When your sexy vacation hookup becomes too hot to handle...

ADDICTED TO YOU by Leslie Kelly

Ten months ago, Heather Hughes had an unbelievable few days with hot quarterback Nate Watson. It ended in scandal and heartbreak. Now her mother is getting remarried in the Caribbean—to Nate’s father. The chemistry between her and Nate is still hotter than the tropical sun...but Heather’s already been burned once. Can she risk it again?

MORE THAN A FLING by Shana Gray

Lana Hunter has a few precious days in Hawaii before a big business meeting—time to relax and indulge herself. But indulgence takes on a whole new meaning when she meets dishy South African Grant Rankin. It’s the perfect fling—brief and wicked. After days exploring volcanoes and nights exploring each other, how will Lana ever return to real life?

She had never experienced a moment of such sensory perfection.

The pulsing surge of the waterfall crashing behind them, the caressing embrace of the cool water touching every inch of her skin, the earthy smell of the jungle surrounding the pool, the eggshell-blue of the sky, the vivid green trees...all her senses were on overload.

But not a single one of those things was as potent—as addicting—as the man who stepped closer and swept her into his arms.

His wet, hard body met hers, and his powerful hands lifted her at the waist. Their mouths came together in a hot, carnal kiss. His warm tongue tangled and mated with hers, thrusting deeply, his hunger consuming.

The water buoyed her, and she easily wrapped her legs around his hips. Nate glided his hands down her body, caressing her stomach, her waist, her hips, her ass. Every touch was accompanied by a swish of the water, and the eroticism of it was like nothing she had ever experienced. She couldn’t even imagine how good it was going to feel when he thrust into her...

New York Times bestselling author LESLIE KELLY has written dozens of books and novellas for Harlequin Blaze and HQN Books. Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and steamy sensuality, she has been honored with numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Award of Excellence, a Golden Quill and an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award in Series Romance. Leslie has also been nominated four times for the highest award in romance fiction, the RWA RITA® Award. Leslie lives in New Mexico with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their daughters. Visit her online at lesliekelly.com or at her blog, plotmonkeys.com.

SHANA GRAY’s passion is to enjoy life. She loves to travel and see the world, be with family, friends and experience the beauty that surrounds us. Many of her experiences find their way into her books. First published in 2010 as Cristal Ryder, Shana has written contemporary erotic romances for Sybarite Seductions, Lyrical Press (now Kensington) and Ellora’s Cave. Her stories range from scorching quickie length to longer erotic romance novellas. Visit her online at shanagray.com or at Twitter.com/ShanaGray_1.

A Taste of Paradise

Addicted to You

Leslie Kelly

More Than a Fling

Shana Gray

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Authors

Title Page

Addicted To You

Dear Reader

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

Epilogue

More Than a Fling

Dear Reader

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

Extract

Copyright

Addicted to You

Leslie Kelly

Dear Reader,

When I was asked to write a story for a December Blaze collection, I was picturing snowflakes, jingling bells and Santa. What fun, therefore, to get to write a super-sizzling story set in a steamy island paradise! Who doesn’t dream about escaping the winter blues with a decadent fun-in-the-sun vacation? Throw in a private yacht and a destination cruise, and it sounds like the dream getaway.

Unless, of course, you’re the maid of honor and the bride is your recently widowed mom. Oh, and if the best man is your ex-lover who obviously didn’t care much about you because he dropped off the face of the earth a year ago.

Nathan and Heather’s story was such fun to write. I loved the fantasy aspect of a typical girl getting involved with a star athlete, not to mention the wedding cruise in the Caribbean. Aren’t you picturing lying on a warm, sunny beach somewhere?

I hope you enjoy Addicted to You—and that your winter might bring a few warm, unexpected surprises.

Best wishes,

Leslie Kelly

To my editor, Adrienne Macintosh. Thank you for your enthusiastic support!

1

BEFORE THIS WEEK, Heather Hughes had considered multiple orgasms to be a fantasy that very few people believed in, much less experienced. Like the tooth fairy, or love at first sight, or fat-free salad dressing that actually tasted good.

She’d been wrong. Oh, so wrong.

“I think I’m going to need a defibrillator,” she managed to mutter between harsh breaths. She collapsed onto a silky pile of sheets and pillows, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Every bone in her body seemed to have melted away, along with all her strength. The wild sex-against-the-wall had been both incredibly pleasurable and aerobically challenging. The only things she could move now were her lips, which curled up into a well-satisfied smile. “Will you resuscitate me?”

“How about I do mouth-to-mouth?” Nathan asked, falling beside her, his hand finding hers in the rumpled sheets.

“I’m pretty sure you already have. A lot.”

“Are you complaining?” he asked with a confident, masculine chuckle, already knowing the answer.

“Most definitely not.”

God, no. Nate Watson was hands-down the best kisser she’d ever met. Best lover, too. Best looking. Smartest. Sexiest. Funniest. He was, without a doubt, the perfect man.

Hard to believe she’d only known him for seventy-two hours.

When she’d set out for a long girls’ weekend getaway in Vegas, she’d never dreamed she’d meet someone so amazing. She’d certainly never expected him to ask her to extend her trip so they could spend more time together.

She’d refused at first, having responsibilities at home. She ran a shop right on the plaza in Santa Fe and seldom took vacation. But her two best friends had cheered her on, urging her to go for it, saying every woman should grab at least one wild adventure with a guy most only dreamed of meeting. She knew they were right. So once they’d promised not to tell anyone she was staying longer so she could get her freak on with a stranger she’d met at the craps tables, she’d said yes.

Heather had never done anything so wild and reckless in her life. Being the nice, reliable, bleeding-heart owner of an art gallery, she was far more the type you’d expect to run off to join the Peace Corps than to shack up with some guy. Yet here she was. And, frankly, she’d never been happier.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me today?” he asked. “Free food.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, slowly shaking her head, capable of no more movement than that. “I need to float in the pool and recuperate.”

“From?”

“From you.”

“From us, you mean,” he said, nuzzling her throat. The sensation of his slightly stubbled jaw against her skin made her quiver with helpless appreciation. God, she loved the feel of this man, the taste of him, the power of him.

But she hadn’t been joking. They’d made love so often, in so many exciting, wild ways, that she figured she should remain motionless for hours, just to regain her strength.

“You go do your being famous stuff, and I’ll just nap.”

He laughed softly. “You still don’t believe I’m famous?”

She hadn’t, at first, being someone who paid absolutely no attention to any kind of sports. So of course she had not recognized the championship-winning quarterback, or ever even heard of his name, not until he’d told her last night.

“I believe you,” she admitted. “The way women fall over you was a tipoff.” Though, of course, his incredible looks—thick, dark hair; dreamy brown eyes; powerful, rock-hard body—could also have explained that. “And the gushing casino owners were, too.” Though, of course, his obvious wealth could have had something to do with that. “But there’s really no other way to explain that group of college guys who tried to carry you across the lobby last night, unless you’re the world’s oldest frat pledge or your tastes are a whole lot more varied than you’ve let on.”

He reached over and cupped her breast, reminding her of just how much he appreciated her woman’s body. “Don’t ever question my tastes.”

“So who are you pledging? Alpha Alpha Alpha?” she asked with a giggle, because the man was the definition of that word.

“Very funny.”

“Okay, okay. Just remind me—is football the one with the big, round, orange ball or the pointy triangular ball?”

“You’re hopeless,” he said, running his fingers gently through her hair. He’d admitted that her red hair had caught his eye from across the casino the night they’d met, and that he’d been hoping she would cross his path. Funny that she’d ended up cheering on one of her friends at the craps table where Nate was laying bets much larger than her own. Funny...and lucky.

“Sorry, the only sport I enjoy is croquet. I’d kick your ass in croquet.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

And she didn’t doubt him, not anymore. She’d been skeptical at first. After he’d told her who he was, laughing at her shocked expression when he admitted most of the rest of the world would have recognized him on sight, she’d checked him out on the internet. Yeah, he was a pretty big deal. Which just made her wonder even more why he’d spent the past three days glued at the hip to her.

Of course, their hips did match up very nicely. As did all their other parts.

She shivered with the thrill of the sensual memories. Noticing, he dropped a powerful arm across her waist, pulling her close, as if to warm her. But frankly, when Nate pulled her against his smoking body, she didn’t get warm—she got hot. Luckily, the opulent suite at one of the most exclusive five-star hotels on the strip was nicely air conditioned.

“I’m becoming addicted to you,” he whispered as he leaned closer to scrape his lips along the edge of her ear. He nibbled on the lobe, breathing hotly down her neck.

“I can’t move,” she said, groaning even as she laughed at how utterly relentless he was.

“You don’t have to. Just lie there and enjoy.”

Good lord. The man was insatiable. But when he began to kiss his way down her body, she certainly didn’t protest. Instead, as his warm mouth reached her breast and his lips covered her nipple to suck deeply, she merely groaned.

“I love these,” he mumbled as he moved to suckle the other.

“I’m so glad,” she purred, her strength returning as a different kind of energy began to pour through her.

He continued to caress her breasts, squeezing lightly. The tension within her increased, the pleasure exponentially so, and she arched toward his strong, warm mouth. Her breasts had always been sensitive, and when he drew on them like that—oh, God, like that—she thought she might climax merely from the sensation of his lips and his masterful tongue on her skin.

He kissed her between her breasts and then descended down her body, lavishing attention on her sensitive skin. She quivered beneath him, holding her breath as he explored her, inch by inch. She was almost crying by the time he stopped at her belly, dipping his tongue into the hollow, nibbling her hipbone, his very breaths hitting all her pleasure sensors.

“Nate, please,” she cried, begging him to go further, to give her the kind of dizzying climax he could so easily provide. The man’s mouth was perfect for smiling, but even more perfect for oral sex, at which he’d already proved himself a master.

“Please what?”

“Please use your mouth on me.” She had no shame with him; he removed every thought in her head but the need to climb ever higher. “Make me come.”

“Greedy girl.”

She twisted beneath him, and finally he continued to move down. By the time his jaw brushed against the soft curls between her legs she was on fire, a live wire of sensation.

She was greedy. With him she was a different woman. With this amazing stranger she was a completely sensual being, in tune with every ounce of pleasure she was capable of achieving.

“Oh, God, yes,” she groaned when he moved his mouth right where she craved it and stroked her with his tongue.

He groaned himself as he tasted her, eating her into a mindless frenzy. She’d had oral sex before, but never with someone who seemed to totally get off on giving it. Nate devoured her as if he was starving, his warm tongue licking into her, making love to her, before he returned to her clit and got serious about bringing her to orgasm. The intensity of the sensation was shocking, overwhelming, and she began to shudder, bucking up toward his mouth.

And then the pressure erupted into a warm sea of waves that rolled through her, relentless as a tide, bringing utter satisfaction. She cried out, stunned by the power and perfection of her release. Nate moved up her body, kissing the sound right off her lips, before the pulsing delight had ceased. And then he was inside her, riding it out with her.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he growled as he plunged deep. “The minute we stop, I fantasize about starting again.”

“Ditto,” she muttered, shocked that he could have made her so wet, so ready for him again, when they’d made love more times in the past three days than she had in a year. But every inch of her was attuned to him, welcoming his massive cock, loving the heat of it, the thickness of it, the way he bored into her as if he was an explorer claiming her for his very own.

She’d always viewed sex as a journey toward orgasm, not realizing quite how remarkable the trip itself could be.

“I’ve never experienced anything like this.”

“Neither have I,” she admitted.

“Don’t leave tomorrow.”

She tightened her legs around his hips, arching up to take his deep thrusts. “I have to.”

“Why don’t you come to Miami with me?”

She laughed, but the laughter melted into a helpless groan when he plunged again.

“Come with me.”

“I’m going to,” she said, deliberately misinterpreting. And a few moments later, when he reached his climax, angling his hips to give her just enough pressure where she required it most, she did exactly that. Heather let out a little scream as she fell off the ledge into pure sensory delight all over again.

“Come with me,” he demanded, staying on top of her, kissing her jaw, her nose, her lips.

She considered it. There was her shop—her employees were very reliable. Her schedule—she could always change Friday’s dentist appointment. Her houseplants...screw the houseplants. Her parents—they were so in love, they probably wouldn’t even notice she was gone. Her father was capable of taking care of her more-than-a-little-flighty, dreamy, irresponsible mother.

“My place is right on the beach,” he told her as he brushed his stubbled cheek against hers. “You can walk out my door and be in the surf within a hundred steps.”

Oooh, tempting. April in Vegas was very nice, but it definitely wasn’t a beach in Florida.

“Give me a chance to think about it,” she said, sorely tempted to say yes. But she wanted to get away from him, to evaluate the situation rationally. Right now, with his naked body entwined with hers, all gleaming with sweat, both of them so sated and delirious, was no time to make any major decisions. And skipping off to Florida with a football-playing superstar was a major decision.

“Okay,” he said. “I have to do this charity thing and press junket. But promise you’ll consider coming while you’re lying by the pool, and we’ll talk about it tonight?”

“I promise.”

“And if you decide no, be warned—I can be very persuasive when there’s something I really, really want.”

* * *

NATE REALLY, REALLY wanted Heather.

He wasn’t sure why, couldn’t say how she’d embedded herself so deeply in his psyche, but it was true. He’d become addicted to her over the past three days.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, with her long, red-gold hair, pale green eyes and slim figure. He also enjoyed her sense of humor and her kindness, and was attracted to her spirit. She was natural, with not a fake bone in her body, unlike most women he met. Definitely unlike the one he’d planned to marry.

The difference between gallery-owner Heather Hughes and Felicity Monroe, his bubblegum-pop-singing ex-fiancée, was like the difference between a five dollar bottle of Chianti and Pernod Ricard Perrier-Jouët champagne. They might both get you drunk. But one would leave you with a headache and a sour taste in your mouth, while the other left you feeling pretty uplifted. The fact that he’d ever proposed to Felicity embarrassed him. He was just glad she’d eventually revealed her real, vicious personality behind the sweet facade she’d shown him at first.

As he stood in a crowded hospital corridor, he tried to force memories of Felicity out of his mind. He was always willing to help out good causes, and didn’t regret saying yes to today’s appearance at a new wing of a children’s cancer center. The press conference afterward would be a pain, but hopefully it would go quickly.

Then he could return to the hotel and Heather.

“So, Nate, do you have any comment about Felicity’s news?”

Nate, who’d been squatting down to autograph a football for a cute five-year-old, tensed, recognizing reporter-tone. He finished signing the ball, tousled the kid’s hair and rose. Before him stood a middle-aged man whose eyes sparkled with excitement. Nothing beats digging into other people’s dirty laundry.

“The press conference is happening later. If you have to ask about ancient history, save it until then. This is about the kids.”

Not even curious about what his ex’s news might be, he began to walk away. But another guy with a press label on his jacket stepped in front of him. “Nate, will you support your child?”

Nate’s whole body went rigid. Child? What the hell?

“Haven’t you heard about Felicity’s interview on The View this morning?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, desperate to get to a private spot to contact the team’s press office. He’d intentionally kept his phone off for the past few days, being focused on Heather. That must be why he hadn’t heard about this yet, though, obviously, word was spreading.

The reporter didn’t let up. “She announced her pregnancy, naming you as the father. Felicity said that when you found out, you dumped her. She mentioned a lawsuit for breach of promise.”

Christ, was that even still a thing?

“And said she’ll sue you for child support.”

“This is crazy,” he said, swiping a hand through his hair.

“How do you respond to the allegations?”

“I deny them,” he snarled. “We broke up...” He was about to yell because she cheated, which she had. But he instead fell silent. Felicity was very popular right now, and the team’s PR reps had thought it best that the breakup appear mutual.

“Because you’re just not ready to be a father?”

“That wasn’t it.” He glanced around for an organizer, hoping someone could get rid of the human piranhas who loved to nip at the heels of any celebrity, especially one who’d recently dumped a VH-1 goddess. No one was nearby. Figures.

“Is it because of the redhead?”

Jaw tight, he responded, “What redhead?”

“You’ve been seen all over town this week with a mysterious red-haired woman named Heather.”

Nate reached for the guy’s lapel, ready to grab and shake him, but sanity prevailed. “She has nothing to do with this.”

On cue, the other one leaped in with the same question. “Is she the reason you abandoned Felicity and the baby?”

There is no baby, he mentally screamed, absolutely certain it was true.

Yes, he and Felicity had broken up only a month ago. But before that, she’d been on tour in Australia. Before that, he’d been wrapped up in the playoffs. Plus, their relationship had been on the rocks, since he’d suspected—correctly—that she was cheating on him. The point was, they hadn’t slept together since Christmas. If she was four months pregnant, the world would have known about it by now, or she’d have told him during their ugly breakup scene when she’d begged him to take her back.

This was a publicity stunt, it had to be. And on the off chance she was pregnant, the baby wasn’t his. The father was probably the married music producer she’d screwed around with.

“Look, this is the first I’m hearing about any of this.”

“Did you have an affair with Heather and break Felicity’s heart?”

It was like talking to a damned wall.

Whatever happened, he had to protect Heather. She was a private person, one who valued her reputation as a business owner. The first priority was to get the spotlight off her.

“This redhead you keep harping on is a stranger,” he said. “I met her a couple of days ago, we hung out and that’s it.”

“So there was no love triangle between you, her and Felicity?”

“Definitely no love triangle,” he said, keeping cool. “There’s no love between me and Felicity, or me and anybody else. The redhead is a chick I picked up in Vegas. She’s a nobody.”

He mentally apologized to Heather. He’d explain it to her later, when they were safely inside his gated house in Miami.

Unfortunately, he immediately realized, that wouldn’t work.

She couldn’t come with him, not now. Bad enough that he lived in the spotlight because of his own fame. Felicity positively thrived on it. She’d milk this as much as she could, for whatever twisted reasons she’d come up with for announcing the pregnancy and naming him as the daddy.

The press would watch his every move, and would notice if Heather traveled with him or if she showed up at his place. She’d be thrust into the spotlight, and she would hate it.

As much as he dreaded letting her go, they had to separate so he could deal with this. It might drag on for a while, but the truth would come out eventually. Fortunately, since his dad lived in Albuquerque, they could hopefully manage a few visits.

Trying to decide how to explain all of this to Heather, he returned to the hotel late in the day. Entering his suite, he called, “I’m back.” No answer. The suite was utterly silent. “Heather?”

When he walked into the bedroom and saw that none of her clothes were draped across any of the furniture, his heart skipped a beat. He opened the closet door, finding it empty of all her belongings.

“Heather?” he called again, willing her to answer.

Again, silence. He was completely alone.

Then he saw the note propped up against the lamp.

He grabbed it, certain something major had happened, and she’d bolted. While he didn’t wish anyone ill, he couldn’t help but hope there had been an emergency back home and her departure had nothing to do with his tabloid drama.

Nate—I had to leave. Emergency at home. No lie.

“Thank God,” he muttered, though guilt speared him the moment he said the words. His relief was short-lived, however.

I guess the timing works out well for you, considering what the reporters said when they cornered me at the pool.

“Oh, shit.”

Glad to hear we were both on the same page about it being a fling. Makes me feel better about having to leave like this.

Thanks for everything.

—The nobody

Nate read the note twice, his eyes returning to those final words. The nobody. That’s what he’d called her to the reporters. His unthinking comment—meant to spare her from the public eye—had hurt her and then sent her running. She might sincerely have had an emergency, but he doubted she’d have left without even a call if she hadn’t been targeted by the press.

His first instinct was to go after her, to fix this right now. Hell, maybe she could use his help with her emergency.

His second—more rational—instinct was to let her go. He could be in for a long, ugly fight, both in the media and, possibly, in the courtroom. A public relationship with Heather would only make things worse for both of them.

Besides which, she was apparently in the midst of a crisis. What kind of asshole would he be to heap more stress into her life by drawing the bloodsucking flies of the paparazzi to her door, as his presence would surely do?

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it to her.

“Damn it, Felicity,” he muttered, wishing he’d never laid eyes on his ex, who’d fooled him and the world into believing she wasn’t the vapid, shallow, vain woman she truly was.

Now he’d met a real woman—a smart, sexy woman he knew he could fall for. And, for her own good, he had to let her go.

At least for now.

2

Ten Months Later

BEING A BRIDESMAID was supposed to be fun. Being the maid of honor at the wedding of someone you truly loved even more so.

But when the bride was your mother, who’d been widowed due to the death of your adored father less than a year ago, fun wasn’t the word to use. Heather would prefer to listen to a chorus of six-year-olds singing that song from Frozen on a 24/7 loop than hear her mom say one more word about her upcoming Caribbean wedding.

“Are you sure you’ve got enough sunscreen?”

“I’m sure,” she said, even as she fantasized about getting a bad case of sun poisoning so she could bail on the wedding.

“And a hat and cover-up? That tropical sun is so strong!”

“Two hats, three cover-ups, a few long-sleeved shirts. Know where I can find a burqa?” Her tone was as calm and even as her expression. Frankly, she was starting to congratulate herself on both. She’d gotten pretty good at hiding her true thoughts.

“Smarty-pants,” her mother said with a laugh, not reading anything into Heather’s mood. How she couldn’t realize that her daughter was a steaming ball of emotion most of the time was beyond her.

Seriously, her mother was a smart woman, but she appeared to have no clue that Heather, who’d adored her dad, was heartbroken about Amy’s whirlwind romance, engagement and destination wedding. In two days, they and twenty other friends and family members would fly to Miami to board a private yacht, with a crew of ten. Five days of sailing would take them to Barbados, where her mother would marry a rich stranger whom Heather hadn’t even met.

Her fault, she supposed. She’d evaded every possible meeting, never imagining anything would come of the romance. It was too painful for her to even think about her mom dating anyone. Not because she didn’t wish her happiness, but because it was just too soon. Heather wasn’t over her father’s unexpected death at only fifty-one. How could her mother be?

Short answer: she wasn’t. Amy Hughes had always been the queen of denial. Heather feared she was now denying herself the chance to grieve.

She’d told herself her mother’s fling with an Albuquerque businessman was none of her business. Her mom had always been, as her father had called her, a flibbertigibbet—flighty and joyful. That described her mom to a T. But she also had a huge heart full of love, and she craved it in return. She was a vibrant, pretty fifty-year-old. Of course she’d want to be in love again.

“Still, did it have to be so damn soon?” Heather mumbled.

“What was that, honey?”

“Nothing,” she said as she parked the car outside the country club where tonight’s engagement party was being held.

It seemed dumb to have an engagement party a week before the wedding. But the bride and groom had wanted all the guests to meet on neutral ground before they boarded the yacht where they’d be stuck together for five days.

Heather could only list a few things she’d less look forward to doing for five days, including getting parts of her body waxed or listening to her dad’s old Bee Gees collection.

“I’m so excited that you’re finally going to meet Jerry,” Mom said as they exited the car. “You’ll love him.”

Maybe. As soon as she was able to stop crying for her dad.

“I just hope his son will approve of me,” her mother added.

Heather stopped mid stride. “Son?”

“Yes, he has one son. Didn’t I mention that?”

“No.” Jesus, she was now going to have a stepbrother to go along with the stepfather? Only in her mother’s flibbertigibbety world would something like that not have come up before now.

“Well, to be fair, baby girl, you haven’t been very interested in hearing about Jerry or the wedding.”

“No, I guess I haven’t.” Then, because she simply had to say something, she added, “Mom, are you sure about this?”

Her mother kept that smile pasted on. Heaven forbid they have an honest conversation that pierced the happy bubble. Heather’s greatest fear was that when the bubble inevitably burst and her mother allowed herself to truly grieve for what she had lost, she might be stuck in a marriage with someone she didn’t love.

“What do you mean?” her mother asked, continuing to play the game they’d been playing since the day of her father’s funeral, when her mom had declared she was too young to wear black and had put on a pink dress. Put off until tomorrow what you can’t deal with today. That was Amy Hughes’s motto.

“I mean...it’s awfully soon.”

“Yes, but I married your father after only nine months and look how well that worked out. I may have only met Jerry six months ago, but I’m even older and wiser now.”

Heather hadn’t been talking about how long her mother had known this Jerry dude, but rather about how long it had been since Dad’s death. But of course, Mom realized that. She just didn’t want to talk about it. Meaning Heather had to zip her lips and paste on a smile, or force the issue and risk her mother exploding into tears right before the party.

Heather might be ruthless when it came to running her business, but she couldn’t be toward her sweet-natured mother. So, with a sigh, she said, “Just promise me this party has an open bar.”

“Well, of course it does, honey.”

Of course. The groom had boatloads of money, after all. Jerry what’s-his-name was a real estate developer and had enough cash to ensure his new bride would never want for a thing for the rest of her days. Unlike Heather’s dad, the English teacher, whose heart had always been bigger than his bank account.

She kinda already hated Jerry on principle.

“There he is,” her mom said, squeezing Heather’s arm. “And that tall young man with him—well, that must be Nathan.”

Heather stiffened, unable to prevent the reflex. Ever since her aborted romance with football superstar Nathan Watson last year, she tensed whenever she heard that first name. Which made it imperative to keep away from sports channels throughout the winter. But even that hadn’t been enough—she’d also had to avoid any tabloid-type news for a while, considering he’d been embroiled in a baby-daddy scandal with his pop-star singing ex for months.

How silly she’d been, hoping he would get in touch with her at some point. Her note had been brief and cryptic, surely he would be curious, perhaps even apologetic. But there’d been nothing. Not a single word. Which said everything there was to know about what he’d really thought of her.

She was, indeed, a nobody.

She forced her mind off of Nathan—his handsome face, the amazing three days they’d spent together—focusing instead on her mother’s romantic drama. Her own was in the past and there it would remain. Nate’s utter silence proved that.

“Here we are!” her mother called to the two men who stood on the front patio of the club, almost nose to nose, appearing deep in an intense and possibly heated conversation.

Both men turned toward them, the salt-and-pepper-haired one stepping to the edge of the patio, into a pool of exterior light. Heather’s stomach churned as she noticed the fact that he was good-looking, well-built and eyeing her mother adoringly.

Before she had a chance to process that, though, the taller, younger man walked up to join his father. And the world stopped spinning. Or, at least, her little corner of it did.

“No,” she mumbled in disbelief. “It can’t be.” Fate wouldn’t be so unkind as to thrust her biggest regret into her path at the same time she had to deal with this crazy wedding.

Fortunately, her mother had kept walking, so she didn’t overhear Heather’s words. She was left to stand there on the sidewalk, gazing up at the patio, at the very familiar man whose whole body was rigid with tension. “Nate? Is it really you?”

He froze, staring down at her, recognizing her at once. Even as his jaw unhinged, she could read his emotions as they washed over his face, one after the other—surprise, perhaps pleasure, regret and then anger. She understood each of them. Because she felt all those things, too.

Nate looked the same but for a few lines on his face that had probably been caused by the stress of this last year. They didn’t lessen his attractiveness one bit, serving only to make him more mature and handsome. Which was why, even as her stomach churned with tension, her heart was fluttering and her panties were getting a little damp.

She’d been telling herself for ten months that what they’d shared had only been lust—just hot sex, easily forgettable. But seeing him again now, she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. She’d been well on her way to falling in love with the man. His silence had crushed her, especially after her father’s death, when she’d begun to evaluate her own life, to realize how fleeting it could be, and how desperately she wanted someone to share it with.

Someone like Nate.

And then, finally, he spoke. “You have got to be kidding me. How much worse can this whole thing get?”

Heather had never realized shock and embarrassment could segue so immediately into fury. So much for love and happily-ever-after. Who the hell did he think he was to ask her to come back to Florida with him, then tell the press she was a nobody? To ignore her for months? And now to act as though he’d been injured by having to run into her again? What a prick.

“So nice to see you, too, superstar,” she snapped as she strode up the steps to the porch.

Nate thrust a hand through his thick, dark hair. He rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily before finally facing her head-on.

“I’m sorry, Heather, that wasn’t directed at you. I was just caught off guard.”

“You and me both.”

Her mother and the older man she assumed was his father had been watching them, their eyes rounded. Her mom said, “Nathan? I’m Amy, and I’m so happy to meet you.”

Nate offered her a very tight smile in response.

“Am I correct in thinking you’re acquainted?” she added.

“We’ve met,” said Heather.

Nate nodded. “We, uh, got to know each other last year during a trip to Vegas.”

“What a small world!” His father stuck out his hand to her. “I’m Jerry. So nice to finally meet you, Heather.”

“Hello Mr....Watson.” God, she’d barely even listened when her mother had mentioned Jerry’s last name. If she’d been more attentive, would she have been a little more prepared for tonight? Doubtful. The surname wasn’t exactly a unique one. Besides, who could possibly prepare for such a catastrophe?

Heather shook her future stepfather’s hand. That much, at least, was easy, since her whole body was shaking.

She’d imagined running into Nate again, visualizing a hundred ways it could happen without her having to stalk him at a Thunder game. Yet her imagination could never have come up with this situation.

Bad enough having to run into her fickle ex-lover on the very same night she felt as if her personal life and world were imploding. Worse, though, was that he was so obviously furious about it, apparently having hoped to never lay eyes on her again.

She had, many times, told herself she wished she’d never met him. Right now, she actually believed it.

“This must be quite a surprise then,” the groom said.

“Surprise. That’s one way to put it,” said Heather.

Sick might be another way.

Still, queasy or not, her heart was fluttering as she recalled that last morning in bed at the hotel. Nate had been so attentive, so sexy, so adoring, as if he had meant it when he’d said she was becoming his addiction.

That seemed, sometimes, to have been her last truly happy moment. By that afternoon, everything had gone to hell. First, she’d been cornered by some obnoxious reporters about the rumors of her being the “other woman” in a celebrity love triangle. Before she’d even had a chance to process those rumors, or what he’d supposedly said about her—a nobody?—she’d gotten the call that Dad was in the hospital, in critical condition.

She’d barely made it home to say goodbye. He’d died the next day. And every moment since, she’d been busy trying to hold herself together, and her mother, too. All the while, she’d wondered if she’d already met the love of her life and if he would end the silence and come find her.

She’d wanted that, desperately. Wanted a once-in-a-lifetime love like her parents had had. Wanted a man who would adore her the way her dad had adored her mom. She’d fantasized about having that kind of love with Nate.

Boy, had she been wrong.

“Isn’t this fun,” her mother said, clapping her hands together and looking absolutely delighted. “You two are already friends...and now you’re going to be siblings!”

Oh, my God. Nate Watson, the lover she’d almost flown off to Florida with last spring was about to become her stepbrother.

Heather suddenly couldn’t breathe. How could her world have turned so completely upside down so fast?

Before she could think better of it, given the presence of the parents, she said the only thing that made sense right now.

“Fuck my life.”

* * *

NATE DIDN’T SAY the words, but he echoed Heather’s sentiment. Because, damn, how could he be expected to deal with his father’s crazy, impulsive engagement to someone Nate totally believed was a money-grubber...when said money-grubber was the mother of the woman he’d lost his head over last year?

It really was her. Heather Hughes. In the flesh. He hadn’t believed his eyes at first, but once she’d spoken and he’d heard that soft, sexy voice, he’d been unable to deny it.

The beautiful woman hadn’t changed since he’d last seen her. Well, maybe a little. He’d certainly never seen her with such a dark frown on her face. The faint shadows of sadness he noticed in her eyes were unexpected, too.

Had he contributed to that sadness? He knew he’d probably hurt her by never reaching out after their fling in Vegas. He’d had her number and could have used it at any time. Unfortunately, his life had become so ugly he couldn’t bring himself to do it. There’d been tabloid reporters digging through his trash, private investigators following him and lawyers subpoenaing his medical records. Just crazy crap for months, right through his first losing season.

The experience had changed him, hardened him. Frankly, he hadn’t been fit company for anyone, much less a woman. Which was one reason he hadn’t ever tried to reach her.

The other reason was...well, he’d been burned by Felicity. Badly. As much as he liked to think Heather was different, in truth, he’d only been with her a few days. He’d begun to question every decision he’d made—including the decision to ask a near stranger to come home with him. His judgment could have been screwed up about her, too. Maybe she’d been aware of who he was all along. Women constantly pretended to feel things they didn’t feel when it came to men with money. He should know.

So, he feared, should his father, who’d been married three times and messily divorced twice.

And was about to embark on adventure number four.

With his ex-lover’s mother.

Heather was right. Fuck my life.

“Shall we all go inside? I’m sure the other guests have already arrived,” Amy said, choosing to pretend she hadn’t heard her daughter’s muttered obscenity. She tucked her arm into his dad’s and added, “We’re going to have a lovely party.” Her comment sounded more like a threat than a promise.

Nate was left to escort Heather, who was glaring at him as if she’d scraped him off the bottom of a shoe. Not even one of hers, maybe a garbage man’s shoe. Or a...a dogcatcher’s.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” he managed to mutter as they walked into the club and followed the sounds of laughter toward a nearby banquet room.

“Yeah, seeing you here is the highlight of my decade, too.”

Sarcasm. He wasn’t used to it from her, but he had to admit he kind of enjoyed it. Sharp, sassy Heather was someone he hadn’t met before, and he found her incredibly attractive.

“We should talk.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, which sparkled and snapped with emotion. Anger, he’d venture to guess. “Funny, I can’t imagine a single thing I want to say to you.”

“Then I’ll talk and you can listen.”

Whatever else happened—if he succeeded in getting his father to reconsider this insane marriage to her mother or not—he needed to apologize to Heather. He had to explain why he’d said those things about her and why he’d dropped completely out of her life. He only hoped she’d believe he’d done it to protect her. After that, they could go their separate ways.

The Nate of a year ago might have considered making another play for her, seeing if those sparks were still there and if the two of them had a connection that could last. The newer, more jaded Nate knew better. Considering he believed her mother was out to marry his dad so she could suck his bank account dry, he had to wonder if Heather was a chip off that block. Even if she weren’t, once he broke up this insane engagement, she’d never want to speak to him again. So, yeah. Best to apologize and then forget all about her.

Inside the crowded room, where the bride and groom were getting lots of kissy-huggy greetings from a bunch of people he didn’t recognize, he and Heather headed, by silent consent, toward the bar. Nate noticed the attention Heather got—God, who wouldn’t stare at her? Two thirtyish men who’d been standing at the bar talking real estate both lowered their drinks, exchanged Whoa, look at that one! glances and offered her very warm smiles.

Nate had no claim on her, none whatsoever, but he still had a serious urge to smash a jaw or two.

The one in the blue suit snuck a quick glance at Heather’s ass. Definitely two jaws.

He shouldered his way between Heather and the nearest jerk, keeping his back to them, blocking her from their view.

The bartender, however, he could do nothing about, and the young guy was already flirting with her as he asked, “Would you like the signature drink for tonight’s event? Sex on the beach?”

Nate felt a little sick, thinking of next week’s beach wedding. “We’ll each have a dry martini, two olives for the lady. Three for me,” he said, remembering her drink of choice.

She frowned, but didn’t correct him, apparently needing the alcoholic fortification more than she needed to put him in his place. Nodding her assent to the bartender, she didn’t even look at Nate as she muttered, sotto voice, “Let’s just retreat to opposite corners and pretend we don’t know each other.”

“That’ll work well on a yacht,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll just push you overboard.”

“I’m a good swimmer.”

“Into a school of sharks.”

Her curmudgeonly attitude coaxed a laugh from him. It sounded rusty. Unused. “You’d have to add a lot of chum to the water to get a whole school of great whites on my tail.”

The bartender slid her drink over, his fingers deliberately brushing hers on the glass as she took it.

Nate gritted his teeth.

“Thanks for the tip,” she said as she lifted her martini and sipped it. “I’ll start gathering dead fish guts now.”

He sighed heavily. “Speaking of guts—you hate mine, huh?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t make me feel like you were any happier to see me just now.”

“I was,” he admitted, his tone low, the admission startling even himself. “Heather, I have to explain some things.”

“Don’t bother. I got the message. I happen to be fluent in silence—it’s one of my favorite languages. And yours was pretty deafening.” She smirked, then sauntered over to a table in the back corner, obviously thinking she’d had the last word.

Nate followed, unable to prevent his attention from traveling over her long, wavy red hair. His hands tightened as he remembered the feel of that silky mass twined around his fingers. Her green sheath dress did amazing things to the body he’d worshipped for three days straight, and the gentle sway of her curvy hips as she walked soon had him panting.

Whatever had happened during the past ten months, one thing was sure: he still wanted her.

Heather didn’t chat with anyone, obviously wanting to sit in a corner, alone, to lick her wounds. But he couldn’t let it go. If he didn’t succeed in getting his father to change his mind, they were going to be stuck together on a yacht for several days. He had to clear the air before that happened.

He sat beside her at the empty table, getting right to the point. “I was trying to protect you.”

She blinked and finally peered at him. “Excuse me?”

“What I said to the reporters—about you being a nobody.”

She tossed her head. “Oh, that. No big deal.”

Her tone was as breezy as a woman who’d just told her husband she didn’t mind that he’d forgotten their anniversary. I.e., blasé, but not quite hiding a promise of retribution.

“It was a big deal and I apologize. I hated myself the minute the words came out of my mouth, but you have to understand...”

“You had a pregnant girlfriend to mollify?”

He squeezed his glass. If the glass had been of lesser quality, it might have shattered in his hand. “God, no.”

“I guess I was the only one on the planet who was unaware you were involved with a pop star when we met.”

“That she had been my girlfriend is true. But we broke up before I met you.” He put a hand on her shoulder, urging her to believe him. “I swear, I’m not a cheater.”

She stared into his eyes, searching for answers. He hoped she recognized the truth. Whatever else he might have done in the past year—and he wasn’t proud of some of his actions—he’d never betrayed anyone in that way.

“Okay,” she finally said with a nod. “So you didn’t cheat.”

He didn’t breathe easily just yet. “Nor did I dump a woman who was pregnant with my child.”

“Yeah, I heard DNA tests proved the baby wasn’t yours.”

“The media reported that eventually,” he muttered. “But not until I’d been raked over every coal Kingsford ever made.”

Her tense posture finally relaxed a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Not apologizing. Empathizing. I’m truly sorry you went through all that.” She licked her lips, then, her voice a little softer, asked, “Were you disappointed? I mean, when you found out that the baby wasn’t yours?”

Nate barked a harsh laugh. “There was no chance in hell he could have been mine. I was sure of that from day one.”

Her pretty brow furrowed. “But, I mean...”

“She got pregnant two months after we stopped sleeping together. I guess she figured because I was a football player I couldn’t count all the way up to nine.”

Heather’s green eyes rounded. “You mean, it was all a lie? She knew all along it couldn’t be yours?”

“Yeah. Pretty sick, right?”

“How did she ever believe she would get away with it?”

“Felicity always gets what she wants, and never imagined she couldn’t get me back. She assumed she could get me into bed soon enough for me not to question who’d fathered her baby.” He offered Heather a jaded smile. “When her private eye spotted me with you in Vegas and told her he thought it looked serious, she panicked and called the press.”

“That evil bitch!”

Yeah. She was. Not that the world had seen her that way, even after the paternity had been proven. He was still the guy who’d broken poor Felicity’s heart and hadn’t stood by her after her, uh, mistake. He was also the subject of her last hit song, Broken Promises, an honor he would have happily gone without.

The married producer was out of the picture. No matter how furious Nate had been, he’d never outed the affair to the press. So the baby-daddy was now a big mystery. With no other face or name to dog, the tabloids remained focused on him, to hell with biology. Or decency.

“Anyway,” he said, thrusting off the ugly mental images, “it all started to break that day in Vegas. You were already getting caught up in it, and I knew the paparazzi would be on you, making your life miserable. That’s why I said what I did, to throw them off track. I apologize for how it sounded, and how it must have made you feel.”

She remained silent for a moment, considering. Eventually, she nodded. “All right, I can accept that.”

As for the rest—why he’d never called her—well, that was a long story, one not suited to their surroundings. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could explain it without sounding like an asshole who feared he could never trust another woman. He wasn’t a misogynist. He still liked and respected women. But the trust thing was going to be hard to get over.

So all he said was, “I stayed out of touch because my life’s been pretty screwed up ever since.”

She downed her drink. “Join the club.”

Hearing the pain in her voice, he asked, “They didn’t—I mean, nobody from the tabloids ever came after you, did they?”

“No. I escaped their radar.” She fished an olive out of her drink with her long, slim fingers and popped it into her mouth, the movement as graceful as it was sexy.

Damn, he was still so affected by this woman. He had to drag his eyes away from those lips as he asked, “Then what do you mean? What happened? Was it something about the emergency you mentioned in your note that day?”

“Indirectly, I guess.” She nodded toward the happy couple, who were dancing to a big band number on the otherwise empty dance floor. “Essentially, that’s what happened.”

“So you’re not happy about this, either?”

She shook her head, and a rush of relief flooded him. He had been worried Heather would support the romantic lunacy when, in fact, she might actually be an ally.

“Thank God,” he said, lifting his own drink and tossing back a mouthful. “I thought I was gonna have to break up this wedding all by myself.”

Shock widened her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I flew here today to convince my father how crazy this whole thing is. We’ve been fighting about it all day.”

“Fighting...”

“He’s such a romantic. A sucker for a pretty face. Two out of three of his former wives have swindled him out of fortunes. My dad can’t see clearly when it comes to women.”

“Swindled?”

“What’s that old saying? Marry in haste, repent at leisure. Believe me, his accountant always repents,” he said, thinking how lucky he had been that his own romantic misadventure hadn’t actually led down any aisles other than in a courtroom. “Desperate, middle-aged women see the name and the dollar signs and can’t resist trying for the brass ring. He falls for it every damn time.”

Heather stared at him for a long moment, her eyes flashing. Her whole body had grown rigid, and her mouth opened and then snapped closed, as if she were trying to control herself.

Which was when Nate remembered exactly who he’d been referencing as a desperate, middle-aged woman.

“Oh, crap, Heather.”

“My mother is no swindler.” She launched from her chair.

He rose, too. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“Yes, you did mean. You think my mother’s marrying your father for his money?”

No backing off that now, and no way to say it nicely. “She wouldn’t be the first bored divorcée to want what a rich man can give her.”

Heather gasped, drawing a hand to her chest. Her fingers pressed so hard they left red marks on the pale, creamy swell of her cleavage. It was as if she were trying to hold her heart in place, as if he’d wounded her.

He was so out of practice talking to women. He’d lost his charm, and tonight, it seemed, even his tact. Maybe it was her nearness that had loosened his tongue, and his own recent history that had made his words so bitter. Maybe the martini he’d just consumed—and the two he’d had earlier—had contributed, too. In any case, Heather appeared as furious as a tornado.

Without another word, she swooped her nearly empty glass off the table. To his shock, she tossed the contents—liquor, melting ice, one olive—right into his face.

“Stay away from me, Nate Watson,” she said, her whole body shaking. “Or I swear to God, I will pitch you off that boat right in the middle of the Caribbean and laugh while you drown.”

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