To the world outside, he projected the image of the rich and idle playboy. The bronzed good looks, the lazy charm that reflected the relaxed savoir faire of a man who had seen and experienced all. In recent years he had even gone on record with the most lurid of tabloids, claiming to have little ambition other than to enjoy life and have fun.

Yet there were many people who discounted those claims, calling them a mandate for the future, honest and modest, like father, like son. Once his days of “sowing his wild oats” were over, destiny dictated that John B. Tarkenton Jr. would enter into the world of international politics as his father had. And like any prodigal son returning to his true destiny, he’d be exalted and redeemed.

Everyone knew his background. Everyone knew the tragedy of his father’s death. He’d grown up in the media spotlight, shadowed by the specter of what might have been. Even Meg was drawn in by the sheer power he embodied. The swiftness of his feet matched a steadiness of purpose that went beyond the physical. He played to win, win at all costs, and a piece of the puzzle that made up Jack Tarkenton fell into place for Meg, a piece that had, before this moment, put terror in her heart.

She had thought he wanted to punish her for some reason, using their daughter as bait. But that was too predictable a strategy for such a fierce competitor. Jack wouldn’t waste his time unless he cared about Katie, cared on some level. Which meant he did have a weakness, as the perky gossip Debbie so aptly demonstrated. Nobody in their right mind would think him an appropriate role model for a child, especially a four-year-old girl who had just lost the only father she had ever known. Jack might have plenty of friends in high places and the money to use them, but two could play the game of the media.

Rejuvenated, Meg rapped on the Plexiglas door. Caught in mid-swing, he lofted the ball and turned.

As always, her stomach dropped when their eyes met. Disheveled and unshaven, he appeared far more dark and dangerous now than the last time she had seen him. But Meg ignored his effect, ignored it in a way she hadn’t been able to before. She waved as though her sudden appearance was an everyday occurrence.

He held up his racket as if to defend himself, then, with boyish charm, he opened the door. “What an unexpected surprise, Meg. The two-week deadline doesn’t expire for five more days. I am impressed.”

“I thought it would work to my advantage if I came to talk to you early,” she replied. “Throw you off your game, so to speak. May I come in?”

He raked a hand through his hair, spiking it into tawny, leonine ends. “Certainly there are better places to meet than a squash court. How about upstairs in the club lounge? Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll meet you there after I shower and change.”

Fifteen minutes for Jack Tarkenton to hatch a defense? No way. “Actually, this is fine,” she said, and gestured at the open court.

“Don’t be silly, Meg. There’s a room nearby that personal trainers use when consulting with their clients. It’s got a table and a couple of chairs, and it’s very private. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there.”

“But I’m not looking for comfort or privacy, Jack. At least not the kind afforded by a small room. I especially like this Plexiglas.” She rapped on the clear surface. “People can see in and I can see out, all while the door is closed. It’s the perfect spot for a private t^ete-`a-t^ete with you.”

His grin widened and he held the door open, inviting her in with a flourish. “Come in, then, said the spider to the fly.”

She sailed by him. “Thank you.”

He closed the door and settled back against it. “I didn’t realize you were a member of the club.”

“I’m not,” she admitted. “I told the woman at the front desk that I was your secretary.”

“Lying for us again, Meg? Does that mean you’ve decided to take me up on my offer?”

“That depends. I have a number of conditions.”

“And what might those be?” He wiped his brow with the hem of his shirt, showing off abdominal muscles that were as fit and sculpted as the rest of him.

Meg put her hands behind her back, taking the time to steady herself. He was not going to throw her, not this time. “I concede that you have a right to know your own daughter. I will also concede that it is vitally important to me that Allen retains his rightful place as the father who has raised her. Given the media scrutiny you are subjected to, I understand why a marriage between you and me makes a certain amount of sense. Before I’ll consent to your proposal, however, I want two years. The first to properly grieve the death of my husband, and the second to give Katie a chance to know you. Our families will also need to see us together over an extended period of time before they’ll accept us as a couple. The second year will provide time for a proper courtship.”

“Courtship. What an old-fashioned word.”

“Despite the way our relationship began, I happen to be old-fashioned in a number of ways. Since this won’t be a match made in heaven, I want the ceremony to be brief. A justice of the peace is fine with me. You should also be made aware that I will not sign a prenuptial agreement that leaves me destitute should the marriage end prematurely. I know my brother signed one when he married your sister, but his financial situation was far more stable than mine. Allen was young enough to think life insurance wasn’t necessary. I need to be sure Katie’s future is assured.”