The Bravos: Family Ties: The Bravo Family Way / Married in Haste / From Here to Paternity

“Wait.” He spoke softly, but it was clearly a command.

And how many times had he interrupted her so far? She’d lost count. Tension gathered between her shoulder blades. She ordered it away. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited. Calmly.

Serenely.

Fletcher, meanwhile, had turned his attention to his state-of-the-art flat-panel computer screen. He began click-clicking with his cordless mouse.

As instructed, Cleo waited, watching him, her gaze taking in his wide, powerful shoulders, his strong, tanned throat, the handsome cleft in his square chin, the tempting, full shape of his sensual mouth, the …

Cleo caught herself.

Staring at Fletcher Bravo—bad idea.

She looked past him, out the wall of windows behind him, at the bold, smog-layered sprawl of Las Vegas and the bare humps of the mountains, hazy in the distance. Above the city, the January sky was overcast, an unbroken expanse of gunmetal gray. She ordered her mind to pleasant thoughts: a rainbow forming in a waterfall; the laughter of children; the bright, cheerful room at KinderWay where the youngest students learned and played …

“Come here,” Fletcher said.

She refocused on him, meeting again the paler-than-gray eyes that were somehow sharper than any man’s eyes had a right to be—and hadn’t she read somewhere that his father, the notorious murderer and kidnapper, Blake Bravo, had had pale, wolflike eyes? “Excuse me?”

A corner of Fletcher’s sexy mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “I said, come on over her. I want you to see this.”

Why? There was simply no point. Whatever he had on that big screen of his wouldn’t change a thing. Why did he refuse to understand that she’d made her decision on this matter? Why couldn’t he accept that she was only here as a courtesy, to let him know in person that she would not be accepting his offer?

As she tried to come up with a fresh, new—and inoffensive—way to tell him no, he said gently, “Please,” making it impossible for her to refuse his request without coming off as rude and impatient.

Damn him, anyway. He was good. Too good. The man knew how to work a meeting to his own advantage—and yes, she’d known he would be good. Just not how good.

Suppressing a sigh, she rose and circled around to his side of the desk. When she got there, she was careful not to move in too close to him.

“All right,” she said. “What is it?” And then she looked at the screen. Her breath caught. “Amazing.” The word escaped her of its own volition.

“I was hoping you’d think so.”

Captivated in spite of herself, she moved closer. The three-dimensional image could have been plucked right out of her wildest dreams. She was looking at the ideal KinderWay facility. Or nearly so, anyway …

“How did you do that?”

“I hired an architect. I gave him several sources on childhood development and early-learning techniques. I suggested he explore the best facilities around the country—KinderWay included. In my far-from-expert opinion, he did his homework.”

She studied the open plan, the large, inviting learning areas: practical life, shapes and forms, mathematics, language …”It’s excellent.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

She forgot her intention to keep her distance and leaned toward the image on the big screen, resting a hand on the cool stone of the desktop. “I wonder …”

“Name it.”

She could smell his aftershave. Subtle. Pricey. Not that it mattered. “The open area in the center?”

“Larger?”

“Could you?”

“Watch.” He highlighted the area. Two clicks and the central activity floor was half again as large.

“There should be a sink here.” She pointed to the practical-life section.

He chuckled low in his throat. “I’m not an expert on this program. But I can definitely make a note of that—and look.” More clicking and an exterior view appeared. “Separate sheltered entrance,” he said, moving the cursor, using it as a pointer. “Note that we’d have it off the hotel area, nowhere near the casino. And …” The image shifted, the view widening to take in …”A protected, completely enclosed play yard.”

Enchanted, she leaned even closer. “It looks like a private park.”

“That’s the idea. And it’s even environment-friendly. Most of the greenery is drought-resistant.” He clicked the mouse some more. “The pool—”

“The facility would have its own pool?” She couldn’t keep the eagerness from her voice. She’d so wanted a pool at KinderWay. But the cost had been prohibitive when she began. And at her current location she didn’t have the space to add one.

He made a low sound in his throat. “I thought there could be group swimming lessons, perhaps family get-togethers. You could teach water safety….”

“A pool would be a huge addition to the program.” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “It’s a whole other section in terms of life skills.”

He chuckled. “Not to mention that in the summer, all Las Vegas kids ought to have a pool.”

“Great point.” She heard her own laugh rising up, throaty. Warm. She slid him a glance. His silver eyes were waiting….

There was a moment. Time hung suspended, spinning on a shimmering thread. She looked at him and he looked at her….

Somewhere back in her mind, alarm bells jangled. She heard them only faintly.

He said softly, “Your eyes are amber—no, brandy. The color of brandy …”

Straighten up. Step back, her wiser self commanded. She stayed where she was—much, much too close to him. “You’re flattering me.”

“No. Just stating a fact.” He shifted his big body slightly. The movement brought him a fraction closer to her. She saw that there was a distinct ring of icy blue at the outer edge of his irises, making the gray look paler, giving his eyes that otherworldly glow. He said, “Have dinner with me.”

She felt … slower, somehow. Lazy. Her heart was beating thickly, as if her blood had turned to honey. Danny, she thought. Remember Danny. She said, “No. I’m with someone. Someone very special.”

“It’s only dinner.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Brandy-colored eyes. And auburn hair …” He touched her cheek. She didn’t stop him. He brushed a finger along the line of her jaw. It was a shocking and inappropriate intimacy, and she felt it through every singing nerve in her body.

She made herself speak. “Take your hand away, please.”

He did. Then he said, “Dinner,” again, as if she hadn’t just told him no. “Strictly business.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.” Straighten up, you fool, she thought. Step away from him. Slowly her body obeyed. One step, two …

He swiveled his chair around until he faced her and then he leaned back—so cool. So casual. “Business,” he said again. “We’ll enjoy a fine meal and we’ll discuss the new KinderWay facility you’ll be opening right here at Impresario.”