This was what Whitney wanted—to feel normal.

To be normal. To be able to walk into a room and not be concerned with what people thought they knew about her. Instead, Phillip had taken her at face value and made her feel welcome.

And he had a brother who was coming to dinner?

What did Matthew Beaumont look like? More to the point, what did he act like? Brothers could like a lot of the same things, right?

What if Matthew Beaumont looked at her like his brother did, without caring about her past?

What if he talked to her about horses instead of headlines?

What if—What if he wasn’t involved with anyone?

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

It could even be fun.

* * *

A Beaumont Christmas Wedding is part of The Beaumont Heirs trilogy: One Colorado family, limitless scandal!

A Beaumont Christmas Wedding

Sarah M. Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning author SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out West on the Great Plains. With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, she had plenty of encouragement to learn everything she could about the tribes of the Great Plains.

When she started writing, it wasn’t long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux. She loves to put people from two different worlds into new situations and to see how their backgrounds and cultures take them someplace they never thought they’d go.

Sarah’s book A Man of Privilege won the 2012 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Mills & Boon Desire.

When not helping out at her son’s school or walking her rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is surprisingly well tolerated by her wonderful husband. Readers can find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at www.sarahmanderson.com.

To Fiona Marsden, Kelli Bruns and Jenn Hoopes—three of the nicest Twitter friends around.

Thanks, ladies! You guys rock!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Extract

Copyright

One

Matthew Beaumont looked at his email in amazement. The sharks were circling. He’d known they would be, but still, the sheer volume of messages clamoring for more information was impressive. There were emails from TMZ, Perez Hilton and PageSix.com, all sent in the past twenty minutes.

They all wanted the same thing. Who on earth was Jo Spears, the lucky woman who was marrying into the Beaumont family and fortune? And why had playboy Phillip Beaumont, Matthew’s brother, chosen her—a woman no one had ever heard of before—when he could have had his pick of supermodels and Hollywood starlets?

Matthew rubbed his temples. The truth was actually quite boring—Jo Spears was a horse trainer who’d spent the past ten years training some of the most expensive horses in the world. There wasn’t much there that would satisfy the gossip sites.

But if the press dug deeper and made the connection between Jo Spears, horse trainer, and Joanna Spears, they might dig up the news reports about a drunk-driving accident a decade ago in which Joanna was the passenger—and the driver died. They might turn up a lot of people who’d partied with Joanna.

They might turn this wedding into a circus.

His email pinged. Vanity Fair had gotten back to him. He scanned the email. Excellent. They would send a photographer if he invited their reporter as a guest.

Matthew knew the only way to keep this Beaumont wedding—planned for Christmas Eve—from becoming a circus was to control the message. He had to fight fire with fire and if that meant embedding the press into the wedding itself, then so be it.

Yes, it was great that Phillip was getting married. For the first time in his life, Matthew was hopeful his brother was going to be all right. But for Matthew, this wedding meant so much more than just the bonds of holy matrimony for his closest brother.

This wedding was the PR opportunity of a lifetime. Matthew had to show the world that the Beaumont family wasn’t falling apart or flaming out.

God knew there’d been enough rumors to that effect after Chadwick Beaumont had sold the Beaumont Brewery and married his secretary, which had been about the same time that Phillip had very publically fallen off the wagon and wound up in rehab. And that didn’t even include what his stepmothers and half siblings were doing.

It had been common knowledge that the Beaumonts, once the preeminent family of Denver, had fallen so far down that they’d never get back up.

To hell with common knowledge.

This was Matthew’s chance to prove himself—not just in the eyes of the press but in his family’s eyes, too. He’d show them once and for all that he wasn’t the illegitimate child who was too little, too late a Beaumont. He was one of them, and this was his chance to erase the unfortunate circumstances of his birth from everyone’s mind.

A perfectly orchestrated wedding and reception would show the world that instead of crumbling, the Beaumonts were stronger than ever. And it was up to Matthew, the former vice president of Public Relations for the Beaumont Brewery and the current chief marketing officer of Percheron Drafts Beer, to make that happen.

Building buzz was what Matthew did best. He was the only one in the family who had the media contacts and the PR savvy to pull this off.

Control the press, control the world—that’s how a Beaumont handles it.

Hardwick Beaumont’s words came back to him. When Matthew had managed yet another scandal, his father had said that to him. It’d been one of the few times Hardwick had ever complimented his forgotten third son. One of the few times Hardwick had ever made Matthew feel as if he was a Beaumont, not the bastard he’d once been.

Controlling the press was something that Matthew had gotten exceptionally good at. And he wasn’t about to drop the ball now. This wedding would prove not only that the Beaumonts still had a place in this world but that Matthew had a place in the family.

He could save the Beaumont reputation. He could save the Beaumonts. And in doing so, he could redeem himself.

He’d hired the best wedding planner in Denver. They’d booked the chapel on the Colorado Heights University campus and had invited two hundred guests to the wedding. The reception would be at the Mile High Station, with dinner for six hundred, and a team of Percherons would pull the happy couple in either a carriage or a sleigh, weather depending. They had the menu set, the cake ordered, the favors ready and the photographer on standby. Matthew had his family—all four of his father’s ex-wives and all nine of his half brothers and sisters—promising to be on their best behavior.

The only thing he didn’t have under his control was the bride and her maid of honor, a woman named Whitney Maddox.

Jo had said that Whitney was a horse breeder who lived a quiet life in California, so Matthew didn’t anticipate too much trouble from her. She was coming two weeks before the wedding and staying at the farm with Jo and Phillip. That way she could do all the maid-of-honor things—dress fittings and bachelorette parties, the lot of it. All of which had been preplanned by Matthew and the wedding planner, of course. There was no room for error.

The wedding had to be perfect. What mattered was showing the world that the Beaumonts were still a family. A successful family.

What mattered was Matthew proving that he was a legitimate Beaumont.

He opened a clean document and began to write his press release as if his livelihood depended on it.

Because it did.

* * *

Whitney pulled up in front of the building that looked as if it was three different houses stuck together. She would not be nervous about this—not about the two weeks away from her horses, about staying in a stranger’s house for said two weeks or about the press that went with being in a Beaumont Christmas wedding. Especially that.

Of course, she knew who Phillip Beaumont was—didn’t everyone? He was the handsome face of Beaumont Brewery—or had been, right up until his family had sold out. And Jo Spears was a dear friend—practically the best friend Whitney had. The only friend, really. Jo knew all about Whitney’s past and just didn’t care. And in exchange for that unconditional friendship, the least Whitney could do was suck it up and be Jo’s maid of honor.

In the high-society wedding of the year. With hundreds of guests. And photographers. And the press. And...

Jo came out to greet her.

“You haven’t changed a bit!” Whitney called as she shut her door. She shivered. December in Denver was an entirely different beast from December in California. “Except you’re not wearing your hat!”

“I didn’t wear the hat when we watched movies in your house, did I?” Jo wore a wide smile as she gave Whitney a brief hug. “How was the drive?”

“Long,” Whitney admitted. “That’s why I didn’t bring anyone with me. I thought about bringing the horses, but it’s just too cold up here for them to be in a trailer that long, and none of my dogs do well in the car.”

She’d desperately wanted to bring Fifi, her retired greyhound, or Gater, the little mutt that was pug and...something. Those two were her indoor dogs, the ones that curled up next to her on the couch or on her lap and kept her company. But Fifi did not travel well and Gater didn’t like to leave Fifi.

Animals didn’t care who you were. They never read the headlines. It didn’t matter to them if you’d accidentally flashed the paparazzi when you were nineteen or how many times you’d been arrested for driving while intoxicated. All that mattered to animals was that you fed them and rubbed their ears.

Besides, Whitney was on vacation. A vacation with a wedding in it, but still. She was going to see the sights in Denver and get her nails done and all sorts of fun things. It didn’t seem fair to bring the dogs only to leave them in a bedroom most of the time.

Jo nodded as Whitney got her bags out of the truck. “Who’s watching them?”

“Donald—you remember him, right? From the next ranch over?”

“The crusty old fart who doesn’t watch TV?”

Jo and Whitney shared a look. In that moment, Whitney was glad she’d come. Jo understood her as no one else did.

Everyone else in the world thought Donald was borderline insane—a holdover hippie from the 1960s who’d done too much acid back in the day. He lived off the grid, talked about animals as if they were his brothers and discussed Mother Earth as if she were coming to dinner next week.

But that meant Donald wasn’t tuned in to pop culture. Which also meant he didn’t know who Whitney was—who she’d been. Donald just thought Whitney was the neighbor who really should install more solar panels on her barn roof. And if she had to occasionally listen to a lecture on composting toilets, well, that was a trade-off she was willing to make.

She was going to miss her animals, but knowing Donald, he was probably sitting on the ground in the paddock, telling her horses bedtime stories.

Besides, being part of her best friend’s wedding was an opportunity even she couldn’t pass up. “What’s this I hear about you and Phillip Beaumont?”

Jo smiled. “Come on,” she said, grabbing one of Whitney’s bags. “Dinner will be in about an hour. I’ll get you caught up.”

She led Whitney inside. The whole house was festooned—there was no other word for it—with red bows and pine boughs. A massive tree, blinking with red-and-white lights, the biggest star Whitney had ever seen perched on top, stood in a bay window. The whole place had such a rustic Christmas charm that Whitney felt herself grinning. This would be a perfect way to spend Christmas, instead of watching It’s a Wonderful Life on the couch at home.

A small brown animal with extremely long ears clomped up to her and sniffed. “Well, hello again, Betty,” Whitney said as she crouched down onto her heels. “You remember me? You spent a few months sitting on my couch last winter.”

The miniature donkey sniffed Whitney’s hair and brayed before rubbing her head into Whitney’s hands.

“If I recall correctly,” Jo said, setting down Whitney’s bag, “your pups didn’t particularly care for a donkey in the house.”

“Not particularly,” Whitney agreed. Fifi hadn’t minded as long as Betty stayed off her bed, but Gater had taken it as a personal insult that Whitney had allowed a hoofed animal into the house. As far as Gater was concerned, hoofed animals belonged in the barn.

She stood. Betty leaned against her legs so that Whitney could stroke her long ears.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Jo said as she moved Whitney’s other bag, “but Matthew wants her to walk down the aisle. He’s rigged up a basket so she can carry the flower petals and it’s got a pillow attached on top so she can carry the rings. The flower girl will walk beside her and throw the petals. He says it’ll be an amazing visual.”

Whitney blinked. “Wait—Matthew? I thought you were marrying Phillip?”

“She is.” A blindingly handsome man strode into the room—tall and blond and instantly recognizable. “Hello,” he said with a grin as he walked up to Whitney. He leaned forward, his eyes fastened on hers, and stuck out a hand. “I’m Phillip Beaumont.”

The Phillip Beaumont. Having formerly been someone famous, Whitney was not prone to getting starstruck. But Phillip was looking at her so intently that for a moment, she forgot her own name.

“And you must be Whitney Maddox,” he went on, effortlessly filling the silence. “Jo’s told me about the months she spent with you last winter. She said you raise some of the most beautiful Trakehners she’s ever worked with.”

“Oh. Yes!” Whitney shook her head. Phillip was a famous horseman and her Trakehner horses were a remarkably safe subject. “Joy was mine—Pride and Joy.”

“The stallion who took gold in the World Equestrian Games?” Phillip smiled down at her and she realized he still had her hand. “I don’t have any Trakehners. Clearly that’s something I need to rectify.”

She looked at Jo, feeling helpless and more than a little guilty that Jo’s intended was making her blush. But Jo just laughed.

“Too much,” Jo said to Phillip as she looped her arm through his. “Whitney’s not used to that much charm.” She looked at Whitney. “Sorry about that. Phillip, this is Whitney. Whitney, this is Phillip.”

Whitney nodded, trying to remember the correct social interaction. “It’s a pleasure. Congratulations on getting married.”

Phillip grinned at her, but then he thankfully focused that full-wattage smile on Jo. “Thanks.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the adoration obvious. Whitney looked away.

It’d been a long time since a man had looked at her like that. And, honestly, she couldn’t be sure that Drako Evans had ever looked at her quite like that. Their short-lived engagement hadn’t been about love. It had been about pissing off their parents. And it had worked. The headlines had been spectacular. Maybe that was why those headlines still haunted her.

As she rubbed Betty’s ears, Whitney noticed the dinner table was set for four. For the first time since she’d arrived, she smelled food cooking. Lasagna and baking bread. Her stomach rumbled.

“So,” Phillip said into the silence. His piercing blue eyes turned back to her. “Matthew will be here in about forty minutes for dinner.”

Which did nothing to answer the question she’d asked Jo earlier. “Matthew is...who?”

This time, Phillip’s grin was a little less charming, a little sharper. “Matthew Beaumont. My best man and younger brother.”

Whitney blinked. “Oh?”

“He’s organizing the wedding,” Phillip went on as if that were no big deal.

“He’s convinced that this is the PR event of the year,” Jo said. “I told him I’d be happy getting married by a judge—”

“Or running off to Vegas,” Phillip added, wrapping his arm around Jo’s waist and pulling her into a tight embrace.

“But he insists this big wedding is the Beaumont way. And since I’m going to be a Beaumont now...” Jo sighed. “He’s taken control of this and turned it into a spectacle.”

Whitney stared at Jo and Phillip, unsure what to say. The Jo she knew wouldn’t let anyone steamroll her into a grandiose wedding.

“But,” Jo went on, softening into a smile that could almost be described as shy, “it’s going to be amazing. The chapel is beautiful and we’ll have a team of Percherons pulling a carriage from there to the reception. The photographer is experienced and the dress...” She got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Well, you’ll see tomorrow. We have a dress fitting at ten.”

“It sounds like it’s going to be perfect,” Whitney said. And she meant it—a Christmas Eve ceremony? Horse-drawn carriages? Gowns? It had all the trappings of a true storybook wedding.

“It better be.” Phillip chuckled.

“Let me show you to your room,” Jo said, grabbing a bag.

That sounded good to Whitney. She needed a moment to sort through everything. She lived a quiet life now, one where she didn’t have to navigate family relations or PR events masquerading as weddings. As long as she didn’t leave her ranch, all she worried about was catching Donald when he was on a soapbox.

Jo led her through the house, pointing out which parts were original, which wasn’t much, and which parts had been added later, which was most of it. She showed Whitney the part that Phillip had added, the master suite with a hot tub on the deck.

Then the hall turned again and they were in a different part, built in the 1970s. This was the guest quarters, Jo told her. Whitney had a private bath and was far enough removed from the rest of the house that she wouldn’t hear anything else.

Jo opened a door and flipped on the light. Whitney had half expected vintage ’70s decor, but the room was done in cozy green-and-red plaids that made it look Christmassy. A bouquet of fresh pine and holly was arranged on the mantel over a small fireplace.

Jo walked over to it and flipped a switch. Flames jumped to life in the grate. “Phillip had automatic switches installed a few years ago,” she explained. On the other side of the bed was a dresser. Jo said, “Extra blankets are in there. It’s going to be a lot colder here than it is at your ranch.”

“Good to know.” Whitney set her bag down at the foot of the bed. The only other furniture in the room was a small table with an armchair next to it. The room looked like a great place to spend the winter. She felt herself relax a little bit. “So...you and Phillip?”

“Me and Phillip,” Jo agreed, sounding as though she didn’t quite believe it herself. “He’s—well, you’ve seen him in action. He has a way of just looking at a woman that’s...suggestive.”

“So I wasn’t imagining that?”

Jo laughed. “Nope. That’s just how he is.”

This did nothing to explain how, exactly, Jo had wound up with Phillip. Of all the men in the world, Whitney would have put “playboy bachelor” pretty low on the list of possible husbands for Jo. But Whitney had no idea how to ask the question without it coming out wrong.

It could be that the Phillip in the kitchen wasn’t the same as the Phillip in the headlines. Maybe things had been twisted and turned until nothing but the name was the same. More than anyone, Whitney knew how that worked.

“He has a horse,” Jo explained, looking sheepish. “Sun—Kandar’s Golden Sun.”

Whitney goggled at her. “Wait—I’ve heard of that horse. Didn’t he sell for seven million dollars?”

“Yup. And he was a hot mess at any price,” she added with a chuckle. “Took me a week before he’d just stand still, you know?”

Whitney nodded, trying to picture a horse that screwed up. When Jo had come out to Whitney’s ranch to deal with Sterling, the horse of hers that had developed an irrational fear of water, it’d taken her only a few hours in the paddock before the horse was rubbing his head against Jo. “A whole week?”

“Any other horse would have died of sheer exhaustion, but that’s what makes Sun special. I can take you down to see him after dinner. He’s an amazing stud—one to build a stable on.”

“So the horse brought you together?”

Jo nodded. “I know Phillip’s got a reputation—that’s part of why Matthew insists we have this big wedding, to show the world that Phillip’s making a commitment. But he’s been sober for seven months now. We’ll have a sober coach on hand at the reception.” A hint of a blush crept over Jo’s face. “If you’d like...”

Whitney nodded. She wasn’t the only one who was having trouble voicing her concerns. “I don’t think there’s going to be a problem. I’ve been clean for almost eleven years.” She swallowed. “Does Phillip know who I am?”

“Sure.” Jo’s eyebrow notched up in challenge. “You’re Whitney Maddox, the well-known horse breeder.”

“No, not that. I mean—well, you know what I mean.”

“He knows,” Jo said, giving Whitney the look that she’d seen Jo give Donald the hippie when he gave her a lecture on how she should switch to biodiesel. “But we understand that the past is just that—the past.”

“Oh.” Air rushed out of her so fast she actually sagged in relief. “That’s good. That’s great. I just don’t want to be a distraction—this is your big day.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Jo said in a reassuring voice. “And you’re right—the day will be very big!”

They laughed. It felt good to laugh with Jo again. She hadn’t had to stay a whole two months with Whitney last year—Sterling hadn’t been that difficult to handle—but the two of them had gotten along because they understood that the past was just that. So Jo had stayed through the slow part of the year and taught Whitney some of her training techniques. It’d been a good two months. For the first time in her adult life, Whitney hadn’t felt quite so...alone.

And now she’d get that feeling again for two weeks.

“And you’re happy?” That was the important question.

Jo’s features softened. “I am. He’s a good man who had an interesting life—to say the least. He’s learned how to deal with his family with all that charm. He wasn’t hitting on you—that’s just how he copes with situations that make him nervous.”

“Really? He must have an, um, unusual family.”

Jo laughed again. “I’ll just say this—they’re a lot to handle, but on the whole, they’re not bad people. Like Matthew. He can be a little controlling, but he really does want what’s best for the family and for us.” She stood. “I’ll let you get freshened up. Matthew should be here in a few.”

“Sounds good.”

Jo shut the door on her way out, leaving Whitney alone with her thoughts. She was glad she’d come.

This was what she wanted—to feel normal. To be normal. To be able to walk into a room and not be concerned with what people thought they knew about her. Instead, to have people, like Phillip, take her at face value and make her feel welcome.

And he had a brother who was coming to dinner.

What did Matthew Beaumont look like? More to the point, what did he act like? Brothers could like a lot of the same things, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve got you.”

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

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

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

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

Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that wasn’t, strictly, the truth.

He’d watched it for Whitney.

And now Whitney was here.

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

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

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

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

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

But then he’d recognized her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he did. Everything about him did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would have to rethink his entire strategy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her.

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

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

God, what a mess.

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

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

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

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

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

“Trakehners.”

Matthew waited, but she didn’t elaborate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long have you been raising horses?”

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

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

“Where is your ranch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

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

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

Mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fought the urge to do the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should apologize to her.”

Phillip snorted. “You think?”

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

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

“Which room is she in?”

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

Three

Whitney found her room on the first try and shut the door behind her.

Well. So much for her little fantasy about a Christmas romance. She doubted that Matthew would have been less happy to see her if she’d thrown up on his shoes.

She flopped down on her bed and decided that she would not cry. Even though it was really tempting, she wouldn’t. She’d learned long ago this was how it went, after all. People would treat her just fine until they recognized her and then? All bets were off. Once she’d been outed as Whitney Wildz, she might as well give up on normal. There was no going back.

She’d thought for a moment there she might get to do something ordinary—have a little Christmas romance between the maid of honor and the best man. But every time she got it in her foolish little head that she could be whoever she wanted to be...well, this was what would happen.

The thing was, she didn’t even blame Matthew. Since he recognized her so quickly, that could only mean that he’d read some of the more recent headlines. Like the last time she’d tried to redeem Whitney Wildz by lending her notoriety to the Bakersfield Animal Shelter’s annual fund-raising gala dinner. She’d been the keynote speaker—or would have been if she hadn’t gotten the fancy Stuart Weitzman shoes she’d bought just for the occasion tangled up in the microphone cords on her way up to the podium.

The headlines had been unforgiving.

Whitney shivered. Boy, this was going to be a long, cold two weeks.

As she was getting up to turn her fireplace back on, she heard it—a firm knock.

Her brain diverted all energy from her legs to the question of who was on the other side of that door—Jo or a Beaumont?—and she tripped into the door with an audible whump.

Oh, for the love of everything holy. Just once—once!—she’d like to be able to walk and chew gum at the same time. She could sing and play the guitar simultaneously. She could do complicated dressage moves on the back of a one-ton animal. Why couldn’t she put one foot in front of the other?

She forced herself to take a deep breath just as a male voice on the other side of the door said, “Is everything all right in there, Miss...uh...Ms. Maddox?”

Matthew. Great. How could this get worse? Let her count the ways. Had he come to ask her to drop out of the wedding? Or just threaten her to be on her best behavior?

She decided she would not cower. Jo had asked her to be in the wedding. If Jo asked her to drop out, she would. Otherwise, she was in. She collected her thoughts and opened the door a crack. “Yes, fine. Thanks.”

Then she made the mistake of looking at him. God, it wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t.

Matthew Beaumont was, physically, the perfect man to have a Christmas romance with. He had to be about six foot one, broad chested, and that chin? Those eyes? Even his deep red hair made him look distinctive. Striking.

Gorgeous.

Too darned bad he was an ass.

“Can I help you?” she asked, determined to be polite if it killed her. She would not throw a diva fit and prove him right. Even if there would be a certain amount of satisfaction in slamming the door in his face.

He gave her a grin that walked the fine line between awkward and cute. He might be even better-looking than his brother, but he appeared to possess none of the charm. “Look, Ms. Maddox—”

“Whitney.”

“Oh. Okay. Whitney. We got off on the wrong foot and—”

She winced.

He paused. “I got off on the wrong foot. And I want to apologize to you.” His voice was strong, exuding confidence. It made everything about him that much sexier.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“I jumped to conclusions when I realized who you were and I apologize for that.” He waited for her to say something but she had nothing.

Was he serious? He looked serious. He wasn’t biting back laughter or— She glanced down at his hands. They were tucked into the pockets of his gray wool trousers. No, he wasn’t about to snap an awful photo of her to post online, either.

He pulled his hands from his pockets and held them at waist level, open palms up, as if he knew what she was thinking. “It’s just that this wedding is incredibly important for rebuilding the public image of the Beaumont family and it’s my job to make sure everyone stays on message.”

“The...public image?” She leaned against the door, staring up at him. Maybe he wasn’t a real man—far too handsome to be one. And he was certainly talking like a space alien. “I thought this was about Jo and Phillip getting married.”

“That, too,” he hurried to agree. This time, his smile was a little more charming, like something a politician might pull out when he needed to win an argument. “I just— Look. I just want to make sure that we don’t make headlines for the wrong reason.”

Embarrassment flamed down the back of her neck. She looked away. He was trying to be nice by saying we but they both knew that he meant her.

“I know you don’t believe this, but I have absolutely no desire to make headlines. At all. Ever. If no one else recognized me for the rest of my life, that’d be super.”

There was a moment of silence that was in danger of becoming painful. “Whitney...”

The way he said her name—soft and tender and almost reverent—dragged her eyes up to his. The look in his eyes hit her like a bolt out of, well, the blue. He had the most amazing eyes...

For that sparkling moment, it almost felt as if...as if he was going to say something that could be construed as romantic. Something that didn’t make her feel as though the weight of this entire event were being carried on her shoulders.

She wanted to hear something that made her feel like Whitney Maddox—that being Whitney Maddox was a good thing. A great thing. And she wanted to hear that something come out of Matthew’s mouth, in that voice that could melt away the chilly winter air. Desire seemed to fill the space between them.

She leaned toward him. She couldn’t help it. At the same time, his mouth opened as one of his hands moved. Then, just as soon as the motion had started, it stopped. His mouth closed and he appeared to shake himself. “I’ll meet you at the dress fitting tomorrow. To make sure everything’s—”

“On message?”

He notched up an eyebrow. She couldn’t tell if she’d offended him or amused him. Or both. “Perfect,” he corrected. “I just want it to be perfect.”

“Right.” There would be no sweet words. If there was one thing she wasn’t, it was perfect. “Will it just be you?”

He gave her a look that was surprisingly wounded. She couldn’t help but grin at him, which earned her a smile that looked more...real, somehow. As though what had just passed between them was almost...flirting.

“No. The wedding planner will be joining us—and the seamstress and her assistants, of course.”

“Of course.” She leaned against the door. Were they flirting? Or was he charming her because that was what all Beaumonts did?

God, he was so handsome. He exuded raw power. She had no doubt that whatever he said went.

A man like him would be hard to resist.

“Tomorrow, then,” she said.

“I look forward to it.” He gave her a tight smile before he turned away. Just as she was shutting the door, he turned back. “Whitney,” he said again in that same deep, confident and—she hoped—sincere voice. “It truly is a pleasure to meet you.”

Then he was gone.

She shut the door.

Heavens. It was going to be a very interesting two weeks.

* * *

“So,” Whitney began as they passed streetlights decorated like candy canes. The drive had, thus far, been quiet. “Who’s on the guest list again?”

“The Beaumonts,” Jo said with a sigh. “Hardwick Beaumont’s four ex-wives—”

“Four?”

Jo nodded as she tapped on the steering wheel. “All nine of Phillip’s siblings and half siblings will be there, although only the four he actually grew up with are in the wedding—Chadwick, Matthew, Frances and Byron.”

Whitney whistled. “That’s a lot of kids.” Part of why she’d loved doing the show was that, for the first time, she’d felt as though she’d had a family, one with brothers and sisters and parents who cared about her. Even if it were all just pretend, it was still better than being the only child Jade Maddox focused on with a laserlike intensity.

But ten kids? Dang.

“And that doesn’t count the illegitimate ones,” Jo said in a conspiratorial tone. “Phillip says they know of three, but there could be more. The youngest is...nineteen, I think.”

As much as she hated gossip... “Seriously? Did that man not know about condoms?”

“Didn’t care,” Jo said. “Between you and me, Hardwick Beaumont was an old-fashioned misogynist. Women were solely there for his entertainment. Anything else that happened was their problem, not his.”

“Sounds like a real jerk.”

“I understand he was a hell of a businessman, but...yeah. On the whole, his kids aren’t that bad. Chadwick’s a tough nut to crack, but his wife, Serena, balances him out really well. Phillip’s... Well, Phillip’s Phillip.” She grinned one of those private grins that made Whitney blush. “Matthew can come on a bit strong but really, he’s a good guy. He’s just wound a bit tight. Very concerned with the family’s image. It’s like...he wants everything to be perfect.”

“I noticed.” Whitney knew she was talking about the coming-on-strong part, but her brain immediately veered back to when she’d stumbled into his arms. His strong arms.

And then there was the conversation they’d had—the private one. The one that could have been flirting. And the way he’d said her name...

“We’re really sorry about last night,” Jo repeated for about the fifteenth time.

“No worries,” Whitney hurried to say. “He apologized.”

“Matthew is...very good at what he does. He just needs to lighten up a little bit. Have some fun.”

She wondered at that. Would fun be a part of this? The dinner had said no. But the conversation after? She had no idea. If only she weren’t so woefully out of practice at flirting.

“I can still drop out,” she said. “If that’ll make it simpler.”

Jo laughed—not an awkward sound, but one that was truly humorous. “You’re kidding, right? Did I mention the ex-wives? You know who else is going to be here?”

“No...”

“The crown prince of Belgravitas.”

“You’re kidding, right?” God, she hoped Jo was kidding. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of honest-to-God royalty.

“Nope. His wife, the princess Susanna, used to date Phillip.”

“Get out.”

“I’m serious. Drake—the rapper—will be there, as well. He and Phillip are friends. Jay Z and Beyoncé had a scheduling conflict, but—”

“Seriously?” It wasn’t as though she didn’t know that Phillip Beaumont was a famous guy—all those commercials, all those stories about parties he hosted at music festivals—but this was crazy.

“If you drop out,” Jo went on, “who on earth am I going to get to replace you? Out of the two hundred people who’ll be at the wedding and the six hundred who’ll be at the reception, you know how many I invited? My parents, my grandma Lina, my uncle Larry and aunt Penny, and my parents’ neighbors. Eleven people. That’s it. That’s all I have. And you.”

Whitney didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to do this, not after last night. But Jo was one of her few friends. Someone who didn’t care about Whitney Wildz or Growing Up Wildz or even that horrible Christmas album she’d put out, Whitney Wildz Sings Christmas, Yo.

She didn’t want to disappoint her friend.

“Honestly,” Jo said, “there’s going to be so many egos on display that I doubt people will even realize who you are. Don’t take that the wrong way.”

“I won’t,” Whitney said with a smile. She could do this. She could pull off normal for a few weeks. She couldn’t compete with that guest list. She was just the maid of honor. Who would notice her, anyway? Besides Matthew, that was...

“And you’re right. It won’t be like that last fund-raiser.”

“Exactly,” Jo said, sounding encouraging. “You were the headliner there—of course people were watching you. Matthew only acted like he did because he’s a perfectionist. I truly believe you’ll be fine.” She pulled into a parking lot. “It’ll be fine.”

“All right,” Whitney agreed. She didn’t quite believe the sentiment but she couldn’t disappoint Jo. “It will be fine.”

“Good.”

They got out. Whitney stared at the facade of the Bridal Collection. This was it. Once she was in the dress, there was no backing out.

Oh, who was she kidding? There was no backing out anyway. Jo was right. They were the kind of people who didn’t have huge social circles or celebrities on speed dial. They were horse people. She and Jo got along only because they both loved animals and they both had changed their ways.

“You’re really having a wedding with Grammy winners and crown princes?”

“Yup,” Jo said, shaking her head. “Honestly, though, it’s not the over-the-top wedding that matters. It’s the marriage. Besides,” she added as they went inside, “David Guetta is going to be doing the music for the reception. How cool is that?”

“Pretty cool,” Whitney agreed. She didn’t recognize the name, but then, why would she? She wasn’t famous anymore.

Maybe Jo was right. No one would care about her. She’d managed to stay out of the headlines for almost three years, after all—that was a lifetime in today’s 24/7 news cycle. In that time, there’d been other former teen stars who’d grabbed much bigger headlines for much more scandalous reasons.

They walked into the boutique to find Matthew pacing between rows of frothy white dresses and decorations that were probably supposed to be Christmas trees but really looked more as though someone had dipped pipe cleaners in glitter. The whole place was so bright it made her eyes hurt.

Matthew—wearing dark gray trousers and a button-up shirt with a red tie under his deep green sweater—was so out of place that she couldn’t not look at him. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he looked even better today than he had the other night. As she appreciated all the goodness that was Matthew Beaumont, he looked up from his phone.

Their eyes met, and her breath caught in her throat. The warmth in his eyes, the curve to his lips, the arch in his eyebrow—heat flooded Whitney’s cheeks. Was he happy to see her? Or was she misreading the signals?

Then he glanced at Jo. “Ladies,” he said in that confident tone of his. It should have seemed wholly out of place in the midst of this many wedding gowns, but on him? “I was just about to call. Jo, they’re waiting for you.”

“Where’s the wedding planner?” Whitney asked. If the planner wasn’t here, then she and Jo weren’t late. Late was being the last one in.

“Getting Jo’s dress ready.”

Dang. Whitney tried to give her friend a smile that was more confident than she actually felt. Jo threaded her way back through racks of dresses and disappeared into a room.

Then Whitney and Matthew were alone. Were they still almost flirting? Or were they back to where they’d been at dinner? If only she hadn’t fallen into him. If only he hadn’t recognized her. If only...

“Is there someone else who can help me try my dress on?”

“Jo’s dress requires several people to get her into it,” he said. Then he bowed and pointed the way. “Your things are in here.”

“Thanks.” She held her head high as she walked past him.

“You’re welcome.” His voice trickled over her skin like a cool stream of water on a too-hot day.

She stepped into a dressing room—thankfully, one with a door. Once she had that door shut, she sagged against it. That voice, that face were even better today than they’d been last night. Last night, he’d been trying to cover his surprise and anger. Today? Today he just looked happy to see her.

She looked at the room she’d essentially locked herself in. It was big enough for a small love seat and a padded ottoman. A raised dais stood in front of a three-way mirror.

And there, next to the mirrors, hung a dress. It was a beautiful dove-gray silk gown—floor length, of course. Sleeveless, with sheer gathered silk forming one strap on the left side. The hemline was flared so that it would flow when she walked down the aisle, no doubt.

It was stunning. Even back when she’d walked the red carpet, she’d never worn a dress as sophisticated as this. When she was still working on Growing Up Wildz, she’d had to dress modestly—no strapless, no deep necklines. And when she’d broken free of all the restrictions that had hemmed her in for years, well, “classic” hadn’t been on her to-do list. She’d gone for shock value. Short skirts. Shorter skirts. Black. Torn shirts that flashed her chest. Offensive slogans. Safety pins holding things together. Anything she could come up with to show that she wasn’t a squeaky-clean kid anymore.

And it’d worked. Maybe too well.

She ran her hands over the silk. It was cool, smooth. If a dress could feel beautiful, this did. A flicker of excitement started to build. Once, before it’d been a chore, she’d liked to play dress-up. Maybe this would be fun. She hoped.

Several pairs of shoes dyed to match were lined up next to the dress—some with four-inch heels. Whitney swallowed hard. There’d be no way she could walk down the aisle in those beauties and not fall flat on her face.

Might as well get this over with. She stripped off her parka and sweater, then the boots and jeans. She caught a glimpse of herself in the three-way mirror—hard not to with those angles. Ugh. The socks had to go. And...

Her bra had straps. The dress did not.

She shucked the socks and, before she could think better about it, the bra. Then she hurried into the dress, trying not to pull on the zipper as the silk slipped over her head with a shushing sound.

The fabric puddled at her feet as she tried to get the zipper pulled up, but her arms wouldn’t bend in that direction. “I need help,” she called out, praying that an employee or a seamstress or anyone besides Matthew Beaumont was out there.

“Is it safe to come in?” Matthew asked from the other side of the door.

Oh, no. Whitney made another grab at the zipper, but nothing happened except her elbow popped. Ow. She checked her appearance. Her breasts were covered. It was just the zipper....

“Yes.”

The door opened and Matthew walked in. To his credit, he didn’t enter as if he owned the place. He came in with his eyes cast down before he took a cautious glance around. When he spotted her mostly covered, the strangest smile tried to crack his face. “Ah, there you are.”

“Here I am,” she agreed, wondering where else on earth he thought she could have gotten off to in the ten minutes she’d been in here. “I can’t get the zipper up all the way.”

She really didn’t know what to expect at this point. The majority of her interactions with Matthew ranged from outright rude to surly. But then, just when she was about to write him off as a jerk and nothing more, he’d do something that set her head spinning again.

Like right now. He walked up to her and held out his hand, as if he were asking her to dance.

Even in the cramped dressing room, he was impossibly handsome. But he’d already muddled her thoughts—mean one moment, sincere the next. She didn’t want to let anything physical between them confuse her even further.

When she didn’t put her hand in his, he said, “Just to step up on the dais,” as if he could read her thoughts.

She took his hand. It was warm and strong, just as his arms had been. He guided her up the small step and then to the middle. “Ah, shoes,” he said. Then he let her go.

“No—just the zipper,” she told him, but he was already back by the shoes, looking at them.

Lord. She knew what was about to happen. She was all of five-four on a good day. He would pick the four-inch heels in an attempt to get her closer to Jo’s height. And then she’d either have to swallow her pride and tell him she couldn’t walk in them or risk tripping down the aisle on the big day.

“These should work,” he said, picking up the pair of peep-toed shoes with the stacked heel only two inches high. “Try these on.”

“If you could just zip me up first. Please.” The last thing she wanted to do was wobble in those shoes and lose the grip she had on the front of her dress.

He carried the shoes over to her and set them on the ground. Then he stood.

This time, when his gaze traveled over her, it didn’t feel as if he were dismissing her, as he had the first time. Far from it. Instead, this time it was almost as if he was appreciating what he saw.

Maybe.

She felt him grab the edges of the dress and pull them together. Something about this felt...intimate. Almost too intimate. It blew way past possible flirting. She closed her eyes. Then, slowly, the zipper clicked up tooth by tooth.

Heat radiated down her back, warming her from the inside out. She breathed in, then out, feeling the silk move over her bare flesh. Matthew was so close she could smell his cologne—something light, with notes of sandalwood. Heat built low in her back—warm, luxurious heat that made her want to slowly turn in his arms and stop caring whether or not the dress zipped at all.

She could do it. She could hit on the best man and find out what had been behind that little conversation they’d had in private last night. And this time, she wouldn’t trip.

Except...except for his first reaction to her—if she hit on him, he might assume she was out to ruin his perfect wedding or something. So she did nothing. Matthew zipped the dress all the way up. Then she felt his hands smoothing down the pleats in the back, then adjusting the sheer shoulder strap.

She stopped breathing as his hands skimmed over her.

This had to be nothing. This was only a control freak obsessively making sure every detail, every single pleat, was perfect. His touch had nothing to do with her.

She felt him step around her until he was standing by her side. “Aren’t you going to look?” he asked, his voice warm and, if she didn’t know any better, inviting.

She could feel him waiting right next to her, the heat from his body contrasting with the cool temperature of the room. So she opened her eyes. What else could she do?

The sight that greeted her caused her to gasp. An elegant, sophisticated woman stood next to a handsome, powerful man. She knew that was her reflection in the mirror, but it didn’t look like her.

“Almost perfect,” Matthew all but sighed in satisfaction.

Almost. What a horrible word.

“It’s amazing.” She fought the urge to twirl. Someone as buttoned-up as Matthew probably wouldn’t appreciate a good twirl.

The man in the reflection grinned at her—a real grin, one that crinkled the edges of his eyes. “It’s too long on you. Let’s try the shoes.” Then, to her amazement, he knelt down and held out a shoe for her, as if this were some backward version of Cinderella.

Whitney lifted up her skirt and gingerly stepped into the shoe. It felt solid and stable—not like the last pair of fancy shoes she’d tried to walk in.

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