Memories suddenly assailed Zane, and his frown deepened. He had almost reached the altar himself one time, with a beautiful young woman, Melanie Wilson. Melanie had changed her mind at the last minute—declaring with a pretty pout that she just wasn’t ready to settle down—and, ever since, Zane had been very cautious with his feelings. He liked women, he enjoyed their company, but he rarely dated the same woman more than a few times.
Women liked him. Zane knew that he’d broken more than one female heart in and around San Antonio, but the second that he felt a woman was looking for more than friendship or an affaire d’amour, he dropped her. He wasn’t particularly proud of his track record, but he simply could not bring himself to behave any other way. Commitment was a serious step; he’d taken it once and gotten badly burned. It was an experience he didn’t wish to repeat.
Pulling himself out of the past, Zane made a few business calls, then decided to quit for the day. He rarely left the office early, but it had been a rough week, so today he’d go home, change into comfortable clothes and while away the rest of the day in quiet relaxation. It would be a pleasant change of pace. He might even be able to stop resenting his matchmaking family for a few hours. The weekend wedding celebration was, after all, scheduled to begin tomorrow, and now he wasn’t looking forward to it at all. Damn shame too, because he had been, until Heather backed out.
After making one more phone call to let David Hancock—the person who acted as marketing director when Zane was out of the office—know that he was leaving for the day, Zane took his briefcase and departed.
During the elevator ride to the first floor, Zane checked his watch. It was only a little after two, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d left that early without a darn good reason. Today he had no reason at all, merely a disquietude in his gut. He actually thought of faking illness—a bout with the flu would be enough—and calling Parker to tell his friend that even if he happened to feel a little better in the morning, he shouldn’t be spreading germs at the wedding. Parker would be disappointed, of course, but Zane could almost hear him saying, “Hell, man, stay in bed and get well. If you can’t make it, you can’t make it.”
In the parking garage, Zane loosened his tie and walked to his car. During the drive to Kingston Estates, the upscale community where his large, beautiful home was located, he changed his mind fifty times. One minute, he knew that he had to attend the wedding; the next, he knew that he’d have such a miserable time avoiding all the traps set by his sisters and sisters-in-law that he could hardly bear thinking about the weekend.
Zane loved his big family, but sometimes they drove him up the wall. One or more of them also worried the hell out of him at times, but other than the unsolved kidnapping of his nephew Bryan, the child of Matthew and Claudia, Zane’s brother and sister-in-law, things had pretty much settled down in the family. It sure had been a mess for a while, though, what with his father’s fiancée, Lily Cassidy, having been charged with the murder of Ryan’s second wife, Sophia, whom he’d been trying to divorce, so he could marry Lily. Zane couldn’t believe they’d discovered the real murderer was his uncle—Clint Lockhart. But with Clint in custody, Lily had been exonerated, and even while her daughter Hannah had been planning her own wedding to Parker, she had been working on preparations for Ryan and Lily’s wedding as well. From what Zane had heard thus far, it was going to be a very special occasion.
So Hannah was going to be Zane’s stepsister, which made her and Parker’s upcoming wedding no trivial event. Zane knew he should be there, in spite of the personal misgivings that cast a dark shadow on the affair. He was only twenty-nine years old, for crying out loud, certainly not so old that Claudia and his sisters should take up a crusade to get him married. The whole thing just rubbed him wrong, no matter how he looked at it.
Disgruntled and out of sorts because he couldn’t seem to reach a decision he felt he could live with, Zane finally pulled into the wide circular driveway of his home and parked at the front door. Fat lot of relaxing he’d be doing with this problem on his mind he thought cynically as he got out of the car.
Taking his mail from the mailbox, he unlocked his front door and stepped into the elegant foyer. Zane’s Australian shepherd, Alamo, always greeted him at the door, no matter what time of day or night he came home. But today he wasn’t there. Then Zane heard Alamo barking and running through the house, toe-nails clicking on tile, obviously a little late today, but on his way, nevertheless.
Alamo suddenly rounded a corner and, barking happily and loudly, took a flying leap at his master. Zane recoiled, because the dog was dripping water and soapsuds, and now he was wet and soapy, as well. Or rather, his expensive tailor-made suit was.
He had only a second to think about it before a young woman skidded and slid around the same corner, shouting, “Alamo! Darn it, what’s wrong with you today?” At the sight of Zane standing there, her eyes got big and she ground to a halt, mumbling, “Uh, you’re Zane Fortune.”
Zane wasn’t exactly polite. “If you count Alamo, that makes three of us who know who I am. What I’d like to know is who are you, and what in hell is going on in here?” he growled. However unnerving this little scenario was, Zane couldn’t help admiring the figure defined behind the sopping wet T-shirt and old jeans. Whoever she was, she had a drop-dead body. Her face, even crimson with embarrassment, was startlingly pretty, and her long, sun-streaked light brown hair, though flying every which way, was fabulous.
The lady obviously got her wits together because she lifted her chin almost defiantly and said, “I’m Gwen Hutton. I was bathing Alamo, and he must have heard you come in because he suddenly jumped out of the tub. I tried to hold him back, which is why I’m so soggy, but he got away from me, and now you’re all wet too. I hope your suit isn’t ruined.”
Alamo tried to climb Zane’s legs, and Zane issued a quiet command. “Down, boy.” The dog instantly obeyed and lay with his nose on his front paws.
“Let me get this straight,” Zane said. “You’re the person who’s been bathing my dog for the past several months?”
“Among other things, yes,” Gwen replied evenly. “Your secretary, Heather Moore, employed my company, Help-Mate, to do some of the things you apparently don’t have time to do yourself.”
“Never even heard of a company called Help-Mate.”
“Yes, well, as I said, I’ve been dealing with your secretary.” Gwen was catching on to Zane Fortune’s interest in her wet T-shirt. Maybe more unsettling than that, though, was finally standing face-to-face with a man she’d known only through photographs, which wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans if she hadn’t thought him to be the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.
Actually, the photos she’d run across in his house and in the society pages of the newspaper didn’t do him justice. He really was too handsome to be believed, with his perfect features, dark blond hair and electric-blue eyes. And he was taller than she’d expected, at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders and an athletically lean build.
Small wonder he had such a fast reputation, Gwen thought with an inner sigh. Any man who looked like this probably had to beat women off with a stick.
“And you have a key to my house?” Zane asked.
“I’m licensed and bonded, Mr. Fortune, and there is no way I could do what I do without having access to a client’s home.” Gwen plucked the wet fabric of her T-shirt away from her chest, hoping it wouldn’t immediately adhere to her body again. Zane Fortune couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her bosom, and she knew that her nipples were showing right through her bra and T-shirt.
“Uh, what else do you do besides bathe dogs?” Zane was getting a glimmer of an idea, but he needed to know more about Gwen Hutton before advancing it.
“For