger, now they were having a party to celebrate
the event.
"Nothing fancy," Ashley had assured her. "Just
drinks and hors d'oeuvres with family and some close
friends."
Of course, Megan knew her sister's definition of
"nothing fancy" was drastically different from her
own and that even drinks and hors d'oeuvres required
something a little more formal than comfy faded jeans and
her favorite "Go Green" T-shirt—especially
since their mother had become involved in the planning.
The sky had turned dark by the time Megan pulled into a
vacant parking space and the first drops of rain were
starting to fall as she dashed across the lot.
The mall was busier than she would have expected for a
Friday afternoon, and she found herself hesitating inside
the entrance.
She'd always been a little uncomfortable in crowds, always
feeling as if everyone was looking at her. It wasn't just an
irrational feeling but a ridiculous one, because the reality
was that no one ever noticed her. Megan didn't stand out in
a crowd of one, but she still had to force herself to take a
deep breath before she could step forward.
For a lot of years, she'd simply avoided crowds rather than
fight against the panicky feelings they stirred inside. But
over the past few years, she'd made an effort to overcome
this fear, and had mostly done so. She rarely felt afraid
anymore, just awkward and uncomfortable.
A strand of hair had come loose from her ponytail and she
tucked it behind her ear as she studied the mall directory,
looking for Chaundra's Boutique.
"I asked Anne-Marie to set aside the cutest little dress
that I know will look fabulous on you," Ashley had told her.
Nothing had ever looked fabulous on Megan's shapeless frame,
but she hadn't disputed her sister's statement. There was no
changing Ashley's mind once it was made up and if she wanted
her to buy this dress, Megan would buy the dress. It was
certainly an easier solution than having to pick something
out on her own.
She headed through the maze of halls toward the boutique.
Thirteen minutes later—three of which were taken up
with a phone call from Ashley, who wanted to make sure Megan
hadn't forgotten to stop at the mall and then, when she
realized her sister was in the boutique, convinced her to
let Anne-Marie pick out some jewelry to go with the
dress—she was on her way back out again. A relatively
quick and painless shopping experience, Megan thought
gratefully, as she retraced her steps toward the exit.
An opinion that quickly changed when she stood at the doors
and stared out at the rain pounding down on the pavement.
With a sigh, she folded the dress bag over her arm and
pushed open the door. She was halfway to her car when she
realized her keys weren't in her pocket—and totally
drenched by the time she turned around again.
She tracked her keys down in Chaundra's Boutique, by the
register where she'd set them down to answer her sister's
call. She thanked the perpetually smiling Anne-Marie again
and left the store, wondering how anyone could be so perky
all the time, thanking her lucky stars that she worked in
the lab where smiling was optional.
Then she turned the corner and walked into a brick wall.
Okay, so it only felt like a brick wall, Megan acknowledged.
What it was, in reality, was a man's chest.
She berated herself for her clumsiness as she lifted her
gaze and prepared to apologize. But the words stuck in her
throat when she pushed her soggy bangs away from her face
and recognized the man standing in front of her.
Gage Richmond.
The younger son of the CEO of Richmond Pharmaceuticals. The
man whose mere presence always made her pulse race and her
knees quiver.
The first time she'd met him, on her first day of work at
the R.P. lab, she'd nearly melted in a puddle at his feet
just because he shook her hand. The man was seriously
hot—and Megan had been seriously smitten. Not that she
would ever admit it, of course. In fact, she went out of her
way to avoid him whenever possible because she didn't want
him to know that her heart beat a little bit faster whenever
he was near. And she didn't want to acknowledge—even
to herself—that she was shallow enough to be attracted
to a hard body and sexy smile, especially considering her
past experience with his type.
On the other hand, no one she'd ever known quite measured up
to Gage Richmond. He had thick, light brown hair that curled
just above the collar of his shirt, stunning golden brown
eyes surrounded by unbelievably long lashes, a strong square
jaw and a temptingly shaped mouth. And then there was his
body—a long and lean six feet two inches of delicious
and delectable male.
"Sorry about that," he said, holding out the keys
that had slipped from her grasp when they'd collided.
"My fault," she managed to reply, looking away again
and desperately hoping that he wouldn't recognize her.
"No, it was mine. I wasn't paying attention to where I
was going." Then he destroyed her meager hope by saying,
"It's Megan, right?"
She nodded, a little surprised that he'd remembered. Men
like Gage Richmond didn't usually notice women like her,
despite the fact that she'd worked for his father's company
for almost three years.
"I guess it's really raining out there now," he said.
"I wouldn't know," she said. "I generally just
drench myself before coming out in public because I like the
wet look."
Ashley had often said her tendency to hide her fears and
insecurities behind sarcasm was going to get her in trouble
someday and, even as the words spilled out of Megan's mouth,
she wished she could yank them back.
But Gage only grinned. "I'd say it's a good look for you
except that you're shivering."
"The price women pay to be fashionable."
"How about a cup of coffee to warm you up?"
Gage Richmond was asking
her to have coffee with
him? Megan couldn't believe it.
"Or don't you drink coffee?" he prompted.
"No," she said. "I mean, yes. I do drink coffee.
But I'm not drinking coffee now. I mean, I don't want any
coffee. I want to go home."
Megan could hear the words tumbling out of her mouth, but
didn't seem able to stop them. If they'd been in California,
she could hope that the ground would open up and swallow her
whole. But in Pine-hurst, New York, earthquakes were
extremely rare, so she was forced to live with the
humiliating knowledge that she'd made a complete fool of
herself in front of her boss's son.
But Gage either didn't notice or didn't care that she was
rambling almost incoherently, because he asked, "Is
there anything I can say that would talk you into hanging
around for another half an hour or so?"
"Why do you want me to hang around?" she asked bluntly.
He lifted one broad shoulder in a half shrug. "I'm kind
of stuck trying to figure out a birthday present and I would
really appreciate a woman's input."
"A birthday present?"
"For my seven-year-old niece," he clarified.
"I don't know a lot about kids," she told him.
"Yeah, but you probably know more than me. Please?"
It wasn't the word so much as the silent entreaty in those
golden brown eyes. And if there was a woman alive who could
say "no" to such a plea—and Gage's reputation
led her to believe that there wasn't—she'd have to be
a stronger woman than Megan because, even while her mind was
scrambling for a reason to refuse, she was nodding her head.
Between his four nieces, Gage had garnered a lot of
experience in gift buying over the past several years, most
of it successful. But he always seemed to strike out where
Lucy was concerned.
His youngest niece was a mystery to him. With the other
girls, at least when they were younger, he could usually go
into any store and pick up the newest and hottest toy. Of
course, Gracie was almost a teenager now, so gift
certificates to her favorite clothing stores were an obvious
solution. The twins, Eryn and Allie, were close to the
double digits and though they had little in common aside
from their golden hair and green eyes, were both easily
pleased. But Lucy, on the verge of her seventh birthday,
continued to baffle him.
She was quiet—which maybe wasn't so unusual
considering that she was the youngest of four
sisters—and very intense. Whatever she did, she did
with 100 percent of her attention on the task, whether that
task was reading a book, building a LEGO sculpture or
kicking a soccer ball. He'd never known
anyone—especially not a child—with such focus.
But the first time he'd met Megan Roarke, he'd been struck
by the uncanny sense that he'd just been introduced to the
woman his youngest niece would be twenty years in the
future. It was more than that they were both blue-eyed
blondes—it was the quiet intelligence that shone in
their eyes and the concentrated intensity with which they
applied themselves to a challenge. So he figured it had to
be some kind of sign that he'd arrived at the mall to search
for a birthday gift and he'd found the research scientist
instead.
He led the way to the toy store and she followed. He knew
she wasn't the type to talk unless she had something to say
and he didn't mind the silence. It was a pleasant change
from frivolous conversation, although he did wonder why she
didn't seem to want to talk to and flirt with him, as most
women—and particularly those who knew him as the
boss's youngest and only unmarried son—were inclined
to do.
He pondered this thought as he negotiated through the maze
of promotional displays and sale items toward the back
section of the store. Then he wondered why he was pondering.
So what if Megan wasn't interested in him? He wasn't
interested in her, either. She was far too staid, too
serious, not at all the type of woman he usually dated.
Of course, he hadn't dated much at all in the past year and
he wasn't looking for a date now. He was just looking for
help in picking out a birthday gift for his niece.
Megan's eyes widened as she turned down an aisle that was
stacked floor to ceiling with pink packages of various
shapes and sizes.
"This is where I generally start," he told her.
"Usually as long as it's something new and in a big box,
Eryn and Allie are happy."
"Then why do you need my help?"
"Because it's Lucy's birthday."
"How many nieces do you have?"
"Four," he answered. "Lucy, who's going to be
seven, is the youngest, the twins—Eryn and
Allie—are almost ten and Gracie is twelve."
"I really don't know a lot about kids," Megan said
again.
"But you have an advantage over me in that you were once
a seven-year-old girl yourself."
"A very long time ago."
He didn't believe it was so very long ago. In fact,
considering that she'd completed her master's degree in
biochemistry at Columbia University just shortly before
she'd started working at Richmond Pharmaceuticals, he would
bet she couldn't be more than twenty-eight.
She looked younger, though. Both younger and prettier than
he'd expected. Certainly prettier than any woman hiding in a
lab should be, even with the thick-framed glasses. She wore
little if any makeup, but her features didn't need much
artificial enhancement, and the ponytail she habitually wore
emphasized the creamy complexion of her skin.
But there was a sweetness about her, too. A gentle innocence
that was somehow both intriguing and intimidating. In any
event, she was definitely too sweet for a guy like him.
Maybe that was why, prior to their paths crossing
unexpectedly tonight, he'd barely given a second thought to
Megan Roarke. In fact, he'd never thought about her at all
except in relation to her work in the lab.
But their chance meeting—revealing unexpected evidence
of her dry sense of humor—had snagged his attention.
Or maybe it was the garment bag that had piqued his interest.
His mother bought a lot of her clothes from Chaundra's
Boutique, and it surprised him to learn that Megan shopped
at the exclusive women's store, too.
She seemed more like the type to buy what she needed from
Lab Coats 'R' Us, and it made him wonder exactly what was in
the bag draped over her arm.
But he forced his attention away from the woman and to the
task at hand.
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