Found: Her Long-Lost Husband. Jackie Braun

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      A man had to be determined, decisive. He had to be willing to take risks. He couldn’t let the fear of failure hold him back. Ethan wasn’t afraid to fail. In fact, he refused to accept it as an outcome. Professionally.

      His personal life was another matter. He’d learned his lesson—a very painful one—a long time ago courtesy of a beautiful woman. Some risks just weren’t worth taking, just as sometimes failure was the price one paid for being blind and foolish. His disastrous marriage to Claire Mayfield had taught him to be cautious—his sisters-in-law claimed suspicious—of women in general and love in particular. He dated, but he was careful to keep things from developing beyond a casual relationship. That suited him. After all, he didn’t have time for more than dinners out and the occasional romantic evening in. Business was his main focus and his business was growing.

      Seaver Security Solutions had posted record profits the previous year. Ethan wanted to expand the bottom line further by moving into new markets and beginning production of the new security system he’d developed. Record profits notwithstanding, he needed serious money to do that. He’d put out feelers, quietly seeking an investor, but he was having little luck finding one who shared his vision. Meanwhile, his accountant was suggesting he consider taking Seaver public.

      “The initial public offering would bring in more than enough to cover your research and development needs,” the accountant had assured him during a recent meeting. “It could even be a carrot to attract and retain quality workers if you compensated your top managers and executives with stock as well as a competitive salary.”

      It made sense. Still, Ethan wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of sharing the fruits of his labor with outsiders. Nor was he sure he wanted the added headache of filing regular reports with the Securities and Exchange Commission, even though a publicly held Seaver Security Solutions would certainly enjoy greater prestige.

      He was flipping through the prospectus he’d had a team of lawyers draft just in case when his secretary buzzed him on the office intercom.

      “There’s a call for you, Mr Seaver.”

      He glanced at his watch. Not quite seven-thirty. He liked to start his work day early, by seven at the latest. He found himself most productive before ten. Curiously, he’d met few movers and shakers in the business world his security firm served who believed likewise, unless it involved a meeting on a golf course.

      “Who is it?” he asked.

      “Claire Mayfield.”

      Ethan prided himself on having nerves of steel and a poker face. He routinely cleaned up in Friday night card games with his two brothers and their friends. But nothing could have prepared him for hearing that name. It blasted from his past, landing like a sucker punch. He was grateful to be alone in his office since his mouth had slackened with surprise. He snapped it shut and tamped down on the unexpected and unwanted flood of emotions.

      He pressed the intercom button again. “Claire Mayfield?” he managed in a casual tone.

      “She claims you know her,” Anita Dauber replied.

      Hardly, he thought. Bitterness welled again, spew-ing with the destructive force of molten lava. I never knew the woman at all. He cleared his throat. He was calm once again when he inquired, “Does she say why she’s calling?”

      “Just that it’s personal. Should I ask her to be more specific?”

      God, no! The last thing he wanted was to have his private life paraded in front of an employee, no matter how discreet Anita could be. He’d only told his immediate family about his hasty nuptials to Claire, and even then he’d skimped on the particulars. The outcome had been too embarrassing, too—painful, to give a detailed account.

      “That’s all right. I’ll speak to her.”

      Ethan let Claire stew on hold for a good five minutes, almost hoping the uninspired instrumental versions of pop tunes piped through the line would get to her and she would hang up. But the light on his phone continued to blink. It was just his luck. For once, the woman wasn’t going away.

      Let’s get this over with.

      He snatched up the receiver. “What can I do for you, Claire?”

      Not bad, he decided. He came across as busy, impatient, maybe even a little bit bored. She, on the other hand, sounded just as he remembered when she said his name: sexy as hell with that smoky, throaty tone.

      “Ethan. How are you?”

      He leaned back in his chair, resting one ankle across the opposite knee, and ignored the tug of lust. “Fine, but a little surprised. I have to tell you, Claire, I didn’t figure you’d even remember me after all this time.”

      “I remember you.”

      Because her tone had gone soft, he hardened his. “I remember you, too.” Not fondly was implied. “So, to what do I owe the…pleasure?”

      “I need to speak with you.”

      “Mayfield in the market for a new security system? Hope you’re not counting on the family discount.”

      She ignored the insult, which made him feel small for issuing it in the first place. “No. Actually, it’s a…personal matter.”

      He planted both feet on the floor again and straightened. “Nothing between us was ever personal.”

      “We were married,” she said.

      “Do a couple of days spent as husband and wife qualify as a real marriage?” he asked softly.

      “It felt like the real thing at the time.”

      The words surprised him. They sneaked past his defenses and made him remember things best left forgotten.

      “Well, you’d have more experience in that regard than me,” he replied.

      “What do you mean by that?”

      She sounded honestly baffled. He had no intention of enlightening her since it would involve delving into their past. “Look, Claire, I’m busy.”

      “I know. I checked out your company’s Web site, by the way.” There was a smile in her voice when she added, “Seaver Security Solutions is quite a success. You must be very proud.”

      “I am.” After a brief pause, he said, “Is that what you called to tell me?”

      “No. Actually, I…I have something of yours I need to return and some things I’d like to say. I’m calling to set up a meeting, perhaps later this week. I promise not to take up much of your time.”

      “You already have,” he informed her. “Besides, I’ll be out of the office later this week.”

      “Next week, then.”

      “Next week too. Whatever you have of mine I haven’t missed it, so there’s no need to return it. As for what you want to tell me after all these years, I’m listening.”

      “It’s hard to explain, especially over the telephone.”

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