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  “This job really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Jason said, wondering what it would be like to be embarking on a career that hadn’t been preordained by generations of tradition.

  Had he ever felt that kind of excitement and anticipation? He vaguely recalled feeling that way the first time he’d toured Halloran Industries perched on his grandfather’s shoulders, listening for the first time to the company’s rich history. But that had been long ago. For too long now his job had seemed nothing more than an obligation and a misguided one at that. He had only himself to blame, however, for allowing it to go on so long, for permitting his talent and allegiance to be taken for granted. All of that was about to change, though. He was about to take charge of his own fate. Maybe if he got a grip on his life, he’d feel a little of that energy that seemed to drive Dana Roberts.

  “I can’t begin to tell you how much I would give to work for a man like John Lansing,” Dana admitted with that candor he found so disconcerting.

  None of Jason’s friends would have dared to be so open with their excitement about a mere job. Many, like him, had had their futures cast in stone from birth. All subscribed to the never-let-them-see-you-sweat school of ambition. By hiding any real feelings, they could protect themselves against the humiliation of rejection. Dana had exposed all of her hopes, trusting him with her vulnerability. For some reason Jason couldn’t quite explain, it made him want to do anything to prove himself deserving of her trust. Maybe they could find some way of reaching a truce.

  “How about some dinner? Have you eaten?” If they could actually get through an entire meal without arguing, he would consider it a good omen.

  “No.”

  “Then I recommend the clam chowder.”

  Neither of them seemed quite sure what to do next. They waited in silence for the chowder. When it arrived, Dana ate hers with enthusiasm, but Jason didn’t want to touch it.

  Under her watchful gaze, he made a pretense of eating, dipping up a spoonful of the chowder. But before he could taste it, he pursued all the answers that had eluded him the last time they’d talked. Maybe if he understood her, she wouldn’t get under his skin so. Maybe she wouldn’t torment his dreams the way she had the past few nights.

  “Why are you so anxious about this particular job? You’re good,” he conceded grudgingly. “Any agency would be lucky to have you.”

  “When I was a kid, the place I lived wasn’t so terrific,” she said in what sounded like it might be a massive understatement. “I’ll never forget the first time I went to a museum. All those colors. So much beauty and imagination. After that there weren’t enough colors in my box of crayons to satisfy me. Unfortunately my portraits never quite looked like the people I painted and my landscapes were never as good as what I saw in my mind’s eye. By the time I was a teenager I’d accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to be an artist. I did have an eye for design, though, so I traded in my watercolors and oils for stacks of magazines. I’d clip and paste and create whole new ads.”

  “Then you went to design school, right?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. No money and no time. I took a class or two. I even had an instructor who encouraged me, helped me put together a portfolio, but I couldn’t manage any more than that. Since then I’ve tried to study on my own. I’ve done a lot of reading. My boss at the print shop has let me build a little side business doing small jobs for his customers, but he takes most of the money I bring in.”

  Something that felt a lot like guilt crept over Jason. “This job with Lansing would be your first real break, then?”

  She nodded. “But I can’t take it if it means battling with you every step of the way. We’d both have ulcers inside of a month. No job’s worth that.”

  Jason was surprised by the comment. He’d expected Dana to relish an occasional brawl. She’d struck him as the kind of woman who thrived on doing battle. After all she’d taken him on when she’d perceived him as a threat to her brother.

  “You puzzle me,” he said finally. “Looking at you, I get the impression of someone with a lot of street smarts, someone who doesn’t ever walk away from a fight.”

  “It’s the leather jacket,” she said.

  “It’s true that no one I know would dare to wear one and none of them could carry it off the way you do, but it’s more than that. It’s an attitude. My guess is that you picked that jacket and the other clothes you were wearing when we met—the boots and jeans-on purpose as a way to defy the world, a way to define who you are, a way to cover up just how sensitive you really are.”

  “You can tell all that from a jacket?” she said dryly. “Actually, Dr. Freud, I picked the jacket because it was warm and would last through more then one season. It was on special at one of those out-of-season sales at a discount store.”

  “Right. Would you have picked a cashmere coat if you’d been able to afford it?”

  She reached over and touched the topcoat he’d left hanging from a rack at the end of the booth. An expression of near reverence crossed her face. “Is that what this is?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s very soft.”

  “But would you wear it?”

  She stroked it again, the gesture so sensual that Jason could practically feel her touch his flesh. His pulse hammered as her fingers caressed the wool, and his breath seemed to lodge in his throat. If he got this overheated watching her touch a piece of material, what would happen if she ever caressed him with the same level of intense curiosity?

  “It doesn’t have a lot of flair,” she finally admitted.

  “Exactly.”

  “If you hate it so much, why do you wear it?”

  “The material comes from Halloran Industries. It would be tacky if the owners of the company didn’t wear clothes made from our own fabrics. According to Grandfather, we’re all walking advertisements for the company. He keeps a tailor on staff, just to do custom work for us.”

  “So convention means a lot to you?”

  Jason thought about the question. The answer wasn’t nearly as simple as it should have been. In his world convention meant everything—and nothing. He tried to explain, as much for his own benefit as hers.

  “I’ve been brought up to believe that the world operates according to certain rules. Some of those rules may seem silly and outdated to me, but I can’t deny that they’re pretty deeply ingrained. It’s only been in the past few weeks that I’ve ever thought of even questioning them, much less rebelling.”

  She propped her chin on her hand and regarded him with evident fascination. “And what would a man like you consider rebellious? Trading cashmere for leather? Having dinner with the hired help?”

  Jason couldn’t miss the edge of cynicism in her voice, even though there was a glimmer of surprisingly tolerant amusement in her eyes. “It’s funny,” he observed, “I can’t tell if it’s me you’re putting down or yourself.”

  “Whether I’m dressed like this or in jeans, I know who I am,” Dana retorted. “Doesn’t sound to me as if you can say the same.”

  Jason didn’t like the fact that this woman seemed capable of reading him so easily. “I suppose there’s no denying that. I’ve been questioning a lot of things about my life lately.”

  “Why? You have everything a man could want.”

  “On the surface I suppose that’s the way it seems. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that just because I’m a Halloran things automatically run smoothly in my life. It’s not true. Haven’t you ever heard the expression money can’t buy happiness?”

  “I’ve heard it. I just never believed it. Having money sure beats what’s second best. I’m an expert at that.”

  Because she’d opened the door and because he didn’t want to delve too deeply into his own admittedly sour attitude, Jason dared to probe. “How much trouble are you in financially?” he said, thinking of her reaction to the loss of the few hundred dollars Sammy had stolen.

  “I’m not in trouble. I’m not even in d
ebt.” She gave him a wry little smile. “I pay as I go. I learned long ago that credit is a dangerous business. When my father walked out, he left us with a stack of bills that my mother couldn’t have paid if she’d worked nonstop until she was eighty. As it was, she just died right then instead. I paid what I could.”

  Jason felt something constrict in his chest. “How old were you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  He couldn’t hide his dismay. “What on earth does a sixteen-year-old do to pay off her father’s debts?”

  Dana’s expression darkened at something in his tone. “I didn’t do it on my back, if that’s what you’re wondering about,” she said with ice in her voice. “I’ve never been that desperate.”

  The angry retort stunned him. Her fury was awfully close to the surface. Why, he wondered. Had too many men assumed she’d be grateful for a little help in exchange for a closer relationship? His own tone softened. “You’re very quick to jump to conclusions, aren’t you? I never for a moment thought that you did anything like that.”

  “Not even for a split second?” she countered, her disbelief plain. “I mean what else can some uneducated woman who needs money do, right? Maybe you should tell your grandfather your suspicions. That certainly ought to discourage him.”

  He leveled a look straight into her eyes. “I have a feeling a woman as determined and remarkable as you are could do a lot besides trade sex for money,” he said quietly. “How did you survive?”

  Apparently his tone calmed her down. She shrugged. “As a matter of fact there were days when I thought it was going to come to…what we were talking about, but I had Sammy to think about. I didn’t want him growing up with a twisted view of what it took to get ahead.”

  “Is this the same Sammy who stole your savings?” he said wryly.

  She nodded, her expression pained at the implied failure. “I’ve tried so hard with him. He’s just going through a rough time right now, like all teenagers,” she said with more hope than conviction. “He’ll be okay.”

  “How old was Sammy when all this first happened?”

  “Nine.”

  Jason was appalled. And impressed. This hellion with the fierce pride and the fiery temper had gumption. He’d give her that. It made his own complaints seem petty. Obviously Dana had never been daunted by the task she’d set out to accomplish. Nor did she seem the least bit resentful of the circumstances which had heaped such a burden on her slender young shoulders. She had simply coped. Would any of the women he’d known before have done as well? For all of their strengths and charm, he suspected many of them would have floundered without wealthy daddies to turn to, without deep pockets to finance their fancy colleges and designer wardrobes or to provide seed money for their first businesses. His respect for Dana grew enormously.

  “Why didn’t you ask for help?” he said. “There are social programs, legal aid, food stamps.”

  “Sure. And the minute they discovered that we had no adult supervision, they would have split Sammy and me up. I couldn’t let that happen. We may not have much of an example, but family counts,” she said fiercely. “I wanted Sammy to know that.”

  “Where did you live? How did you make ends meet?”

  “At first I found a rooming house that would take us. This friend of my mom’s got us in. Nobody paid much attention to who lived there. I worked two jobs most of the time. I had to lie about my age, which wasn’t all that difficult since I was always tall for my age. At the kind of places I worked, no one looked that closely, anyway. They were more interested in whether you’d steal from the cash register. I never touched a dime, I showed up on time and I didn’t spill coffee on the customers. Those were the only credentials they seemed to care about.”

  As if she’d just realized how revealing the conversation was becoming, she began to withdraw. Jason could see the mask shift into place, the struggle to regain the distance she normally kept between herself and the outside world. She took a deliberate drink of her coffee, then another spoonful of soup. Jason waited, wondering whether she’d say more about herself or hide behind a wall of defensiveness.

  Again, Jason was struck by the combination of childlike enthusiasm and innocence counterpointed by the tough exterior. He noticed for the first time that the fingers clutching the spoon were short, the nails blunt and unpolished. There were scratches on her knuckles, testimony to her attack on him, perhaps. They were a girl’s hands. Yet earlier, as she’d caressed his cashmere topcoat, the gesture had been all woman.

  How many other new things could he bring into Dana’s life to inspire that same balance of innocent wonder and womanly sensuality? Something told him that sharing those experiences with her would banish his jaded mood. He needed desperately to recapture the sense of awe, the sense of unlimited possibilities that remained unshaken in Dana despite her struggles. Perhaps she could show him the way.

  Wide blue eyes, filled with uncertainty, met his gaze at last. “I’m sorry. You didn’t come here to listen to my life story.”

  “No, it’s okay. I think I can see now why you jumped all over me on Saturday. If I had been the man who tried to get your brother involved in selling stolen property, I would have deserved it. Have you found out who was responsible?”

  “Not yet,” she said with a glint of determination in her eyes. “But I haven’t given up. Sooner or later, I’ll find him.”

  “Why not just turn what you know over to the police?” He guessed the answer even before she could speak. “Never mind. You don’t want to involve your brother, right? Maybe you should. Maybe he should get a taste of the kind of tough questions they ask criminals, the kind of future in store for him if he gets in any deeper with this guy.”

  “I will not turn my brother in to the police,” she said with fierce protectiveness. “We seem to have gotten off the track here. Can you forgive me for what happened on Saturday? Can we try to work together?”

  For an instant he actually considered saying yes. Then he saw a future filled with conflict. They were too different. Opposites, in fact. They would clash over everything. And, despite what his grandfather thought, she was all wrong for Halloran Industries and for him.

  “Have you ever planned a marketing campaign?” he asked mildly.

  “No, but…”

  “Do you know anything about advertising?”

  “Not exactly, but…”

  “Can you buy TV time, magazine space, newspaper ads?”

  “That isn’t…”

  “Tell me, what demographics should Halloran Industries be appealing to?”

  Her face was flushed by now and the sparks in her eyes could have started a blaze. He had a hunch she was about to tell him off in no uncertain terms, but he forestalled all of her arguments by saying, “Sorry. I think it’s pretty obvious that it just wouldn’t work.”

  She blinked furiously against the tears welling up in her eyes. Jason felt like a heel. He knew that half of those questions he’d thrown at her weren’t things she needed to know. An experienced graphic artist might have known the answers, but it was hardly a requirement for doing skillful designs. That’s why agency staffs included copy writers, researchers and all the other experts needed to plan a successful marketing strategy.

  “I’ll help you find something else, though,” he promised in a rush of guilt. “I’ll even recommend that Lansing take you on and assign you to other accounts.”

  “I really wouldn’t want you to put yourself out,” Dana said stiffly, stubborn pride written all over her face. “I’d better be going. I can see this was a mistake.”

  She scrambled out of the booth, grabbing her jacket and ran from the restaurant. An odd, empty feeling came over Jason when she’d gone.

  “It was the only thing to do,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Sir?” Giles said, his expression concerned as he gathered up the dishes from the table. “Is everything okay?”

  “No,” Jason said. “Everything is definitely not okay. Bring me anothe
r Scotch, will you? In fact, bring me the whole damned bottle.”

  Chapter Four

  All the way home on the bus, through a sleepless night and on into the next day day Dana tried to dismiss the trembly feeling in the pit of her stomach as nothing more than the pitch of acid. Jason Halloran had infuriated her. He’d led her on, hinted that perhaps they could find some means to coexist. Then he’d shot her down. No wonder her stomach was churning.

  As angry as she was, though, she sensed she had made a very narrow escape. The unexpected effect of those few brief moments of Jason Halloran’s warm attention had just about stolen her breath away. No man had ever, ever looked at her quite that way, had ever listened so intently, as if she were special and not just another conquest. The guys in the neighborhood had made their crude passes, but she’d fended them off easily enough and forgotten about them in a heartbeat.

  None of them had made her tingle inside, though. None of them had stirred the kind of waking, temptation-filled dreams Jason Halloran stirred without even trying. A woman could land in a lot of trouble if she took his kindness seriously. Those warm feelings he inspired had turned to ashes.

  Luckily her work at the print shop was piled high. It kept her from remembering the way his gaze had lingered, the way his fingers had curled reassuringly around hers for just an instant, the way his lips had curved into an unforgettable smile.

  No, dammit! She would not remember. She had plans and those plans did not include making big mistakes, not when it came to her heart. Besides, she couldn’t afford to allow herself to become distracted by a man, especially one as unsuitable as Jason Halloran. With his stuffy, conservative way of thinking, he was the kind of man who could easily turn into a white knight. He would want to do things for her, make her life better. Just look how he’d offered to help her find a job, if only to get himself off the hook. Before she knew it, she would be counting on those little snatches of generosity. She would become weak. And when he lost interest in helping, as everyone who’d ever mattered to her had, this time she might not have the strength to fight back.