One kiss away—

from getting burned again.

I’m about to reunite with the lover from my past…

But this time it’s strictly business!

My career is taking off, thanks to my latest gig: cleaning up the image of one of Nashville’s hottest stars. The trouble is, songwriter Spencer Riggs and I were once lovers. I’m not the wild Alice McKenzie I was five years ago, but we can’t keep a lid on our reigniting desire. And there’s something Spencer isn’t telling me…

SHERI WHITEFEATHER is an award-winning bestselling author. She lives in Southern California and enjoys shopping in vintage stores and visiting art galleries and museums. She is known for incorporating Native American elements into her books and has two grown children who are tribally enrolled members of the Muscogee Creek Nation. Visit her website at www.sheriwhitefeather.com

Also by Sheri WhiteFeather

Wrangling the Rich Rancher Nashville

Rebel

Nashville Secrets

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Hot Nashville Nights

Sheri WhiteFeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90440-1

HOT NASHVILLE NIGHTS

© 2020 Sheree Henry-WhiteFeather

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Epilogue

About the Publisher

One
Alice

I parked at the end of Spencer Riggs’s long, narrow driveway and glanced out at the vine-covered arbor leading to his porch. Along the path, potted plants grew in colorful disarray, giving me a sense of elegant chaos.

I was trying not to panic about this meeting, but Spencer was different from my other Nashville clients. He was a former lover of mine, a dark shadow from my past.

Was it any wonder I was nervous?

I stayed in my car for a few more minutes, still gazing out the windshield. The music industry adored Spencer, and so did the women in this town. According to the social media buzz, he was quite the catch. An award-winning songwriter with a reputation for being a creative genius. A handsome twenty-eight-year-old who lived in a beautifully renovated old house and rescued abused and abandoned dogs. Talk about a new life. He didn’t even have a goldfish when I knew him. He’d been working as a bartender back then, struggling to sell his songs.

I’d heard rumors that he was considered unattainable now. Of course, that just made women want him all the more. But in spite of his female following, he kept his affairs private. No one was out there bragging about being with him. He wasn’t dropping names, either.

I found that curious, considering my dirty-sex history with him. Our hookups only lasted a few months, but I’d never forgotten how wild he was in bed. Or how troubled he’d made me feel. During that time, I’d had all sorts of emotional problems, and my affair with him had only fueled the fire.

These days, I was a freelance fashion stylist, and I would be dressing him for an upcoming magazine photo shoot. The magazine was willing to provide Spencer with one of their stylists, but he wanted to hire me instead, footing the bill himself and paying me directly. I didn’t relish the idea of working for him, but what could I do?

My career was still in its early stages, and I was in no position to turn down an A-lister. His name would look good on my resume. But even more importantly, a world-renowned photographer was booked for the shoot. If I impressed him, this could be a game changer for me. And the final kicker? I’d spent way too much money over the years, and the hefty sum I’d received from a legal settlement when I was just nineteen years old was dwindling. If I didn’t take this job and use it to my best advantage, I might never get out of the hole I created.

I drew a breath, then exited my car and made my way to Spencer’s door. It had rained heavily earlier, but it was just drizzling now.

I rang the bell, and he answered quickly enough.

Holy cow. It had been five years, and Spencer was hotter than ever. He stood tall and fit, with a naturally tanned complexion and straight, collar-length brown hair, parted on the side and swept across his forehead. His deep-set eyes were dark, almost black, and his jaw was peppered with beard stubble. He had strong features: prominent cheekbones and a wide, luscious mouth. He wore a plain beige T-shirt, threadbare jeans, torn at one knee, and leather sneakers. His left arm boasted a full-sleeve tattoo, but the ink was white, making it look like scarring against his dark skin.

“That’s new,” I said.

He blinked at me. “What?”

“The tattoo.”

“Oh, yeah.” He was staring at me as though he was having the same knee-jerk reaction that I was having to him. “How have you been, Alice?”

“Fine.” When he shifted his stance, my long-lost libido clenched. I’d been celibate since I’d shared his bed, swearing off men until the right one came along—a decision that my reckless hookups with him had obviously factored into. I’d already been using sex to fill the void inside me and being passionately consumed with him had intensified the ache.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked.

I nodded, wondering what he would think if he knew how cautious I was now. Or how badly I wanted to fall in love, get married and have babies.

He stepped away from the door, and we both went inside.

He was no longer staring at me, but I suspected that he wanted to take another long, hard look. We’d had sex in every room of his old apartment. One of his favorite activities had been doing body shots off my navel or from in between my breasts. Everything we’d done together had been hard and fast, including midnight rides on his motorcycle.

He led me to the living room, where a shiny red piano made a bold statement. His house boasted vintage charm, but was rife with contemporary updates.

He wasn’t born and bred in Nashville. He was originally from LA and never knew his father. He was raised by a single mother but somewhere along the way, she’d died and he’d moved in with an aunt and uncle. He’d only given me vague details. He knew far more about me than I did about him.

He gestured to an impressive wet bar and coffee station. “Can I get you anything?”

“That’s all right. I’m okay.” To keep my hands busy, I smoothed my top. I wore an oversize tunic, skinny jeans and thigh-high boots that served me in the rain. My bleached blond hair was short and choppy, left over from my cowpunk phase. It was the only wild side of myself that I’d held on to.

He sat across from me, illuminated by the cloudy light spilling in from the windows. My mind was whirring, working feverishly about how I was going to dress him. I envisioned a variety of looks, ranging from rebellious to refined. From what I recalled, he’d never really cared much about clothes, except when he was removing mine.

“You came highly recommended,” he said, jarring me out of my thoughts. “Kirby suggested that I hire you.”

I gaped at him. “Kirby Talbot?” The country superstar who’d destroyed my mother, who’d promised to buy her songs, but had merely slept with her instead. “Seriously, Spencer?” He knew damned well that I hated Kirby. Not only had Kirby ghosted my mother after their affair, he’d filed a restraining order against her when she’d tried to contact him again.

His heartless actions were a tragedy from which Mama had never recovered. I never got over it, either. Her depression had destroyed me when I was young. Now that I was grown up, Kirby kept trying to fix it. But I couldn’t forget the pain he’d caused.

I frowned at my former lover. I was aware that he’d written some recent hits for Kirby, but beyond that I didn’t know what their relationship entailed. “Just how chummy are you?”

“He’s actually become a mentor to me.” Spencer twisted one of the threads that looped across the hole in his jeans, then looked up, his gaze instantly riveted to mine. “I couldn’t have gotten sober without him.”

I blinked, then glanced at the bar, where bottles of liquor were clearly visible. “You’re a recovering alcoholic?”

He continued looking at me. “I’ve had a problem with it for years. Don’t you remember how drunk I used to get?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know it was an addiction. I just thought you liked to party.” I was feeling foolishly naïve. All those slurred, sexy nights, all those body shots. “Why do you have a fully stocked bar now?”

“I keep it around for guests.” He ran his gaze over me. “I can resist the temptation.”

I hoped he resisted his drink of choice far better than he was resisting his renewed attraction to me. The air between us had gone unbearably thick. Temptation, I thought. So much temptation.

And on top of that, I wasn’t convinced that if push came to shove, he wouldn’t fall off the wagon. He still seemed restless to me. “How long have you been sober?”

“Two years, three months, five days and—” He removed his phone from his pocket and checked the time “—six hours.” He glanced up and laughed a little. “Give or take.”

His jokey remark didn’t ease my concern. “I’m glad you’re trying to turn your life around.” I would at least give him credit for that. “But you know what sucks? That I used to tell you what a jerk Kirby was, but you still managed to bond with him. You’d never even met him when I was with you.”

He scowled. “Well, I got to know him later. And what was I was supposed to do? Shun him because of you? He’s been trying to make amends with you for years.”

I tightened my spine, sitting ramrod straight. Spencer used to support my hatred of Kirby, but now he was siding with the enemy. “Did you hire me as a favor to Kirby? Is that what this is all about?”

“No.” His scowl deepened.

“Then why did you hire me?”

He shrugged. “For old times’ sake, I guess.”

Meaning what, exactly? That he was curious to see me? That didn’t make me feel any better. Our affair had started in the gutter. We’d hooked up on Tinder, strictly for the sex. I’d been all of twenty then. Young and promiscuous.

I gave him a pointed look. “You still shouldn’t have blindsided me about Kirby.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand your reluctance to forgive him. He apologized for what he did to your family, not just privately but in a press conference, too. He bought the rights to your mom’s songs from you and your sister and made good on his promise to market them. You got a nice settlement from him.”

“It wasn’t enough to last forever. Going to college and starting a new business wasn’t cheap.” I’d definitely spent a huge chunk on those things. But I’d blown tons of it, too. Not that I was going to admit that to Spencer. But in my defense, I was still running wild when I first got the money.

“Yeah, well, it’s just crazy that you won’t give Kirby a chance.” He shook his head again. “Your sister is even married to his oldest son.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to accept Kirby the way she has. Besides, Mary has a softer heart than I do.” She was also blissfully happy with Brandon and their children. I was still waiting around for my dream man.

We sat quietly, until he said, “When Kirby first recommended you as my stylist, he didn’t know that I was acquainted with you. He knows now, though. I told him that we used to date.”

“Why in the hell did you do that?” I could have strangled Spencer, murdered him for real.

“Because it was too weird for me to pretend that we were strangers.”

“And now he thinks that we went out, way back when?”

He stared me down. “Would you have preferred that I told him the truth?”

“Of course not.” I didn’t want Kirby knowing my personal business. “I would have preferred that you kept your trap shut.”

“At least I made it sound respectable.”

“Whatever.” I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Well, you know what?” he snapped. “Maybe you and I shouldn’t work together.”

Screw him, I thought. “You’re going to fire me already?”

He jerked his head. “I might.”

“Whatever,” I said again. I was too damned mad to care.

In the tense silence that followed, I studied the pale ink on Spencer’s arm. His tattoo was a predominantly Native American design. Kirby had a half-Cherokee son named Matt with one of his former mistresses, and Spencer was of mixed origins, too. He’d never told me what tribe he was from, though. When I’d asked, he’d claimed it didn’t matter. But now he was covered in artwork that seemed to prove otherwise.

I brazenly said, “It’s interesting that Kirby has a son with a similar heritage to yours. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you could be one of his kids, too.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Maybe you actually are his son,” I taunted him. Not because I believed he was Kirby’s heir, but just because I wanted to get back at him for not keeping quiet about us. “You might be his kid, and you don’t even know it. With the way Kirby messed around, he could have dozens of illegitimate children out there.”

He sighed. “Go ahead and make up whatever stories you want. But biologically, him being my father is impossible. Kirby is white, and so was my mom.”

For some unknown reason, I’d always assumed that his mother had been Native American, but Spencer’s brown skin had obviously come from the father he’d never met. I swallowed my pride and apologized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that.” I had no right to bring his family into my foolishness. I made a sheepish expression and said, “Truce?”

He lifted his eyebrows, making me wait for his reply. Was he going to tell me to get lost? Had I blown this job? Had my stupidity gotten in the way?

“You’re something else,” he said a few heartbeats later. He didn’t sound amused. But he didn’t sound angry anymore, either. He expelled a breath and added, “But you always were feisty.”

I used to be a full-on brat, but I wasn’t going to cop to it now. I flashed a hopeful smile. “You’re not firing me?”

“I guess not.” He glanced at my lips, as if he was remembering the taste of them.

He stood and walked over to the bar. Seconds ticked by, or maybe it was minutes. I wanted to break the silence, but I couldn’t think of an intelligent thing to say. I was remembering the taste of his lips, too.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” he asked.

I blinked at him. “Anything?”

“To drink. I’m going to have a ginger ale.”

Actually, I was getting thirsty. Or maybe my mouth had gone dry as a reaction to him. The air between us had gone thick again. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Do you want yours on ice?”

“Yes, please.”

He turned, opened the mini fridge and poured my drink.

“Here you go.” He came toward me with my ginger ale, and I reached out to take it.

He returned to the mini fridge, retrieved a soda for himself and took a swig directly from the can. I sipped my drink, the ice clinking in my glass. He leaned against the bar, facing me now. So tall, so dark, so damned handsome.

I steadied my voice and asked, “Is the photo shoot going to be here at your house?”

“Yes, it’ll be here, showcasing how I live.”

He kept drinking his ginger ale, with the off-limits bottles of hard liquor behind him. The wine rack on the bar was full, too. He was surrounded by the forbidden.

I was, too. Not the alcohol. That wasn’t a problem for me. My forbidden was Spencer himself. Crazy as it was, I was about to invite myself to his bedroom.

“Do you mind if I look in your closet to get a feel for your wardrobe?” I asked.

“No, I don’t mind.” He gestured to his attire. “Expect lots of jeans. Fancy clothes aren’t really my forte.”

He waited until I stood, then headed for a set of etched-glass doors that led to another part of the house. As I followed him, he glanced back and said, “I like your boots, by the way. They’re really…”

He didn’t finish his statement. I suspected he was going to say “sexy” or “hot” or something of that nature. But he let it drift instead.

I let it go, too. He guided me down a hallway riddled with artfully framed movie posters. I spotted a black-and-white still from The Wild One, featuring a young and defiant Marlon Brando, and my interest was piqued. The actor sat on a Triumph motorcycle, sporting 1950s biker gear. I knew the history behind his clothes. I’d taken a class about fashion in film.

Spencer opened the door to the master suite. “This is it, where my closet is.”

The first thing I saw was his king-size bed. It sat on a platform frame constructed from natural wood. The covers were tan and gold. Masculine. Overall, his room was warm and inviting, with an adjoining bathroom and French doors leading to the backyard. The curtains were open, with a view of his pool. Beyond it was acres of grass.

“Your home is beautiful,” I said. “I should have told you that when I first got here.” I wandered over to the doors and peered out.

He joined me, pointing to a flagstone path that cut through the grass. “My guesthouse is out that way. I turned it into a dog rescue. I have a slew of people who help me with it. Some are paid employees and some are volunteers.”

“I don’t have any pets.” I wondered if that made me lacking. “Mary and Brandon have a husky named Cline. My niece and nephew adore him. He was Brandon’s dog before he met my sister, and now Cline is the family dog.”

“I have two dogs.”

“You do? Where are they?”

He mock-whispered, “Hiding under the bed.” He smiled and said in a normal tone, “They’re just checking you out, deciding if you can be trusted. They were my first rescues, and I couldn’t bear to let them go, so they became mine.”

Curious about his companions, I glanced at the foot of the bed. Sure enough, there were two little white faces poking out from under it.

“They’re adorable,” I said. “They look like dust mops with eyeballs. What are they, actually?”

“Maltese. Normally they’re a fearless breed, but Cookie and Candy came from a traumatic situation. Once they get used to you, you’ll see whole new sides of them.”

“How long will it take for them to get used to me?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes they come around quickly and sometimes they don’t. If they’re agreeable on the day of the shoot, we might use them in some of the pictures. They already met the photographer and liked him.”

“That’s good.” The shoot was a little over a month away, so there was plenty of time for his dogs to cozy up to me. “Has the photographer discussed his vision with you and what sort of image he wants you to project?”

Spencer winced a little. “He said they want to go with a reformed bad-boy thing.”

I cocked my head. “You don’t like that idea?”

“It’s okay, I guess. We all have a brand these days, and that’s how mine is unfolding.”

“I can certainly build your style around it.” I knew just how bad he used to be. “I should check out your clothes now.”

“We can go into my closet together. It’s big enough for both of us.”

That was true. His walk-in was more like a room. Still, once we were inside, I imagined turning out the light and pressing my mouth against his. The first time I’d ever kissed a boy was in a closet. But not the urgent way I used to kiss Spencer.

To keep myself sane, I inhaled the fabric-cluttered air. His clothes smelled clean and fresh. He was right. There were a lot of blue jeans.

“I have a few suits,” he said, and showed me the garment bags.

As I unzipped them to check the labels, I almost felt as if I were undressing him. I shivered at the memory.

He stood back and his gaze roamed over me, and I hastily said, “You have great taste for someone who doesn’t place much importance on fancy clothes.” His Italian-cut suits were impeccably tailored. He’d certainly spent some money on them.

Spencer shrugged, but not in a casual way. He seemed as if he had a lot on his mind. I knew the feeling.

Finally, he said, “When I was a kid, my aunt and uncle used to make me dress up for their dinner parties and whatnot, so I guess some of it stuck. I know that I never told you this before, but they were rich as sin.”

I widened my eyes. He’d been raised with wealth and privilege? I hadn’t seen that coming. But as vague as he’d always been, how would I have known? “How old were you when you went to live with them?”

He frowned. “Ten. That’s when my mom died.”

I understood his pain, the ache I heard in his voice. I knew what being motherless was like. My poor mama had succumbed to heart failure when I was eighteen, and I missed her every day. I preferred to think of her before she got so depressed, but it wasn’t easy. I was eleven when Kirby had damaged her, when her struggles had begun. For me, those memories ran deep, and so did my rebellious behavior. By the time I was in high school, boys were writing my name on bathroom walls.

“No child should have to lose a parent,” I said.

Spencer stepped a little closer. “My mom was an aspiring actress, but she didn’t live to see her dream fulfilled. Mostly she worked at department stores, walking around spritzing perfume.” He paused to clear his throat. “My aunt and uncle are in commercial real estate, with properties all over the world. When my mother passed, they carted me off to their big, stiff mansion in Hidden Hills. It’s a gated community in LA.”

Were they as controlling as they were rich? Based on his description, I assumed that they were. I’d grown up in a low-income area in Oklahoma City, where Mama struggled to pay our bills. “They sound pretty uppity.”

“I learned all sorts of proper things from them.” He gestured to the suit in my hand. “I know at least twenty different ways to tie a tie.”

“Well, I’ve got you beat.” Had he rebelled because of them? Were they part of his cause and effect? “I’ve perfected thirty. Knots are one of my specialties. Ties, scarves. I can do it all.”

“Too bad we never discussed this before.” He teasingly added, “We could’ve had some bondage fun back in the day.”

“That’s not funny.” But I laughed anyway, sensing that he needed to lighten the mood and quit talking about his family.

I closed the garment bags and continued looking through his things. He had a couple of high-quality motorcycle jackets. I reached for one of them and ran my hand along the leather.

Before I stroked it too much, I turned my attention to the bottom shelf, where his shoes were perched. I noticed a pair of wonderfully scuffed biker boots with a vintage vibe, similar to the ones Brando had worn in The Wild One.

“Is it safe to assume that you still ride?” I asked.

“Yeah, Harleys are still my thing.”

I checked out more of his shoes. He had a nice selection of cowboy boots. “Horses, too?”

He nodded. “I have a barn just beyond the rescue with two really pretty palominos.” He looked directly at me. “But you already know I’m partial to blondes.”

I forced myself to breathe, with his all-too-hungry gaze practically devouring me.

We exited the closet, and I felt my skin flush. I was horribly warm, overheated, in fact.

After an awkward beat of silence, I headed for the French doors and said, “It’s raining again.” I wished I could open them, go outside and let the water drench every anxious inch of me.

He came over to where I was. “It’s not supposed to let up until tomorrow.”

We stood side by side, body heat mounting between us. Even the dogs under the bed had crept closer to the edge, waiting to see what we might do.

“So, what happens now?” he asked.

I assumed he meant in relation to me being his stylist. But my mind was spinning in all sorts of directions. “Once we work out a budget, I’ll shop for you. Then I’ll bring everything here for you to try on. We can incorporate some of your belongings into the designs, too.” I wanted to see him in those motorcycle boots. I loved how battered they were.

“I’ll also need to take your measurements before I leave here today. That’ll give me an accurate handle on your sizes. I can’t just rely on the labels from your clothes.”

“That’s fine.” He shifted his feet, and one of the dogs pawed at his shoe.

He reached down to pick her up, and she cuddled in his arms. I didn’t try to pet her. Touching her would bring me too close to him. I was already stressing about taking his measurements.

I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t get intimately involved with anyone unless it promised to develop into a meaningful relationship. But now I was fantasizing about hooking up with my old lover and having hot and dangerous sex with him again. Did Spencer have the power to turn me back into the reckless girl I used to be?

God, I hoped not.

But a shameful part of me wanted to find out.

Two
Spencer

Damn, I thought. Alice McKenzie was doing a number on me all over again, just like the first time I’d met her. We’d both swiped right on Tinder, and after one flirtatious chat, I’d invited her to the trendy club where I used to work. Later that night, she’d followed me to my apartment, and I had the best sex of my life.

But things were different now.

So much different.

I hadn’t even kissed anyone since I quit drinking. For now, I was abstinent.

Painfully abstinent.

Funny, but I hadn’t actually thought of it as painful until today, and that was because of Alice. Pretty Alice, with her sultry brown eyes, spiky blond hair and killer boots. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d never really gotten her out of my head. I’d thought about her a lot over the years. The abrupt way she’d ended our affair had always bothered me. At the time, we’d still been going hot and heavy, and she’d left me wondering what I’d done wrong. Even now, I was trying to figure out what Alice really thought of me. Was that the reason I’d hired her to work for me? Was I looking for some sort of closure?

While my thoughts scattered, Cookie whined to be free. I set her down, and she scampered back to Candy. The two of them stared up at Alice as if she was a spaceship that had just landed. I was probably looking at her that way, too. I used to call her Alice in Spencerland when she was in my bed. I didn’t know what to call her now.

“Do they sleep here?” she asked.

My brain fogged. “I’m sorry. What?”

“The dogs. Do they sleep in your room?”

I shook my head. “They have their own beds in another room. But they like hanging out in here. They spend a lot time at the rescue, too, playing with the other dogs.”

“That’s nice that they have other company.” She hesitated before she said, “I should probably take your measurements now.”

I’d been measured by tailors before. When I was a kid, it seemed like a regular occurrence, given how fast I was growing and with all of the dress-up occasions I’d been forced to attend. But knowing that Alice was going to put her hands on me was a whole other matter.

She reached into her bag and removed a tape measure. She got out an iPad, too. “I’m going to do your chest first. Don’t flex or anything. Just stand normally.”

I did as she asked, and she wrapped the tape measure under my armpits and around the fullest part of my chest. She recorded my size on her iPad.

She did my neck and sleeve length and recorded those sizes, too. When she got to my waist, my stomach muscles jumped. But she kept going. She put a finger between my body and the tape measure, giving me room to breathe. My inseam was next, a measurement that was going to require her get on her knees in front of me. She instructed me to remove my shoes, which I did.

When she dropped down and ran the tape measure from the lowest part of my crotch to my foot, I watched her, remembering the erotic things she used to do to me while she was on her knees.

I could’ve kicked myself for letting my mind go there. Were her thoughts straying in the same direction? I did my damnedest not to get aroused, and she seemed to be doing her damnedest to be quick and efficient.

She said, “I need to measure your feet, too.”

“Sure. Okay.” I couldn’t protest, even if it meant that she had to stay on her knees.

She had one of those devices in her bag that they used in shoe stores. She placed it in front of me, and I stepped onto it.

Afterward, she stood and fussed with her bag. I put my sneakers back on. There was awkward energy between us. She was the first woman I wanted since I got sober, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. There was no denying that she was as attracted to me as I was to her. That much, I could feel. But feeling it and acting on it were two different things.

She said, “I should probably get going.”

I searched my brain for an excuse to keep her. Regardless of the effect she was having on me, I didn’t want her to leave. “Why don’t you stick around and let me show you the rescue?”

She bit down on her bottom lip. “I am curious to see it.”

I’d always been fascinated by the shape of her mouth. Her cranberry-colored lipstick intrigued me, too. It made her look dangerously kissable.

I broke my stare. “Let’s grab our jackets and go.”

She glanced out the glass doors, where the rain was pounding even harder now. “I left my hoodie in the car. I’ll have to go back and—”

“I can loan you something.” She’d already measured my body and handled some of my clothes. Her borrowing a jacket from me was the least of my concerns. I gestured to the closet. “You can choose what you want. Pick one out for me, too. Doesn’t matter which one.” I had plenty to go around.

“Okay.” She returned to my closet.

Once again, my thoughts drifted to the past and the things Alice and I used to do. We’d always had sex at my place. I don’t know why she’d never invited me to hers. At the time, I hadn’t bothered to ask. I hadn’t been big on conversation then. But now it made me curious to see how she lived. Was she neat and tidy? Or did she keep things strewn about? I envisioned her being beautifully messy. I’d been taught to be orderly, even when I was torn up inside.

She came back with two basic hoodies, gray for her and black for me. We slipped them on. The one she was wearing was big on her. She was only five-four, five-five at the most, with a slim build. I was six-two with plenty of muscle. Somehow, though, our hip-thrusting always seemed to work, even when we were standing in the shower, getting soaking wet.

“Ready to see the rescue?” I asked. “It’s about a five-minute walk.” Just long enough for us to get wet, I thought.

She gazed out the French doors, assessing the weather. “Sure. Let’s do it.” She lifted her hood.

We ventured outside, and I led the way, past the pool and onto the flagstone path, with the rain beating down on us.

I glanced over at Alice and noticed how troubled she suddenly looked, her expression as dark as the clouds. Was she thinking about me? About us? Or did she have Kirby on her mind?

Her opinion of him disturbed me, especially with how much I’d come to care for him. I trusted him with my inner feelings, something I’d never done with anyone else before. He understood my tortured psyche. I could confide in him about anything. Yet I’d lied to him about Alice, pretending that she and I used to go on casual dates. Not that Kirby was naïve. He knew that I was a drunk back then and that Alice used to party. But I’d played down my relationship with her, making it seem light and easy. In spite of her hatred for him, he was fiercely protective of her, so I figured the truth wouldn’t have sat well with him, anyway. Granted, what he’d done to Alice’s mother was wrong. But he was sorry for the pain he’d caused and truly wanted to ease Alice’s suffering. I admired him for that.

I said to her, “Kirby told me that you helped choose the artist who recorded your mother’s songs. That Tracy Burton was your top pick.”

She snuggled deeper into my jacket, tucking her hands into the pockets. “At the time, I wanted someone who was new to the business, but who understood the importance of Mama’s music, too. Tracy and I have become really close since then. I guess you could say that she’s my BFF now.”

“Then it sounds like things worked out.” I’d never met Tracy or worked with her, so I wasn’t about to comment on how fleeting her fame had been. She’d had a great run with her debut and the songs Alice’s mother had written, but as far as I knew, things had gone downhill from there.

I felt fortunate for my skyrocketing career. I’d come to Nashville with nothing, and now I was a Grammy Award-winning, highly sought-after songwriter. My aunt and uncle had refused to help me along the way, and I hadn’t heard from them since. Not one measly phone call, congratulating me on my success.

Alice and I continued walking, with the rain still falling between us. The path narrowed, and I stepped onto the grass, giving her more room.

When we arrived at the rescue, we both wiped our feet and removed our damp jackets, hanging them on hooks in the entryway.

I introduced Alice to the staff and showed her around. The guesthouse had been remodeled to my specifications. We had kennels for when we needed them, but we also had canine-friendly rooms where the dogs could nap and play and socialize. There were tons of outdoor activities, too, on nicer days.

“This is a wonderful setup,” Alice said, as we stood near the kitchen.

“We do our best.” At the moment, a volunteer was preparing a meal for one of our newest residents, a poor little pup with a digestive disorder. “We have quite a few special-needs dogs.”

“Are they difficult to place?”

“Yes.” It was an unfortunate reality and one we faced daily. “Finding the right homes for them can be challenging.”

Alice went quiet. The she asked, “What makes you do all of this, Spencer?”

I automatically replied, “I just want to make a difference in the world.” That was my standard response, what I’d gotten used to saying. But it went deeper than that, so much deeper. I’d felt like a stray dog when I’d first landed on my aunt and uncle’s doorstep. They’d fed me and clothed me and taught me to sit up and beg, rewarding me when I behaved and punishing me when I didn’t. But I knew that no matter what I did, I would always be the mongrel they never really wanted.

During my darkest days, I used to fantasize about searching for my father, a man who didn’t even know I existed. Sometimes I still thought about it.

“You have made a difference,” Alice said.

For a second, I didn’t know what she meant. Then I realized that she was referring to the rescue.

“Do you want to meet our mascot?” I asked. “He’s a three-year-old English bulldog who runs the show around here. We’re not going to adopt him out. He loves greeting people in the office, so that’s where he is most of the time. He’s Candy and Cookie’s best buddy, too.”

She smiled. “I’d love to meet him. What’s his name?”

“We call him Peterbilt. Pete for short. We chose that name because he’ll come at you like an eighteen-wheeler, pestering you to pet him.”

An amused expression brightened up her face, making her even prettier than she already was. “I’m going to be delighted to make his acquaintance, I’m sure.”

I took her to the office, a woodsy room that overlooked one of the fenced yards. For now, the office was vacant. No one was manning the desk. Pete lounged in his doggie bed, but when he caught sight of us, he roused himself quickly and ran toward us. He gave me a sloppy grin and made a beeline for Alice, barreling right into her.

She nearly tripped, and I grabbed her arm before she fell. She burst into a hearty laugh. Pete was a comical dude, with droopy eyes, a massive jaw and crooked teeth. Short and stout, with thick white wrinkles, he weighed about fifty pounds, moved with a crablike gait and drooled excessively.

Alice dropped to the floor to pet him, and he climbed onto her lap. I sat across from them and reached over to scratch his ears.

“Did you find yourself a new girlfriend there, buddy?” I asked him.

He grinned at me again. He was in canine heaven, but I could hardly blame him. I knew how it felt to be physically close to her. She wrapped her arms around him, soaking up his affection, and I envied him for charming her so easily. Of course, I’d done that, too, way back when.

“Can I bring him a toy next time I come by?” she asked. “Would that be okay?”

“Sure. You can bring him whatever you want.” I wasn’t going to deny Pete. Or her. She seemed to need to connect with him. “He’s good about sharing his toys with the other dogs, too. He isn’t territorial.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Not even with his girlfriends?”

“No, not even with them.”

“I guess he has a lot of female companions, then.”

“He has enough to keep him busy. But he’s neutered, so it’s not the real deal. He still likes the ladies, though.” Nonetheless, I didn’t think it was the dog’s girlfriends who interested her. I suspected that she was fishing to see who I slept with these days. I furrowed my brow and asked, “Will you tell me something?”

She squinted. “What?”

“Did I hurt you? In the past, I mean.”

Her breath rushed out. “What makes you think that?”

“Because you’re the one who ended it, who just texted me one day and said that you wouldn’t be back. I know we weren’t committed to each other or anything, but it didn’t seem like you were getting tired of me, at least not when we were together. But I must have done something to upset you.”

She frowned. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“Come on. Tell me what I did.” I wasn’t letting up, not until I understood it better.

“Just drop it, Spencer.”

“Tell me.” I prodded her again.

“Fine.” Her gaze slammed into mine. “I stopped seeing you because I needed to be someone new. To change my ways. To quit sleeping with men who didn’t care about me.”

Her remark stung. But it was true. I hadn’t cared about myself then, let alone been capable of caring for someone else. Now I was wondering if I should’ve left well enough alone, instead of bugging her for a response.

Then she said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. But I’ve actually done a good job of cleaning up my act. I’ve been celibate since I was with you.”

Hell’s fire. I merely stared at her. She hadn’t had sex in five years? I couldn’t have been more shocked.

After giving myself a second to comprehend her news, I said, “That’s crazy, I mean, it’s just so…” Before she misunderstood my reaction, I anxiously added, “I haven’t been with anyone since I got sober.”

Now it was her turn to stare at me. “I hadn’t expected that you…” She shook her head. “It’s weird that we both…”

Yeah, weird. I didn’t even know what to say next.

She paused before she asked, “Do the women who follow you online know? Is that why they’ve been calling you unattainable?”

“No. They only say that about me because I haven’t shown any interest in them.” It wasn’t because they knew that I gave up sex. “I prefer not to advertise what I do. Or don’t do,” I clarified.

She shifted the dog in her lap. He was falling asleep, his eyes drifting closed. “Me, neither.”

It made me feel strange that I was the last guy she’d been with. The last man to be inside her. To make her come. It almost seemed romantic. But I knew that it wasn’t.

“I really was the wrong guy for you,” I said.

She sighed. “You were wrong for everybody back then.”

“I still am.” I shrugged off my discomfort. I wouldn’t know how to do a relationship if it smacked me over the head. “Just call me Mr. Wrong.”

“Well, that’s funny,” she replied solemnly. “Because after I ended it with you, I decided that I was going to wait for Mr. Right. That I wouldn’t sleep with anyone until he came along. I’m hoping he’ll be the man that I marry someday.”

“The white picket fence thing.” I’d never pictured her in that role. But I’d never pictured her anywhere, except naked in my bed.

She lobbed a curious look at me. “While we’re on the subject, why did you stop having sex?”

Lucky for me, I had a solid answer. “Abstinence is part of my sobriety program.”

“Through what? AA?”

“No, but it’s something similar at a private rehab center. Kirby introduced me to it. We both attend meetings there.” I explained without going into too much detail. “It’s an outpatient program. Not one of those places where you check yourself in.”

“And they advocate abstinence for two whole years? That seems like a long time for a program like that.”

“Typically, it’s no dating and no sex for a year. But after my first year was up, I just wasn’t ready to jump back in.”

She sent me another curious look, snaring me with her next question. “When will you be ready?”

“I don’t have a guideline to follow.” As badly as I wanted her, I was already losing ground. “I guess I’ll just know. But for now, I’m still trying to figure myself out. What about you? Have you at least been on some dates?”

“Yes, but it never amounts to anything.” Her shoulders drooped. “The chemistry just hasn’t been there.”

My chemistry with her was a bitch. I could feel it tightening its noose around me. “I haven’t even kissed anyone.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Me, neither.”

I cleared my throat. “Not even on any of those dates?”

She opened her eyes. “I don’t kiss on first dates anymore, and none of them ever got past that point.” She glanced at the sleeping bulldog. “I’ll bet Pete would kiss me if he could.”

I watched her with anticipation. “Sloppy dog kisses don’t count.” But my mouth on hers would. I wanted to do it in the worst way.

When Alice lifted her head, our gazes locked. The rain was slashing against the office windows, intensifying the moment. Neither of us spoke, not one word, not one syllable.

I finally said, “I feel like I’m in junior high again.”

She blinked at me. “Is that when you had your first kiss?”

“With tongues, yeah. How about you?”

She winced. “I was in elementary school. Fifth grade, at someone’s birthday party. I went into a closet with a boy I liked.”

“Damn, girl. You really were a wilding.” I tried for a bit of humor. “Do you want to go back into my closet with me?”

She broke down and laughed. “You wish.”

Darned right, I did. My heart jumped when I said, “I can only imagine how good a kiss would feel after all this time.”

“Really good,” she said, her voice turning soft.

We stared longingly at each other. But we didn’t lean forward or put our mouths together. It seemed too risky, too wrong. We were former lovers, in the midst of celibacy, and this wasn’t a path either of us was supposed to be taking.

No matter how hot and satisfying it would be.

Three
Alice

I wanted to kiss Spencer, so help me I did. He was arousing me from the inside out, just the way he used to.

He ran a hand through his hair, and I went warm all over. I imagined running my hands through it, too. It fell across his forehead, the thick dark strands messy from the rain. God, he was tempting: so familiar, so gorgeous.

So celibate.

Somehow that should have made him seem safer, but it didn’t. He was making me feel like a sex-starved mess. Spencer had changed, but he wasn’t any better for me now than he was before. I needed someone who was ready to settle down and raise a family. I needed security, not a recovering alcoholic, trying to find himself.

To keep myself from staring at him any more than I already had, I glanced down at the dog. Pete was still out like a light.

“At least he isn’t snoring,” I said, trying to make regular conversation. We couldn’t keep talking about how good a kiss would feel or how long it had been since we’d had sex.

Spencer seemed relieved that I changed the topic. He quickly replied, “Pete used to snore. He had breathing problems when we took him in. We had his palate surgically corrected. He had a few other health issues that we dealt with, too. As you can see, he’s totally fine now.”

“Where did he come from? What’s his background?”

“He was left at a kill shelter, and his time was almost up when we heard about him.” Spencer blew out a tight breath. “I guess his owner didn’t think he was worth it. It makes me sick, the way some people treat their pets, as if they’re just so damned disposable.”

“I think the work you’re doing here is wonderful.” I was impressed by how nurturing he seemed and how much he obviously cared. Would he be a gentle lover now? There’d never been any sweetness during our affair, no snuggly warmth. As much as I’d wanted him to hold me afterward, he just hadn’t been the type.

I shook away the memory. But somehow, the longing remained. “What about Candy and Cookie? Were they left at a shelter, too?”

“They were orphaned. They’d been alone in the house with their owner when she accidentally fell down the stairs. She died on impact, from a spinal cord injury.” He frowned and continued with, “The dogs were so traumatized, they dug their way out of the yard and started living on the streets. People tried to catch them, but they just kept running away. Then I found them hiding under my front porch.”

“Really? You found them yourself?”

He nodded. “They were dirty and matted and covered in burrs. Candy’s legs were scraped up, and one of Cookie’s ears was torn. I called a mobile vet, and he came out to the house and tended to them. Since there wasn’t anyone associated with their owner who was able to take them, I offered to let them stay with me until I found another home for them.” He drew his knees up. “But I got attached and kept them instead. After that, I decided to start a rescue. There’s a lot of work that’s involved in running a place like this. It didn’t happen overnight.”

I pondered the story he’d told me. It was certainly better than mulling over our past. “I never really thought about what happens to pets when their owners die.”

“My mother died in a similar way. From a fall.”

“Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry.” He’d mentioned his mom earlier, and now he was talking about the manner in which she’d left this earth. It didn’t get more painful than that. I shuddered and asked, “Were you with her when it happened?”

“No.” He glanced at his shoes, at the bits of mud and grass on them. “I was at school, and she was home, painting the beams in our apartment. The ladder tipped over, and she suffered a head injury.” He kept studying his shoes. “She thought she was okay at first, but then she started feeling dizzy and confused and called a friend to take her to urgent care. But by then, her brain was already starting to swell.”

He finally lifted his gaze. He’d done more talking today than he had in the entire time I’d known him.

Before he slipped back into his old silent ways, I said, “It must have been awful for you, going to live with your aunt and uncle after something so traumatic.”

“Yeah. It pretty much sucked.”

“Which one of them is your blood relative?”

“My aunt. She’s my mother’s older sister. They came from a dysfunctional family.” He paused slightly. “Their dad was an alcoholic.”

I gauged the discomfort in his eyes. Those dark, brooding eyes. “I heard it can be hereditary. The alcoholism,” I added, making my meaning clear.

He shrugged it off. “My grandfather was a mean old cuss who died from liver disease. I hardly remember him.”

“At least you weren’t a mean drunk.”

He snared my gaze. “I was rough with you in bed.”

Was it necessary for him to remind me of that? “We were both rough with each other.” I used to rake my nails all over him, clawing and scratching. “It’s just what we did.”

“I know, but I should have been gentler.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, even if it did. I’d always left his apartment feeling lonely and confused.

He replied, “I’m sorry if I wasn’t more romantic with you.”

His apology went straight to my heart, making it skitter. “Is this part of your sobriety? Saying sorry to all of the women you never cuddled?”

No.” He spoke lower, raspier. “I’m only saying it to you.”

I tried to act normal, to not let my emotions show. “I appreciate your concern, but it isn’t necessary.”

He watched me, a bit too closely. “I just don’t want you feeling bad about the past.”

Or letting it affect the present? It was too late for that. I wasn’t just struggling with my memories, I was troubled by his current association with Kirby, too.

“How well do you know my sister and Brandon?” I asked. I’d never told Mary about my affair with Spencer, and she’d never mentioned his name to me, either. But that didn’t mean they weren’t acquainted.

“I’ve never met Mary. Or Brandon. My friendship with Kirby doesn’t extend to his kids. Not that I have anything against them. It’s just easier for me to keep my relationship with him private.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.” It was easier for me, too, to keep my sister out of the loop. She knew that I used to sleep around and that I was waiting for the right man now. But we didn’t have major conversations about it. Mary had been through enough with me when I was a kid, always worrying about my wild side. Before those reckless feelings came flooding back, I said, “I better get going.”

Spencer frowned. “You don’t have to run off.”

“I’m not.” Thankfully, I had a reason for leaving. “I’m having lunch with Tracy today, and it’s all the way across town.” I had plenty of time, but it was still a good excuse. Besides, I was eager to see her. Unlike Mary, I used Tracy as my confidante. I’d already told her about Spencer, talking about him on and off throughout the years, and now I would be telling her even more. “It was nice seeing the rescue and meeting Pete, but I really have to go.”

He was still frowning. “Then I’ll walk you to your car.”

“All right. But how do I…?” I was concerned about startling the sleeping bulldog.

He bent over to help me. “Just roll him off you. He probably won’t even wake up.”

We moved Pete together, and he landed belly side up, with his feet in the air and his tongue lolling to one side.

“Told ya,” Spencer said, and we both smiled.

I climbed up off the floor. He stood, too. At least the tension was gone. But I knew how quickly it could return.

We retrieved the jackets we’d worn, put them back on and left the rescue, heading back into the rain. We didn’t chat along the way. But we’d said plenty already.

He took me through a side gate that led to his driveway, where I was parked.

I started to unzip his hoodie to return it to him, but he said, “You can keep it until next time.”

“I have my own in the car.”

“If you take it off now, you’ll get soaked.”

That was true. The rain was coming down hard. If only it would knock some sense into me. I was losing my mind, fantasizing about giving up my celibacy for him. Would he stop being abstinent for me, too?

Struggling to keep my wits about me, I deactivated the alarm on my Prius. Spencer looked as if he wanted to eat me alive. Or at least nibble me to death.

I imagined feasting on him, using my mouth in ways I knew he would enjoy. I glanced away, trying to keep my cool. Working for him wasn’t going to be easy, but I couldn’t bail out, not with how badly I needed this job.

“I’ll be in touch,” I said, forcing a professional air.

He nodded, and I ducked into my car and started the engine. He stood in the rain, looking tall and dark and shadowy. I put the shifter in reverse and backed out of his driveway.

Desperate to escape.

I wore Spencer’s jacket to lunch. I could have switched to mine, but I was already wearing his. Or that’s the excuse I used. Truth was, I just wanted to keep something of his next to me. My hunger for him was crushing my common sense.

I sat in the cramped entrance of the mom-and-pop diner and waited for Tracy to arrive. She wasn’t late; I was actually a little early. But it gave me time to catch my breath. Or try to. There wasn’t a table available yet, anyway.

When Tracy showed up, she breezed in like the rough-and-tumble country girl that she was. She’d been raised on a dusty old horse farm by her rodeo cowboy dad. Her mom died when she was in middle school. All these lost mamas, I thought. Hers, mine, Spencer’s.

I stood to greet her, and we hugged. After we separated, I stood back and said, “Wow. Check you out.”

Beneath her straw Stetson, her long brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, as pretty as could be. Her jeans fit her to a T, but she had one of those sensually curvy bodies that filled out every seam. Without makeup, she had wholesome features. But she knew how to doll herself up. Today, her eyes were as smoky as mine, only they were blue, like the sky on a brighter day.

“I’m trying to fool people into thinking I’m still a celebrity,” she replied.

“You’ll always be a star to me.” She certainly looked the part, even if her success had been short-lived. She’d spent most of the money she’d earned fixing up her dad’s property. She’d bought herself a place, too. But everything had faltered so quickly, she was fighting to keep her mortgage afloat. She’d been through hard times before. One of the things we had in common was growing up poor.

The hostess escorted us to a vinyl booth near a window. When it came time to order, we both chose the special: baked macaroni and cheese and collard greens. Comfort food was another thing we had in common. So was sweet tea with lots of ice.

After they brought our tea, Tracy asked me, “How did your meeting with Spencer go?”

“Terrible.” I didn’t hold back. I was used to sharing my screwed-up feelings with her. “It was like going back in time, with how badly I want him again.”

She reached for her glass. “Maybe you’re just getting cabin fever. Or celibate fever, or whatever.”

“He’s celibate, too.”

She gaped at me. “No way.”

“Yes, way.” He was as inactive as I was.

“Dang, really? A guy like him? Why is he keeping all that manliness to himself?”

I repeated what he told me, about him being a recovering alcoholic and abstinence being part of his program, even if he’d carried it out for longer than the usual year.

“Is he struggling with his sobriety?” she asked.

“He said that he can handle the temptation of drinking, but I think it’s more difficult for him than he’s willing to admit. Of course, that’s just my opinion. I’m not an authority on addiction.” Not unless my attraction to him fell into that category.

“It’s tough to know what another person is going through. But we’ve all got some sort of problems, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do.” And mine were escalating now that I’d seen Spencer again. “You know what makes it harder? Spencer is super close to Kirby. Kirby even helped him with his sobriety.”

“Yikes.” Tracy screwed up her face. “That’s major. You can’t mess with that kind of bond.”

“Don’t I know it.” Kirby had been clean and sober for a long time. But when he was drinking and using, he’d hurt a lot of people. He’d even published a bestselling biography about his wrongdoings. He’d left Mama out of the book, though. He didn’t acknowledge her until after she died, for all the good that had done. “I hate how Kirby expects to be absolved for all of the terrible things he did.”

She took a long, cool sip of her tea. “You’re the only person out there who hasn’t forgiven him.”

And rightly so, I thought. “Speaking of apologies… Spencer said he was sorry for not being more romantic when we were together.”

She watched me with empathy in her eyes. “I’ll bet that made seeing him even harder for you.”

“I’m just glad I have you to talk to.” Without her, I’d really be lost.

Our conversation halted when the waitress appeared with our specials. After she left, we dug into our meals.

A few minutes later, Tracy looked up from her plate and asked, “Did Spencer happen to mention that he’s going to be working with Dash on his next album?”

“No, he didn’t say anything about that.” Dash Smith was Tracy’s former fiancé. They’d gotten engaged years ago, when both of them were still trying to make it. But nowadays, Tracy was struggling again, and Dash was a big star. At the moment, he was off on a world tour. “How do you know Spencer is going to be working with Dash?”

“I read about it.”

“You need to stop reading about Dash and following his career.”

“I know.” Beneath the brim of her hat, her expression turned tortured. “I’m a glutton for punishment.”

I was, too, apparently, judging how badly Spencer was affecting me. But my hang-up was based on lust. Somewhere in the pit of her broken heart, Tracy was still in love with her ex. “It’s not healthy for you to obsess about him.”

“I only do that because he’s so famous now.” She glanced toward the rainy window, then back at me. “I don’t begrudge him his success. I know how hard he worked for it. Dash was poorer than you and I ever were. He barely had food on the table when he was growing up. But it’s just so painful to see him out there, living the high life, while I can’t even get another record deal.” She blew out a sigh. “Even my indie career sucks.”

“I hate that you’re going through this.” These days, Tracy was putting her music out there herself, without a label to back her. But nothing was really happening. She was barely getting any downloads, even though her songs were really good. “Just don’t lose hope. You know how things can turn around in this business.”

“They certainly turned around for Dash. He has the number one country album in the world. He’s even crossing over into the pop charts.”

“I’ll bet he’s lonely on the road.” Or I hoped that he was, for her sake.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. With all those groupies out there, he’s probably suffering something awful.”

“Maybe you should reconsider his offer to help you.” She’d told me before that Dash had been reaching out to her. He’d even suggested them doing a duet.

“Are you kidding? I don’t need his charity. When I top the charts again, it’ll be because I earned it, not because I’m riding my ex’s coattails.”

“As much as I admire your principles, maybe you’re being stubborn about this, Trace.”

“Oh, yeah?” She shot me a silly grin. “At least I’ve gotten laid in the past five years.”

“Okay, smart-ass.” I laughed in spite of myself. “Punish me for being a good girl now.”

She leaned forward, pressing against the table. “Do you think Spencer wants you as badly as you want him?”

“Yes, I do.” I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. I’d seen it on his face; I’d felt it from his reactions to me.

She sat back in her seat. “I understand that you’re waiting for the right guy, and I want nothing more than for you to find him and live happily ever after. But if something does happen between you and Spencer, it won’t be the end of the world, will it? I mean, at least it’ll be with someone who’s being cautious about his sex life, too.”

I swallowed the last of my mac and cheese. “That’s your answer to my problems?”

“No, of course not.” She gentled her voice. “But it seems pretty obvious that your attraction to him isn’t going to go away anytime soon.”

“Maybe not. But just thinking about being with him scares me.” The man who’d triggered my celibacy, who’d made me long for a husband and children and everything else I was missing.

She gestured to our near-empty plates. “Do you want to share a piece of pie since we’re almost done eating?” She pushed the free-standing dessert menu toward me. “It might make you feel better.”

I could definitely use something sweet today. “Maybe I should get my own slice instead of us sharing.”

I flipped through the laminated pages, even if my hunger for Spencer wasn’t something a warm gooey pie was going to satisfy. But it was safer than Tracy’s other suggestion.

I knew better than to slip back into bed with my old lover. I just needed to stay focused on working for him.

And nothing else.

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