A Taste Of Paradise: Addicted to You

“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.”

3

DURING THE FLIGHT to Florida two days later, Heather was fortunate enough to be seated far away from Nate. That wasn’t too difficult, since there were about twenty other people in their group. Jerry had invited a few of his employees, and her mother had asked a bunch of her friends to come, plus Heather’s two cousins and their wives. Other than a brunch yesterday, she hadn’t had to see Nate, and she’d managed to avoid saying much to him there.

When they arrived in Miami, stretch limousines waited to take them to a beachfront hotel where they would spend the night before the cruise got underway the next morning. Heather was supposed to ride in a limo with the bride, groom and best man. Like that was gonna happen.

Intentionally dawdling in the terminal, she missed her car and got into the last limo. In it were six of Jerry’s friends she didn’t know, including two guys with beer bottles in hand.

“Hey, Red! You’re slumming back here with us today, huh?”

“Ha-ha,” she said, wishing she’d been faster so she could have hopped in with her mom’s friends or her cousins.

“So what did Mr. Quarterback do to deserve a drink in the face the other night?” asked a blond man wearing a Hawaiian shirt. “Don’t tell me—you lost a bundle on his last game, too?”

“Not a football fan,” she said, tucking herself closer to the side of the car. He didn’t get the hint, edging closer.

“I don’t blame you after last season. Talk about suckage.”

“I bet lack of suckage was the problem,” said the other one with a suggestive eyebrow wag. He was dark haired and attractive—and he knew it. “He was missing Felicity’s mouth.”

Now she really wished she hadn’t played these car games. Not just because the guys were drunk and obnoxious, but because she didn’t want to hear about Nate or his pop-star ex.

“I’d be happy to be on the receiving end of her suckage!”

“And I’d be happy to be accused of being her baby-daddy.”

“Excuse me,” Heather said, elbowing the blond. “This car is huge. Do you have to sit on top of me?”

He grinned and blew out a breath fragrant with onion rings and beer. Ugh. “You can sit on top of me, if you want.”

“Go away, or you’ll get worse than a drink in your face.”

“Touchy, touchy,” he said, hands up, palms out, playing the role of injured party. Typical man.

Fortunately, another occupant, a middle-aged woman, saw what was happening and shoved her way down the long seat to squeeze in between Heather and the guy. “Sorry, honey. Can’t take the bears out of the cage.”

“Or the dogs out of the pen,” she muttered.

She tried to ignore them as the men continued to rag on Nate’s season. She wanted to tell them to shut up, not liking to hear anybody ripped apart. But a tiny part of her kept hearing the words “swindler” and “middle-aged divorcée” echoing in her head, and she decided Nate could fight his own battles.

The fact that he didn’t realize her mom had recently lost her husband of thirty years made no difference. Because he hadn’t bothered to find out before shooting off his mouth. His words had stabbed her right in the heart. She’d give anything for her mom to be merely a happy divorcée if it meant her father was still alive somewhere in this world. So, no, she was nowhere near ready to forgive him.

She was, however, able to spare a moment to wonder what had happened to the charming, sexy guy she’d gotten to know in Vegas. Nate had changed so much. Every time she saw his handsome face, it was dark and forbidding. He barely spoke to anyone. The tension between him and his father was thick enough to swim in.

He was not the same man she’d fallen for. And while that made it easier to resist him, it also broke her heart a little.

Enough with the broken heart, she told herself. He didn’t want her heart, and he seemed pretty anti-love-and-romance in general, judging by his assumptions about this wedding. For the past year, since Dad’s death, love had been one of the foremost things on her mind. She wanted a once-in-a-lifetime love. Nate Watson did not.

The car stopped more quickly than she’d expected, and she was the first to hop out when the driver opened the door. To her surprise, they were not parked in front of a hotel, but rather in the circular driveway of what seemed to be a private home.

“Mansion,” she clarified, eyeing the sprawling white house, three stories tall, that was framed by swaying palm trees and lush flowering rhododendrons. Marble columns lined the expansive front porch, and the massive door stood open, with waiters on either side of it, holding trays of cocktails for the guests.

“Yeah, this is Jerry’s son’s place,” said the woman from the limo. “We’re dining here before going on to the hotel.”

Oh, brilliant. She was going to have to spend the evening wondering if he had a servant on guard to follow her mother around to make sure she didn’t steal anything.

Heather politely declined a tour of the house. Instead, she veered straight through to the back patio, which overlooked the ocean. And there she felt her tension ease.

It was, without a doubt, glorious. The views of the beach were stunning, extending as far as she could see in either direction. The crashing of the waves onto the white sand a few dozen steps below was almost lyrical, lulling in its regularity. She could happily have pulled up a lounge chair and spent the night right here. Or the entirety of the upcoming cruise.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” asked Steve, her cousin. He stood nearby with his wife, Becca, who was five months pregnant.

His brother Josh replied, “Sure is. I wonder if he could score us some tickets.”

“He seems to be a nice guy,” said Steve. “I bet he would. Especially if his little sister asked him.”

“For God’s sake, stop gushing,” she snapped, the word sister hitting her like a punch. “He plays a game for a living. He hasn’t brought peace to the Middle East or cured a disease. He runs around on grass like a ten-year-old, and gets paid an obscene amount of money to do it. It’s disgusting.”

“Actually, I didn’t start playing until high school. So maybe I run around like a fifteen-year-old?”

Heather groaned when she realized Nate had walked up in time to hear her comment.

Hell. Last she’d seen him, he’d been inside, talking to the caterer, doing his best to pretend there wasn’t a party going on. He might be Mr. Charming for the press, but she’d noticed his sullen mood. If she weren’t so unhappy about this wedding herself, she’d slap him for being such a downer.

Of course, he had offered up his house for this party. She honestly couldn’t figure out his motives.

Stiffening her spine, she turned to face him. “Okay,” she said, not relenting, “so you get paid an obscene amount of money to run around like a teenager. Is that better?”

“Sure.”

“Come on, Heather, there’s a little more to it than that,” said Josh, frowning at her for her rudeness.

“Occasionally I have to throw the ball, too,” Nate said.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s so challenging.”

“Ask my body. It’s been challenged.”

She couldn’t resist casting a quick glance over him. He wore a dress shirt, open at the throat with the sleeves rolled up, and khakis. He looked casual and totally at home here in Florida. And hot. So damned sexy. No shirt could mask the broadness of his shoulders, and the fabric strained against his muscular arms. His waist was still narrow, his hips lean. Every inch of him was in perfect physical condition.

God, the dreams she’d had about that body. Those hands. Those lips. That big cock that had given her such pleasure. The man had ruined her for other lovers. She hadn’t had one since she’d last seen him.

Maybe she’d remedy that on this cruise. Pick up some young island guy who’d ply her with rum and cool off all her hot urges. She imagined letting loose and proving to herself—and Nate—that he no longer had any claim on her. And, having freed herself from the physical longings, maybe then the emotional ones would disappear, too. She could go back to Santa Fe with a clear head and a clear heart, ready to meet Mr. Right, having purged herself of all longing for Mr. Oh-So-Wrong.

Finally realizing she’d been staring, she cleared her throat. “Well, I guess people who don’t have the intelligence to hold an important, meaningful job have to find something to do.”

Becca gasped. So did Josh’s wife, Tracy.

“Yes, how lucky I am to have found a job that requires no brains, drive or dedication.” He smirked. “And how goes the art biz? Changing the world one brilliant paint splatter at a time?”

Another gasp from the onlookers.

“I do all right.” She gestured toward the house. “And you certainly seem to be well compensated for your aches and pains.”

“I am. In fact, I’m hoping to invest some of that compensation in art. I hear you’re the expert. Maybe you could help me out.”

Oh, hell no. “I doubt we have similar tastes.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m not into black-velvet paintings of card-playing dogs.”

Beside her, Josh coughed. Nate’s eyes narrowed, but his lips twitched the tiniest bit. “Gee, and I thought you’d skipped the tour of the house.”

Had he been watching her from the minute she’d arrived? “I can use my imagination.”

“That’s not necessary,” he said, reaching for her arm and sliding his own through it. “I’ll take you on a private tour.”

“Not interested,” she snapped, trying to pull way.

But he had a strong grip and they were surrounded by wide-eyed witnesses. She couldn’t very well shove him over the patio railing onto the beach below, as tempting as that might be. Which was why she gave up and let him pull her inside.

As soon as they were clear, she snapped, “Let me go.”

“No. You’ve been avoiding me. We need to talk before we leave on the cruise with all these people.”

“You can’t just...just pull me around.”

“Would you rather I pick you up and sling you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?”

“If you do, I swear to God, I’ll kick you in whatever spot my feet are close enough to reach.”

He didn’t loosen his grip. “Try it and I’ll tie you up.”

That threat sent excitement surging through her, not fear. Nate was so different now—not the sweet, sexy lover she’d come to know in Vegas. There was an edge to this Nate, a darkness. It scared her a bit. Mostly, though, she found it arousing.

Stop it. He’s a jerk. You’re not falling for him again.

“Come on,” he insisted, dragging her toward a large, sweeping staircase that curved gracefully to an upper level.

They marched up to the landing above. He continued prodding her toward the end of the hall and a pair of closed doors. She had the feeling she knew what was behind them. When he pushed them open, showing her a huge master bedroom with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and glass doors, she stopped dead.

“Forget it.”

“It’s the only place we can have some privacy,” he said. “I just want to talk.”

Really? Was that all he wanted to do? Because talking was the one thing she did not want to do with him. Using that bed, however... No!

He moved behind her to shut the double doors, locking them to ensure they wouldn’t be disturbed. “I have lost my ability to speak when I’m around you,” he said, staring down at her, his brown eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “I keep putting my foot in my mouth.”

She looked away. “No kidding.”

“I didn’t mean to say those things about your mother the other night. I don’t even know her.”

“If you did, you’d realize she’s honest and kind, and definitely not a swindler.”

“Bad choice of words.” He walked toward the patio doors, gazing out at the ocean and crossing his arms over his chest. “I shouldn’t have made snap judgments about her.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I...apologize.”

“Gee, you’re using that word a lot with me this week.”

“Too often.” Still not looking at her, posture stiff, almost angry. “And I apologize for that, too. I...haven’t been myself.”

No kidding. He was a very different man. But she would have sworn that when they were bantering earlier, the real Nate, the sexy charmer she’d met in Vegas, was still lurking in there somewhere.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Have you resigned yourself to the fact that there’s nothing to be done about this wedding?”

Heather hesitated, torn between the truth and her desire to keep a distance between them. Finding any common ground could be dangerous, could make her start to care about him again, more than she should. Besides, the sting of his comments about her mother hadn’t entirely eased, despite his apology.

“They’re grownups,” she replied with a shrug. Unable to resist, she came closer, drawn by the magnificent views. From up here, she could see farther out into the ocean, enough to catch a glimpse of a far-off ship heading up the coast. She couldn’t imagine waking up to this every day. “This is so lovely.”

“You should have been here to see it ten months ago.”

Without warning, he reached up and brushed her hair off her cheek. Heather sucked in a breath, shocked by the warm pleasure that washed over her at such a simple graze of skin on skin.

She’d missed his touch. She’d missed everything about him.

“Heather...”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head and stepping away. Because missing wasn’t enough. There was such a thing as self-respect. Not to mention self-preservation. “It’s too late.”

“I know that.” He moved toward her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body just inches away from hers. She felt the magnetic pull of it down to her very bones. “But I can’t help myself. I’ve got to touch you.”

Before she could reply, he’d reached up and cupped her face in both hands. And then he was kissing her and sanity disappeared.

* * *

NATE HAD BROUGHT her up here to talk, only that, needing to make amends for the shitty things he’d said about her mother the other night. That he’d believed them to be true at the time—and was still on the fence about Amy’s motivations in marrying his father—wasn’t the point. He never should have said such things to Heather.

But seeing her here in his bedroom, standing in a beam of sunlight that illuminated streaks of spun gold through her red hair, he’d simply been unable to resist kissing her.

She didn’t resist, either. After that one shocked flare of her eyes, he’d covered her mouth with his and she’d responded with the same need.

Ten months disappeared. So did all the negative crap he’d been dealing with. He’d never understood what getting lost in a kiss meant until he met her. And he welcomed being lost again.

She tasted the same—that unique, spicy-sweet flavor that belonged to Heather. The fruitiness of the drink she’d been sipping was still on her tongue, making her that much more delicious. He plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, exploring and savoring her.

She met him stroke for stroke, thrusting her tongue against his, soft, warm, wet. She twined her arms around his neck and held him close. Her delicious body melted against his, and Nate growled in the back of his throat, all his male genes recognizing her, wanting nothing more than to again possess her.

Sinking his hands into her hair, he turned her head so he could go even deeper, intent on sampling every single bit of her. He moved his hands down her neck, reaching around to the zipper at the top of her dress. The zipper made the faintest of sounds as he slid it down—the only thing audible, other than their own shared breaths.

He tilted her head again, taking more of her hot, wanton kiss as he pushed the dress off her shoulders. It was loose and soft, a pretty, flowery thing that had drawn his eye again and again on this morning’s flight. She’d ignored him, but he’d been able to see, think of and want nothing else but her.

The dress had been beautiful on her, but it looked even better on the floor.

He ended the kiss so he could draw away and stare down at her, smiling at the sight of those beautiful bare breasts—she hadn’t been wearing a bra. Her nipples were so pretty and pebbled, revealing her arousal. Not that he wasn’t already fully aware of what she wanted.

He moved his mouth down her throat, kissing her, biting lightly, breathing in her fragrance. “I couldn’t think of anything else on that plane today except how much I wanted to join the mile-high club with you,” he admitted as he reached for one breast, cupping it, tweaking the nipple with his thumb.

A throaty laugh left her mouth.

“God, I want you,” he admitted. “Not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought about you.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

He heard the tension in her voice, but also felt the pliant longing of her body. She was trying to stay angry but couldn’t manage it. And neither could he.

“Heather...”

“Shut up, Nate,” she said, twisting her fingers in his hair as he moved down to her breast. “Don’t talk. Let’s just communicate the way we do best. With sex.”

“Fine by me,” he said before licking that saucy nipple. When she gasped, he covered it and suckled her, continuing to squeeze and toy with the other one.

She was shaking, shuddering, and had to lean back against the glass door. Nate continued to move down her, tasting her, looking for changes to the feminine form he’d memorized last year. He found none—she was still absolutely perfect.

He dropped to his knees, kissing her belly as he drew her panties down her bare legs. Moving lower, he rubbed his lips over the soft curls of her crotch, breathing on her, inhaling her. Heather groaned and shifted her legs apart.