to the soft, warm shapes and pastel colors surrounding her.
Captivated by the scene, he took picture after picture.
She seemed oblivious to him, so he moved to shoot her from different angles. He drew closer for a medium shot, but that wasn’t enough.
Tristan zoomed in on her face.
Large blue eyes framed by lush lashes focused on the delicate petals of a single rose. His pulse kicked up. He snapped a picture.
Full, pink-as-a-rosebud lips curved into a wide smile. His mouth wanted a taste of hers. He pressed the shutter button.
She bent to smell the rose. The scooped neckline of her shirt fell away, giving him a tantalizing view of ivory flesh and a white lace bra.
Nice—very nice.
And hot.
She straightened and smoothed her above the knee skirt.
Great long legs, too.
He widened the shot, squeezed off more photos and moved to intercept her. No way would he let this opportunity escape him.
Forget about asking for a model release. He wanted her.
“Hello,” Tristan said.
Not exactly the most memorable of lines, but she’d rendered him speechless and short-circuited his brain. Rare feats. Ones he hadn’t experienced in over a decade.
“Hi.” Her sparkling blue eyes nearly knocked him off his feet. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Great line. Tristan didn’t believe in love at first sight, but lust at first sight was another story. He curved his lips into a devastating grin—one that usually got him whatever he wanted. “I’m Tristan MacGregor.”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” She stepped toward him, extended her arm and clasped his hand with hers. A burst of heat shot through his veins. “I’m Jayne Cavendish. Rich’s fiancée.”
Chapter Two
Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please…
Sunday afternoon. Jayne tightened her grip on the phone receiver. She wanted to talk to someone about what had happened at the teahouse yesterday, but hadn’t been able to reach any of her friends yet.
She paced across the living room.
How could she have not seen Rich for who he was?
But Jayne knew the answer. She’d let her desire for a happily-ever-after cloud her judgment. Never again.
Still, the familiar feeling of being a crumpled aluminum can tossed in the recycle bin was back. She’d been discarded, replaced by something else—someone better. If only she hadn’t been so trusting, so naïve
The line clicked. Thank goodness.
“Hi. This is Molly. I can’t get to the phone right now…”
Jayne’s heart dropped to the tips of her bare feet.
No, no, no, no, no.
She didn’t want to hear Molly’s recorded voice. Jayne had already listened to Alex’s cellphone message two hours ago. And she knew Serena was busy today.
A beep blared.
“Hey, Molly, it’s me. Jayne,” she added, as if one of her best friends and former roommate could have forgotten her name.
She winced. What a loser.
“Um. Call me when you get this. If…you know…you have time.”
Jayne hit the “off” button and slammed the receiver in its charger.
Okay, that was totally pathetic. Nothing new, but pathetic just the same.
What was wrong with her?
Too bad Jayne knew the answer.
She needed to get out more. She needed to make new friends. She needed to get a life.
A twenty-eight-year-old woman needed more to fill her days than checking off items on her “To Do” list. Not that there was anything wrong with being home, but too much time alone wasn’t good for her. Today was a prime example. She’d already organized her sock drawer, clipped the Sunday coupons and played enough games of Spider Solitaire to make her eyes cross. If she weren’t careful, she’d wind up like her next-door neighbor, grandmotherly Mrs. Whitcomb, who loved to eavesdrop as she sat on her porch, and offered cookies to passersby in order to learn the latest gossip.
Jayne bit her lip.
Maybe she needed a hobby or a pet. She missed being welcomed home by Rocky, Molly’s dog. A puppy would be too much work with Jayne’s job, but a rescue dog—a housebroken one—might be a better choice. The yard was fenced. She’d have to talk with Molly, since this was her house, and see what she thought.
A knock at the door sounded.
Jayne’s heart leaped.
She had no idea who it could be, but even a kid selling magazines to go to band camp would be a respite from the lonely quiet. She hurried across the gleaming hardwood floor, unlocked the deadbolt and whipped open the door. A tall, attractive man, dressed in a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, stood on the “Welcome” mat.
Her mouth dropped open.
He was hot. Really hot. And vaguely familiar.
She pressed her lips together. In fact, he looked a little like…Just like…“Tristan?”
“Hello, Jayne.”
His easy smile caught her like a softball under her ribs. She’d never expected to see Rich’s best friend—his best man—again. In fact, she’d pretty much forgotten about Tristan MacGregor during the aftermath of the breakup. But now…
He seemed taller, his shoulders wider. Had he always had such intense green eyes?
Unwelcome awareness trickled through her. Oh, my.
His sun-streaked hair had grown longer. Whisker stubble covered his face. He should have looked scruffy, but Tristan didn’t. With his long lashes, full, kissable lips and high cheekbones, he looked ruggedly handsome and dangerously sexy.
Jayne swallowed.
Not sexy. Bad-boy types didn’t appeal to her. She preferred clean-cut, fresh-shaven, all-American types. Men like…
Rich.
He’d seemed so perfect—a handsome, stable firefighter, with a big family who all lived here in San Diego. But he hadn’t been perfect. Far from it.
He’d let her down in every way possible, making her feel so stupid for rushing into the relationship
