Desdemona Wainwright thinks Sam Stark looks much too calm for a man who has just been left at the altar. But she was hired to cater his wedding, not to save it. She marches into Stark's den to demand the much-needed payment for the canceled reception - and discovers opposites do attract! Head of a multimillion-dollar company, Sam decides Desdemona would make the perfect no-strings-attached, stand-in wife, little dreaming how she will drive him crazy with desire. But when someone breaks into Sam's secret computer files, sinister intrigue swirls around this unlikely pair. Now they must discover the real appeal of unstoppable passion and unbreakable faith . . . in TRUST ME, the wonderful new love story from Jayne Ann Krentz! The author of over fifty consecutive New York Times bestsellers, Jayne Ann Krentz writes romantic suspense in three different worlds: Contemporary (as Jayne Ann Krentz), historical (as Amanda Quick), and futuristic/paranormal (as Jayne Castle). There are over 30 million copies of her books in print. She earned a BA in history from the University of California, Santa Cruz and went on to obtain a Master’s degree in library science from San Jose State University in California. Before she began writing full time she worked as a librarian in both academic and corporate libraries. She is married and lives with her husband, Frank, in Seattle, Washington. Jayne loves to hear from her readers and can be found at Facebook.com/JayneAnnKrentz. Chapter One You're a woman, Miss Wainwright. Give me your honest opinion." Sam Stark paused briefly to drink from the glass of brandy in his hand. "Do you think it was the prenuptial agreement that spooked her?" Desdemona Wainwright followed Stark's gaze. His attention was fixed on an object two floors below his study window. She had an uneasy feeling that he was brooding on the three large ice swans that were presently melting on the lawn of his austere garden. By now her staff had probably finished clearing away most of the evidence of the abruptly cancelled wedding reception. Fifteen pounds of cold tortellini salad, two hundred miniature asparagus tarts, three platters of herbed goat cheese, and a hundred and fifty spring rolls had no doubt been loaded back into the Right Touch Catering van. The cake, an elaborate five-tiered affair decorated with palest mauve and creamy white roses, would have been safely stowed in its special carrying crate. But the ice swans were a problem. Not only were they extremely heavy, by now they would be getting quite slippery The swans would definitely be a write-off. Desdemona had taken an assessing glance at them as she had hurried to follow Stark into the concrete, steel, and glass fortress he called home. The swans' beaks had already begun to droop, and their tail feathers were blurred. Even if rushed immediately back to the Right Touch freezer, they couldn't be salvaged. Desdemona knew there was no way she could save them to use at the charity event her small business was scheduled to cater on Tuesday. A dead loss, just like the Stark-Bedford wedding. The easiest thing to do with the massive ice sculptures was to let them remain where they were until the late spring sun dissolved them. It wouldn't take long, a couple of days, perhaps. Seattle was enjoying a rare streak of sunny weather. But Desdemona felt a pang of guilt at the thought of leaving the swans behind in Stark's coldly elegant garden. It seemed a bit callous to stick the abandoned groom with three such vivid reminders of the humiliating experience he had endured this afternoon. Especially since she was in the process of trying to stick him with the tab for the expensive debacle as well. Desdemona set her jaw determinedly. She must not allow her natural empathy to weaken her resolve. She could not afford to be swayed by sympathy. There was too much cash at stake. She had gone way out on a financial limb to handle the Stark-Bedford reception. She struggled to find a diplomatic response to Stark's question. "I couldn't say whether or not Miss Bedford was concerned about a prenuptial agreement," Desdemona said gently. She leaned forward until she was sitting on the very edge of her chair. She kept an eye on Stark's incredibly broad shoulders, making certain that he did not turn around as she reached across his glass and steel desk. Quickly she edged Pamela Bedford's apologetic note aside. Then she carefully positioned the catering invoice so that Stark would be sure to see it when he came back to his chair. "I just wondered," Stark said, his attention still on the swans. "I've always made it a practice to conduct a detailed failure analysis when things have gone wrong." "Failure analysis?" "It's standard procedure after a disaster." "Oh. I see." Desdemona cleared her throat. "Well, it's not really any of my business, Mr. Stark. I'm just the caterer. Now, then, I believe my invoice is completely self-explanatory. If you'd care to look it over?" "I made it clear rig