There’s no safety net in love...

As the reigning queen of competitive beach volleyball, Brianna Evans wants her career to go out with a bang. And what better send-off than a signature tournament sponsored by an exclusive high-end luxury resort? But Bree’s heart could end up on the line. Her partner on the project is the irresistible man with whom she shared one perfect night in London...and never heard from again.

After great UK success, premier event promoter Wesley Adams is glad to be back on his North Carolina home turf. Until he discovers the collaborator on his next joint venture is the flawless beauty he spent an unforgettable evening with more than a year ago. Wes wants to finish what they started, but he can’t risk derailing the project or hurting Bree. And when they finally give in to their growing passion, will a terrible secret from his past and an escalating threat from Bree’s cost them their second chance?

“Thank you for dinner.” Bree leaned in, one hand pressed to his chest, and kissed him on the cheek. Her soft scent and body heat surrounded him.

He hadn’t expected the innocent kiss or that he’d be overwhelmed by her nearness.

Bree’s mouth lingered near his as she pulled away slowly. So slow he could hear every microsecond ticking in his head as he tried to catch his breath. He willed himself to stay in control, to keep his hands shoved in his pockets where they wouldn’t get him into trouble.

“You’re welcome.” The words came out much quieter than he’d intended. He dropped his gaze to her sensual lips and she smiled.

“I’d ask you in for an after-dinner drink, but like you said, we’ve got an early morning.” Her voice was soft and captivating, an unspoken invitation.

Wes wet his lower lip and tried to tear his attention away from her mouth and her soft gaze. Tried with every fiber of his being to ignore the fact that he wanted her desperately.

He couldn’t.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always been enchanted with fiction’s ability to transport us to faraway places and acquaint us with unfamiliar experiences.

In Playing with Seduction, UK event promoter Wesley Adams returns to his native North Carolina to establish his business stateside. He and Brianna Evans, the reigning queen of American beach volleyball, take a road trip to get reacquainted with the state. As you accompany them to iconic locations in Raleigh and Asheville, you’ll want to pack your bags and venture there to experience each location for yourself.

You’ll also take an emotional journey with this couple as each of them struggles with the past in a way that threatens to derail their future together.

Enjoy your adventure with Wesley and Brianna. Then, for series news, reader giveaways and more, join my VIP Readers list at reeseryan.com.

Happy reading,

Reese Ryan

Playing with Seduction

Reese Ryan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

REESE RYAN is a multi-published author of romantic fiction featuring complex and deliciously flawed characters. She challenges her heroines with family and career drama, reformed bad boys, and life-changing secrets while treating readers to an emotional love story and unexpected twists.

Past president of her local Romance Writers of America chapter and a panelist at the 2017 Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, Reese is an advocate for the romance genre and diversity in fiction.

A native of The Land (Cleveland, OH), Reese resides in North Carolina where she carefully treads the line between being a Southerner and a Yankee, despite her insistence on calling soda pop. She gauges her progress by the number of “bless your lil’ hearts” she receives each week. She is currently down to two.

Connect with Reese via Instagram, Facebook or reeseryan.com.

Dedicated to all the remarkable readers I’ve met during my publishing journey. You support African American and multicultural romance with your hard-earned dollars, valuable time, honest reviews and enthusiastic word of mouth. We are nothing without you.

Acknowledgments

Thank you, Shannon Criss and Keyla Hernandez, for believing in me and acquiring Playing with Desire—the first book in my Pleasure Cove series.

I am truly grateful for your enthusiastic support of my career and your role in affording me other opportunities within Harlequin.

It has truly been a pleasure to work with you both. And it has been an honor to join the ranks of the remarkable Kimani Romance authors I have long admired.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

The click of high heels against the hardwood floors prompted Wesley Adams to look up from his magazine.

A mature, attractive blonde extended her hand, her coral lips pressed into a wide smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Adams. I’m Miranda Hopkins, executive director of Westbrook Charitable Foundation.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Wes stood and shook her hand. “But please, call me Wes.”

“Wes, I’m sorry to tell you Liam won’t be joining us for today’s meeting.” Miranda frowned. “One of the girls isn’t feeling well, so he stayed home with her.”

“No, I wasn’t aware.” Wes was surprised his best friend hadn’t called him. After all, Liam had hounded him for more than a month to fly in from London for this meeting in Pleasure Cove. The woman looked worried he’d bolt, so Wes forced a smile. “But I’m confident he left me in good hands.”

“You’ve managed some impressive events in the UK,” Miranda said in her heavy, Southern drawl as she guided him toward a carpeted hallway. “We’re so excited that you’re considering taking on our project.”

Wes nodded and thanked her, glad his friend had clearly gotten the point. He was here to assess the project and decide whether it was a good fit. Nothing was written in stone.

As they approached an open door of a glass-walled conference room, he heard the voices of two women. One of them was oddly familiar.

“Wes, this is our events manager, Lisa Chastain.” He reached out to shake Lisa’s hand. Then Miranda drew his attention to the other woman. “And this is Olympic champion and international beach-volleyball star Brianna Evans. Bree, this is Wesley—”

“Adams. We’ve met.” Her expression soured, as if she smelled a rotting corpse. It sure as hell wasn’t her glad-to-see-you-again-Wes face.

Bloody hell.

He hadn’t seen Bree since the night they met at that little club in London’s West End more than a year ago.

Liam, I’m going to strangle you.

He’d tell his friend what he thought of his matchmaking attempt later. For now, he’d play it cool. After all, he hadn’t done anything wrong. But Bree, whose lips were pursed as she stared at him through narrow slits, obviously disagreed.

Wes widened the smile he’d honed while attending boarding school with kids whose parents made more in a month than his parents made all year. He extended his hand to Bree, despite the look on her face that dared him to touch her.

Bree shoved a limp hand into his, then withdrew it quickly, as if her palm was on fire.

What did, or didn’t, happen between he and Bree was personal. This was business.

“I believe Miss Evans has a bone to pick with me.” Wes pulled out Brianna’s chair and gestured for her to have a seat.

She narrowed her gaze at him, then took her seat. As she turned toward the two women, who exchanged worried glances, Bree forced a laugh. “Wes predicted my alma mater wouldn’t make it back to the Sweet Sixteen, and he was right. I’m convinced he jinxed us.”

Nicely done.

Wes acknowledged her save with a slight nod. He slipped into the chair across from her—the only open seat with an information packet placed on it.

The night they’d met in London, her eyes, flecked with gold, had gazed dreamily into his. The coy, flirtatious vibe she exuded that night was gone.

Bree’s face dripped with disdain. Anger vibrated off her smooth, brown skin—the color of a bar of milk chocolate melting in the hot summer sun.

Wes only realized he’d been staring at Bree when she cleared her throat and opened her information packet.

“Well, I...” Miranda’s gaze darted between Brianna and Wes. “We’re all here. Let’s get started, shall we?”

The meeting was quick and efficient. Miranda and Lisa were respectful of their time and promised they would be throughout the course of planning and executing a celebrity volleyball tournament over the next six months.

Six entire months.

Liam had laid out a dream project for him. The perfect vehicle for expanding his successful UK event planning and promotions company to the US. However, working with Bree Evans for six months would be as pleasant as having an appendectomy, followed by a root canal. On repeat.

The meeting concluded with a full tour of the expansive Pleasure Cove Luxury Resort property. After they toured the main building, the four of them loaded into a golf cart. Wes slipped into the backseat beside Bree and tried not to notice how the smooth, brown skin on her long legs glistened. But her attempts to keep her leg from touching his only drew his attention.

The Westbrooks had gone all-out with the property. In addition to the main building there were four other buildings on either side of it that housed guests. There was a pool and spa house, four different restaurants, a poolside grill, tennis courts and two workout facilities. Large rental homes and a building with smaller, connected guest houses completed the vast property.

“Here we are at the guest houses, where you’ll both be staying. Your luggage has already been taken to your individual guest houses,” Miranda announced. “Wes you’re in guest house five and Bree, I believe you’re right next door in guest house six.”

Of course.

“Makes it convenient to chat about the project whenever you’d like.” Lisa grinned.

“It certainly does.” Wes loosened his tie and stepped out of the golf cart. He extended a hand to Bree, but she stepped out of her side of the cart and walked around.

“See you at the next meeting. If you want to knock around some ideas before then, just give me a call,” Miranda said. She and Lisa waved goodbye as they zipped off in the golf cart.

Wes took a deep breath before he turned to Bree. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call—”

“You’re an ass.” She shifted the strap of her purse higher.

She wasn’t wrong.

Still, the accusation felt like a ton of bricks being launched onto his chest. “Bree, you’re obviously angry—”

“Don’t call me Bree. We’re not friends.” She folded her arms over her breasts, dragging his gaze there.

Wes raised his eyes to hers again. “Okay, what should I call you?”

Psycho? Insane? Ridiculously hot in that tight little black dress?

The corner of her mouth quirked in a grin that was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She’d caught him staring and seemed to relish his reaction. “Call me Brianna or Ms. Evans. I don’t really care.” Though, clearly, she did.

“All right, Ms. Evans.” Ms. Jackson, if you’re nasty. He bit his lip, scrubbing the image from his brain of her moving her hips and striking a pose. “I’d like to sincerely apologize for not calling when I said I would. It was rude of me. I should’ve called.”

“You shouldn’t have promised.” Her voice was shaky for a moment. “Don’t promise something if you don’t intend to carry it out. That’s one of the basic rules of not being an ass hat.”

“Noted.” He chuckled as he pulled his shades from his inside jacket pocket and put them on. “We good?”

“As good as we need to be.” Brianna turned on her tall heels, which added length to her mile-long legs. His gaze followed the sway of her generous hips. She opened the door of her guest house and glanced over her shoulder momentarily before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Wesley sighed. He’d spent more than a decade building his event-planning-and-promotion business from a ragtag team of university misfits planning pop-up events for a little extra dosh to a company that routinely planned events for some of the hottest celebs and largest corporations in the UK. Taking point on the planning of the Westbrook’s new celebrity volleyball tournament would help him establish a name with major players in the US more quickly.

But would Bree’s animosity make it impossible for them to work together effectively?

He’d lived in London the better part of his life, and he loved living there. Still, the blue skies, warm sun and salty breeze drifting in from the Atlantic Ocean made him nostalgic for home.

But then he hadn’t really gone home. He hadn’t even told his mother he was in North Carolina.

Maybe he only missed the idea of home.

Either way, it was time to find out.

* * *

Bree tossed her purse onto the nearest chair and flopped down onto the sandy beige sofa. It was the same color as Wesley’s pants. Not that she cared. She just happened to notice the color, and how well the material had hugged his firm bottom.

No. No. No. Do not think about his ass or any other parts of his anatomy.

She kicked off her shoes and headed to the bar. It was well-stocked, courtesy of Liam Westbrook. But she also had Liam to thank for bringing her and Wes together on this project.

The stunned look on Wes’s face indicated that he was just as surprised to see her. Liam obviously hadn’t told his friend that he’d invited her to work on the project.

But why?

They were best friends. Which meant Liam probably knew what had happened that night.

Her cheeks stung as she surveyed the bottles of wine. No. It was too early to drink chardonnay alone. She pulled out a split of champagne and a bottle of orange juice.

It’s never too early for mimosas.

She took a sip of the cocktail and felt she could breathe for the first time since she’d laid eyes on Wesley Adams. His six-foot-three frame had filled out the navy jacket and beige pants as if they were made for him.

Bree checked the time on her phone. It was still early out in California. After a recent shoulder surgery, her best friend and volleyball partner, Rebecca Jacobs wouldn’t be following her usual early morning workout routine. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to text.

Bree sent a text message with one hand while nursing her drink in the other. Bex, you up?

Within seconds Bex replied. Uh-oh. How’d your meeting go?

Bree sighed. Was she really that transparent? Then again, she and Bex had been partners for the last seven years, so there wasn’t much she could put past her friend. Meeting was great. Unfortunately, I would have to work with the devil himself. Don’t know if I can do this.

The phone rang within seconds of her sending the text.

“What the hell is going on?”

Bree laughed. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Sorry. Good morning. Now, what the hell is going on? Who was at the meeting that would make you want to pass up this opportunity?”

She sighed, her finger tracing the bar. “Wes Adams.”

“The guy you met at the bar that night in London?” Bex let out a sigh of relief. “I know you’re bummed he didn’t call, but he’s a guy. Don’t take it personally. In fact, you should be glad you guys didn’t sleep together. That’d be awkward.”

“Today was awkward.” Bree balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she wrestled with the plastic-wrapped gift basket filled with goodies. She could use some chocolate. Stat.

“Why? Because you guys fooled around a little? You are seriously out of practice, my friend.” She laughed. “I told you not having a life would catch up with you.”

“Volleyball is my life.” Bree ripped open a chocolate truffle and stuffed it in her mouth.

“And it’s a great life, but it won’t always be there. We’re approaching thirty. Time to start thinking about life after volleyball.”

“You aren’t thinking of retiring on me, are you?” Bree mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.

“No, but this injury has given me a lot of time to think. I don’t want to wake up one day and feel like I missed out on the things that are really important.”

“Like?” Her friend was surprisingly philosophical. It made Bree uneasy. She was usually the one reminding Bex to be more frugal and save for the future, when tournament money, appearance fees and endorsements were no longer flowing in, something they’d both been forced to think about more lately.

“I dunno. Like a husband. Maybe kids.”

“Wow.” Bree’s mouth curled in a smirk. “So what’s his name?”

“Shut up.” Bex fell suspiciously quiet before releasing a long sigh. “His name is Nick. He’s my physical therapist, and he is so cute.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But we’re not talking about me right now, Bree. This is about you. Why is running in to this guy again such a big deal? Do you have a serious thing for him or something?”

“No.” Even to her ears, her response sounded like that of a tween in denial, punctuated by an unladylike snort. Her mother would be so proud.

Bex paused, which told Bree that she heard her unconvincing denial, but chose to ignore it. “Then no harm, no foul. Certainly nothing worth giving up this opportunity. You could become the face of the hottest new beach volleyball event on the East Coast. Besides, Westbrook International Luxury Resorts is a worldwide organization. This could be the beginning of spreading your brand. Our brand. So don’t wuss out on me.”

Bree gritted her teeth and stared out onto the water. A huge wave licked the shore, the chilly waters chasing away a toy Pomeranian. “Okay, fine. I’ll figure out how to deal with it. With him.”

“That a girl. Whatever it takes. Just like on the court. Got it?”

Bree chucked the truffle she was about to open back into its box and nodded. “Got it. Whatever it takes.”

She talked to Bex for another half hour, getting an update on her injured shoulder and her hot new physical therapist before finally ending the call. Bree changed into a pair of yoga pants, a T-shirt and a sweater. She stepped out onto the back deck and inhaled the salty ocean breeze. It was sixty-two degrees out. A fairly warm day for early February.

She flopped onto the chaise and tried to remember her friend’s words. They hadn’t slept together. So why was she still so pissed at him?

Because she’d wanted to sleep with him. God, she’d wanted to. She’d fantasized about it in the wee hours of the morning, when she couldn’t shake the memory of his kiss from her brain.

She shuddered, remembering the touch of his hand when she’d been all but obligated to shake it and make up that story about why she was upset with him. There was some truth to the story.

A slight smile played on Bree’s lips as she remembered their argument about what football team had a chance of winning the Super Bowl. She just left out the part where he’d asked her to come back to his place. Bree had turned him down. He smiled, his eyes filled with understanding. Then he gave her the sweetest kiss. Sweet and innocent, yet filled with the promise of passionate nights ahead. They’d only spent a few hours together, but he’d managed to make the kiss feel meaningful. Real.

Real enough that she’d stared at her phone for a week afterward, waiting for him to call. Like he’d promised after their kiss.

Her response that night kept replaying in her head. Sorry, but I’m not that kind of girl. She laughed bitterly. True, she wasn’t the kind of girl who normally believed in one-night stands. In fact, she wasn’t the kind of girl who got laid at all. Not for a very long time. Not since...

She tried to erase the memory of the scornful mouth and hard, dark eyes she’d once found so intriguing. Sexy even. She’d been wrong about that asshole. Apparently, she’d been just as wrong about Wesley Adams.

The man was handsome and tall with warm brown skin. An athletic body that had felt incredible pressed against hers on the dance floor. And a killer smile. One worthy of a toothpaste commercial. He had the straightest, most brilliant teeth she’d ever seen.

And she loved his laugh, which he employed often. Because he was funny. And smart. And he liked sports. Just like she did. But he wasn’t intimidated because she was knowledgeable about sports and full of opinions she readily shared. He was the kind of guy she could see herself spending time with on those lonely nights she actually got to spend in her own bed back in Huntington Beach.

Wes was the kind of guy she wanted to spend more than one night with, so she’d turned down his offer to go back to his place.

She’d gone to the pub with Bex that night, determined to crawl out of all the insecurities that rumbled around in her head, barely leaving elbow room for her own thoughts.

She went to The Alley that night, intending to take someone back to her hotel. Just once she wanted to be a little naughty. To shed the good-girl image she’d worked so hard to perfect over the past two decades.

She was the scholarship kid who struggled to fit in at a private school, terrified that the kids would find out she lived in the run-down projects. Two of the front stairs missing and not a single blade of grass on their “lawn.”

She’d spent the past ten years creating her image as the perfect spokesperson. A successful player with a feel-good story and the kind of good-girl image that garnered endorsements and kept them. Not the kind of girl who would stroll into a club and pick up a random guy for the night.

In the end, she hadn’t turned him down to protect her shiny, good-girl reputation. She politely turned down his offer because she liked him.

Really liked him.

So she gambled on there being another night between them. Only there wasn’t. Bree was angry at Wes for not keeping his promise. She was angry with herself for not taking him up on his offer.

Bree drew her legs against her chest, wrapping her arms around them. If she was going to be working with Wes Adams for the next six months, she’d have to start thinking with her brain, not her libido. And she couldn’t behave like a jilted lover.

Her heart fluttered, just thinking about how her hand felt in his, even for a moment. A glowing warmth arose through her fingers, making its way to her chest.

She put her head on her knees and sighed.

Letting go of her silly crush on Wes would be easier said than done.

Chapter 2

Wes rang Liam’s cell four times.

No answer.

His best friend was definitely dodging him. It was probably best. He had a few choice words for Liam. No way it had just slipped his mind to mention that he’d selected Bree Evans to work on this project, too.

Not that Bree wasn’t the ideal person to front an annual sports-and-music festival with the potential to be a huge draw for the resort. She was.

Bree was one of the top beach volleyball players in the world. One of the few players of color to gain endorsements and a huge following. She was genuinely nice. Frequently participated in charity events. And the camera loved her.

Every single inch of her. A gorgeous smile. A curvy frame anchored by her voluptuous breasts and an ass that would give any red-blooded man reason to adjust his trousers. Long legs. Strong, lean thighs. Undulating hips.

Wes scrubbed a hand down his face. Sitting there recounting the finer points of Bree’s physique wasn’t a productive use of his time, or a very good way to maintain his sanity. He glanced over at the wall that separated their units. Tried not to wonder what she was doing. If she’d slipped out of the thigh-hugging black dress she wore at the meeting.

He’d like to think she’d worn it for him. The surprise on her lovely face meant she clearly hadn’t. Wes shook his head and sighed. Liam couldn’t dodge him forever. In the meantime, he had business of his own to handle.

Wes grabbed the key to the loaner car Liam left for him and headed to the front door. Time to go home.

* * *

The gravel crunched in the driveway of the old bungalow his grandmother once owned. His mother had left England five years ago and returned to North Carolina to take care of his grandmother, who had taken a tumble down the narrow stairs and broken a hip. After his grandmother passed, his mother decided to stay in her childhood home. A home that held lots of memories for him, too.

Wes stepped out of the red Dodge Challenger with black leather. The loaner was another enticement from Liam to take on the project. Perhaps also an apology before the fact for springing Bree Evans on him without warning. He shut the door and headed up the driveway. There was no answer, so he knocked. Twice.

Finally he heard footsteps inside and the turning of locks. The door swung open, releasing a dark, musty odor that made him wonder if he’d arrived at the wrong house.

“Wes? Baby, what are you doing here?” Lena Adams looked tired and slightly haggard. She ran her hand down the soiled apron she was wearing and smiled, then pushed open the screen door. “It’s so good to see you.”

He wrapped his long arms around his mother, her face buried in his chest. “Good to see you, too, Mom.” His gaze traveled around the room. A thick layer of dust had settled on the furniture. Dust bunnies inhabited the corners. Stacks of books and papers were piled on various surfaces around the living room and dining room. If he wasn’t holding his mother in his arms now, he wouldn’t have believed he was in her house.

Lena had been the house manager for a wealthy family for two decades. She’d administered weekly white-glove tests, making her the bane of the housekeepers’ existence. She would settle for nothing less than absolute cleanliness. Which led to much of her frustration with him, as a boy. Even while caring for his grandmother, she’d managed to keep the place immaculate.

What’s going on?

His mother finally released him. She squeezed his hands in hers. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming. I would’ve gotten the place ready and invited your brother up from Atlanta for a few days.” She looked behind him. “Where are your bags?”

“This is a last-minute business trip. I’m staying at the new resort Liam’s family built at Pleasure Cove.” He tried his best to focus on his mother’s face, and not the chaos surrounding them. “He wants me to work on a project for the resort. I haven’t accepted the job yet, but I’m considering it.”

“Really?” His mother pulled him into the room and toward the sofa. Shifting a pile of magazines from the couch to the floor, she made a place for him. She sat, then patted the space beside her. “All these years, you wouldn’t take a job from the Westbrooks. Got your daddy’s pride.” Through years of practice she’d managed to make the last statement without malice. In fact, there was almost a hint of a smile.

Wes wished he could manage even a semblance of a smile at the mention of his father. The man that had up and left them so many years ago.

All because of him.

He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t be an employee. I’d be working with them as a contractor. And nothing is set in stone. We had the preliminary meeting earlier today.”

“If it would keep you here, I’m all for it.” She patted his hand and smiled. “But you seem worried. Why?”

Wes drummed the pads of his fingers against his knee. Whatever was going on with his mother, her innate sense of when he was perturbed was still intact. “It would mean working with a girl I met more than a year ago. Things didn’t quite work out between us.”

“Humph.” She nodded, knowingly. “If you’d settle down and give me some grandchildren, you wouldn’t have to worry about encountering ex-lovers at business meetings.”

Wes sighed. “She isn’t an ex-lover. We spent one night dancing and hanging out at a club in London. There was nothing to it really.”

His mother laughed. “I’m guessing the young lady doesn’t agree.”

“Yeah, well it’s nothing we can’t work through.”

“If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be considering passing up on this job. And if you’re considering taking money from the Westbrooks, it must be a game-changing opportunity.” Her eyes twinkled. Sometimes he wondered if she didn’t know him better than he knew himself.

Liam and Nigel Westbrook had been trying to get him to come on board at Westbrook International Luxury Resorts since his days in university. But he’d been a scholarship kid at the private academy he’d attended with Liam and at college after that. He didn’t want a position just because Liam was his best friend. He wanted to earn his way in the world on his terms. Which was why his master’s degree in business was collecting dust on the shelf in his flat back in London. During college, he’d discovered his gift for organizing events. Better still, he’d learned he could make a hell of a lot of money doing something he actually enjoyed. So he’d abandoned his plans to scale the corporate ladder at some conglomerate and struck out on his own.

As proud as Wes was of how the business had grown in London, he wanted to expand his business to the US. Another way to prove to his father that he was a success. The kind of person he should never have walked away from.

It was the only reason he’d considered Liam’s offer.

Wes smiled. “Think you know everything, don’t you?”

“Not everything. Just you.” She squeezed his hand. “Why don’t I fix us some lunch. You must be hungry.”

“Don’t go to any trouble on my account. In fact, why don’t I take you out to eat? How about we go and grab an early dinner at the restaurant on the waterfront you’re always telling me about?”

A slow smile spread across her face. “You sure? I could just as easily cook us up something. Won’t take but a minute.”

“I’m positive.” He stood. “You go on and get ready. When we come back, I’ll help with anything you need around the house.”

The fair skin on his mother’s cheeks pinked slightly. “I know things have gotten a little out of hand around here. Like I said, if I’d known you were coming—”

“It’s okay, Mom.” The last thing he’d wanted was to embarrass his mother, but there was something going on. Something she hadn’t mentioned during their frequent calls. He needed to get to the bottom of it. “I haven’t been home in a few years. I just want to help any way I can while I’m here.”

Her smile slid back into place. “Okay, baby. Give me a few minutes to get myself together.” As she stood, she seemed to lose her balance. He reached for her, but she’d steadied herself on the edge of the couch. “I’m fine.” Her tone was defensive. She cleared her throat, then softened her expression. “Just the trappings of old age, I guess. I’ll be back in a few. Excuse me.”

He watched his mother cross the room and ascend the stairs. Her gait was unsure, and she gripped the banister as if her very life depended on it. The last time he’d visited she was practically taking the steps two at a time. Like always.

A sinking feeling settled in his gut and crept up his spine. Wes walked back into the dining room and surveyed the books and magazines cluttering his mother’s table. They were mostly health and nutrition magazines with little sticky notes protruding from them. He picked one up and turned to the marked page. A tightness gripped his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. He put down the magazine and picked up another and another. Each sticky note marked an article about Parkinson’s disease.

He shifted his gaze to the pile of books. The title on the top of the pile sent a chill down his spine. Parkinson’s Disease: A Complete Guide for Patients and Families. The orange cover of the second book offered 300 Tips for Making Life with Parkinson’s Disease Easier.

A wave of panic rose in his chest. He steadied himself on a chair then flopped down in it. Lena Adams was one of the strongest women he’d ever known, rivaled only by his grandmother. She was wrong about Wes having his father’s pride. Every ounce of strength and willfulness he possessed, he’d learned from her. She’d always seemed...invincible, so independent. Thinking of his mother slowly losing herself to this disease terrified him.

Wes heard his mother descending the creaky stairs. He should put everything back so she wouldn’t know he’d been rummaging through her things, but he wouldn’t. Instead, he turned to face her, brandishing the orange-covered book. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The smile on her face instantly disappeared, replaced by a look of guilt and apology. She didn’t bother to chastise him for going through her books. “I—I was going to tell you the next time you brought me out for a visit.”

“How long ago were you diagnosed?” He tried to keep his voice even, despite the fact he was so angry he could practically crawl out of his own skin.

Lena lowered her gaze before returning it to his. “Formally? About six months ago. I began to suspect a few months before then.”

So she’d known on her last visit to London, just a few months ago. He rubbed his temple. Why hadn’t he noticed?

“We need to talk about this.”

Lena grabbed her purse off the chair. “No reason we can’t talk and eat.” Her cheeky smile almost made him laugh.

Wes looped his arm through hers and led her to the door.

“This is why I didn’t tell you. You’ve known all of five minutes, and already you’re treating me like an invalid.”

“I’m not treating you like an invalid. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am.” Her genuine smile and eyes shiny with tears warmed his chest. “Especially now that you’re here.”

On the ride into town, his mother chatted away, catching him up on what his aunts and cousins were up to. Her familiar laugh gave him a sense of solace. But he couldn’t help noticing the slight trembling in her left hand as it rested on her knee. Or the limited gestures she used as she spoke. Both were unlike her, giving him more cause for concern.

Wes had been ready to call his friend and tell him he was passing on the project, but this changed everything. His mother needed him, whether she was willing to admit it or not. Establishing his business in the US, so close to his mother, was no longer a matter of ambition or pride.

It was a matter of family.

His mother had made so many sacrifices for him and his brother, a reality that plagued him with guilt. He’d never be able to repay her sacrifices in-kind. Didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

Not even if it meant checking his ego at the door and working with Bree Evans to put on the best event the Carolina coast had ever seen.

Chapter 3

Bree arrived fifteen minutes early for the meeting. Because she was always early. Also, because she hoped to get a quick word in with Wes. If they were going to work together over the next six months, she needed to keep things civil. Nothing had happened between them. Other than an amazing night together and a kiss that was so hot and sweet that it melted her insides and made her heart skip a beat.

Other than that, nothing at all.

Bex was right. She needed to let go of her resentment toward Wes. Count her lucky stars they hadn’t slept together. Then things would’ve been unbearably awkward.

She would apologize and clear the air. Let bygones be bygones and all of those other ridiculous clichés. Not for him, but for her. Her participation in this event would expand their brand. Help her and Bex maximize the value of what remained of their careers on the volleyball circuit.

Bree entered the room. No one was there, except Lisa, who stood at the end of the table sorting documents. “Good morning, Bree. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“Good morning.” She smiled brightly as she surveyed the chairs. Where would Wes sit? Probably next to Liam, who’d likely sit at the head of the table. She walked around the other side of the table and hung her bag on the second seat from Liam’s probable chair. Lisa eyed at her expectantly. “Oh, the coffee. I’m fine. Thank you.”

The corner of Lisa’s mouth quirked in a knowing smile. “All right. Everyone should be here in a minute.”

Bree’s cheeks warmed. The other woman hadn’t done a very good job of hiding her amusement over her careful deliberation about where to sit.

Note to self: take it down a notch. Your crazy is showing.

“Can I help with anything?”

“I’m about finished here.” Lisa slid a few stapled sheets into a blue folder, then shut it. “There. All done.”

Rather than taking a seat, Bree wandered over to the window and gazed out onto the water. She loved her life on the West Coast, but the Carolina coast was certainly beautiful, too. As soon as the water warmed up a bit, she would get out on a kayak and explore the Cape Fear River on the other side of the island. Right now, the water was still too chilly, despite the mild temperature outside.

Finally, Bree heard voices approaching. She waited until they were in the room to turn around, flashing her biggest smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Bree.” Liam shook her hand in both of his, a gesture that was warm and welcoming. “Sorry I couldn’t make yesterday’s preliminary meeting. I had a family emergency, but I’m here now, and I’m thrilled you’ve decided to come on board with the project. It’s going to be an amazing event. Good for the Pleasure Cove community and the sport of volleyball.”

“I know. I’m thrilled. Thank you for inviting me to be part of it.”

Miranda greeted Bree, then took the seat next to Liam, closest to the door. The seat she would’ve expected Wes to take. When Lisa slipped into the seat between her and Liam, that left only the seat across from her vacant. Which meant she’d spend the entire meeting pretending not to stare at him.

“Looks like we’re all here,” Miranda said. “Let’s get started.”

“What about... I mean, isn’t Wes joining us?” The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them. She didn’t dare look over at the amused half grin that was probably perched on Lisa’s mouth.

Liam’s eyes twinkled and his mouth pressed into a slow, subdued smile. “Wes had a family emergency of his own. He won’t make today’s meeting, but he should be here when we meet on Friday.”

“Oh.” Bree tried to filter the disappointment from her voice. She adjusted in her chair. Way to look nonchalant.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence that made Bree want to crawl into a ball and hide in a corner, until finally, Miranda started the meeting. She directed everyone to the agenda placed inside the front pocket of the folders in front of them.

They reviewed various possible formats for the event, based on ideas generated in the previous meeting. Miranda reviewed reports on current beach-volleyball tournaments in California and Miami Beach. Bree shared her insight on what worked at those tournaments and what could be improved, based on her participation in them in the past. Liam stressed that the event needed to entice notable celebrities who would draw people to the resort.

Lisa reminded everyone of the need to draw visitors who were not diehard fans, including locals. That was Wesley’s expertise. Together they made a solid plan that they were all excited about.

After the meeting, Miranda leaned in toward Liam, her voice low. “Has Wes committed to the project?”

“Not yet. But I expect he will soon.” Liam’s polite smile indicated that his vague response was the extent of their discussion on the matter.

Bree had reacted badly to seeing Wes. She realized that now. Was he waffling on the project because of her?

Wes didn’t seem like the kind of guy to let a little contention get in the way of something he really wanted. Still, if she was the reason he hadn’t committed, it was more important than ever that she apologize to him. Before he walked away from the project.

Bree said her goodbyes and headed down the hallway.

Liam caught up with her. “Bree, can I give you a ride to your guest house? I’m headed out for a lunch meeting.”

She wanted to politely reject his offer. Spend the short walk back to her place lost in her own thoughts. Her feet, already tired of the four-inch patent-leather heels she was wearing, had other ideas. “Sure.”

As they walked toward the front door, Liam stopped and turned to her. “I’m meeting with a few influential folks in town to quell their concerns about the commercialization of the island. It would be great if you came along. You’d be doing me a huge favor, if you don’t have other plans.”

She wanted to say no. She really did. But his pleading dark eyes and brilliant smile won her over. Besides, she’d taken the time to make up her face and wear a sexy outfit. She should get some mileage out of all that effort before heading back to the guest house and slipping into her comfy yoga pants and T-shirt.

“I’d love to meet some of the townspeople. Maybe even get them on board with the project early on. We’re going to need a lot of volunteers.”

Liam shook a finger, smiling. “I love the way you think. I owe you one.”

“Two, actually.” Bree held up two fingers. “The other is for not telling me Wes would be working on the project, too.”

Liam pressed his mouth into a straight line, an eyebrow raised.

Busted.

“Perhaps I should’ve mentioned that. But I can’t say I’m sorry I didn’t. It would’ve been a shame if either of you begged off because of it. I think you two will make an excellent team.” His smile widened.

She sighed. No apology, but at least he’d given an honest response. That, she could appreciate.

“You’re right. I would’ve said no. That would’ve been a mistake.”

Liam grinned. “You’re both here. That’s what matters.”

Bree wasn’t so sure. After all, she’d committed to the project; Wes hadn’t. Maybe he’d decided that working with her wasn’t worth it. She forced a smile and tried not to let the hurt that arose from that thought crack her smiling veneer.

* * *

Wes parked the Challenger in front of the guest house, stepped out of the car and stretched his long frame. He’d spent the last two nights in one of his mother’s spare rooms. They had a delicious meal on the waterfront. By the time they ordered dessert she finally leveled with him about her Parkinson’s diagnosis. She brought him up to speed on her doctor’s prognosis and invited him to accompany her to her next doctor’s appointment, which had been today.

He’d spent the last two days getting his mother’s house back to the standards she’d always kept. He’d sifted through stacks of papers and mail, sorting and filing what was important, dumping what wasn’t. He’d vacuumed carpets, scrubbed floors and cleaned the bathrooms and kitchen. Every muscle in his body ached. It reminded him of those brutal days on the rugby field at university. The days when he’d been sure he must be some guilt-ridden masochist to love the damn sport so much.

His mother’s doctor appointment was two hours before his meeting with Liam and Bree. He’d hoped to get back in time to catch part of the meeting, but the doctor’s office had used the term appointment loosely. By the time they got in to see the doctor, got blood tests, a CAT scan and filled her prescription, they were both exhausted. And there was no way he could make the meeting.

Bree had probably been thrilled by his absence.

Liam pulled behind his car, his face etched with concern. “You made it back. Everything all right?”

“Things have been better.” Wes forced a weak smile and rubbed his hand over his head. That’s when he noticed Bree sitting in the passenger seat of Liam’s car. Their eyes met briefly. She forced a quick smile and nodded, then turned away.

“You look like hell. Want to talk about it?” Liam asked, before he could acknowledge the olive branch Bree had extended.

Liam was his best friend. They kept few secrets from each other. But for now, he preferred to keep the news of his mother’s illness to himself. As if not talking about it made it less real. A bad dream from which he’d awaken. Besides, he didn’t want to discuss it in front of Bree.

“Maybe later.”

“Over golf tomorrow? Ten o’clock?”

Wes shook his head and laughed. There were few things in life Liam enjoyed as much as beating his ass in a round of golf. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up then,” Liam said before turning to Bree and thanking her for lunch.

He should’ve headed inside. After two nights in that too-little bed, he was desperate to sleep in a bed that could accommodate someone taller than a leprechaun. Instead, he remained rooted to his spot, his feet refusing to budge, as he watched Bree exit the car. When Liam waved and pulled away, Wes didn’t respond. He was focused on Bree. She looked stunning, and she seemed fully aware of it.

She strutted toward him in mile-high patent-leather heels that gleamed in the sunlight and made her legs look even longer than he remembered. The white wrap blouse hugged her full breasts, revealing a hint of cleavage. The black pencil skirt grazed the top of her knee. Each step she made offered a generous glimpse of her thigh through a slit positioned over the center of her right leg. She came to a stop in front of him. The same exotic scent she’d worn the night they met at The Alley wafted around her. Fruity and floral. He hadn’t been able to get enough of that scent as he held her that night.

“Hello, Brianna.” His voice came out softer than he’d intended. Wes cleared his throat and elevated the bass in his voice. “How’d the meeting go?”

“Very well. Sorry you weren’t able to make it. Looks like you’ve been busy the past couple of days.” She assessed his clothing. Same jacket and pants he’d worn during their initial meeting. Only more wrinkled.

He could only imagine what she was thinking. No point in trying to dissuade her. Besides, he didn’t owe her an explanation. Wes ran a hand over his head. “Yeah, I have. It’ll be good to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

Her cheeks turned crimson. She bit the corner of her lip. The deep red lip color highlighted how kissable her lips were. A fact to which he could attest. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” He reached into the backseat of the car and pulled out two grocery bags. “But I have to get these groceries in the fridge. Mind stepping inside while I put them away?”

Her hair wasn’t pulled back into the severe bun she’d worn earlier in the week. Loose curls cascaded over her right shoulder. She shook her head, and the curls bounced. He balled his fingers into a fist at his side at the thought of fisting a handful of her luxurious hair and taking her from behind. He swallowed, his mouth dry.

“You cook?”

He laughed. “A guy’s gotta eat, right?”

“Our meals are being comped.” He could hear the click of her heels against the concrete as she followed him up the path to his door.

“I know, but I felt like throwing a steak on the grill.”

“In February?”

“When a February day is as beautiful as this one, why not?”

* * *

Bree followed him into the kitchen and stood beside the counter making idle chitchat as he put away the groceries. Apologizing was the right thing to do. She believed that. So why was it so difficult to say the words? The words of apology had been lodged in her throat since she noticed he was wearing the same clothes from earlier in the week. He smelled like soap. The utilitarian kind you bought in bulk. A familiar scent. It was all her family could afford when she was growing up. So he’d showered, but he’d been too preoccupied to return here for a change of clothing.

The thought of him spending the past two nights in someone else’s bed caused a tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe deeply. Which was silly. Why should it matter what Wesley Adams did in his spare time and with whom? Her only concern was his actions relating to the event. As long as he nailed this event, he could bang the entire eastern seaboard for all she cared.

The sound of Wes shutting the refrigerator door broke in to her thoughts. He gestured for her to take a seat in the living room. She sank into the cushion of the blue checkered sofa and crossed her legs.

She followed his gaze, which traveled the length of her long legs. His tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips before he dragged his gaze back to hers. “You wanted to talk?”

Her pulse quickened and she smiled inwardly. He still found her attractive. A small vindication.

Bree clasped her hands in her lap, looking down at them for a moment before raising her eyes to his. “I wanted to apologize for how I came off the other day. It was childish and petty. This project is important to both of us. If we’re going to work together, I don’t want things to be weird between us. So I wanted to clear the air by saying I’m sorry.”

Wes seemed pleasantly surprised by her apology. He scooted forward on the couch and gave her a sheepish smile. “I accept your apology, but only if you’ll accept mine. I wanted to call, I just...” He sighed, then scooted back on the couch again. His tone turned more serious. “Didn’t seem like it was the right time for me.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t meant to say it out aloud. Especially not in that sad, wounded-puppy whimper that changed his expression from contrition to pity. When he felt remorse, she had the upper hand. Now that he seemed to pity her, the power had shifted back to him. Bree shot to her feet. “No apology necessary, but thanks. I’ll let myself out.”

“What prompted the change of heart?”

Her hand was nearly on the doorknob, but his question grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her back into the room. She turned back to him and shrugged. “For the sake of the project.”

He took a few steps toward her. “Why were you so upset about that night?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Curious, I guess.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, drawing her attention to the strain the gesture placed on the placard covering his zipper.

“I overreacted. I get cranky when I’m jet-lagged.” The space between them was closing too rapidly. She took a few steps backward toward the door.

His self-assured smile suggested that her answer had told him everything he needed to know.

Her cheeks flamed and she swiveled on her heels, but before she could escape, he’d gently caught her by the hand. A familiar heat traveled from his large hand into hers, up her arm and into her chest. She raised her eyes to his.

“Look, I bought more than enough food to share. I’m going to marinate the steaks then get a few hours of sleep. But I should have the steaks on the grill at say—” Wes flipped his wrist and glanced at his watch “—seven thirty. Why don’t you join me for dinner? You can assess my cooking abilities for yourself.”

His wide grin and close proximity were doing things to her she wasn’t proud of. Wesley Adams wasn’t a man she should be flirting with. Nor were they friends. He was a means to an end.

Bree glanced down at his hand on her arm and he dropped it to his side and took a step backward. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m pretty tired, too. I should probably just order in and get some rest.”

“The invitation is open, if you change your mind.”

* * *

Bree had turned and run out of there like her hair was on fire. If it hadn’t wounded his pride, he would’ve found it funny.

Wes closed the door behind her and returned to the kitchen. He seasoned the steaks and put them into the fridge.

You invited her to dinner, genius? Really?

They were forced to work together over the course of the next six months. Like Bree said, they needed to play nice. He appreciated that she’d come to that conclusion. That she had no plans to make the next six months a living hell for both of them.

Being cordial was crucial to the success of the project. Getting to know each other, up close and personal, could only lead to trouble. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. His brain had taken a coffee break and the head on his shoulders was no longer in control.

He’d been dying for another excuse to touch her warm, soft skin. The memory of their night together in London blazed brightly in the back of his mind, like an image from an old-fashioned projector. His skin tingled with the sensation of her body pressed to his on the dance floor. Of his mouth on her lips, her neck, her bare shoulder. The unfinished business between them.

It was good Bree had turned down his invitation. Better for the both of them.

Chapter 4

For the past three hours, Bree had tried to take a nap. Instead, she tossed and turned. Thinking of him. And of that damn kiss. The one that had haunted her for more than a year.

Get your head together. It’s not like you’ve never been kissed.

True. But she’d never been so thoroughly kissed. Kissed in a way that made every nerve in her body raw and frayed. Deeply relaxed, yet ready to spring into action. A kiss that made her want him in the worst way. Body and soul.

In that instant, she’d set aside her plan to make Wesley Adams hers for the night. She’d wanted something deeper with the guy who’d been sweet, funny and incredibly sexy. To be kissed like that for more than just one night. So she’d politely refused his invitation to go back to his place.

She’d regretted it ever since.

Given the chance again, she would’ve accepted his invitation. If only to ease the tension and stress that had her body strung tighter than a new volleyball net.

Bree slipped on yoga pants, a T-shirt and a hooded sweater, then went downstairs to order from one of the resort restaurants. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and took a sip. A mouthwatering scent had infiltrated the kitchen.

Grilled meat.

Her belly churned. She could almost taste the steak. The one with her name on it.

Bree stepped through the double doors and onto the back deck, following the scent.

“Hey.” Wes grinned. He stood over the grill on his deck in a black sleeveless shirt that showcased the gun show he called biceps. His right arm was covered with a tribal tattoo. A pair of lived-in jeans highlighted his assets.

It was colder outside than she thought. Her nipples beaded, pressing against the fabric of her bra. Bree offered a half-hearted wave, then pulled her sweater tight against her body. “Hey.”

“You eat yet?” His grin widened when she shook her head. “Got your steak on the grill. C’mon over.”

No. No. Tell him no.

Her brain was clear on what to do. Her belly objected, rumbling in response to the delectable aroma. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

“Or you could have a home-cooked meal with me.” His voice indicated that his option was clearly the better choice. Her roiling stomach agreed. “Besides, you’re on the road a lot. Home-cooked meals must be a rarity.”

“You’re assuming I don’t cook.”

Wes raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes lit with amusement. “Do you?”

She didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. “It’s getting late.”

“You’re a California girl. It’s still afternoon there. Besides, it’s just a meal. You can leave as soon as we’re done. If that’s what you’d like.” He’d paused before adding that last bit.

Her jet-lagged brain struggled to manufacture another excuse. Nothing came to her. “Okay. I’ll be over in a sec.” She headed toward the door.

“Or you can hop the banister now.” He closed the lid on the grill and held out a hand to her.

Bree chewed her lower lip as she surveyed the banister between their decks. There were wooden benches on either side of the railing. The banister was only a few feet high. She could easily jump it. Still...

She blew out a breath and stepped up onto the bench. Placing her hand in his, she stepped up onto the railing, then down onto the bench on his side. Before she could jump down, Wes planted his hands on her waist and lowered her to the floor. Taken by surprise, she gasped, drawing in his scent—clean man with a hint of juniper and sandalwood.

Bree fought the desire to lean in, her nose pressed to his freshly scrubbed skin, and inhale deeply. She tried not to muse about how delicious it felt to be back in his arms. So close that heat radiated from his brown skin. She stepped beyond his grasp, shaking her head to clear it of thoughts that would only lead to trouble. “So what’s for dinner?”

Wes grinned. “Rib eyes, grilled corn, baked potatoes and grilled onions and peppers. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. You went all out tonight.”

“Just a little something I threw together.” He smiled. “Can I get you a beer or a glass of wine?”

“Red or white?”

“Pink.” A wide smile spread across his face. “Sampled a great wine at the grocery store today that’ll complement the steak nicely. It’s chilling in the fridge now.”

“I’ll take the wine with dinner.” If she was going to be alone with Wesley Adams for the next hour, she’d better do it mostly sober. “Can I help with anything?”

The buzzer sounded in the kitchen. “Potatoes are done. Can you take them out of the oven and plate them? Oven mitts and plates are on the counter.”

She slipped inside the kitchen and did as he asked, glad to put space between them.

* * *

Bree’s eyes twinkled with an excitement she seemed eager to hide as she surveyed her carefully loaded plate. She picked up her utensils. “Everything smells so good.”

“Tastes even better. Dig in. Don’t be shy.” He couldn’t peel his gaze from her face long enough to carve his own steak, afraid to miss her reaction.

Bree took a bite. An appreciative moan signaled her approval. The deeply erotic, guttural sound triggered an involuntary twitch below his belt. “This is probably the best steak I’ve ever had. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

“My mom is an amazing cook. Taught me everything I know.” He took a bite of the steak. It was tender and succulent. Seasoned to perfection. His mother would be proud.

“It’s good she taught you to be self-sufficient. It’s no picnic being with someone who isn’t.” Her brows knitted, as if a bad memory flashed through her brain.

“Something you know from experience, I gather.” Wes sipped of his beer. He didn’t want to delve deeper into her obvious pain. Yet a part of him was curious.

Bree took a generous gulp from her wineglass. “It was a long time ago.”

He took the hint and changed the subject. “So how’s Rebecca’s shoulder? I read somewhere she’d be sidelined for at least four months.”

“Could be a little longer. She’s going stir-crazy, but her physical therapy is coming along.”

“Good.” He put butter and sour cream on his potato. “Dealing with an injury can be tough. Especially late in an athlete’s career.”

“Were you a soccer player, like Liam?” She dug in to her potato, already smothered in butter and sour cream.

“No, rugby was my sport.”

“Amateur or professional?”

“I played at university, then on a lower tier regional league. Definitely wasn’t in it for the money.” He took another swig of his beer.

“Is rugby as rough as they say?”

“Worse. Got half a dozen injuries to prove it.”

“Were you hurt badly?”

Wes winced inwardly at the memory of his last injury, but shrugged nonchalantly. “Sprains and broken bones. Typical injuries in a high-contact sport.”

“Is that why you quit?” She took another sip of her wine, her expressive brown eyes trained on him.

“Never really had a passion for the game. It was something to do in university and I was good at it. Mostly, it was a great way to blow off steam.”

“Let me guess, you were the misunderstood rebel type.” She speared a piece of steak and pointed her fork at him, then put the morsel in her mouth. His eyes followed the motion. He envied that morsel of beef as she savored it, her full lips pursed as she chewed.

“What gave it away?” He chuckled as she eyed the tattoo sleeve on his right arm, part of a large tribal tattoo that also encompassed the right side of his chest and back. “I didn’t consider myself a rebel. Too cliché. On the surface, I was a pretty affable guy. Had a lot of anger pent up inside. Rugby seemed like the best way to release it.”

Wes cut into his steak and took another bite, chastising himself. He’d invited Bree to dinner to repair the damage he’d caused and build a working relationship. Not to tell her his entire life story.

He seldom discussed his past with the women he dated. And never with the women with whom he did business. He preferred to stick to the casual overview. Fish-out-of-water Southern boy raised in London was usually enough.

So why had he cracked open the door to his past to Bree?

Because there was something about her that put him at ease. Made him feel like he could let down his guard. It was the thing he remembered most about that night. He was attracted to her, of course. She was Bree Evans. Tall. Gorgeous. Miles of smooth, glistening skin the shade of brown sugar. Provocative, yet sweet. She was laid-back and genuine with a smile that could convince an Eskimo to buy a truckload of ice. No wonder sponsors fell all over themselves to get her to endorse their products. Lip gloss, facial cleanser, breakfast cereal and workout contraptions.

Keep your head in the game, buddy. This isn’t a date. You’re only trying to create some goodwill.

She broke in to his thoughts with a tentative question. “What was it you were so angry about?”

“Life, I guess. The guys I attended boarding school with had the perfect life handed to them on a silver platter. I didn’t.” He shrugged. “It bugged me.”

“Me, too.” She was quiet, contemplative. “I was the scholarship kid at an elite private school.” She winced, as if the memory caused her physical pain. “Took three buses to get there every morning, but I got an incredible education and a full ride to college because of it. Most importantly, that’s where I fell in love with volleyball. That school changed my life, and I’m grateful for it.”

“But...” There was something she wasn’t saying. The unspoken words were so heavy and dense, they practically hung in the air between them. He should’ve ignored them, but the word tripped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“It was hard being thrust into a completely different world. Especially for a gangly girl who wasn’t quite sure where she fit in. Who wanted to be liked.”

“How could anyone not like Bree Evans, the quintessential girl next door?” He smiled.

Bree glowered at him, then dug in to her potato. “You’d be surprised,” she muttered.

Dammit. He walked right into that one. He wanted to make her forget what an ass he’d been. Now they’d come full circle right back to that night. His gut churned from the hurt in her brown eyes, when she raised them to his again.

“Look, about that night—”

Bree waved his words off as she shook her head. “It wasn’t the right time for you. I know. I’d rather not talk about it.”

Fine. It wasn’t like the conversation was his idea of a good time, either. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he sure as hell didn’t.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Bree engaged him in small talk about the surprisingly mild weather and her lunch with Liam and few of the locals. He nodded politely and responded appropriately. But he couldn’t ignore the pain in her eyes, knowing he’d caused it.

He was his own worst enemy. Always had been.

“The time wasn’t right because, for me, it never is. Not for anything serious. I’m focused on expanding my business, so I don’t get seriously involved with anyone. Ever.”

He studied her face, gauging her reaction and whether he should go further. Her lips were pressed into a straight line, her expression devoid of emotion.

Wes pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “When the night began, it seemed we were on the same page, but then... I don’t know. It felt like you wanted more. That’s not something I can give you. That’s why I didn’t call. Not because I don’t like you. Because I like you too much to start something I can’t finish.”

Bree drained what was left of her second glass of wine. “Thank you for being so honest and for being so very considerate of my feelings. But I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” She stood. “Thank you for dinner, but it’s getting late. I’d better get back.”

“Brianna, don’t go. We were having a lovely dinner. I didn’t mean to spoil the mood, but I don’t want you to feel as if I rejected you. That wasn’t it at all.”

“I think I’m still a bit jet-lagged.” Bree was a terrible liar, but he applauded her effort to remain civil. She took her dishes to the kitchen.

“I’ll get it.” Wes trailed her to the kitchen and stacked his plate on hers.

“Dinner was delicious. The least I can do is help with the dishes.” Bree scraped his plate, then hers, and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

He leaned against the refrigerator, arms folded over his chest, as she put away the dirty dishes. She seemed to be processing his words as she rinsed the pots and pans.

Wes held his tongue. After all, how many times could a guy say he was sorry before the words became hollow and meaningless? More importantly, he kept his hands to himself, balled in tight fists beneath his arms.

He ignored the persistent desire to touch her. To taste her mouth and softly caress the skin at the nape of her neck, exposed by her high ponytail. To finish what they’d started that night in London.

He shifted his weight, camouflaging his body’s reaction to the tactile memory and the current vision of Bree bent over the dishwasher—her pert, round ass highlighted by a pair of snug, navy yoga pants.

Maybe they should call it a night, before he did something they’d both regret.

“I’ve got this. Really.” He stepped toward her as she turned suddenly, nearly colliding with him. She planted her hands on his chest to brace herself from the impact. He grabbed her arms to steady her. When their eyes met, her cheeks turned crimson. She dropped her hands and stepped backward.

“Then I’ll go.” She headed toward the patio door.

“Wait, I’ll help you over the—” Before he could get through the doors she’d planted her hands on the railing and vaulted over to the other side.

She was practically a blur as she hurried inside, tossing a final “thanks and good night” over her shoulder.

He ran a hand over his head and sighed.

Way to go, Wes.

* * *

Bree retreated to her bed. Her heart rate and breathing were still elevated from her vault over the banister and sprint up the stairs. Knees drawn to her chest, she rested her chin on them and hugged her legs.

The grown-ass woman equivalent of hiding in a corner, hugging her teddy bear.

So much for playing it cool.

She’d accepted his dinner invitation, determined to prove the past was behind them. They’d be able to forge a business relationship that was profitable for everyone involved. She needed to prove it to herself, as much as she needed to prove it to him.

Bex was counting on her to remain calm and stick with the plan. She promised her friend she would. After all, her future was riding on this event being a success, too.

Bree groaned as she recounted the evening’s events. Her plan went off the rails long before they sat down to eat. It was the moment he’d taken her hand in his, then grabbed hold of her waist. Instantly, she’d been transported to that night in London. Her attraction to him was as palpable now as it was then.

Still, she managed to pull it together and get through an hour of dinner conversation. Civilly. Without staring at his strong biceps or focusing on the rise and fall of his well-defined pecs as he laughed.

Okay, that last part had been a monumental failure. He caught her checking him out more than once.

No wonder he felt compelled to outline exactly where things stood between them. He wasn’t interested in starting a relationship. A statement that was in direct opposition to the starry-eyed schoolgirl fantasy she couldn’t seem to let go of.

His words made her want to crawl under a chair and hide.

He’d seen straight through her ruse, much as he had the night they first met. She’d walked into that club determined to be witty, flirtatious and cosmopolitan. All the things she wasn’t. She’d been able to maintain the illusion most of the night. Until she met Wes. He was charming and funny, and he’d made her so comfortable she’d dropped the pretense and slipped back into her own skin, like a comfy pair of pj’s. The facade quickly faded away, as did her illusions of being satisfied with something temporary and meaningless. She’d wanted more.

That night, for the first time in a long time, she’d been hopeful she could have it.

She’d been wrong.

Maybe she was just as wrong to think she could work with Wes and not be affected by his smile. His charm. His incredible body.

Bree shut her eyes and tried not to think of it. Or the way his hard muscles felt beneath her fingertips, both times she ended up in his arms tonight.

Stretching her legs, she reached for the remote and turned on the television.

Focus on the plan, not the man. She silently repeated the words her high-school volleyball coach would recite to her when she got too caught up with the opponent on the other side of the net.

Don’t be fooled by his good looks and charm. Wesley Adams is the enemy.

A frenemy, at the very least. She’d dealt with plenty of those in her career. Had even partnered up with a couple.

Bree closed her eyes and visualized herself facing off against Wes on the volleyball court. As long as she held onto that image, she’d be good. In control of her thoughts and emotions. Her body’s response.

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