“Will you marry me?”

Isn’t that the question every girl dreams of hearing? Victoria certainly used to think so. And safe, steady Oliver seemed perfect husband material. But that was until she met Liam, his rebellious, scorchingly hot best friend. Suddenly Victoria’s feeling things—crazy lust-fueled things!—she’s never felt before. But for the wrong guy… Then Oliver goes down on one knee, and it’s decision time—head or hormones?

Victoria’s about to discover the truth about guys like Liam—once you go bad you never go back!

‘I’m going to take my time and I’m going to savour every second I have. Don’t plan on sleeping any tonight.’

Oh.

He didn’t take his eyes off her and she couldn’t drag hers away, not when his eyes were deepening so quickly—and inviting. ‘Is that a problem?’

She shook her head, unable to make a sound.

His hands loosened on her wrists. One finger ran up her arm while with his other hand he cupped her jaw. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’

‘I think I was wrong and you were right,’ she whispered. ‘This is…passion.’ She chose her word carefully. ‘And I think it needs to be dealt with.’

‘You think you can deal with me?’

That old arrogance brought back her smile. ‘I think for one night. Yes. I can deal with you.’ She had to.

Dear Reader,

I’m so thrilled you have this book, my first MODERN TEMPTED™, in your hands! I’m super excited to be part of Mills & Boon’s newest series. I love fun, sassy stories with style, spark and a whole lot of emotion! I hope you do too.

In this book I was very intrigued by the idea of ‘what if’—especially in relation to those ‘in the blink of an eye’ decisions that go on to have a profound impact on the rest of our lives. What if you had said yes to that invitation, or in this case that proposal? What if you had said no? When I think back to how my own romance played out there were definite ‘turning point’ decisions.

So what if we made the ‘wrong’ decision—might fate offer the chance to try again? In this book I decided to explore exactly that. But although fate might offer us a second chance, I think it is still the decisions we make as individuals that determine whether or not something is going to go the distance.

So what decision does my heroine Victoria make in this book? How does Liam react? I hope you’ll read on to find out!!!

I loved writing Victoria and Liam’s stories and playing at ‘fate’, and I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve loved writing it for you.

With very best wishes,

Natalie

The Right

Mr Wrong

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NATALIE ANDERSON adores a happy ending, which is why she always reads the back of a book first. Just to be sure. So you can be sure you’ve got a happy ending in your hands right now—because she promises nothing less. Along with happy endings, she loves peppermintfilled dark chocolate, pineapple juice and extremely long showers. Not to mention spending hours teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas. She tends to torment them before eventually relenting and offering—you guessed it—a happy ending. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her gorgeous husband and four fabulous children.

If, like her, you love a happy ending, be sure to come and say hi on facebook/authornataliea and on Twitter @authornataliea, or her website/blog: www.natalieanderson.com

This and other titles by Natalie Anderson are available in eBook format—check out

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Dave. Always.

THE RIGHT MR. WRONG

Natalie Anderson

Contents

Prologue

Book One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Book Two

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

PROLOGUE

Christmas Day, five years earlier.

They were almost all there. Her parents. Oliver’s family. Oliver’s friends. The only one missing was Stella, her rebel sister, whose name hadn’t been mentioned once in the four years since she’d left.

Victoria Rutherford looked at the pile of presents under the tree. There wouldn’t be one for Stella, of course, but she hoped there was at least one for Oliver’s friend. She stepped closer, scanning the tags for his name.

Liam.

She really shouldn’t worry about it. He was Oliver’s friend, Oliver’s guest. Of course his parents would be polite enough to have something for the guy who’d only arrived in England this week.

‘You’re not going to start shaking the boxes, are you?’ a low voice murmured behind her.

She started, a smile irresistibly springing to her lips. It shouldn’t. It really shouldn’t. But he made her laugh with his comments—even just the wry expression he could shoot from his way-too-warm eyes. She’d had to stifle shivers when he’d looked at her in a way he shouldn’t. Not that he did now.

Unfortunately he’d looked at her that way the first moment they’d met—when he’d not known who she was. She was still trying to get over the embarrassment of him coming across her in the guest bathroom wrapped in nothing but a towel. He’d had clothes on but that hadn’t stopped her from noticing things she really had no business noticing.

‘Your streamers look awesome, by the way,’ Liam added.

‘Thanks.’ She’d stayed up way too late the other night to finish them. With a not-so-little helper.

She swallowed, suppressing the memory of the moment just before she’d taken herself to her small guest bedroom super quick. Nothing had happened. She had nothing to feel guilty about. And yet.

He was her boyfriend’s best friend. A guest in her boyfriend’s home for Christmas. The last person she should look at.

As everyone gathered around for the present sharing there were the usual joke gifts, a tradition in Oliver’s family, as well as the ‘proper’ gifts. And the gifts for guests—including Liam.

And then there was only one little box left. She figured it was one for Oliver’s mum. In the lull and under the cover of various conversations, she couldn’t help a quick glance at Liam. Massive mistake because he gave her a quick flick of his eyebrows from over his new ugly knitted Christmas jersey.

She turned away, biting back her giggle.

‘I think this might be for you.’

Victoria jumped as Oliver suddenly appeared in front of her.

‘You’ve already given me a present.’ Victoria blinked, taking a minute to pull back from the dangerous place her mind had wandered to.

Then she saw Oliver was on his knee in front of her. Why was he on his knee? His blue eyes were dancing and everyone around them had fallen silent.

‘Victoria, you know how much I love you.’

She smiled, but inside she was stunned. Was this—? No way was Oliver about to—

‘Will you marry me?’

Victoria stared at him. Somehow she kept the smile on her lips.

Oliver, her first boyfriend, who she knew and trusted. And here, in front of her parents, his parents and—

‘Victoria?’ Liam interrupted.

OMG. Don’t look at him. Don’t.

She couldn’t resist.

His eyes were fixed on her. His too-warm, gold-flecked intense eyes staring right through her as if he could read her every thought. Every doubt.

Every desire.

‘Do you mind?’ Oliver sounded more stunned at the interruption than annoyed. ‘I’m asking her a question.’

But Victoria’s eyes were locked on Liam. She should look away, but she couldn’t. She sensed restlessness ripple through the people surrounding them. Her parents. Any second now someone else would speak. Would question.

Oliver cleared his throat. Oliver, the one perfect for her, who had their future mapped out. She couldn’t hurt him, embarrass him. Him or any of them.

‘Victoria?’ Oliver said. Now he sounded slightly annoyed.

Victoria immediately, mutely, looked back to Oliver, the guy right before her. She smiled—automatically soothing because that was what she did. And she wanted to because she loved Oliver, right? She wanted everything that he wanted—what they all wanted and expected—didn’t she?

Oliver smiled back. And as she sat flushed, yet frozen, he repeated the question.

‘Will you marry me?’

BOOK ONE

ONE

‘Yes, of course,’ Victoria answered brightly, ignoring the burning muscles in her hand. ‘Absolutely.’

She’d do whatever it took. That was what entrepreneurs did, right? Made sacrifices. Worked all night. She’d read You Too Can Be a Billionaire months ago, so she knew. Not that she wanted to be a billionaire or even a millionaire. She’d settle for solvent—no more of that screaming red ink on her bank statement, thanks.

Anyway, writing another five place cards in flourished copperplate was nothing on the number she’d already done. So long as those passed their impending inspection. They’d better. So much depended on this.

Victoria watched her client, Aurelie Broussard, cross the ornately furnished room to the large writing desk where she nervously waited. Like everyone else who’d ever been in Aurelie’s presence, Victoria couldn’t help staring. The ‘in-another-realm’ woman glowed in a long white summer dress and navy shrug. Her hair fell to the middle of her back in long, loose curls. Its colour matched her eyes, as glossy and dark and sensual as hot fudge sauce. Athlete, model, businesswoman. And about seven months pregnant judging by the graceful swell of her belly. Victoria hadn’t known about the baby, but then she didn’t know much about the former world-champion surf star other than that she was getting hitched in five days’ time. Victoria deliberately didn’t take an interest in water sports—they flowed too close to deep-buried, sharp-edged memories.

She’d never met a more beautiful woman. Or anyone with the power to improve her business so drastically— or destroy it. If Aurelie liked her work, she’d be set. If she didn’t, Victoria was screwed. And brides were notoriously picky—especially brides with squadrons of celebrity friends and a ‘super wow factor’ wedding to pull off in less than a week.

Victoria slowed her movements to hide her nerves, carefully laying out some of the completed cards on the antique wood. Aurelie silently studied them. They’d taken Victoria more hours than she could count, working under bright lights all through the night to get them finished. She’d been contracted at the last minute—not ideal for a calligrapher whose craft required light, space, time and serenity to get it right.

‘They are beautiful.’ Aurelie finally gave her verdict. ‘Exactly what I wanted.’

Victoria rapidly blinked back burning tears of relief. Two hundred and thirty-four painstakingly calligraphed cards—so many in such a short time she was in pain. But she wanted to be sure all were perfect.

‘I’ve done them exactly as they were written on your list but someone will double check them?’ she asked. She didn’t want some A-lister offended by having her name incorrectly spelt.

Aurelie nodded. ‘My assistant. Perhaps you can do the extra five while you’re here?’ She slid open the top drawer of the desk and drew out a sheet of paper with a list of names typed on it.

‘Of course I can…’ She’d brought her pen and ink and spare card with her, but the implication of five more guests suddenly hit and caused tunnel vision. ‘Umm…with the extra guests…’ Victoria’s innards shrivelled. ‘Does that mean you’ve changed the seating plan?’

That plan had taken so very, very long already. One large board with all those two hundred and thirty-four names written yet again in flourished copperplate, plus titles for the table—surf beaches. The thought of redoing the entire thing sent Victoria’s brain spinning. The nerves in her hand shrieked.

‘Yes.’ Aurelie turned her beautiful face towards her, and drew up to her full height—almost a head taller than Victoria. ‘Will that be a problem?’

‘Not at all.’ Victoria somehow stretched her mouth into a smile and lied. She’d stitch back her eyelids and work round the clock for the next five days and nights to get this done—and she was going to need every one of those hours to do it.

She remembered being a bride, wanting everything to be perfect. She’d work as hard as she could to help Aurelie have everything the way she wanted. But while Victoria’s own ceremony had been fairy-tale pretty, her marriage to Oliver hadn’t been perfect. It had been a slow-imploding mess.

Working on Aurelie’s wedding would help her recovery, financially at any rate. There were so many privileged people coming, with her best work on show, she might get more commissions.

The irony of having a career where she helped people create their perfect weddings wasn’t lost on her, given her own spectacular matrimonial failure. But she wasn’t cynical. For the right couple, a wedding was a wonderful beginning.

Hopefully Aurelie’s fiancé was a decent guy. Victoria knew even less about him than she did about Aurelie. She hadn’t looked up any Internet info—the turnaround time was so tight she’d had to get straight on with writing. But she’d recognised the names of some of their guests—elite sports people, celebrities, models.

‘I’m sure I can count on you.’ Aurelie smiled.

It was one of those smiles with an ‘I’ll kill you if you screw up’ edge. Well, while Aurelie was counting on her, Victoria would be counting on coffee—dump trucks of it.

‘I can do the cards here and now if you’d like, but I’ll need to redo the table plan at home. I don’t have the supplies here.’

Aurelie nodded. ‘I’ll get my assistant to email you the changes for that.’

‘And I’ll bring it here as soon as it’s done.’

‘And when will that be?’ The ice cool question, the smile. No pressure at all.

Victoria hesitated, desperate to please but not wanting to over-promise. ‘Well in time for the wedding.’ Victoria clung to her smile as Aurelie looked at her for what felt like hours.

Finally Aurelie smiled back. ‘Thank you.’

Great. Victoria put her bag on the chair and took out her pen case and ink bottle. Five cards shouldn’t take that long and she’d please her client. Then she’d rest up on the train and study the seating changes at home. And call by the shop on the way to load up on stay-awake supplies.

‘Do you like the candles?’ Aurelie suddenly asked.

Victoria turned. Aurelie had opened the lid of a big box stacked beside the desk. It was filled with tissue-wrapped cylinders neatly packed end to end. Aurelie lifted one out and unwound the delicate covering and revealed a candle in a gorgeous soft white.

‘They’re surfboard wax scented.’ Aurelie giggled. ‘My favourite.’

Victoria grinned at the quirkiness. To be married in a French chateau by candlelight with handwritten calligraphy and lace and silk everywhere? Not to mention fireworks and orchestra and fountains? Aurelie might be doing some things slightly out of order, but there was a lot that was traditional in her plans—and fun. She was having it all. Good for her.

‘They’re beautiful. This whole place is beautiful. It is going to be enchanting.’ Victoria meant it, she really did.

Aurelie put the candle back. ‘It is going to be parfait!’

‘It is.’ Victoria drew in a breath for courage. ‘Now, the menu hasn’t changed, has it?’ she asked, mentally crossing every crossable part of her body as she waited for the answer.

‘No.’ Aurelie laughed—a peal of infectious amusement that had Victoria smiling again. ‘I see why you were recommended,’ Aurelie said. ‘You don’t get flustered. You just say yes.’

Victoria maintained her smile despite the tweak on her nerves. In two minutes Aurelie had nailed her. Victoria had been so good at saying yes. To her parents, to Oliver. To the people she’d been desperate to please more than anything—more than herself. And then what Aurelie had said registered.

‘I was recommended?’ Who’d have done that? She’d only been in Paris seven months—most of her income was derived from the secretarial work she got from an agency. She’d only recently relaunched her online calligraphy and personal stationery design business. Perhaps it was a contact from when her company had been flying high in London? Either way she was grateful—despite the last minute panic that Aurelie had just dumped on her.

But Aurelie didn’t answer, she’d swiftly crossed to the window. Now Victoria too heard the crunch of the gravel outside. A car.

‘Oh, no,’ Aurelie gasped. ‘He’s here. He can’t see any of this. If he comes in here, hide it. Everything.’ With superior athletic grace, even with that burgeoning belly, Aurelie ran from the room.

Victoria blinked at the suddenly empty atmosphere. Presumably he was the groom. Curious to see what kind of guy had landed the incomparable Aurelie, she walked over to the window and peered down the two levels to the grand entrance.

The discreet-but-gleaming black car parked right in front was empty. As she watched, one of the conservatively clad assistants strode across the courtyard towards it. No doubt he was going to park it somewhere where it wouldn’t ruin the picture-postcard perfection. While it might be a ‘miniature’ chateau, it was still one of the grandest buildings Victoria had ever been in. Surrounded by formal gardens with long avenues and hidden nooks and a selection of trick fountains, it was gorgeous.

She went back to the desk, picked up the completed cards and dropped them back in their protective box. She didn’t want any damaged; she had too much to redo already. She took out several blank cards from the other box she’d brought in case, frowning as she arranged them. The desk was beautiful, but it wasn’t angled like her one at home. It’d be better if she could do these there, but she wasn’t about to say ‘no’ to Aurelie.

She prepared her pen, drawing up ink, and worked on a practice card—warming up her fingers and getting the ink to flow smoothly.

‘Aurelie, you in here?’

Victoria froze, her pen digging into the card. Shock curdled her blood. Ink spilled but she hardly noticed. Because she knew that voice. That warm, laid-back, confident call.

She turned her head as he walked into the room. Her heart paused for a painfully long time between beats. She held her breath even longer.

Liam?

Utterly gorgeous, absolutely unattainable Liam?

Her eyes were so wide they wanted to water. But that wasn’t happening. Not in the presence of this particular guy. Never ever.

He paused, barely noticeably, before walking towards her. But, as always, Victoria noticed every tiny thing about him, so she saw that slight hesitation. She also saw his height—his tall, lean, muscled physique. He’d always been an athlete and more competitive than most. Dangerously competitive. Liam Wilson wanted to win, no matter the cost.

And he’d won the best, hadn’t he?

Aurelie.

His sunflower-flecked brown eyes locked on her. Staring right back, Victoria saw the trademark easy-going stubble covering that sharp-edged jaw. She saw the dark brown hair, cropped closer than it had been the last time she saw him. Only vaguely did she take in the jeans and white tee because she was fully mesmerised by his expression—that intense, purposeful focus.

OM freaking G.

Liam Wilson. She couldn’t believe it. Completely thrown, she looked down for a sec to collect her scrambled thoughts. How could he have grown even more attractive? How could she take one look and want all over again?

Pulling the plug on the visual didn’t work. Because now she remembered so much of a time that had been so short. Now she wanted to hide. No one had ever exposed her the way Liam once had—with just one look.

‘Victoria.’

She fixedly stared at the ink-splodged mess she’d made on the card, aware he’d stopped a few feet from her chair.

He cleared his throat. ‘Long time, no see.’

She heard the smile. He’d always spoken with that easy-as smile. That innate confidence had been part of what had drawn her to him. The kind of confidence she’d never had. She’d been jealous of his ‘I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-you-all-think’ attitude too, because she’d never had that.

Focused, hungry, fascinating. Liam had an edge Victoria hadn’t encountered before or since. Tall, strong, determined to do what he wanted, he’d sliced through any opposition.

Until Oliver. And her.

Unable to resist, she chanced a glance back at him. That element of danger? It was still there—now lethal. Because, despite that smile, his eyes weren’t just focused and relentless, they were hard.

There was no point clearing her throat. It wasn’t going to work. Nothing in her body—especially not her brain— was working this second. Or the next.

‘How’ve you been?’ he asked.

Oh, he had to be kidding. Five years since she’d last seen him, five years since he’d interrupted her own wedding proposal and here he was five days from his wedding and he was greeting her like some old schoolmate?

Then again, how else to handle it?

She looked at the blank cards on the desk, glad she’d packed the others away. Aurelie hadn’t wanted him to see them.

Aurelie. Liam.

Aurelie Broussard was marrying Liam Wilson.

Liam was the father of Aurelie’s baby.

Liam was getting married.

Why was it so hard to compute?

She’d once had the chance to say yes to Liam. Not to marriage but to something. She hadn’t. She’d said yes to someone else and life had moved on for all of them. And she was okay with that, wasn’t she?

Yes.

She straightened, ignoring the churning riot of recollections and emotions inside. She was happy. And she’d act like it.

‘Fine, thanks.’ Score. Her voice sounded almost normal. ‘How are you?’

‘Stunned to see you.’

Hardly stunned. He was still standing, tall and fit in those blue jeans and soft leather boatshoes and an eye-wateringly bright white tee with seams that had to cling hard to contain his broad shoulders. It ought to be impossible, but the guy was more gorgeous than he’d been back then. But what really stunned her was the glint in his eyes. He blatantly stared—at her hair, over her face, seeming to take in each feature—lingering on her mouth and then dropping below, taking in her figure. Was he sizing her up as he had that very first time they’d met? Back then it had been excusable—he’d not known who she was. But now?

Victoria tensed beneath his inspection, willing her body not to let the remnants of that old attraction show. Because that was all it was, like muscle memory—an imprint of an old infatuation. Not real. Certainly not worse. It couldn’t be.

‘It’s been a long time,’ he said. ‘And, as impossible as I’d have thought it, you’re even more beautiful now.’

Her breath quickened as her body absorbed his words— words that mirrored her thoughts of him. Her system responded so inappropriately. Heat shot everywhere—most of all deep and low in her belly.

Her brain clicked more slowly, taking too long to realise that it was meaningless, just his usual flirt talk. That was all it had ever been. Talk. But he had no right to tease her. Not that she could put him in his place the way she wanted to. Not when it was his fiancée she was working for. No, she was going to remain calm and professional and brush him off politely.

‘You’re looking good too,’ she said crisply. She even smiled. She could handle this unfortunate coincidence and she could handle him. Of course she could.

He leaned against the table right next to where she sat. Her feet tingled, her legs itched. But she wasn’t running, not showing how badly he got to her. She knew he was playing. He’d played with her before. She remembered that exact roguish expression from the first night she’d met him in the guest bathroom at Oliver’s parents’ place. Then, as now, Liam looked like a wicked cat who’d just spied a juicy mouse and he was going to have fun devouring it ever so slowly.

Victoria Rutherford was never going to be a mouse again.

‘Thank you,’ he drawled.

Her eyes narrowed as anger seeped through her polite armour. He really was the same game player? After all this time? Even now he was about to get married?

‘Victoria,’ he murmured softly, as he’d once murmured her name before. Now, as she had then, she steeled her heart.

How could she be this affected again by his mere presence?

Victoria froze as he moved, leaning across her—far, far too close. She held her breath but it was futile. He still smelt of ocean spray, sunshine and freedom. A heady, intoxicating mix that had once made her almost crazy high. The ultimate, forbidden temptation. Her boyfriend’s best friend.

As her client’s fiancé, he was even more forbidden now. So her suddenly over-excited hormones could just go back into dormant mode. Liam Wilson—even if he was single—would never be hers.

‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked—totally mouse— as he came closer still.

His gaze didn’t leave hers; his mouth curved as he moved into her space. She was transfixed by that intense, challenging look. And he was so close now, she could see the individual, unfairly long lashes that framed his dangerously warm eyes.

‘Mind if I take this?’ He pulled the pen out of her clenched fingers with a sharp tug. ‘It’s looking a little like a weapon there. You stabbed me in the heart once. I’m not chancing it again.’

She gaped. As if she’d hurt him? Quite the reverse. He’d hurt her. And Oliver. He’d thrown a spanner between them—damaging the bond that was never fixed quite right after. But he didn’t need to know how much he’d mattered.

‘I hurt you?’ She pulled herself together and faked a light laugh. ‘No woman has ever hurt you.’

A single eyebrow lifted. ‘You think?’ He shook his head. ‘Aren’t I as vulnerable as anyone else?’

‘No,’ Victoria said bluntly.

‘Come on,’ he drawled. ‘You know exactly how human I am,’ he purred.

‘Are you hitting on me?’ she whispered—utterly amazed—and aghast. ‘Seriously?’

When his seven-months-pregnant fiancée was in the building and he was getting married in less than a week?

Screw the prospects this job might bring. As far as Victoria was concerned, Aurelie didn’t need flourishes. She needed a new fiancé.

‘Liam!’ There was a squeal and a vision in white darted across the room. Aurelie really was too swift for a heavily pregnant woman, not to mention perfectly chic and elegant even in her third trimester.

‘Hey.’ Liam wrapped his arms around Aurelie for a tight hug before pushing her back to arm’s length and gazing at her adoringly. ‘You. Look. Amazing.’

‘I look huge but I don’t care.’ Aurelie laughed and leaned closer, smiling openly up at him. ‘And I’m so glad you’re here.’

Victoria’s stomach twisted. Because he was a flirt cheat—not that she was jealous. There was nothing to be jealous of. She was happily divorced. Happily single. The last thing she wanted to do was revisit past mistakes and Liam Wilson had been an almighty mistake.

A mistake that Aurelie was about to make. Aurelie, whose features appeared brighter—her lips shinier. She’d disappeared for those few moments to touch up her makeup? Someone had to warn her about him. Only Victoria couldn’t—she could never go there. Instead she loudly scraped together the blank cards on the table.

‘Don’t worry, Aurelie,’ Victoria interrupted the scene, not wanting to watch them indulge in more PDA. ‘He’s not seen anything.’

Aurelie and Liam turned, the spell between them broken.

‘All the surprises are safely hidden,’ Victoria continued with determined firmness. Why were they looking at her as if she were speaking Martian?

‘I’ve put everything away…’ she faltered.

Something had flashed in Liam’s face—a frown? A flicker of anger? It had passed so quickly Victoria couldn’t decide. And now came the smile—the one that charmed everyone.

‘Yes, don’t worry, I left the groom downstairs.’ Liam jerked his head to the door. ‘But he’ll be up here in a second if you don’t hurry to see him.’

But Aurelie didn’t hurry. She gazed up at Liam, her palm flat on his chest. ‘It is so good to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

‘I didn’t want to miss it.’

‘Yes, you did.’ She laughed again and patted his chest a couple of times. ‘But I am glad you’re not. Thank you.’

‘Anything for you.’ He winked and gently brushed the back of his hand along the edge of her fine-boned jaw. ‘Now you’d better go stop him from coming up and spoiling any of your surprises.’

As Aurelie left the room Victoria sat in a swelter of confusion and defiance and embarrassment.

‘You thought I was Aurelie’s fiancé?’ Liam walked back towards her, his smile had widened yet he managed to look less friendly.

Could he blame her when Aurelie had said ‘he’d’ arrived and then Liam had walked in as if he owned the place?

‘You thought I was marrying her?’ He stepped closer, suddenly very tall and a lot like a roadblock. ‘And playing you?’

Victoria tried to glance behind him but it was impossible. He was fully in her face and expecting an answer with his eagle eyes. The only thing to do was play it cool. Frigidly cool. ‘Do you blame me for thinking that?’ She arched her brows as if that could make her taller. ‘You have form.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I could spend some time arguing that, but why bother?’ He stayed in place, right in her space. ‘Just as I was five years ago, Victoria, I’m here as a guest.’

A guest. He truly wasn’t Aurelie’s fiancé.

For a second relief flooded her. But then mortification screamed back. Her cheeks burned under his mocking scrutiny.

Of course she’d thought he was the groom. In the rare moments she’d ever let herself think of him in the last five years, he’d always been the groom. The guy she’d never said yes to and refused to ever regret.

‘Your name wasn’t on the guest cards,’ she said defensively.

‘I didn’t think I was going to be able to make the wedding,’ he explained. ‘That’s why I’m one of the late additions.’ He pointed to the sheet of paper Aurelie had put on the desk.

He hadn’t made it to Victoria’s wedding. She wasn’t sure he’d even been invited. Not after what had happened. It was the only time she’d seen Oliver uncontrollably angry. She’d gone upstairs and the rest of the family had retired to change for lunch. Oliver and Liam had gone outside. Victoria had pressed close to her bedroom wall, secretly peering out of the window.

Liam had taken the blow without putting up any physical defence. The spot on his jaw had reddened, but all the while he’d quietly insisted to Oliver that nothing had happened. That she’d done nothing. That his interruption wasn’t her fault. It had been his mistake alone.

He’d been facing the house. He’d glanced up, seen her. Their eyes connected for one split second.

Withdrawing. Apologising. Leaving.

He’d never looked at her again. Until today.

But had she done nothing? Really? Who had made the bigger mistake? Whose fault was it really? She’d been scared. She’d never had the strength to stand up to any of them—her parents, Oliver. Even Liam. She’d always done as they bid because she’d needed their approval. And all of them had steamrollered over her. But she’d let them—she’d helped them. That wasn’t happening again. Only now she did look at the list Aurelie had handed to her. The third name down?

Liam Wilson.

‘Oh.’ She faked a bright smile. ‘I thought—’

‘I know what you thought,’ he said, easing back into position against the desk. ‘You never thought much of me, did you?’

That wasn’t true but she couldn’t reveal what she’d thought of him all those years ago. She couldn’t admit it then, she couldn’t now.

There were five names on that list: three men, two women—one of whom had the same surname as another of the guests. The other woman’s name was written last, beneath another man’s name. Liam’s name stood alone in the middle there. Was he coming to the wedding without a partner?

She didn’t need to know. She really didn’t. Because it didn’t matter.

That didn’t stop her glancing at his hands—his fisted fingers. Bare knuckles didn’t mean anything for men. Many guys didn’t wear wedding rings or, if they did, only when convenient. And even if they did wear them?

Victoria knew all too well how a wedding ring wasn’t necessarily an obstacle as far as another woman was concerned. Or for a husband who was no longer satisfied in his marriage. Liam’s lack of ring meant nothing. Nor did his lack of date.

But still that unwanted excitement heated her blood and anticipation zinged through her veins. What was she, some teen girl going to meet her fave ever boyband?

But he might be free. And now? So was she. There was nothing to stop them from finally exploring this thing…

Only the ten tonnes of baggage she was constantly pushing in front of her. And the baggage he’d worked into some kind of bullet-proof vest that he wore beneath that easy-come, easy-go attitude.

‘I’m sorry.’ She looked up at him. For today, for all those years ago. For what could never have been and never could be. She’d moved on; she didn’t want to go back to the doormat she’d been. She had plans and they didn’t involve anyone else. Not him. Not any man.

Liam looked right back at her, his mouth curved in that slight, sexy smile. Time shifted—five years disappeared in that unspoken communication. She was drawn right back into those feelings that should have been forgotten—warmth, want, desire.

And she had to get out of there before she did something really dumb.

He wrapped his fingers right round her wrist—halting her just as she moved. ‘I’m not anyone’s fiancé.’ His grip was sure and warm. ‘That means I’m free to flirt with whoever I want,’ he added.

‘Not with me,’ she said huskily, swallowing to ease the dryness in her throat. She didn’t want to flirt with anyone.

‘Yes, you.’ His smile was oddly gentle. ‘You’re not anyone’s fiancée either, or wife.’

So he knew her marriage had ended.

‘I can’t believe you still blush like this—’

‘I’m not here to flirt,’ she interrupted him quickly. ‘I’m here to work.’ The emphasis was for herself as much as for him. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by this quirk of fate.

His gaze rested on her for a long moment, as if he were weighing the truth of her words. His grip remained firm— could he feel her pulse accelerating?

He let her go. ‘Then let’s see you in action.’ He handed back her pen.

As if.

‘I can’t do this with you watching.’ Her palms were damp; she’d already smudged ink everywhere just from hearing his voice. She’d be less competent than a two-year-old with a pack of finger-paints right now.

‘You always had a problem with me watching.’

She tensed, hoping to stop him from seeing her all-over tremble. She had always been aware of the way he watched her. ‘It’s not you,’ she lied sassily. ‘I don’t like anyone watching me work.’

‘In case you make a mistake?’

‘Not at all.’ She lied yet again. ‘I’m not afraid to make mistakes. I’ve made many.’ Too, too many.

‘Then you’re fine to write in front of me. Write my name.’

She shook her head. She wasn’t going to make more mistakes. She had to focus now.

‘You’re still a chicken,’ he jeered.

‘You’re confusing cowardice with being sensible.’ She had always tried to do the sensible thing. No shame in that, right? ‘And with these smudges?’ She held up her fingers. ‘Why would I waste my time and resources?’

He glanced at the table. ‘You’re really into all this?’

‘I want Aurelie to have what she wants.’

‘So you’ve not been put off weddings and all that’s wonderful about them?’

‘Of course not,’ she mocked. He was the cynical one, not she. ‘You think because my marriage didn’t work out, I’d go all bitter and anti?’

His lips twitched. ‘No. I just…wouldn’t have expected you to be so into weddings, I guess.’

‘I’m into other people’s weddings,’ she said smoothly, putting her pen back into its case. ‘And you’re still not into weddings at all.’

His shoulders lifted. ‘And yet here I am. Happy to enjoy someone else’s wedding.’

‘That’s an improvement on the last time I saw you. You didn’t seem to want anyone to marry then.’

‘And I was right, wasn’t I?’ He casually picked up a candle and breathed in the scent.

She took that hit. ‘You couldn’t have foreseen what was going to happen.’

‘Couldn’t I?’

No. She rejected the idea totally.

‘You and I both knew it wasn’t right,’ he said softly, lowering the candle and coolly looking at her. ‘Even Oliver knew it wasn’t right.’

‘I think it’s best if I go home and work on these in my studio,’ Victoria said through gritted teeth.

‘Where are you staying? Paris?’ Liam asked, his lips curving in that suspiciously sinful way. ‘I can give you a lift.’

‘You’re not staying here?’

He shook his head and straightened, looking all man-of-action. ‘I have some things in town I need to do.’

She couldn’t possibly get a lift with him. Never. The train was the only option.

Victoria looked up to meet his gaze and saw the mockery written all over him. But as she was about to answer he laid a finger over her lips.

‘What are you so worried about?’ he taunted slyly. ‘You’ll be stuck with me for less than an hour. What harm can come?’

To be stuck in a car with the guy who’d once tempted her so completely? She’d be mad to contemplate it. She had to think of some excuse.

‘With you driving?’ she tried to tease archly. ‘You always travelled too fast, Liam. So I’d say all kinds of harm could come.’

‘Oh, well.’ His answer came lazy and insolent. ‘If it’s speed you’re afraid of, why don’t you drive?’

TWO

Liam tried not to hold his breath as he waited for her answer. Victoria Rutherford—the only woman he’d wanted, but had never had. The one who’d got away. It was such a cliché, but face to face with her for the first time in five years?

He still wanted.

She was even more beautiful now. Until today he wouldn’t have thought that was possible.

‘Sure.’ Her very pretty chin tilted upwards as she finally gave him an answer.

Liam had to suppress more than a sigh of satisfaction—there was a burn in his blood and in his gut as well. Last time he’d asked her something it had been a denial she’d issued. Not today. And, as crazy as it was, Liam had more to ask of her. Much more. He wanted to hear ‘yes’ from her mouth many times over.

Maybe then his mind would be freed from all those memories.

Victoria willed confidence. Of course she could drive that big black car. It might have power but it’d also have every safety feature ever invented. And no doubt it had a fancy sat-nav system and automatic clutch. It’d be a cinch. ‘I’d love to drive.’

Yeah, she just oozed faux confidence—refusing to show how flustered she was.

She carefully packed her gear into her bag. Shame she didn’t have some light leather driving gloves to don with chic aplomb. Gloves would hide the almost permanent ink stains. ‘Let’s get going. I’ve got a lot of work to do.’

But the car that an assistant brought to the front entrance of the chateau wasn’t the big black machine she’d seen from the window. It was a tiny two-seater.

Victoria eyed the sleek gleaming silver with its explicit promise of speed and seduction and turned to Liam. ‘Who do you think you are—James Bond?’

Even she, no car fiend, recognised a vintage Aston Martin when she saw it. No automatic clutch, no sat-nav, no airbags. No roof even. And no chance she was driving it.

He held open the driver’s door for her. ‘You don’t think it’s gorgeous?’

That wasn’t the point. ‘Is it yours?’

Of course he had some zippy racing thing. The guy only knew one speed—supersonic.

He shook his head. ‘It’s a rental. But I figure that’s no reason to be boring.’

As if he could ever be boring. Still, the ownership gave her an out from the nightmare. ‘Then insurance won’t cover me. I’m not taking the chance of damaging a rental car.’

‘But you wouldn’t mind damaging mine?’

Her gaze clashed with his. He didn’t look away. Nor did she. Like swords crossed to the hilt, their eyes were locked. Neither would disengage.

‘You’re driving,’ she spoke through lips that barely moved.

‘See, you are a coward,’ he answered equally softly.

‘I choose not to take unnecessary risks.’ She broke the fierce challenge by walking round to the passenger side, yanking open the door and sliding into the seat. She really couldn’t afford a bill if she pranged. And given how shaky her hands were right now, a prang seemed inevitable.

After a minute that felt like an hour, she glanced over to where he still stood by the open driver’s door. He was smiling as he stared at her.

‘If you’re not willing to drive either, please let me know so I can catch a train,’ she said impatiently. ‘I need to get home to get on with my work.’

‘Of course,’ he answered ever so politely.

Frankly, she didn’t see how a guy with legs as long as his could actually fit into a tiny roadster like this. But he did with a way-too-sensual ease, pulling sunglasses from a small compartment and putting them on. That was when she registered the next problem. The two-seater was a close fit. It wasn’t big enough for her to be able to slink into the far corner. Instead his shoulder was merely inches from hers.

Too intimate.

Swallowing, she glared out of the window. She’d focus on the external view, not the Greek-god-gorgeous guy sitting so close.

He revved the engine and cruised down the gravel driveway. Victoria breathed again, inhaling the fresh summer air. They’d be on the motorway and he’d put his foot down and they’d be back in Paris in no time and this would all be over. As they reached the end of the drive she braced herself for the acceleration. But when they hit the road, Liam didn’t quit the leisurely pace.

‘What’s with the speed, Grandpa?’ she finally asked. She wanted away from him as soon as possible. ‘Are we anywhere near the speed limit?’

‘If I drive too fast, I won’t be able to hear you.’

Hear her what? Breathe? She wasn’t about to have any kind of deep and meaningful conversation with the man. As far as she was concerned, the less they talked, the better. Her overly sensitive nerves didn’t need to hear more of the laughter that was always audible in his voice. So she sat silent, keeping her eyeballs glued to the window. After five minutes they were still going at that ridiculous pace.

‘You’ll get pulled over for holding up the traffic,’ she finally muttered.

‘There aren’t any cars behind me and, if there were, there’s a lane for them to overtake me.’

See, there it was. That latent lazy humour. As if everything was warm and easy with him. Well, if he was going to insist on the snail’s pace—and he clearly was—then she might as well quench some of the curiosity burning out her brain. ‘Why are you at the chateau so far ahead of the wedding? Isn’t your life so busy you could only fly in the day before?’

‘I’m on holiday. Thought I’d help her out with some arrangements.’

As he’d helped prepare for that Christmas years ago? He’d worked alongside her—helping out in all kinds of ways. As if he, like she, couldn’t cope with sitting around idly all day. She’d always wanted to feel needed. But she didn’t think he craved other people’s approval in the same way she did. ‘You don’t want to laze on the beach?’

He shook his head. ‘I’d want to be on the water.’

‘You’re not good at having a holiday.’ He’d always sought out something to do.

‘I prefer to keep busy.’

‘Why’s that? You can’t relax?’

She glanced at him. His eyes were hidden by the sunglasses, but his mouth curved into that wicked grin.

‘I can relax,’ he said softly.

‘By ‘getting busy’, right?’ she asked sarcastically, knowing that was exactly what he was thinking of. ‘But you can’t cope with quiet? You scared of being alone with your thoughts?

‘I’m a professional sportsman, right? Therefore I don’t have thoughts.’

Oh, he was no brainless jock type. He was smart, successful—you didn’t need to note the expensive watch and discreet-but-mega-expensive clothing labels to know that.

‘So what have you been keeping busy with these last five years?’ Once more she gave into her urges and asked.

‘You don’t know?’

She sent him a cool look. ‘No. You left on Christmas Day and that was that.’

His brows waggled above his sunglasses. ‘You mean you didn’t Google me?’

‘No.’ Laughter bubbled out at his irrepressible arrogance. ‘I’m sorry to deflate your ego, but I haven’t spent the last few years cyber-stalking you.’ Which wasn’t to say she hadn’t ever thought about him. But she’d resisted curiosity then and pushed him from her mind. Now his answer made her wonder. ‘Did you ever Google me?’

He smiled at the road ahead, his fingers rhythmically tapping the steering wheel.

Oh, my. ‘You did.’ She twisted in her seat and stared at him. ‘When did you Google me?’ It would have been easy to find her. She hadn’t changed her name—something that had really bothered Oliver. She had a website—it even had her picture on it. And she was on Facebook like anyone. She frowned, drew her lip between her teeth. What had Liam found out about her online? What info was out there that she didn’t know about?

‘When I heard you and Oliver had broken up,’ he said.

All that time later? A lone butterfly fluttered in her stomach. ‘How did you hear about that?’

‘I’m still in touch with some people in London.’

But not Oliver? ‘You know he’s gone to Canada.’

He nodded.

So he probably also knew Oliver hadn’t gone to Canada alone. What else did he know?

Suddenly cold, Victoria didn’t want to find out. She didn’t want to think what some of her old acquaintances might have said about how it all fell apart.

‘How do you know Aurelie?’ She turned back to stare out of the windscreen, folding her arms across her tummy.

There was a pause. ‘I’m one of her ex-boyfriends.’ Victoria clenched her fingers into fists, glad they were hidden under her arms. She kept her eyes firmly on the window. So he had wanted Aurelie. He’d had Aurelie. Then she remembered the expression that had briefly flared in his eyes when she’d interrupted him hugging Aurelie. Was he hurt because his former love was marrying someone else?

Victoria released the breath she’d held too long. ‘You’re still friends?’

‘We’re close.’ He inclined his head and briefly glanced at her. ‘Is that hard to believe?’

Frankly yes. What woman could be ‘just friends’ with Liam Wilson? He was too intensely attractive.

And what surprised her more was that he chose to remain in touch with Aurelie. He’d been the burning bridges type a few years ago.

‘Is she the one who got away?’ She tried to joke but it sounded flat to her. ‘Do you still hold a torch?’

‘I care very much about Aurelie, but—’

‘You care about yourself more?’ She couldn’t help interrupting rudely—she regretted asking anything now. She didn’t want to know.

He chuckled. ‘What is it about me that threatens you so much?’

‘Nothing. You don’t. I’m not bothered by you.’ Lord, could she sound any more flustered?

She tilted her head back and hoped the breeze would cool her cheeks.

‘No? I bothered you once. I made you want something you thought you shouldn’t.’ His smile was still there but all sense of joking was dead.

‘As arrogant as ever, I see.’ And a game player. He’d considered her sport. He’d done it because he couldn’t help himself—consumed by that driving need to win. Even over his best friend. Oliver had told her about the new sailor who’d come into the team—that he was driven like no one else.

He was driven to win in everything.

But even though she knew that to be the truth, her heart puckered. Surely it hadn’t entirely been a game? That attraction had been intensely fierce. Surely there was no way it had only been her feeling it for real?

And the night they’d first met, Liam hadn’t known she was Oliver’s girlfriend. Not until that heated look and those soft, searing words had already been exchanged.

‘You’d be disappointed if I wasn’t.’

She rolled her eyes but she couldn’t help those urges again. ‘So you and Aurelie?’

The wry smile on his lips told her he was amused by her curiosity. She lifted her chin and ploughed on anyway. Because, damn it, they’d shared something. They weren’t mere acquaintances. A moment of connection had forged a thread between them. Incredibly, she almost felt a right to know. He’d once interfered in her personal life—didn’t that give her certain leeway in return? ‘How long were you together?’

‘On and off, almost three years.’

She snapped her mouth shut, almost as shocked as when she’d first seen him walk into that room at the chateau. He’d been with Aurelie longer than she’d been married to Oliver? He must have loved her.

Liam chuckled. ‘I’ve surprised you.’

‘Yes.’ She drew a breath and nodded. ‘You have. But in a good way.’

‘Why good?’

‘You committed that long.’

‘You didn’t think I could commit?’ His brows shot high, an odd note sounding in his voice.

‘It doesn’t fit with your image.’

There was a pause. ‘What’s my image?’

Victoria swivelled in her seat again to look directly at him, determined to play it up and ease them back into that slightly wary, almost joking mood. ‘Untamable. Challenging. Arrogant.’

There were so many more adjectives she could add to his definition. But she wasn’t going to feed his ego any more.

‘And that makes me seem like I wouldn’t commit?’

‘Well, you’re such a flirt,’ she said bluntly.

He laughed and his hands tightened on the wheel. ‘Only with you.’

‘Yeah, right.’ That was a prime example of his flirt talk just there. And it totally wasn’t true. He’d had them all eating out of his hand all those years ago. She’d seen how the other girls there had watched him. They’d looked at him the same way Victoria had covertly looked at him. With dazzled hunger.

She couldn’t believe he’d been with Aurelie three years. What had happened to break them up? Why was she marrying someone else? Victoria thought she already knew. Liam wasn’t the marrying kind. Not even to a total dream-girl like Aurelie. He’d never be pinned down by any woman—not for life. No doubt there were too many other challenges—races, trophies, women.

‘Are you in a new relationship now?’ That curiosity got her once more.

‘No,’ he answered with a soft drawl. ‘I have commitment issues.’

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. Even though she knew it was the truest thing he’d said all day.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Are you with someone new?’

She shook her head. ‘I have commitment issues too.’

Now his laughter rolled.

‘Well, you can’t blame me for being wary now.’ She smiled wryly.

He stopped laughing immediately. ‘No.’ He turned his attention to the road ahead. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out.’

‘I thought you were all ‘I told you so’?’

He shook his head. ‘He was an idiot.’ There was a silence. ‘We were all idiots.’

Victoria shrank in her seat. She’d been the biggest idiot. She’d been unable to stand up for herself and say what she’d really wanted. And in some ways, what she’d really wanted had been neither of them. She’d needed freedom and independence and she’d been too afraid to reach for it. But she had it now and she wasn’t giving it up.

‘The calligraphy’s going well for you?’ He changed the subject.

‘Yes,’ she said proudly. It mightn’t be world famous but it was doing okay.

‘It’s an interesting way to make a living. Doing the purely decorative.’

‘It’s nice to make things beautiful for people. Life shouldn’t just be functional,’ she declared, knowing he was deliberately provoking her and responding regardless. ‘Anyway, it’s no less meaningless than sailing from point A to point B as fast as possible. You’re hardly securing world peace with that career.’ She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear with an affected gesture. ‘At least what I do makes a difference to a few people—it makes them smile.

‘I make people smile too, you know,’ he said slyly. ‘I make people cheer. And scream.’

She bet he made many women scream. ‘Is that why you do it?’ She couldn’t resist a little provoking either—asking him in terribly polite tones, ‘You need the adulation?’

His resulting chuckle made her smile inside. ‘I just like to win.’

He hadn’t won with her. He still wouldn’t.

She looked at him. ‘Not everyone can win all of the time. Not even you.’

‘That’s not going to stop me trying.’

No. Hadn’t he made a play for her even when he knew she was with someone else—someone who was supposed to be his best friend?

But once more her conscience niggled because he could argue he hadn’t made a play. He’d not said or done anything out of line once he knew who she was. Then again the man was so devastating he hadn’t needed to do or say. He’d only needed to look. And when he had finally spoken? In front of everyone? She sighed. He was the one who’d got away.

‘This the street you meant?’

Despite his determined effort to fly well under the speed limit for the entire journey, they were indeed finally in her neighbourhood.

‘Yes.’ She directed him to her apartment and he pulled up outside.

Her heart thundered. Her silly hands were actually sweating as she unclipped her seat belt. She was going to say goodbye to him again. For ever. Good, right?

He turned in his seat and faced her. She should get out of the car. She should open the door and walk away. But she couldn’t; somehow she needed to see him—see his eyes. See if that look was there.

And he knew it. He took off his sunglasses, meeting her eyes. His were serious, but there was that glint of laughter and of something else.

Determination. Desire. Challenge.

She recognised them all. But she couldn’t let this happen. Even if she was dying of curiosity inside. She’d resisted him once, she could again, right? She had a new man-free plan and she was sticking to it.

‘Victoria—’

‘No.’ She pre-empted him. She was not inviting him in. She was not touching him. She was not letting him—

He smiled. Reaching out, he touched her burning cheek with just the tips of his fingers.

She clamped her jaw together.

‘Even now you want to resist it?’ he murmured.

‘You can’t just pick up with five years in between when we last saw each other.’ Did she have to sound so breathy?

‘Why not?’

‘Because…’ So much had gone down between then and now.

‘I’m single.’ He glanced at her hands in her lap. ‘You’re no longer attached.’

‘And you’re pleased about that,’ she said tartly.

He clamped his hand over hers, a quick frown pulling his brows. ‘Of course I’m not. Believe it or not I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you both to be happy.’

She swallowed, conscious of the strength of his hand pushing on hers. The heat of it. ‘We were,’ she said hoarsely, but honestly. ‘For a while.’

‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But it not working out was nothing to do with me.’

‘I never said it was.’ And she wouldn’t. But the edges of her heart shrivelled because, while Oliver had been the one who’d cheated, she’d been the one who’d withheld part of herself. She’d not been honest with him. Or herself. Or anyone.

Liam leaned closer. ‘Don’t make me pay the price of him hurting you.’

‘I’m sorry?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘What is it you want to do?’

‘What I’ve always wanted to do.’ His shoulders lifted. ‘From the second I first saw you in nothing but a towel and steam. At least I’m honest enough to admit it.’

She felt the steam now as heat surged through her body.

‘This thing between us?’ He shook his head. ‘Still the same, even after all this time. You can’t deny it.’

Of course she’d deny it. Self-preservation was a basic instinct. ‘I can.’ Because she knew all that was important to know about Liam, yet he knew nothing of what was important about her. Like the fact she wasn’t about to let herself get distracted. ‘You don’t know me now, Liam. You don’t know what I want.’

‘So you’re going to take the easy option and avoid it? You’re good at that.’

She shook her head. ‘You thought you were so clever. That you saw it all. But you saw nothing of what was really going on with me. You didn’t know me.’

‘I knew enough,’ he argued. ‘I still do.’

‘And what do you think you know? That I was sexually attracted to you?’ She kept her head high despite another flare of heat in her cheeks. ‘You intrigued me then, yes, I admit it. But I’m not interested now.’

‘Then prove it.’ His gaze locked on hers. ‘Come closer without blushing.’

‘Oh, please.’ She covered up with a laugh. ‘I don’t need to prove anything to you.’

‘What about to yourself?’ he challenged right back, his expression wicked and tempting. ‘Isn’t that part of what you’re doing now? Isn’t your move to Paris all about proving things to yourself?’

‘You still think you’re so smart.’

‘No, but I know when I’m right.’ He brushed that strand of hair behind her ear for her. ‘You’re out here on your own. Proving you can do it. You can handle it.’

‘And I can,’ she whispered.

He smiled. ‘Yet you won’t even try to handle me.’

THREE

‘You do not have to see me to my door.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Liam wasn’t letting Victoria walk out of his life again. At least, not yet. Not when there was this much unfinished between them. He was going to get something from her today. Even just an admission. He wanted to hear her say it only the once, a whisper even. She reckoned she didn’t want him? She reckoned wrong. He knew that as well as she.

‘I have to work.’

He knew that too. ‘I’m not asking to stay the night.’ Though he would if she offered. One night was all he’d need. Why she could do this to him, he didn’t know, but from the first second he’d seen her it had been there. That hot response in every cell of his body.

Want.

But he wasn’t the kid he’d once been. He wasn’t going to lose it as he had back then—he was in control of everything now, right?

He’d experienced lust plenty of times. Course he had. Had acted on it too. But it had never been as extreme as it had that night he’d first met Victoria. When she’d opened her mouth and answered him back? When she’d been as enthralled as he had?

She still was. He’d seen it flash in her eyes when he’d walked into that room, before she’d had a second to school her face. He saw it now in the way she went out of her way to avoid touching, or even looking at, him.

But he looked at her. And he wanted to touch. In fact he wanted to provoke—that would only be fair. Because that rampant lust was back as bad as it had ever been.

He followed her up the stairs, trying hard not to stare at her sweet curves. Instead he glanced around, checking out her digs. The distraction was not good.

The stairwell was poorly lit but he could still see the grimy, peeling paintwork and he could smell something horrendous—like several stale dinners mixed with the stench of wet wool. How many tiny apartments were squished into this ugly building? They passed a million doors as they marched on. No wonder she was looking fit given all these stairs she had to climb.

‘So you’re doing the garret-in-Paris thing?’ He ground the feeble joke out. This place was hardly the Left Bank and giving her a nice view of the river.

‘I’m not starving. I’m doing very well,’ she said as they finally got to the top floor. She unlocked her door and paused. ‘And calligraphy is a craft as much as it is an art. I’m happy.’

‘Good for you.’ He ignored the ‘goodbye’ in her tone and walked right past her, into the shoebox of an apartment— a child’s shoebox at that. ‘But there are better garrets. With better views.’ He frowned, learning all there was to know in a swift glance. One room with a cupboard for a kitchen and another for a bathroom. The place sucked.

‘I don’t need a better view. I only need good light.’

She’d set up a small workspace in the room. The biggest bit of furniture was her desk. Angled and pushed against the window to maximise use of the natural light. On a flat desk beside it was her computer. Against the far wall—as if it were an afterthought—was the smallest single bed he’d ever seen.

The place wasn’t miniature doll’s-house cute, it was cramped.

‘How can you work in here?’ He looked away from the itty, bitty bed. ‘It’s hardly a ‘studio’ is it?’ It wasn’t big enough for anyone to be comfortable in. Not even petite blondes with leaf-green eyes.

‘That’s exactly what it is.’ Her chin lifted high, as if she was just waiting for the criticism.

Confronted with that expression, much as he wanted to criticise, he found he wasn’t going to. She was trying—independent and alone. Far more than she’d been five years ago. Good for her, right? Except for some reason it annoyed him more. Why should it matter? Couldn’t he, of all people, understand the need to succeed?

‘Why don’t you come to my hotel and work there? I have a suite—it’s three times the size of this place.’ He knew before he’d finished saying it that it was a mistake. He knew how she’d react—call him worse than a flirt. Thing was, he meant it. Grudgingly. It wasn’t a line.

‘Oh, please, that was so unsubtle.’

Yep, she boxed him right back into flirt mode.

‘But we wouldn’t have to share a bathroom this time.’ He walked up to her, giving into her expectations—and his own need to provoke. And stand closer. ‘Unless you wanted to.’ He smiled and lifted a hand to her jaw, unable to resist touching her again. ‘Now, that was unsubtle.’

He’d never forget the time he’d walked in on her in the bathroom. It had been his first night there that Christmas break. To his relief she hadn’t screamed the place down. She’d been mortified. In truth so had he. He’d covered up by joking, of course. But he’d soon got derailed. The towel had covered her most private parts—parts he’d ached to see. But there’d been so much damp skin on show and with the steam and the sweet scent of her soap? Of course he’d made a play. A huge one.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he’d learned she was Oliver’s girlfriend—the one he’d been with for a couple of years. Who Oliver’s family loved and expected him to marry. The good girl who slept in her own room when she stayed—not Oliver’s. It was all so perfect.

But it was already too late. Liam had been young and dumb and so callow. He’d mistaken insta-lust for love at first sight. He’d been unsubtle in his attention. Unable to stay away.

‘That wasn’t just unsubtle.’ Victoria lifted her chin sharply, so his fingers slipped from her skin. ‘That was sledgehammer.’

‘This is a dodgy neighbourhood,’ he said, wishing he could see her out of here.

‘Don’t try to get me there under the pretext of caring for my welfare.’ She looked amused.

There was no shifting her. And—albeit reluctantly— he respected that. ‘So where do you see it—’ he waved his hand at her desk ‘—in a few years?’

‘You want to know my business goals?’

Yep, oddly he did. ‘How are you going to expand when it’s so dependent on you? What happens if you sprain your wrist or something?’

‘I have business insurance. In terms of expansion—is it necessary? I only need to make enough for me to live comfortably.’

A single bed was never comfortable, no matter how slight she was. She clearly needed to make more than she currently was. ‘How are you going to factor in holidays? When you own your own business, it’s very easy to forget about holidays.’

‘How do you factor in holidays?’ She laughed at him.

‘I love my work. Work is a holiday for me.’ Sailing was and always would be his first, his ultimate, passion. He loved the challenge on the water. It was his home—the place he felt safest. And the most free.

She turned and looked at him. Her green eyes were very bright—he felt their power right into his bones.

‘And you don’t think it’s possible for me to feel the same about my work?’ she asked.

Frankly? No. ‘Not in this environment.’ This place was stifling at best. ‘But maybe it doesn’t matter to you. Maybe you only see what you’re working on.’ He walked over to the scrupulously tidy desk. ‘You’re very good at what you do.’

Victoria couldn’t get over his nerve. He couldn’t try to make it better now with flattery. Not when he hadn’t even seen her work. He’d only seen that mess on the card at the chateau. She’d boxed the others away and right now her desk was completely clear. So he had no idea how good she was. Unless—

A horrible suspicion occurred to her. ‘Did you recommend me to Aurelie?’

He stilled.

‘You did. You Googled me. You found my website. You—’ She broke off.

For once the self-assured expression was wiped from Liam’s face. He looked guilty. He was guilty.

Victoria gritted her teeth. She couldn’t back out of Aurelie’s job now, but a huge part of her wanted to.

‘I didn’t think I was going to make it to her wedding.’ Liam offered an explanation. ‘And I never expected to see you even if I did. But, yes, I wanted to help.’

Help who—her or Aurelie?

It shouldn’t bother her. It really shouldn’t. But she didn’t want to feel beholden to him. And she’d felt so stupidly proud to have gotten this commission. That she was succeeding independently and on her own merit. Oliver had implied that her early success in London had only been because of his contacts. Not the quality of her work. She’d thought this job an antidote to that bite.

‘I mentioned your name when she was boring me with wedding details one day.’ Liam fiddled with one of the tins she had on her desk, pulling out the pencils one by one and dropping them back in. ‘She looked you up herself and decided whether or not to hire you. She likes your work.’

Victoria swallowed. She couldn’t let pride ruin this. She could still get business off the back of Aurelie’s wedding. Her work would speak for itself.

He glanced at her, his sharp eyes assessing. ‘You’re unhappy with me.’

‘Not at all,’ she lied. ‘It was very nice of you to suggest me to her. I’m amazed you could even remember my name.’

‘Come off it, Victoria.’ He stepped closer.

She instinctively retreated. Because sometimes he saw too much—past her polite veneer to what she was really thinking. And wanting.

‘You’re so determinedly independent now?’ he asked, his brows lifting at her attempt to put distance between them. ‘Can’t accept anyone’s help?’ A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Least of all mine?’ He let his gaze slowly lower— trailing over her body.

She stood her ground, hoping to school her response and this time truly hide her thoughts from him. But once again he seemed to know.

‘What are you so afraid of?’ he baited. ‘You have nothing to fear from me. It would only be the once.’

Victoria smiled, keeping the rest of her expression smooth. ‘Why? Isn’t it going to be very good?’

His attention snapped back to her face. ‘I’ve done the convenient relationship. It doesn’t work. One-night stands do.’

The ‘convenient relationship’? So he hadn’t been in love with Aurelie? Or was this his way of hiding his own deep hurt?

‘I’m not a one-night stand person,’ she answered honestly.

‘Maybe you should try it. Once.’

She held his gaze—still feeling that pull towards him, but she was older and wiser and stronger now. ‘You don’t like to give up, do you?’

There was a slight hesitation. ‘No. I told you I like to win.’

‘And that’s what this is?’ She gestured—fluttering her fingers towards him and then herself. ‘Like an event to be won?’

‘If we don’t explore it, there’ll always be that curiosity. Be honest,’ he drawled, taking another step closer. ‘You’re dying of curiosity. That burning wonder of what might have been.’

‘So poetic?’

‘It’s the Irish ancestry in me. And I’m right. We both know that.’ His voice dropped. ‘We also both know how good it’s going to be.’

‘Liam.’

His lashes lowered. ‘It’s always going to be like this,’ he muttered. ‘It’s inevitable. It always has been.’

No. She’d ceded control of her life for too long—always doing what others wanted. She was in control now.

He’d stepped near enough to touch her and now he did. Reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers on her shoulder.

‘Only once, you say?’ she asked, letting some tease out. Determined to make him pay for this casual attitude. As if all this was was sexual curiosity that could be assuaged in one hit.

‘Feel free to make me change my mind.’ His mouth quirked. ‘Love to see you try.’

She stepped back.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not happening.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Feel free to make me change my mind,’ she threw at him. ‘Go on. Do your worst.’

Startled, he stepped after her. ‘Victoria—’

‘Was this only ever lust? You’re so driven by base urges you ruined your friendship with Oliver? You almost broke up a relationship? For a quick fling?’

Or was it even less than that? She took another step from him, using the last bit of space behind her and bumping the backs of her knees against the small cot she called her bed.

‘Was it just your overblown need to win?’ she continued. ‘You’re so insanely competitive, did you need to get one over him? Was I nothing more than the trophy of the day?’ She kept her smile on but it was slipping. Quickly.

‘No.’ He frowned.

That didn’t satisfy her. ‘Then don’t cheapen this. Don’t cheapen me.’

Now he looked angry. ‘I didn’t betray Oliver.’

No?

‘I didn’t seduce you,’ he argued, standing so close she could feel his warmth and almost taste the salty ocean breeze that he always seemed to evoke. ‘And I could have.’

‘You think?’

‘I can’t give you everything you want. I can only—’

‘You don’t know what I want.’

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Marriage, babies, Labradors.’

‘I tried that. It’s not for me.’ Maybe she just wanted acknowledgement of what could have been between them. That this had been more than just a sexual attraction. That somehow, unbelievable as it might have been, there had been a real connection between them that week.

‘So what do you want?’

‘A career. My business.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I was making headway before the divorce. Oliver hated that I was more successful than he was.’ The banking crisis had hardly been her fault. Hundreds in the city had been laid off—Oliver had been one of them. But for whatever reason, her little enterprise had gained traction. But after his affair and the divorce she’d lost it. Now she was back at the beginning. But she believed in it. In herself. ‘I want to build this up into something great. And to do that I need to finish this for Aurelie. That’s what I want. To have work coming out of my ears. For people to love my work.’

He was silent, his eyes boring into her, for a long moment. Then he glanced around her small room again. The plain, utility style room with her neatly lined tins and stacks of paper and materials.

‘That’s all you want?’ he asked.

‘That’s all I have time for.’

‘No time for anything else?’ He suddenly smiled, wicked-incarnate again. ‘Not even one night?’

‘Typical.’ She rolled her eyes, her good humour lifting at the swift return of his. ‘You just want to bang the one who got away.’

‘What, and you think you’re unaffected?’ he teased. ‘I see how you look at me.’

She averted her eyes immediately. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘But true nonetheless.’ He nodded. ‘Look, I respect your aims. And you’re right, you have no time. But let’s clear the air a little.’

In what way exactly? That wicked look in his eye was only growing.

‘I don’t think the air needs clearing,’ she said firmly. ‘One kiss,’ he tempted. ‘We never even kissed.’

That was true. She’d turned away. She still didn’t know how she’d managed it. But she was repeating it now— there’d be no kissing.

He laughed at her expression. ‘Don’t look so worried. It might be a huge let-down.’

‘I thought you were too much of a Casanova to let any woman down that way.’

‘You might let me down,’ he taunted.

‘You’re questioning my abilities?’ She winced at the high pitch of her attempted comeback. Not exactly sizzling.

His smile came so quick, so lethal it shot heat into her abdomen. ‘Well, how good are you?’

‘Better than you.’ She snapped the obvious answer straight back—smart all the way and unwilling to concede a thing.

His smiled broadened.

But hers faltered. She thought about what she’d said. Fact was she was more fizzle than sizzle. The fantasy was shattered. She wasn’t good at all. She’d had one lover in her life—Oliver. And he’d gone and found greater warmth with another woman.

‘Victoria?’

Liam’s smile had died. Was it concern that he was looking at her with? She looked away again. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want a pity kiss, she didn’t want to be a disappointment.

‘It’s not going to be good.’ She cleared her throat and then glued on a smile so he’d think she was feeling it as an easy joke. ‘So let’s just keep it as an unfulfilled fantasy.’

He muttered something, she didn’t know what. She just wanted him to leave now. She had a headache coming on, she had so much work to do. And the emotional spin he’d put her in? It was like going through the washing machine on heavy duty. Only he wasn’t washing away all those old emotions. He was hauling them out again— the stains of the past. Want and desire and silly things that she’d forgotten about.

Except she’d not forgotten. And it still wasn’t the right time. It never would be.

He touched her. His hand cupping, then lifting her chin. She couldn’t look at him. All that sass-talk of a few minutes ago fled, leaving her empty inside. Doubt flurried into the vacant spaces within. He might have stuck with only one girlfriend for a while, but he was still vastly more experienced than she. He’d laugh at how hopeless she was.

He stepped closer, into her space. ‘Look at me.’

She swallowed, trying to suck back the stupid pity moment. She lifted her chin herself, working her stiff mouth into some kind of smile, summoning the words to brush him off and escape this embarrassment. She didn’t need to be mortified. She didn’t need to kiss him and be exposed. He knew too much as it was.

‘Liam, I—’

He put his hands on her waist. Firmly. Her gaze collided with his and was captured. Whatever she’d meant to say slipped away.

Silence. Heat. Sensation.

Light from the late summer sun streamed through the window, encasing him in a golden glow. There was no hiding from his scrutiny, or his expression. And his expression revealed desire. Naked want.

Victoria blinked but couldn’t tear her focus away from the fire in his eyes. His hands slid over her firmly, shaping her hips. Her hands were useless—her fingers curled into fists. She held them pressed tight in the space just beneath her breasts. She stood as still as a small bird aware of a predator too close by.

He swept a hand to the small of her spine and then downwards. He pressed her forward, until her hips collided with his. She trembled at the searing impact—the shocking, undeniable proof of his attraction. That big bulge pressed against her—instantly scattering some of her doubt. Her dry lips parted so she could draw in a shaky breath. He stared, his focus fixed on her eyes.

They must have shown him something good, because his mouth eased, one corner lifting slightly.

He pressed her closer, then eased the pressure before pressing her against him again. He didn’t break contact with her, but the rippling rhythm intensified the sensations cascading through her. Her skin felt scalded—as if she’d been plunged into a pool of boiling water. She couldn’t look away from him, from the way he was watching her so intently. Lulling her. Inviting her. Making her feel as if it was all going to be okay.

It was going to be more than okay.

Breathing became difficult, as if the heat between them had burned all the oxygen. She tried to draw more air in. But breathing deeper took her chest closer to his. She lifted her hands—pushing them against his rock-hard heat. But slowly, unable to resist the urge, she stretched out her fingers to splay them over his broad chest. Through the navy cotton she could feel his skin burning, and she could feel the strong, regular drive of his heart. She pressed her lips together again—firmly, trying to ease the swollen feeling of them as her blood pulsed faster to all her most sensitive extremities.

He shifted, planting his feet wider. Both his hands were at her back now. Bending her into his heat. Saying nothing in words but everything in actions. She felt the impact right to her toes.

I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.

She heard the words in her head though his mouth hadn’t moved. Nor had hers. Did he say it? Did she? Or had she just dreamed it?

Her throat was tight; she couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried. But she felt the most intense yearning deep within herself. And within him.

She was so hot. And that heat slid in greater waves over her skin as he teased, pulling her closer, closer, closer. Stringing out that searing tension. Tormenting her with his steel-strong body.

Until she could no longer bear it.

Until she lifted her chin.

Until her lips broke apart as she gasped in defeat.

Until in hunger she pressed her mouth to his.

He instantly moved, wrapping his arms right around her, locking her fast into his embrace. One hand held her core against him, his other swept firmly up her spine, to her neck and into her hair. Tangling there. His lips rubbed over hers, firm and warm and possessive. His tongue teased—a slide across her mouth, then a stroke inside—tasting, taking.

She quivered at the intimacy. Her nerve endings sent excitement hurtling along her veins and deep into her belly. She slid her hands over his shoulders, exploring their breadth before smoothing her palms on the back of his neck, his head. Holding him. She’d dreamt of holding him so many times—but never had she imagined she’d feel as hot as this.

Her breasts were pressed to his chest. She shivered in delight as her taut nipples rubbed against him. Her pulse sprinted. It was too quick, her heart thumping too fast, too hard. She couldn’t breathe at all. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to break the seal of her lips to his. The moan came from some place buried a mile within her.

Such a long time.

The kiss grew hotter, wetter. So did she.

Her body weakened, strengthened, slid. She wanted to fall to the floor and lock her legs around him. Wanted the weight of him, all of him on her, inside her. Most of all she never wanted it to stop.

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