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.”
