Meet Vivi and Lorelai LeBlanc—

these debutantes are Louisiana royalty, and never far from the glare of the spotlight!

So when they meet two gorgeous men, it’s definitely front-page news…

HEIRESSES IN THE HEADLINES

New Orleans’s Most Notorious Sisters!

Follow their sizzling journeys in

The Downfall of a Good Girl Available February 2013

&

The Taming of a Wild Child Available March 2013

Don’t miss this scorching duet by Kimberley Lang!

Carpe diem. Be bad.

Vivienne couldn’t regret the decision. She might not be able to say why she’d made that choice, but something about the feel of Connor’s mouth on her neck, the caress of his hands under her jacket to the small of her back…it felt good. There was something liberating in this—more than just seizing the day. It was new and scary territory for her, but it felt right, too.

Connor loomed over her, those powerful arms bracketing her shoulders and holding him solid and steady, his eyes hot on her body and face. When he finally met her gaze she realized he was giving her one last chance to end this before it was too late.

“It’s already too late,” she whispered.

The corner of Connor’s mouth curved up. “But I’ve only just begun.”

About the Author

KIMBERLY LANG hid romance novels behind her textbooks in junior high, and even a Master’s programme in English couldn’t break her obsession with dashing heroes and happily-ever-after. A ballet dancer turned English teacher, Kimberly married an electrical engineer and turned her life into an ongoing episode of When Dilbert Met Frasier. She and her Darling Geek live in beautiful North Alabama, with their one Amazing Child—who, unfortunately, shows an aptitude for sports.

Visit Kimberly at www.booksbykimberly.com for the latest news—and don’t forget to say hi while you’re there!

Recent titles by the same author:

REDEMPTION OF A HOLLYWOOD STARLET

THE POWER AND THE GLORY

THE PRIVILEGED AND THE DAMNED

GIRL’S GUIDE TO FLIRTING WITH DANGER

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Downfall
of a Good Girl
Kimberly Lang

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This is my tenth book—a milestone that I couldn’t have hit without the continued love and support of my family: Darling Geek, Amazing Child and Wonder Mom. Y’all are the best.

But I want to extend a huge thanks to the talented and delightful Cristina Lynn, who literally put a song on Connor’s lips by allowing me to use her lyrics in this book. You can hear those songs—and a new one called ‘Sinners and Saints’, inspired by Connor and Vivi’s story!—by visiting her website at: www.CristinaLynn.com

CHAPTER ONE

VIVIENNE LABLANC waited impatiently, trying not to bump her wings against anything or move too quickly in a way that would cause her halo to slide off, as Max Hale gave his introductory speech on the other side of the curtain.

“There are many krewes, but none like the Bon Argent. Five years ago, we decided to do something—in our own hometown style—to raise money for the victims of Hurricane Katrina. We were far more successful than we dreamed. Through the Saints and Sinners Festival—which grows bigger every year—we’ve raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for dozens of local charities, and I thank all of you for your continued support.”

After a short round of polite applause, Max continued to laud their accomplishments, but Vivi listened with only half an ear. She was well aware of the great work of Bon Argent; she’d been involved with the krewe since its inception. Candy Hale was one of her oldest friends, and Max was like a second father. Her mother used to serve on the board, for goodness’ sake, so she didn’t need to be sold on the success. She did, however, need a primer on these wings.

How am I supposed to sit in these things? The feathered and bejeweled wings were beautiful, arching up to head height and hanging to her calves. Vivi frowned as she tried to adjust the buckle on her gold sandals and felt the whole getup shift dangerously. Honestly, she looked less like a saint and more like a Vegas showgirl who’d crashed the neighborhood nativity play.

The Saints and Sinners ball—and the whole Bon Argent krewe—bordered on silly at times, but the costumes and the parody of pomp and pageantry was what had made the Saints and Sinners fundraiser so fun, popular and immensely successful in such a short time.

And there were three hundred people out there eagerly awaiting the announcement of this year’s Saint and Sinner. Following the traditions of the traditional Mardi Gras krewes, those identities were top secret info. As far as Vivi knew, only three people were in the know this year. Max, the head of the Bon Argent charity, Paula, the head of PR, and Ms. Rene, the seamstress who’d made the costumes for the Sinner and the Saint. Even she didn’t know who would be her other half between now and Fat Tuesday.

She had a few guesses in mind.

Unlike the traditional krewes, however, who would crown a king and a queen, Bon Argent had no gender requirements to fulfill. The Saint and the Sinner were chosen for their local celebrity and reputations and could be of the same gender. Vivi had her bets on nightclub owner Marianne Foster, who’d been in the news a lot recently and would provide excellent competition before Vivi crushed her. While Marianne would be popular in the voting and bring in large amounts of money, it wasn’t an overstatement or egoism to say that she, herself, was more popular and could raise huge amounts of money in comparison.

She stomped down the unkind thought. Thoughts were the precursors to words and actions, and she’d learned to keep her head in the right place in order to avoid saying or doing anything she might regret later. It’s about the money we can raise, not about winning.

But it was also about winning. The Sinner had taken the crown the last two years, but this year top honors were going to the Saint, because she simply refused to lose. She’d only lost one crown in her life, and she still remembered the bitter taste of watching Miss Indiana walk away with it. It didn’t matter how much she liked Janelle personally, or what a great Miss America she’d turned out to be, it still sucked to lose.

So she was competitive. It was hardly a personality flaw. No one liked to lose. And in this case, her competitive nature would be beneficial because it was all for a good cause.

Max was now introducing her Cherubim Court: ten local high school kids chosen by the charity’s board to be her team in the fundraising.

And now it was her turn. She took a deep breath, checked her dress, and waited.

“…my pleasure to introduce Saint Vivienne LaBlanc!”

The curtain opened to a strobe of flashes from the photographers gathered in front of the stage and a very heartening roar of approval and applause from the guests. Vivi heard her sister’s distinctive whistle and looked over at the table where her family sat. When she’d left the table twenty minutes ago, claiming she had an emergency phone call from the gallery, Lorelei had given her a knowing look. She waved as she watched people from the surrounding tables congratulate her parents.

Being chosen as the Saint was quite an honor, and Vivi was beyond touched by the applause that showed so many people thought her deserving of it. She’d won a lot of contests in her life, brought home quite a few crowns, but this was different. It wasn’t about being pretty or popular. The downside to her pageant career was the assumption by all that she was just a pretty little face with no real substance. She’d spent years fighting that stereotype, trying to prove that there was more to her. It had been her biggest challenge to date, and the halo on her head was proof she’d succeeded. It might be cheesy and rather silly-looking, but it suddenly meant more to her than any crown she’d ever worn.

Beating the Sinner—whoever that turned out to be—would be icing on the cake at this point, and now she wanted that trophy more than anything.

Vivi removed her halo with the proper pomp, placing it on the blue satin pillow that would hold both the Saint’s halo and the Sinner’s horns until the competition ended and the winner claimed both trophies. She then took her seat with her court and applauded politely as the Sinner’s court, the Imps, was introduced.

Max took a deep breath and looked so excited he might burst with it. “Our Sinner this year is an obvious choice, and we’re so pleased he’s made time in his schedule to reign over this important event.”

The pronoun usage told Vivi that she’d lost her bet. Damn, she’d been so sure it would be Marianne. It doesn’t really matter, she thought with a mental shrug. She was ready to take on anyone.

“…Connor Mansfield!”

Vivi’s smile froze as the crowd broke into wild applause. You’re freakin’ kidding me.

Connor caught a glimpse of Vivi’s face as he stepped onto the stage and nearly laughed at the perfect mix of horror and fury against a feathery backdrop of angel wings. Not that he blamed her; his response had been very similar when he’d heard her name called, but he’d still been safely behind the curtain.

He had to hand it to the board of Bon Argent; they certainly knew how to guarantee maximum attention from the local press—attention that could be otherwise difficult to draw amid everything else happening during the Mardi Gras season. They’d probably break every fundraising record in history.

Vivi just looked like she’d like to wring his neck, but then she always looked at him like that. Some things just never changed, no matter how long you were gone from your hometown.

But the show must go on, and everyone was waiting for them to take their seats so dinner could be served. He removed his horns and solemnly placed them next to the Saint’s halo. Then he walked over to Vivi, nodded politely and waited for her to return the gesture. Slowly, they made their way to the high table. When they reached their seats a cheer went up from the crowd, and the competition of the Saints and Sinners Festival officially began. Servers appeared from the woodwork and the crowd turned its attention to the salad course.

He leaned a few inches in her direction. “You’re going to ruin three years of orthodontic work if you don’t stop grinding your teeth, Vivi.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she released her jaw the tiniest bit. She reached for her wineglass, noticed it was empty and reached for a water glass instead. He saw her look at it carefully, then shrug before she drank. Knowing Vivi, she’d debated dumping it in his lap.

“I’d say Welcome Home, but—”

“But you wouldn’t mean it.” He grinned at her to annoy her.

“But,” she corrected, “it would be rather redundant, considering the reception you just got.”

“Jealous I got more applause?”

“No.” She shifted in her chair. “I’m not an attention whore.”

“Big talk from the pageant queen.”

Vivi inhaled sharply and her smile became tight. “Some of us have outgrown our adolescence.”

He pretended to think about that for a second, then shook his head sadly. “No, you’re still sanctimonious.”

“And you’re still a—”

She stopped herself so suddenly Connor wondered if she’d bitten her tongue.

She inhaled sharply through her nose and swallowed. “You must be very pleased to finally be recognized for your achievements.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, Saint Vivienne, but these titles aren’t character references.”

“Oh, really?” Vivi’s face was the picture of confused innocence. “You seem to be perfectly suited for the title.”

And there was the first dig. He should have known that Vivi wouldn’t let that pass. Although he’d been vindicated, rumor and gossip had done their damage. Everyone believed there had to be a grain of truth in there somewhere—which grain it might be was the engine that drove the gossip that wouldn’t die.

Vivi might have hit a sore spot with her first salvo, but damned if he’d admit that. “Sanctimonious and judgmental. You need to increase your repertoire.”

“Maybe you should add some to yours, as well. A little decorum from you would be nice, considering the honor you’ve been given.”

“According to you, it’s not really an honor, now, is it?”

“Yet you still seem very pleased with yourself.” She snorted. “You look ridiculous, you know. Black leather pants, Connor? Really? What is this? 1988?”

He’d had a similar thought when they’d been presented to him. “I agree on the pants. Very eighties glam metal. But then I guess it fits the costume.”

Vivi smiled—a genuine one this time—at the server who filled her wineglass, but the smile disappeared as soon as the server did. “I don’t know what Max was thinking,” she grumbled at her salad. “The Saint and the Sinner are supposed to be local celebrities.”

“I’m literally the boy next door, Vivi. I’m as local as you are.”

“You were local,” she corrected him. “Now you’re international. You’re off touring far more than you’re in town.”

He tried to get comfortable in his chair, but the enormous black wings attached to his back made that feat nearly impossible. He didn’t quite understand the mixed-metaphor approach to Saints and Sinners, but Ms. Rene had gone for a Lucifer vibe. He felt more like a giant crow. “So it’s the fact that my job requirements keep me out of town a lot that you object to?”

Vivi tried to brush her hair back over her shoulder, but it only got tangled in her wings, creating modern art-inspired shapes in the white feathers. She tugged at the strands as she spoke. “I object to the creation of an unlevel playing field.”

Except for that jet-black hair, Vivi had the right looks to pass as an angel—wide blue eyes, fair skin, elegant features. The fire in her eyes was far from angelic, though. Irritation made her movements jerky, tangling her hair even worse.

“How is this unlevel in any way?”

With one final tug that probably pulled some of it out by the roots, Vivi finally got the last of her hair loose. A rhinestone from her wings, loosened in the tussle, fell into her cleavage. Vivi looked down briefly, and Connor’s eyes followed hers to the valley of creamy skin before he snapped them back to her face. She had a beautiful mouth, lush and full and sinful—until she opened it and killed the illusion.

“Your groupies and your fan club and all your famous friends will make sure to fill your coffers so that you win.”

“But that’s what this is about, right? Raising money?”

“Of course that’s what’s important,” she conceded through a jaw clenched so tight it had to be painful, “but you have an unfair advantage when it comes to the actual contest. No one could compete with you.”

He grinned at her. “I’m glad to finally hear you admit it.”

“I meant,” she gritted out, “that I’m a hometown girl and you’re a freakin’ rock star. You have a bigger fan base by default and that’s an unfair advantage.”

“Your title is ‘Saint’, Vivi, not ‘martyr’.”

Vivi’s knuckles turned white, and Connor expected the stem of her wineglass to snap at any moment.

“Just eat your dinner.”

He shot her a smile instead. “You could just concede now, you know.”

She choked on her wine. “Hell has not frozen over.”

“So it’s on?” he challenged.

“You’re damn right it’s on.” Grabbing her fork, she speared her lettuce with far more force than necessary.

Vivi could never turn down a challenge. It didn’t matter what it was, Vivi went after everything in her full-out, take-no-prisoners style. He actually respected that about her. It was one of the few things they had in common. Everything else about her, though, drove him insane. Always had.

He really shouldn’t let Vivi get to him. He was an adult, for God’s sake. Vivi might not like him, but plenty of other women did, so her holier-than-Connor attitude shouldn’t bother him. There was something about her, though, that just crawled under his skin and itched.

Would he have agreed to do this if he’d known up front that Vivi would be a part of it? Or would he have just sent another check and let it go?

No, he’d been thinking about home for a while now; this was just the nudge he’d needed to get him here. It gave him an excuse to do some damage control, make some new headlines that didn’t involve paternity suits or sexual activities. He could take a step back and maybe take a deep breath for the first time in years.

He hadn’t realized how truly tired he was. Getting everything he’d ever wanted in life was great in theory, but he hadn’t known he’d be left feeling like a well-dressed hobo. He had accepted that at first: he couldn’t have gotten this far if he’d been tied down to any one place or thing. There was a great freedom to it. But it came at a cost, nonetheless.

Being home—really home, not just the place he slept between shows—made him feel like the earth was solid under his feet again. The ideas that had been swimming unformed in the back of his mind seemed to be taking shape now that he was here. New Orleans was good for his mind and soul, and he could use the next few weeks to really refocus and figure out what was next. Or what he wanted to be next.

He heard Vivi’s deep sigh of irritation and it brought him back to the present. Right now he had a contest to win. It felt good to come home; even better to come home to a warm welcome and the opportunity to do something good for his hometown.

Annoying Vivi while he did it was just a bonus.

Vivi chewed each bite a dozen times and then immediately put another bite in her mouth to keep it full. She couldn’t control her thoughts, but this was one way to guarantee she would not take Connor’s bait and end up saying something she’d regret later.

This just sucked. She’d headed enough fundraisers to know that Connor was a gift from the fundraising gods. The money would pour in and the publicity would be unreal. The rational, reasonable part of her mind applauded Max Hale’s choice and envied his ability to get Connor to agree to participate.

But Connor Mansfield? Argh. If she had to be paired with a musical superstar, why couldn’t they have picked any one of the other dozens of musical legends who called New Orleans home? But, no, they had to get maximum mileage by bringing Connor in, especially since he was very much the biggest Sinner in the media right now.

From the top table she had an excellent view of the entire ballroom. The guest list was a Who’s Who of New Orleans’ rich and powerful, and she knew every face in the crowd. And everyone in the room knew damn well that they hated each other.

Hated was the wrong word. People liked to toss it around, but she didn’t hate Connor. She disliked him a hell of a lot, but hate implied more energy than she was willing to commit. She and Connor were just not meant to occupy the same time-space continuum. Connor was the one person who could make her blood boil just by breathing. Any conversation was just asking for an anger-induced stroke.

She felt a headache forming behind her left eye.

From the looks being tossed their way, every person in that room knew exactly how much she hated being up here with Connor and found it endlessly amusing. There were probably bets being taken right this second that they’d witness a repeat of that ball ten years ago when the Queen had slapped the King ten minutes after their coronation.

Connor had completely deserved it, but it had taken her forever to live that down nonetheless. It had even come up a few months later, in her interview during the Mississippi River Princess pageant, with the implication that she had a penchant for making unseemly scenes that would be detrimental to the title. She’d learned quite a bit about handling herself and her image after that, so in an odd way Connor had helped fuel her pageant success. Still, that night had pretty much been the final straw, and she and Connor had kept a healthy distance from then on unless forced otherwise by circumstance.

But then Connor’s music had started to take off, and he’d spent more time out of town than in it. Within a few years he’d become a rising superstar and their paths had ceased to cross entirely. Bliss.

She would console herself with the knowledge that Ash Wednesday was only four weeks away, and Connor would go back to Los Angeles or New York or wherever his home base was now, and her life would go back to normal. It was a small consolation, but consolation nonetheless.

Could she put up with him for that long? Without blowing her top? They were adults now: older, wiser, more mature. Maybe things could be different. She risked a sideways glance.

Probably not.

Everything about Connor projected smug arrogance. He was overly sure of himself, always seeming to have that mocking smile on his face as if he was laughing at her. Even sitting there, dressed like Lucifer on his way to a Pride parade, he still managed to look confident and cocksure.

Ms. Rene had put him in black leather—not only the pants she’d mocked him about earlier, but also a black sleeveless vest and motorcycle boots. Strips of studded black leather circled his biceps, drawing attention to the powerful bulges no one would expect a piano-playing singer to have.

It was a nice contrast to her all-white satin and feather combo. But where her costume veered to the demure and saintly, Connor’s screamed sex: the leather fit him like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. While Ms. Rene had covered every exposed inch of her skin with body glitter, Connor’s skin had been oiled to give him an otherworldly sheen.

He was tall, dark and dangerous personified—from the dark hair that hung a little too long to the goatee that framed his mouth…She swallowed hard. Her love of art gave her an appreciation for beauty, but this was not just male beauty. There was virility, strength, passion. It was hard not to appreciate Connor on that level. Connor looked up, caught her glance, and grinned a lady-killer smile that crinkled the corners of his rich brown eyes.

It was enough to melt any woman—at least until he opened his mouth.

“Problem, Vivi?”

“Just surprised by your goatee. Lose your razor while you were on tour?”

He rubbed a hand over it. “I thought it went with the costume. Maybe made me look a little devilish, you know.”

“It’s as ridiculous as the pants,” she lied, and went back to her dinner. Connor looked devilish, dangerous, sexy and ready to steal a dozen female souls.

And the women probably wouldn’t even put up much of a fight. Women loved Connor.

Who was she kidding? Everyone loved Connor, praised his talents, celebrated his success. That was one of the reasons why everyone made such a big deal out of the fact that she didn’t.

She wasn’t a hundred percent sure why or how it all started, but in the twenty-five years she’d known Connor she couldn’t remember a single time when he had not irritated her to the point of justifiable homicide.

And it wasn’t like she was evil. She liked people. Connor was the only person on the planet who affected her in that way, and she dealt with all kinds of irritating people all the time. She was known for her people skills. Those skills just didn’t extend to cover annoying man-child rock stars.

As he’d said, he was, literally, the boy next door. Their mothers were on twelve charitable committees together and did lunch twice a week. Their fathers played golf and did business together. She’d spent her whole life hearing about how great Connor was. Sometimes it was like their entire social circle existed merely to live in the shadow of his greatness. They were the same age, went to the same prep school, had many of the same friends, and folks had been pushing them at each other since puberty.

It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that they didn’t like each other, and that Connor went out of his way to annoy her whenever possible.

People were shallow. They let good looks and talent outweigh deep personality flaws.

Or else she was just the lucky recipient of whatever the reverse of charm was. Connor didn’t care about much beyond his own universe—which he was the center of, of course—so it irked her no end that he’d been chosen this year to co-lead the fundraising drive. This was supposed to be about other people, but now it would be all about him.

Losing the Saints and Sinners competition would suck regardless, but losing to Connor would just be more than her pride could stand.

And pride was all that was keeping her in her seat at the moment. She’d need to draw on that pride to save her in the coming weeks.

Conscientious eating kept her from having to make any kind of conversation, and she used the time to mentally flip through her Rolodex and plan out new strategies. She needed to think big—beyond just New Orleans. That would be tough, though, for most of the world had forgotten about the city once the Katrina news left the spotlight.

She could involve her sorority for sure. Maybe she could go to the national level. Hell, she needed to get the whole Greek Council involved. All of her pageant connections, up to and including that former Miss Indiana, every favor she was owed was going to have to be called in. She needed to get creative, since all Connor had to do was smile and the money and the votes would pile up.

Ugh. She’d spent weeks looking forward to this, hugging the secret to herself and looking forward to everything Saints and Sinners entailed. But now…All the joy and excitement had been sucked out of it. Her heart sank as she accepted the reality that, despite her efforts, she was probably going to lose through no fault of her own. That brief moment onstage when she’d congratulated herself for the accomplishment felt foolish now. They’d probably just picked her to add contrast and interest to Connor’s selection. She hated Connor just a little more.

No. She gave herself a strong mental shake. She would not let Connor take that from her. She’d earned this title.

And, while she might lose the competition, by God she was going to make it as close as possible. At least she’d keep her dignity and gain satisfaction for a job well done for a good cause.

Dignity. Hmm…How was she going to keep her dignity through all of this?

A wicked idea pinged and the more she thought about it, the better it sounded.

She couldn’t control Connor or the contest, but she could control herself. She’d been chosen to be the Saint. She just needed to be saintly and gracious. In contrast, Connor would look like an arrogant schmuck and go slowly insane at the same time. It would be a small victory, but she’d take it nonetheless.

She set her fork down carefully and reached for her wineglass. “Connor?”

“Yes, Vivi?”

She raised the glass in a toast, and Connor’s look turned wary. “To a good competitor and a good cause. I’m looking forward to the adventure, because the real winners are the people and the communities we’re going to help. I’m glad you came home to be a part of it.”

Connor’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline in his shock, but he recovered quickly and picked up his glass. As he touched it to hers she heard a rumble skitter over the crowd, and there was a strobe of flashes. She put on her very best I’m-so-happy-to-be-first-runner-up smile.

The look that crossed Connor’s face made it all worthwhile. This might be fun after all.

It was certainly going to be satisfying.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS well after midnight by the time Vivi made it home. The clubs on Frenchman Street were going strong, and though it was January, the nights were mild enough that a sweatshirt provided enough warmth. All the tables on the sidewalks were packed. In some places the crowds spilled out into the street, and she had to slow almost to a crawl to avoid pedestrians the last few blocks before turning into her driveway. She’d grown up on the tree-lined quiet streets of the Garden District, so adjusting to the much more active nightlife of the Marigny Triangle had been difficult at first, but now she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Coming home always made her smile.

Sam, her neighbor, was on his porch, drinking a beer and listening to the buskers in Washington Square. He waved and called out, “Congrats, Saint Vivi.”

Lorelei had probably spread the news. “Thanks, Sam.” She should stop and talk for a few minutes, but she was exhausted, her head was pounding, and her cheeks ached from all the smiling. Plus, the straps from the harness that had held her wings on had chafed against her skin, irritating her almost as much as Connor.

All she wanted to do was wash off the glitter and go to bed. She needed to be up early in the morning to work the phone lines. Another glass of wine was tempting, but sleep would work just as well against the Connor-induced headache.

But, unsurprisingly, Lorelei had waited up for her. They hadn’t had much time at the Saints and Sinners Ball to talk beyond quick congratulations.

“There she is,” Lorelei sang to a familiar tune. “Saint Vi-vi-enne.”

Vivi obligingly did her pageant wave and wiped away an imaginary tear before dropping her purse and bags and sinking onto the couch next to Lorelei with a sigh.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Vivi.”

“It was top secret stuff. I found out just after Thanksgiving, so I’d have time to make the necessary arrangements to my schedule. It’s going to be really busy between now and Mardi Gras.”

“We’re all so proud. Mama and Daddy were about to burst with it.”

“I noticed. But I hope you’re rethinking your annual pledge of allegiance to the Sinners now. I’m counting on your support.”

Lorelei crinkled her nose. “But the Sinners are much more fun.”

“Don’t make me play the sister card.”

“You sure you want me? Your halo might be tarnished by association.”

“Repent, reform and sin no more, my child.”

Lorelei snorted. “Don’t push your luck. One saint is plenty for the LaBlanc family, and it isn’t going to be me. That’s your job.”

“Yep.” They’d had similar conversations before, but for the first time she felt a small stab of envy for Lorelei’s freedom before she stomped it down. Adopting a bit of Lorelei’s attitude might make the next few weeks easier. She kicked off her shoes and leaned back. “Okay, just aim for temporary sainthood. A couple of weeks won’t kill you.”

“But it will still be painful…” Lorelei wrinkled her nose again. She liked to play the bad girl too much for comfort, but somehow it worked for her. “You know, no one has ever considered me saint-like in any way. It will be a challenge.” Lorelei squared her shoulders. “And LaBlancs love a challenge.”

“Amen.”

“Speaking of challenges…” Lorelei started, and Vivi knew what was coming next “…you did quite well not ripping Connor’s head off at the ball.”

Vivi felt herself snarl. “I totally understand the choice—it’s great PR, money will come rolling in, blah, blah, blah—but, yeesh. Is there wine?”

“I’ll pour.” Lorelei disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two glasses. “I have to agree that it’s brilliant PR, but you need to be careful.”

“I promise it will be justifiable homicide. I won’t ask you to bail me out of jail.”

Lorelei leveled a look at her. “Do I really need to bring up your coronation ball?”

“No. I’ve already had those flashbacks tonight.”

“Good. Remember you don’t want to look bad, so you’re the one who’s going to have to be gracious.”

Vivi raised her glass in a mock toast. “Luckily I came to that conclusion on my own earlier.”

“That explains your good behavior.” Lorelei returned the toast. “Good for you, Vivi. You’re growing as a person.”

Vivi snorted into her glass and earned a suspicious look from Lorelei. “Vivienne LaBlanc, what did you do?”

The smile was hard to fight, but Vivi would stick to the truth regardless. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

The suspicious look sharpened. “What did you do?”

“I was gracious, kind and friendly. Perfectly saint-like.”

“Exactly the actions that will make Connor wonder if you poisoned his meal.”

Vivi bit back the laugh and shrugged instead. “I can’t control Connor’s thoughts or behavior. If he wants to look foolish and juvenile, he’ll have to go there alone.”

“You know that I find you two endlessly entertaining, but honestly, Vivi—”

She held up a hand. “Lorelei, don’t start. Why do we have to go through this every single time Connor’s name is mentioned?”

“Because it’s just ridiculous. I like Connor—”

“I know. You started his fan club.”

A pink flush climbed up her neck. “Someone had to.”

“Three years before his first record came out?”

Lorelei tried to brush it off. “He’s a nice guy, you know.”

“You barely know him.”

“I know enough. I know he’s had some bad PR recently—”

Vivi nearly choked. “Bad PR? Good Lord, Lorelei, the man’s fresh off a scandal that covered the tabloids for weeks.”

“The DNA tests cleared him of paternity.”

“That only means he wasn’t the father and escaped child support. The rest…”

“You’re taking the tabloids at face value? I can’t believe that. You’re always telling me not to jump to judgment of people based on rumors.”

“No one is rushing to judgment. I’m just saying that you don’t really know him—at least not now that he’s an adult. And you know nothing of his sex life beyond chatter in the high school bathrooms. Who knows what he’s really into?”

Lorelei shook her head. “I don’t believe Connor could change that much.”

“He lives a life we can’t even begin to imagine.”

“Still, I stand by my earlier assertion that he’s a good guy.”

Vivi shook her head. “I had no idea you could be swayed by good looks alone.”

That earned her a cheeky smile. “At least you admit he’s good-looking.”

“I’m not blind. I just know that a pretty face can hide an evil heart.”

“Another scar from your pageant battles, Vivi?”

One of many. “Oh, hush. I’m not saying Connor’s a serial killer in his spare time. I just don’t like him.”

“Then tell me why.” Expectation written all over her face, Lorelei leaned back into the corner of the couch and stared at her. “And I mean it. No wiggling out.”

Vivi struggled for words. She was really too fried to handle deep conversations tonight. Charm and personality were like superpowers, and both Lorelei and Connor had them in spades. Connor, though, had turned supervillain with his, and used those powers for evil instead of good. Lorelei had never used her superpowers against Vivi or anyone else to get something she wanted. Lorelei didn’t use people the way Connor did. So it probably made it hard for her to see how someone else could.

Vivi sighed because it was just too hard to put into words. “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never met a single person that you didn’t like? Who just rubbed you the wrong way?”

“Of course I have, but I’m not you. You like everyone. Everyone likes you. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever seen remotely close to an actual saint, so this irrational and extremely juvenile head-butting with Connor just isn’t you. It doesn’t make sense.” Her blue eyes narrowed and sisterly concern crept into her voice. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Did Connor…?”

I do not need that kind of rumor floating around. “No. There’s nothing dark or evil lurking.”

“There were all those rumors around the time you were Mississippi River Princess…”

“And they nearly cost me the crown. But none of them were remotely true.”

She saw Lorelei wasn’t totally convinced. Funny that she’d never mentioned those rumors bothered her before now.

“You swear?”

“Hand to God.”

“Good. Because I will kill him for you if I need to.”

The show of loyalty warmed her. At least Lorelei liked her better than she liked Connor. “Thank you, sweetie, but it’s not necessary. If Connor needed killing, I’d have taken care of it already.”

That lightened Lorelei’s mood. “Then tell me. How bad can it be? Did he pull your hair in kindergarten? Steal your lunch money? Tease you?”

“Yes.” Lorelei frowned and Vivi shrugged. “He did sing that song he wrote about me all the way to Baton Rouge on the eighth-grade field trip.”

“Oh, well, that explains it all.” Lorelei snorted. “Connor Mansfield wrote you a song. No wonder you hate him so much.”

“It was called ‘Vivi in a Tizzy.’”

Lorelei raised an eyebrow. “I love you, cherie, but you often were.”

“That’s beside the point. No fourteen-year-old girl wants a cute fourteen-year-old boy making fun of her.”

“Ah, I see. There’s a little unrequited tween crush—”

Oh, for a different choice of words. “Stop right there.”

Lorelei grinned at her.

“First of all, I happen to know for a fact that you failed Psych 101, so please don’t try to analyze me. Secondly, we don’t live in a sitcom. And third, I’m really, really tired of people shoving Connor in my face and telling me to like him. That’s just annoying and it makes me like him even less.”

“That’s hardly his fault.”

Maybe it was the wine, the late hour or just the exhaustion, but Vivi finally sighed. “Marie Lester.”

Lorelei looked confused until she placed the name. “What’s Marie got to do with it?”

“He used me to get to her.”

“What?”

Vivi rubbed a hand over her face. This was why she didn’t want to talk about it. “You know how sheltered and sweet Marie was, right?” At Lorelei’s nod, she continued, “That’s why her parents sent her to St. Katharine’s. New Orleans is this big bad sin city, and they figured she’d be safe there.”

“And?”

“Junior year, Connor’s friend Reg asked Marie out and she said no. She considered them a bunch of hell-raisers, and she was too good for that. Connor took that as some kind of challenge and a chance to show up Reg.”

“Okay…but still not really following you.”

She took a big gulp of wine. “Well, Marie and I were lab partners and her parents just loved me, you know.”

“Of course.”

“So Connor started hanging around me, being nice and all, in order to make himself look better to Marie.”

Lorelei nodded. “Because if you said he was an okay guy then Marie might change her mind?”

“Exactly.”

“So that’s why Connor started hanging around our house more.”

“He was just using me to get to her. And to top it all off he didn’t really like her. He just wanted to prove he could get Marie when his friend had failed.”

“It’s a jerk move, but really…” Vivi shot a look at her and Lorelei trailed off. “Oh. You thought he was interested in you. Ouch. That’s why you slapped him at your coronation.”

The hurt and humiliation she’d felt at seventeen might have been dulled by time, but her twenty-eight-year-old self remembered the blow to her ego and pride. She nodded.

Lorelei rolled her eyes. “That was years ago. Teenage crap. I don’t know a nice way to say this, but…get over it.”

“He lied to me, used me, hurt me and made me an unwilling accomplice in his quest to use Marie in order to one-up one of his friends. I don’t care if it was teenage crap. He was wrong. And, even worse, I should have known better. Even after years of his crap I fell for it.”

“And you can’t just let it go?” Lorelei shook her head. “Wow, Vivi. That’s really mature.”

“This from the girl who is still mad at Steve Milner for cheating on her.”

“He left me at prom to go have sex with another girl!”

“So call me when you’re over that and we’ll talk again about teenage crap I need to get over.”

Lorelei’s lips pressed into a thin line. Vivi had made her point.

“Even if I wanted to let that slide, I haven’t really seen anything in the intervening years to convince me that Connor isn’t still an arrogant, self-centered man-child. If anything, his fame has only fueled it. And since Connor is still holding on to his preadolescent grudges against me, I’m not too worried about maturity.”

It was Lorelei’s turn to rub her eyes. “I think I need more wine for this to make any sense at all.”

Vivi patted her sister’s knee. “Look at it from a different perspective. Animosity will add interest to the competition. If Connor and I suddenly bury the hatchet and become best buddies, people will be disappointed. And I’d hate to deny Bon Argent the opportunity to exploit this for a good cause’s gain.”

Lorelei sighed. “I hate it when the words you say sound perfectly reasonable even though it’s actually crazy talk. How do you even manage that?”

“It’s a gift.” Vivi looked down and noticed she was shedding glitter on the sofa cushions. The glitter reminded her of her purpose, and her personal problems with Connor weren’t it. “So you’ve got my back? I need all the help I can get.”

Lorelei nodded. “Blood—however crazy that blood is—is thicker than water, so I’ll be as saintly as possible for the duration of your reign. I await my marching orders.”

“Good.” Vivi grabbed one of the bags and dug inside for a T-shirt. “Welcome to Team Saint.”

Lorelei unfolded the powder-blue shirt and scowled at the angel wings emblazoned across the back. “Do I really have to wear this?”

“Yep. Every minute you can. And your first assignment is Tuesday. We’re going to the lower Ninth Ward for cleanup detail.”

The scowl morphed into horror. “I didn’t realize you meant for me to do manual labor.”

“It’s good for the soul, honey, if bad for your manicure.”

“I think I might have to work on Tuesday,” she grumbled.

“I think it’s safe to assume that Daddy will give you the time off.”

“Fine.” Lorelei looked at the shirt again, distaste written across her face. “This is not in my color palette. What color are the shirts for Connor’s team?”

“Don’t even joke about that. I’m already at a great disadvantage without my sister defecting to the dark side.”

“Okay, here’s the thing, Vivi. It’s ridiculous, but I’ll back off. However, I’m not going to listen to you moan about Connor for the next four weeks. It’ll ruin my whole Mardi Gras.”

Vivi just wished someone had taken that into consideration before they’d stuck her with Connor for the next month. The rest of the city may be planning on laissez le bons temps rouler, but her temps weren’t looking very bon at the moment.

Connor spent most of Sunday morning and part of the afternoon on the phone with his manager and his agent, but the chore didn’t aggravate him as much when he could sit on a balcony overlooking Royal Street with a café au lait and real beignets. The third-floor apartment had been sitting empty while Gabe was in Italy, and Connor appreciated the solitude it offered while still being in the heart of the French Quarter. The street musician below his balcony displayed more enthusiasm than talent, but it was as much a sound of home as the clop-clop and jingle of the mule-drawn carriages and the shouts of the tour guides leading groups down the street.

Sitting here in the winter sunshine, his feet propped up on the wrought-iron rail with nothing to do except let his mind wander…bliss. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how stressed he’d been.

Even the doctor’s orders to rest his hands and wrists seemed less onerous and restrictive today. The piano wasn’t calling him, and the only workout his hands were getting involved lifting his coffee cup to his mouth repeatedly. Even after hours on the phone his head felt clear, and he could feel his muscles relaxing and the pain receding—no pharmaceutical intervention necessary.

Yep, bliss. He might just sit here all day and attempt absolutely nothing more strenuous than a solid nap.

His mother was a bit irritated that he’d chosen to stay in a friend’s apartment instead of his childhood home, but this was a high-profile visit, and he didn’t want photographers or fans staking out his parents’ house and trampling Mom’s flowers. This was just easier.

He wasn’t the only celebrity to call New Orleans home, but coming straight off tour to the Saints and Sinners fundraiser right after Katy Arras and her accusations…It was best to let that all die down some first.

People would be used to having him around again soon enough, and in time, it would no longer be big news.

God, he loved this city.

Which was why he’d jumped at the chance to be this year’s Sinner. Silliness aside, it was an honor, and he felt very much the hometown boy made good. He was glad his fame guaranteed big money this year for the fundraiser, even if it created an “uneven playing field” that steamed Vivi’s oysters.

Speaking of Vivi…

The view from Gabe’s apartment balcony contained a surprise: he had a clear view to the front door to Vivi’s art gallery just a few buildings up Royal. According to Mom, who kept him fully up-to-date on all of the goings-on in New Orleans—especially those of her friends and their children—Vivi’s gallery was doing very well, walking the line between art that was accessible and sellable yet still high-end quality.

Good for Vivi. He’d had no clue that art was Vivi’s passion, but after years of hearing all about her pageant successes—Good Lord, her reign as Miss Louisiana had been one of the longest years of his life—it was good to know that she could do something other than twirl batons and look pretty. She’d always had brains; it was nice to know she’d finally decided to use them for something.

Thanks to Mom, he also knew that Vivi wasn’t a surprise choice for Saint at all. If the city could canonize her they probably would. Vivi was involved in everything; any organization that needed a face or a volunteer had Vivi on speed dial. The only surprise was that they hadn’t made her the Saint long before now. Cynically, he wondered if Max and the board had held off until his schedule had cleared so they could get the maximum impact.

The morning paper had been almost gleeful about the announcement, making sure to illustrate their “antagonistic relationship” with anecdotes that dated all the way back to their seventh-grade performance of Bye Bye Birdie, just in case there were people in town who weren’t aware that the children of two of the city’s oldest and most influential families were at odds like an alternate universe’s Romeo and Juliet.

For years he’d held out hope that everyone would move on, but it just went to show that no matter how big he got, or how many millions of records he sold, people would never let anyone live down their past. Especially if that past was something they could still milk for attention and laughs.

But it was his time to milk the cash cow he’d become. Half-formed ideas that had been swimming in his mind were getting even more solid, and the pieces were falling into place with a rapidity that felt like fate intervening. The old coffee warehouse on Julia Street, investors like Gabe lining up with their wallets open…

If this all worked out—and it was looking like it just might—he’d be more than just a hometown boy done good. He’d be a part of this town in a way he’d never planned on before. Some of this was very new territory for him, but it felt good. It felt right. He didn’t have to put down roots here; the roots were here, waiting for him to come back. He just had to make sure they didn’t strangle him this time.

Mom might have thought his desire to be a musician was an act of defiance—a revolt against the expectations of going to college, joining Dad’s firm, marrying a nice local girl like one of the LaBlancs, and settling down in a mansion three blocks away. In retrospect, she might have been a little right, but other than the occasional unpleasant run through the tabloids and the time away from home she really couldn’t complain. Well, she was still pushing the nice-girl-big-house-some-grandkids agenda…

Which, oddly, brought him back to Vivi.

If he was serious about spending more time here at home he’d have to call some kind of truce with Vivi. Come to some kind of understanding. The circles they ran in overlapped occasionally, thanks to their parents and shared friends. They wouldn’t be able to completely avoid or ignore each other.

Fame had its privileges, but Vivi had clout. People respected her, and her opinions went a long way. It would be hard to claim he was trying to do something good if Vivi objected. Hell, you couldn’t even claim to be a decent human being in this town if Vivi hated you. People might like him for various reasons, but everyone loved Vivi and courted her approval. As long as she hated him, folks would wonder why. And they’d assume it was all his fault.

God, it was annoying.

And while Vivi had miraculously become the most gracious and polite dinner partner he’d ever had Friday night, he doubted that graciousness would continue once she found out he was planning a return to what she no doubt considered her turf now.

Vivi would be fit to be tied, and he almost looked forward to telling her. No, he thought, walking that thought back in light of his earlier conclusions. He didn’t need her approval—though it would help—but he did need her tolerance. Egging her on wouldn’t help his cause.

He hadn’t fully realized that he’d been staring at the door to Vivi’s gallery until the door opened and Vivi stepped outside. He started to slide back, but then realized she had no reason to look up, and probably wouldn’t see him even if she happened to do so. She paused mid-step, digging through her bag and pulling out a phone.

Two men standing next to a car gawked openly at Vivi, and realistically he couldn’t blame them. The black pencil skirt emphasized her legs and tiny waist, and the upswept hair showcased the line of her neck and high cheekbones. One of the men seemed to be encouraging the other to go over and speak to her. She is way out of your league, buddy, Connor thought. Vivi was, to quote his departed grandmother, “a prime example of good breeding and a proper upbringing.”

She finished her call and set a pair of sunglasses on her face before walking briskly toward the corner and turning on to St. Ann’s Street toward Jackson Square. Connor—and most of the other men on the street—watched her until she was out of sight.

Tomorrow he and Vivi would start the morning show media blitz, hitting all the local TV stations and kicking off the fundraising in earnest. After that, it was breakfast with some big donors and organization heads and a photo call. Most of his day would be spent in Vivi’s company.

While she’d been polite and gracious the other night, Connor didn’t believe for a second that it wasn’t an act. He knew her too well to fall for that. She was out to prove something by not sniping at him. He wouldn’t try to guess what her overall goal was—beyond not making herself look bad in the press—but he would not help her achieve it by attacking first. It played right into his plans to have her publically playing nice. It gave him her stamp of approval without her actually giving it. She probably hadn’t thought that part through. Talk about steaming her oysters.

He might be the Sinner—and it might be a well-deserved title—but Vivi wasn’t the only one who knew how to behave.

It would be interesting to see who broke first.

CHAPTER THREE

THE reporter with the plastic smile thought she was being very clever, but Vivi knew what was coming. Intentionally trying to fluster a guest with “gotcha” questions was unbelievably rude, in her opinion, but it was standard fare and just part of the game.

If Chatty Cathy here thinks she can fluster me, though, that girl is in for a big surprise.

She’d had every derogatory stereotype about pageants thrown in her face by reporters with more gravitas and bigger audiences and hadn’t broken. It might have been a few years, but she hadn’t forgotten how this was done. A couple of comments and questions about Connor weren’t going to tie her tongue and cause her to say something stupid. Or scandalously quotable out of context.

The smile grew wider. Bring it, Vivi thought, and let her own smile widen a bit, too.

“So, Vivienne, how did you feel when Connor’s name was announced Friday night? Were you very shocked?”

Vivi nodded, and the reporter brightened a bit, obviously figuring she’d hit the mark. Amateur. “Just as much as everyone else, I imagine. With Connor’s career taking off like it has, I never dreamed his schedule would allow him to come back and do something like Saints and Sinners.”

“So no problems, then, with this matchup?”

“Sort of.” She waited just long enough to tease that there might be a sound bite forthcoming. “I am quite competitive, and I wish they’d chosen someone who’d be easier to beat. But then I remind myself that, while this is a competition, there are no real losers in it. The money raised through Saints and Sinners does so much good for the community, and everyone involved is a winner.”

Answer the question, but deflect the intent and bring the interview back to the proper topic.

“And what about you, Connor?”

Vivi kept her face neutral as she turned toward him and thought, Don’t screw this up now. Surely Connor’s fame meant he had the experience to answer this? She thought of a dozen good answers and tried to think them hard enough that Connor might pick one up through ESP.

“I was pretty shocked myself to be chosen this year, but it’s an honor that actually brings with it the chance to do something good for a lot of people. So, like Vivi said, we all win—although I do hope to put on a good show at least.” He shot the lady-killer grin at the reporter, and now that he’d shaved off the goatee, his dimple was clearly visible. When he added a wink, the reporter blushed slightly and fumbled over her next words.

Oh, good Lord. Spare me the simpering females. Women had been falling all over themselves since Connor hit puberty, but the maturation of his features and body combined with his fame and charm…Vivi might understand the reaction, but she was still ashamed of her entire gender.

But she had to admit that Connor had done well dodging the impertinent question.

Unable to get a good answer out of Connor, the reporter had no choice but to cut to the graphic listing the upcoming events and direct people to the Saints and Sinners website.

The camera turned to the station’s meteorologist for the weather report and Vivi unhooked her mic.

Making all four local morning shows in two hours meant that their schedule was very tight, and there was no time to waste in idle chitchat. Connor, however, had decided to stop to sign autographs and pose for pictures. Vivi bit her tongue and waited with what she hoped looked like patience.

Finally, though, she had to step in and break up the love-fest. “I’m so sorry, y’all, but we’re going to be late for our next interview if we don’t leave right now.”

Connor fell into step beside her as they exited the building. “Thanks for the save. It’s hard to get away sometimes.”

“You can’t do that at every stop this morning or we’ll never make them all. I know you just hate to tear yourself away, but there are other people’s schedules to consider.”

“And there’s the mood swing to the Vivi I know.” He sighed dramatically. “I knew that perkiness was too good to last.”

Damn it, she’d already forgotten her pledge to be gracious and polite. “It’s six o’clock in the morning. I need to save all my perkiness for the cameras. Sorry.”

The driver had fresh coffee from a nearby shop waiting for them in the car. She nearly hugged him in gratitude—both for the caffeine and the chance to gather her thoughts and adjust her tone as she took a few sips and settled in.

“However, I don’t have the skill set necessary to be your bouncer, so you’ll need to either provide one yourself or else learn how to extract yourself from the fawning adulation of your fans.”

Connor leveled a look at her across the backseat. “Without those people I have no career. They support me. So the least I can do for them is sign an autograph and smile for the camera. Mock me all you like, but don’t ever mock my fans.”

The words were hard and cold, and that combination got her attention. She’d never heard Connor speak like that. “You’re actually serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

Vivi felt about two feet tall. “My apologies, then, for insulting your fans.”

Connor nodded his acceptance of her apology, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to tap at it. Vivi was glad for his distraction; she needed a moment to process. She’d seen Connor’s posing and autographing as glory-mongering—something to feed his ego. She hadn’t expected Connor to get so passionate about it. It made sense, though. He wouldn’t have a career without fans, so he should be appreciative of them.

She just wouldn’t have guessed that he would be.

Connor didn’t look up from his phone. “By the way, good job deflecting that question and reframing. You’ve had media training.”

The terminology gave him away. “As have you, it seems.”

“I learned the hard way that performing onstage and doing an interview are two totally different things. I only had to screw up once before I swore I’d never make that mistake again. What made you do it?”

Was he being intentionally dense? “About the time I won Mississippi River Princess I realized I really needed it.” She paused, but Connor didn’t make the connection. “I had my sights on Miss Louisiana and Miss America. I had a platform to promote, a title to represent and a reputation to protect. There was no way I was going in unprepared for the job.”

“I hadn’t thought about that. It doesn’t really look like that hard of a job.”

She snorted. “I could say the same thing about your job, you know.”

He looked at her like she was insane. “You’ve never done a six-month world tour.”

“And you’ve never been Miss Louisiana.”

“It’s not all glory and encores, you know. It’s hard, exhausting, cutthroat work.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “So is the Miss America pageant.”

Connor’s eyes widened at the implication. “I’m just surprised there’s more to it than showing up and looking pretty.”

“Somehow your lack of insight doesn’t really surprise me.”

“No need to get so huffy about it.”

She caught herself mid-huff and lifted her chin instead. “I really don’t have the patience to school you on incorrect pageant stereotypes this morning. If you want to believe I’m nothing more than an airhead, so be it. I’ve been called worse by better. But just let me remind you that my reign was over years ago. My tiara-wearing days are behind me, and I’ve moved on to other things to be proud of.”

“Like your gallery?”

“Yes.” She was very proud of the gallery and happy to brag about it to anyone who would listen—including Connor. And it seemed like a safe enough topic. “It seemed to take forever to get off the ground, but it’s doing really well now. We’ve recently been able to offer patronage to a few young emerging artists—providing studio space and a small stipend.”

“Good for you, Vivi.”

She couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or not. Not that she would bite back—she was determined to keep a better hold of her tongue if it killed her—but she’d still like to know if Connor was mocking her. His face was inscrutable as he leaned back against the leather seats of the limo and closed his eyes.

“Wake me when we get there.”

And now I’m an alarm clock? Connor was obviously used to traveling with an entourage to cater to him. Don’t be so touchy. If it were anyone other than Connor, she knew it wouldn’t bother her quite as much. Still, though…it was rude to decide to nap instead of make polite conversation. Not that she wanted to make polite conversation, but it was the principle of the thing.

Connor stretched out his long legs, taking up a bit more than his fair share of the available space, and crossed his feet at the ankles. Amazingly, he seemed to be asleep a second later, his breathing slow and deep. How did he do that?

But that left her crawling through morning traffic in the back of a town car with no one to talk to. She could lower the privacy screen and talk to the driver, but thanks to Connor hogging the space she’d have to contort herself in order to accomplish that.

She pulled out her phone instead, to check her mail, but her eyes drifted to the big black boots parked next to her simple black flats. Big feet, she thought, to match his big head.

The head in question was tipped back against the headrest. Shaving the goatee really did make a difference, making his mouth seem more prominent and emphasizing that strong chin. Even with his features relaxed in sleep, Connor projected attitude.

He might be a piano-playing crooner, but Connor looked the part of a bad-boy rock star, and that image had helped fuel his popularity. Women loved the idea of a man who looked like that singing love songs in a voice that could send shivers all the way down to their toes. He was practically a musical fantasy come to life.

Even she had to admit—privately, of course—that Connor was freakin’ gorgeous. Broad shoulders, lean hips, a smile that caused feminine flusters every single time…A woman would have to be blind or dead not to appreciate him based on looks alone, and she was neither. She wasn’t ignorant or denying of his attributes; she was just immune to them because she knew him.

Wow, it was getting hot in here. The man radiated heat like a generator. Vivi had to fan herself. She did not want to go on TV all sweaty and red-faced. The climate controls were next to Connor, out of her reach unless she wanted to crawl across his lap, so she’d settle for cracking a window for fresh air.

The windows on her side of the car didn’t seem to open, so that meant she’d have to open the ones on the other side. But Connor’s legs blocked easy access to those controls, too. Who designed this vehicle? She should just wake him up, but that would seem petty and she was not going to be petty.

At least outwardly. Inwardly was a different situation.

Vivi slid to the edge of the seat, pushed up, placed one knee in her seat and lifted the other leg over Connor’s. She was reaching for the handle on the other side to pull herself over without touching him when the driver braked hard, jerking her forward and then backward as the car came to a stop.

Vivi lost her balance and fell back, landing hard and ungracefully in Connor’s lap.

Connor had merely been dozing, but the sudden stop of the car jerked him awake a split second before Vivi landed in his lap.

His arms went around her instinctively to steady her as she slid sideways, and his first ridiculous thought was that Vivi was a nice armful. She was small, but compact: the butt pressed against his groin was firm, and the thigh under his hand lean and strong. The curves he’d admired the other day felt even better than they looked. His body tightened and his skin heated at the contact.

Vivi’s head was just below his shoulder, and the light floral scent that always faintly surrounded her filled his lungs as he inhaled. He could feel her heartbeat and realized that his other hand had landed directly on her breast; the soft curve filled his palm perfectly. Something flashed through him, landing in his lap with as much force as Vivi had.

He moved his hand away, brushing her hair out of her face instead. “You okay?” he asked as he uncovered her mouth.

“I’m fine.” She scrambled to an upright position and scooted off his lap into the seat beside him and began finger-combing her hair back into place.

The privacy screen slid open and the driver’s concerned face appeared. “Sorry about that. Some idiot ran the light. You two okay?”

“I think so,” Vivi answered, but her voice was a little shaky. “Connor?”

“Fine,” he answered. While it seemed like Vivi had been in his lap for a long time, he realized only a few seconds had actually passed. Still, though, his body had reacted like a horny teenager’s, as if he’d never touched a girl before.

This was Vivi, for God’s sake.

He shifted in the seat, trying to find a more comfortable position while he got it back under control.

Vivi’s face was flushed, and he noticed her hands were shaking the tiniest bit. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, really.” As the car started forward again Vivi moved to the other seat. “I was trying to get across to open the window when we stopped. Sorry I landed on you.”

Maybe it was a little warm in here. He jumped on the excuse and pushed the button to lower the window. Fresh air filled the car, dispersing both the heat and the tension in the air. “Better?”

“Much.”

Vivi swallowed hard, and when she lifted her eyes to meet his and smile her thanks, he noticed how wide they were. How the pupils had dilated until the blue was a thin circle. Color still flagged her cheeks, and her breath had a ragged edge.

Vivi couldn’t hold the look or the smile, and she began to dig in her bag, emerging with lipstick and a mirror. Her hands still weren’t steady, and she concentrated on the task like it was the most important thing she’d ever done.

He hadn’t been the only one affected by those few seconds, and it looked like Vivi was still riding the shockwave. That knowledge slammed into him, and the air felt warm again.

“Oh, look—we’re here.” Vivi spoke rapidly, with relief dripping off her words, and she had the door open before the car came to a complete stop in front of the studio. “I’m going to run in and freshen up real quick before we go on air.” Then she bolted for the building like the hounds of hell were on her heels.

Honestly, he didn’t blame her at all.

Vivi needed to splash cold water on her face, but that would only make her mascara run and then she’d look like a raccoon during the interview. She settled for wetting a paper towel and running it over her neck and under the collar of her shirt to cool her skin.

Checking under the stall doors for feet and seeing none, Vivi let her breath out in a deep sigh and braced her hands on the counter.

Sweet mercy.

I was in his lap.

And his hand was…

And the other was…

Oh, she knew exactly where each hand had landed. She felt branded from the touch.

His hands weren’t the only part of him that had burned into her skin. Her butt had…He’d…She’d… Dear heaven, she couldn’t have landed in that exact position if she’d tried.

Mortified wasn’t a strong enough word.

Maybe if she hadn’t been ogling him just seconds before she might not now feel like she’d intentionally given him a lap dance.

That was bad enough, but worse was the realization that for a split second she’d enjoyed the embrace.

And so did he, a little voice said. The evidence had been impossible to miss.

But then she’d fluttered and stammered and…Ugh. She’d seen that look: he knew. And with his ego…

Her quick wish that the floor would open and swallow her went ungranted. Instead she dug for a comb and tried to repair the damage she’d done to her hair with her fingers earlier. After a critical look, she shrugged and let it go at presentable. Hopefully that flush would fade before they went on camera, but considering she was going to have to face Connor, she’d probably look like a ripe tomato all through the interview.

Connor was a hottie, but she was immune. She was not so shallow as to allow good looks and an amazing body sway her. She liked men with substance.

Somebody tell that to my libido.

“Vivienne?” A young woman poked her head around the door. “If you’re ready, we really need to get you miked.”

“Coming.” Vivi checked her teeth for lipstick in a last-ditch stall for time, but she really had no choice but to follow the woman out into the hallway.

Connor stood about twenty feet away by the studio door, autographing a CD case. He handed it and the pen back to the waiting fan, then smiled as a third person snapped a photo. He looked up as the woman shooed the other two away. His eyes met Vivi’s briefly before he looked away.

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