Seize the Night

INTERNATIONAL bestselling author

Tiffany Reisz

Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women

Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon

www.millsandboon.co.uk/Cosmo

Dedication

To Mrs. Colvin, my freshman high school English teacher,

who introduced me to Romeo, Juliet, Paris, The Nurse

and (of course) the one and only Mercutio.

Shakespeare and I have been star-crossed lovers ever since…

About the Author

TIFFANY REISZ is an award-winning and internationally

bestselling author of The Original Sinners series (Mills & Boon Spice).

When she’s not writing scandalous tales about naughty priests and

quirky dominatrices, she’s doing sordid things to Shakespeare plays.

She lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her fiancé and two weird cats. Contact her at tiffany@tiffanyreisz.com if you dare.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed Misbehaving, my first Cosmopolitan Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon story. Now I’m back with Seize the Night, a new sexy Shakespeare retelling for your reading pleasure.

When Mills & Boon asked me for a second Cosmopolitan Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon story, I went for a long bike ride to think about what I should write. Since Misbehaving was a modern erotic update of the comedy Much Ado About Nothing, maybe I’d try my hand at retelling a tragedy. There’s no more famous romance in the history of English literature than the one between Romeo and Juliet. I live in Lexington, Kentucky, also known as the “Horse Capital of the World,” and as I rode, I saw horses everywhere. There’s lots of drama in horse racing, lots of money, beauty and romance, too. Could I update Romeo and Juliet to fit into this world? Of course I could! I took out the death, added a lot of sex, set it among two rival horse-racing families, threw in a happy ending and turned Mercutio’s infamous line “A plague on both your houses” into my Merrick’s “A plague on both your horses!”

What can I say? I was an English major. This is how I put my degree to use.

Friends, Romans, Mills & Boon readers, lend me your eyes. I give you the story of Remi O. Montgomery, manager of Arden Farms, and her star-crossed love affair with Julien Brite of Capital Hills Farms.

Happy reading!

Tiffany Reisz

PS Fans of my Original Sinners series will catch a few inside jokes. Sorry Wesley couldn’t come to the party. He was busy up north with a certain green-eyed Damn Yankee of our acquaintance.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Dear Reader

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter One

The Winner’s Circle

The boy in blue started the fight but the boy in red finished it. Swearing turned to yelling, which led to shoving and punching within seconds. Remi fished her phone out of her messenger bag, called the security office, and two minutes later the fight was over. Both young men—college kids by the looks of them—were being escorted away. Too much alcohol and testosterone. Too little good sense.

Remi felt the needle prick of her conscience. She couldn’t judge them, tempting as it was. She’d been that age not too long ago, and she remembered being that stupid. Remembered it all too well.

Still, it made no sense to her. Two guys in opposing jerseys fighting at a football game would hardly have been a surprise. Or even a baseball or a basketball game. But this was Verona Downs. When did college boys start getting into fistfights over racehorses? Bizarre. Bizarre was the only word for it.

Bizarre was also the only word for the man who entered the grandstand and strode toward Remi’s seat. He wore all black, as usual. His slacks, his button-down shirt (untucked, of course), leather bracelets on both wrists, shoes, socks and underwear (if he did, in fact, wear underwear), and sunglasses were all black. Under the black sunglasses lurked intelligent blue eyes usually narrowed in suspicion or derision. Most of the women in the stands watched his progress. She didn’t blame them. He was in his mid-thirties, annoyingly handsome and wasn’t smiling. He had an “I can’t wait to rock your world in bed and then make you regret you ever met me” look about him. Women fell for that look often. She hadn’t. She had zero desire to sleep with him. He was Merrick Feingold. Unlike the women who were lusting at him at this moment, Remi had met him.

“Why, pray tell, am I sitting among the plebeians?” Merrick asked as he took his seat next to her. They must have made an odd pair—him in his mysterious all-black attire and she in faded jeans, a tailored plaid shirt and cowboy boots. He looked like a rock star while she tended toward stable girl.

“This is not ancient Rome, and these are not plebeians. These are people just like us,” Remi said as she made a notation in her leather journal. “And you’re sitting here because your boss wants your sunshiny self sitting right next to her.”

“We have that nice Arden Farms private box right over there,” Merrick said, pointing at the clubhouse balcony section where all the horse owners had private air-conditioned boxes. “This ‘man of the people’ routine of yours is infringing on my creature comforts.”

“This is not a ‘man of the people’ routine,” Remi said. “First of all, I am the people, not of the people. We are people. Second, I am not a man.”

“Prove it,” Merrick said.

“Do I look like a man to you?”

“No. You look like a hot blonde with spectacular tits, which are probably fake, since for all I know, you might be a man.”

“I’m not sleeping with you. I’m your employer. You are my assistant.”

“Until I see you naked I won’t know if you’re actually a man or a woman. It’s like Schrödinger’s Pussy.”

“You just used quantum physics to hit on me. I’m almost impressed.”

“Impressed enough to sleep with me?” Merrick asked.

“No.”

Merrick shrugged. He seemed philosophical about her refusal and not the least disappointed. For all his quantum flirting, Merrick’s interest in her was merely mechanical. And she had no interest in him at all. She was twenty-six and he was thirty-six. To her Merrick was like an older brother. An older brother she paid to do whatever she told him to do. The best sort of older brother. The type she could fire.

Remi’s cell phone buzzed in her bag. She dug it out and looked at the name. Now she remembered why she’d hired Merrick.

“Ugh. Help. It’s Brian Roseland.” Remi handed the phone to Merrick.

“You want me to do the thing?” he asked.

“Please and thank you.”

“Yell-o?” Merrick said, taking the call for her. “No, Remi’s not here right now. She’s on a date.”

Remi covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Her? On a date on a Thursday afternoon? Good thing Merrick was a better liar than she was.

“She’s been gone all week, Mr. Roseland,” Merrick said. “It’s that kind of date. One with traveling and exotic locations and them sticking body parts into each other.”

Remi grabbed for the phone. Merrick jerked it away.

“But I’ll tell her you called once she gets back from her weeklong exotic-locale sex date.” Merrick tugged her ponytail to annoy her. It worked.

Then he ended the call and handed her the phone.

“I told Roseland you were on an exotic-locale weeklong sex date,” Merrick said.

“Yes, I heard that part. Did you have to go into that much detail?” she demanded.

“Look, Boss,” Merrick said, “either learn how to lie to people or leave me alone when you make me do your lying for you.”

“Fine. Thank you for getting rid of him. Third time he’s called me this week,” she said. “Maybe if he thinks I’m on a date he’ll finally get the hint that it’s completely over.”

Remi dropped her phone back in her bag just as the post parade began. The outriders trotted alongside the jockeys astride their racehorses. Her own Arden Farms jockey, Mike Alvarez, in his red-and-white silks, threw a smile at the crowd as he and their three-year-old filly Shenanigans passed the grandstand.

“Boss, are you ever going to tell me why you dumped Roseland?” Merrick asked, as she made a note in her journal.

“Never.”

“Please? I’ll whimper. Don’t make me whimper.” He whimpered.

“Do you really care?” she asked. “Or is this just perverse curiosity about my sex life?”

“I care desperately in a perversely curious-about-your-sex-life way,” Merrick said. “You never tell me anything about your personal life. You don’t hit on me. You ignore me when I hit on you. You keep our work relationship professional no matter how hard I try to make it unprofessional. It’s like you have integrity or something, and quite frankly, I’m sick of it.”

Remi closed her journal.

“If I tell you, will you shut up for two whole minutes during the race?”

“Two minutes? I can do that. Talk,” Merrick ordered.

“When I started dating the handsome Mr. Roseland, I thought he was a really nice guy,” she began.

“No wonder you dumped him,” Merrick said. She glowered at him. He whimpered in response.

“I happen to like nice guys,” she said, and a face from her past flashed in front of her eyes. A young, handsome, smiling face—near-black eyes, dark red hair, a smile both sweet and striking. She kicked the memory out of her mind—a futile gesture. She knew it would only gallop back in her brain. “In fact, I love nice guys. It just turned out Brian wasn’t a nice guy.”

Merrick pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head and stared at her.

“If he hurt you, you tell me right now, Remi,” he said. He only called her Remi in his rare moods of deadly seriousness. He’d probably called her by her first name all of twice in two years. The rest of the time she was just “Boss.” “If he got rough with you I will get rough with him. That prick can watch the horses race from his boxed seats in Hell.”

She shook her head.

“No, he didn’t hurt me,” she said, touched by Merrick’s devotion. They harassed and insulted each other, but at the heart of their working relationship was a solid core of respect and loyalty. And near-constant exasperation on her part. “I promise. I’d kick his ass if he tried. It was just that... So three months ago, Brian and I were...you know...”

“Twerking?”

“Fucking. And the condom broke. I’m on birth control, but I still panicked. Abject white-knuckle panic.”

“Is Roseland a heroin addict?”

“Clean as a whistle and so am I. But even the thought of having a baby with Brian terrified me. I couldn’t imagine spending Christmas with him, much less marrying him and having kids. It was a horrible thought. So we broke up.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, but the break-up had been anything but matter-of-fact. Brian had been furious and accusatory, demanding to know if she was cheating on him. He’d been so bitterly angry he’d scared her, and from that moment on, she had refused to see him or speak to him. His ensuing profanity-laden tantrum had proven that her instincts to dump him had been dead-on.

“That’s the whole story?” Merrick asked, sounding skeptical.

“That’s it. I broke up with him. He threw a hissy fit about it. The end.”

“Well, you are easily the second or third most beautiful woman in north-central Kentucky.”

“Thank you for that regionally specific compliment,” she said. “Now shut up. It’s post time.”

Merrick went silent as all six horses were slotted into the starting gate. Any second now the bell would ring and the horses would burst from the gates. It was just an ordinary race on a Thursday afternoon at Verona Downs. Not even a stakes race. And yet it looked like the Kentucky Derby for all the press there and the grandstand packed with fans. At least fifty people had brought homemade signs that bore the words, I Call Shenanigans! Did these people not realize that horses, unlike football or baseball players, could not read?

Remi held her breath.

The bell rang, and the horses exploded down the track in a furor of pounding hooves and streaming colors. The crowd around them cheered and clapped and roared. She and Merrick watched the race in silence.

After two minutes and a mile and a half had passed, Shenanigans of Arden Farms was declared the unofficial winner. Remi should have been happy that their champion filly had won the race. A nice purse, a sweet victory, another trophy in the trophy room...

“You don’t look happy, Bubbalah,” Merrick said and put two fingers on either side of her face, forcing her lips into a smile. She gave him the most glaring of death glares. “Your little pony won her race. Smile like you mean it.”

The outrider led Mike and Shenanigans on a victory lap.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Thank God,” Merrick said, as they stood up. “I’m starting to sweat. It’s October. I don’t let myself sweat in October.”

She grabbed her things, and Merrick let her out into the aisle. He followed behind her as she strode to the rails.

“Have you noticed anything weird here lately?” she asked him.

“Yes. Definitely. What the hell does that woman have on top of her head? A sailboat?” He pointed at a lady walking past their section. “Ahoy there!” he shouted at the woman in the white hat with the voluminous veil. “No one can see over your damn schooner! Full steam ahead!”

“Merrick, please behave yourself.”

“Why? You’re in the cheap seats. Nobody knows that YOU’RE REMI MONTGOMERY AND YOUR FAMILY OWNS SHENANIGANS, THE WINNING HORSE.” Merrick spoke so loudly everyone in a twenty-yard radius heard him. Of course they did.

“And you wonder why I won’t ever sleep with you,” she whispered to him.

“AND YOU AND I AREN’T SLEEPING TOGETHER,” Merrick said, still in his obnoxious booming voice. Everyone in the grandstands stared at them as they walked down to the viewing area in front of the track.

“Remind me why I hired you again.” Remi slid her bag over her shoulder as they headed to the clubhouse.

“Because you wanted someone outside the racing industry who didn’t give a fuck about horse racing to be your assistant. Also I’m brilliant and the sexiest man alive.”

“Two out of three ain’t bad. Come here, I want to show you something,” she said, pausing at the track to watch the jockey weigh-in. The results of the race wouldn’t be official until the jockeys were weighed.

“Finally. But let’s find a stall so we can have some privacy for our first time. I want it to be as awkward and uncomfortable as possible for the both of us.”

She opened her bag and handed him a magazine.

“Wow,” Merrick said, a word she’d never heard pass his lips before. Merrick was not easily impressed. “You don’t see horses on the cover of Sports Illustrated very often. Then again, I only ‘read’ the swimsuit issue.”

Remi stood next to him as they stared at the cover—Shenanigans, her family’s chestnut filly, and Hijinks, the Capital Hills colt, barreled down the center of the Verona Downs track toward the camera. The picture had been snapped in the final stretch of the Lexington Stakes—a glorious action shot of two beautiful beasts running their guts out.

“Look at that headline. The New Civil War—Hijinks Versus Shenanigans in the Horse Racing Rivalry of the Century,” Remi read aloud, trying not to roll her eyes at the hyperbole. “They called us the Hatfields and McCoys of horse racing.”

“That’ll sell some T-shirts.” Merrick handed her the magazine.

“This article is ridiculous,” Remi said, flipping through the pages. “It’s all about the vicious rivalry between Arden Farms and Capital Hills—two of the oldest Kentucky horse farms. Everyone’s picking a side—Team Shenanigans versus Team Hijinks.”

“I’m still Team Edward.”

“I saw a fight today right by the rails. It was between two guys, one wearing an Arden shirt, the other guy in a Capital Hills shirt. After this feature, the entire racing world will be betting on Shenanigans and Hijinks. They’re even selling Hijinks and Shenanigans stuffed animals..”

“Now that’s just sick.”

“Tell me about it. These horses are turning into money trees.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Shenanigans is your family’s horse,” he reminded her. “More notoriety, better attendance, better press, more money, more money for me, your faithful assistant who deserves a raise. Should I write this down for you?”

“Write this down for me,” she said, handing Merrick a pen and her journal. “One hundred million and two hundred million. Got it?”

He held up the page where he’d written the figures. “So?”

“One hundred million is how much money is bet on the Kentucky Derby. Two hundred million is how much is bet on the Breeders’ Cup.”

“And I wrote them down why?”

Remi shook her head and turned to the Winner’s Circle. Her mother and father stood next to Shenanigans while the assembled press frantically took pictures.

“You wrote them down because I want you to see how much money there is in horse racing.”

“Fine. I’ll buy a goddamn pony.”

“I wouldn’t trust you with a goldfish, Merrick. That’s not my point,” Remi said.

“What’s your point then?”

She exhaled hard and shook her head. She’d been dreading this question, because she’d been dreading the answer to it. Still, Merrick was the one person in her life she trusted right now, so she thought she might as well tell him.

“My parents bought a new farm a couple months ago,” she said. “Satellite Farm—five hundred acres.”

“So?”

“They paid cash for it. Ten million dollars. We shouldn’t have had ten million dollars in cash lying around.”

“And?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But we shouldn’t have that much money lying around. Capital Hills seems to have had a windfall, too. The auctions were this week—they dropped ten million the first three days.”

“Damn.”

“That’s kind of a coincidence, isn’t it? They suddenly have ten million dollars? We suddenly have ten million dollars?”

“A slightly suspicious coincidence,” Merrick said, narrowing his eyes at her parents.

“That’s what I was thinking. Three months ago Dad changed the passwords on the bank accounts. I can’t see how much money we have anymore. I told him a while ago to hire a new accountant, and that was his excuse—new guy, new passwords. Don’t worry my pretty little head about it.”

“Your pretty little head looks worried.”

“Rivalries always make for money and headlines. But, Merrick, I don’t know. Something doesn’t smell right about this. And trust me, my family and the Capital Hills family aren’t in anything together. They hate each other.”

“I’ve noticed that.”

“But still, I think someone at Arden and someone at Capital Hill might be stoking this rivalry in the press for a reason.”

“What reason?” Merrick asked. “Money?”

“Is there any other reason?” Remi asked, feeling sick to her stomach even saying that much. “Tyson Balt was at our house last night.”

“He owns Verona Downs, right? VD for short? He really should have rethought that name. What about him?”

“Balt’s been promoting the hell out of the Verona Downs Stakes race. Shenanigans and Hijinks are the two favorites already.”

“You think your family is getting the money from Balt?”

“Something’s not right” was all she would say.

Merrick pursed his lips and whistled.

“I don’t have the evidence yet. It’s only a hunch,” Remi said.

“You really want to dig this hole? You might end up falling into it, Boss.”

“I know,” she said, her stomach tightening. “But if my hunch is right, there’s a fraud being perpetuated here at Verona. I can’t look the other way even if my own family is involved. This farm has been my life for twenty-six years. I’m not going to let them fuck it up.”

“We should talk to someone at Capital Hills. What’s their name? The Brites?” Merrick asked.

Remi swallowed. Heat rushed to her face.

“Yes,” she said, her voice neutral. “The Capital Hills farm has been in the Brite family for 150 years.”

“The parents are out since they’re probably in on this, whatever it is,” Merrick said. “And we can’t talk to the daughters. I banged two out of three of them and didn’t call after.”

“Wait. When did that happen?”

“What was that thing with the big hats you dragged me to in May?”

“The Kentucky Derby?”

“That.”

“You had a threesome with two of the three Brite daughters at the Kentucky Derby?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“This is why I can’t take you anywhere. Okay, so the sisters are out.”

“Two out of three are. Anyone else?” Merrick asked. “A trainer maybe? Maybe we can find a stable boy you can bat your tits and flash your eyelashes at.”

“I doubt a groom would know anything.”

“A higher-up, then? A secretary?”

Remi shifted uncomfortably as her parents smiled for the dozens of cameras in the Winner’s Circle. Even Shenanigans seemed to be smiling.

“Well...I guess we can talk to Julien Brite,” Remi said and a tiny tremor passed through her body as his name passed her lips.

“Which one’s Julien?”

“Julien is the son. He’s the youngest in the family.”

“Never heard of him,” Merrick said.

“He’s not in the business,” Remi said. “Not sure why. I don’t even know where he lives now.”

“You know him?”

“Sort of.”

Merrick narrowed his eyes at her. “You sort of know him? Can you trust him?”

“He’s the only member of the Brite family who doesn’t hate me. I think.”

“He sounds like our guy, then. You want to find him and go talk to him about this stupid rivalry?”

“Oh, he already knows about the rivalry,” Remi said with a heavy sigh. “But yes, he’s probably the only one in the Brite family we can talk to.”

“I’ll find his number,” Merrick said. “We can call him.”

“No calls,” she said, making the decision at once. “On the off chance he does hate me, let’s not give him a reason to hang up on us.”

Remi stepped away from the rails and headed toward the clubhouse.

“So we show up on his doorstep and beg for help?”

“Can you find his doorstep for me? I’ll do the begging.”

“On it, Boss. But if Julien isn’t involved in the business, how do you know he knows anything about the rivalry?” Merrick asked. The crowd ahead parted for them. The people in the grandstand might not have known who she and Merrick were, but the clubhouse crowd certainly did. Tyson Balt, the owner of Verona Downs, eyed her warily. The feeling was entirely mutual. And up in the boxes she saw Mr. and Mrs. Brite giving an interview to a reporter as a camera recorded their every word. She glanced up at them. They glared down at her with unmistakable loathing.

“Because,” Remi sighed, “four years ago, Julien and I accidentally started it.”

Chapter Two

Vive La France

On Friday morning, Remi and Merrick boarded an airplane. Halfway through the flight Remi realized she’d been digging her hand into Merrick’s knee for the past two hours. Flying didn’t scare her. She’d spent too many years on the back of high-jumping horses to be afraid of a little altitude. But even after four hours of smooth sailing, Remi remained a rapidly fraying knot of tension.

“Boss? You okay?” Merrick asked as he signaled the flight attendant for another drink. He was having way too much fun in first class, much more fun than she was. “I mean, I don’t mind that you’re squeezing my knee so hard I can’t feel my calf, but there are other body parts I could direct your attention to, if you’re interested.”

“Steady as she goes.” Remi took the vodka out of his hand and chugged it.

“Whoa, Nellie.” Merrick grabbed it back. “We’ve got five hours left on this flight.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Take it. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you seem real fucking fine. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re the world’s worst liar?” Merrick asked. “You’re stressed about seeing this Julien guy again. Yes?”

“A smidge,” she said. “A skosh.”

“Are you going to tell me why?”

She shook her head. “Not if you won’t let me have your vodka.”

He gave her the vodka. “Sip it and talk. You can’t say something like ‘Julien and I started this rivalry’ and sashay off all dramatic-like without telling me the story.”

“It’s a humiliating story,” Remi said.

“Miss?” Merrick addressed the passing flight attendant. “I’m going to need some popcorn.”

“Merrick.”

“Talk,” he said. “And don’t leave out any juicy details.”

“I’m leaving out all the juicy details,” she said. “You get the bare bones.”

“Is there boning involved in the bare bones?”

“Near boning,” she said, wincing. She took a steadying breath and focused her attention on the hum of the airplane engines. It comforted her, the sound of the engines reminding her she was thousands of miles and years away from the time and place of her greatest humiliation.

“Go on...” Merrick said.

“This was back when I was in college—just graduated, actually. Winter graduation. I’d come home for Christmas, and Mom and Dad dragged me to a big Christmas party at The Rails.”

“That’s that huge horse farm in Versailles, yes?”

“Yes, bigger than Capital Hills and Arden put together.”

“Got it. So it’s Christmas. It’s a party. You’re what? Twenty-one?” Merrick asked.

“Twenty-two,” she said. “It was a formal party, so I had an excuse to buy an awesome dress. Jade strappy thing.”

“Did it make your tits look good?”

“You could have seen them from space,” she said.

“I approve. Continue, please.”

“Anyway,” she said and paused to sip Merrick’s vodka. She hated the stuff but needed a little liquid fortification. “I was there about an hour before I saw this gorgeous guy. He was standing on the other side of the room talking to a big, hotshot Kentucky basketball player. So I assumed he was a University of Kentucky student, probably a freshman. He was drinking a glass of white wine, and he looked so handsome in his tuxedo. He had messy red hair. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”

“Gross.”

“Do you want to hear this story or not?”

“Tell.”

“Julien was so beautiful that I had to chug a whole glass of wine just to work up the courage to go talk to him.”

“And you did, and he was smart and funny and nice and all that boring shit women love?”

“All that and more,” Remi said. “We walked through the house together. Gorgeous house. Every room decorated in a different Christmas theme. It was like something out of a fairy tale or a movie. I’d never seen anything like it, never felt anything like it. The night was perfect. Ever have a moment so perfect that you know you’ll remember it the rest of your life while you’re still living in the moment?”

“Never,” Merrick said. “But it’s a good dream. Too bad dreams lie.”

“It felt like a dream, but it wasn’t. This was real.”

Remi closed her eyes and found herself once more in that house on that night. She and Julien stood by the fireplace mantel lined with a dozen yellow candles in antique brass candleholders. The room was filled with antique toys and a tree that soared all the way to the cathedral ceiling. The silver and gold stars on the tree reflected the dancing light from the fireplace. She’d never been the sort of girl who believed in love at first sight. And then she met Julien and that night, that one perfect night, she believed.

“This guy must have been special,” Merrick said.

“I thought he could be.” Remi knew she was the world’s worst liar. Might as well tell the truth. “I didn’t know how special he was, because he only told me his first name—Julien. We talked about everything and nothing. I don’t even remember what we talked about except that he made me laugh and asked me questions like he wanted to know everything about me. Before I knew it, there we were, standing under the mistletoe.”

“Best kiss ever?” Merrick asked.

“Best kiss ever,” she agreed, remembering how Julien’s lips had shivered lightly at the first gentle contact. The gentleness quickly turned to passion, and before she knew it, her arms were around his back and his mouth was on her neck, at her ear, at her throat. Every Christmas since then she’d thought of Julien. The lights, the tree, the scent of pine and candles brought the memories back. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t imagine spending Christmas with Brian Roseland. Christmas was already claimed by Julien and that one perfect night he’d been everything she’d wanted but never thought to ask for.

“I’m guessing the inevitable happened,” Merrick said.

“We found an empty guest room. I thought I remembered locking the door behind us.”

Merrick cringed. “I see where this is going...”

Remi nodded, her face flushing at the memory.

“We kissed for a long time. Julien seemed a little nervous, and I didn’t want to rush things since we’d just met. But then he unzipped the back of my dress and I unbuttoned his shirt...and his pants...and then.”

“And then?”

“And then while things were happening, he said something weird and I stopped.”

“Weird? What? Did he deny the Holocaust or something?”

“He said...‘This feels better than I ever dreamt it would.’”

Merrick cocked his head to the side.

“Ever dreamt it would? You mean he’d never had a girl do the thing on him before? I assume you were doing the thing.”

“Oh, yeah. I was doing the thing. With gusto. And when he intimated that no woman had ever done the thing on him before, I sobered up and asked him how old he was.”

“Oh fuck,” Merrick said.

“Merrick, I was half naked on a bed with the virginal barely-seventeen-year-old son of one of the most powerful families in Thoroughbred racing.”

“Oops.”

“Two seconds after I told him we had to stop, the door opened. My dress was down, his jacket was off, his shirt was open, his pants were unzipped...and his mother saw it all.”

Merrick’s eyes went comically wide. Remi would have laughed but for the pain the memory still caused her.

“How bad was it?” Merrick asked. She appreciated that he seemed to understand the gravity of the situation instead of making Mrs. Robinson jokes.

“Bad. Julien’s mom had had a little too much Christmas punch. It turned into a screaming match that everyone at the party heard.”

“Oh, that’s bad.”

“Very bad. My parents showed up and started defending me. His parents called me every ugly name in the book. My father told Julien’s father, ‘Sir, control your wife.’ And five minutes later, my father and his father were fighting. Like physically fighting. Dad gave Mr. Brite a black eye and Mr. Brite gave Dad a bloody nose. It’s a miracle no one called the cops.”

“Damn.”

“The moms pulled the dads off each other, but that almost turned into a catfight until Mr. and Mrs. Railey showed up and calmed everyone down. Poor Julien was begging everyone to just shut up and leave us alone so he and I could talk. Instead his parents dragged him—literally dragged him away from me—and he’s apologizing to me the entire time. ‘I’m so sorry, Remi. I should have told you. I’m so sorry...’”

She could still hear his humiliated words ringing in her ears.

“And that started the feud?” Merrick asked.

“That was the beginning. My parents were furious at the Brites for making a scene and accusing me of seducing their baby boy. The Brites were furious at my parents because my parents blamed Julien for lying to me about his age. He didn’t lie, for the record. I didn’t ask him his age. Never occurred to me to ask until it was almost too late. And I just stood there in shock, saying nothing and feeling like I was going to puke and trying to get my dad not to kill his dad. I didn’t get to talk to him, tell him I was sorry, tell him goodbye, even. It was awful.”

“You didn’t do anything illegal,” Merrick said. “You were only twenty-two. And legal age in Kentucky is sixteen.”

“Do I want to know why you have that legal factoid memorized?”

“Nope,” he said. “So you never saw Julien again?”

“My parents forbade me from contacting Julien. I haven’t seen him since that night. Not even at any of the races.”

“Where did he go?”

She shrugged and tried to pretend that she had never looked for him and wondered that same question. Every race she’d looked for him.

“He disappeared. And that was that. Except his family still hasn’t forgiven me for almost seducing their son, and my family still hasn’t forgiven them for publicly humiliating me—us, really—at the party.”

“Have you forgiven him?” Merrick asked.

Remi smiled. “Julien didn’t do anything wrong. And while his mom was going batshit crazy on me, calling me every possible variation of slut, whore and harlot, he stood up to his parents and defended me.”

“‘Harlot’?”

“I believe the words ‘blonde Jezebel’ were also employed. Julien told her off. He told everyone off.”

“Like a man. I approve.”

“He’s twenty-one now. I keep thinking I should...but it doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

Merrick looked at her with searching serious eyes.

“You miss him,” he said.

Remi didn’t bother to deny it. “I had a perfect moment with him. You don’t get many of those in your life.”

“This was four years ago? You’d think your families would be over it after four fucking years.”

“Judging by all the smack talk in the news, they aren’t. In that SI interview, Mrs. Brite called us the ‘white trash’ farm.”

“Classy.”

“Dad called the Brites ‘stuck-up snobs.’ I’m really hoping Julien hasn’t read that article.”

“So what are you going to do when you see Julien again? Jump him?”

Remi laughed at the ludicrousness of the suggestion. She hadn’t seen him in four years, and the only reason she was seeing him now was to tell him their parents might be fixing races? Hardly cause for an erotic reunion.

“I’ll do what I should have done years ago. I’ll tell him I’m sorry.”

After what felt like a year in the air, the plane landed. They checked into their hotel and Remi gave Merrick the night off. It was Saturday, after all. And all she wanted to do was sleep and recover from the flight. Merrick, however, had other plans.

“Vive la France, remember?” Merrick grabbed her by the upper arms and forced a kiss on each of her cheeks. “When in Paris, do as the Parisians do.”

“What do the Parisians do?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m hoping it involves getting Parisian drunk and getting Parisian laid. Not necessarily in that Parisian order.”

“I’m not drinking with you. Or any of the other options. Can’t we go to bed? Not together?”

“We need to find this Brite boy of yours. My sources tell me he’s a short Parisian cab ride away. Let’s seize the Parisian day, Boss.”

“It’s night.”

“Then let’s seize the Parisian night.”

“Are you going to put ‘Parisian’ in front of every noun until we leave?” Remi asked, as Merrick hailed a taxi.

“That would be a Parisian yes. I mean ‘oui.’”

Remi managed not to murder him during the ten minutes between their hotel and Julien’s building.

The cab stopped in front of a nondescript three-story building. He paid the driver, which Remi thought was an unusually gallant gesture until she noticed Merrick was using her credit card. They stepped onto a side street off the Rue de Furstenberg.

Merrick half-escorted, half-dragged her to the door. “I think this is it. My sources tell me this is it,” he said. “And by ‘sources’ I mean the Brite family housekeeper.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I can’t imagine any of the Brite family staying in someplace so normal. Well, normal for Paris, I mean.”

“This has to be it. I paid ten whole dollars for his address.”

“Your sources are cheap dates,” Remi said. She rang the buzzer and dusted off her high school French.

“Bonjour?” came a woman’s voice through the speaker. Woman? At Julien’s house on a Saturday night? Remi hadn’t planned for a girlfriend.

“Bonjour,” Remi said, trying not to be bothered by the elegant voice. “Julien Brite, s’il vous plaît?”

“Your accent is terrible,” the woman answered in English.

Remi laughed. “It’s French by way of a Kentucky high school. Is Julien in?”

“He might be,” the woman said in a clipped tone. She had something of an accent too but neither French nor Kentuckian. “Who are you?”

“I’m an old friend of his. I hope. My name is Remi Montgomery of Arden Farms. And—”

“Come up, please,” the woman said before Remi could even finish her speech.

She looked at Merrick, who smiled at her in return.

“Look at you, Boss,” he said. “You’re famous.”

The door buzzed, and they headed up the stairs to an apartment on the third floor.

Remi knocked and a woman opened the door. She looked about mid-thirties and was clearly of Indian descent, even though her clothes—a boatneck shirt, white scarf and stylish slacks—were pure Parisian chic. And she was beautiful beyond words. So beautiful even Merrick had gone speechless—something of a miracle.

“Oh, holy Parisian shit,” Merrick finally said. So much for speechless.

“Excuse me?” the woman asked.

“You’ll have to forgive Merrick here,” Remi said, slapping Merrick on the back—hard. “You’re beautiful, and he’s a horrible person. Bad combination.”

“Forgiven,” she said. “Salena Kar. I work for Julien. You’re Remi Montgomery?”

“She is,” Merrick said. “And I’m Merrick Feingold. I work for Remi. It’s like destiny, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Salena asked as she waved them into the apartment. Remi noticed Salena was barefoot, so she slipped off her own shoes and set them by the door.

“I work for her. You work for Julien. It’s like we belong together, right?” Merrick asked.

“Are you in love with me?” Salena asked, seemingly nonplussed by Merrick’s enthusiasm.

“Not yet, but give me five or six minutes and I’ll get there.”

Salena nodded gracefully.

“Take your time,” Salena said. She showed them to a living room. While the apartment building had appeared cramped and unremarkable on the outside, inside Remi discovered Julien’s home, while not grand, was the perfect mix of classic and cozy.

“How can we help you, Miss Montgomery?”

“Please call me Remi. I’m sorry for the intrusion. I need to talk to Julien for a few minutes, and then we’ll be gone.”

“I’ll get him for you,” she said. “He’s in his office.”

The woman started to leave the room but paused and turned back around. “He’s mentioned you before,” Salena said. “Lovely to put a face to the reputation.”

“Bad reputation,” Remi said, trying not to blush or wince.

“Quite the opposite,” Salena said. She gave Remi a knowing smile and left the room.

“What do you think she does for Julien?” Merrick whispered after Salena had disappeared through a door.

“I don’t know. She might be his assistant, so she probably does for him what you do for me.”

“Annoy the piss out of you constantly and make you wish you’d never set eyes on me?” Merrick said.

“Among other useful tasks.”

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” Merrick said, sounding surprisingly sincere. “Can I have her?”

“She’s a human being. I can’t buy her for you.”

“If you loved me you would help me,” he said in a desperate whisper, staring at the door Salena had just passed through.

“I don’t love you.”

She started to pat him on the knee but paused mid-pat when Julien Brite stepped into the doorway of the living room.

“I have to say,” Julien began, a crooked smile on his face, “I’m really glad my parents aren’t here right now.”

He looked at her, and Remi felt something catch in her chest at the sight of him leaning in his doorway, his arms crossed, and amusement glimmering in his dark eyes.

“We made sure they weren’t going to be visiting you before we booked the trip,” Remi said. “And hello. Nice to see you again.”

“Really nice to see you again,” Julien said, still smiling. He wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt, no shoes, no socks.

“How have you been, Julien?” Remi asked unable to stop staring at Julien. She hoped he didn’t mind. He hadn’t lost all his teenage lankiness, although his shoulders were certainly broader. His hair had darkened to a deeper shade of red and was longer now and artfully mussed. He looked older, definitely. But more than that, he looked chiseled, as if he had walked ten thousand miles across a desert and the wind and sand had worn his adolescent innocence away.

“I’m not dead,” he said and laughed as if he’d made a joke. “So I’m good. You?”

“Great. Good. Also not dead.”

“You’re a little far from home, aren’t you?” Julien asked.

“I could say the same to you,” Remi said as she finally stood up and walked over to him. “Merrick said you’d moved to Paris, and I thought—”

“—Paris, Kentucky,” he said. “How do you think I tricked my family into letting me move here?”

“Smart,” she said.

He smiled again and held out his hand to her. Remi took it and a slight tremor passed through her body when her hand met his. The last time she’d touched him had been far more intimate than a handshake.

“I’m really sorry to show up on your doorstep,” she said, Julien’s hand still in hers. “I was afraid if we called first, you’d tell us to shove it.”

“I am embarrassingly happy to see you again,” he said, and Remi was embarrassingly relieved to hear it. “Mom said you’re Arden’s manager now?”

“Your mother told you about my promotion?”

“Oh yeah,” Julien said, as Salena appeared in the doorway behind him. She put her hand on his hip to indicate she needed to pass by him, and he shifted the necessary six inches. The subtle gesture spoke of an intimacy between them, Salena touching his hip like that and his instant understanding that she needed him to move out of the way for her. Maybe Salena and Julien were more than mere employer and employee. “Mom keeps me up on all the Bluegrass gossip whether I want to know it or not. I know about your promotion. I know that your parents bought a satellite farm outside Versailles. I know that’s your assistant Merrick Feingold sitting on my couch staring at Salena. You went to Harvard?” he asked Merrick.

“I did.”

“What’s a Harvard computer nerd doing working at a horse farm?” Julien asked, sounding both casual and suspicious.

“I have no people skills. It was either Wall Street or animals. And when you work for Remi Montgomery you have the sexiest boss in the world.”

Merrick winked at her. It was an I’m goading him for your sake wink. She appreciated that.

“And how did you know I was a Harvard computer nerd?” Merrick asked. “Did my mother call you to brag?”

“Mom told me that Remi hired some Harvard computer genius who knew nothing about horses to be her assistant. And that he creeped everyone out because he wore black sunglasses all the time and was weird.”

“Is ‘weird’ code for ‘Jewish’?” Merrick asked. The sunglasses in question were currently sitting on his head.

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