A Taste Of Paradise: Addicted to You

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.”