“I’m good at what I do.”

Cara’s gaze skittered across his mouth, lingering. “I’m pretty aware of the breadth of your skill set.”

Her voice had dropped, turning sultry, and Keith’s body hardened in an instant. Yeah, he remembered how hot their kisses had always been.

“Are you flirting with me, Cara?”

“Not in the slightest. Your best skill is walking away, and I took copious notes. Allow me to demonstrate what I learned.”

She pivoted and walked away, leaving Keith standing alone by the pool. With a tropical storm on the horizon and a grand reopening combined with a bridal expo in two days, Cara was a distraction he could not afford to indulge.

From Ex to Eternity
Kat Cantrell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KAT CANTRELL read her first Mills & Boon® novel in third grade and has been scribbling in notebooks since she learned to spell. What else would she write but romance? She majored in literature, officially with the intent to teach, but somehow ended up buried in middle management in corporate America, until she became a stay-at-home mum and full-time writer.

Kat, her husband and their two boys live in north Texas. When she’s not writing about characters on the journey to happily-ever-after, she can be found at a soccer game, watching the TV show Friends or listening to ’80s music.

Kat was the 2011 Mills & Boon So You Think You Can Write winner and a 2012 RWA Golden Heart Award finalist for best unpublished series contemporary manuscript.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

One

Even the sandpipers were getting more action than Cara Chandler-Harris.

But she was working at this Turks and Caicos resort instead of frolicking in the crystal-blue surf with a nearly naked, oiled companion. Cara would be the sole designer showcasing her fairy-tale-inspired wedding dresses to two hundred industry professionals at a three-day bridal expo. The wedding-dress fashion show was one of the premier events and Cara Chandler-Harris Designs, which was still in its fledging stages, was poised to explode with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for exposure.

Adding testicles into the mix would only drive her to drink.

Cara swept a glance over the woman in white silk standing before her in the Ariel wedding dress and repositioned the model to face forward. Wincing as she knelt for the four hundredth time, Cara stuck another pin through the lace-trim edging of the mermaid skirt.

“Don’t forget her heels will be five inches. Not four,” her assistant, and sister, Meredith, reminded Cara as she handed her another pin. “And yes, I checked with the airline again. The missing bag with the shoes in it will be here by four o’clock.”

“Thanks, honey. I took her heel height into account. Is Cinderella ready to go?” Cara glanced at her sister.

Meredith nodded and flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder. “Won’t need more than a slight waist alteration. I did good matching the models with the dresses, don’t ya think?”

She had and knew it. Meredith wore her designer’s assistant role like a second skin. Cara smiled. “Worried I’m going to fire you for ripping Aurora’s sleeve?”

“Nah. I’m more worried about stuff I’ve done you don’t know about yet.” With a saucy, cryptic grin, Meredith handed Cara the final pin and hummed under her breath as she tapped out something on her phone.

“You know I hate that song,” Cara mumbled around the pin in her mouth.

“That’s why I sing it. If little sisters aren’t annoying, what are we good for?”

“Herding the rest of the girls into place. We only have three days until the expo starts and we haven’t even done one run-through.” Her lungs already felt tight to be so far behind schedule. Good God Almighty. Missing luggage, torn dresses and a room with a faulty air conditioner. And it was only their first day in Grace Bay. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

Cara had no idea how her name had come up to the powers that be who’d selected her for this event. Yes, a small handful of Houston brides had marched down the aisle in her dresses in the eighteen months she’d been in business, and yes, all of them had graced the pages of glossy society magazines. Yes, Chandler and Harris were both names everyone in Houston knew. But still. Grace Bay was a long way from Houston.

“Because you recognize my brilliance. Stop stressing. Plans can be altered.”

“Dresses can be altered. Plans are carved in granite, and hell has a special level for those who mess with mine.”

Meredith waved in two more visions in white who had appeared at the entrance to the pavilion, both barefoot, like the others. All of the models’ shoes were in the missing bags.

“Where’s Jackie?” Cara glanced back at the empty entrance.

“Puking her guts out,” one of the girls responded with a ladylike shudder. “I told her not to drink the water.”

Cara frowned. “The resort water is purified.”

“Then something else is wrong with Jackie,” Meredith said and rubbed Cara’s shoulder. “A virus. It’ll pass.”

“It better. She has to be on stage in six days.” A virus. Which could easily be transmitted to everyone else. Cara eyed Jackie’s roommate. “How are you feeling, Holly?”

The willowy blonde in the French-lace concoction called Belle stared at Cara blankly. “It’s not catching. Jackie’s pregnant.”

Now seemed like a really good time to sit down. Cara dropped onto the heavy tarp covering the sand, while the other girls squealed over Holly’s announcement.

Meredith settled in next to Cara. “I didn’t know. About Jackie. I would have—”

“It’s not the end of the world. Women get pregnant. Women work while they’re pregnant. All the time.”

Her sister hesitated and then said, “I’ll wear the dress for the run-through.”

Thank God Meredith hadn’t asked if Cara was okay. She’d had her fill of those kinds of questions two years ago, after her own pregnancy fiasco. Designing dresses had pulled her out of that misery and she didn’t ever want to talk about it again.

“You can’t wear it. The bust is too small and I can’t alter it that much. Not here. Not in a few hours.”

But the Asian-themed dress called Mulan wasn’t too small for Cara.

The curse of average breasts.

Meredith had gotten Mama’s gorgeous Chandler mahogany hair, the voluptuous Chandler body and the gracious Chandler mannerisms. Cara favored Harris blood, and Daddy was well-known for brains and business savvy, not his beauty. Neither Cara nor her father was dog-show worthy, but Cara certainly couldn’t have claimed the Miss Texas crown like Mama and Meredith.

Cara staggered to her feet. “I’ll wear it.”

She’d worn it in the past. Not one dress with her name on the label escaped the Cara Test. When she finished the initial piece-together, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and said, “I do.” If the words brought misty tears to her eyes, then the dress was right.

Except she always cried, because she created fantasies of lace and silk and happily-ever-after for someone else. Cara was just a glorified seamstress. A single seamstress.

She left Meredith and the chattering models in the pavilion and tottered through the sand to the concrete path leading into the heart of the resort. Twin five-story buildings lay on the outer perimeter and an enormous infinity pool dominated the space between. The pounding clamor of hammers rent the air, and scores of workers shouted to each other as they put the finishing touches on the renovations being executed for the resort reopening at the end of the week. The bridal expo was only a part of the festivities.

She skirted the pool, waited five minutes for the elevator, gave up and climbed the three flights of stairs to Jackie’s room, near her own. Cara fetched the miserable girl some soda from the mini-fridge, then slipped into the dress flung haphazardly on Jackie’s bed. Cara bit her lip and didn’t say a word. Morning sickness sucked, and a dress that had taken Cara countless hours to envision and create likely rated pretty low on the list of Jackie’s concerns.

The dress fit. Jogging, a low-carb diet and an extreme amount of willpower for everything except cabernet kept Cara’s weight rock-steady. Cabernet calories didn’t count.

The mirror taunted her but she didn’t glance in it. Couldn’t. Her reflection would only show what she already knew—she was always the bride, but never married.

Cara returned to the pavilion—barefoot, because her feet were already killing her and the broken elevator clearly hadn’t been fixed yet despite the manager’s promises. Cara had worn stilettos all day. Heels were as much a necessity as makeup and jewelry. A Chandler-Harris female did not leave the house unless fully dressed. But after the many problems she’d dealt with today, the last thing she wanted to do later was climb stairs in heels again.

She spent the next few minutes demonstrating to the girls how they should walk down the runway. To their credit, no one made a crack about how modeling was their job. If anyone had dared give Cara design instructions, she’d tell the person where to go, how fast and what to do upon arrival.

This was her life, her career, and nothing was going to keep her from replacing her dream of getting married with a flourishing wedding dress design business.

As Cara stood at the end of the runway going through a couple of more points, the girls shifted restlessly.

“Yummy,” Holly whispered to Meredith, her eyes trained on something over Cara’s shoulder. “That is one very well-put-together man.”

Meredith’s eyes widened to the size of salad plates. Cara spun, an admonishment on her lips designed to rid the pavilion of Yummy Interrupting Man. Whatever she’d been about to say died in her chest, and its death throes nearly coughed up her breakfast.

“Uh, Cara,” Meredith whispered. “About that thing I did. The one you didn’t know about... Surprise!”

Keith Mitchell, the devil in a dark suit, stood in the middle of her pavilion. He crossed his arms and cocked his head. His piercing gaze swept Cara from head to bare feet, lingering on the wedding dress. “Now, this looks familiar.”

“Well, well, well. As I live and breathe.” Cara fanned herself in mock Scarlett O’Hara style and did her best cat-with-a-canary smile. Stretching those particular muscles stung her face. “It’s my very own runaway groom. Still got on your Speedy Gonzales shoes?”

Keith glanced at his fifteen-hundred-dollar Italian lace-ups. “They’re functional.”

“Lucky for you, sugar.” She nodded. “There’s the door. Use it.”

He grinned, white teeth gleaming. “Sorry to disappoint you, honey, but I’m afraid this is my show.”

“What show?” She waved at the wedding dresses and swallowed against the grapefruit in her throat. Keith Mitchell. What in the world was he doing in Grace Bay? “You’re here to volunteer as my replacement model? I might have a dress in the back in your size.”

Ha. Not even one of Keith’s long legs would fit in a dress, and besides, he’d exited the womb wearing a suit. An unwrinkled suit because wrinkles did not dare to tread in his world.

Keith. Here in Grace Bay and standing five feet from Cara while she wore a wedding dress. Her bare toes curled in mortification. She was naked without her heels.

“Not the fashion show. The whole show.” Keith winked, as only he could. “Regent Group hired me to turn this resort into the highest-rated wedding destination in the world. If I do it right, I’ll then have the opportunity to replicate it with their other Caribbean properties.”

Oh, God. He was here to star in her very own personal nightmare and take up all the oxygen on the entire island while he was at it. “This is what you’re doing now? Weddings? You aren’t a particular fan of weddings, as I recall.”

“This is the very best kind of wedding. No bride.” He chuckled and nodded at Cara. “Or at least that was the intent when I took the job. I stand corrected.”

Her blood, dormant for two long years, started pumping in her veins, flushing her face with heat she’d never let on was more than a becoming blush. Cara had generations of gracious Southern women in her DNA.

“I was invited to participate and I design wedding dresses. If you weren’t aware, perhaps you need to find a job you’re more qualified for,” she said sweetly.

Meredith made a little noise in her throat at Cara’s tone, likely in warning. Rattlesnakes had a tail. Most men never saw Cara coming.

Keith, who wasn’t anything close to most men, just laughed. “I knew. But I wasn’t expecting you to be wearing one. Brings back fond memories.”

“Save it, Mitchell. What do I have to do to get you out of my way for the next six days?”

His lips pursed as he raked her with a smoldering once-over. With close-cut hair the color of a midnight sky, a body strenuously kept in prime condition and deep caramel eyes, he was unfortunately the very definition of six-foot-three-inches worth of yummy. Always had been.

“Oh no.” She shook her head as her body hummed without her permission. “Get your mind out of the sheets. You could have slept with me all you wanted if you’d taken a short walk down the aisle. That barn door’s closed to you. Forever.”

All traces of yumminess went out the window as his face hardened. Mitchell the Missile wasn’t known for turning around failing companies because people liked his looks. Uncompromising, ruthless and detached—that was the man in front of her. Just like the last time she’d seen him—in her dressing room, forty-seven minutes before the flutist was scheduled to start playing Canon in D.

“We’re going to be working together, Cara. Very closely. I suggest you get over our unfortunate history and be professional.”

The models had gone quiet behind her, but every set of eyes burned into her back.

“Honey, I didn’t have much to get over.” That was a complete lie but she grinned through it. “I was over it five minutes after you left.”

Also a lie. He didn’t call her on it, though she was pretty sure he saw right through her.

“Then we have no problem. I’ll buy you a drink later and we can catch up.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’ll pass. Professionals don’t drink on the job.”

* * *

Keith left the beach pavilion with his head intact, a plus when unexpectedly confronted with an entire roomful of women in wedding dresses. God save him from brides.

He strode through the resort, noting a hundred issues requiring his attention. Tablet in hand, his admin, Alice, scurried after him, logging every sentence from his mouth in her efficient shorthand. She’d long grown accustomed to his ground-eating pace, and the ability to keep up was one of her many competencies.

He appreciated competency.

As he evaluated the construction crews’ progress, checked in with the restaurant and catering staff and worked through a minor snafu with the recreation equipment, the image of Cara in that long white dress darted along the edges of his mind.

Not just in a dress, but in charge, running a business she’d created herself.

The harder he tried to forget, the more he thought about her. It was Cara but Cara unlike he’d ever seen her before. It was as oddly compelling as it was distracting.

That had not been his intent when he’d selected her for the bridal expo. Her connections were significant and her dresses had created consumer buzz in a tight industry, particularly among the moneyed crowd. Personal feelings couldn’t interfere with what he knew this expo needed. Keith only had room for the best, and thorough research told him he’d found that in Cara Chandler-Harris Designs.

The decision to go with Cara was easy. Seeing her again was not.

Cara was a cold, scheming woman, no doubt. All women were scheming—or at least the ones he’d dated were—but Cara had proved to be the worst by trying to trap him into a marriage he didn’t want. Thankfully, her scheme hadn’t worked and he’d gotten out before it was too late.

He would never again make the mistake of agonizing over the decision to ask a woman to be his wife, only to find his effort was all for nothing. It had taken considerably longer than five minutes to get over it, but he’d moved on and rarely thought about his former fiancée...until today.

This consulting job had dominated his focus for the better part of six months. Regent Group had hired him to revive an anemic line of Caribbean resorts, and evidence of the life he’d pumped into this property’s veins bustled around him. He thrived on insurmountable challenges.

Cara wasn’t but a small, necessary cog in a larger machine and couldn’t become a further distraction, no matter how much of a surprise it was to discover he was still dangerously attracted to her.

“Alice, please send a bottle of cabernet to Miss Chandler-Harris’s room. Cara,” he clarified as he and Alice evaluated the pool area. Meredith drank martinis, with two olives. Obviously quite a few things with the sisters had changed, but not that, he’d bet.

“Yes, sir,” Alice responded.

The largest infinity pool in the Caribbean spread out between the two main buildings. The pool’s dark basin turned the water a restive navy in deliberate contrast to the turquoise ocean. Intimate concrete islands dotted the outer edge of the pool and would be set up for private dining later in the week.

A breeze picked up strength and rattled the multicolored umbrellas in their stands. Half the stands were empty, yet another in the long list of issues. Many of the thousands of resort projects he’d meticulously approved for implementation had already been done, but not enough. The work teams should be much further along.

Now that he’d arrived, his firm hand would guide the teams into executing the strategy or he’d guide the offenders into the unemployment line.

Keith Mitchell did not allow others to fail on his watch.

In three days, the grand reopening would coincide with a three-day bridal expo. Dozens of merchants, media executives and other wedding professionals composed the elite group of people invited for the resort’s relaunch as a premier wedding destination.

Cara’s fashion show was one of the highlights of the party.

The image of Cara in a wedding dress continued to compete for his attention. Those bare feet peeking out from under the hem had done a quick, sharp number on his lower half. He’d only ever seen her out of heels when she’d been out of everything else, as well. Naked Cara was a sight worthy of recalling.

They’d had chemistry to spare two years ago, and it hadn’t fizzled in the least. A slight miscalculation on his part, but manageable.

The resort manager met him in the lobby, dead center over the inlaid Carrera marble Regent emblem. Elena Moore took his hand in her firm grip. “Mr. Mitchell, welcome back. I’m pleased to see you again.”

“Likewise.” He’d hired Elena personally and their management styles meshed well. “Show me what you’ve accomplished.”

His last visit had been three weeks ago, and Elena’s staffing efforts had dramatically improved since then. Nearly all of the openings in the organizational chart now listed names, and most had received training. They discussed Elena’s biggest hurdles until Keith was satisfied with their agreed direction.

Elena showed him to the two-bedroom penthouse suite he’d requested and disappeared. Two pieces of matched luggage bearing Keith’s initials sat inside the room, though they hadn’t passed the porter. Invisibility—the mark of excellent hotel service. Keith had earned his road-warrior status traveling as many as three hundred days a year, and if he knew anything, it was hotels.

Everything in his life was temporary by design because soon enough, he’d be moving on to the next job. He preferred it that way.

The seventeen-hundred-square-foot suite had been equipped with three flat-screen TVs, a kitchenette and wireless internet connectivity, precisely according to Keith’s specifications. When the resort reopened, guests in this suite would have the services of a dedicated concierge, as well.

He tested everything twice. Satisfied, Keith unpacked his clothes and hung his suits in the walk-in closet, taking up only one of the four available racks. He traveled light and alone, always, but guests would appreciate the space.

After calling down to room service for someone to iron his shirts, he washed away the airplane stench in the enormous glass-enclosed shower. Work beckoned but he took a much-needed fifteen-minute break with a frosty Belgian white from the mini-fridge—his preferred type of beer. The staff knew his preferences, as they should and would know the same about every guest in this hotel.

He settled into a solitary chair outside and took a long pull from the bottle. The wraparound terrace offered a 180-degree view of the pristine shoreline, tinted light pink in the dying rays of the sunset. It was a slice of perfection, and those who wished to tie the knot with such unparalleled beauty surrounding them would pay handsomely because every hand-selected staff member paid attention to details.

Keith Mitchell always hit his target.

He worked until his eyes crossed, then slept a solid four hours and rose at dawn to go jogging. He’d barely finished stretching when another early riser came onto the beach a hundred yards down the shore. Normally, he’d give other people a wide berth, as he always opted to be alone whenever he could. It was the nature of consulting to be constantly on the move. Lasting attachments made zero sense and he was typically too busy to get sentimental about the lack of relationships in his life.

But his Y chromosome had absolutely no trouble recognizing Cara, and their brief exchange yesterday hadn’t satisfied his curiosity about what she’d done with her life over the past two years. And he had a perverse need to understand why she still got under his skin after all the lies she’d told him.

Keith caught up with her. “When did you start jogging?”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “I might ask you the same question.”

He shrugged. “A while back. Not getting any younger.”

“Who is?” She threaded brown hair through a ponytail holder and raised her arms in a T, swiveling at the waist. Her red tank top stretched across her torso and rode up to reveal a smooth expanse of flesh. New blond streaks in her hair gleamed against the backdrop of ocean. “Which way are you going?”

He jerked his head to the left and tore his eyes off Cara’s body. Reluctantly. “Interested in joining me?”

“No.” She curled her lip. “I’m interested in heading the opposite direction.”

“Careful. You wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. That sounded an awful lot like someone who isn’t over me yet.”

“Get your hearing checked.”

But she took off in the direction he’d planned to go, face trained straight ahead. He matched her stride and they ran in silence about three feet from the rushing surf. Not companionable silence. Too much unsaid seethed between them for friendliness, faked or otherwise.

The September weather was perfect, still cool in the morning, and later, Grace Bay would hit the mideighties. The first time Keith set foot on Regent’s Turks and Caicos resort, he’d immediately designated it the centerpiece of the corporate-wide luxury-wedding-destination renovation. No one would be disappointed with the choice.

After half a mile or so, he expected Cara to peel off or fall to the sand, gasping for air. She kept going, stretching it out to a mile. Impressive. She wasn’t even winded. The Cara he’d known had balked at anything more strenuous than painting her nails.

But then, he hadn’t really known her at all.

By mutual agreement, they turned around to head back to the resort. At the entrance marker to the private beach, they slowed and then stopped.

Cara walked in circles to cool down and Keith watched her on the sly as he peeled his damp shirt from his chest to wipe his forehead. Her skin had taken on a glow and she’d yet to slather her face with half a cosmetic store. Dressed-to-the-nines Cara he liked, especially when he took her to dinner and got to spend a whole meal fantasizing about stripping her out of all that finery.

This natural version of her hit him with a sledgehammer to the backs of his knees.

No distractions, Mitchell.

Yet, Cara had never stuck to the role he’d assigned her in his life. Why had he been daft enough to believe that might have changed?

She noticed him watching her and crossed her arms over a still-heaving chest. “Tell me one thing. Why me? Out of all the wedding dress designers out there.”

“Your name was on the short list. Much to my shock.”

“Is it that difficult to believe I can sew?” Her chin jutted out, daring him to say yes.

But it was inconceivable that she’d traded a burning desire to trap some clueless male into marrying her for a design business.

“You have a degree in marketing. Two years ago, you were a junior coffeemaker at an ad agency and then, bang. Now you’re Cara Chandler-Harris Designs, so pardon my mild cardiac arrest. Despite that, your name is highly respected in the industry and I need the best. That’s why you made the cut.”

Plus, he was curious to find out if she was merely the face of the company. Maybe she had someone else slaving away over the dresses while she took all the credit.

“For your information, bang took eighteen months of sleepless nights and several design classes to accomplish. I got an interest-bearing loan. No one handed me anything.”

Not even her father? Seemed unlikely that John Harris would have done nothing to help his daughter’s business.

“Doesn’t hurt to have Chandler-Harris on the label either.”

“It’s not a crime to have connections. If memory serves, the president of Regent Group’s board is married to a friend of my mom’s. Tell me it’s a coincidence you’re now working for Regent.”

Her gaze sliced into him and he didn’t dare grin. But he wanted to. She’d never had so much attitude. He liked it. “All successful people have connections.”

“Exactly. And I’m going to continue using mine.” The dawn light beamed across her face and caught a wicked glint in her espresso-colored eyes.

Keith filed that fact away—for later, when he might lean on their connection. Though he had no doubt she intended to use her connection to him in an entirely different way than he did. “But wedding dresses?”

“Funny story. I got left at the altar and had this useless dress I’d made myself.”

A flash of memory surfaced—Cara in a white dress with hundreds of beads sewn to the top and a stricken look on her face when she turned to see him at the door of her dressing room. He’d stayed long enough to discover the truth about his fiancée. And then left.

“You made that dress?”

With a withering glare, she plopped down in the sand and pulled on a flexed foot. “If you’d paid attention during the wedding plans, that wouldn’t be new information.”

“If you’d been reasonable about the plans, I might have paid more attention.” She’d been like bridezilla on steroids.

“It was my wedding, Keith.” She closed her eyes for a beat and muttered under her breath. All he caught was the word professional.

It had been his wedding, too, a fact she seemed to have forgotten, but in reality, he hadn’t cared about the centerpieces or the color of the cake. He’d given her free rein. Gladly, and then tuned it all out. A wedding was an event to be endured. Much like the marriage he didn’t ask for but agreed to because it was the right thing to do.

“So, you made the dress yourself. Then what happened?”

She glanced up at him, her expression composed. “Norah asked me if I could alter it to fit her. So I did and she wore it when she got married later that month. Then Lynn asked me if I could make one for her. I have yet to run out of unmarried sorority sisters and friends, so a design business was born.”

Norah and Lynn. Bridesmaids number three and four. He had a healthy bit of distance from Houston now, and perspective on his almost-marriage, but he’d been unprepared for it to feel like weakness to recall details with such clarity.

He should go back to his room and shower. Opening day loomed and nothing productive could come of continuing this conversation. “Do you like it?”

Surprise flitted across her face as she climbed to her feet, pointedly ignoring his outstretched hand. “I do. It wasn’t what I envisioned for myself, but I needed...” She took a breath and he had the impression she’d changed her mind about what she’d been about to say. “It was something to occupy my time.”

Finally, something that made sense. The design business was a time killer for an aspiring trophy wife obsessed with finding a husband she’d been unable to snag thus far. Every woman Keith had ever dated wanted nothing more than a free ride and the prestige of being Mrs. Mitchell. Cara was no different.

Except for the part where she started her own business. It was as perplexing as it was fascinating. And he had the feeling she’d been telling the truth when she claimed to have done it with no help from her rich daddy. Keith was thoroughly impressed, quite against his will.

“You come highly regarded for something you fell into accidentally.”

“I prefer to think of it as providence.”

“So you’d design one-use-only dresses no matter what? Why not something more practical?”

“Ever made a cake?”

“I’ve eaten cake. Does that count?”

Her eyes rolled. “Sometimes when you bake a cake, it doesn’t cook quite right. Maybe it’s lopsided or part of it sticks to the pan. Frosting covers a multitude of baking sins. A wedding dress is like frosting. My brides feel beautiful, even if they don’t feel that way wearing anything else. I’m responsible for that, and it’s amazing.”

Frosting was one-use-only, too. Had she chosen the analogy purposefully? “You are using your marketing degree, then. It’s all false advertising in the end.”

False advertising. Her best skill.

“Lord have mercy on your cynical soul.” She jumped up and brushed sand from the backside of her formfitting jogging pants. No one could fault a man’s eyes for straying to the nicely rounded area under her fingers. “One wonders why you asked me to marry you in the first place.”

He snapped his focus away from her curves. Her frosting hid a multitude of sins, as well. “Because you were pregnant.”

Or so she’d led him to believe.

Two

Cara escaped before she actually sank down into the white sand for a good cry. She slammed the door to the room she shared with Meredith. Hard. Hopefully, her devious sister was still sound asleep. “How could you do this to me?”

The blanket on Meredith’s bed moved slightly and incoherent speech rumbled from beneath it.

“Was that English?” Cara ripped the blanket off the bed. “It’s like ninety degrees in here. How can you sleep under this?”

Meredith peered up at Cara through slitted eyes. “Which question do you want me to answer? Without a cup of coffee in my hand, you only get one.”

“Keith. You knew he was behind the invite.” Several people had casually dropped information about his new consulting gig into conversations, but she’d been too busy ignoring anyone who mentioned Keith’s name to realize Regent owned this resort.

“Sue me. You needed this expo deal to grow your business. Where’s the harm?” Flipping hair out of her face, Meredith sat up, looking as if she’d just rolled out of a lingerie fashion shoot instead of bed. If Cara didn’t love her sister so much, she’d hate her. “He’s just an ex-fiancé. A guy you are completely over. Right?”

“Totally.” Well, mostly.

Cara sank onto the bed and brooded. She needed a shower and a sturdy wooden stake to drive through the heart of the walking corpse masquerading as a man named Keith Mitchell.

“Don’t protest too hard or you’ll hurt yourself. If nothing else, it’s a chance for closure. Take it.” Meredith’s gaze grew keen. “You were fine with this yesterday. What happened?”

“Keith jogs now. Or did you already know that, too?”

Meredith stuck her tongue out. “You two are made for each other. Only insane people get up at the crack of dawn to run. Clearly he’s lost as many marbles as you have.”

“Oh, he’s still in possession of all his faculties. What he’s lost is his humanity.”

“Because he’s giving you exclusive worldwide exposure for your dresses? You’re right, that’s way over the line.”

Cara buried her face in her hands and dredged up some Magnolia Grit. She had it to spare or she’d never have made it out of her wedding-day dressing room after losing not one, but two of the most important things in her life. Now would be a great time for that grit to surface. “He only asked me to marry him because I told him I was pregnant. How did I not know that?”

“A lot of guys wouldn’t have. He did.” Meredith’s arms wrapped around Cara and the silent unconditional support nearly undid her. “Still, it’s a crappy thing to admit. Even if it’s true.”

With a sniffle, Cara nodded against Meredith’s shoulder. “I thought he loved me.”

“One is not mutually exclusive of the other. He probably did love you. Maybe he was going to ask you at some point in the future and you gave him an incentive to speed up the timing.”

“Yeah and that worked out.”

“Better you found out then that he’s a rolling stone. I was never fond of the name Cara Chandler-Harris Mitchell anyway. If you guys kiss and make up, consider keeping your maiden name this time.”

She scowled. “I’d rather kiss the hind end of a sweaty camel than Keith.”

The knowing smile Meredith shot over her shoulder on her way to hog the bathroom did not improve Cara’s mood. “I could’ve lit the candles on a ninety-year-old’s birthday cake from all the sparks shooting around the pavilion yesterday.”

“That was Keith’s robotic heart short-circuiting.”

“You might be over him, but that man is definitely not over you. People make mistakes. Maybe he wants another chance.”

“Another chance to crush me beneath him as he rolls away again? Ha.”

Lord Almighty. Now she was replaying their conversations through her head. This morning on the beach, he’d been genuinely curious about her life. And okay, he always radiated that carnal come-hither, but more of it had wafted in her direction than she’d been willing to acknowledge.

“Honey, you’re a smart girl. Do the math.” Meredith leaned on the bathroom door frame. “He didn’t invite you here solely for your fantastic wedding dresses. Hell, I can slap some lace on a piece of satin and stick it on some starry-eyed bride. He wants the designer. Not the designs.”

“He can want until all the gears in his robotic heart rust. I have a brand-new lease on life and no man, especially not Keith Mitchell, is a part of the plan.” Cara elbowed past Meredith into the bathroom. “And for the crack about slapping lace on satin, you forfeit first dibs on the shower.”

Grumbling, Meredith conceded and shut the door behind her. Cara fumed as she stood under the jets.

So. The invitation was a veiled attempt to reconcile, was it? Shattered pieces of her life and her heart had taken a supreme amount of will to recover. There was no way on God’s green earth she’d consider forgiving Keith for walking out on her when she’d needed him most.

He was not husband material. Period.

She dressed for the day in her best heels and a flattering outfit—the modern-day woman’s equivalent to a full suit of armor.

As the Good Lord clearly felt she deserved a break, the elevator button lit up when she pressed it. A working elevator. About time.

Then the doors slid open to reveal the very man she least wanted to see.

Keith smiled and sizzled her toes with a heated glance at her Louboutin sandals. “Going down?”

“You first.” She waltzed in to stand right next to him because she was a professional. An elevator full of testosterone didn’t scare her. The idea Meredith had planted—about how Mr. Runaway Groom might be angling for a do-over—that put a curl of panic in the pit of her stomach.

Why, she didn’t know. There wasn’t a combination of words in any language he could utter that would make her crazy enough to try again. And to the best of her knowledge, Keith was fluent in five languages and could order beer in twelve more.

She stared at the crack where the two door panels met and pretended the tension hadn’t raised the hair on her arms. Keith’s heat instantly spread through the small box and started seeping through her pores. And she’d already been plenty hot and bothered. He was just so solid and powerful and...arrogant.

“Do you run every day?” Keith asked politely.

“Usually. You?” Oh, her mama would be so proud. Twenty-eight years of lessons on how to smile through the Apocalypse were paying off.

“I try to. It’s great for clearing my head.”

Cara bit back her first response—Is that what happened to your brain when you cooked up the idea of a second chance? “Oh?”

“It’s an opportunity to hone my focus for the day ahead.”

“Sorry I intruded this morning.”

Keith glanced at her but she didn’t take her eyes off the crack. “You didn’t. I enjoyed it.”

All this civility slicked the back of her throat. Why was it taking so long to reach the ground floor? The building was only five stories.

The elevator screeched to a halt, throwing Cara to her knees. Before she hit the carpet, the interior went black.

Of course. It wasn’t enough to be on a small island with Keith. Now they were trapped in an elevator together. In the dark.

“Are you okay?” Keith’s voice split the darkness from above her. Obviously he had superior balance in his flat shoes.

She eased back against the wall, wincing as her ankle started to ache. Twisted, no doubt. “Fine.”

A glow emanated from Keith’s hand. “Flashlight app.”

“Do you have a call-the-elevator-repairman app? That would be handy.”

“I’m texting the hotel manager as we speak.” He sank to the floor and leaned against the back wall, crossing his mile of legs gracefully. “At least there’s no chance we’ll plunge to our deaths. I think we’re stuck between the second and first floors.”

“Can we climb out the hatch through the top?”

Keith set his phone on the floor and glanced at the ceiling. “Maybe. I’d have to boost you up. Could you pry the doors apart on the second floor?”

“On second thought, let’s see how long it’ll take the manager to get someone here to fix it. The temperature in here is cooler than my room. So there’s that.”

“What’s wrong with your room?”

“Air conditioner is flaky.”

In the low glow of the phone, Keith’s frown was slightly menacing. “Why didn’t you report it to the manager?”

“Oh, is that what you’re supposed to do?” She pulled the sandal off her foot and massaged the offending ankle. Still hurt as if she’d stabbed it with a pair of shears. Well, if nothing else, now she had a good excuse to avoid jogging on the beach with a man who moved so fluidly it made her salivate. “I assume the manager called the same guy to repair it as the one who fixed the elevator. You’d think the consultant responsible for the whole show might have a better handle on this sort of thing.”

“My shows always go off without a hitch. Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine.”

His phone beeped and he picked it up to tap through the message. “It’ll be about twenty minutes. Can you live with that or shall we try the escape hatch?”

Twenty minutes in the close confines of an elevator with her ex-fiancé. If he tried anything, she’d stab him with her heel. There was wood in a stiletto, wasn’t there? “I’ll wait. I didn’t have anything to do today besides lounge around at the pool.”

“Me either.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. You’re the big man on campus. How come you’re not CEO of something by now? Too permanent?”

His sculpted lips pursed, and dang it if it didn’t set off a flutter to recall how masterfully that mouth could pleasure her body. The curse of celibacy. Her neglected body needed to catch a clue about how totally unattractive Keith Mitchell was.

Well, not on the outside, but on the inside, where it counted.

“I have no desire to be the CEO of anything,” he said. “I’m my own boss. I can pick my challenges and move on, instead of being mired in entrenched bureaucracy at a company long-term.”

Yep. Meredith had called it. At least Cara had found out about his allergy to commitment before she’d married him. But now she had a ton of other questions.

She should shut up. Being stuck in an elevator didn’t mean she had to say everything on her mind. “Just for morbid grins, once we’d gotten married, how long would it have taken you to develop the seven-year itch—six months?”

So apparently she did have to hash it out right this minute.

His crisp suit rustled as he shifted into a different position. “I let it go earlier, but let’s clear this up now. I didn’t leave you at the altar. I’m sure it’s more fun to tell the story that way. Gets you a lot more sympathy.”

She laughed but it rang hollow. “Semantics, Mitchell.”

“It’s not. I wouldn’t have subjected you to the public humiliation of walking down the aisle to an empty spot where I was supposed to be.”

“Well, bless your heart. I really appreciate you sparing me the humiliation of having to call off my wedding minutes before it started. Oh, wait. That is what happened. Fill me in on the part where you were acting noble.”

If this was a reconciliation attempt, he should stick to his non-long-term day job.

“Cara.” He heaved a sigh. “Timing aside, we weren’t meant to be. Our marriage would have been a disaster. Surely you’ve come to accept that during the last two years.”

“That was a lame excuse then and time hasn’t improved it. I needed you and you left.”

“You needed a wedding and a husband. Anyone with the proper equipment would’ve done. It just took me a while longer to wise up than it should have.”

“I was in love with you!” She curled her hand into a fist and imagined planting it right in his arrogant jaw. A girl could dream. Probably it would break her hand before it rearranged his pretty face.

“Right.” He smirked. “Just like I was in love with you.”

He didn’t believe her.

All vestiges of Southern grace evaporated as a snarl escaped her clamped lips. “Unlike you, I wasn’t getting married because of the baby. I was deluded enough to believe we were going to be a happy family.”

“That mythical happy family would have been a little difficult considering you lied about being pregnant.”

“What?” She shook her head but the roaring in her ears just swelled. “I didn’t lie about being pregnant.”

“You flashed a fake smile and said, ‘Guess what? False alarm.’ Convenient how you discovered it moments before the ceremony. That’s the reason I spared you the walk down the aisle, because you told me before instead of after.”

“False al—” She recoiled so hard, the back of her head smacked the wall. “I had a miscarriage, you son of a bitch.”

* * *

“A miscarriage?” Keith’s pulse stumbled and his lungs contracted. “How is that possible?”

“You’ve heard of the internet? Do a search.” Cara crossed her arms and looked away, but not before he caught the tremble of her lower lip in the phone’s glow.

That punched him in the gut. “On what planet does ‘false alarm’ mean a miscarriage instead of ‘not really pregnant’?”

The harsh tone had come out automatically. If he couldn’t keep better control over himself, he might check out the escape hatch regardless, which would be very difficult to maneuver with his foot in his mouth. But if she’d really been pregnant, everything he’d assumed about her, about their relationship—hell, maybe even about himself—was wrong.

“Planet Bride-Dealing-With-Whacked-Out-Hormones. It’s in the I-Get-A-Pass Galaxy. I didn’t want to ruin our special day with something so awful.” She muttered “Jerk” under her breath, but she didn’t cry.

It was a far tamer slur than the one he was calling himself. Miscarriage. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. “You were really pregnant?”

“Guess you get to keep your genius status one more day.”

He was so far from a genius, he couldn’t even see the “stupid” line he’d crossed. His temples throbbed with tension and unrestrained nerves.

Miscarriage was the false alarm.

From the moment Cara told him about the pregnancy, he’d been so furious, with himself for not being more diligent about birth control, with how difficult it had been to come to terms with what needed to happen next—regardless of his intense desire to avoid matrimony—and with Cara’s happiness over a marriage he didn’t want.

Meredith had found him nursing his wounds the morning of the wedding and announced, “Cara needs to talk to you,” with such gravity.

He’d fallen on the words “false alarm” like a starving dog on a steak, and as a bonus, he assumed Cara had created a manipulation scheme. Then he’d settled into his role of martyr with ease.

He rubbed his eyes but it only made the sting worse and didn’t change what his vision had already told him—she was telling the truth. “At what point were you going to clarify this?”

“After the ceremony, when we were alone. Figured we could cry about it together and drown our sorrows in expensive champagne I could actually drink.” She cocked her head and the heat of her anger zinged through the elevator. “You thought I’d lied about being pregnant? How in all that’s holy can you believe I would do something so reprehensible?”

Keith ran a hand across the back of his clammy neck. This conversation was veering into a realm he did not care for. “How could you believe I’d walk out on you if I’d really understood what you meant? Why didn’t you stop me?”

Smooth. If she’d just give him a minute to collect his scattered wits, he might formulate a response that didn’t make him sound like a callous ass.

I’m so, so sorry. I should have asked more questions. I screwed up.

As always, he could no sooner force such emotionally laden words out of his mouth than he could force a watermelon into it.

“Because I knew, Keith! I could see the relief dripping from your expression. You never invested an ounce of effort into the wedding plans and I blew it off as typical guy hatred of flowers and musical selections. But you stood there, all calm and cool, telling me how we wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Miscarriage or false positive, it’s the same end. You were looking for an out and I handed it to you.”

You’re right. I was.

The exit had been calling his name before she’d dropped the pregnancy bomb that then tightened the noose with alarming haste. His first love was a job well done, completed by the sweat of his brow. He’d been fortunate his hard work over the years had resulted in a healthy bank account. Women typically wanted a piece of it. Providing a lavish lifestyle for an unambitious wife who wanted nothing more than to spend his money put Keith off the idea of tying himself permanently to any of them. Only an unexpected pregnancy could have turned the tide.

Of course he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Of course he didn’t hang around to dissect it. Those dominoes had been set up long before that final showdown. Maybe even as far back as childhood, when he’d watched his mother come home with Bergdorf bags three times a week and trade in her Bentley once a year.

It didn’t make him feel any better about what he’d done. “I’m... I... You didn’t deserve that.”

There was more he should say, but it stalled in his throat. For once in his life, he had no idea how to handle a situation. No idea what to do with the clawing, suffocating guilt lodged in his windpipe.

Keith Mitchell was never caught off guard. Never at a loss for words.

“No, I didn’t deserve any of it. But I’m glad it went down like it did. Otherwise we’d be divorced by now.”

“That’s low. I would have stayed with you for the sake of the baby.”

Just as he’d intended to marry her for the sake of the baby. He’d hoped he and Cara might eventually become friendly, like his parents, and have an amicable marriage. She had connections and would be good for his public image, a tradeoff for giving her his name. It was an uneven compromise but one he’d been willing to make.

The baby part of the equation, he did not want to think about. He wasn’t cut out to be a father. Despite all the pain, it had worked out for the best.

“I wouldn’t have stayed with you. That’s not the marriage I wanted.” She sighed. “I’ll probably shoot myself later, but I’m about to agree with you. We wouldn’t have worked out. You’re a crap-head of the first order, but you did me a favor by leaving. Meredith was right. I needed closure and now I’ve got it.”

The knot in his larynx cinched a notch. Where had this woman come from? The Cara of two years ago was a completely different person than the one slouched against the elevator sidewall.

Before, she’d been flirty and fun, someone to spend time with until things ran their course or he moved on to the next job in the next city. He’d never seen their relationship as progressing toward anything serious. When she’d announced the pregnancy, the decision to marry her had come about slowly and painfully. But it took two to tango and Keith never reneged on his responsibilities.

This present-day Cara had an enigmatic blend of strength, wit, drive and determination.

And it was stunning on her.

He cleared his throat. “You said you were in love with me. Is that true?”

She’d never said that before, not even in the weeks before the wedding.

“I thought I was. Now I’m not so sure.” She shook her head. “All this time you thought I wasn’t actually pregnant? Lord, the names I called you for walking away from a woman who’d just had a miscarriage. Mama would have made me wash my mouth out with soap if she’d heard me.”

He cleared his throat. It didn’t help shake free the phrase he couldn’t withhold any longer. “Cara, I... I’m...sorry. What can I do?”

“You made a mistake and you apologized. It’s enough.”

“Not for me.”

“Sorry, Keith. You don’t get to decide. I’ve already forgiven you.”

Her casually tossed-out sentiment blazed past the knot and spread warmth through his frozen chest. Forgiveness. Freely offered. It was a gift he’d never been given, never solicited. Never wanted. Now that he had something so significant...what did he do with it?

She rolled her shoulders. “Now maybe this week won’t be as gruesome as I’ve envisioned.”

The overhead lights flickered, then shone steadily, and the elevator lurched. The doors slid open on the ground floor and Cara slipped on her shoe, then climbed to her feet, flinching as her left foot hit the marble in the lobby.

Keith snagged her hand before she could bolt. “Are you going to be able to walk on that ankle?”

Lean on me. I won’t let you down this time.

“It’s still attached, isn’t it? Nothing a good bottle of wine won’t cure.”

“Let me bring you one. Later tonight.”

More questions about the past rose up, struggling to be voiced, such as how it had happened, when she’d gone to the doctor. He wasn’t ready to let her go, but neither could he stutter through such an emotional maze. Not now. Later, after he’d processed, his coherency would surely return.

Those espresso-colored eyes danced down to their linked hands and back up again, skewering him. Her intense gaze was full of that mystique he’d begun to suspect had far more depth than anyone realized. Least of all him.

“I’m about Keith Mitchell-ed out for the day. When I said this week won’t be as gruesome as I thought, I meant I could dismiss you from my mind without a scrap of remorse.”

She slid from his grasp and hobbled across the lobby in pursuit of a goal that had nothing to do with Keith. And shouldn’t.

But he’d never been very tolerant of being dismissed, especially not when in the company of a completely different Cara than he remembered. Her business, as best he could tell, was legitimate and indeed the product of a strong work ethic, which he thoroughly respected. Was it possible she wasn’t just after a husband any longer? What could have prompted such a big turnaround?

This week had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

Keith didn’t see Cara again until after lunch, when Marla Collins, the expo event coordinator, called a meeting with all the participants. He leaned against a lone table along the back wall of the resort conference room and listened to the spiel from a distance. Alice sat in the first row typing up the highlights, which she would email to him afterward, but he preferred to hear the details firsthand.

His gaze strayed through the seated crowd to Cara’s streaked brown hair as she leaned to whisper something in Meredith’s ear. Telling her sister about Keith’s evils, no doubt. Though she’d probably been doing that for two long years. Cara ran a business now. They likely had more pressing matters to discuss besides the callous ass in the back of the room.

Could she really have forgiven him so easily, in a scant few minutes?

He most assuredly had a hundred more pressing matters to occupy him, and yet the conversation in the elevator this morning never fully left his thoughts. How could it? For two years, he’d been convinced Cara had tried to trap him into a marriage he didn’t want.

He’d moved on and had never lost sleep over it. Cara’s expo invite was strictly intended to secure the best wedding industry professionals, not expose him to a newly altered reality. And in that mirror, he did not like his reflection. He’d hurt her. Keith Mitchell did not make mistakes.

Marla wrapped up the status meeting and the participants gathered their handouts and electronic devices, chattering to each other as they swarmed from the room. Keith waited for Cara to pass him and invented an excuse to speak to her, but no less than four people lined up to ask him questions or report a problem. He watched her leave with Meredith, never once glancing in his direction. Clearly, she meant to do exactly as she said—dismiss him from her mind. He wished he could do the same so easily.

This brand-new Cara intrigued the hell out of him. He couldn’t let things lie between them, not with all her revelations. Not with those bare feet still lingering in his mind’s eye. If nothing else, the ledger in his head needed reconciling. While she’d gotten her closure, he hadn’t.

“Excuse me,” he said to Elisabeth DeBolt, the manager of spa services, who had been midsentence in detailing the color of tile she’d selected for the massage rooms. Details he normally encouraged. But not right now.

He left Elisabeth and the others where they stood and followed Cara out the door.

Cara and Meredith hadn’t gone far. They were near the pool, embroiled in what looked to be a fascinating conversation with a maintenance worker’s pecs, which the two women’s eyes never left. The shirtless pool boy blathered on to the sisters as if he didn’t notice, likely used to being ogled by the ladies.

Keith made a mental note to have a word with the recreation manager. This resort would cater to couples, not singles. Shirtless pool boys with the ability to bench-press the equivalent of twice their own weight had their place but not at this property.

As Keith could also bench-press the equivalent of twice his own weight and topped the kid by five inches, Shirtless Pool Boy wisely took off when Keith joined their party.

“Thanks a whole heap, Mitchell. I was enjoying the view,” Meredith grumbled. “No matter how good you look in a suit, I can’t fantasize about you.”

He grinned, his mood considerably lightened. He’d smiled more in the past two days than he had in the past two months. “Why not? Sister code?”

“No, because you’re a cretin.” She tossed her hair. “Unlike some other people I could mention, I don’t forgive so easily. Keep that in mind next time you find yourself in a dark alley.”

Cara’s cheeks went pink. “I’m standing right here.”

“Did I seem confused about that? I wasn’t.” Meredith crossed her arms and glared at Keith. “Watch yourself. I see that look in your eye. I’m the one who held her while she cried over your worthless hide. Don’t you dare break her heart again or the sharks out there will be mysteriously well fed.”

“Still here.” Cara smacked Meredith but she didn’t budge.

They were the same height in their sky-high heels, with the same nose and long, sooty eyelashes, but the similarity ended there. Meredith was a traffic-stopper with her obvious, in-your-face assets, where Cara had a refined beauty that had snared Keith’s attention the moment he’d locked gazes with her across the bar, back in Houston. He hadn’t even noticed Meredith sitting on the next stool when he’d beelined it over to introduce himself and buy Cara a drink.

Keith saluted Meredith. “Yes, ma’am. No dark alleys. No broken hearts.”

“I’m serious, Mitchell.” She stuck V-ed fingers near her eyeballs and flipped them around to stab at Keith. “I’m watching you.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about Cara. I’m here to do a job and that’s my sole focus.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m just here for the pool boys.”

With that, she flounced off, leaving him alone with Cara. She wore the same thing she’d had on earlier, which he’d had difficulty fully appreciating in a dark elevator. The lightweight summer skirt and tailored blouse accentuated her curves just as well as the jogging outfit from their pre-dawn run and the outfit’s deep shade of peach naturally led to a desire to take a bite out of the creamy swell of her cleavage.

The outside temperature heated, though he’d have sworn it was a balmy eighty degrees five seconds ago. Learning she wasn’t a liar and manipulator stirred things below the belt in different, unanticipated ways. Coupled with a brand-new entrepreneur’s skin, Cara was suddenly a full package he wanted to rip open with enthusiasm.

She rolled her eyes with amusement. “Meredith has Mama’s flair for melodrama. Among other things.”

“I’ve always liked your sister. You like her, too.”

“I couldn’t do this design business without her.” She glanced at him with a slow sweep that dialed up his awareness of how very much he liked dressed-to-the-nines Cara. “Did you want something?”

Yes, he did. It just wasn’t the same thing he’d wanted when he left the meeting. “How is your ankle?”

“That’s what you chased me down to ask?”

The breeze picked up and flung strands of hair into her face, which he did not hesitate to smooth back. She froze under his fingers. What was he doing? “I’m concerned about you. You’re an integral part of the expo.”

“I’m fine. I doubt I’ll be jogging in the morning. But I’m okay.”

“Now that’s a crying shame.” He’d been looking forward to running side by side with natural Cara, oddly enough. Jogging was supposed to be a solitary sport. That’s why he liked it.

His phone vibrated and as he was still on the job, he pulled it out. And swore.

“Problem?” she asked.

“Potentially. I’ve had my eye on a depression in the Atlantic for a week or so. NOAA just upgraded it to Tropical Storm Mark.” He flashed his phone toward her, showing her the map sent by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. “NOAA app.”

“Who has an NOAA app?”

“A consultant hired to turn around a resort located on the leading edge of the Caribbean during hurricane season. I’m good at what I do.”

Cara’s gaze skittered across his mouth, lingering. “I’m pretty aware of the breadth of your skill set.”

Her voice had dropped, turning sultry, and his body hardened in an instant. Yeah, he remembered how hot their kisses had always been. If he could find a way to make up for his mistake, maybe she’d be interested in a repeat of the fun, expectation-free part of their past.

“Are you flirting with me, Cara?”

She smiled and Meredith’s shark threat seemed less treacherous in comparison. “Not in the slightest. Your best skill is walking away and I took copious notes. Allow me to demonstrate what I learned.”

She pivoted on one sexy stiletto and hobbled after Meredith, leaving Keith standing alone by the pool.

With a tropical storm on the horizon and a grand reopening combined with a bridal expo in two days, Cara was a distraction he could ill afford to indulge. Their history was painful and irreconcilable. Probably too difficult to overcome, regardless of whether she’d actually forgiven him.

Nonetheless, her pointed refusal to engage fanned the flames of his competitive streak into a full-fledged blaze. Once, he’d been eager to disentangle himself from a wannabe trophy wife with zero ambition, and now he could think of nothing else but exploring the new, uncharted Cara.

Keith Mitchell did not back down from a challenge.

Three

“What do you mean the flight was canceled?” Cara dropped to the bed and flung both shoes at the wall. Since she was a lover not a pitcher, her Louboutins clunked to the carpet well short of the intended target. Just as everything else she’d attempted to do since landing on this island impersonating paradise.

Meredith pushed a couple of buttons on the coffee brewer—her second pot of the day. “C-A-N-C—”

“I know how to spell canceled, smart aleck. Why is the flight canceled?”

Her sister shrugged. “Mechanical failure. Pilot’s strike. Lost in the Bermuda Triangle. Take your pick. Does it matter? You can wear the dress in the show and I’ll run things backstage. People will love the designer taking the runway. Stop freaking out.”

“I have to freak out. It’s what I do.” Cara had already sent Jackie home and the replacement model should have landed at Providenciales Airport an hour ago. Except her flight out of JFK was canceled.

“Let Keith bring you that bottle of wine he offered. You need to relax.”

“One day, I’ll learn to stop repeating my conversations to you verbatim.” Cara scowled and rubbed her ankle, which was not fine despite all her insistence to that man. Mentally, she scrolled through her shoe inventory and gave up. Except for her jogging shoes, she’d brought nothing less than three-and-a-half-inch heels. She might not even own anything less than three. “I have no interest in being anywhere near Keith.”

“I’ll drink it then. The bottle he sent last night was not bad.”

Cara wouldn’t know. She’d refused to let one drop grace her lips. “You can fantasize about him, too, if you want. Or sleep with him. I don’t care.”

Meredith jerked to a halt, halfway across the room. “Oh, honey. I had no idea you still had feelings for him. Don’t clue him in just yet, okay? Make him work for it.”

“I don’t still have feelings for him!” Cara fell face-first into the raw-silk comforter. Such a vehement denial probably didn’t help her case any. Rolling, she stared at the ceiling.

Mad, she had plenty of. Summoning it up took no effort at all.

She frowned when it didn’t happen. Well, hell. She might not be as pissed as she used to be, not anymore. He’d been so weird in the elevator after she’d laid into him about being such a sleaze. Weird and speechless, and Keith didn’t usually do speechless. He always had words at the tip of his tongue.

That’s how she knew he’d told the truth about why he left. And she should have told him about the miscarriage right then and there in her dressing room, regardless of how upset and disoriented she’d been. They’d both made mistakes—his obviously being a lot more flagrant and inexcusable—but it was over with and she had a job to do.

Cara sat up. “I have alterations and so do you. Thanks for being a pit bull earlier and I really appreciated the shark warning, but nothing is going to happen with Keith. In fact, the name Keith Mitchell is henceforth banned from being said. Keith Mitchell is like Voldemort to you.”

“Creepy on the outside but looks like Ralph Fiennes underneath and has a delish accent?” Meredith waggled her brows.

“Shut up. I’m doing my alterations on the beach. The waves are relaxing, aren’t they?” Cara gathered her sewing kit and folded the dress into a bag while Meredith snickered through dumping half a sugar refinery into her coffee.

“Then I’m doing my alterations at the pool. Maybe Paolo will be back, now that your boyfriend’s not there to scare him off. Don’t wait up,” Meredith called after Cara as she exited their hotel room.

The beach was deserted. Everyone currently staying at the resort had a behind-the-scenes role in the bridal expo. The real guests were the wedding professionals who would arrive for the grand opening at the end of the week and then attend the expo featuring the latest wedding trends.

Cara had her pick of beach loungers and arranged a plastic tarp over several to lay out the dress, careful to keep it away from the sand, though the entire expo would take place on the beach. Sand was inevitable. The alterations weren’t extensive but she’d handmade all her dresses and every stitch had to be redone carefully. No sewing machine quick fixes for Cara Chandler-Harris Designs.

If the bridal expo worked to increase business as she planned, sewing machines would be a necessary part of her future. Standing orders meant she couldn’t take a month to make one dress any longer. Cara threaded a needle and reminded herself she welcomed the influx of business and the opportunity, though Meredith had to convince her of it daily.

This was Cara’s life now. She stabbed the needle through the silk spread out over her lap. Weddings were for other women, not her, regardless of how much she wished otherwise. Cara couldn’t imagine trusting a man enough to fall in love, let alone marry him. Every day, she expected to wake up and realize she’d gotten over her caution.

Hadn’t happened yet. Until then, she’d sew. The surf crashed a few feet away and the cry of gulls floated on a light afternoon breeze. Her life did not suck. She’d found a way to be content instead of deliriously happy, and it was enough.

Sometime later, a shadow fell over the tiny new stitches. Cara glanced up and cursed her stupid quivery heart for lurching even a little bit over the sight of Keith. But sweet Jesus did that man fill out a suit, and he had charm and wit to spare. Once upon a time, she’d thoroughly enjoyed his company.

“Busy?” he asked.

“Nah. I’m working on my tan.”

“Sorry, that was a stupid question.” He sat without invitation on the next lounger, their knees nearly touching, and his eyes trained on her bare feet. “Is your ankle still bothering you?”

“Geez. That was a lame excuse to talk to me the first twelve times. What’s really going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

He grinned and her polarized sunglasses did nothing to protect her from the dazzle. “Do I need an excuse to talk to you?”

“No, you need to take a number. Can’t you see how popular I am?” She waved at the empty beach. “Sandals and sand don’t mix, ironically enough. That’s why I’m barefoot. Stop asking me about my ankle.”

Weakness in any form bothered her, especially around Keith, who could scent weakness with the precision of a homing device. Meredith’s shark scenario was sweet, but ineffective. Sharks never ate their own kind.

She sighed. Keith wasn’t quite the heartless bastard she’d been telling herself for two years. She’d have to stop thinking of him as one.

“Then I’ll go with a different excuse. Have dinner with me.”

She couldn’t help it. Laughter bubbled out before she could choke it back. “No, really. What do you want?”

“That is what I want. But in lieu of that, I’ll settle for your advice. The resort wedding coordinator quit with no notice. Her first task was to organize a mock wedding for the expo, and it’s in shambles. Is there any way you could walk through the plans with one of the management staff?”

She stared at Keith’s inscrutable expression. “You want my help?”

“Desperately and I’m not afraid to beg. I’d compensate you for your time.”

Her soul thrilled a little at the thought of a big bucket of masculinity like Keith on his knees, begging. She was five-eight, but even in heels, she never got to be taller than him.

“Money’s not the object of my hesitation. It’s more that you’re asking me for a favor.” That brought her up short. He’d owe her. Big-time. And she’d already started thinking of ways to collect, starting with a brand-new fantasy involving Keith and his knees. “Why would you ask me, out of all the people here?”

“Because you’ve planned a wedding.”

“That’s rich, Mitchell. How convenient.”

“It’s not a matter of convenience. I’ve seen what you can do, and no one else could possibly hope to meet my standards. Except you.” Those caramel eyes were on hers, all melty and scrumptious and saying far more than his mouth did.

“So now my ability to plan a wedding is a hot commodity. As I recall, you weren’t so keen on it before.” She waited for the sting of anger, but it had really and truly fled, dang it. When she’d told him she’d forgiven him in the elevator, it had mostly been because she couldn’t resist being contrary, but it seemed to have stuck.

And he wanted her help with wedding planning. Nothing got her more excited. Well, almost nothing.

“I can’t redo the past. But I can make it up to you now. Name it. Your wish is my command.” His scalding gaze rested on her feet again and her toes tingled. She dug them down into the sand where he couldn’t see them.

“Don’t worry about it.” She had absolutely zero desire to find out how he intended to make it up to her. Okay, maybe ten percent desire, but strictly out of curiosity. “I’ll help you, but I’ll be very demanding and difficult to work with.”

His knee swung closer to hers, grazing it as he leaned forward. “Which is no less than I expect. Thanks.”

Her breath caught. Of all things, Keith’s knee was turning her insides flippy, way down low where all the really neglected parts had throbbed to life. “When do you need me?”

“Right now.” That caramel gaze boiled over with searing intensity, holding her captive.

Heat blazed, nearly singeing her uncovered skin. The covered places were pretty hot too and straining to be free of their confines. “You can have me for an hour. Is that long enough?”

“I can accomplish plenty with you in an hour.”

Her tongue came out to wet parched lips, and every nerve was screaming to feel his mouth against them instead. “We’re still talking about the same thing, right?”

He held out a hand and God above, she was afraid to take it. But she did. He drew her forward, oh so slowly, into his space, where it smelled like ocean and Keith. “I sincerely hope so.”

“Great,” she croaked and jerked back out of the danger zone. “Let me put my dress in the room and grab my shoes. I’ll meet your staff member at the front desk.”

“I’ll tell her to expect you.” He let her pull away, never breaking eye contact as their flesh separated. “And Cara? You and I both know that’s not what we were talking about.”

She fled before her neglected parts overruled her brain.

By the time she reached her room, she was breathless and mad at herself.

So Keith was hot and really, really, really good at making her body hum. Everything down there needed to shut up. This wasn’t a vacation and they both had a lot of work to do. Plus, he scared the crap out of her. She’d been down that path and it was not lined with primrose.

The man had serious commitment issues. Her heart wasn’t up for another beating, and she could never have a casual tropical island fling with Keith Mitchell. Not then, not now. They were total opposites in that regard. He wasn’t interested in long-term. She was.

Besides, Keith had superhero sperm, capable of leaping tall birth control methods. She wasn’t even on the pill this time. Abstinence was the only method guaranteed to work.

The reasons for steering clear were piled so high, she couldn’t see over them even if she put on a pair of ten-inch heels.

Meredith was gone, thank goodness. Cara so did not want to have another conversation about he-who-must-not-be-named, and on top of that, her sister could read her like an instruction manual. Cara was genuinely afraid of what must be written all over her face—her runaway groom admitted he needed her and praised her wedding-planning efforts at the same time.

That flipped her insides much more powerfully than any heated gaze Keith could shoot in her direction.

* * *

Keith waited for Cara at the front desk and shot off some emails so he didn’t look like a lovesick teenager hanging out in hopes of accidentally running into the object of his affection. Of course, the things he wanted to do to Cara had a decidedly adult theme. All that heat on the beach had definitely not been one-sided, but she apparently planned to pretend otherwise.

He didn’t. This expo would get 100 percent of his attention during working hours, but there was nothing wrong with some after-hours relaxation with an old flame, was there?

Clacking heels announced Cara’s arrival, but his Y chromosome had scented her the moment she stepped through the lobby doors. That peach outfit hadn’t grown any less mouthwatering as the day wore on, and the sea breeze had teased her hair into a tumbled mess his fingers strained to dive into.

The rest of the lobby vanished. All he could see was Cara.

“I’m here,” she said.

Yes, she was. There must be something in the salt air because the first time they’d been together, being in her presence did not drive him batty. Chemistry, they had, but he’d always been able to focus when she wasn’t around. Now? Not so much.

And when she was around...well, he was allowing her to be so much of a distraction, he should hand in his resignation to Regent before the sun set.

Or he could get his mind out of Cara’s cleavage and act like the professional he’d insisted she be. Thus far, he’d been the one who’d devolved.

The resort’s assistant manager, a native islander who’d been working in local resorts for fifteen years, came around from behind the front desk for an introduction. “Mary Kwane, this is Cara,” Keith said. “Mary is filling in until we can hire another wedding coordinator.”

Mary sized up Cara and offered her hand. “What are your qualifications?”

Cara shook the other woman’s hand and smiled. “I planned a wedding in two months.”

“How many guests?” Mary didn’t mince words but her work ethic was unparalleled. He hired only the best.

“Five hundred, with two venues and two different themes.”

Keith did a double take. Really? Conceptualizing two separate themes was ridiculous, but he eyed Cara with new respect, nonetheless, because she’d also done it while pregnant. Without his help.

Then, because of him, she hadn’t gotten to enjoy any of it. His stomach rolled. He’d given lip service to making it up to her, but that wasn’t actually possible. Yet she’d let it go, as if he’d done nothing more serious than misplace her favorite earrings.

“I’ll leave the two of you to it,” he said and escaped.

Keith met with Elena so he and the resort manager could formulate a plan to fill the vacant wedding coordinator position and then he spent an hour alone in his office buried in procurement paperwork. In the next room, Alice and a couple of additional team members slashed through the pages-long to-do list, communicating their progress via chat windows. Keith glanced through the updates periodically while he pretended not to be dwelling on Cara.

Probably he should forget about how gorgeous and tantalizing and challenging she was. He’d done nothing to reconcile his screwup, and her back-off sign couldn’t be any larger.

A reminder beeped on his phone but he didn’t need it. Today was his mom’s birthday and with the time difference between here and Miami, he should catch her before she started preparing for an evening on the town. His father escorted her to the opera and dinner every year like clockwork.

She picked up on the forth ring.

“Hi, Mom. Happy birthday.”

“Keith. How nice of you to call,” she said coolly as if he never called, which was patently false. “Are you enjoying Turks and Caicos? I prefer Bali this time of year but Grace Bay is satisfactory for a weekend getaway, I suppose.”

Cara is here, Mom. At the resort. Yes, she’s still a knockout but different, too. Unexpectedly so. I have no idea what to do about her.

“I’m working,” Keith said. “I’m not on vacation.”

Mitchells didn’t work; they made money as passively as possible. Neither of his parents understood his drive to break family tradition and actually get his hands dirty. The most immersing activity his dad had done in the past twenty years was browse through the prospectus of the multibillion-dollar portfolio he’d amassed as a hedge fund manager. Following in his father’s footsteps was about as attractive to Keith as sucking up Florida swamp water with a straw.

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