Strictly Confidential

By Karen Leabo

Lauren Fitzhugh learned her lesson when Mick Hanover took her virginity, promised to love her forever, and then married someone else. She's building her store window design business and getting along nicely. The last thing she expects, the last thing she wants, is for Mick to reappear in her life. Still, having a chance to design the windows to a fully rennovated Hanover-Becks Department Store is a career-making assignment. For that, she'll pay any price, even if it means spending time with the man she's promised never to mention again--and never really fallen out of love with.

Mick Hanover knows he made a mistake with Lauren years earlier--but he's free now, and free to pursue the attraction he recognizes that both he and Lauren share. He's intent on winning her over--but as before, complications make this tough. For one thing, his ex-wife drops off his child as she jets down to Mexico for a honeymoon with her new husband. For another, Lauren does her best to resist his charm offensive--although she just can't turn down a chocolate eclair.

BooksForABuck.com favorite author Karen Leabo (who also writes as Kara Lennox) offers up a charming and sexy romance. The family angst--and Mick's decision to give up his child--adds an emotional wallop that can't help pull on the reader's heartstrings. Watching Mick and Lauren grow as they learn to reconcile themselves to a past they cannot change, and dare to take chances with their hearts again, is potent stuff.

For me, the details of Lauren's window design work were an added bonus--who knew this could be such an interesting line of work.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rob Preece
• Release date: Sep 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781602152045

Karen Leabo

Kara Lennox has been penning romance and romantic suspense for Harlequin and Silhouette for twenty-plus years, with more than sixty titles under two names. Formerly an art director and freelance writer, Kara now writes fiction full time. Born in Texas, Kara lives in California with her writer-publisher husband. She loves teaching workshops on writing. You can find her at karalennox.wordpress.com and on Facebook ("karalennox").

Book preview

STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

By Karen Leabo

Published by BooksForABuck.com at Smashwords

Copyright Karen Leabo 2005-2012

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Chapter One

"Miss Fitzhugh, I thought we'd agreed on the lilac dress for the window, not the peach one." Emma Messenger folded her arms and glared up at Lauren Fitzhugh, who stood precariously balanced on a stool in the display window, her mouth full of pins.

Ih din' fih, said Lauren, quickly removing the pins before she swallowed one.

I beg our pardon?

I said, the lilac one didn't fit the mannequin. This new mannequin is, well, fuller busted than the others, for some reason. The peach dress is the only one that accommodates all of her. She looks rather, uh, brazen in the lilac.

Hmmph. The last thing I need is brazen bridesmaids adorning my window. All right, peach it is. Maybe you can do something with the lilac next month.

I'll start thinking about it. Lauren responded as coolly as she dared, though she would have liked to let loose with an unbridled Whoopee! So Emma Messenger planned to use Lauren's window-dressing services on a regular basis. That was the best news Lauren and her depleted bank account had heard all month.

Impatiently she brushed an auburn curl out of her eyes and returned her attention to the task at hand. The mannequins were dressed and in position, but now the trickiest part of her job began. With just a little wire and some nylon thread, she would make it appear that the bride's train was billowing out behind her in the wind. Her silk bouquet would be suspended mid-air--just out of reach of the two laughing bridesmaids.

If she achieved her goal, people who passed this window would have to look twice--just to be sure the mannequins weren't really moving. That was the quality for which her little company, Windows Etc., would become famous some day, she was positive.

Two hours later, standing on the stool once again, she adjusted the angle of the suspended bouquet just as someone knocked on the window from outside.

Though she was used to people doing that, it still startled her. She paused to compose herself, then looked down through the glass at the man who had knocked.

All she could see was a tall, tweed coat. The glare of the spotlights in the window shielded his face. But by the time she'd hopped off the stool to have a better look he was gone.

Shrugging, she slipped her feet into black ankle boots. The display was finished except for the clean-up, and she climbed out of the window to tell Mrs. Messenger. But she'd taken only a few steps before the front door of the bridal shop opened to admit Mr. Tweed Coat, along with a gust of cold wind.

Lauren started to greet the man and then froze, her heart thump-thumping from the shock. Standing before her was the man she'd sworn to love--and then to hate--until her dying breath.

They measured each other up for several more heartbeats. Judging from the look on his face, he was just as surprised to see Lauren as she was to see him. Finally he spoke.

Lauren Fitzhugh, is that really you?

In the flesh. She gave him what she hoped was a neutral smile.

He looked good, she'd give him that. He almost glowed with a healthy California tan. His black hair was shorter than she remembered, the laugh lines around his brown eyes more pronounced. But Mick Hanover was still the choicest-looking male she'd ever laid eyes on.

His face broke into an ear-to-ear grin. Well, don't just stand there, give me a hug!" Mick came closer as he spoke, and Lauren had no choice but to accept the friendly embrace. Unconsciously she inhaled. The woodsy scent of his aftershave was the same, the very same, and her memory of it hadn't dimmed in all the years. Her head reeled with unwanted emotions that curled up from somewhere deep inside her.

She took a step backward. You look great, Mick, she managed, wondering if he noticed the slight choke in her voice.

And you look gorgeous. Again he flashed the smile that had broken dozens of hearts. I can see life's treated you well over these past my God, how many years has it been?

I don't know. That was a lie, of course. She knew how many almost to the day--seven and a half. The closer I get to thirty the less often I count backward. But it's been forever. What are you doing in Minneapolis?

Mrs. Messenger favored them with a throat-clearing that was too loud to be anything but intentionally disruptive.

I can see you're busy, Mick said, dropping his voice. When do you get off work?

Oh, I don't work here, Lauren explained. I was hired to dress the window. I should be through in a few minutes. Good God, what was she saying? What was she doing?

Mick followed with the inevitable question. Why don't you meet me somewhere in, say, an hour? Pushman's Grill?

Pushman's? That's a college kid's hang-out.

It was our hang-out.

As if he needed to remind her, Lauren thought, suddenly on her guard as long-buried memories struggled for her attention.

Come on, Lauren. I'd like to hear what you've been doing with yourself.

All right, then. In an hour.

Lauren kicked herself from seven different directions after he'd gone. Why hadn't she invented some excuse, any excuse, for avoiding him? An appointment with her chiropractor, or a sick aunt who needed her anything?

She didn't want to talk to Mick Hanover. That was a chapter of her life that was long closed and as far forgotten as it would ever be. She didn't want to know anything about her current life, or anything about his current life, or anything about the lovely Mrs. DeeAnn Hanover, either. Did they have children? Did they own a summerhouse in Catalina? God. She so didn't want to know.

Miss Fitzhugh, are you all right?

Lauren unclenched her fist and looked down at the handful of silk rose petals crushed in her deadly grip. Oh. Yes, I'm fine. She dropped the ruined petals into her canvas tote bag and nodded her head toward the completed display. So what do you think?

Mrs. Messenger sighed as she gazed at the spring-like scene in the window. Lauren had arranged the spotlights so they cast sunny-looking dapples of light and shadow in all the right places. It was her best work, even if she did say so herself.

It's beautiful, Mrs. Messenger breathed, her habitually stern expression having melted into something close to pretty. You've worked a miracle. You'll bill me?

Not if I could get you to write me a check on the spot, Lauren thought, again recalling her pitiful bank balance. Of course, she answered with an obliging smile, donning her coat and wrapping a green wool muffler around her neck.

She could stand Mick up, Lauren considered as she climbed into her comfortably old truck and shut the door against the biting January wind. She was sure he wouldn't make the effort to find her. He hadn't so much as dropped her a postcard in seven-and-a-half years. Why would he change now?

After a day or two she could forget that she'd seen him at all, and everything would be normal again. But even as she rationalized, she let the truck drive itself to Pushman's.

* * * *

Mick struggled with confused emotions as he nursed a beer at a back booth in Pushman's, his long legs propped up on the seat across from him. Lauren. She'd be here in a few minutes. What could he ever say to her that would bridge the gap of almost eight years, during which he'd tried to deny her existence?

Perhaps he was foolish for wanting to see her again. But he was determined to see her, no matter what the consequences. If fate hadn't intervened and thrown them together, he would have sought Lauren out, sooner or later. He could admit that now. In the back of his mind, Lauren was half the reason he had insisted on coming to Minneapolis. He was still drawn to her like a cat to cream--a starved cat.

But he hadn't adequately prepared himself for the reunion. When he'd knocked on the bridal shop window, it had been simply to tell the woman that he admired the scene she'd created. It wasn't until he went inside to talk to her about her work that he'd gotten his first really good look at her--and what a shock that had been to his nervous system. Would his reaction have been any less dramatic if he'd had time to prepare? Probably not.

Emotions he'd thought long buried had reared up in his consciousness. He couldn't even remember what he'd said to her exactly--only that he'd folded her into his arms. Lauren in his arms the dream that had tormented him for these many years was suddenly very, very real.

His heart lurched as she came through the front door of Pushman's. She removed her coat and scarf, looking around the crowded bar for a familiar face.

Mick lifted his hand and waved; their eyes connected and she began making her way toward the back booth. It hadn't been his imagination; she was a knockout. Of course, he'd always thought her appealing, even when she was thirteen years old with long, red braids, braces on her teeth and a body like a fence rail. And in later years he'd thought her pretty, even, though his frat brothers often commented that she was only average at best.

How wrong they'd been, Mick mused. Maturity had awarded her curves in all the right places, along with a definite aura of self-composure and capability she'd lacked before. Even her clothes--a clingy, pumpkin-colored sweater over snug tan pants and pointy-toed boots--spoke of a certain panache Mick had never before associated with Lauren. And that cloud of auburn hair

He stood to greet her. Hey, it's almost like old times, watching you make your way through the crowd to our favorite booth.

Not quite. She slipped into the booth across from him, a teasing gleam in her eye. Pushman's has never seen you in a tie.

Well, that's easily taken care of. He pulled off the offending tie and unbuttoned his collar. There, much better. Lauren, I can't get over seeing you again.

Her tentative answering smile was bright, but it didn't extend to her eyes. So tell me what you've doing in Minneapolis. I thought you were on the West Coast.

This is my hometown. I'm allowed to come back for a visit every now and then, aren't I?

The waitress came by, and Lauren ordered a glass of Chardonnay, then laced her fingers on the table in front of her and waited patiently for more of an explanation.

Actually I'm here on business, Mick added. If you've been by Hanover-Beck's in recent years, I'm sure you've noticed how sadly out of date it is. It was my grandfather's first store, and I swear not a penny's been put into its upkeep in twenty years.

Lauren nodded in agreement. I can't tell you how my hands have itched to get hold of those display windows--oh, not that they're ugly or anything--

Mick held up his hand to stop her. "They're hideous, and I'll be the first to admit it. But Hanover-Beck's is going to get a multi-million-dollar facelift. That's why I'm here--to oversee it.

Oh, so you'll be here awhile, said Lauren. DeeAnn came with you, then.

Mick didn't miss the brittle smile. God knows Lauren had no reason to like DeeAnn. Back in their college days, DeeAnn was pleasant only to those she wanted to impress. Lauren hadn't been one of those people.

He shook his head. DeeAnn and I are divorced.

That admission drew a reaction from Lauren, Mick noted with satisfaction. For just an instant, that cool façade had crumbled to reveal the puzzlement and sudden confusion behind the hooded eyes. But she quickly regained her composure.

I'm so sorry, Mick. When did that happen?

It was final only recently, but we've been separated for more than two years. He grinned at her. You don't have to look so stricken. You were right about DeeAnn. You knew all along she was lousy wife material, even if I wouldn't admit it.

I never said--

You didn't have to say. Those big green eyes of yours spoke volumes.

They stared at each other a few more moments until finally Lauren smiled--a real smile, this time, and Mick felt his bones going warm and liquid from the sheer power of it. If he'd thought the years might have softened his desire for her he was dead wrong.

So, what about you? Mick asked, handily changing the subject. Married with a dozen kids? He caught himself waiting almost breathlessly for her answer.

No. Though he couldn't deny he was relieved, her answer was a little too crisp and final-sounding to suit him.

And your dad? How's he doing?

She lowered her lashes and sipped at her wine before answering. He died years ago. Bone cancer. I thought you knew he was terminal.

Mick cringed inwardly. He hadn't meant to be so callous. He supposed he had known about the cancer, but the few times he'd seen Mr. Fitzhugh he was so cheerful and vital it had been hard to remember he had a grave illness.

I'm sorry, Lauren. That was stupid of me to--

She waved her hand, dismissing his discomfort. It was a long time ago, after all. He was a grand old guy, and I'll always miss him, I suppose, but I'm hardly still grieving. There's no need for you to tread lightly. So ... She raised her half-full glass in salute, and Mick lifted his to clink lightly against hers. Now that we've covered death and divorce, shall we discuss nuclear holocaust?

They silently sized each other up once again, and Mick pondered the changes he saw in her. This wasn't the same forlorn Lauren Fitzhugh he'd abandoned at the back door of a dormitory those many years ago. This wasn't the same, transparent