Footloose
Leanne Banks

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to everyone who has ever been dumped and eventually felt as if they’d dodged a bullet.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Special thanks to Alisa Banks, Rhonda and Bob Pollero, Cindy Gerard, Cherry Adair, Traci Hall and terrific editor and lifesaver Margo Lipschultz.

Dictionary Definition:

Heel: Noun. A solid attachment of a shoe or boot forming the back of the sole under the heel of the foot.

Amelia Parker’s Definition:

Heel: Noun. A low-down dirty guy who steals your heart then stomps it into a thousand pieces.

CHAPTER ONE

AMELIA WAS SO EXCITED she could barely breathe, let alone eat the delicious dinner she would share in a short time with Will, his boss and his boss’s wife at the fabulous restaurant in Buckhead.

Her ex-fiancé, William, was about to become her fiancé again and everything would be right with the world. She wished the two of them could have managed some alone time before dinner, but Will was arriving directly from the airport.

They would share a sweet reconciliation afterward. She had it all planned. Fighting butterflies, she walked down the stairs of the historical mansion that belonged to her recently married landlord, Aubrey Carter Elizabeth Roberts Gordon.

“You look beautiful, dear. He’ll regret every minute he’s spent without you,” Aubrey said. “And if he doesn’t, Harold will—”

“Pull out a can of whoop-ass like that boy has never seen,” Harry finished.

Aubrey tried to pinch her lips together in disapproval, but a smile escaped. Polar opposites, the middle-aged couple provided a constant source of amusement and encouragement to Amelia. Harry was a rough rascal of a man who’d made a mint in mobile home sales and Aubrey was the quintessential perfect, proper, Atlanta-born-and-bred woman. Who would have thought the two of them would fall in love and marry within a month of meeting each other? Surely if Harry and Aubrey could make it work, then so could Amelia and Will.

“Do you have everything ready?” Aubrey asked.

Amelia nodded. “I’ve got candles waiting to be lit. I baked his favorite pie from scratch, bought his favorite wine and put his favorite country music CD on the stereo.”

“You’re going to knock him off his feet,” Aubrey assured her.

“That pie smells awfully good. You sure you don’t want me to test it?”

Aubrey gave Harry a playful swat. “Stop teasing her. Can’t you see she’s nervous?”

“Do I really look okay? This is his favorite dress. And I’m wearing his favorite perfume. He always said he liked my hair best this way.” Amelia touched a hand to her carefully-straightened locks.

“You look gorgeous,” Harry said, patting her hand. “And more important than your hair or perfume, you’re nice to be around. Remember that.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“We’ll be way on the other side of the house,” Aubrey said. “So don’t worry about making introductions if Will comes back here tonight. We can save that for later.”

Feeling a rush of gratitude, Amelia gave in to the impulse to hug Aubrey. “Thank you so much,” she said again, and left for the restaurant.

Her mind whirled a mile a minute during the drive to the restaurant. She wasn’t sure how she’d survived the last forty-five days of being in limbo with Will. She could hardly remember a time when he hadn’t been part of her life. He’d proposed to her on the playground when they’d been in elementary school and they’d been together ever since.

Watching so many couples break up over the years, Amelia had always felt as if she must have been sprinkled with stardust. She and Will had found each other so early. What a relief to have that aspect of her life taken care of.

She felt a tiny ripple of unease at the thought, but refused to pay attention to it. Will had broken up with her twice during the last six weeks, then he’d turned right around and asked her to take him back, which she had. Two weeks ago, though, Will had told her he wanted to put their relationship on hold, and everything had felt off-kilter to Amelia again. She was ready to get back on track. Her only regret was that she would have to resign from the designer shoe company Bellagio, Inc. She would miss her new friends. She’d learned long ago, though, that true love required sacrifice.

Amelia pulled into the parking lot of the popular restaurant and walked into the entryway, hoping to see William, but he wasn’t there. She checked with the hostess and was led to a back room of the restaurant where a couple and Will, looking more gorgeous than ever, sat at a small round table.

Will glanced up at her and stood. “Amelia, there you are,” he said and lightly touched her back. “Mrs. Fitzgerald is dying to meet you. She’s a big fan of Bellagio shoes.”

That feeling under her nerve endings grew stronger when Will introduced her simply as Amelia Parker, not as Amelia Parker, his fiancée. He didn’t kiss her or touch her hand during the meal. Although he was polite, he seemed detached.

Her stomach twisting into a knot, she still managed to make friendly conversation. By the end of the meal, however, she couldn’t stop wondering why Will was acting so cool when he had been adamant about her joining him at this dinner. He’d said it was important to him, so of course she’d come.

Feeling every tick of the clock, she refused dessert and wondered if she should excuse herself. Mrs. Fitzgerald saved her from her quandary when she received a call from the sitter saying that her child had a fever. The couple quickly excused themselves, leaving her alone with Will. Finally.

“Let me walk you to your car,” Will said.

His silence as he escorted her to the parking lot made her stomach hurt even more. Amelia bit her lip. “I wasn’t sure where you planned to stay tonight.”

He shrugged. “I got a room downtown since I’m just here for the night. I guess we should talk,” he said as he opened her car door for her.

Amelia had the sudden feeling of dread, the same, she’d bet, that someone being led to the guillotine would feel. She’d had this sensation when he’d broken up with her before. Amelia couldn’t fool herself any longer. Will was going to dump her once and for all.

Maybe not, her hopeful naïve side argued weakly.

But deep down, she knew. He was going to give her the biggest heave-ho of her life and there was nothing she could do about it. She sank blindly into the driver’s seat.

Will slid into the passenger seat and turned toward her. He sighed. That sigh was never a good sign.

“I don’t know how to say this, Amelia, but I’m not in love with you anymore.”

Her heart sank to her feet. No, lower—it had to be lower, lower than the bottom of her car and the paved parking lot. He’d never put it exactly that way before. She shook her head, her mouth opening, but she couldn’t find any words.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I fell in love with someone else.”

Amelia’s brain screeched to a halt. “Pardon me? There’s someone else?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to fall out of love with you, bugaboo,” he said, his pet name suddenly grating on her raw nerves. “It’s just that I met Sidney and she knocked me on my butt. She’s everything you’re not.”

She felt as if someone were shifting her internal gears without the benefit of a clutch. “She’s everything I’m not,” she echoed, confused. “I thought I was everything you wanted.”

“I can’t explain it. She’s as ambitious as I am, always doing something that surprises me. She’s impulsive, has a temper, but she makes me feel alive every minute.”

Amelia couldn’t digest it. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Did you even notice that I fixed my hair the way you always said you loved it?” she asked him. “I’m wearing your favorite dress. Did you notice that? I’m wearing your favorite perfume.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Amelia. I just don’t feel that way about you anymore.” He sighed again. She hated his sighs. “Sweetheart, I think I just outgrew you.”

Outgrew her. Fury blasted through her fear. Some small bit of pride and self-preservation bubbled up from her desperation. She had made sacrifices for Will. She had traded a scholarship to a prestigious university for a state school where Will could gain admission, too. She had cut and colored her hair for him, dressed for him, put her career ambitions in the backseat for him. She had agreed to delay their wedding so they could be more financially stable. She had made sacrifices.

For the first time, she had the ugly feeling that she had made too many sacrifices.

“Would you mind giving me a ride to my hotel?” he asked. “I can tell you need time to think about all this. You can go ahead and give me the ring back, too,” he added casually. “And bugaboo, we’ll always be friends.”

Amelia felt something inside her shift. She could almost hear the sound of stone platelets scraping against each other. It was monumental. She’d based most of her life on the plan that she and Will would be together forever. That plan had just been cancelled for good. After six weeks of waffling, she could tell that Will didn’t want her anymore, even though she’d done everything she could to make him love her.

To be honest, she’d known it for a while, but had been too terrified to face it. Everything had changed. Everything would be different.

But her heart kept beating. She kept breathing. Her brain kept working. She was still living. She laughed in relief. Maybe the anticipation had been worse than the reality.

She looked at Will, really looked at him, without the gauze of love covering her eyes. He had a weak chin, he chewed with his mouth open and he rushed her during sex. He had chosen her engagement ring based on his taste, not hers, and he was cheap.

She removed her engagement ring from her finger and handed it to him.

Then she started her car. “Get your own ride and get another friend.”

“But—”

“No buts,” she said. “Get out of my car.”

Looking at her as if she’d sprouted a third head, he complied. Still dazed, she headed back to her suite at Aubrey’s house, where she smashed Will’s favorite CD into a million pieces, poured his favorite bottle of wine down the toilet and gave his homemade apple pie to a sympathetic but appreciative Harry.

AMELIA HELD ON TO HER anger as long as she could. Anger, she decided, was loads better than sadness. Anger had energy and kept her from getting weepy. Anger was big and hot and bright. It filled up her bewildered insides like fireworks filled up the black sky on the Fourth of July.

The problem was that Amelia had never been able to hold on to anger that long. It had always seemed like a stupid waste of energy. So four days after Will had dropped the big bomb on her, the ache inside her overrode the anger. She felt so empty and so sad.

Her mother had always said the best way to deal with feeling sad was to bake a pie for someone. Focusing on someone else would help you feel better about yourself. Even the good book said, “It’s better to give than to receive.”

A lot easier, too, Amelia decided and began to bake some pies. She baked pies for thirty straight days, until her boss and friend Trina Roberts took her aside and gently referred her to a shrink.

The nice balding man listened and nodded his head and told Amelia she needed to experience herself more. Amelia didn’t really understand what that meant.

During her next visit, the shrink told her she needed to be nice to herself. “You can’t truly love another until you love yourself,” he said wisely. “It sounds like maybe you lost sight of who you really are when you tried so hard to be what Will wanted.”

He even quoted the good book. “‘Love your neighbor as yourself’ means you need to love yourself, too.”

Even though Amelia was pretty sure her father would refer to the shrink as a flaming liberal, his advice made a little bit of sense.

When she couldn’t quite figure out how to love herself, the shrink gave her homework. She needed to write down what she liked and what she didn’t like, things she wanted to try. That was how she came to start the list. The first thing she wrote on it was that she’d like to live at the beach sometime. And studying what she’d written, Amelia decided it was time to get a life, her own life. At last.

CHAPTER TWO

Three weeks later

DRINKING HIS SECOND CORONA, Jack O’Connell watched the little blonde at the other end of the bar as she wrote on a cocktail napkin and sipped a drink with a colorful umbrella.

Amidst the tanned beach babes exposing yards of skin, she looked like a fish out of water as she kept pulling up the strap of her sundress. Her skin was alabaster white. Poor thing, he thought, she probably burned like a beast.

Her earnest intensity about whatever she was writing on that cocktail napkin made him curious. Which just showed he had too much time on his hands. Vacations made him edgy. He always felt that if he took time off, he would miss something. Even though he was down here to grease the skids on his biggest deal ever, he had a lot of dead time to fill.

He glanced at the blonde again, wondering what her story was. He noticed a wallet on the ground by her feet and wondered if it belonged to her. Indulging his curiosity, he strolled toward her, picked up the wallet and straddled the stool beside her.

“This yours?”

She glanced up, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “Omigosh. Yes, thank you.”

“Jack O’Connell,” he said, introducing himself.

“Amelia,” she said hesitantly.

“Amelia,” he repeated and smiled. He liked the way the name sounded in his mouth. She reminded him of a white magnolia blossom. “What’s a nice, well-bred southern girl like you doing at a tiki bar in the Florida Keys by herself?”

“It’s the first time I’ve had a chance to get out. And my first hurricane,” she added, nodding toward her drink.

“How do you like it?” he asked.

“It tastes like fruit punch. With some extra punch.”

He chuckled. “One-hundred-fifty-one proof punch. And the cocktail napkin? Is that a new amendment to the Constitution you’re writing? Looks pretty serious.”

He watched in surprise and delight as pink color flooded her cheeks. A blush. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a female over the age of seventeen blush.

“Well, one side is a list of birthday gifts I need to get in the mail to my niece and nephew because I won’t be home for their birthdays.”

“And the other side?”

“It’s a, uh, different to-do list,” she said and took a gulp of her drink. “I recently had a big change of direction in my life, and so I’m making a list.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” he said. “Is drinking your first hurricane on the list?”

She hesitated, then her lips slowly stretched into a smile. “I guess it was on my mental list.”

“You should put it on your written list, too,” he said. “Because then you can check it off. And every time you check something off, it gives you a sense of accomplishment. Yeah,” he added at her curious look. “I make lists, too. Down here the list includes watching as many sunsets as possible and missing the sunrises because I had such a good time the night before. Increasing my repertoire of memorized Jimmy Buffet lyrics and setting a new personal record for how many minutes I keep a Corona in my hand during a twenty-four-hour period.”

Her smile broadened. “I’m not sure I can put all of that on my list because I’m not on vacation.”

“You’re working here?”

She nodded. “I work for Bellagio, the designer shoe company, and I’m down here on temporary assignment as an assistant to Lillian Bellagio. She’s the widow of one of the founders of the company.”

The mention of Bellagio made his heart rate pick up. The name always had. How ironic that she worked there. And how…opportune. “Sounds like a cupcake assignment,” he said.

“Yes and no. Mrs. Bellagio is perceived as challenging and sometimes demanding. That’s why they sent me. Before I became a full-time employee of Bellagio, I was a temp in almost every department. They always sent me to take care of the crisis du jour.”

“So I bet you know a lot about the inner workings of Bellagio.”

She shrugged and took another long sip of her hurricane. Jack noticed she was nearing the bottom of the glass. He gestured toward the bartender to bring her another and tapped his bottle of Corona.

“If you decided to go with Bellagio full-time, you must like ’em,” he said.

She nodded. “I like the people there. They really pursued me. It’s a relief to know that even if my personal life is in the toilet, I can still perform professionally.”

“Personal life in the toilet,” he echoed. “Is that the reason for the list?”

She looked self-conscious. “I guess.”

“What do you have on there?”

She pulled the napkin protectively to her. “It’s under construction.”

“Come on. Give me a few hints. Maybe I could help.”

She shot him a wary glance and took a sip of her fresh drink. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. It was nice of you to get me a drink, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“And you’re afraid I’m going to ply you with alcohol and have my wicked way with you.”

Her cheeks bloomed with color again. “I didn’t say that.”

“Amelia, do you want to know the truth?”

She nodded.

“I’m bored. You looked more interesting than anyone else here.”

She glanced around, then met his gaze again. “There are some very pretty girls here.”

“Yep, but they don’t look interesting. You look pretty and interesting.”

She hesitated, clearly still uncertain.

“Listen, you’re in the Keys. It’s okay to have some fun.”

She gave a big sigh and he could hear tension being released like air poured out of a flat tire. “I want to get a different car,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I want to travel. I want to start an IRA. I want to get a different haircut, maybe change my hair color, buy some different clothes.”

“Everything’s gotta be different? What kind of car do you have?”

“A Honda.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“My ex-fiancé picked it out.”

“Oh,” Jack said and kicked himself for not figuring that out earlier. She was recovering from a breakup. The classic signs were there—stiff drink, halter dress, distrust of the opposite sex. “A Honda’s not a bad car.”

“I know. It gets great gas mileage, doesn’t break down frequently, has good resale value.”

“Too practical for you? Are you more of a practical woman or do you like to take chances?”

She sighed again and frowned. “Up until now, I’ve been very practical.”

She didn’t sound happy with the revelation.

“That’s Van Morrison playing,” he said. “Wanna dance?”

She looked startled at his invitation, then hesitant, then a little defiant. “Yes, I would, thank you.”

He led her onto the sand that served as a dance floor and coaxed her into the rhythm of the song. She stumbled a couple of times, laughing at herself. The breathless sound tugged at something inside him. Her breasts brushed against his chest and he felt his blood sink to his groin.

Getting her into bed would be a piece of cake. She was vulnerable and he had Irish charm on his side. Another hurricane and a couple of slow dances were all it would take.

Jack was a shark by trade, but he didn’t make a habit of taking advantage of wide-eyed, broken-hearted amateurs. Yet while she was innocent, she also seemed determined to get into the water. And with her knowledge of Bellagio, she could be useful. That, he couldn’t resist exploiting. But her vulnerability was something else. So he would be careful with her, but he would get what he could from her.

After a couple more dances and half a hurricane, she loosened her tongue. At his gentle prodding, she gave him a new snapshot of the players, major and minor, at Bellagio, the corporate culture and the general attitude and mood of the employees. Tucking the information in the back of his brain for future use, he checked out what she’d scribbled on the napkin. “This list needs some work,” he said.

She reached for the napkin, but he held it away from her. “That’s supposed to be just for me.”

“Don’t worry. I’m just an anonymous guy you met at a tiki bar. I’ll be the ghostwriter. If you really want to make some changes, then you need to climb further out on the limb.”

“Changes such as?”

“I’ll start you off small. Swimming in the nude,” he said, taking her pen and writing it down.

Her eyes widened. “I don’t think—”

“It’s not as drastic as sex on the beach, but we can add that one if you—”

“No, and—”

“What about driving a convertible with the top down? Have you ever driven one?”

“No.”

“Good thing to do at least once. Sky diving?”

“Absolutely not.”

And so it went. He suggested. She countered. Egging her on to expand her list was the most fun he’d had in a long time.

TWO HOURS LATER, after Amelia had finished her third hurricane and Jack had extracted information about Marc Waterson, Bellagio’s heir apparent, Jack did the honorable thing and returned Amelia to Lillian Bellagio’s estate. She leaned against his shoulder and dozed during the short drive.

The thought occurred to him, again, that it would be so easy to take her back to the beach house where he was staying. She wouldn’t protest. She reminded him of a little lamb without any protection. The wolves would get her in no time if she didn’t shore up her defenses. At the same time, though, it would be a damn shame to see her toughen up. Her innocence was rare and appealing.

Pulling to a stop just outside the estate, he gave her a gentle shake. “Amelia, we’re here. Time to wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him in confusion. “Jack.”

“Yep. I’ll be at the gate in just a minute. Will you be able to walk to the house?”

She nodded. “Sure,” she said and sat up, blinking.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.” She looked at him. “You’ve been very kind.”

He felt a sliver of discomfort at taking advantage of her hurricane-influenced state to get insider info on Bellagio. “It was a fun night.”

She studied him for a long moment. “You’re very good-looking. Could you do one more favor for me?”

“What?” he asked a little warily.

“Could I kiss you? I’ve never kissed a guy the first time I met him.”

He felt a jolt of surprise. “Is this on your list?”

“Hmm. I guess it is.”

“Okay,” he said and leaned toward her.

She pressed her hand against his chest. “No. I have to kiss you. I have to start it.”

Accustomed to taking the lead, Jack felt a startling punch of exhilaration. Damn, who would have thought…

Her eyes open, she leaned toward him and lifted her lips to his and rubbed from side to side. The soft texture of her mouth and the sensual movement provided the biggest tease he’d had in a long time. He was used to taking what he wanted. Sure, he knew the ways of seduction, but they were a means to an end.

She opened her mouth and he felt a lick of anticipation shimmy down to his groin. He could feel her indecision. To taste or not to taste.

He struggled with an instinct to take control, to plunge his tongue into her mouth, but her tentative explorations were too delicious.

He opened his mouth and barely brushed her lips to give her encouragement without guiding her.

She echoed his movement and rewarded him by sliding her tongue just inside his mouth.

White-hot lust raced through him. He wanted to devour her mouth, bury his face in her breasts and slide between her thighs until neither of them could walk normally. He couldn’t remember feeling this hot since he was sixteen years old.

She lingered, rubbing just the tip of her tongue over the inside of his lip, then against the tip of his own tongue. Then she pulled back and he again fought the urge to close his arms around her and kiss the breath out of her.

Something made him stop. He would figure out later just what that something was.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes smoky with a hint of arousal, and she smiled. “Thanks.”

Over the pounding of his heart, he smiled back. “Thank you.”

Driving to the gate, he pulled to a stop again, putting the car in park. He got out and opened her door. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’m sure,” she said, her voice determined as she rose to her feet and stood for a couple of seconds as if to get her bearings.

He found an old paper receipt in the console and scratched his cell number on it. “Call me,” he said, handing it to her.

She glanced at the paper, but just smiled enigmatically. “Thanks again.”

He watched her walk down the driveway and wondered why he felt like he was the one who’d been hit by a hurricane.

CHAPTER THREE

OKAY, SO MAYBE the three-hurricane thing hadn’t been such a good idea after all, Amelia thought the next morning as the sound of her alarm clock scraped like a thousand razors in her skull. She felt renewed sympathy for the state of Florida for the pounding of hurricanes it had taken throughout the years.

Images of the night before skittered through her brain. She’d started a list. It had begun sensibly, but then that hot guy had made suggestions. Had she really kissed the man she’d met last night? She pulled her sheet over her head in embarrassment. What was his name? Something that started with a J. John, Jim. Jack. He had been so hot, so good-looking and sexy, and she’d just bet he possessed little to zero ambition. She was lucky he hadn’t taken advantage of her.

Or maybe not so lucky, she thought, as a kick of defiance raced through her. The advantage to being taken advantage of was that she wouldn’t have to take responsibility for being a bad girl. Remembering how his biceps had felt beneath her fingertips and the contrast of his light eyes against his tanned skin, she closed her own eyes and relived the secret pleasure of feeling desirable. She wondered what it would take for her to find the nerve to have a fling with a guy like that.

A siege of protests stormed through her mind. She was starting to think that this sexual attraction thing was like a muscle and she needed to build up to it.

She might be ready in a couple of months, she told herself and pulled the sheet back down.

A hangover wouldn’t keep her from beating Lillian Bellagio into the office. The one thing that had kept Amelia from dissolving into a puddle during her breakup was the knowledge that she was good at her job. She could make order out of mayhem on any day that ended with y. The love of her life may have kicked her to the side of the road, but the people at Bellagio thought she was all that and a bag of chips. Her boss, Trina Roberts, had even confided that several supervisors had engaged in little battles to keep her in their departments. Gingerly lifting her head from her pillow, Amelia eased out of bed and walked to the bathroom, wishing she could mainline ibuprofen.

She glanced in the mirror and saw the same old pale face staring back at her. Her blond hair rebelled at her meticulous efforts with the flat iron yesterday, sticking out in every direction represented on the compass. Will had preferred her hair super straight. That had been easy when she was young, but once puberty hit, her hair had turned wavy and more unruly.

She scowled at her reflection. She should cut her hair and dye it black. Add black lipstick and several piercings and she would look like a rebellious teenager.

Disgusted with her indecisiveness, she stripped off her nightshirt and got into the shower. After she lathered her hair and body and rinsed, she glanced down at her bright pink toenails in approval. One small step for independence.

Will had preferred neutral colored nails. But Amelia had learned that her brightly painted toenails gave her a little lift. One question about her preferences answered. Now she only had a million more questions about herself to ask.

Thirty minutes and three cups of coffee later, with her hair pulled into a low ponytail, she dressed in a cotton skirt and blouse and walked toward Lillian Bellagio’s offices in the south wing of the house.

Knowing Lillian had ditched her last three assistants in record time, Amelia hadn’t let the balmy climate and the sumptuous Bellagio estate fool her. Although Lillian’s calendar was filled with garden club meetings and luncheons, Bellagio’s grande dame had zero tolerance for sloppy staff, business or otherwise.

After confirming Lillian’s usual breakfast of tea with cream, a peach scone and a small bowl of fresh fruit, Amelia turned on her computer and checked Lillian’s e-mail for reminders and notices. Then she scanned her own messages and responded to her mother’s daily e-mail, along with a note from one of her sisters. She printed off the tentative itinerary for the next board meeting and made a list of the most recent requests for Lillian’s presence and/or the presence of her money.

Fifteen minutes before the planned time for their morning meeting, Lillian walked through the doorway, her perfectly groomed white hair smoothed into a stiff bob that Amelia was certain would defy gale-force winds. Lillian had arrived increasingly early each morning. Amelia wondered if the woman was trying to catch her off-guard. After taking care of several Bellagio disasters, Amelia wasn’t about to let Bellagio’s most demanding, fickle and finicky board member one-up her. It was a matter of pride.

“Good morning, Amelia.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Bellagio. How are you?”

“Very good, thank you. Have you ordered my tea?”

“Yes, ma’am. I asked them to hold it until you arrived so it wouldn’t get cold. Excuse me,” she said and pressed the intercom button. “Beatrice, could you please bring Mrs. Bellagio’s breakfast?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the kitchen assistant said. “I’ll be right up.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said and moved to a chair in the sitting area where Lillian preferred to plan her day.

“You’re the most prompt assistant I’ve ever had,” Lillian said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bellagio.”

“You’re different from the others,” Lillian continued, and thanked Beatrice when she delivered her breakfast tray. She prepared her tea. “You keep your belly covered and I don’t see any tattoos. You’re efficient to a fault. I like that. A little old-fashioned. I was like that at your age, too,” Lillian said. “Perhaps I was a bit too old-fashioned. I understand you got out last night. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work, you should do it more often.”

Amelia’s stomach clenched. How much did Lillian know? Did the woman have spies everywhere?

“It’s okay,” Lillian went on, searching Amelia’s face. “I know the only reason you were assigned to me is that I’m considered a pain and you’re considered a magician. It’s a shame I won’t get to keep you. But I can tell you’re headed for bigger things.” She paused a moment. “I was told about your broken engagement. A couple of words to the wise. Never chase a bus or a man. Another one will be along in ten minutes. You may as well enjoy yourself while you’re here.”

Amelia stared at the woman in surprise. For the past ten days, Lillian had been polite, but reserved and impersonal. Now it was almost as if Amelia had passed some invisible test.

The older woman smiled. “I can see you must have believed the rumors. My reputation is notorious. It comes in handy sometimes. Can you imagine how many of those macho Bellagios would roll right over an old lady like me if I didn’t cause a little fuss every now and then?”

Intrigued, Amelia smiled cautiously. “I can see your point of view.”

“Good,” Lillian said. “I suspect you and I will get along very well, but if you tell Alfredo or any of the others that I’m anything but a shrew, I’ll tell them you’re a liar.” Her sugary southern accent didn’t fool Amelia. She’d bet Lillian could gut any beast that caused her trouble, and that included a human male.

Lillian lifted her cup of tea to her lips. “I have a guest arriving next weekend. I’d like to host a small party. It’s short notice. Can you plan it?”

Amelia felt a little kick of excitement. The party presented a small challenge, but she loved pulling off the impossible. When presented with a professional crisis, her brain immediately began to supply her with a range of solutions. Planning a party under such short notice was no different.

“I’ll need a guest list with phone numbers and addresses, your budget, any food preferences or allergies and the mood you’d like to create. I can have something preliminary for you this afternoon.”

Lillian nodded in approval.

Amelia was thrilled with a legitimate excuse to procrastinate dealing with her trainwreck of a personal life. She could plan all of Lillian’s social events for the next year in less than a week, but she knew that putting her own life together would be like building a house one brick at a time.

THE PARTY WAS A HUGE SUCCESS, with Lillian’s guests begging to borrow Amelia. Lillian demurred, instead instructing Amelia to take two days off as a reward for her hard work.

The prospect of facing forty-eight empty hours nearly gave Amelia hives. Why was it so much easier to manage someone else’s life than her own?

After Amelia showered, she slathered on SPF 50 sunscreen and changed her clothes three times because she couldn’t decide what to do during her free time. Finally settling on a swimsuit that she covered with a skirt and top, she grabbed a straw bag and towel and plopped a pair of sunglasses on her nose.

She glanced at the cocktail napkin with the list she’d begun during her three-hurricane evening and felt it egging her on. Jack’s bold scrawl contrasted with her softer print. She looked at some of his contributions to the list and noticed a common thread. Everything was to be done naked. Not sure whether to laugh or to panic, she grabbed the napkin and stuffed it into her purse.

She walked a half-mile down the road to a public beach and spread out her blanket. Reclining in the sun, inhaling the sea air, listening to the lapping sound of the waves, her mind strayed to thoughts of Will and the European honeymoon they’d planned. She’d turned down an opportunity to be a foreign exchange student in Italy for a semester because Will had wanted their first time in Europe to be together.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. Rule number two for how to get over the love of your life was to replace thoughts of him with something else. Besides, she was supposed to be relaxing, clearing her mind.

She shifted on her towel and sighed. Why was relaxing such hard work? Flipping onto her tummy, she pulled her how-to book from her straw bag.

She lasted another fifteen minutes and decided to take a walk on the beach. The stingy stretch of sand, which she now knew was common to the Keys, made walking more like pacing. Back and forth, back and forth.

So fidgety her skin felt tight, she gave up on the beach and walked into the small center of town to wander through the shops. She picked up a couple of books for her niece and nephew’s birthdays, sent a postcard to her mother and eventually stopped at a popular breakfast and sandwich shop.

When no waiter showed up to take her order, Amelia considered leaving. After further observation, she overheard the owner, a frazzled but friendly woman with white hair, apologizing. Her cook had called in sick and the owner had to do everything herself until extra help arrived.

“I can pour coffee and water if you like,” Amelia offered, and after a few half-hearted protests from the owner, Amelia began making beverage rounds.

Twenty minutes later, she put a glass of water in front of another customer, whom she noticed out of the corner of her eye was male. They’d started to blur together. “Good morning. Your waitress will be here in just a few minutes to take your order. Would you like some coffee?”

Silence followed. Then she heard, “Sure. New job?”

Amelia blinked, taking her first good look at the customer. With amused blue eyes framed by a dark fringe of lashes that matched his dark hair, he could have been a heart-stealer. If she’d had a heart left to steal.

Jack. Recognizing him from her night of hurricanes, she felt a rush of self-consciousness. “Not really. The owner was in a little bind. I’m free today, so it was no big deal to pour water and coffee.”

He looked at ease with himself in his t-shirt and shorts. Tanned, muscular legs and flip-flops suggested he had no problem kicking back and relaxing. She envied him that.

“You’re off all day today?”

She nodded, pouring coffee into his cup. “And tomorrow.”

“You want to take a day trip after you finish your shift here?” he asked, cracking a half-grin. “It’s Jack, by the way.”

“I remember,” she said. “And I’m—”

“Amelia,” he said before she could. His grin widened.

She hesitated a half-beat. She didn’t really know him. However, if he hadn’t taken advantage of her during her hurricane night, then he was probably okay. There had been the kiss, she reminded herself. But that had just been a kiss. A really really hot kiss, but…

She shook her head at her stupid debate. If she spent the afternoon with Jack, she wouldn’t have to dream up twenty more things to do today. “Thanks. That sounds good.”

He laughed. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

“Oh, yeah. Where?”

“Key West. Sundown party at Mallory Square.”

“I’ve never been to one of those,” she said, feeling a ping of anticipation.

“We can change that,” he said, lifting his cup. The way he looked at her over its rim made something inside her give a little jump, which surprised her. So maybe she wasn’t dead after all.

Another employee showed up after thirty minutes, so Amelia turned in her coffee pot and water pitcher. The owner thanked her effusively and promised future lunches on the house.

Resisting the urge to return to the Bellagio estate to change clothes, Amelia freshened up in the restaurant’s powder room. The humidity had her hair sticking out in twenty different directions. Without her flat iron, she would have to go au natural with her hair, which scared the poo out of her. Amelia had ironed her hair into submission for so long she didn’t really know what it would looked like if she let it go free.

Sighing, she shook her head. It wasn’t as if she was trying to impress anyone. She just wanted to fill some free time.

Jack tossed a few bills on the table and stood as she walked toward him. “Ready to go?”

She nodded and put on her sunglasses as she followed him to the small parking lot.

He stopped at a black Porsche and pulled a cap out of the back. “You might want to wear this. You look like you could burn in five minutes with the top down.”

“Try three,” she said wryly. “I don’t remember this car.”

He chuckled and opened the door for her. “I’m not sure you were in a condition to remember much of anything. The car belongs to a friend of mine. When I visit, he lets me stay at his place and use his wheels.”

“Nice friend,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Yep.”

“Where are you visiting from?”

“Chicago, right now.”

A roamer, she concluded. It didn’t surprise her. He looked like the kind to travel light. If she’d been looking for a keeper, that would have put her off, but she wasn’t so it didn’t bother her.

“What do you do?” she asked. “For a living.”

He shot her a smile that reminded her of a shark. “Whatever’s profitable,” he said, revealing nothing.

“Legal?” she pressed, because she had her limits.

“Clean as a whistle,” he said, but his silence made her think he didn’t teach kindergarten. He started the engine and backed out of the parking space.

“So, how’s it been working for Bellagio’s grande dame? She finally let you out of the cellar?” he said.

“Pushed me out,” Amelia muttered. “She’s not as bad as—” She broke off, remembering how Lillian had insisted she wanted to maintain her reputation. “She’s quite a woman.”

“Quite a woman,” Jack echoed. “She’s either won you over or you’re being politely vague.”

“Sort of like ‘whatever’s profitable,’” she shot back.

He glanced at her in surprise and looked back at the road, smiling. “So the sweet Georgia peach has been hiding a little kick.”

Amelia hadn’t really thought about having a kick. She’d pretty much relied on Will for most of the kicking. She adjusted her cap. “Who knew?”

“How long did you say you dated your ex?”

She winced, wondering how much she’d revealed during that night of too many hurricanes. “A long time,” she said vaguely.

“Wasn’t it twelve or thirteen years?”

“Nice of you to remind me.”

He shook his head. “I bet you’re just starting to find out who you are.”

His insight surprised her. “Maybe, but one of the things I’ve learned is that I don’t like to talk about myself.”

“Unless you’ve had a few hurricanes,” he said.

“A gentleman wouldn’t continue to bring that up.”

“I’m not that kind of a gentleman,” he told her cheerfully.

“You were the other night when I was—”

“Smashed,” he finished for her. “One-time thing. Everyone lives by their own set of rules. One of mine is to maximize whatever gets thrown at you. I’m a bastard.”

Amelia digested that. He was an odd mix. He seemed laid-back. And not. She couldn’t tell if he was a con man or a mooch. “Does that mean I shouldn’t count on you if I drink too many hurricanes again?”

“I would get you home, but we might take a side-trip first,” he said in a breezy voice with just a hint of sexy undertone.

Her stomach tightened at the warning. She looked at his large hands, one on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. The wind ruffled his dark hair and whipped at his shirt. His shoulders were broad and his pecs and biceps bulged from some kind of exercise. His abdomen was flat, his legs long. His thighs looked strong. Her gaze strayed higher and she looked away, embarrassed at the direction of her thoughts.

He was a hottie, so why had he approached her? She couldn’t squelch her curiosity.

“There were at least a half-dozen females at that tiki bar who looked available and very attractive,” she said. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t approach them.” She paused. “Or maybe you did, and I just didn’t notice.”

He laughed. “No. I told you before that I approached you because you were the most interesting looking woman in the room.”

Interesting looking. She narrowed her eyes. That could be a compliment. Or not. “Is that like ‘quite a woman’?”

“No. You didn’t look like the rest of the women there.”

“They were tanned, beautiful and very thin,” she said stiffly.

“You looked real and pretty. And I wondered what you were writing on that napkin.”

“Well, now you know. The list,” she said.

He nodded. “Have you added to it?”

“No,” she said, feeling guilty and wimpy.

“Maybe you need a jump-start.”

Amelia adjusted her sunglasses and felt another little leap of nerves in her belly. She suspected Jack wasn’t the kind of man to provide just a little jump-start. He seemed more like a walking detonator. “Maybe,” she said tentatively.

“I could make a lot of suggestions,” he said in a wry, sexy tone. “But this is more about what you want. So, what do you want, Magnolia?”

Magnolia? She paused for a long moment and sighed. “That’s part of the problem. I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. The list is about experimentation.”

“I don’t really like to experiment unless it’s connected with my job.”

“So you want to just keep doing what you’ve always done? You don’t need a list for that.”

The prospect of being stuck in her current position forever made her want to scream. “No. You’re right. I need to experiment. But I don’t know how to start.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sky dive?”

Her stomach clenched. “That’s a little drastic, but parasailing looks interesting.”

“Put it on your list. What else?”

“I’ve always wanted to sit in the front row at a concert,” she admitted.

“Any group in particular?” he asked.

“I’m flexible.”

“Write it down. Want to climb a mountain?”

“No, that’s a guy thing. But I always wondered what it would be like to be someone totally different than me.”

“So you’d like to switch identities,” he said.

“Not forever.”

“For a day.” He grinned. “Write it down.”

“But how could I do that?”

“Make up a person you’d like to be. Dress like her, talk like her, eat like her. Do whatever she would do that day. It’s just an expanded version of Halloween.”

“You probably think I’m nuts,” she said.

“Nah. It’s fun being part of your evolution.”

“What about your own evolution?”

“I’m way past you. I know what I want.”

“And that is?”

“To limit my commitments, always be ready to take the next step and not waste time looking back.”

“That sounds a little cold. You never look back?”

“Only when it’s profitable,” he said with that razor grin. “I heard a football analogy that you can only make one play at a time. If you’re thinking about an earlier play or a future play, then you’re not focusing on what you need to do now.”

“Hmm. Did you play football?”

He shook his head. “Not enough money as a kid for me to do anything but work after school. My mother wasn’t exactly a wise financial planner.”

“And your dad?”

“Wasn’t around,” he said. “Let me guess your family situation. Mom and Dad sat down with the kids for dinner every night. You took a family vacation in the summer, visited grandparents at Christmas and you lived in the same house growing up.”

His accuracy irritated her. Was she that transparent? That predictable? “My father wasn’t at dinner every night because he worked out of town sometimes. Sometimes my grandparents would visit us. We moved once,” she said.

“Bet you had some kind of music lessons, too,” he said.

“Piano,” she admitted. “What about you?”

“Air guitar,” he said with a chuckle. “No money for that, either. Trust me, Magnolia, I didn’t have the Norman Rockwell family experience. Let me guess again. You’re not an only child.”

“Right, I have—”

“No. Don’t tell me. Sisters,” he said.

A little spooked, she did a double-take. “Yes, three. I’m second out of four. How did you know I had sisters?”

“You’re a girly girl and you don’t seem comfortable with men.”

She dropped her jaw at his assessment. “You don’t know that I’m not comfortable with men.”

“You’re not that comfortable with me,” he pointed out.

“Well, that’s because you’re—” She broke off because saying the next thought that came to mind would have made her sound ridiculous.

“I’m what?”

“Nothing,” she said. “You’re right. I’m a girly girl with sisters. My mother taught us to bake and sew and sent us to charm school so we could walk and talk like ladies.”

“Did it work?”

“Mostly,” she said. “My older sister is married with children. My younger sister is married. And I wouldn’t be surprised if my youngest sister gets engaged soon.”

“So you’re the maverick,” he said.

“I hadn’t thought of being dumped as being a maverick.”

“I’ve seen people do some crazy things after a breakup,” he said. “Hell, even the courts tend to go lenient on a broken-hearted woman when she goes berserk.”

“I have no intention of going berserk,” she said.

“I’m sure you don’t, but if you did,” he said, “you’ve got a socially acceptable excuse.”

“I’m not going berserk,” she said again, as much for herself as for him. “And for the record, Norman Rockwell was married three times. He was divorced from his first wife, so everything wasn’t warm and fuzzy for him, either.”

“Should have known. If it looks too good on the outside, there’s probably something fishy on the inside.”

“That sounds pretty cynical.”

“Hard lesson that has served me well,” he countered and pulled over to the side of the road. “I think driving a convertible is on your list.”

“It is?” she said as he cut the engine.

“Yep,” he said and got out of the car.

Amelia stared at the gear shift. He opened her car door expectantly. “I haven’t driven anything but an automatic.”

“Another thing to put on your list and mark off. Think of it as a test drive. You said you wanted a different car.”

“But this isn’t even your car. What if I leave the transmission in the middle of the road? This is a Porsche.”

“Ian won’t mind. He owes me a few favors. Scoot out, Magnolia. The secret to driving a straight is the clutch. No big deal.”

Amelia got out and with no small amount of trepidation, she climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted it to accommodate her shorter legs. He put his hand over hers to familiarize her with the position for changing gears.

She had to force herself to concentrate on his tutorial instead of on the way his hand swallowed hers in a gentle but firm way. The gear shift, stiff with a bulblike head, reminded her of—well, something besides a gear shift.

Jack spoke to her in a low, coaching voice, and her mind took a side-trip. She wondered what his voice sounded like when he got hot and bothered. She wondered what it would take to get him hot and bothered. Her peripheral gaze snagging on the sight of his hard thighs, she was pretty sure she would faint before she could find out if she had what it took to get him hot and bothered.

Feeling hot from more than the sun, she pulled her hand away from the gear shift for a second to push back a strand of her hair. She took a breath, then grasped the shift again. “Okay, this is Neutral, this is Reverse, Neutral, First, Second, Third and Fourth. I press the clutch and ease out when I change gears or stop.”

“When you stop, you hold in the clutch until you’re ready to accelerate again. Otherwise, the engine will die.”

“Okay, but if you need a whiplash collar after this, don’t come crying to me.”

“Go for it,” he said, smiling a little.

She started the engine and after nine attempts, she succeeded in getting the car from Neutral into First gear with only a few sputters and coughs.

Thrilled at her accomplishment, she glanced at Jack. “I did it! I did it.”

“Great. Now go for Second.”

She did, and soon enough they were flying down the highway toward Key West with the radio cranked up to the sound of The Rolling Stones. Jack’s choice, but she couldn’t fault it. With Jack beside her and Mick coaching her from the CD player, Amelia felt like she was headed down the road to perdition. It felt a lot better than it should.

CHAPTER FOUR

USEFUL AND AMUSING. That was Jack’s analysis of Magnolia. While he allowed Lillian Bellagio to wait for his response to her invitation, he wanted to gather as much information as possible about Bellagio’s grande dame. Of course, when his mother was alive, she’d only had bad things to say about Lillian. Although he knew he hadn’t escaped the bitterness she’d carried with her until she died, he’d moved on.

Having a mother addicted to meth had taught him early on that he wanted no part of the drug world. Instead of getting high after school or playing a sport, he’d worked. He’d wanted out of the bad neighborhood, away from the desperation and he would happily work 365 days a year to make it happen.

More than once before he’d graduated and left home, his mother had raided his earnings. It had taken him four years to earn enough money to buy his first business. Eight months later he sold it at a one hundred and twenty-three percent profit. Within a year, he’d caught the attention of Gig Marlin, a low-profile but highly profitable venture capitalist willing to share his knowledge, and Jack had started making money hand over fist.

Along the way, Jack had kept track of Bellagio and educated himself about the shoe business.

Every once in a while, he’d just gotten lucky, but most of his success had come from someone else’s lack of foresight or ineptitude and his ability to buy out of their weakness and sell into someone else’s greed. Fear and greed made the world go round, he’d discovered. Right now, Lillian Bellagio was probably sweating bullets from fear of what he could do to her and the Bellagio name.

Jack glanced over at Amelia as she fiercely gripped the steering wheel at the ten o’clock and four o’clock position, ever ready to reach for the clutch.

Her hair flying all over the place, she was so focused on the road ahead that she probably didn’t know her skirt had ridden above her knees. The wind whipped at it, giving him peeks of her pale thighs. The tops of her knees were pink, probably from exposure to the sun. She had incredibly fair skin. Further down, he caught sight of her painted pastel toenails and flip-flops that sported a pink sunflower.

He could see her hearth-and-home upbringing warring with ambition and desperation now that her marriage plans had fallen through.

Jack could tell exactly what she needed. She needed to untwist her panties and go a little wild, have some fun. Then she wouldn’t feel so sad about her loser fiancé. Jack could help with that in exchange for information about the Bellagios. As long as she didn’t ask too many pointed questions like she had earlier, both of them would enjoy the process.

Noticing that they were nearing Key West, he motioned. “Pull over, Earnhardt. I’ll take it from here.”

“Why? I like this,” she protested. “I can keep going.”

“You may not like it when you hit traffic, Magnolia. You’ll be using the clutch a lot more.”

Realization hit her face and she frowned. “In that case, you can have it,” she said and pulled to the side of the road.

He got out of his seat and stretched as he walked to the driver’s side of the car. Amelia stepped from the car and wove on her feet. He shot out his hands to steady her.

“Whoa. What’s up?”

She grinned, exhilaration flooding her face. “That was so cool,” she said.

Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks pink and she was licking her lips. She looked like she’d just had really good sex, he thought, and temptation rushed through him. He wondered how wild he could get her in bed. He might just find out after he’d gotten everything else he wanted from her.

TO EASE HER INTO KEY WEST mode, Jack bought her a margarita at an open bar, where they sat and did some people-watching. Afterward, they strolled through the Audubon House.

“Watches are outlawed down here,” he said, pointing to her wristwatch as she dawdled in the Audubon shop. “But we don’t want to miss the sundown celebration.”

“Okay. I’m just going to get a few of these for my dad. He loves birds,” she said and purchased several postcards.

She joined him in a fast walk to Mallory Square, passing by the sounds of Cuban and rhythm and blues music spilling from the bars. Food stands offered ice cream, drinks and hot dogs. A colorful array of characters filled Mallory Square, including a live tin man statue, a juggler and people hawking everything from hemp bracelets to hair braiding services.

“It’s like a carnival,” she said, doing a double-take when she spotted a guy with dreadlocks down to his hips.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Definitely not like your boss lady’s genteel home. No cucumber sandwiches here.”

Amelia smiled at his comparison. “She might be tough on the surface, but I think there’s more to her than the grande dame.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A few things she’s said. I won’t deny that she expects a certain performance level and good manners, but if you pass muster, I get the impression she can be a caring person.”

“Madame Bellagio—caring?” he repeated in disbelief.

“You shouldn’t be so prejudiced. Lillian really misses her son and hardly ever gets to see him. She doesn’t want to intrude in his life, but I can tell that it hurts her that he lives so far away and visits her so rarely. Just because she’s wealthy and she married one of the founders of one of the most successful shoe companies doesn’t mean she’s totally snooty.”

“It doesn’t?” he said, clearly fighting a grin as he rubbed his index finger over the edge of her nose.

“No, it doesn’t. Haven’t you heard that everyone is like a rainbow? More than one color? Some colors stronger than others?”

“No,” he said. “Did you learn that in Sunday School or Girl Scouts?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, forget it. You’re impossible.”

“Impossible, but accurate,” he said, slipping his hand around her elbow and guiding her toward the wrought iron fence at the edge of the Square. “Front row is standing room only, but it’s worth it.”

Leaning against the tall fence, she silently watched the orange ball of the sun dip below the horizon. She sighed at the beauty. “That was lovely,” she said, glancing at Jack. “Thank you.”

“There’s a custom,” he told her. “It’s like New Year’s Eve at midnight. You’re supposed to kiss at sundown.”

Quickly glancing around, she observed that no one else was kissing. She shot him a suspicious look. “And you also own some swamp land you’ll sell me at a discount?”

He laughed. “Had to try.” He circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger. “Come on, Magnolia. Let’s see if we can work off some of your tension.”

“I didn’t say I was tense.”

“Trust me, babe, your body is screaming it.”

She scowled at him. “I’m dressed in very casual, beachy attire.”

“But your panties are in such a twist you can barely walk.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “That’s not nice.”

“It’s not terminal,” he assured her and guided her into a bar. “What would you like?”

“I’ve already had a margarita,” she said, her internal caution light blinking on at the devil in Jack’s eyes.

“Then how about lemonade?” he asked. “I don’t need help from alcohol to turn you upside down.”

She opened her mouth in surprise, but couldn’t think of a reply. His expression took her breath away. “Lemonade,” she finally managed, much more breathlessly than she would have preferred.

He ordered two and they listened to the Lynrd Skynrd–style band for a while then got up to explore more. People from a jam-packed bar spilled into the street. She heard screams and catcalls. “What’s going on?”

“This may be too much for you,” Jack said.

She frowned at him. “Too much?” she echoed and walked to the edge of the crowd. Inside the bar, five well-endowed young women were sprayed with water, turning their T-shirts to transparent strips of cotton.

“I warned you,” Jack said and covered her eyes.

Morbidly curious, she brushed his hands away and stared at the spectacle. “Do they really not care that everyone can see…”

“Apparently not,” Jack said.

“We have a winner!” a man joining the women on the table called out. He lifted the buxom brunette’s hand. “Sidney from Maryland!”

“Sidney,” Amelia echoed, bitterness rising from the back of her throat as she recalled the name of the woman Will had left her for.

“You know her?” Jack asked in surprise.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, wanting to brush off her sudden heavy feelings of inadequacy and discontent. “I think I want that margarita now. Is there another bar around here?”

“Only about thirty. You gonna tell me what this is about?”

“It’s nothing. Can’t a girl have a margarita?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah,” he said. “Except you’re a terrible liar.”

“Does that mean I should practice?”

He shook his head. “No. Come on. Does this have something to do with your ex?” he asked as they walked.

“I don’t want to talk about it. This looks like a good place,” she added and ducked inside another bar.

“Hey, wait,” Jack called after her, but she disappeared into the crowd. Shrugging, Jack figured she needed her space, although he didn’t see how she was going to find any space here. The place was packed.

Leaning against the bar, he ordered a Corona with lime. As he half-watched the baseball game on the television, he glanced around the bar every now and then for Amelia. A couple of beach bunnies approached him and he amused himself by chatting with them for a few minutes.

But he kept checking around for Amelia. Just as he began to wonder if she was sick in the ladies’ room or something, he spotted her on the other side of the bar, cornered by two guys. The guy with a shaved head was touching her hair. The other appeared to be urging her to finish her drink.

When she tried to move away, the two men closed in even tighter. A surprising wave of protectiveness surged through Jack, and he wove through the crowded bar toward her.

“Hey, babe,” he said, “I was afraid I’d lost you. We’d better hit the road soon.”

One of the guys looked at him and shook his head. “You snooze, you lose. We’ve got dibs on this one,” he said in a slurred voice.

The other guy nodded. “Yeah.”

“Actually, I’m with him,” Amelia said and tried to move toward Jack.

The first guy blocked her again. “But, honey, we were just getting started. Bo and I were telling you what a good time we could show you.”

“She’s not interested, Curly and Bo, so leave her alone.”

The bald guy glared at him. “Butt out. If she’d wanted to be with you, then why was she alone?”

Growing impatient with the two, Jack cracked his knuckles behind his back. He’d knocked more than one drunk on his ass and he was pretty sure he could take these two, but he’d learned it was usually better to avoid fights if possible. Almost always less expensive.

“Sweetheart, you aren’t drinking alcohol, are you? You know what the doctor said about that,” he said to Amelia and watched her face turn blank.

The two men looked at him in confusion.

“I know you’re not showing yet, but you will be in a month or two, and you shouldn’t drink alcohol when you’re pregnant,” he continued, silently willing her to play along.

“Pregnant?” Curly echoed, looking slightly ill.

Bo stared at Amelia. “You don’t look pregnant.”

Meeting Jack’s gaze, Amelia put her hand over her stomach. “Twins,” she said. “Aren’t we lucky?”

The bald guy swore under his breath. “Twins,” he said in disgust. “You should wear a warning sign or something. C’mon, Bo.”

The moment the men were swallowed up by the crowd, Jack snagged her wrist and tugged her toward the door. “I think we’d better go before I have to mess up my hands.”

“Pregnant,” she said with a small smile. “My mother would be horrified.”

“Good thing she’s not here,” he said. “How did you get hooked up with those two?”

She shook her head. “All I did was walk out of the ladies’ room and they ambushed me.”

He sighed, stopping in the middle of the street. “It’s the way you look.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sweet, gullible, too polite to say no,” he clarified.

“I said ‘no, I need to go’ repeatedly.”

He shrugged, looking at her pink cheeks, blue eyes and angel blond hair. “You’re gonna have to learn how to put some stink in it or no one will believe you.”

“I shouldn’t have to take up kickboxing in order to make my point,” she said.

“No, but the pregnant scheme may not work all the time. And some guys are just too stupid to understand that a polite no is still a no. Pains me to say this, Magnolia, but one of the things you need to put on your list is learning how to be a little nasty when the occasion calls for it.”

She lifted her nose in distaste. “I realize I’m not as experienced as you are, but politeness has served me very well.”

“Like tonight?” he said.

She frowned at him. “This was an exception.”

“Life’s not a G-rated Disney movie. If anyone should know that, you should. Look at what happened with your Mr. Happily-Never-After. If you’re gonna step out of your little cocoon, you’re going to meet some people you like and some you don’t. It’ll go easier on you if you’re prepared to handle the rough ones.”

Jack stared at her for a long moment, feeling that unwelcome sense of protectiveness swell inside him again. He realized he’d just delivered a lecture. Swearing, he shook his head. “Hey, I’m not your father. Do what you want.” He gave a short laugh. “Maybe I should have left you alone with Curly and Bo.”

“No,” she said and looked away. “I think I could have gotten out of that situation, but it was getting uncomfortable. I appreciate you—helping me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “So who’s gonna help you when I make you uncomfortable?”

She gave a soft smile. “Oh, Jack. You’ve given yourself away. You’re a gentleman.”

He shook his head. “No one has ever accused me of that before, so I wouldn’t count on it.”

She just continued to smile, which irritated the hell out of him. “Come on,” he muttered. “You want to go to another bar?”

She shook her head. “Can we go in a few shops? I realize ‘shop’ is a four-letter word for most men—”

“I can handle it,” he said. “If I get lucky, I can watch you get a tattoo in a special place.”

“Not tonight,” she retorted and wandered into a tacky beach shop filled with T-shirts plastered with suggestions for sexual experimentation.

Laughing at her rounded eyes and red cheeks after she’d read a few, Jack followed her as she hot-footed it out of the shop. “Didn’t see anything you like?”

“No, thank you,” she said, carefully studying the window display of the next shop before peeking inside the door.

“It’s safe,” he said, unable to keep a hint of mockery from his voice.

Rolling her eyes at him, she walked inside and looked at the jewelry. Jack had found the previous store much more amusing, so after five minutes, he excused himself and went to the bar across the street where he could catch more of the ballgame. After half an inning, he strolled back to the shop, amazed to find her still studying the jewelry.

“You’re still here? You could have gotten a dozen piercings by now,” he said.

She bit her lip. “I’m just looking. It’s the first time I’ve shopped for jewelry without considering what Will would think.”

Her revelation made a knot form in his gut. Why? He couldn’t say. “What do you like?”

“I’ve always wanted an anklet, but I’m not sure I would wear it.”

He shrugged. “It’s not the Hope Diamond. Get it, try it. If you don’t like it, it’s no big deal.”

“I don’t know.”

Her hesitation tugged at something inside him. “Which are your top three favorites?”

“Um, that one,” she said, pointing to a sterling silver chain with tiny beads. “The one with the clam shells and the one with the daisies.”

“Okay,” he said and nodded toward the store clerk. “I’d like some anklets.”

“What?” Amelia stared at him. “You can’t get these for me.”

“Yes, I can. It’s not as if it they’ll break the bank,” he said.

“But—but—”

“Chill out, Magnolia. It’s not an engagement ring. This is faster, that’s all. At the rate it’s taking you to decide, we won’t get out of here until sundown tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll just take the one with daisies,” she said to the clerk.

“We’ll take all three,” Jack corrected and handed the clerk several bills. “You sure you don’t want to get that tattoo tonight? I can supervise.”

“I’m not getting a tattoo,” she said. “And I’m not comfortable with you buying these. It’s not appropriate for a woman to accept jewelry from a man she hardly knows.”

It took him a few seconds, but then he got the reason for her discomfort. She was afraid he was bartering anklets for sex with her. “Don’t you think a night of unbridled sex with you is worth more than forty-five bucks?” he asked in a low voice.

She sucked in a quick, shocked breath.

“I’m counting on it,” he said.

“I never said I was having sex with you,” she whispered.

Looking into her blue eyes and taking in the sight of her parted candy-apple lips, he made a decision. He was going to have Magnolia. Sometime, somehow and every way he could imagine. “But you will,” he said, because in this circumstance he considered it fair to warn her of his intentions.

“That’s very arrogant,” she said.

“Confident. There’s a big difference,” he told her, accepting the bag and pocketing his change. “Thanks,” he said to the cashier and turned back to Amelia. “You’ll understand it after you get to know me better.”

“What if I decide I don’t want to get to know you better?” she asked as they left the shop.

He stopped and met her gaze. “Are you saying you don’t?”

She opened her mouth and closed it, frowning. “Just because I find you interesting doesn’t mean I’m going to bed with you.”

“You will,” he said. “But don’t worry. Tonight’s not the night.”

DURING THE RETURN DRIVE to the Bellagio estate, Amelia’s mind wouldn’t stop whirling. She had hoped the rush of open air would clear her head and reduce Jack’s impact on her, but she couldn’t stop looking at his hands, and every once in a while when she inhaled, she caught a hint of his aftershave.

He was too cynical and too sure of himself. If that was all she knew of him, she could easily dismiss him, but the way he challenged her alternately bothered her and fascinated her. How could he be so wrong and so right at the same time?

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“I’m enjoying the ride.”

“Pissed,” he concluded, but didn’t appear overly concerned.

“I’m not pissed,” she corrected. “I’m uncomfortable.”

“Afraid of what I’m going to do? Or what you’re going to do?”

A sexy image of his hands sliding over her blew through her brain. She closed her eyes and shook off the picture. “Neither.” She leaned forward and turned on the CD player.

“Stones to the rescue,” he said when Mick Jagger’s voice blared out the speakers.

But only for a little while, she thought and tried not to imagine all the good kinds of trouble she could get into with Jack.

By the time he pulled the car near the gate of the Bellagio estate, she felt as if she were in a convertible wind-induced stupor. Zoned out.

Jack slowed to a stop and looked at her. “You okay?”

She nodded.

“Before you go, give me your foot,” he said.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I want to see one of those anklets on you and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be in town.”

Her stomach twisted and she felt an odd jab of distress. “You’re leaving?”

He shrugged. “Depends on how a deal I’m working on shakes out. So give me your foot.”

Reluctant but compelled, she shifted toward him and lifted her foot. He rested it on his thigh, drawing her attention to his crotch. She forced her gaze away, watching his hands as he pulled a chain from the paper bag.

He fastened the silver chain of shells around her ankle and looked at her. “Nice,” he said. “How do you like it?”

The sight of his tanned hand over her pale skin made her stomach jump. “Uh, it’s pretty.” She met his gaze. “Thank you.”

He eased her ankle down over his leg and took her hand, pulling her closer. “You can’t blame hurricanes tonight. Are you going to kiss me?” He rubbed his thumb beneath her chin. “You gonna kiss a coldhearted cynical sonuvabitch like me?”

“You’re not totally coldhearted,” she said.

“But I’m cynical as hell,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

“Yes, you are,” she conceded, his proximity stealing the oxygen from her lungs.

“And I’m a bastard,” he continued, sliding his thumb down her throat to her collar bone.

Her mouth went dry. “I wouldn’t have chosen that term.”

He chuckled, then lowered his head. “Do I turn you on, Magnolia?”

She bit her lip.

“You turn me on.”

She found that difficult to believe. “Why?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“I like your mouth,” he said, tugging on her lip with his thumb. “It’s pink. I like your body. You’re curvy.”

“I’m not thin.”

“I want to see you naked. I want to see your breasts. I want to see what color your nipples are and how they taste.”

Her temperature shot up so fast she felt like she had a sunburn all over.

“I like the color of your skin.”

“I’m too pale,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Not for what I have in mind.” He lowered his head again, his lips just inches from hers. “I make you hot, don’t I?”

She tried to turn away, but her body wasn’t following her feeble mental instructions.

“When are you going to take what you want?”

The fact that he didn’t push himself on her, but made himself oh, so available drove her a little crazy. It was like having a hot fudge sundae placed in front of her. All she had to do was pick up the spoon and that delicious dessert would be in her mouth.

One spoonful wouldn’t kill her, she thought, and lifted her mouth. She rubbed her lips against his and lifted her arms to his shoulders, then the back of his neck. She slid her tongue over his bottom lip and he immediately responded by cradling her head in his palms and tilting her mouth to one side for better access.

Lightly massaging her jaw, he suckled on her lips and thrust his tongue inside her mouth. She felt as if she were being sensually devoured by him, as if the tables had been turned and she was the hot fudge sundae and he wanted more than a bite.

She felt the tips of her breasts tighten. He slid one of his hands over her thigh and she felt an edgy restlessness between her legs.

Unable to resist the urge to squirm, she heard him mutter his approval. “Oh, you’re so hot. You feel so good.”

He trailed his fingertip down her neck to her collarbone, then lower, to the open neck of her shirt. He fingered the strap of her bathing suit at the same time as he slid his hand higher up her thigh, all the while stealing her breath and her sanity with kisses that grew longer and more sexual.

His fingers dipped closer and closer to her breast. If he didn’t touch her nipple, Amelia thought she would die. She arched against him, but still he didn’t quite—

She lifted her hands to the back of his head and gave him a no-holds barred kiss. His finger finally glanced her nipple and she moaned.

He touched her again and she shuddered. She felt him slide his other hand further between her legs. He skimmed his finger beneath the edge of her bathing suit, just inside her, and swore.

“Damn, you’re wet.” He rubbed his finger inside her and she felt her heart pound in her head with arousal.

“I want to get inside you and…”

The combination of his sex talk and the way he stroked her took her into a different dimension. The tension inside her tightened with shocking speed and when he rubbed her sweet spot, she went over the edge in a ragged burst that took her by surprise.

“Omigod,” she whispered, gasping desperately for a sliver of oxygen.

Jack swore under his breath. “Damn, you’re good. If we weren’t in this excuse for a car, I’d have you out of your clothes right now.”

It slowly dawned on Amelia that she had just had the most intense climax of her life on the side of the road, in a Porsche, with a man she hadn’t known more than a couple of days. Embarrassment seeped through her. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect that. It just—”

“Don’t apologize, Magnolia. Payback will be heaven.”

CHAPTER FIVE

JACK RECEIVED a second royal invitation from Queen Bellagio herself two days later. It was almost as if she’d known he wouldn’t cool his heels any longer to meet with her. When she’d cancelled their first meeting with a promise to reschedule, he’d debated heading back to Chicago, but had decided to give her a few more days. After all, he’d been waiting for this for thirty-one years. He could conduct business anywhere and Bellagio’s grande dame could be useful.

She hadn’t invited him to her home or to a restaurant in town. No. She still didn’t want the public to know of his existence, but it didn’t bother him. Jack was accustomed to being a dirty secret.

He researched the address she’d given him and learned it belonged to a cottage Lillian owned. She allowed a longtime friend to operate a catering business out of it.

Jack wore a Brooks Brothers suit that fit him perfectly due to his demanding tailor’s specifications, Bellagio shoes and a gold watch. Everything about the way he looked spelled success. He knew it because he had earned it, bought it and paid for it.

Arriving five minutes early for their appointment, he allowed himself to be led inside by a thin woman with iron gray hair and neutral gray eyes. She offered him tea, coffee or lemonade but he politely passed and wandered to the back verandah, where a table was set with a white tablecloth, fine china, crystal and sterling silver.

He couldn’t help thinking the plastic placemats and veneer table his mother had bought at a yard sale were worlds apart from this. He was worlds apart.

He’d been a scrawny, skinny, illegitimate Irish-Italian kid with a mother who favored illegal drugs over feeding and clothing him. Swearing under his breath at the beautifully tended hedges that provided privacy, he felt a sudden tightness in his chest—a suffocating sensation he’d felt too often when he’d been a kid.

Glancing at his watch and noting that Mrs. Bellagio was now fifteen minutes late, he decided to leave. The old bag would have to get her fun jerking some other poor fool’s chain. He headed for the front of the house in time to hear a car door close. Out the window, he saw the gray-haired woman embrace Lillian Bellagio and Lillian return the hug.

That surprised him. From what he’d heard about her, the southern belle who had captured the heart and bank account of Dario Bellagio would eat her young. Maybe that was why her son had moved to the west coast to pursue a career in research and education. Instead of joining the family shoe empire, Lillian’s precious son had turned up his nose at the idea of working for Bellagio, much to the grave disappointment of both Lillian and Dario.

“Life’s a bitch,” Jack muttered under his breath. “And I’m getting ready to meet the top she-dog of them all.”

He returned to the patio in the back and took a seat. Within a moment, Lillian, every white hair in place and dressed in a crisp navy dress, navy shoes and bag, stepped toward him.

He stood, but waited for Lillian to speak first.

“Jack, I’m Lillian Bellagio.” She extended her hand. “Please forgive my tardiness. I had to address an unexpected matter at home.”

He accepted her hand and gently shook it, looking into her eyes. She was warmer than he’d expected. His mother had always told him how cold she was.

“Forgiven,” he said, because her tardiness was the least of her sins. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

She gave a slight nod, as if she wasn’t sure she could say the same. “Please have a seat. Margaret will bring us tea. Or do you prefer coffee?”

“Coffee, thank you,” he said, sitting down.

“Margaret, darling, would you please get Mr. O’Connell some coffee? Would you like a cappuccino or latte?”

“Black will work,” he said, studying her. She had a fluid natural grace and at the same time she emanated good breeding and energy. Despite the fact that she was impeccably groomed, her facial features were anything but fixed. He would guess that she could be charming when she felt inclined.

He also knew she could get hostile when defending her turf. Talking with Amelia had given Jack a big advantage. He knew Lillian’s sore spot—her crushing disappointment that the heir she had produced for Bellagio had thumbed his nose at the family company and headed west. Worse yet, from what Amelia had told him, Junior only visited Lillian every other year at the most.

Margaret delivered coffee, tea and pastries on a tray. “Thank you, dear,” Lillian said and fixed her cup of tea. “That may still be a little too hot,” she murmured, then looked up at him and took a deep breath.

He felt her gaze travel from his hair to his eyebrows, lingering on his eyes, over his cheeks and nose, down to his mouth, chin and shoulders. Her expression was cool and assessing.

“You have the Bellagio hair, eyes and mouth.” Her mouth twisted in a half smile. “You did better in the height department than your father.”

“My mother’s brother and father were both over six feet tall.”

She nodded. “Then I suppose you can thank her for those genes.”

“A little late for that since she’s dead.”

She nodded, her smile fading, her mouth tightening. “So she is. Please accept my condolences.”

“I might,” he said, feeling a nick of impatience. “If I thought you were remotely sincere.”

She parted her lips in a half breath of surprise before she recovered. “My lack of affection for your mother is understandable.”

He nodded. “Is it understandable that you kept me from meeting my father?”

She looked down at her lap for a long moment. “Understandable, perhaps.” She picked up her cup and set it down. “Not forgivable.”

That was when he knew he had her. Lillian Bellagio felt guilty and needed to assuage that guilt. Jack knew exactly how to help her.

She took a small sip of her tea. “From what I’ve heard, it appears you may have inherited some of Dario’s business acumen.”

“I don’t know much about inheriting anything, Mrs. Bellagio, but I do understand hard work.”

“Jack, many people work hard. Very few reach your level, especially coming from your circumstances. Before I supported Marc Waterson’s proposal to the board that Bellagio agree to your offer to provide venture capital for the redesign of the men’s activewear shoe line, I made a few calls. I know your net worth, the deals you’ve made, your business associates, your friends and enemies and your real estate holdings.”

“What made you decide to vote in favor of accepting me as Bellagio’s money man?”

“Because I know you’re not nearly as detached as you present yourself. You’ve bought and sold a South American shoe company, I suspect for learning purposes. You’ve purchased an accessory line that has the potential to complement Bellagio’s existing products.” She smiled. “You also attended a workshop on how to make shoes. How did yours turn out?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised at her thorough investigation of him. “Not bad. I wear them around the house. Did you also learn how many cavities I’ve had filled?”

“If the gene gods were good and you brushed your teeth when you were a child, then you probably don’t have very many. Bellagios have great teeth. I don’t apologize for investigating you and your background.”

“What do you apologize for?”

She looked down, and the life seemed to drain from her face. “I could apologize that you didn’t benefit from the million dollars I gave your mother to go away. I thought she would give you up for adoption.”

“A million?” he echoed in disbelief. He’d known his mother had been paid off for Dario’s indiscretion, but he’d never known the exact amount. He vaguely remembered moving from a nice house to an apartment. A couple years later they’d moved into a worse neighborhood.

“She blew most of it the first three years, didn’t she?” Lillian asked.

He nodded. “I think so. She had some bad habits.”

“How did you manage to stay away from those habits?”

“I saw her crashing off the high often enough to know I didn’t want any part of it.”

“You could have announced who your father was a long time ago. Why have you waited? Why the secrecy?”

“Because I want to be more than an empty suit in those board meetings.”

“You want respect,” she concluded.

He shrugged because there was more involved than respect, but it wasn’t something he had ever said aloud.

“I’m ready to accept the consequences of the fact that my husband was your father.”

“You sure about that? The questions, the gossip and speculation.”

She lifted her cup of tea and sipped. “I don’t spend a lot of time in Atlanta these days. Aside from my charity work and attending board meetings, I spend most of my time here.”

“What about your reputation?”

She gave a wise woman’s smile. “You’re too young to know this, but upholding a reputation can be a strain at times.”

At that moment, he almost liked her. Almost. “Why didn’t you tell your husband about me?”

“I was young and terrified. Incredibly selfish. I couldn’t see past my fear. In some ways, vision improves with age.” She met his gaze. “What do you want from me?”

Part of him wanted to say nothing and let her simmer in her guilt for the rest of her life. But that wouldn’t serve his purpose, and Jack had learned through observation and experience that things turned out better for him when he let logic instead of emotion rule his choices. “I want a chance. You have a reputation for allowing different members of the board to vote your shares, depending on your mood. I imagine Marc Waterson or Alfredo Bellagio call you up and state their case and you decide which direction you’ll send your vote. I want a chance to win your vote.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Fair enough. You have your chance.”

THERE WAS A DOMESTIC disturbance at the Bellagio estate and its name was Brooke Tarantino. The DD was currently in the bathroom suffering the effects of multiple lectures and a terrible hangover.

Before she’d left, Lillian had given Amelia her assignment. “Watch over her. Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.” Amelia glanced at her watch. She hadn’t heard any moans or groans for a few minutes.

Amelia wasn’t exactly sure of the proper etiquette for watching over an heiress while she was in the bathroom. She knocked quietly on the door.

“Go away, Lillian!” Brooke yelled from the other side of the door. “If I get one more lecture from a Bellagio about what a disgrace I am, I’ll disgrace you all even more by jumping out the window.”

Whoooo, baby, Amelia thought. The DD was definitely alive. “Sorry,” Amelia said. “Not Lillian. Just checking to make sure you’re okay.”

Silence followed, then the door opened and Brooke, her auburn hair extensions matted on her head, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, her skin pale, stared at her. She looked Amelia up and down, her scowl softening only a millimeter. “Sorry, I thought you were Lillian.”

Amelia nodded. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

Brooke made a face. “I won’t be eating anytime soon.”

“Some cool bottled water, then? It might help you feel better. You’re probably dehydrated.”

Brooke nodded. “That sounds good.”

“If you wash your face and brush your teeth, that’ll help, too,” Amelia told her.

“Who are you? Some kind of Mary Poppins that’s been assigned to me, the devil child of the Bellagios?”

“I’m actually an employee of Bellagio on temporary assignment as Lillian’s assistant. She asked me to make sure you didn’t die.”

Brooke smiled. “Of course she did. Not good for the image for her great-niece to croak while under her care.” She gave Amelia another curious glance. “You look kinda junior league. In the market for a husband?”

“Not really.” Amelia wondered if she should be offended. My fiancé and I broke up recently.”

“Oh. Well, congratulations,” Brooke said. “I hear it’s always best to find out the guy’s a loser before you say ‘I do.’”

Amelia blinked. This was the first time she’d been congratulated for getting dumped. “I’ll get your water.”

“Thanks. I’ll wash my face, brush my teeth and put on my jammies.”

Amelia went downstairs to collect a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator.

The housekeeper appeared and shot her a wary look. “I’ll fix something for her, but I’m not taking it up to her room. The last time she was here, she threw a tray at me.”

“She’s not hungry,” Amelia said, wondering about the tray incident, but almost afraid to ask.

“She wasn’t hungry that time, either. Said she was on a hunger strike because her father wouldn’t buy a resort in Mexico for a boy she met on spring break. She said it would contribute in a positive way to the global economy. And you know she left her fiancé at the altar. Very nice young man, too. If you ask me, she’s a nutcase.”

“Wow,” Amelia said and gave a vague nod. She knew all about the way Brooke had left Walker Gordon at the altar because Amelia had worked with Trina, Walker’s new fiancée. She’d gotten the impression that neither Walker nor Trina held a grudge against Brooke. Both were just thankful to have found each other.

After being dumped herself, Amelia felt a lot of sympathy for Walker, but he didn’t seem at all unhappy with how things had turned out. She carried the bottles of water upstairs and entered Brooke’s suite to find the socialite sprawled on her bed with the remote in her hand. With all the residual make-up scrubbed from her face and dressed in a nightshirt, she looked like a young teenager surrounded by stuffed animals.

“Here you go,” Amelia said, handing Brooke one of the waters.

“Have a seat,” Brooke said, patting the bed. “E! is replaying the top fifty worst red carpet moments. We can mock all the stars.”

Amelia hesitated.

“Oh, come on,” Brooke said. “Think of it as educational. You never know when your photo will be snapped for a gossip magazine.”

Amelia tentatively sank onto the bed. “I’m pretty sure that’s not something I’ll have to worry about anytime soon.”

Brooke chugged her water. “Well, I do. That’s why I’ve been sent here to retirementville,” she said with a scowl. “A hundred other females on the beach in Rio went topless, but that cameraman had to find me. Had to put my picture on the front of that Spanish gossip magazine. You know it’s a slow day when they put my boobs on the front page.”

Brooke glanced at Amelia and rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t tell me I just offended your delicate sensibilities because I went topless on a beach in South America.”

Brooke lived in such a different world from hers that Amelia didn’t know how to respond. She chose the rational approach since she suspected Brooke might suffer from a shortage in that area. “A, I haven’t been to a topless beach. B, I’m not sure I would go topless because I burn like the dickens.”

“Dickens,” Brooke echoed and smiled. “I like that. Dickens.” She turned her attention back to the television. “Oh, look. Now there’s a role model for all women who have been dumped,” she said, pointing to the starlet on the screen. “I heard she got dumped by her boyfriend and started dating a male model within two weeks. And the lesson is?”

Amelia had no idea. “Date male models?”

“No. If you’ve been dumped, always do the next cute guy you meet. It reestablishes the natural order of the universe.”

Amelia opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of a suitable reply.

Brooke chugged both bottles of water and offered various platitudes until, like a little kid who needed a nap, she hugged an extra pillow against her and fell asleep.

Amelia collected the empty water bottles, turned off the television and quietly left the room. After she ditched the plastic bottles, Lillian’s voice stopped her.

“Good evening, Amelia.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Bellagio,” she responded, turning toward her temporary boss.

“Did Brooke cause trouble this afternoon?”

“No, ma’am. She didn’t eat anything, but I did get her to drink some water. She watched some television and fell asleep.”

Lillian sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I just don’t know what we’re going to do with her. She doesn’t seem to grasp the responsibilities of being a Bellagio. When she became engaged, we were hoping she would settle down, but that just wasn’t to be.”

“She’s very personable,” Amelia said, feeling the need, for some undetermined reason, to say something positive about Brooke.

“She didn’t insult you?” Lillian asked in surprise.

Amelia supposed she could have been insulted by the topless comment or the junior league statement, but she’d been too busy trying to remain neutral. “She was friendly. She invited me to watch television with her.”

“I’m sure that was enriching,” Lillian said in a dry tone. “If she were just a little more levelheaded and practical, like you, I don’t think she would get into so much trouble.” Lillian studied Amelia for a long moment. “Perhaps if you could spend some time with her. Mentor her—”

“Mentor?” Amelia echoed, her self-protective instincts raging. “I don’t think I would be a good person for that. I’m not sure I could teach her anything. Plus, mentoring suggests that the mentee actually wants to learn something from the mentor. On top of that, Brooke is much more worldly than I am.”

“But that’s part of the problem. She needs a different perspective. She needs to be with different people, sensible people.”

“You fit that bill,” Amelia said. “You’re her great-aunt. You’re the perfect person for that.”

“In other circumstances. But Brooke thinks I’m an irrelevant old bag.”

“After our first meeting, I don’t think she views me as particularly relevant, either.”

“I’ll give you a bonus,” Lillian said.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll give you a bonus if you’ll help Brooke.”

The woman was desperate. Amelia suspected that Lillian Bellagio was rarely desperate. Amelia also understood her own limitations. “Mrs. Bellagio, as much as I would like to help you, I absolutely do not want the future of my career at Bellagio affected or determined by Brooke Tarantino. I would be horrified if she did something on my clock that upset you or the rest of her family.”

“How about if you just take her to lunch a couple of times, spend an hour or so with her a few afternoons? I won’t hold you responsible for anything she does,” Lillian promised. “This will just be part of your duties and I’ll make sure you have extra time off. There, that’s much better, isn’t it? We can discuss it more thoroughly in the morning. Enjoy your evening, dear.”

Amelia caught a wisp of Lillian’s Chanel Number 5 as the woman whirled away. As she slowly walked toward her own suite, Amelia couldn’t help feeling a big fat knot of dread in her stomach.

It was obvious that all the Bellagios knew that Brooke wasn’t just a ticking time bomb. She was a truckful of ticking time bombs, a caravan of trucks of ticking time bombs.

Maybe this gig down in the Florida Keys hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Amelia entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. On the dresser, a light flashed from her cell phone. She picked it up and listened to the message.

“It’s Jack. I’m still here if you want to get together. Give me a call.”

Her heart jumped at the sound of his voice. Lillian’s description of her echoed in her head. Levelheaded, practical, sensible.

A woman who fit that description would never return Jack’s call.

Amelia counted to ten for her sanity check, then dialed his number.

CHAPTER SIX

“I’VE DECIDED THEY’RE aliens,” Amelia said to Jack as they walked the private man-made beach outside the condo where he was staying. She was ridiculously happy that he hadn’t left and she’d nearly had to tie her hands behind her back to keep from wrapping her arms around him and hugging him when he’d driven up to the estate. He probably would have looked at her as if she were the alien.

Jack laughed. “Who? The Bellagios?”

Amelia nodded. “They look human, normal, even beautiful on the outside, but on the inside they’re aliens. What am I supposed to do with Brooke Tarantino that someone else hasn’t tried?”

“I don’t know. Teach her something she hasn’t learned.”

“She’s an heiress. What have I possibly done that she hasn’t?”

“Stayed out of trouble. Lived within a budget.”

Amelia threw him a dark look. “She doesn’t appear interested in learning how to do either of those things.”

“Well, what about all that domestic stuff your mother taught you when you were growing up? Cooking, being polite, knitting.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll tell you what you could teach Brooke that she hasn’t learned. How to keep a low profile.”

Amelia thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Knitting,” she said. “Do you really think it would be a good idea to give that woman sharp instruments?”

“Afraid the alien will come after you?” he teased.

“Or Lillian. They hate each other.”

“Really?” he asked. “Strong word.”

“Maybe not hate, but I am definitely not feeling the warmth from either of them. More like resentment from Brooke and desperation from Lillian.”

“Desperation?”

“I know,” she said. “I never would have associated that word with her, but I saw it in her eyes. I almost wish I could help, but this one is definitely beyond me.”

“You’ll figure something out. So what have you crossed off your list since the last time I saw you?”

“Nothing, really,” she admitted reluctantly. “But it seems like I often cross off several things when I’m with you.”

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