‘First you kiss me until I’m so damn hot I can’t see straight. Then you run off. And now you’re doing the whole damn thing all over again.’

He searched her face with an intensity that had heat flooding between her thighs. ‘Stop playing hard to get. There’s no need,’ he murmured, his lips a millimetre from hers. ‘Believe me, you’ve already got my full attention.’

She heard her own staggered gasp moments before his lips swooped down in a harsh, punishing kiss. Her fingers fisted convulsively in his shirt, but she could do nothing to resist the powerful, possessive strokes of his tongue. A tidal wave of raw, flaming need rose up from nowhere and cascaded through her. Her head fell back in surrender and his firm, insistent lips suckled the pulse-point in her neck.

‘Kiss me back,’ he urged in a strained whisper.

She lifted shaking arms, circled his neck and did as he asked, all thoughts of resistance gone as the bone-deep longing, the wild crazy thrill of exhilaration fizzed inside her like vintage champagne. Their tongues tangled in a frantic dance. A new, unknown power shimmered through her as he shuddered in response.

He tore his lips away, his breathing as ragged as hers. ‘No more games now. I came here tonight to have you. My hotel’s in the next valley. If we hurry we should be there in ten minutes.’

Dear Reader

I love it when I’m in the process of writing a book and a secondary character yells, ‘Hey, what about me? Don’t I deserve a story of my own?’ So I was chuffed to bits when Juno Delamare did exactly that as I was writing her best mate Daisy’s story in HOT-SHOT TYCOON, INDECENT PROPOSAL.

At the time, Juno didn’t even have a second name; she was just Daisy’s cautious, earnest, tomboy friend. Juno had been hurt badly once, and it had made her prickly and pessimistic and extremely wary of good-looking men. But her honesty, her fortitude and her emotional integrity instantly engaged me. And so, as Daisy’s story unfolded, Juno began to insist I find her a man of her own who could coax her out of her cocoon.

Then, lo and behold, Connor Brody—Daisy’s hero—mentioned he had a long-lost brother. Now, while at first this seemed a remarkably lucky coincidence, I quickly realised Juno had not had a man as dangerous as Mac Brody in mind when she had asked me to find her one true love. Would she be able to cope with this brooding Irish bad boy-turned-Hollywood star who had sealed off his heart at an early age and seduced women only to discard them the instant things got serious? And then I thought, What the hell? I’m the author here—not her. I’ll chuck Juno in at the deep end and see if she floats.

I hope you get the same kick out of watching her—and indeed Mac—struggle to survive the emotional tidal wave that promptly knocks them both flat. Feel free to let me know on heidi@heidi-rice.com

Cheers

Heidi

Heidi Rice was born and bred and still lives in London, England. She has two boys who love to bicker, a wonderful husband who, luckily for everyone, has loads of patience, and a supportive and ever-growing British/French/Irish/American family. As much as Heidi adores ‘the Big Smoke’, she also loves America, and every two years or so she and her best friend leave hubby and kids behind and Thelma and Louise it across the States for a couple of weeks (although they always leave out the driving off a cliff bit). She’s been a film buff since her early teens, and a romance junkie for almost as long. She indulged her first love by being a film reviewer for ten years. Then two years ago she decided to spice up her life by writing romance. Discovering the fantastic sisterhood of romance writers (both published and unpublished) in Britain and America made it a wild and wonderful journey to her first Mills and Boon® novel, and she’s looking forward to many more to come.

Recent books by the same author:

HOT-SHOT TYCOON, INDECENT PROPOSAL

PLEASURE, PREGNANCY AND A PROPOSITION

THE TYCOON’S VERY PERSONAL ASSISTANT

PUBLIC AFFAIR, SECRETLY EXPECTING

BY

HEIDI RICE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Suzy, for knowing when

a 600-mile road trip is not the way to go

And Daisy, a brilliant author and an even better friend.

Chapter One

STRUGGLING to control her galloping heartbeat, Juno Delamare scanned the arrivals screen at Heathrow’s bustling Terminal Five for details of Flight 155 from Los Angeles. The words ‘In the Arrivals Hall’ winked back at her and her heart stampeded into overdrive.

For goodness’ sake, woman. Get a grip.

Juno jammed her fists into the pockets of her newest jeans—which had a small tear at the knee where she’d been stacking shelves the day before—and took several deep breaths. She had to calm down. She was on a mission here, a very important mission, and she simply did not have time to have a heart attack—it would put a serious crimp in her plans.

When Hollywood heart-throb Mac Brody walked through the arrival gate, she intended to be ready—and in complete control of her faculties—so she could hand him his invitation to her best friend Daisy Dean’s wedding and make sure he agreed to come.

Daisy was marrying millionaire property developer Connor Brody in two weeks’ time and she’d set her heart on reuniting Connor with his long-lost brother at their wedding. So Juno had made it her mission to ensure said little brother came whether he wanted to or not.

How exactly she was going to get him to agree she hadn’t quite figured out yet. But she intended to give it her very best shot. Daisy had helped Juno put her life back together six years ago—when she’d thought she’d never be able to care about anything or anybody again—and she owed her.

Unfortunately, despite Juno’s heartfelt commitment to the cause, when she’d made her secret vow two weeks ago to get Mac Brody to Daisy and Connor’s wedding she hadn’t given a whole lot of thought to the logistics. But now, as zero hour approached in Heathrow’s imposing terminal, the logistics were beginning to choke her.

What if she failed? What if he travelled with a phalanx of bodyguards and she couldn’t get near him? What if he refused to take the invitation if she did get near him? And then there was the coup de grâce. When was the last time she’d even approached a strange man, let alone tried to persuade him to do something? Her powers of persuasion were less than nil where men were concerned.

She didn’t do seduction—she didn’t have the looks, the aptitude or indeed the wardrobe for it. Which meant she would have to appeal to Mac Brody’s better nature. But on the evidence so far, he didn’t have one.

Maybe she’d never met the guy. Maybe she’d never even seen one of his movies, but Juno had been in Daisy’s bright airy kitchen two weeks ago. The morning the letter had arrived…And that had told her all she needed to know about the true character of Mac Brody, Hollywood mega-star and Irish bad boy extraordinaire.

Okay, so he was good-looking—if you went for the tall, dark and dangerous stereotype—but that didn’t alter the fact that beneath all that brooding masculinity was a shallow, arrogant, self-absorbed egotist.

Juno’s temper rose again at the memory of Brody’s callousness.

Daisy had been so excited, so sure the letter would be good news. Only to rip open the envelope and find the wedding invitation she’d sent Brody inside and a note from his agent that stated in one neatly typed sentence that Mr Cormac Brody would not be attending the wedding of his brother Connor and requested that Ms Daisy Dean refrain from contacting him in the future.

The perfunctory note had made Daisy cry, and Daisy hardly ever cried, but almost worse for Juno had been Connor’s reaction. He’d slung his arm round Daisy’s shoulder and told her not to upset herself so. Mac was entitled to his feelings, they’d no right to pressure him into making a commitment he didn’t feel comfortable with and that was the end of the matter. But Juno had watched Connor read the note himself and had seen the sorrow and regret he’d been trying so hard to hide.

What right did Brody have to hurt her friends like that? And worse than that, he hadn’t even had the guts to get his hands dirty and contact them himself.

Juno muscled her way through the waiting crowd and folded her arms over the barrier. Ignoring the insistent rat-a-tat-tat of her heartbeat, she studied the stream of owl-eyed transatlantic passengers flowing through the arrival gate. Her mouth set in a grim line of determination. She’d have to hide her hostility towards him if this was going to work. But whatever happened, she was not going to give Brody the satisfaction of seeing how nervous she was—or how much she had at stake—and she absolutely refused to beg.

It would only make the contemptible man feel more superior.

Juno’s eyes narrowed sharply as she spotted a tall solitary figure strolling down the concourse alone. In contrast to the other travellers, who were rumpled but well dressed, this guy’s clothes were comfortable to the point of being disreputable. Faded denim hung from his lean hips and an ancient LA Dodgers T-shirt stretched across tanned biceps as he lugged a large leather holdall over his shoulder. The matching Dodgers baseball cap had been pushed down so the peak covered his face, but Juno could still see a day’s worth of stubble on his chin, and the wavy black hair that touched broad shoulders.

Could that be Brody? She stared, trying to make up her mind. If it was him, he wasn’t what she’d expected. With his shoulders hunched, his head down and his fingers fisted on the handle of his holdall, the man walking towards her looked as if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

And it was working. But for his height, which towered at least a foot over her own five feet two, Juno guessed no one would have given him a second glance. But then Juno noticed the way the stranger moved and she knew he had to be Mac Brody. He had the exact same loose, languid gait as his brother, Connor.

She jostled her way through the crowd to head him off at the exit gate—her heartbeat bumping right back up to warp speed.

Keeping his eyes on the grey industrial flooring, Mac Brody blanked out the crowd noise and hitched his shoulder to relieve the knot of tension and fatigue.

He’d never been keen on airports, and Heathrow held some bad memories. The last time he’d been here three years back, the paparazzi had been lying in wait to ambush him. It had been less than a week after his public bust-up with supermodel Regina St Clair—and a mere two days after Gina had sold her story to the press and branded him a coke-snorting wild man who bedded a different woman every night.

Gina’s X-rated fantasies might have been funny—but for the fact that a lot of people had believed her and the fallout had followed him around like a monkey on his back ever since. The press had smelled blood that day, and they hadn’t let him alone since. He’d never been comfortable exposed to the media spotlight, so it had been a harsh lesson to learn and no mistake.

He’d been mad as hell with Gina at the time. But he’d got over it soon enough. Somehow she’d deluded herself into believing they were in love and he hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice. He adjusted the weight of his carry-on bag on his shoulder. Lesson learned. Whenever he dated now, he made it plain exactly what he wanted out of a relationship—and exactly what he didn’t want—right from the start.

He glanced up to search the terminal for the exit. Seeing no sign of any photographers or press hounds, he heaved a sigh. He could cope with the paps if he had to, but right now he was exhausted after an eleven-hour flight and back-to-back night shoots during the past week and he didn’t need the hassle. Luckily for him, he’d learnt to blend into the woodwork at an early age; people rarely recognised him in a crowd unless he wanted them to.

Spotting the ‘Way Out’ sign, he changed direction, but as he lowered his head to make for the exit a small figure stepped from behind a pillar straight into his path.

‘What the…?’ He pulled up sharply to stop knocking the girl down.

‘You’re Cormac Brody.’ Her voice wavered, but the statement was loud enough to attract attention.

‘Keep your voice down,’ he said, scanning the surrounding crowd. Luckily no one seemed to have heard her.

‘I’m sorry to bother you. But I need to speak to you,’ she said, polite as you please, but he detected a definite edge. ‘It’s extremely important.’

‘Extremely important, is it?’ He’d heard that before. A firm dismissal hovered on the tip of his tongue, but, as his gaze drifted over her figure and then settled back on her face, it refused to come out of his mouth.

Whoever the girl was, she was seriously cute.

The torn jeans and layered T-shirts should have made her look like a tomboy, but somehow they suited her, hugging her subtle curves and accentuating her narrow waist and a pair of small but pert breasts.

Then there was the impact of that pale heart-shaped face to consider.

Not quite green and not quite blue, her round, translucent eyes grabbed most of the attention, but when you added in the soft, carelessly cut cap of dark blonde hair, the clear, creamy skin and perfectly defined bone structure—plus the fact she didn’t have a spot of make-up on—he had to admit the effect was striking.

He wondered if she was a fan. And hoped she wasn’t.

‘What is it that’s so extremely important?’ He could spare her a moment—after all it was a long time since he’d been this intrigued. ‘I haven’t much time at the minute, darlin’.’

The doe-like eyes narrowed and she looked even cuter—sort of like Bo Peep in a strop. ‘Don’t patronise me, Mr Brody.’

He blinked, surprised by the ballsy comeback. No way was she a fan. ‘I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop saying my name so loudly,’ he said, keeping his tone light, even though this was the second time he’d had to mention it. ‘I’m in no hurry to draw attention to myself.’ Intriguing or not, she was turning into a bit of a liability.

He glanced past her again to make sure she hadn’t given him away and spied the one person he didn’t want to see. ‘Damn.’

She frowned and began to turn. Throwing his bag down, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the pillar to get them both out of Pete Danners’s line of sight. His nemesis. The same freelance photographer had dogged him like a Rottweiler three years back and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

‘Don’t look round,’ he snapped. He propped his elbow above her head, trapping her body against his to look round the pillar. ‘If yer man over there sees me, this trip’ll be a misery.’

Juno sucked in a sharp breath, so shocked she forgot to exhale.

What was happening?

One second she’d been staring into staggeringly blue eyes and thinking Cormac Brody was a lot better-looking than he had any right to be and quite as arrogant as she had assumed. The next she’d been pinned against his lean, muscular body.

She got light-headed and remembered she needed air. One breath gushed out and she sucked in another. She could feel every single inch of him. The solid planes of his chest flattening her breasts. The long length of his thighs pressed to hers and the buckle of his belt, outlined against her stomach. The overwhelming scent of minty toothpaste and man suffocated her.

‘What are you doing?’ she panted, the outraged squeak muffled against his chest.

She hadn’t been this close to a man in six years. By rights she should be screaming her head off. But right alongside the shock was the unfamiliar blast of heat that throbbed in every place their bodies touched.

He moved back a fraction, still looking past her shoulder. She took another gasping breath.

‘He’s gone. Thank the Lord.’ The brush of his breath against her ear lobe had a shudder ricocheting down her spine. ‘I owe you one, gorgeous.’

‘I—I can’t breathe,’ she stammered, her teeth rattling.

He yanked off his cap and the bold, unfathomable blue of his eyes fixed on her face.

‘What’s wrong?’

You’re what’s wrong, she wanted to yell, but couldn’t say the words. She had to stop shaking first.

He bent his head. ‘Relax, darlin’.’ One calloused palm settled on her neck.

Her breath hitched painfully as he traced his thumb along her chin and then sank his fingers into her hair.

She tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was a choked moan. His hand rested on her nape, holding her steady. ‘How about we try this?’ he coaxed, his lips so close she could taste the minty scent of his breath.

Then his mouth slanted across hers.

The second those firm lips touched hers, her pulse went haywire—as if she’d been plugged into an electric socket. Shock and something much more potent rocketed through her. Then his tongue slid over her bottom lip and a staggered groan escaped.

She should push him away, her mind screamed. But when her palms flattened against his T-shirt, the muscles quivered beneath her fingers and her hands slid down the hard plane of worn cotton. Her lips parted and his tongue plundered. Fire flashed through her, pulsing in her sex, hardening her nipples—and incinerating the last semblance of coherent thought.

He established a primal rhythm as her mouth opened wider to accept him. Then her tongue duelled with his, tentatively at first but getting bolder as the fire raged at her core. Strong, insistent fingers explored, slipping under her T-shirt, fanning her ribcage and making her buck against him as they caressed over-sensitive skin. Then she felt it. The thick ridge pressing into her belly.

She struggled, trying to wrestle back control of her traitorous body, and he broke away.

‘Whoah. That was something else.’ His ragged breathing matched her own as he rested his forehead on hers. ‘We’d best stop, before things get out of hand.’

Juno stiffened and shrank back as reality returned, dousing the last of the passion like a bucket of ice water.

What had she done? After six years of contented celibacy, she’d snogged a complete stranger in the middle of Heathrow Airport. A stranger she didn’t even like.

‘Please, could you move your hand?’ she said, brutally embarrassed as his thumb continued to rub lazily across her ribs, perilously close to the underside of her breast.

He drew his hand down, rested it on her hip. ‘How about we find somewhere we can continue this in private?’

She fumbled with her T-shirt, frantically tucking it back into her jeans as blood surged into her cheeks. Did he think she was a prostitute or something?

He put his finger under her chin, tilted her head back. ‘Is there something the matter?’

Of course something’s the matter. A nymphomaniac just hijacked my body.

She jerked free. ‘N-nothing’s the matter,’ she stammered.

‘You sure?’ His brows lowered. ‘You’re acting a bit strange.’

You don’t know the half of it.

‘I have to go.’ She had to get away from those prying eyes and that harsh, too handsome face, before the nymphomaniac returned.

His hand clamped on her wrist. ‘Now wait a minute,’ he said with irritating calm.

She tugged, but the warm manacle only tightened. ‘I really have to go.’

‘You don’t kiss a guy like that and then just walk off,’ he said, not sounding the least bit perturbed by what they’d just done. ‘And what about the extremely important thing you had to discuss with me?’

She opened her mouth to demand he let her go instantly. And then snapped it shut again.

Oh, no. The wedding invitation.

How could she have forgotten about Daisy’s wedding? And her mission?

‘Please, l-let go of my wrist,’ she stuttered, the words trapped behind the boulder of guilt stuck in her throat. ‘I have something for you.’

He released her, a sensual smile on his lips. ‘I think we already established that.’

Her blush intensified—and her nipples tightened. Damn him. How did he have that effect on her? ‘I’m not talking about sexual favours.’ She grabbed his wrist and slapped the envelope into his upturned palm. ‘It’s an invitation to your brother’s wedding.’

He tensed and the smile vanished as he stared at the invite.

‘It’s from my best friend, Daisy, your brother’s fiancée,’ she added.

His gaze lifted and she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. But it disappeared so quickly she was sure she’d imagined it.

‘I don’t have a brother,’ he replied, crushing the envelope in his fist.

That was one scenario she hadn’t even considered. ‘Of course you do,’ she blurted out, wondering what on earth had happened between this man and Connor.

He looked completely unmoved. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t beg, but after what she’d just done a little begging didn’t seem like such a big deal any more. She took a deep breath. ‘Please. You have to go. It’s really important.’

‘Not to me it isn’t,’ he said with enough arrogance to make her bristle. He lifted the invitation. ‘So you can give this back to your best friend and tell her I’m not interested.’

‘How can you be so callous?’ she asked, before she could think better of it.

‘How come this is any of your business?’ he shot back, a bitter smile twisting his lips.

She stiffened, stunned by the cold, emotionless tone. ‘I told you, Daisy’s my friend,’ she said, hating the defensiveness in her voice.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘So was the kiss her idea or yours?’

Juno’s mouth fell open. She snapped it shut. ‘You know perfectly well that kiss was your idea.’ What exactly was he accusing her of? ‘You know what, Mr Brody.’ Forget begging, she’d had about enough of Mac Brody and his titanic ego. ‘Just because you’re rich and famous it doesn’t give you the right to treat your family like dirt. Daisy and Connor are wonderful people—and they deserve a lot better than you.’

‘Is that right?’ To her fury, he chuckled. ‘So if you think I’m such a low form of life, why did you kiss me, then?’

If he didn’t stop talking about that damn kiss she was going to slap him. ‘I didn’t know you then. I do now.’

His lips quirked, apparently immune to the insult. ‘But you’ve yet to encounter the best bit.’

The vivid memory of his arousal had the blush burning in her cheeks. She thrust her chin out, refusing to acknowledge the strange sensation low in her belly. ‘I think you overestimate your charms, Mr Brody.’

He laughed. ‘But you’ll never know for sure now, will you?’

She didn’t dignify that with a reply, but she couldn’t help hearing his taunting laughter as she marched off.

Of all the arrogant, oversexed, thoughtless jerks.

Juno fumed all the way to the exit doors, her heart pumping in time with her angry strides. She’d been absolutely right about Mac Brody. He didn’t deserve a family as wonderful as Daisy and Connor and their beautiful baby boy, Ronan. Thank goodness he wasn’t coming to the wedding. What a relief to know she’d never have to set eyes on that infernal man—or his so-called charms—ever again.

Mac’s smile died as he watched the girl stalk off. His gaze dropped to the well-worn denim outlining the curve of her bottom. The hum of desire tugged at his groin.

He shouldn’t have teased her, but it had been irresistible once he’d seen the way her temper lit up the vivid blue-green of her eyes. Just as the urge to kiss her had been irresistible. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened there.

He’d inhaled the clean, fresh scent of her shampoo, caught the panicked flare of arousal in those enchanting eyes—and his brains had gone south so fast instinct had taken over. The driving need to taste her had consumed him. And once he had, her sweet, innocent response had been so intoxicating he’d lost leave of his senses.

Still, spontaneity was one thing, recklessness another.

He searched the terminal, the crowds now thinning. No sign of Danners or any other celebrity snappers—which was a real stroke of luck. If Danners had spotted him while he’d been indulging himself with the girl, the man could have taken twenty pictures and Mac doubted he would have noticed. He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, then realised he still had the wedding invitation she’d handed him clutched in his fist.

He set off towards the nearest bin. As he’d told the girl, he had no brother any more, no need of family and no intention of going to any wedding. The very last thing he needed was to stir up that whole hornet’s nest of emotions. Or the agonising memories that he’d boxed up and forgotten about a lifetime ago.

But as he reached the wastebasket and went to toss the invitation in his hand stilled. He lifted the creased envelope and inhaled the hint of scent she’d left on the paper. Soap and wild flowers. The thrill of sexual attraction shot through him. A thrill he hadn’t felt in far too long.

He wanted her. He might as well admit it, as after that kiss there was no mistaking it. She was nowhere near as sophisticated—or as amenable—as the women he usually dated, but somehow she’d captivated him. And he didn’t captivate easily.

He stared at the envelope. Maybe her difference was her appeal. With those tomboy clothes, that responsive little body and her prickly temper she represented the one thing he hadn’t had in a long while. A challenge.

And he hadn’t even found out her name.

Cursing softly, he shoved the wedding invitation into his back pocket.

Chapter Two

SITTING on the tube train as the leafy, suburban enclaves of west London trundled past, Juno replayed in her mind her disastrous encounter with Mac Brody—in minute detail, over and over again.

As she left Ladbroke Grove station twenty minutes later and walked to the bottom end of Portobello Road, she finally admitted the truth. Mac Brody might be an arrogant jerk who made Casanova look like a monk, but he wasn’t the only guilty party. She had to take a large part of the blame for this morning’s debacle too.

At ten past two on a Thursday afternoon with the market closed, Portobello looked like a ghost town, the empty metal frames of the stalls doing nothing to improve Juno’s mood. A couple of confused tourists who obviously hadn’t read their guidebook properly loitered next to the darkened window of The Rock ‘n’ Roller Memorabilia Emporium, but otherwise the street was deserted.

She hurried past the colourful faÇade of Daisy’s shop, The Funky Fashionista, and glanced at the window display she’d spent four hours arranging the day before. Her throat thickened with pride as she admired her handiwork—and guilt swamped her.

How could she have been so reckless and irresponsible? How could she have made such a mess of things?

She rubbed her cheek where Brody’s stubble had stung. She knew exactly how. As soon as he’d looked at her, as soon as his lips had touched hers, all her common sense and her good intentions had been burned to cinders in a blast of pure unadulterated pleasure.

Kissing him had been like falling into a sunbeam, making every single cell in her body explode with rapture. But how could her body have picked him, of all people, to respond to with such fervour? A man who had the emotional integrity of a gnat? It was against everything she knew and understood about herself. Against everything she had made herself become in the last six years.

She thrust her hand back into her pocket, turning into Colville Gardens.

Forget about the stupid kiss.

It wasn’t important. She couldn’t let it be. Mac Brody’s dangerous sex appeal and devilish good looks would play havoc with any woman’s hormones at a distance of two hundred yards—and she’d got a lot closer to him than that. That was all. Her shocking reaction was simply an accident of chemistry—and geography. An accident of thermonuclear proportions maybe. But still just an accident. It didn’t have to mean any more than that. Especially as she never intended to step into Mac Brody’s orbit again.

She gave a shaky sigh as Mrs Valdermeyer’s bedsit co-op came into view, looking like the poor relation to Daisy and Connor’s graceful five-storey Georgian next door.

Right now all she wanted to do was hide out in her room at Mrs Valdermeyer’s and spend the rest of her day off catching up on the shop’s bookkeeping and persuading herself this morning had never happened.

She took the first step up to Mrs Valdermeyer’s door. Then stopped.

‘Blast.’ The hissed expletive cut the summer afternoon like a knife.

She couldn’t do it. Six years ago she’d promised herself she’d always face up to what she’d done. This morning, she’d screwed up and let two people she loved down in the process.

Whatever the extenuating circumstances, she owed it to Daisy to come clean and then apologise.

‘I’m so glad you dropped by.’ Daisy beamed a smile over her shoulder as she led the way down the long hallway of her home. ‘The material for my bridal gown arrived from Delhi. It’s absolutely gorgeous—you have to come and drool over it with me.’

‘Great,’ Juno replied, trying to muster some enthusiasm as they entered the sunny open-plan kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Where’s Ronan?’ she asked, busy postponing the inevitable.

‘Having his nap. The little terror.’ Daisy filled the kettle at the sink. ‘Can you believe it? He woke us up at four this morning.’

Daisy’s eyes lit up as she talked about her son and Juno felt an odd pang in her chest.

‘Enough about He Who Does Not Sleep,’ Daisy continued. ‘We need to have another talk about your maid of honour gown.’ She dropped teabags into a couple of earthenware mugs. ‘There is no way I’m letting you walk down the aisle behind me in jeans and a—’

She stopped talking abruptly as her gaze landed on Juno. Her eyes widened. ‘What on earth happened to your face? Is that a heat rash?’

Juno clapped her palms to her cheeks. ‘Um…maybe.’ How much worse was today going to get?

‘Let me go get some salve,’ Daisy said.

Juno held a hand up. ‘Don’t bother. Honestly, it doesn’t hurt.’ She took a steadying breath, determined to force out her confession before Daisy spotted anything else. ‘I’ve done something reckless and irresponsible and I—’

‘Reckless and irresponsible?’ Daisy interrupted her. ‘You? I don’t believe it,’ she scoffed. ‘You’re the most cautious person I know.’

That would be yesterday.

‘I met Mac Brody at Heathrow Airport this morning and tried to give him the wedding invite.’ She rushed the words, before she lost her nerve completely.

Daisy blinked. ‘You met Mac? Connor’s brother? But…’ She trailed off, clearly at a loss for words.

‘I had this stupid idea I could persuade him to come.’ Juno twisted her hands in her lap. ‘I knew how much you wanted him there. You and Connor and after—’

‘Wait, wait,’ Daisy interrupted again. ‘Go back a bit.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Are you seriously telling me that you went all the way to Heathrow this morning to meet the handsome, charming and stupendously sexy Mac Brody, movie star? Of your own free will?’

Was that a smile wrinkling Daisy’s lips?

‘So?’

Daisy giggled. ‘So, that’s fantastic.’ Her friend zipped round the breakfast bar and perched on the stool next to Juno’s. ‘Now, tell me all about it. No detail is too insignificant.’

‘What’s got into you?’ Juno sensed a trap, but couldn’t figure out what it could be.

‘Just tell me. Is he as hormone-meltingly gorgeous in the flesh as he is in his films?’

A blush blazed across Juno’s chest. ‘You can’t say that. You’re practically a married woman.’ Was no woman immune to Mac Brody’s charms?

‘I may be practically married,’ Daisy said, not sounding remotely chastened, ‘but I’m not blind, am I? Anyway, it’s required that I appreciate him—on a purely aesthetic level—after all, Connor and he are the spitting image of each other.’

The instant Daisy had said it, Juno’s mind conjured up a picture of Brody in the moment before he’d kissed her. A picture now branded on her brain for all eternity in glorious Technicolor.

The brutal blush scorched the back of her neck.

The two brothers did look remarkably alike. Mac Brody’s features were a little less blunt than Connor’s and the colour of his eyes was a purer, fiercer blue, but both men shared the same dark, brooding Celtic beauty. The high, hollow cheekbones, the sharply defined brows, the long, leanly muscled physique and that air of casual danger. So why, apart from Brody’s gait, hadn’t she spotted the resemblance until Daisy had mentioned it?

Maybe because Connor’s looks had never made her heart race or her pulse hammer as his brother’s had.

She forced the picture to the back of her mind. She couldn’t afford to start hyperventilating again.

‘It doesn’t matter what he looked like,’ she said as soberly as she could manage. ‘The point is he refused to come to the wedding, he even said he didn’t have a brother and I lost my temper with him and made things worse. I wanted to apologise to you and to Connor. Because there’s no chance at all he’ll come now.’

‘Apologise for what? We already know he’s not coming,’ Daisy said so matter-of-factly, Juno wondered if her sensitive friend had been taken over by Martians. ‘We got that letter from his agent, remember?’ Daisy finished.

‘I know, I was there. You were really upset.’

Daisy waved the comment away. ‘I was a bit at first. But after I’d thought about it I could see I was being overly optimistic thinking he’d come around so quickly. Connor was just as stubborn and misguided when I first met him. After the terrible things that happened to them both as kids, it’s no surprise Mac has hang-ups to spare.’ Daisy gave a heavy sigh. ‘It doesn’t surprise me he said he didn’t have a brother.’

What terrible things?

The question burned on Juno’s tongue but she stopped herself from asking it, and ruthlessly controlled the little spurt of sympathy that went with it. Maybe there was more to the situation between him and Connor than she’d assumed. But Mac Brody had been right about one thing: none of this was any of her business—and she’d got into quite enough trouble already trying to make it her business.

‘I’m sure Mac needs a family as much as Connor did,’ Daisy continued. ‘But it’ll probably take him a while to figure it out.’

Juno wondered if the man who had kissed her with such confidence had ever needed anybody. But decided not to mention it.

‘But enough about me.’ Daisy patted Juno’s knee, the spark of excitement returning to her voice. ‘What did you think of him?’

‘Who cares what I thought of him?’ Maybe Mac Brody wasn’t as big a jerk as she had thought. Maybe he had his reasons for treating Connor the way he had. But what difference did it make what she thought of the man if she was never going to see him again?

‘Juno.’ Daisy slanted her a long-suffering look. ‘Blush magazine voted Cormac Brody one of the sexiest men in the known universe last month. We’ve already established he’s completely gorgeous. And, according to the gossip columns, he’s currently between girlfriends.’ She gave another heartfelt sigh. ‘Surely this is one man even you could not be immune to?’

The light dawned, and Juno saw the trap Daisy had set opening like a yawning chasm beneath her feet. Ever since Daisy had fallen in love with Connor she’d been subtly trying to get Juno to consider dating again. Juno had pretended not to notice. But as Daisy waited for an answer with an expectant look in her eye the blush blazed into Juno’s cheeks.

‘Something happened.’ Daisy pointed at her triumphantly. ‘You’re blushing and you never blush.’

‘Nothing happened,’ Juno grumbled, her scalp feeling as if it had been set alight.

Daisy gasped. ‘You kissed him,’ she said with frightening certainty.

Juno gaped. What was she? A mind-reader now as well as a Martian?

‘That’s whisker burn on your cheek, not heat rash,’ Daisy announced, her voice giddy with excitement. ‘I ought to know, Connor’s left me with one often enough. And you met Mac off a transatlantic flight. He wouldn’t have had time to shave.’

Not just a mind-reader, flipping Sherlock Holmes.

‘It was a mistake,’ Juno said, trying to dig herself out of the yawning chasm. ‘He had to hide from a photographer and then…’ Then what? He kissed her into a frenzy and turned all her brain cells to mush? ‘It wasn’t anything really.’

‘Rubbish,’ Daisy said. ‘He’s the first man you’ve kissed since Tony. That means it’s not just something, it’s a megaginormous something.’

Juno flinched at the mention of Tony’s name. ‘This has nothing to do with Tony. I got over him years ago.’

‘I know you did.’ Daisy grasped Juno’s hands, her eyes warming with sympathy, making Juno flinch even more. ‘But what about what happened afterwards, Juno? And what about the fact that you’ve spent the last six years of your life paying penance for it?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Juno tried to pull her hands free, but her friend held firm.

‘Yes, you do.’ Daisy gave a deep sigh. ‘When’s the last time you wore a dress?’

‘I don’t like dresses. They don’t suit me.’

‘When’s the last time you put on make-up, then? Or went out on the town? Or felt the thrill of flirting with an attractive man?’ Daisy paused, her grip tightening. ‘Why are you ashamed of kissing Mac Brody? The man is every woman’s wet dream. Why shouldn’t you want to kiss him?’

Daisy stopped talking abruptly, her head tilting to one side. A split second later Juno heard Ronan’s lusty wail through the baby monitor.

‘I better give him a quick slurp,’ Daisy said, pointing at Juno. ‘But don’t you dare go anywhere. As soon as I’ve got Ronan settled we’re going to have another little chat about your maid of honour gown.’ Daisy flashed her a quick grin. ‘When I finally meet Mac Brody I’m going to give him a great big hug—for making my best friend realise she’s a woman again.’

Juno blew out a breath as Daisy shot out of the room to tend to her son.

As if Mac Brody’s kiss hadn’t given her enough to panic about, Daisy’s heart-to-heart was making her feel like a basket case. Folding her arms on the breakfast bar, she laid her head on her hands and squeezed her eyes shut as she listened to Ronan’s cries from the monitor and tried to blank out all the conflicting emotions racing through her head.

Ronan’s angry wails turned to indignant sobbing and then cut off completely as Daisy’s soothing voice came over the intercom. Juno imagined Daisy sitting in the white rocker by the nursery’s terrace doors as she settled her son on her breast—and the strange pang she’d felt earlier tore into her chest.

She jerked upright, realising with horror she was ridiculously close to tears.

What on earth had got into her? Where had that fierce sense of longing come from? That empty feeling inside?

Glancing down at her jeans, she saw the tiny tear in the knee and rubbed her hand over it. She forced down the tears, but the uncomfortable whisper of envy refused to go away.

What if Daisy were right? She’d survived what had happened six years ago, but how could she claim to have triumphed over it when she’d been in hiding the whole time since?

No wonder kissing Mac Brody had been such a shock to her system. After six years of pretending she didn’t have a sex drive, he’d demonstrated in one fell swoop exactly what it was she’d been missing. And at the same time brought her face to face with what she’d let her life become. Not just cautious and well ordered, but mind-numbingly dull.

She stared out at the weeping-willow tree in the back garden, noticed the remnants of the breakfast Daisy and Connor had shared together that morning on the patio table. And the little spurt of envy got worse.

She’d sat on the sidelines in the last year and watched Daisy find her happy-ever-after and she’d never even admitted to herself that she wanted one of her own.

Maybe it was about time she took the next step and conceded that survival wasn’t enough any more. That dressing like a tomboy and making herself into a nun had outlived its usefulness. Would it really be so terrible to admit that she wanted more than that now?

Daisy hummed Ronan’s favourite lullaby over the baby monitor and Juno felt a little frisson of excitement and trepidation wash over her.

She didn’t have to go nuts; she could still be practical and sensible.

But why shouldn’t she let Daisy design her maid of honour gown? She’d resisted the suggestion up till now because she’d been scared of what Daisy might come up with. Given Daisy’s flamboyant dress sense and her eagerness to get Juno back into the dating game, her caution had seemed perfectly justified at the time.

But it didn’t feel justified now. She had to stop being such a coward and start easing her life out of the great big enormous rut she’d driven it into.

And, goodness, if she could snog a movie star in Heathrow Airport and live to tell the tale, surely she could let her best friend design a dress for her. Especially if she made it absolutely clear she didn’t want the dress to be too out-there.

Honestly, how bad could it be?

Chapter Three

‘DAISY, I…I don’t know what to say.’ Juno gaped at her reflection in the dressing room mirror, bronze satin shimmering over the curves she hadn’t known she had until about five seconds ago. ‘I might as well be stark naked. I can’t walk into the church wearing this. The minister will have a stroke.’

Daisy laughed. ‘The minister will not have a stroke.’ She cocked her head, considering, then crouched to straighten the hem. ‘But he may make a pass at you. He is French, after all.’

The shock had started to wear off, a little, but Juno still couldn’t muster the ability to laugh back. ‘I have a cleavage,’ she whispered in disbelief, astonished at the way the plump swell of her breasts strained against the gown’s daringly low neckline.

‘I told you hooker underwear had its uses,’ Daisy commented. Standing, she gave a contented sigh. ‘My job is done. You look sensational.’ She smiled. ‘But the big question is—how do you feel? Do you like it?’

Juno pivoted on her toes to take another quick look over her shoulder at the way the cut-out in the gown’s back plunged tantalisingly close to the upper slope of her buttocks. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

She’d never worn anything so beautiful before in her life—or so revealing. This wasn’t just out-there, it was over the hill and far away.

She studied the full effect in the mirror again. The bouncy little bob Daisy’s hairdresser had fashioned out of her haphazard thatch of blonde curls that morning; the dash of lip gloss and mascara that made her fairly ordinary features look exotic; and her slim figure enhanced by the sleek bronze satin of the gown.

Daisy had made her look and feel sexy for the first time in her life. But did she have the guts to pull it off? When she’d decided to unlock her femininity she hadn’t had anything quite this liberating in mind.

‘I feel like a different person,’ she said truthfully.

‘Different good? Or different bad?’

Emotion clogged Juno’s throat as her eyes met Daisy’s in the mirror. ‘Different scared but excited.’

Daisy grinned. ‘Excited is good.’ She touched Juno’s arm. ‘And scared is to be expected. You’re going to knock them dead.’ She plucked a tissue out of her dressing gown and folded Juno’s fingers over it. ‘But remember, no upstaging of the bride is allowed. And you mustn’t cry, or your mascara will run and make you look like a raccoon.’

A giggle popped out of Juno’s mouth, the flutter of anticipation making her feel a little giddy. ‘Good to know.’

Had she ever felt so young or carefree before in her life?

Juno clutched the bridal bouquet as goosebumps rose on her bare arms and she tried to concentrate on the heavily accented voice of the minister. The fragrant scent of blooming orchids and calla lillies perfumed the air as Daisy held Connor’s hand and repeated her vows in a clear, steady voice. The elaborate beading on the bodice of Daisy’s wedding dress sparkled in the light from the stained-glass window and made Juno think of a fairy-tale princess.

She smoothed her palm over the bronze satin of her gown and smiled, letting the buoyant feeling intoxicate her. She’d stopped believing in happy-ever-afters so long ago, but being here in this beautiful place and watching Daisy declare her love for Connor made anything seem possible. She sniffed, trying to grab a dose of reality and keep her whimsy in check.

Make-up emergencies aside, she had to control herself. Daisy had worked hard for her happy-ever-after and had found the man of her dreams against all the odds. In her experience men like Connor were rarer than fifty-carat diamonds. She needed to remember that before she got all dewy-eyed. And anyway, getting back down the aisle without falling on her bum in the four-inch heels Daisy had insisted she wear was going to be tough enough. Dissolving into tears would only make it tougher.

She frowned as the minister’s musical voice was interrupted by a round of shuffles and coughs and hissed whispers. The hairs at her nape tingled and she had the peculiar sensation someone was watching her. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Most of the congregation were craning their necks to stare at something at the back of the small rural church.

She heard Daisy’s quick in-drawn breath at the same moment her eyes focused on the shadowy figure standing by the entrance door. And every last molecule of blood drained out of her head and slammed straight into her heart.

Him? It couldn’t be.

She blinked furiously, sure she had to be seeing things. But she wasn’t. The man who had been a star player in far too many of her dreams over the last two weeks appeared to be staring straight at her. His head dipped and she could have sworn she felt his gaze rake over her figure.

‘Connor, it’s Mac. He came.’ She heard the delight in Daisy’s hushed voice as a battalion of butterflies dive-bombed into her stomach.

‘Well, now.’ Connor sounded as shell-shocked as Juno felt.

The minister coughed deliberately, a pinched expression on his face at the interruption.

‘Excusez-moi, monsieur,’ Daisy addressed him in her atrocious French. ‘Une momento s’il vous plaÎt, un personne tres important est arrive. Une momento.’

She grasped Connor’s hand. ‘We have to welcome him.’

Juno stayed rooted to the spot, watching as if in slow motion, her heart punching her ribs, as Daisy hoisted up her wedding gown and rushed down the aisle with Connor in tow.

Daisy slowed for less than a second when she reached Mac and then threw her arms around his neck. Juno thought she saw him stiffen as he accepted Daisy’s hug, his hand settling on Daisy’s back for only a moment. When Daisy finally let Mac go, the brothers shook hands and then Connor gripped Mac’s shoulder. Juno couldn’t hear a word they were saying above the curious and excited conversations around her, but she couldn’t help noticing Brody’s rigid posture—so different from his relaxed stance at the airport.

Colour flushed across Juno’s sternum as Daisy grasped Mac’s hand and led him down the aisle. Tucking her bottom lip under her teeth, she stifled the groan as she watched him approach. She must not let him intimidate her. She wasn’t the naÏve, inexperienced tomboy he’d kissed and made fun of two weeks ago. She was stronger now and much more sophisticated. Or, at least, she looked as if she were.

‘You’ll never guess who turned up after all,’ Daisy teased as they drew level. ‘Juno, I believe you’ve already met Connor’s brother, Mac.’

He’d cut his hair. The thick black locks, now militarily short, only showed the slightest tendency to curl around his ears. The new hairstyle, together with his clean-shaven jaw and the perfectly tailored dove-grey linen suit and pristine white shirt, should have made him look a lot less dangerous. They didn’t.

She lifted her chin. ‘Hello again, Mr Brody,’ she said succinctly, despite the butterflies now having a field day in her tummy.

‘Juno, is it?’ His gaze flicked down and her nipples peaked painfully against her push-up bra. ‘The name of a goddess,’ he murmured, the penetrating blue of his eyes as disturbing as she remembered. ‘It suits.’

The minister coughed loudly and Juno started, amazed she’d forgotten they still had Connor and Daisy’s wedding to finish.

Juno riveted all her attention on the bride and groom as they returned to their positions, struggling to ignore Mac’s alarming presence. The minister launched back into the wedding service and her fingers clenched in a death grip on the bouquet. How could she detect the light pine scent of his soap above the heavy fragrance of the bridal flowers? And what was he really doing here? Wasn’t this the man who’d flatly refused to come to the wedding only a couple of weeks ago?

After what could only have been a few minutes—but felt like several decades—the minister declared Daisy and Connor husband and wife. Sweeping his new bride into his arms, Connor executed a Valentino dip and silenced Daisy’s joyous laugh with an extravagantly sexy kiss. The lavish display of affection only made Juno more aware of the man standing behind her.

‘That looks like fun.’ The provocative whisper at her shoulder cut through the spontaneous round of hoots and cheers from the congregation. ‘How about you and me give it another shot?’

Juno stiffened as his breath feathered across her nape. How typical. While Daisy had found the man of her dreams, she was being tempted by the Devil incarnate.

Her head whipped round. ‘No, thank you,’ she said, struggling for composure. ‘Once was quite enough for me,’ she added caustically. But then her eyes dipped to his mouth completely of their own accord—and she could feel those firm, persuasive lips on hers even though they were standing a foot apart.

‘Once is never enough, Juno,’ he murmured, her name rolling off his tongue with the intimacy of a caress. She jerked her gaze to his to find those laser blue eyes twinkling with the promise of eternal damnation. ‘Especially for you and me.’

She turned her back on him, resisting the urge to hit him over the head with the bridal bouquet. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had gatecrashed Daisy and Connor’s wedding just to bait her.

Connor released his wife at last and Daisy held her arms out to Juno. ‘I’m so happy, I think I might burst,’ she whispered into Juno’s ear as she gave her a hard hug.

Juno clung on tight, tears stinging her eyes again. ‘You’ve got the best man in the world,’ she murmured back. ‘And he almost deserves you.’

Connor’s hand settled on her shoulder and she released Daisy to see the brotherly affection in his face she’d come to depend on. ‘Now don’t go mad there,’ he said, drawing her into his arms. ‘I might get the idea you like me.’

‘Let’s not get carried away,’ she teased, enjoying the easy camaraderie that had built between them in the past year as she hugged him back.

Connor chuckled as he released her. ‘As if I’d dare.’

He reached over her shoulder and she turned to see his hand clasp Mac’s. ‘It’s good to have you here, Mac. It’s been too long.’ Connor’s voice thickened. ‘Way too long.’

Mac let go of the handshake first. ‘Yeah,’ he said flatly.

‘You’ll come to the reception?’ Connor asked, sounding unsure. ‘Daisy and I want you to meet Ronan, our son. You’d be his uncle, after all.’

Mac’s jaw tensed, a cautious, shuttered expression on his face. ‘Sure, wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he said after a long pause, but the reply sounded apathetic at best.

An uneasy feeling bloomed in the pit of Juno’s stomach, doing nothing to calm the dive-bombing butterflies. She recognised that frigid, closed-off tone; he’d sounded the same when he’d told her he didn’t have a brother.

Daisy stepped up to Mac and grasped his hand in both of hers. ‘You have no idea how much this means to us, Mac,’ she said, the unguarded happiness in her voice making Juno’s stomach start to hurt. ‘All that matters right now is that you’re here.’ She grinned. ‘And that you’ve brought an appetite. We have enough fancy French cuisine to feed an army back at the chÂteau, so you’re going to have to consume your fair share.’

‘I’m sure I can choke down a bit,’ he replied.

‘Connor and I have to get back to greet the other guests.’ She winked at Juno. ‘So I’ll leave you in Juno’s capable hands. She can introduce you around and show you how to get there.’

No, she won’t.

Juno shot Daisy a horrified look. But as she racked her brain for a suitable excuse Daisy lifted the bridal bouquet out of her arms and whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t be such a wuss. I’m sure he won’t bite.’ She stifled a delighted laugh. ‘Or not yet anyway.’

And with that Connor and Daisy were gone, swallowed up by the crowd of well-wishers as they strolled down the aisle and out into the early evening sunshine as man and wife.

Juno folded her arms across her waist. She loved the dress Daisy had designed for her, but she suddenly felt naked in it. ‘It’s only about a ten-minute drive to the chÂteau,’ she said, not able to meet Mac’s eyes. ‘I can introduce you to most of the people here and then give you directions.’

He snagged her arm as she made to leave. ‘I’ll skip the introductions.’ His thumb caressed the inside of her elbow, making her pulse jump. ‘And I only take directions on set, so I think you’d best show me where it is.’ His dark brows lifted, matching the mocking smile on his lips. ‘You wouldn’t want me to get lost, now, would you?’

I should be so lucky, she thought—her pulse pounding where his thumb stroked. ‘Perish the thought,’ she said, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm at bay.

He laughed, taking her arm and folding it through his. The fluid movement anchored her to his side—and offered virtually no protection against the muscled strength beneath the tailored linen.

‘That’s the spirit, darlin’.’ He chuckled, the subtle scent of his soap overwhelming as he guided her down the aisle.

She should have pulled away, but she didn’t want to let him know how much his nearness affected her. So she concentrated on remembering to breathe and making sure she didn’t fall flat on her face in her new heels.

‘I’ve not eaten all day and I’m half starved,’ he said casually. Too casually.

She couldn’t control the tremble of response. Why did she get the impression Daisy and Connor’s lavish reception buffet wasn’t the only thing he intended to devour?

The soft summer light gave the evening a golden glow as Mac’s flashy sports car turned into the chÂteau’s driveway behind a queue of other cars. Looking through the thicket of oak trees, Juno glimpsed the baroque French castle standing proud at the brow of the hill. Flowering vines hugged the turrets and balconies and accented a trio of tiered terraces linked by a sweeping staircase. As the powerful car inched closer the main terrace and the ballroom beyond came into view, the throng of guests being served by an army of blackclad waiters brandishing trays of canapÉs and champagne.

Not for the first time that day, Juno thought of palaces and princes and long-ago pageantry. Daisy and Connor had turned their wedding day into a magical event. She bit back the wistful sigh. Enough with the daydreaming. It definitely was not appropriate in her current circumstances.

She glanced across at the man beside her. In the twenty minutes it had taken them to get from the church to the reception, Mac Brody had been surprisingly subdued. There had been none of the teasing or taunts she’d expected. Probably because he’d been swamped by a crowd of people as soon as Daisy and Connor’s carriage had been waved out of sight.

She’d had no idea he was so famous! She rarely went to the cinema—never having had much time for make-believe—and she didn’t read the gossip mags either.

But more surprising than all the attention had been the way he’d reacted to it. He’d been patient and charming and remarkably gracious about all the requests for autographs and snapshots, but she’d still sensed how uncomfortable he was. Making her wonder what had become of the big bad movie star who had kissed her with such arrogance at Heathrow.

The tension had eased out of his shoulders once he’d ushered her into his sleek little rented Porsche. But as soon as the chÂteau had appeared across the valley his hands had fisted on the steering wheel. As if he were bracing himself for what lay ahead.

Why had he decided to come if this evening was going to be such an ordeal?

Juno’s pulse skittered as he reversed the car into a small space under one of the leafy oak trees. Perversely, the glimpse of vulnerability behind his super-confident faÇade had given her own confidence a nice little boost.

He wrenched up the handbrake. ‘We’ll have to walk it from here.’ His lips tilted as his gaze shifted to her feet. ‘You think you can handle all the pebbles in those shoes?’

He was probably used to women who could run a marathon in high heels, but the comment sounded amused not disparaging so she smiled back. ‘I should be able to manage twenty yards. If not I’ll take them off. You’ll have to promise not to tell Daisy though.’

‘Why’s that now?’ he asked, his deep Irish voice shimmering across her bare skin.

‘Daisy designed my maid of honour gown. It makes a statement, apparently, which includes the high heels. Without them she’ll accuse me of ruining the effect or something.’ The babble of information petered into silence. Why had she drawn attention to the frock? It was as if she were fishing for a compliment. Which she definitely wasn’t.

His eyes drifted over her figure and her heart skidded to a stop. ‘Daisy’s mighty talented,’ he said as his gaze met hers. ‘You look gorgeous.’

Heat pumped into her cheeks and her heart began beating double time as the impact of the softly growled compliment sizzled right down to her toes.

Way to go, Juno. Now you feel like you’re stark naked again.

Chapter Four

WHERE in God’s name had she gone?

Mac scoured the main ballroom of the seventeenth-century chÂteau for the five thousandth time and took another gulp of his lukewarm orange juice. He glanced at his watch. She’d shot off well over three hours ago as soon as they’d arrived with some excuse about changing her shoes. And he’d not seen hide nor hair of her since. He’d searched the damn chÂteau, checking out the two ballrooms—one with an orchestra playing big band music and golden oldies, the other with a famous pop group playing live music for the younger crowd—not once but about three times each. He’d also done several circuits of the outdoor terraces festooned with fairy lights and torches, the lavish banqueting hall where a cordon bleu buffet had been laid out, and wandered aimlessly through the labyrinth of smaller salons. The reception party was in full swing now and the close to two hundred guests were letting their hair down and enjoying themselves. All except for him. He hadn’t been this wound up since facing his first opening night on Broadway.

The place was heaving. How could one couple have so many friends and acquaintances? And not one of them seemed to be shy about approaching him and asking after his relationship to Connor. No one, that was, except the one woman he’d come all this way to see.

Pull yourself together, man.

He leaned back against the wall and reminded himself to relax. At least he’d finally got rid of the gaggle of teenage girls who had been stalking him for close to an hour but had been too tongue-tied to say anything.

As he watched the dancers twisting the night away with varying degrees of grace—and waited in vain to catch a glimpse of bronze satin and blonde curls—the question that had been bugging him all evening began to bug him some more.

What had possessed him to come here?

Yesterday evening he’d been at the London wrap party of his latest movie getting an offer he shouldn’t have been able to refuse from his beautiful co-star Imelda Jackson. But instead of taking Imelda up on her suggestion of a ‘quick, one-night liaison to let off steam’, he’d turned her down flat.

He scowled and drained the last of the juice. There was no doubting it any more. The blame for that bit of insanity and his mad decision to come to Connor’s wedding lay squarely at the dainty feet of the Invisible Miss Juno.

She’d cast a spell on him and lured him here against his will like some damn siren queen. Ever since she’d kissed him at Heathrow, he’d not been able to get her out of his thoughts. When he’d woken up this morning after yet another erotic fantasy in which she was the headline attraction, he’d known it was past time to take affirmative action.

He didn’t obsess about sex and he certainly didn’t let women he barely knew invade his dreams. So he’d taken the last in a long line of cold showers, dug out the wedding invite—which he’d somehow forgotten to toss—cancelled his first-class flight to LA that evening and booked a mid-morning one to Nice.

It wasn’t until he’d been standing at the back of the little French chapel, though, that he’d realised he’d bitten off considerably more than he wanted to chew. Seeing his brother again had been like taking a solid right hook to the gut and that had been bad enough. But then he’d come face to face with Juno, her slim, coltish figure dressed in some gorgeous bit of fancy that stroked over her curves like a lover’s hand. He’d looked into those incredible eyes, felt the jolt of awareness thump him hard in the solar plexus, and he’d known dealing with Connor wasn’t his biggest problem—not by a long shot.

She hadn’t looked one bit pleased to see him. But just when he’d thought he’d got a handle on her, when he’d felt that connection between them in the car and seen the attraction in her luminous blue-green eyes, she’d done her disappearing act.

Now, after an evening of making pointless small talk with people he didn’t know but who behaved as if they knew him, of wandering around like a fool searching for someone who seemed to have vanished—and carefully avoiding his brother and his brother’s wife—he felt tense and edgy and seriously pissed off—with himself as well as her.

He should have left hours ago. But he hadn’t been able to make himself do it. He couldn’t walk away from Juno. Not a second time. Whatever the hell she’d done to him two weeks ago, he needed to sort it out. Tonight. He wasn’t spending a moment longer with her dogging his thoughts—especially as he now had the vision of her in that damn dress to contend with.

He dumped his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and once more swept his gaze over the crowd. As she was the maid of honour, she couldn’t have just vanished. The answer had to be that the woman was trying to avoid him—which was another new experience. But all he really need do was sit her out.

One thing was for definite, though—once he finally got his hands on Little Miss Juno Whatever-The-Hell-Her-Name-Was she wouldn’t be getting away again so easily.

His head stilled as a glimmer of gold caught his eye on the other side of the ballroom. He squinted at the shifting shadows in the entrance lobby and his gaze locked onto the mass of curls sheened by candlelight.

Gotcha.

The embers smouldering in his belly leapt back to life as he wound his way across the ballroom. Oblivious to the bumps and shoves from the gyrating dancers, he kept his eyes peeled on his prey every single step of the way.

‘Juno, there you are, thank goodness I found you.’ Daisy brushed the wayward strands of hair off a face flushed from champagne and excitement. ‘Connor’s whisking me away to my bridal bower any minute now.’ She giggled, the bubbly sound making Juno’s heart flutter. ‘As soon as we’ve got Ronan settled. By the way, where’s Mac? Connor’s worried he might have left without saying goodbye.’

‘Why would he do that?’ she asked, trying to keep the guilt out of her voice.

She’d basically abandoned him hours ago and she wasn’t too proud of herself. But when he’d given her that look, as if he could see right through her clothing, all the insecurities from their kiss had come flooding back and she’d gone into panic mode.

She hadn’t been avoiding him. Well, not exactly.

The plan had been to change into some shoes she could actually walk in and then find him again—after all, Daisy had asked her to look after him and she’d probably imagined the intensity of that look. But once she’d returned from her room, he’d been surrounded by a very persistent group of teenage girls, and after that she’d seen him talking to Daisy’s impossibly glamorous socialite friend Joannie. In the end, she’d decided to keep out of his way—he made her nervous and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself. So she’d chatted to Mrs Valdermeyer, danced with Jacie’s son Cal, had a long discussion with New York artist Monroe Latimer and his wife, Jessie, about modern art and made sure she kept well away from Mac Brody all evening. From what she’d observed he hadn’t been lonely, so she had nothing whatsoever to feel guilty about.

‘Mac looked as if he’d been hit with a brick when he first set eyes on Connor in the church,’ Daisy explained, craning her neck to scan the ballroom. ‘Poor guy, I don’t think he’s quite ready for all this yet.’ Daisy’s gaze returned to Juno and she grinned. ‘Plus, it was pretty obvious once he got a load of you in that dress, he hasn’t come all this way just to attend our wedding.’

‘How do you mean?’ Juno asked, her voice shaking at the shocking bubble of excitement. Mac Brody couldn’t possibly have come all this way to see her. Daisy was being absurd.

‘Come off it,’ Daisy scoffed. ‘The look he gave you could have powered the National Grid.’

‘Do you really think so?’ she said, then realised how ridiculous she sounded. What was wrong with her? She didn’t want Mac Brody to look at her like that. Did she?

‘Yes, I really do.’ Daisy’s gaze sharpened. ‘Which means that, as I suspected—’ she wagged her finger like an indignant schoolmarm ‘—I did not get the whole truth about that kiss. Exactly how hot was it?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Juno replied, her pulse rate doing the merengue as her panic button tripped again. ‘It wasn’t that big a deal.’ She should never have told Daisy about that stupid kiss. Her hopelessly romantic friend had blown it completely out of proportion—and now she was starting to do it too.

‘I’ll just bet it wasn’t,’ Daisy said, not sounding convinced. Huffing dramatically, she looped her arm through Juno’s and dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. ‘Ju, baby. However much you may have deluded yourself about that kiss, the point is the man is here now and he’s seriously hot and seriously interested. So why are you hiding from him?’

‘I’m not hiding,’ Juno said, trying to convince herself.

‘Yeah, right,’ Daisy replied. ‘Well, that being the case, why don’t you get yourself a glass of champagne and go jump him before someone else gets there first? Everyone’s talking about him being here—and if you heard what Joannie Marceau said about him you’d know you have some serious competition.’

Exactly how much champagne had Daisy had?

‘I’m not going to go jump him. He’s not that interested…And it would be…’ She shuddered to a halt.

Jumping Mac Brody would be what exactly?

Insane? Petrifying? Exciting? Exhilarating? Electrifying?

Juno frowned. How many glasses of champagne had she had? She couldn’t actually be considering Daisy’s suggestion. So far she hadn’t even had the guts to go up and talk to the man.

‘Don’t you dare rationalise this.’ Daisy shot her a pointed look. ‘Sometimes you just have to get back on the horse and go with the flow,’ she said, happily mangling her metaphors. ‘But one thing I guarantee you, if Mac’s anything like Connor in the sack, it’ll be a ride to remember.’

Juno felt the flush rocket up her neck.

Right, that was definitely a bit too much information.

‘Keep your voice down, Mrs Brody.’ Connor’s deep Irish accent startled them both. ‘There are babies present.’

Juno’s cheeks flamed as Connor planted a kiss on Daisy’s temple, their baby son, decked out in his pyjamas, balanced comfortably in the crook of his arm. She supposed it was too much to hope Connor hadn’t overheard Daisy’s grossly inappropriate comment.

Fluttering her eyelashes at her new husband, Daisy didn’t look the least bit bothered. ‘Goodness,’ she said. ‘If I’d known you were such a square, I never would have married you.’

Connor banded his free arm around her hip and pulled her into a lopsided hug. ‘Tough. It’s too late to back out now.’ The baby chortled, snuggled between them. ‘You’ve already promised to love, honour and obey, angel. And your son and I have it in writing.’

Daisy laughed, looking like the picture of a blushing bride. ‘Did I really say obey? Surely not.’

Juno flushed at the flirtatious words, feeling like an interloper. Which was weird. Connor and Daisy kissed and flirted in front of her all the time. It hadn’t bothered her in months. Not since she’d got to know Connor. And anyhow this was their wedding day.

So why was it bothering her now?

‘Quick, let go, Connor.’ Daisy scrambled out of her husband’s embrace and smoothed her bridal gown. ‘Don’t look now,’ she said, peering over Juno’s shoulder at the ballroom, ‘but something tall, dark and dangerous this way comes.’

Juno knew exactly who Daisy was referring to; she could already feel the heat of Mac’s gaze burning into the back of her neck.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him striding through the crowd. Six feet two of leanly muscled and devastatingly sexy male. Cool blue eyes focused on her face with the intensity of a heat-seeking missile. Her pulse rate skidded from merengue to macarena in one frantic heartbeat. He didn’t just look dangerous. He looked savage. Making her feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train. Why was he glaring at her like that? And why was it making her feel as if she were about to spontaneously combust?

She kept her eyes on his, unable to relinquish eye contact. Okay, this was not good news, because that wasn’t panic making her light-headed, it was excitement.

His steps faltered as he registered who was standing next to her. She thought she saw a flash of alarm cross his face, but by the time he drew level it was gone.

‘Hello.’ He nodded in greeting, but the single word sounded strained, then his eyes settled on the baby cradled in Connor’s arms and he went completely still.

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