Not sure what he meant by that, she didn’t comment, but concentrated on her food. She noted him eating from the corner of her eye, the precise manner he cut his meat, how he spaced its consumption with the side items, not a crumb escaping or spilling anywhere.

  His plate clean, he sat back, draping one hand over his knee. “Did I do well?”

  She dusted her fingers off on her napkin. “Let’s call a truce. I’ve apologized for the remark. It was uncalled for. Perhaps we can move on?”

  Atlas inclined his head. “I’d rather talk about this event. Your aunt believes in it.”

  Meghan glanced toward her aunt. She’d yet to sit down and eat anything, but buzzed back and forth preparing for the auction.

  “My mother has breast cancer.”

  It was no secret. Everyone invited tonight had some sort of connection to her mother or her aunt.

  Atlas’ gaze altered, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “This is her second bout. The first was minor. She did chemo and was cleared. Now, two years later, it’s returned. But she’s doing well.”

  He appeared to consider his next remark. “She’s a strong woman like her daughter.”

  A compliment. Meghan accepted it with a nod. “If only I could be as strong.”

  He said nothing then, turning his eyes toward the front. “So your aunt auctions off the donations and then …?”

  “There’s dancing if anyone wishes.”

  She wanted to take the words back immediately because a light sparked in his eye and his lips curved in amusement. He sat forward, his gaze unblinking and focused on her.

  “I must claim a dance.”

  With her. That’s what he meant. Her mind split at the thought. Being close to him would be amazing. But forbidden. She’d said she wouldn’t entertain any such idea where he was concerned.

  That was before she’d known he’d be here, however. Before she’d had an hour to admire him. The faint fragrance of his cologne tickled her nose, a lure, temptation fuzzing her thoughts.

  “You’re going to say no?” He spoke quietly, for her ears alone.

  “No. I …”

  She was saved from replying by her aunt rising to the bandstand.

  “I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal. We’re going to begin with the auction. Gloria, if you could come help, and my niece, Meghan.”

  Meghan pushed to her feet, all too eager to escape. Maybe this portion would drag out long enough he wouldn’t hang around. Maybe he’d forget about dancing. After all, why would he want to dance with her in a crowd of this nature with music by a bunch of high schoolers. Laughable.

  “First up,” her aunt said, “is this fine crystal vase donated to us by Mr. and Mrs. Dominguez.”

  Atlas bided his time during the auction. He would have to purchase something, for decency’s sake if nothing else. But he had it in mind more to make a donation. As small and insignificant as the event was against the size of other similar organizations they supported, the ladies here had obviously worked very hard to put it on, and he had to admire their spirit.

  He also admired Meghan Moralez – both physically and, more and more as time went on, mentally as well. Though they hadn’t said much to each other, he’d seen in her face the struggle she had to restrain herself. She wasn’t used to being off kilter, and the fact he made her that way pleased him.

  Now, if he could only convince her to dance. He suspected it would take until the last moment of the night to do that. She’d use the activity of the auction and her responsibilities here to delay. She probably figured he’d leave if she put him off too long, but in that, she was wrong. Because determination was one of his best qualities.

  He held a pleasant and relaxed manner throughout the auction, bidding once or twice for effect, but not winning. The last item gone and the chatter and music beginning again, he rose to his feet. His lack of contribution had been noticed by Meghan’s aunt and several of the other women in charge. His rise and approach toward the front was seen as well.

  He bowed before the old woman. “Ms. Dodge, I would like to make one final purchase.”

  “A purchase?” Her eyebrows rose in a crooked arch. “But we haven’t anything here. I am sorry you missed out on some of the other items.”

  “As am I,” he returned. “But I think you’ve forgotten the most priceless item you have.”

  The folds of her skin blotched red. “You’ll have to tell me what that is because I don’t know.”

  He motioned toward the mic. “If I might?”

  She nodded. “Of course. I should have asked if you’d like to speak. I’m so grateful you came tonight, and …”

  The squeal of the speaker interrupted her spiel and brought the eyes of the crowd back to the front. He tapped the mic twice with his forefinger and widened his smile.

  Meghan halted in place, halfway back in the room. He met her gaze and marveled again. She was extraordinarily beautiful.

  “Good evening,” he said. “My name is Atlas Bellamy, and I’d like to make a purchase.”

  A murmur crossed the room, heads bending together to whisper in the ears of their neighbor.

  “I’ll pay ten grand for a dance with Dr. Moralez.”

  His statement had the desired effect. Aunt Joyce all but fainted, one hand flung to the now empty display tables. A collective gasp and appreciative atmosphere rose from the general crowd, and Meghan … Meghan was stunned. Body rigid, face flushed, she attempted to hold herself erect.

  She wouldn’t refuse. This meant too much to her family. But accepting would require a considerable swallowing of her pride.

  He stepped from the mic and extended his hand. One dance with everyone watching, and she’d have to come to him, each step a bit more painful than the last.

  Heads twisted to see her, the weight of the room expectant, and her face paled for an instant, a sign of her reluctance. Just as quickly, it left, and smile formed on her lips, one practiced and slightly artificial.

  She dipped her chin. “For that amount, I will do so gladly.”

  Applause spattered throughout the room, and she walked ahead. Slipping her hand into his, she made one look past him toward the bandstand. Music began, some slightly out-of-tune pop piece.

  He pulled her in, holding her tight to his chest, and the people returned to their observations of each other. But his eyes and hers remained fastened.

  “You thought I’d give up,” he said.

  She chewed on her cheek, folding one corner of her pretty lips inward and releasing it. “I hoped.”

  He chuckled. “Then you don’t know me very well, and that’s something I’d like to rectify.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  That sat at the heart of things and was the first truth she’d told. She wanted to know why he was doing this, and he’d answer her. But—

  “That has to be told over dinner,” he said.

  “Dinner? With you?” Her eyes shaded darker, the lids narrowing.

  “With me. Give me a chance to prove I’m not so bad.”

  The rise and fall of her chest pressed her harder against him, her sensual curves a pleasant distraction.

  “Is that all you’d be doing?” she asked. Her stiffness had returned, and the formal manner she’d held all evening.

  He leaned in, his lips inches from her ear. “That … and other satisfying things.”

  She pulled her head back, and the expression she gave him spiraled down into his shoes. He’d blown it. Hadn’t Navy said she wasn’t like the others? But he hadn’t taken that seriously. He’d assumed once he held her close, she’d give in to the attraction growing between them.

  Yet there it was on her face. She wasn’t after his money or his status. It’d take way more than either one of those to win her over. It’d take the one thing he’d never offered any female. Playthings, they’d all been, as happy in his bed as out of it, and content to move on to the next rich man who’d take them. He hadn’t had to try too hard to bring them home and hadn’t cared to make them stay.

  But Meghan was different. Written on her face plainly was a mixture of disgust and disappointment. And with her next remark the first taste of his own.

  She separated herself from him, moving to an arm’s length and glanced to the side at the band. “The great Atlas Bellamy,” she said, bringing her gaze back to his. “I admit you’re attractive, that I’ve thought about our kiss all afternoon, and I admit, as you said, I don’t know you at all. Then again, maybe I do because you’ve just proven what I’ve thought all along. That money can’t buy happiness, and greatest of all, it won’t buy me. There isn’t enough in the world to do that.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Atlas stared into Meghan’s eyes, each word she’d spoken soaking into his brain and swam in his regret. Yet something in him wouldn’t allow him to dwell there long. This was a woman he wanted to know better, and truth be told, he liked that she had more spine than the others, that she’d said no.

  Always, he’d suggest something and the girl of the hour would simply agree, no matter how outrageous it was. He’d even gone that route with some, saying inordinately strange things, and been amazed at how far they’d lower themselves.

  But Meghan Moralez wasn’t like that. She wouldn’t sway no matter how strong the suggestion. He’d have to switch his methods.

  “It seems I owe you an apology this time,” he said. She’d judged him unfairly, and now, he’d done the same. “I didn’t mean devalue your integrity.”

  She relaxed a bit, her arms going slack. “Your problem is you’ve been given too much and not had to strive for any of it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he returned. “I’ll grant I had a silver spoon, but my mother took it away plenty of times. If you’d meet her, you would know that, and the same about my father as well. For instance, I’m here because he told me to come. I respect him, as a man and a dad. Which causes me to say my donation to your aunt’s charity is sincere. It’s touching how she’s gone through so much effort for one she loves. I would do the same.” He cupped her palm in his and made a turn on the dance floor. “Perhaps if I must learn about your standards, you should learn about mine. As I said moments ago, you don’t know me, so give me a chance to change your opinion.”

  Tossing her head, she sent her hair swishing across her shoulders.

  “You are a beautiful woman,” he continued, lowering his voice. “But what makes me want to be close to you isn’t strictly your looks.”

  “Good to know,” she returned. “In reverse, what holds me back isn’t yours.”

  That she’d complimented him in a backhanded way riffled through him, and he acknowledged the remark with a bob of his head. But he was left wondering where exactly he stood, a forlorn feeling he didn’t care for but didn’t know how to correct. The ending of the song didn’t help things. Meghan pulled away and motioned toward her aunt.

  Atlas gave her one last look before turning aside and reaching for his checkbook. His pen in his hand, it struck him what he’d done. She’d said money wouldn’t buy her, and yet money just had. It simply wasn’t money taken out of greed.

  He signed the check with a flourish and presented it with a bow.

  His eyes spread. That was the way into her heart. She didn’t want flattery. She wanted generosity, and generosity he could do and do very well.

  He spun on his heel, searching for her in the crowd. One hand on an older gentleman’s shoulder, she laughed as if nothing else was going on in her head. But he knew differently, and he knew now exactly how to foster that, how to make her see him as something other than Atlas Bellamy rake and womanizer.

  It would simply take a little time.

  She was tired of smiling. Her throat was sore and her voice raspy, her feet longed for hot water and, even better, a massage. But worse than her physical exhaustion was the state of her heart.

  Meghan collapsed on the couch, propping her head on a throw pillow, and stared blankly across the room at the wall.

  For all she’d accomplished this evening, all the dollars that’d come in, the connections made for future functions, the success and joy on her aunt’s face, she was still left with the bitter taste of failure. Failure increased by the sour thought she’d seen the last of Atlas Bellamy.

  She blew out a breath, laying one hand over her eyes.

  What had she expected? In one evening, with one dance, she’d change who he was? Impossible. He had years of bad behavior behind him. Who was she to be the one to transform him anyhow? She barely knew him, a fact he’d reiterated clearly.

  Plus, they had nothing in common, from social status to beliefs. He was the last … last … man she should be involved with.

  Despondency thrust upward just the same. Pressed against him, her fingers warm in his, the hard planes of his body so evident, it’d been all she could do to remain at an arm’s length. Where her soul, her mind, and her will told her to stay aloof, her body felt differently, and that had worked to his advantage.

  His suggestion, whispered hot in her ear, had thrilled her for one split second and a million forbidden images had whisked through her head. Even now, a film of sweat formed on her skin at the idea she’d been held close to him for those few minutes. Was she really that vain? Could he shatter her composure so much that she’d be laying here dreaming of his arms again?

  Absurd. Because he’d gotten her point soundly. He knew how she felt and would go his own way. Some things were not meant to be, and if ever there were two people who needed to keep their distance from each other, it was her and him.

  “Back to reality,” she mumbled, pulling herself up from the couch.

  A bath was in order, then pajamas, and bed. She’d indulge herself tomorrow, sleep in and have a late breakfast. Sunday, she’d go to church. She ought not to miss services so much. She always felt the loss of strength when she did.

  Strength. There was something she could use more of. Especially after today. But next week would be better. Fresh week. Fresh mental attitude. No more Atlas Bellamy. It sounded perfect, except for the one tiny pang that said differently.

  “Sweetheart, all the flowers …”

  Meghan mashed the phone harder to her ear in order to better hear her mother’s voice. “Flowers?” Glancing through the crack in her office door, she willed the approaching nurse away. At the last second, the nurse turned and vanished from view.

  “Yes. This is the third day.”

  Third day of what? Confused, Meghan pressed two fingers between her eyes, warding off a pending headache. The clinic had been especially busy today, and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, several of the clients had been mothers with rambunctious children. Now, for her own mother to call—

  “Third day someone has delivered flowers,” her mother continued. She sounded stronger than usual, happy, and rested.

  “What do you mean ‘third day someone has delivered flowers?’” She was obviously missing something. Why would anyone be sending flowers?

  “Someone is sending me flowers, beautiful bouquets of two dozen roses. It’s so wonderful.”

  Speechless, Meghan fell back in her seat. Who would send flowers?

  “I think it’s Navy, and that’d be just like him.”

  Navy Powell sent her mother flowers? Well, it could be. He’d always been fond of her.

  “I’ll have to thank him,” her mom continued, “though he doesn’t leave any notes. I did ask the delivery boy … a sweet fellow … but he didn’t know anything.”

  Then again—

  An idea formed in Meghan’s mind. He wouldn’t. He’d learned his lesson. But it would be like him, knowing she couldn’t refuse. Atlas. His image rose before her, the feel of his chest against hers as fresh as it’d been the other night.

  “Mom, why don’t you let me thank him? He can be hard to get hold of.”

  “If you insist, but I would like to see him sometime.”

  “I’ll tell him that,” she finished.

  Her mother sighed. “Okay.” She laughed softly. “I feel so young again.”

  Mixed emotions settled in Meghan’s chest, a pendulous weight. To hear her mother so happy was great, but to think Atlas Bellamy was causing it … Was nothing sacred anymore? He’d tried to buy her affections, and now, he went through her mother.

  “I’ll come by after work,” Meghan said. “You get some rest.”

  “Yes, dear, and be sure to tell Navy I love the flowers.”

  “I will.” The phone fell silent and Meghan laid it down. She wouldn’t acknowledge those flowers, not to Atlas. If he wanted to send them, so be it. But to say anything to him directly would require admitting he’d succeeded, at least partially, and she wasn’t about to do that. She would, however, speak to Navy.

  Her office door opened, and the nurse poked in her head. “Your three o’clock is here.”

  Meghan nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be right out.”

  The nurse disappeared, and Meghan rose to her feet. But her hand on the knob, halted at her cell phone’s ring. She returned to the desk. Gentle Home Care. What could they want?

  She lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Yes, ma’am. My name is Leeann, and I’m with Gentle Home Care. I’m simply calling to confirm complete payment of this year’s services.”

  Complete payment? Meghan’s legs gave way, and she crumpled onto the desktop, scattering papers into the floor. That was … was thousands of dollars.

  “If you need any change in your services for Sharon Moralez, please don’t hesitate to call. We’re happy to accommodate.”

  “S-sure … yeah.”

  That quick and Leeann was gone. Meghan lowered the phone to the desk. He’d paid the bill. She should be grateful … She was grateful … but at the same time, she was furious. Was there nothing he didn’t believe he could buy?

  She’d have to contact him now. She couldn’t ignore a gift of that magnitude. He’d known that. He’d known she’d ignore the flowers, but if he upped the game, she’d have to respond.