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  Abbey silently braced herself for Sloan’s reaction. She expected him to be angry that her rash action with the book cover disrupted his crucial plans for San Francisco’s opening day. Honestly, she expected him to chew her out for what she had done.

  She didn’t expect what happened at all.

  Sloan’s eyes locked on the tablet screen displaying the new cover of their first book. After a beat, he gently took it from Abbey so that he could take a closer look. “Abigail,” he breathed.

  “You’re not upset?” Abbey asked, amazed.

  “I should be upset that you finally took my name?”

  She felt her face flush. “I’m here because Aubrey wants to shoot our bio pictures. Together.”

  Sloan looked up as he grinned. “That’s a fantastic idea, luv.”

  They slowly turned as they heard the photographer clear his throat. “Umm…Mr. O’Riley? I’m ready for the shot,” he announced timidly. Abbey giggled. Sloan must have scared the wits out of this guy.

  Sloan weaved his fingers into hers as they walked toward the clearing in the garden where the photographer had assembled his equipment. “Where do you want us?” Sloan queried.

  The man’s eyes darted around the patches of flowers and randomly scattered park benches. “I hadn’t really put much thought into it. Maybe you could sit on a bench with Mrs. O’Riley behind you?”

  Sloan chuckled. “I have a better idea.” Stepping onto the lush green grass, he led Abbey across the lawn. He stopped at the trunk of a tall, leafy maple. Leaning his strong shoulders against the trunk, he then tugged Abbey into his arms. She rested her cheek against his warm, broad chest as her body sank into his hard muscular contours, breathing a deep, contented sigh as she heard the first click of the camera’s shutter.

  After nearly a half hour of posing, Sloan escorted Abbey to the building as the photographer gathered his gear together to leave. Abbey held tightly to Sloan’s hand as the elevator ascended through the floors of the structure. Her eyes locked on the silver key embedded in the control panel. Abbey smiled to herself. Of course, once again Sloan claimed the top floor of his building as his own.

  Abbey took a deep breath. “Sloan?” she murmured.

  “Hmmm? Yes, luv?”

  Abbey silently prayed Sloan couldn’t hear the whine in her voice. This pregnancy was making her way too emotional. “You’ve been working on this project in San Francisco for so long, I was just wondering… Why am I only getting to see it now? And only after I flew out to see you unannounced?”

  Slowly, he turned his head toward her, a deep chuckle rolling from his throat. As the elevator doors opened, he escorted her across the white marble foyer to a set of double doors that mirrored the ones in New York City.

  She watched as he twisted the steel knob and pushed it open. Abbey gasped as she took in the penthouse. The entire apartment was white with steel accents, from the walls to the plastic-covered furniture to the lush, thick carpet. The only current contrast was the rich maple floor. By the large vacant spots, Abbey could only assume there was a significant amount of furniture that still needed to be delivered.

  She felt Sloan’s frame overshadow her from behind. From the corner of her eye, she could see his powerful hands bracing the doorframe.

  “It’s beautiful,” Abbey whispered.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Sloan brushed a curl from her shoulder. “I wanted this to be a surprise for you. This is the first home that we share, the first home that is completely ours. I did my best to make it look like the penthouse in New York City. That is why I didn’t bring you to San Francisco until now. This is all a warm-up for our home in Mount Vernon. The one I bought when I came back from Belfast.”

  Abbey spun on her toe. She clasped her hands on Sloan’s cheeks and pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his in an excited kiss. She felt him respond with a deep, hungry one of his own. His touch told her they had spent too much time apart, and he wanted much more than a kiss.

  The ache burning deep inside Abbey echoed that thought. She hoped one of the first pieces of furniture delivered was their bed, and she really hoped it wasn’t covered in plastic.

  It was as if he could read her mind. “The bed has arrived and has been assembled. It has no sheets. I have yet to sleep here.”

  She tugged on his tie, loosening it. “I guess we’ll have to go sheet shopping later. Much, much later. Do you have a meeting to get to right now?”

  “Nothing I can’t postpone.”

  “Great.” Abbey pulled Sloan into the penthouse, closing the door behind him. “Let’s go take a nap. Now.”

  »»•««

  With Abigail at his side, San Francisco became amazing. Sloan watched as Abbey fell in love with the sights and sounds of the California city almost as much as she had with New York. She was able to sightsee and shop while he attended his meetings and inspections. On the first day he arranged for them to meet with designers to decorate the apartment. She found furnishings in a warm maroon to complement the floors and walls. When they were finished, they went shopping for the appliances and items that finished their kitchen. At night, they locked themselves in their penthouse to unpack the household items they ordered and decorate their home.

  Unpacking normally lasted an hour before the lovemaking began. Sloan was truly not surprised when the day of the grand opening arrived and there were still dozens of boxes to unpack.

  Days later, however, now that San Francisco was operating smoothly and all the boxes had been miraculously unpacked, they found themselves on the penthouse balcony back in New York City, watching the people and cars below scurry among each other. Sloan gently wrapped a strong arm around Abbey as he watched her slide her cell from her pocket and press the number two key on the screen. Abbey pressed the speakerphone button and then flashed her husband a sweet, sexy smile.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom,” Abbey answered. Sloan turned briefly toward the penthouse, noticing people starting to gather in the living room.

  “Hello, Abbey,” Mary Wright greeted over the intercom. “How are you?”

  “Good. Just got home from San Francisco.”

  “How’s the new complex going?”

  “Fantastic. It was wall-to-wall people for three days solid.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Hey, Mom. I wanted to call to tell you—Sloan and I are coming home.”

  “Really?” Mary exclaimed. Sloan could hear the excitement in his mother-in-law’s voice. “When?”

  “We’ll be there Monday.”

  “I’ll come and get you.”

  “No. We’ll take a car. We’ll come right to your house. I promise.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll get you.”

  “Mom, I don’t think we’ll be comfortable in your Volkswagen Beetle.”

  “The two of you will be fine, Abbey.”

  Abbey glanced at the group in the penthouse. Sloan smiled gently to her as he took the phone from her hand and spoke into the receiver. “Mrs. Wright,” he addressed.

  “Sloan! My favorite son-in-law! What have I told you about calling me Mom?” Mary chided.

  “Very well, Mrs. Wright…Mom. I understand your desire to meet us at the airport. What if I hire a car to bring you to the airport? That way we’ll all be comfortable.”

  “I’d be more than happy to come get you. But if you’d rather do that, I suppose it would be all right.”

  “Excellent! I’ll have the company call before they come to get you. See you Monday, Mom. Here’s Abigail.”

  Abbey gently took her cell from Sloan. “Hi again, Mom. See you Monday?”

  “See you Monday, Abbey. Love you.”

  “Love you too. Bye.”

  Abbey ended the call. Sloan gently nudged her inside the penthouse so they could greet their guests. Gordon, Robert, and Bartholomew stretched out across the sofas, each cradling a bottle of Guinness in his hand. Sloan sat in his favorite chocolate-colored overstuffed chair and beckoned Abbey to him. She
crossed the room to his side, gasping as he tugged her onto his lap.

  Gordon cleared his throat and then spoke. “Brown and his men know the truth about Sloan, that he is Tom Morrison. It will take him awhile to spread the word to his contacts around the world, but it’s not safe to stay in New York City. We know that the British government doesn’t want him, but there are far too many evil men out there who want him dead. Sloan had bought a house in Mount Vernon, Iowa, where Abbey’s mother lives. He, Abbey, and I are leaving early next week. It’s rural, remote. It buys us time to come up with a plan.”

  Abbey frowned. “It’s not that remote. Haven’t you heard of the Iowa Hawkeyes?”

  The blank stares she received answered her question. “I guess not.”

  Gordon gave her a smile and then turned to the men. “Robert, I think it’s best for you to stay here in New York. You have the underground contacts here. You have the eyes of a hawk. If Brown or anyone who wants to get their hands on Sloan surfaces you can send word. Understand?”

  Robert sat back and took a long drink. Once he swallowed, he chimed in. “Sounds like a plan. Besides, I don’t think I can do Iowa. I need nightclubs. I need traffic and chaos. I think tractors and silence would kill me. No hard feelings.”

  Sloan stared at his best friend and laughed. He had known Robert wouldn’t go. He made peace with it a long time ago. “No hard feelings, Robert.”

  Gordon turned to address Bartholomew. “B, you are the wild card, lad. I could use your help protecting Sloan and Abbey in Iowa. However, you have remarkable resources of your own here. So the choice is up to you. Stay or go.”

  Sloan shifted his pregnant wife in his lap, smiling contently as Abbey wrapped her arms around his neck. He turned toward Bartholomew, finding the young man hunched over in his seat with his elbows resting on his knees. “What about you, Bartholomew? Are you staying?”

  Bartholomew ran his large hand through his sandy blond hair. “I don’t know, Sloan. I just…” He exhaled hard, closing his deep blue eyes.

  ∙•∙

  Sloan stared at his young friend, concerned. He nudged Abbey from his lap and then stood, motioning for her to take his place in the chair. “Bartholomew, a word please?”

  Bartholomew stood stiffly and followed Sloan out to the patio. Sloan slid the thick glass door closed and turned to face him.

  “What is it?” Sloan inquired.

  Bartholomew sighed, running his hand through his hair again. “I don’t know what to do, Sloan. I had nothing until you found me. With what you paid me, I was able to get my folk’s cattle ranch in Montana out of foreclosure. If I stay, what do I have?”

  “You would remain on my payroll regardless, Bartholomew,” Sloan chided.

  “It isn’t the money, Sloan. It’s having a purpose to my life.”

  “Maybe your purpose in life is in Iowa. Maybe you could get back into the medical field while we figure out what Brown’s next move is.”

  “I don’t know, Sloan.”

  Both men were distracted by the slam of the foyer door. Like a whirlwind, Maggie breezed into the penthouse, tossing her keys on the coffee table and plopping into the chair next to Abbey. He watched her ruby red lips address the others in the room. Whatever she said brought laughter from the others.

  Sloan opened the sliding glass door and strode back into the penthouse with Bartholomew following. Sloan leaned over the back of the chair, hovering over the glowing faces of his wife and sister.

  “Sorry, I was late, big brother,” Maggie apologized.

  “No worries, Mag. We’re here because Abbey and I are leaving for Iowa on Monday. You are free to move in here to the penthouse when we are gone.”

  Robert chuckled. “Can you imagine what people are going to say? Like your reputation as a playboy isn’t bad enough.”

  “What do you mean?” Sloan demanded.

  “A woman that looks nothing like you with the last name of Morrison, not O’Riley, living in your penthouse. How many women do you have on the side again? Maybe it’d be best if she goes with you.”

  “You know if she stays, you’ll have to watch over her,” Sloan joked. “But you are correct. I don’t need that grief. Mag, the decision is ultimately yours.”

  Maggie stood to face him. “Sloan, you’ve been gone most of my life. Now we’re together again. I’m not about to let you leave. I’m going to Iowa with you. Besides, I don’t need to be known as Sloan O’Riley’s mistress. The thought…” She curled up and shivered for emphasis.

  Sloan smirked at Maggie. “All right, Ms. Morrison. We get the picture. And I’m not that bad.”

  Maggie winked at him. “That’s not what I heard, big brother.”

  “Sloan,” Bartholomew murmured.

  Sloan turned his attention to his friend. He wondered at the curious look on Bartholomew’s face as he gazed at Maggie, but brushed it off as nerves about the move. Or was there something more? “Yes?”

  “I think I’ll give Iowa a try after all.”

  Chapter Two

  Mary scrambled down the staircase of her Victorian style home as she heard the doorbell ring. “I’m coming!” she called. She scooped her purse off the dining room table and slung it over her shoulder.

  Mary scuttled across the floor to the front door. The house was way too big for one person. It was too large for two when Abbey had lived there with her. But she loved its age—the leaded windows, the creaky wood floors, the carved moldings. Its beauty, along with its proximity to Cornell College, made the place perfect for her.

  She flipped the lock of the old brass doorknob and then turned around. Parked along the curb was a black Hummer limousine. It wasn’t a standard limo, plastered with obnoxious company logos and filled with dents and scrapes left by countless rowdy wedding parties or by high schoolers attending dances. The vehicle at Mary’s curb purred cool sophistication with chrome running boards and tinted windows.

  The chauffer’s retreating figure stopped at the passenger-side rear door. He opened it, waiting patiently for her.

  Mary stared at the vehicle, stunned. “What the devil…”

  The chauffer motioned to her. “Ma’am, we do need to leave. The plane will arrive shortly.”

  Mary shook her head, confused, as she descended her porch steps and crossed her sidewalk. She accepted his hand to help her inside. She settled into the soft, beige leather seat as they pulled away from the curb.

  The twenty-minute ride was amazingly short as Mary examined the interior of the limo. Finally, Mary fell back against the seat as she remembered her last trip to the airport. It had been to put her only baby girl on an airplane for New York City so she could chase her dreams.

  That had been so long ago. Abbey stopped calling. Mary panicked. She worried. She had been sure Abbey was dead. Now several months later, Abbey was coming home with a new husband in tow, soon to be a mother herself.

  Mary was shaken from her thoughts as she watched the main entrance sail by the window. She gingerly scooted from one seat to the other and knocked on the smoked window that separated the driver from the passenger compartment.

  “Hey!” Mary called. “You missed the turn! You need to go back!”

  The chauffer did not acknowledge her. He did, however, turn at the next available road. Mary sighed in relief, thinking they were heading back.

  Except the limo did not turn around. They kept trekking up the dark road, weaving between several large, metal-framed buildings. She caught a sign as they passed.

  PRIVATE HANGARS

  Nervous, Mary reached into her purse and dug through her things for a hair tie. She swept her graying auburn hair up in a ponytail. She knew it was a strange habit—to tie her hair up when she was panicked. Yet, she couldn’t remember a time she was more unsettled than she was now. Where the devil is this driver taking me?

  The limo came to a slow stop at the final hangar. It bordered the mouth of one of the runways. Mary looked out each window, seeing the car surrounded by luxury airpl
anes of every shape and size. She slumped back against the seat as she watched the chauffer step out and stride into the open overhead door, leaving her alone.

  Mary watched the planes land and take off. I don’t understand any of this. Did I take the wrong car? What trouble am I in?

  Minutes later, the man returned and opened her door, offering his hand to help her step out. Mary shifted her weight from one foot to the other and then turned her attention back to him.

  “I’m supposed to meet my children at the main airport terminal. What is the meaning of bringing me here?” she demanded.

  “I just spoke to the tower,” he informed her. “The O’Rileys’ plane is just landing now.”

  “At the main airport.”

  The driver swept his arm toward the runway, motioning for Mary to turn around. She stared as the plane’s wheels touched down on the pavement. As the aircraft decelerated, it coasted the maze of runways, slowly inching its approach. Mary’s breath caught in her throat as she read the corporate name emblazoned on its side.

  Sloan Enterprises.

  My son-in-law owns his own plane?

  A ground crew raced to the parked aircraft, towing a set of steps with them. Once the stairs were flush against the body, the door opened. Out stepped a young blond man, tall with rippling muscles. Behind him bounced a small pretty woman with black curls.

  Mary gasped. The next to step from the plane was Abbey. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail. Right behind her was Sloan, with his towering stature and wavy black hair. He rested his hand on Abbey’s hip to guide her down the stairs.

  Abbey’s eyes flew open wide at the sight of her mother. “Mom!” she exclaimed.

  Mary ran to the base of the stairs as Abbey jogged past the young couple, the young man stepping aside, his face amused, to let her by. Abbey threw her arms around Mary’s neck, hugging her tight.

  Mary gazed at her daughter. The Abbey she had sent to New York was fresh-faced and innocent. The Abbey standing before her had been betrayed, been hurt, been left to fend for herself. She also had been loved, been cared for, been cherished.

  “I am so happy to see you, sweetheart,” Mary breathed.