What if Matthew Beaumont looked at her the way his brother did, without caring about who she’d been in the past? What if he talked to her about horses instead of headlines? What if—? What if he wasn’t involved with anyone?

Whitney didn’t hook up. That part of her life was dead and buried. But...a little Christmas romance between the maid of honor and the best man wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? It could be fun.

She hurried to the bathroom, daring to hope that this Matthew Beaumont was single. He was coming to dinner tonight and it sounded as if he would be involved with a lot of the planned activities. She was here for two weeks. Perhaps the built-in time limit was a good thing. That way, if things didn’t go well, she had an out—she could go home.

Although...it had been eleven years since she’d attempted anything involving the opposite sex. Making a pass at the best man might not be the smartest thing she could do.

She washed her face. A potential flirtation with Matthew Beaumont called for eyeliner, at the very least. Whitney made up her face and decided to put on a fresh top. She dug out the black silk before putting it aside. Jo was in jeans and flannel, after all. This was not a fancy dinner. Whitney decided to go with the red V-neck cashmere sweater—soft but not ostentatious. The kind of top that maybe a single, handsome man would accidentally brush with his fingers. Perfect.

Would Matthew be blond, like Phillip? Would he have the same smile, the same blue eyes? She was brushing out her short hair when, from deep inside the house, a bell chimed.

She slicked on a little lip gloss and headed out. She tried to retrace her steps, but she got confused. The house had a bunch of hallways that went in different directions. She tried one set of stairs but found a door that was locked at the bottom. That wasn’t right—Jo hadn’t led her through a door. She backtracked, trying not to panic. Hopefully, everyone wasn’t downstairs waiting on her.

She found another stairwell, but it didn’t seem any more familiar than the first one had. It ended in a darkened room. Whitney decided to go back rather than stumble around in the dark. God, she shouldn’t have spent so much time getting ready. She should have gone back down with Jo. Or gotten written directions. Getting lost was embarrassing.

She found her room again, which had to count for something. She went the opposite direction and was relieved when she passed the master suite. Finally. She picked up the pace. Maybe she wasn’t too late.

She could hear voices now—Jo’s and Phillip’s and another voice, deep and strong. Matthew.

She hurried down the steps, then remembered she was trying to make a good impression. It wouldn’t do to come rushing in like a tardy teenager. She needed to slow down to make a proper entrance.

She slammed on the brakes in the middle of a step near the bottom and stumbled. Hard. She tripped down the last two steps and all but fell into the living room. She was going down, damn it! She braced for the impact.

It didn’t come. Instead of hitting the floor or running into a piece of furniture, she fell into a pair of strong arms and against a firm, warm chest.

“Oof,” the voice that went with that chest said.

Whitney looked up into a pair of eyes that were a deep blue. He smiled down at her and this time, she didn’t feel as if she were going to forget her own name. She felt as if she’d never forget this moment.

“I’ve got you.”

Not blond, she realized. Auburn hair. A deep red that seemed just right on him. And he did have her. His arms were around her waist and he was lifting her up. She felt secure. The feeling was wonderful.

Then, without warning, everything changed. His warm smile froze as his eyes went hard. The strong arms became iron bars around her and the next thing she knew, she was being pushed not up but away.

Matthew Beaumont set her back on her feet and stepped clear of her. With a glare that could only be described as ferocious, he turned to Phillip and Jo.

“What,” he said in the meanest voice Whitney had heard in a long time, “is Whitney Wildz doing here?”

Two

Matthew waited for an answer. It’d better be a damn good one, too. What possible explanation could there be for former teen star Whitney Wildz to be in Phillip’s house?

“Matthew,” Jo said in an icy tone, “I’d like you to meet my maid of honor, Whitney Maddox.”

“Try to stop being an ass,” Phillip said under his breath.

“Whitney,” Jo went on, as if Phillip hadn’t spoke, “this is Matthew Beaumont, Phillip’s brother and best man.”

“Maddox?” He turned back to the woman who looked as though she’d been stepped on by a Percheron. At least they could all agree her first name was Whitney. Maybe there was a mistake? But no. There was no missing that white streak in her hair or those huge pale eyes set against her alabaster skin. “You’re Whitney Wildz. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

Her eyes closed and her head jerked to the side as if he’d slapped her.

Someone grabbed him. “Try harder,” Phillip growled in his ear. Then, louder, Phillip said, “Dinner’s ready. Whitney, is iced tea all right?”

Whitney Wildz—Matthew had no doubt that was who she was—opened her eyes. A wave of pain washed over him when she looked up at him. Then she drew herself up.

“Thank you,” she said in that breathy way of hers. Then she stepped around him.

Memories came back to him. He’d watched her show, Growing Up Wildz, all the time with his younger siblings Frances and Byron. Because Matthew was a good brother—the best—he’d watched it with them. He’d even scored VIP tickets to the Growing Up Wildz concert tour when it came through Denver and taken the twins, since their father couldn’t be bothered to remember that it was their fifteenth birthday. Matthew was a good brother just taking care of his siblings. That was what he told everyone else.

But that wasn’t, strictly, the truth.

He’d watched it for Whitney.

And now Whitney was here.

This was bad. This was quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened to this wedding—to him. It would have been easier if Phillip were screwing her. That sort of thing was easy to hush up—God knew Matthew had enough practice covering for his father’s indiscretions.

But to have Whitney Wildz herself standing up at the altar, in front of the press and the photographers—not to mention the guests?

He tried to remember the last time she’d been in the news. She’d stumbled her way up on stage and then tripped into the podium, knocking it off the dais and into a table. The debate hadn’t been about if she’d been on something, just what—drugs? Alcohol? Both?

And then tonight she’d basically fallen down the stairs and into his arms. He hadn’t minded catching a beautiful woman at the time. The force of her fall had pressed her body against his and what had happened to him was some sort of primal response that had taken control of his body before he’d realized it.

Mine, was the only coherent thought he’d managed to produce as he’d kept her on her feet. Hell, yeah, he’d responded. He was a man, after all.

But then he’d recognized her.

What was she on? And what would happen if she stumbled her way down the aisle?

This was a disaster of epic PR proportions. This woman was going to mess up all of his plans. And if he couldn’t pull off this wedding, would he ever be able to truly call himself a Beaumont?

Phillip jerked him toward the table. “For the love of everything holy,” he hissed in Matthew’s ear, “be a gentleman.”

Matthew shook him off. He had a few things he’d like to say to his brother and his future sister-in-law. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he half whispered back at Phillip. “Do you know what this means for the wedding?”

On the other side of the room, Jo was at the fridge, getting the iced tea. Whitney stood next to her, head down and arms tucked around her slender waist.

For a second, he felt bad. Horrible, actually. The woman who stood thirty feet away from where he and Phillip were didn’t look much like Whitney Wildz. Yes, she had Whitney’s delicate bone structure and sweetheart face and yes, she had the jet-black hair with the telltale white streak in it. But her hair was cut into a neat pixie—no teased perm with blue and pink streaks. Her jeans and sweater fit her well and were quite tasteful—nothing like the ripped jeans and punk-rock T-shirts she’d always worn on the show. And she certainly wasn’t acting strung out.

If it hadn’t been for her face—and those pale green eyes, like polished jade, and that hair—he might not have recognized her.

But he did. Everything about him did.

“It means,” Phillip whispered back, “that Jo’s friend is here for the wedding. Whitney Maddox—she’s a respected horse breeder. You will knock this crap off now or I’ll—”

“You’ll what? You haven’t been able to beat me up since we were eight and you know it.” Matthew tensed. He had a scant half inch on Phillip but he’d long ago learned to make the most of it.

Phillip grinned at him. It was not a kind thing on his face. “I’ll turn Jo loose on you and trust me, buddy, that’s a fate worse than death. Now knock it off and act like a decent human being.”

There was something wrong about this. For so long, Matthew had been the one who scolded Phillip to straighten up and fly right. Phillip had been the one who didn’t know how to act in polite company, who’d always found the most embarrassing thing to say and then said it. And it’d been Matthew who’d followed behind, cleaning up the messes, dealing with the headlines and soothing the ruffled feathers. That was what he did.

Briefly, Matthew wanted to be proud of his brother. He’d finally grown up.

But as wonderful as that was, it didn’t change the fact that Whitney Wildz was not only going to be sitting down for dinner with them tonight, but she was also going to be in the Beaumont wedding.

He would have to rethink his entire strategy.

“Dinner,” Jo called out. She sounded unnaturally perky about it. There was something odd about Jo being perky. It did nothing to help his mood.

“I really wish you had some beer in the house,” he muttered to Phillip.

“Tough. Welcome to sobriety.” Phillip led the way back to the table.

Matthew followed, trying to come up with a new game plan. He had a couple of options that he could see right off the bat. He could go with denial, just as Phillip and Jo seemed to be doing. This was Whitney Maddox. He had no knowledge of Whitney Wildz.

But that wasn’t a good plan and he knew it. He’d recognized her, after all. Someone else was bound to do the same and the moment that someone did, it’d be all over. Yes, the list of celebrities who were attending this wedding was long but someone as scandalous as Whitney Wildz would create a stir no matter what she did.

He could go on the offensive. Send out a press release announcing that Whitney Wildz was the maid of honor. Hit the criticism head-on. If he did it early enough, he might defuse the situation—make it a nonissue by the big day. It could work.

Or it could blow up in his face. This wedding was about showing the world that the Beaumonts were above scandal—that they were stronger than ever. How was that going to happen now? Everything Whitney Wildz did was a scandal.

He took his seat. Whitney sat to his left, Phillip to his right. Jo’s ridiculous little donkey sat on the floor in between him and Whitney. Good. Fine. At least he didn’t have to look at Whitney, he reasoned. Just at Jo.

Who was not exactly thrilled with him. Phillip was right—Matthew was in no mood to have Jo turned loose on him. So he forced his best fake smile—the one he used when he was defusing some ticking time bomb created by one of his siblings. It always worked when he was talking to reporters.

He glanced at Phillip and then at Jo. Damn. The smile wasn’t working on them.

He could feel Whitney sitting next to him. He didn’t like that. He didn’t want to be aware of her like that. He wasn’t some teenager anymore, crushing in secret. He was a grown man with real problems.

Her.

But Phillip was staring daggers at him, and Jo looked as though she was going to stab him with the butter knife. So Matthew dug deep. He could be a gentleman. He could put on the Beaumont face no matter what. Being able to talk to a woman was part of the Beaumont legacy—a legacy he’d worked too hard to make his own. He wasn’t about to let an unexpected blast from his past undermine everything he’d worked for. This wedding was about proving his legitimacy and that was that.

Phillip glared at him. Right. The wedding was about Phillip and Jo, too. And now their maid of honor.

God, what a mess.

“So, Whitney,” Matthew began. She flinched when he said her name. He kept his voice pleasant and level. “What are you doing these days?”

Jo notched an eyebrow at him as she served the lasagna. Hey, he wanted to tell her. I’m trying.

Whitney smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I raise horses.” She took a piece of bread and passed the basket to him. She made sure not to touch him when she did it.

“Ah.” That wasn’t exactly a lot to go on, but it did explain how she and Jo knew each other, he guessed.

When Whitney didn’t offer any other information, he asked, “What kind of horses?”

“Trakehners.”

Matthew waited, but she didn’t elaborate.

“One of her horses won gold in the World Equestrian Games,” Phillip said. He followed up this observation with a swift kick to Matthew’s shin.

Ow. Matthew grunted in pain but he managed not to curse out loud. “That’s interesting.”

“It’s amazing,” Phillip said. “Not even Dad could breed or buy a horse that took home gold.” He leaned forward, turned on the Beaumont smile and aimed it squarely at Whitney.

Something flared in Matthew. He didn’t like it when Phillip smiled at her like that.

“Trust me,” Phillip continued, “he tried. Not winning gold was one of his few failures as a horseman. That and not winning a Triple Crown.”

Whitney cut Matthew a look out of the corner of her eye that hit him funny. Then she turned her attention to Phillip. “No one’s perfect, right?”

“Not even Hardwick Beaumont,” he agreed with a twinkle in his eye. “It turns out there are just some things money can’t buy.”

Whitney grinned. Suddenly, Matthew wanted to punch his brother—hard. This was normal enough—this was how Phillip talked to women. But seeing Whitney warm to him?

Phillip glanced at Matthew. Be a gentleman, he seemed to be saying. “Whitney’s Trakehners are beautiful, highly trained animals. She’s quite well-known in horse circles.”

Whitney Wildz was well-known in horse circles? Matthew didn’t remember any mention of that from the last article he’d read about her. Only that she’d made a spectacle of herself.

“How long have you been raising horses?”

“I bought my ranch eleven years ago.” She focused her attention on her food. “After I left Hollywood.”

So she really was Whitney Wildz. But...eleven years? That didn’t seem right. It couldn’t have been more than two years since the last headline.

“Where is your ranch?”

If Matthew had known who she really was, he would have done more digging. Be Prepared wasn’t just a good Boy Scout motto—it was vital to succeeding in public relations.

One thing was abundantly clear. Matthew was not prepared for Whitney, whatever her last name was.

“Not too far from Bakersfield. It’s very...quiet there.”

Then she gazed up at him again. The look in her eyes stunned him—desperate for approval. He knew that look—he saw it in the mirror every morning.

Why would she want his approval? She was Whitney Wildz, for crying out loud. She’d always done what she wanted, when she wanted—consequences be damned.

Except...nothing about her said she was out of control—except for the way she’d fallen into his arms.

His first instinct had been to hold her—to protect her. To claim her as his. What if...?

No.

There was no “what if” about this. His first duty was to his family—to making sure this wedding went off without a hitch. To making sure everyone knew that the Beaumonts were still in a position of power. To making sure he proved himself worthy of his father’s legacy.

At the very least, he could be a gentleman about it.

“That’s beautiful country,” he said. Compliments were an important part of setting a woman at ease. If he were smart, he would have remembered that in the first place. “Your ranch must be lovely.”

A touch of color brightened her cheeks. His stomach tensed. She was beautiful, he realized. Not the punk-rock hot she’d been back when he’d watched her show, but something delicate and ethereal.

Mine.

The word kept popping up in his head, completely unbidden. Which was ridiculous because the only thing Whitney was to him was a roadblock.

Phillip kicked him again. Stop staring, he mouthed at Matthew.

Matthew shook his head. He hadn’t realized he was staring.

“Matthew, maybe we should discuss some of the wedding plans?” Jo said it nicely enough but there was no mistaking that question for an order.

“Of course,” he agreed. The wedding. He needed to stay on track here. “We have an appointment with the seamstress tomorrow at ten. Jo, it’s your final fitting. Whitney, we ordered your dress according to the measurements you sent in, but we’ve blocked out some additional time in case it requires additional fittings.”

“That sounds fine,” she said in a voice that almost sounded casual.

“Saturday night is the bachelorette party. I have a list of places that would be an appropriate location for you to choose from.”

“I see,” she said. She brushed her hand through her hair.

He fought the urge to do the same.

What was wrong with him? Seriously—what was wrong with him? He went from attracted to her to furious at everyone in the room and now he wanted to, what—stroke her hair? Claim her? Jesus, these were exactly the sort of impulses he’d always figured had ruled Phillip. The ones that had ruled their father. See a beautiful woman, act on the urge to sweep her off her feet. To hell with anything else.

Matthew needed to regain control of the situation—of himself—and fast.

“We’ll need to get the shoes and jewelry squared away. We need to get you in to the stylist before then to decide how to deal with your hair, so we’ll do that after the dress fitting.” He waited, but she didn’t say anything.

So he went on. “The rehearsal dinner is Tuesday night. Then the wedding is Christmas Eve, of course.” A week and a half—that didn’t leave him much time to deal with the disruption of Whitney Wildz. “The ladies will get manicures that morning before they get their hair done. Then we’ll start with the photographs.”

Whitney cleared her throat—but she still didn’t meet his gaze. “Who else is in the wedding party?”

He wanted her to look at him—he wanted to get lost in her eyes. “Our older brother Chadwick will be walking with his wife, Serena. Frances and Byron will be walking together—they’re twins, five years younger than I am.” For a second, Matthew had almost said we—as in he and Phillip. Because he and Phillip were only six months apart.

But he didn’t want to bring his father’s infidelity into this conversation, because that meant Whitney would know that he was the second choice, the child his father had never really loved. Or even acknowledged, for that matter. So he said I.

“That just leaves the two of us,” he added, suddenly very interested in his plate. How was he going to keep this primal urge to haul her off under control if they were paired up for the wedding?

He could not let her distract him from his goals, no matter how much he wanted to. He had to pull this off—to prove that he was a legitimate Beaumont. Ravishing the maid of honor did not fall anywhere on his to-do list.

“Ah.” He looked up when he heard her chair scrape against the floor. She stood and, without looking at him, said, “I’m a little tired from the drive. If you’ll excuse me.” Jo started to stand, but Whitney waved her off. “I think I can find my way.”

Then she was gone, walking in a way that he could only describe as graceful. She didn’t stumble and she didn’t fall. She walked in a straight line for the stairs.

Several moments passed after she disappeared up the stairs. No one seemed willing to break the tense silence. Finally, Matthew couldn’t take it anymore.

“What the hell? Why is Whitney Wildz your maid of honor and why didn’t either of you see fit to tell me in advance? Jesus, if I’d known, I would have done things differently. Do you have any idea what the press will do when they find out?”

It was easier to focus on how this was going to screw up the wedding than on how his desire was on the verge of driving him mad.

“Gosh, I don’t know. You think they’ll make a big deal out of stuff that happened years ago and make Whitney feel like crap?” Phillip shot back. “You’re right. That would really suck.”

“Hey—this is not my fault. You guys sprung this on me.”

“I believe,” Jo said in a voice so icy it brought the temperature of the room down several degrees, “I told you I was asking Whitney Maddox to be my maid of honor. Whitney Wildz is a fictional character in a show that was canceled almost thirteen years ago. If you can’t tell the difference between a real woman and a fictional teenager, then that’s your problem, not hers.”

“It is my problem,” he got out through gritted teeth. “You can’t tell me that’s all in the past. What about the headlines?”

Phillip rolled his eyes. “Because everything the press prints is one hundred percent accurate, huh? I thought you, of all people, would know how the headlines can be manipulated.”

“She’s a normal person,” Jo said. Instead of icy, though, she was almost pleading. “I retrained one of her horses and we got to spend time together last winter. She’s a little bit of a klutz when she gets nervous but that’s it. She’s going to be fine.”

“If you can treat her like a normal person,” Phillip added. “Man—I thought you were this expert at reading people and telling them what they wanted to hear. What happened? Hit your head this morning or something?”

Matthew sat there, feeling stupid. Hell, he wasn’t just feeling stupid—he was stupid. His first instinct had been to protect her. He should have stuck with it. He could do that without giving in to his desire to claim her, right?

Right. He was in control of his emotions. He could keep up a wall between the rest of the world and himself. He was good at it.

Then he made the mistake of glancing at that silly donkey, who gave him a baleful look of reproach. Great. Even the donkey was mad at him.

“I should apologize to her.”

Phillip snorted. “You think?”

Damn it, he felt like a jerk. It didn’t come naturally to him. Chadwick was the one who could be a royal pain simply because he wasn’t clued in to the fact that most people had actual feelings. Phillip used to be an ass all the time because he was constantly drunk and horny. Matthew was the one who smoothed ruffled feathers and calmed everyone down.

Phillip was right. Matthew hadn’t been reading the woman next to him. He’d been too busy thinking about old headlines and new lust to realize that she might want his approval.

“Which room is she in?”

Jo and Phillip shared a look before Phillip said, “Yours.”

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