Family in Progress Read online

  She wasn’t sure where she would be right now if she hadn’t come to Chicago to see them—then fallen in love with the city and decided to stay. Two years earlier, she’d run away from her life in Tokyo. She wasn’t proud of the fact, but she couldn’t deny it, either. And in those two years, she’d continued to run—from one point on the globe to another, one temporary assignment to another. But no matter how far or how fast she ran, she never managed to outdistance the heartache.

  Could a woman who’d been hurt so deeply by someone she’d loved ever learn to love again? She only knew that, after two years, it was time to stop running, to make a stand, to start her life again. A task made decidedly more difficult by her current lack of employment.

  She sighed and tossed the useless newspaper into the recycle bin under her desk.

  She wanted the job at Classic. It would be interesting, challenging and rewarding. And, as an added bonus, the project manager was quite a hunk.

  Yummy, she couldn’t help thinking again, and realized she should have been prepared for the possibility that Steven Warren shared his brother’s good looks. But she’d thought of Richard as Jenny’s husband for so long now, she’d almost forgotten how attractive he was. Coming face-to-face with Steven had been quite the reminder—and a reminder that, though her heart might still be in pieces, her body was starting to show signs of life again.

  She didn’t think Steven was quite as tall as Richard—probably just shy of six feet, she would guess, which meant that he still towered over her five-foot-two-inch frame. But he was as broad across the shoulders as his brother, and a little more…built, she thought was the term. Samara had never been attracted to sculpted bodies, but there was something about Steven’s strong muscles, evident even beneath the shirt and tie he wore during her interview, that made her mouth water. Yeah, the hormones were definitely alive and kicking.

  She knew he was younger than his brother by half a dozen years, which put his age at thirty-five. She would have guessed he was older. Maybe it was the responsibilities of marriage and children that made him seem so, or perhaps it was the grief of losing his wife that had etched those lines around his deep-blue eyes and put the flecks of gray in his thick, dark hair. The loss of someone close always left scars, visible or not.

  Jenny had told her about the death of Steven’s wife—how she’d died unexpectedly of a brain aneurysm, leaving Steven a widower and a single parent to their two children. The man’s life had been completely upended, responsibilities had been dumped on his shoulders beyond anything she’d ever had to manage, and she should focus on that rather than on the fact that he also had a first-class butt, eyes that made her want to melt at his feet, and a sensuously sculpted mouth that tempted her to forget he was a father and remember only that he was a man.

  It made her question whether working at Classic would be such a good idea after all. Of course, that was assuming he offered her the job, and while she was keeping her fingers crossed, she wasn’t ready to assume any such thing.

  He’d promised to be in touch by the end of the week, so Samara wasn’t surprised when he called Thursday afternoon, though she was surprised by the little quiver in her belly when she recognized his voice.

  “Hi, Samara. It’s Steve Warren calling,” he said, as if the pounding of her heart against her ribs hadn’t already given his identify away.

  “Hello, Steven,” she said, pleased that she managed to respond in a level tone that belied her nervousness.

  “I’m calling to offer you the job as senior photographer of features at Classic.”

  Relief flood her system in a wave, followed closely by excitement and anticipation. This was it. All she needed was a chance to prove what she could do, and he was giving it to her.

  “Thank you.” Her damp palm clamped tighter around the receiver. “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’m counting on you to deliver on that promise,” her new boss told her.

  “When do you want me to start?” she asked, anxious to pin down the details before he could change his mind.

  He chuckled in response to her eager question. “Monday, if that’s not too soon.”

  “Monday is perfect.”

  “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  But Samara was too excited to wait until Monday.

  She wanted to check out the studio where she would be working, meet the people she’d be working with, and she wanted to see Steven again, to reassure herself that the immediate hormonal reaction she’d experienced at their first meeting was a fluke.

  He was dressed more casually today—in jeans and a collared T-shirt, and it looked like he’d forgotten to shave. He looked like a man would look on a comfortable Saturday morning—a little bit rumpled, a lot sexy.

  Okay, so the hormone thing was still a problem, but not one that she would let interfere with her job.

  He glanced up from a stack of papers, obviously startled by her knock at the door—and by her presence in his office. “What are you doing here, Samara?”

  “I was in the neighborhood,” she began, then shook her head. “Actually, I made a point of being in the neighborhood because I wanted to stop in and say a personal thank-you for giving me an opportunity with this job.”

  “You can thank me by working your magic with the camera,” he told her.

  “I will,” she promised, coming farther into the room. “In the meantime, how about a large double-shot?”

  He accepted the proferred cup. “How did you know how I like my coffee?”

  “I asked your assistant,” she admitted. “I called from the lobby when I got here, to make sure you were in your office, and Carrie told me your preference.”

  “Did she also tell you that I missed a couple of days this week because my son was home sick?”

  “No,” Samara said. “I hope it wasn’t anything serious.”

  “Just a touch of a flu bug. But I’m a little behind schedule right now and—”

  “I’m in your way,” she guessed.

  “A little.”

  She took a step back toward the door. Though her lips curved, he could tell it was a practiced smile and he was sorry to see that some of the sparkle had dimmed in her eyes, sorrier still to know he was responsible for it.

  “I’ll get out of your way then,” she said, and started to turn.

  He should let her go. He wasn’t ready to confront the feelings she stirred inside of him just by being in his office. But he also knew it wasn’t fair to blame her for the unexpected and irrational response of his hormones to her presence, and he didn’t want her to go away mad.

  He pushed away from his desk and caught her before she reached the door. “I didn’t mean for you to rush off,” he lied.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I shouldn’t have assumed you would have free time to show me around. I’m just so excited about the opportunity you’ve given me that I wanted to get my bearings so I can get right to work on Monday.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to be accused of damping your enthusiasm,” he told her.

  “You didn’t,” she assured him. “You couldn’t.”

  Still, he wanted to see that sparkle back in her eyes. “Are you interested in seeing the studio?”

  Sure enough, those few words did the trick. Her eyes shone, her lips curved. “Are you kidding?”

  He looked at the paperwork on his desk, the pile of phone messages to be returned, the classified ads to be reviewed, and he waved a dismissive hand over everything. “It’s not like this won’t all be here when I get back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” he said.

  But as he led her out of his office, his thoughts were on Samara rather than the work he’d willingly abandoned for her smile, and he found himself wondering if maybe his fortunes were changing.

  Caitlin took her usual seat at the back of the room. After almost a month of classes, she was still the new kid—and she hated it. Almost as much as she hated
the fact that the neighborhood where her dad had bought their new house didn’t have middle school, so she was stuck in a kindergarten-to-grade-8 and had to go to school with her little brother. It was beyond humiliating and made her wish even more that she was back in North Carolina where she actually knew people and had friends to hang out with. Where she had a life.

  “You’ll make new friends,” her dad had promised, as if him wanting it to be true could make it so.

  He didn’t have a clue what it was like to be the new kid, the one everyone stared at and snickered about. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d tossed out most of her favorite clothes when they’d moved, suddenly concerned that her style was inappropriate for a girl her age.

  He used to drive her to the mall, give her money and tell her to get what she needed. And if he’d sometimes scowled at her choices, it had been easy enough to convince him it was what all the girls were wearing. But this time, he’d decided that a new school warranted a new wardrobe, and he’d enlisted her Aunt Jenny to take her shopping.

  It wasn’t that she had anything against her uncle’s wife, she just didn’t know what to think about all of the changes that had occurred over the past few years. For so long, family had just been her and her brother and their parents with the occasional visit from one or other of the grandparents. Then suddenly, her father’s brother came back from a business trip to Japan with a new bride and an interest in renewing family ties.

  Up to that point, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen her Uncle Richard, and it had never been when her grandmother was around. But whatever had caused the family rift—and she knew there was one, even if no one would tell her what it was about—was now forgotten and they were all part of one big happy family.

  And then her mom died.

  Caitlin dropped her gaze to her book as other students continued to filter into the class. She was enough of a social reject already without being caught with tears in her eyes.

  She’d thought she was past this stage. For the first few months after her mother died, she hadn’t been able to think about her without breaking down. But over time, she’d managed to control her response to the overwhelming waves of grief. Mostly. There were still unexpected occasions when the pain would surge up again and the sense of emptiness would make everything inside her feel hollow.

  She became aware of the whispers before she spotted the battered sneakers that stopped beside her desk. Glancing up, she saw the owner of those sneakers—a boy.

  A stranger.

  Her first thought was that she was no longer the new kid in the class.

  Her second was that he was kind of cute.

  It took her a moment longer to realize he’d spoken to her and was waiting for a response.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “I was wondering if it’s okay to sit here.” He gestured to the vacant desk beside hers.

  She shrugged as if to say, “Go ahead.”

  He slid into the chair. “I’m Owen.”

  “Caitlin,” she offered grudgingly.

  “Where did you move here from?”

  Yeah, she was a reject. Even the newest kid had pegged her as a new kid. “North Carolina.”

  “I’m from Minnesota,” he said, though she hadn’t asked. “My dad got transferred.”

  “My dad just wanted to ruin my life,” she grumbled.

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Ask me in a few weeks.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said.

  Then he smiled.

  And Caitlin started to think that maybe moving to Chicago wasn’t a totally bad thing, after all.

  Chapter Three

  Steven didn’t do dinner parties, so he wasn’t exactly thrilled to give up a quiet night at home with his kids to attend this one, but he just couldn’t say no to Jenny. She’d planned this event—an informal gathering, she’d called it—to introduce Samara to some other friends.

  He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up on the guest list, except that Jenny seemed determined to turn him into a social being when he wanted to do nothing more than bury himself in oblivion. And though he’d given his word that he would be there, it had crossed his mind that he could beg off at the last minute or simply not show up. He figured there would be enough other people in attendance that his absence wouldn’t be noticed. Except that Jenny had preempted that possibility by enlisting him to drive Samara. While he trusted that one empty chair might be forgiven, a missing guest of honor was quite a different story.

  Why Samara couldn’t find her own way to the party was beyond him—which brought another distinctly discomfiting thought to mind.

  Though he’d just hung up the phone with his sister-in-law, it was his brother whose number he dialed.

  “Is this some kind of setup?” he demanded when Richard answered his cell.

  “Is what some kind of setup?”

  “This dinner-party thing.”

  “A setup for whom?” His brother sounded genuinely baffled.

  “Me,” he admitted. “And Samara.”

  Richard laughed. “You can’t honestly think that.”

  Steven scowled. “Why do you think it’s so unlikely?”

  “Well, to be blunt, she’s young and beautiful and vibrant—” definitely not words that anyone would use to describe Steven “—and you’re an overworked single father.”

  “That is blunt,” he agreed.

  “On the other hand,” Richard mused, “maybe it’s not completely unthinkable. If you’re interested, I mean.”

  “I’m not,” Steven said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure no one had any expectations other than that I would pick her up and deliver her to your party.”

  “Taking her home again at the end of the night, too, would be appreciated.”

  “Which is just a way of making sure I don’t skip out early.”

  “Jenny would be crushed,” Richard told him.

  “I can’t be out all night—I have kids, remember?”

  “Who are old enough to be on their own for a few hours.”

  A few hours didn’t sound so bad, Steven managed to convince himself, then went to say good-night to the kids.

  Samara changed outfits more than half a dozen times before a quick glance at the clock warned her that Steven would be arriving any minute. Unwilling to make him wait, she decided the simple wrap-style dress she was currently wearing was satisfactory and tucked her feet into a pair of matching sling-backs that boosted her height by three inches. A final glance in the mirror had her reaching for a chunky-hammered bronze pendant and matching earrings and adding a touch of color to her lips.

  Steven’s reaction, when she opened the door, gave nothing away. She knew it wasn’t a date, and his greeting was pleasant enough, but still, she’d thought he would say something, and the fact that he didn’t made her a little nervous. Was she overdressed? Underdressed?

  Jenny always claimed that Samara had a unique style, and the way she said it made it sound like a compliment. Not that Samara had ever really worried about anyone else’s opinion. She’d always been comfortable with the way she looked and who she was. Learning of her fiancé’s infidelity had changed everything. Having Kazuo’s pregnant lover show up at her door—three weeks before their wedding—had made Samara question everything about herself.

  After three years, she’d honestly believed they’d had a good relationship, that they wanted the same things—most notably a future together. Two years later, he was married to the mother of his child and she was still trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong.

  But she wasn’t going to worry about that tonight. And she wasn’t going to feel insulted that while Steven Warren’s presence made her aware of him in a distinctly sexual way, he didn’t even seem to be aware that she was female.

  He looked really good tonight. He was usually dressed casually whenever she saw him in or around the studio, but tonight he was wearing
a suit: charcoal jacket and pants, burgundy shirt and—this surprised her—a pink tie. But somehow the color enhanced rather than detracted from his masculinity, and made everything female inside her respond.

  She deliberately averted her gaze, focusing on the scenery outside of the window. Focusing on anything but the man who made her feel things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  They rode in silence for the first several minutes. She wasn’t sure if Steven was concentrating on the task of driving or just lost in his own thoughts, as she was lost in hers. But after a while, she found her eyes drifting in his direction again.

  He had a strong profile, she noted. And strong hands. One of which was resting lightly on top of the gearshift, while the fingers of the other were curled loosely around the steering wheel. He maneuvered the car through traffic with an easy confidence that was somehow both reassuring and arousing. As he palmed the wheel to negotiate a turn, she found herself wondering how those strong, competent hands would feel moving over her body.

  “I really appreciate the ride,” she said, in a desperate hope that conversation would alter the direction of her renegade thoughts. “I hope you didn’t have to come too far out of your way to pick me up.”

  “Not at all,” Steven said politely.

  And silence fell again.

  Samara felt more than a little awkward. This man was her boss, and her best friend’s husband’s brother—they should have something to talk about. But her mind was blank.

  Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that they were sitting in such close proximity, and all she could think was that he looked so good—and smelled even better. And, oh my, just breathing in the clean male scent of him made everything inside her quiver.

  It was Steven who finally broke the silence. “Jenny said you don’t have a car.”

  She noticed that his voice sounded strained, as if making conversation required a concerted effort on his part, too. And she couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he was as aware of her as she was of him, or if he was just bored.