his smell, the warmth of his body against hers at night, the feeling that the one man on earth who was all wrong for her was the only man she would ever love.
That thought was enough to send her under the bedcovers permanently.
She'd loved him once but she didn't any longer. You had to trust a man in order to love him and Megan doubted if she would trust another man again as long as she lived. Her father had been the most important man in her life and he hadn't cared enough about her or the grandchild she'd carried to protect their future. There was no reason to believe that Jake would be any different.
And she wasn't about to risk Jenny's heart--or her own--to find out.
#
Jake rarely spent time in Tropicale's Miami offices but this time he was in no hurry to return to the west coast.
The office assistant knocked then stepped into his office. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lockwood, but Ms. McLean still won't take your calls."
Jake scowled. "What do you mean she won't take my calls?"
Helen tugged at the sleeve of her white blouse. "She doesn't want to talk to you."
"Did you tell her she got the contract?"
Poor Helen shifted position, the toe of her black pump digging deeper into the carpet. "She said she doesn't want the contract."
Jake let out a string of Aussie expletives that turned Helen's cheeks a vivid shade of pink. He considered himself an almost-American but when it came to cursing, there was nothing like the mother tongue. His poor assistant, however, looked as if she was about to faint.
"Sorry, Helen," he said, breaking a pencil in half then tossing it across the room.
Helen nodded, the color in her cheeks fading somewhat. "Maybe you should call her yourself, Mr. Lockwood. You might have more luck."
Jake shook his head. It would take more than luck to budge the stubborn Ms. McLean. When Megan made up her mind to something, a herd of wild elephants couldn't knock her off-course. It was nice to know some things hadn't changed.
"Should I call Celia Briscoe and tell her she got the contract?"
"Hell, no. The Moveable Feast won fair and square."
"If you'll excuse my saying so, Mr. Lockwood, it doesn't matter how the Moveable Feast won the contract if they won't sign on the dotted line."
Leave it to Helen to zero in on the heart of the matter. "They'll sign."
"Ms. McLean won't even talk to you on the phone. I find it hard to believe she'll sign a contract with you."
"She'll sign." He rummaged through a pile of papers on his desk. "Do we have an address on Moveable Feast?"
"They use a post office box." Helen thought for a moment. "But I do seem to remember a street address on one of the waivers we had them sign for the insurance company. That must be their office address."
"Get it for me," Jake barked. "And have three copies of the contract ready in ten minutes."
Helen's eyes widened. "You're going to show up at their kitchen with the contracts?"
"Whatever works."
"There are other caterers, Mr. Lockwood. Ones that you can actually get hold of. Celia Briscoe--"
"Just get the contracts ready. I'll take care of the rest."
#
"I can't believe this." Megan rooted through the back of her car and came up empty again. "What kind of mother would leave her child's birthday present home?"
"A busy one," said Ingrid, massaging the small of her back. "I'm surprised you managed to finish the cake." She sighed loudly. "I wish I could've been more help with the party, but...." Her voice trailed off.
"Good grief, Ingrid. Offering up your house for this shindig is more than any enough."
Ingrid grinned. "You do realize I'll get my own back when you take care of Stace for us while I'm in the hospital."
"Stace is a doll. We love having her around." Megan climbed behind the wheel. "I'll be back as fast as I can. The girl with the pony should be here any minute." She started the engine then checked the rearview mirror. "Tell Miguel I'll be forever in his debt if he'll film Jenny and--"
"Go get the present," said Ingrid. "We'll take care of everything else."
#
"Damn it," Jake swore as he turned down yet another rundown residential street. He'd been driving around for twenty minutes and he had yet to find 56 Tecumseh Avenue. In fact he was beginning to doubt there even was a Tecumseh Avenue.
The address had to be wrong. He looked around at the tiny houses