r car-into Lucas Sinclair's arms. Then, in a swift, almost violent motion, he snatched the much plainer, worn Barbour jac

e luxurious coat, a look of p

the words a command directed at

ng. Julian Carlisle, the terror of New York, was too proud to offer a wo

walked over to Clara. She had watched the entire

dy. "Julian felt bad you were cold," he said, his voice warm and kind. "This is his

shot him a look that could

ent deeper than just the heat. It smelled faintly of cedar and something e

red to Lucas. "And... p

tell him yourself. He's

was now scowling at the pavement as if it had personally offe

into the car, he rejoined

oice full of laughter. "Really? S

a coat," Julian retorted, his voice a

es, giving up on his imp

a different drama was unfolding. Brooke ra

let him humilia

r hand when she tried to grab his arm. "Him? You mean Julian Ca

't have a fiancée! You

hisper. "Do you have any idea who Clara is? She's a Hayes. Her mother, before she died, left her a fifteen

e's face. The cold, hard rea

g. "I tolerated you because you were amusing. Now,

g car without a backward glance, l

ashmere coat around her. Her mind was a chaotic jumble of the night's even