From Rivalry to Revelry...to Romance?

Competitive swimmer turned real estate magnate Michael Kelly is tastier than a Christmas cookie. But now Charlotte Locke’s sexy former lover is her top business rival...and the father of her unborn child. Determined to keep her professional cool, the hotel heiress hides her delicate condition from her family—and from her commitmentphobic ex. Until Michael moves in next door, exposing a desire left unquenched and Charlotte’s pregnancy secret.

Michael may not be daddy material, but losing Charlotte and their baby isn’t an option. He’ll close the deal at any cost—even if it takes a Christmas miracle to prove this playboy is reformed for good!

Michael was too much of a sexy, handsome package to deny herself any longer.

Even as she worried that she might be nothing more than his prey, she was more than willing. She wanted this with everything she had.

He dipped his head lower and his lips brushed her neck, his stubble scratching her. His hair fell forward as he kissed her neck, his mouth now open, his warm tongue making her lose her mind. It felt so good she wanted to close her eyes and languish in every heavenly sensation. For that moment, she seemed like she might be everything to him, precisely what she had once hoped to be.

He hooked his thumbs into her dress straps and pulled them down her shoulders. He gathered her hair in one hand and kissed his way across her back, sending waves of tingles along her spine. His lips weren’t just warm, they were on fire. His kiss was urgent. He pressed his long body against hers; his knees met the back of her thighs and his chest met her shoulders. She pushed right back into him, their bodies grinding against each other as she rolled her head to the other side.

“I want you,” she murmured, almost involuntarily.

A rough groan left the depths of his throat. “That’s a very good thing, Charlie. I’m not sure I could live through it if you didn’t.”

* * *

Little Secrets: Holiday Baby Bombshell is part of the Little Secrets series— Untamed passion, unexpected pregnancy…

Little Secrets: Holiday Baby Bombshell

Karen Booth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KAREN BOOTH is a Midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on ’80s music, Judy Blume and the films of John Hughes. She writes sexy big-city love stories. When she takes a break from the art of romance, she’s teaching her kids about good music, honing her Southern cooking skills or sweet-talking her husband into whipping up a batch of cocktails. Find out more about Karen at www.karenbooth.net.

For my sweet and endlessly patient husband. I’m writing as fast as I can in the hopes that you can retire early.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Extract

Extract

Copyright

One

With its French-milled soap, lavender-scented shampoo and soft lighting, the finely appointed bathroom in her Grand Legacy Hotel suite might’ve been the loveliest place Charlotte Locke had ever gotten sick. She closed her eyes, willed herself to stand from the cool comfort of the marble floor and fumbled for her toothbrush. Ten weeks pregnant and mint was one of the few things she found appealing. She scrubbed her teeth clean, straightened her skirt and jacket, and neatened her blond hair. Hopefully, that was the last of today’s morning sickness. She had work to do.

Charlotte marched out of her room, determined. “Wish me luck. I’m off to Sawyer’s office,” she said to her aunt Fran, who was sharing the suite while in New York from London for Christmas.

Fran tucked a strand from her white-blond bob behind her ear, then refilled her mug with room-service tea. Charlotte’s beloved papillon dog, Thor, nine pounds of snow-white and chocolate-brown attitude, was curled up at Fran’s hip. “You won’t need luck. You’re more than qualified to sell the Grand Legacy condos.”

Charlotte sighed. Okay, no luck. But she wouldn’t mind some bolstering. How many times had she gone hat-in-hand and asked a family member for another chance? Too many. Charlotte slipped on her wool coat, a lovely shade of peacock blue, and buttoned up. “I’m glad you’re so confident. I think I stand about a fifty-fifty chance.”

“You’re sure you aren’t going to tell Sawyer about the pregnancy? He’s your brother. I don’t see any way he can say no to you if he knows you have a baby on the way.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t want anyone’s charity. I’m asking him to trust me with millions of dollars of real estate. I don’t want to remind him that his little sister has a habit of making colossal life mistakes.”

Fran scratched Thor behind the ear. “Everything happens for a reason. It just might not be clear to you yet what that reason is.”

“I like your optimism, but being accidentally pregnant by a man who doesn’t love me is classic Charlotte. I’m trying to avoid all appearances of the old me.” Charlotte leaned down and kissed her aunt’s cheek, then grabbed her gloves and handbag and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Each impeccable detail of the Grand Legacy—the plush black carpet with ornate royal blue scrolls, the gleaming chrome-and-glass wall sconces, even the tasteful sign directing guests to their room—was a link to Charlotte’s past. The hotel had been in her family since the 1920s, long before she’d been born. Now it was solely owned by her brother Sawyer, a detail that displeased their father greatly.

She pushed the button for the elevator. Every time she stepped on board, childhood memories of clowning around in the hotel with her brothers played in her head, like an old movie. The ones where she was youngest were the fuzziest, but the happiest. There had been many games of hide-and-seek in these halls, but only when her mother had been alive. As soon as she passed away, their father never wanted her or her brothers to spend any time at all in the hotel.

“Good morning, Ms. Locke,” a bellman said as she emerged from the elevator.

“Morning,” she said cheerily. Her heels clicked across the black-and-white marble lobby floor.

“Stay warm out there, Ms. Locke,” the front desk clerk said.

“I’ll try.” She pushed her way through the revolving doors and was smacked in the face with a rush of icy air that felt as though it had been shipped in from the north pole. The doorman hustled to show her to the car Sawyer had sent.

“Thank you.” Charlotte juggled her wallet, a five-dollar bill and her gloves.

“That’s not necessary, Ms. Locke.” He tried to hand back the tip. “Not from you.”

“Of course it’s necessary. You work hard, and it’s the holidays.” She smiled, waved him off and slid into the back seat of the car.

The driver knew exactly where they were headed—downtown to Sawyer’s office in Chelsea. Charlotte had already practiced her pitch several times—awake in bed last night, in the shower that morning. It wasn’t that Sawyer was intimidating. He was anything but. It was more that Charlotte hated to ask for yet another favor. She was already bracing for that look on her brother’s face, the one that said he was hesitant to give her responsibility. She’d done so poorly with it in the past.

Charlotte couldn’t commit any more time or effort to feeling bad about her current situation. Now was the time for action. The car pulled up in front of Sawyer’s office, and she wasted no time climbing out and heading upstairs. Hopefully inertia would be enough to keep her going.

Her brother’s admin, Lily, greeted her warmly. “Your brother is waiting. Let me take your coat for you. Remind me when you get out of your meeting and I’ll call another car for you.”

“Thank you so much.” Charlotte smoothed her skirt, trying to ignore the trepidation in her stomach. This was her brother. Sawyer. Everything would be fine. She hoped.

A broad smile crossed Sawyer’s face when she poked her head into his office. “There she is.”

Waves of relief washed over her. Why she constantly worked herself into a tizzy over things was beyond her. She only knew it was her habit. “Hey, Sawyer. Thanks for meeting with me today.”

“Of course. I’m glad you came in. I feel like I hardly had the chance to speak to you at the grand reopening party at the hotel.”

“Sorry about that. All sorts of old friends were there.” Plus, pregnancy makes a woman all kinds of tired.

“I’m just glad you’re back in town. It wouldn’t have felt right not to have you there.” Sawyer sat back in his chair. “Do you want to tell me what precipitated the surprise junket to see Aunt Fran in England?”

Even though she’d prepared for the question, Charlotte blanched at it. So much had led to that trip. It started with the breakup from Michael Kelly, the man she’d fallen hopelessly in love with, the man who was unable to return the feelings. That had been bad enough, and then came the real powder keg—the pregnancy. She couldn’t tell her brother she’d gone to England for those reasons. Charlotte was always falling in love, and it was always getting her into some sort of impossible situation.

“I just needed some time to really think out my long-term career goals. Fran is so good at listening and helping with advice.” She cleared her throat. “Plus, I’ll be honest. It was stressful to watch the way Dad was fighting you on the Grand Legacy renovation. I hate the family rifts.”

“If I could’ve gone to England with you, I would have. Then again, that might have meant things wouldn’t have worked out with Kendall the way they have. So scratch that. I’m glad I stayed and fought through the Dad situation.”

Charlotte smiled. She was happy Sawyer had found someone, and Kendall was a very special someone. Charlotte had worried for many years that their home life had left her and her siblings—Sawyer and their brother Noah—incapable of having normal romantic relationships. The fact that Sawyer had finally broken through that particular Locke family glass ceiling gave her hope that some day she’d do the same. Just not anytime soon—she was no longer looking for love. Stability was her number one quest. “I’m really happy for you and Kendall. I’m so looking forward to the wedding. I love the idea of a wedding at Christmastime.”

“I know it’s soon, but we didn’t want to wait. Call us old-fashioned, but we both want to tie the knot before the baby arrives.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t want your little boy or girl to do the math later in life and figure out you were married after the fact.” Charlotte couldn’t believe what was coming out of her own mouth. She sounded like her grandmother. Maybe she was just as old-fashioned as her brother. She’d be putting an end to that soon, though, with her very single status while welcoming a new life into the world.

“So, tell me about these long-term career goals. You aren’t considering a change from real estate, are you?”

This was a valid question where Charlotte was concerned. The number of careers she’d had in her twenties was enough to make anyone’s head spin—interior designer, fashion blogger, party planner, cupcake maven. That last one had been the most disastrous. Charlotte couldn’t cook to save her life and she’d gained fifteen pounds tasting buttercream all day long.

“Nope. It’s still the right career for me. It’s a natural fit with the real-estate development and hotel interests in our family. It allows me to work with people, which I love doing. And the good side of having had so many false starts with various careers is that I’ve made a ton of contacts.” Watch me make lemonade with my arms full of lemons.

“I’m glad to hear you’ve settled on it. That stability will be good for you.”

“Exactly. Stability.” Charlotte sucked in a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “And that’s why I’m here. Now that you’ve put the finishing touches on the Grand Legacy condos, I’m hoping you’ll let me have the listings.” Charlotte couldn’t help but notice how her brother’s expression had fallen. She had to make her case now, or lose out. “I know the building better than any agent you could possibly work with. You know that it will have my full attention, and more than anything, it will give us a chance to work closely together, which is something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“But, Charlotte...you can’t just pop in here and ask for the listings now. I’ve been working on this for months. This is so like you to throw a wrench in things at the eleventh hour.”

Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on getting pregnant. “I know. I’m sorry about the timing, but nobody expected the units to be ready now. Your original opening date was New Year’s Eve. That’s still several weeks away.”

Sawyer pressed his lips together firmly, seeming deep in thought. “I already have an agent lined up. A fantastic one who will most likely sell every unit in a matter of weeks. He’s on his way over right now to discuss strategy and to get the paperwork straightened away.”

“But...” Charlotte had already discharged her only arguments. She didn’t really have any other means of selling herself. She was, as always, an unproven proposition. “I’m family. Surely that counts for something. It’s the Grand Legacy. This isn’t some random building you and Noah decided to sink money into.” She could see Sawyer’s eyes soften and she knew she had to open up her heart. “I love the hotel so much, and being there over the last few days has been amazing. Isn’t it important to have someone who really, truly cares?”

“You don’t know that this other agent doesn’t care. I’ve had multiple conversations with Michael Kelly about this over the last few months and I can tell you that he absolutely cares.”

Charlotte’s heart had stopped beating. Or at least it felt that way. Unwanted visions of Michael popped into her head—all six feet and six inches of his trim and muscled swimmer’s body. He might have crushed her heart, but he’d looked good doing it, with his thick, dark hair she loved to comb her fingers through, and magnetic blue eyes she could get lost in for days. “Michael Kelly? Seriously?”

“Do you know him? He’s a really good guy. Straight shooter. He cares a lot. He’s told me so.”

Charlotte blew out a breath. Michael Kelly cared, all right—about himself, money and his job. Everyone else was going to have to fend for themselves.

* * *

Michael knew he didn’t have much more time in the pool this morning. Just a few more laps. He touched the tile wall with his hand and took his turn, propelling himself through the water, beneath the surface, to return to the other end.

The rhythm of swimming relaxed him. After tens of thousands of hours spent in the pool, his muscles knew exactly what to do, and he could give his brain some space to roam. This was the only time during his day that he was unreachable, his cell phone turned off and tucked away in his personal locker at the brand-new Empire State Athletic Club, an expensive and exclusive replacement for the old Downtown Athletic Club, which had been converted to apartments years ago. He loved this sliver of his day, when he had a chance to unplug. Owning and running the top residential real-estate agency in the city, The Kelly Group, meant that he was otherwise expected to be available 24/7, 365 days a year.

He made another turn and switched to freestyle, the stroke that had won him three Olympic golds. He always ended his swim this way. It was a powerful reminder of what had once been, of everything he’d worked so hard for and, most important, what it felt like to win. Coming out on top was a high unlike any other, and after his retirement from swimming six years ago, he’d been working his butt off in real estate just to get a taste of that feeling. He lived for that moment when you’re invincible, standing at the top of the mountain, looking down at everyone else that couldn’t match up to you. There was no roar of the crowd or medals awarded in real estate, but the money helped. And there had been a lot of it, not that there wasn’t always more to earn.

He skimmed along in the water at the end of his final lap, came to the surface, pulled off his swim cap and tossed it onto the pool deck. He scooped water into his hair and hoisted himself up out of the pool, grabbing his towel. There was one other person still in the pool—Gabe Underwood. Gabe had taken up swimming a year ago, when he also set his sights on knocking Michael from his perch of top-selling real-estate agent in Manhattan. Gabe certainly knew he wasn’t in the same league as Michael when it came to the sport that had won him Olympic medals, but he insisted that he wanted to remind Michael that he was on his heels and closing in.

It was annoying, but Michael couldn’t stop the guy from swimming laps at the same time he did. They were both members of the club, and all the money in the world wasn’t going to help Michael put an Olympic swimming pool in a Manhattan apartment. That would have to be for later in life, when he retired out in the Hamptons or Connecticut.

Michael trailed into the locker room and quickly took a shower. The hot water felt fantastic on his muscles. There was definitely a part of him that could have stood beneath the spray for a long period of time, but he had to be on his way. Sawyer Locke and the Grand Legacy apartments were waiting. Towel wrapped around his waist, Michael made his way into the dressing area, where his suit was waiting, freshly pressed by the club staff. His black leather Italian wingtips had been given a polish as well.

“I beat my own time today, Kelly. I’m making big progress.” Gabe’s voice grated on Michael like little else.

“Yeah? Good for you.” Like I care. He went ahead with getting dressed, hoping Gabe would take a hint, hit the showers and leave him the hell alone.

“Just like I’m closing in on you in sales. With everything I have lined up for January and February, I’m very close to replacing you as the top agent in the city next year. I have to say, it’ll be a sweet reward and very well-earned.”

Michael didn’t want to take the bait. He wasn’t going to take it, but damn, it was hard. Michael fed on competition, but he couldn’t let someone see that he cared about their achievements. Focusing on his own was the best way to maintain the steely demeanor necessary for winning. “I’ll keep doing what I do, but thanks for the heads-up.”

Completely uninvited, Gabe perched on the locker-room bench. “What do you have in the hopper these days? Anything new and exciting? Some big fish on the line?”

“Always. But I’m not about to share that information with you.”

“I heard you landed the Grand Legacy residential units.”

Dammit. Michael worked his feet into his shoes. He wasn’t about to spill the details. It was all sewn up, but there was no point in bragging. He’d let news of the sales filter through the circles of the real-estate world on their own.

“No comment?” Gabe asked. “I get it. Trying to be the mysterious Michael Kelly. Well, I’m psyched for you, but just so you know, I’ve worked on several properties with Sawyer’s brother, Noah. I even snagged an invitation to Sawyer’s wedding. Pretty sure those guys are eager to work with me.”

Michael cast his eyes at Gabe, but only for a moment. The less he acknowledged him, the better. “I know the game you’re playing because I invented it. Don’t try to go up against me. You’ll only regret it.”

“Is that some sort of threat?”

“I don’t need to make threats, Gabe. Threats are for people who can’t deliver. I always deliver.” With that, Michael grabbed his suit coat. “Have a good day.”

Michael strode to the elevator and took it down to the parking garage, where his car was waiting. He was one of those guys—the ones who insisted on having a car in the city, even when it was generally a pain in the butt. He didn’t like waiting around for other people, he didn’t like barking orders from the back seat. He knew the best way to get where he wanted to go, and driving himself was the only way to get there.

Traffic wasn’t too heavy, so he arrived at Sawyer Locke’s office in twenty minutes and nabbed a spot in the lot next to his building. He took the stairs and still arrived five minutes early.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Kelly. Mr. Locke is finishing up a conversation with his sister. Can I get you a cup of coffee while you wait?”

His sister? Charlotte’s back in town? Michael shifted in his seat, finding it more than a bit uncomfortable. “Uh, No, thank you. I’ve had two cups already this morning.”

“It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

Michael had learned long ago that there’s a bump in every road, especially when you’re sure everything is going to go smoothly. Apparently, today’s bump was going to be Charlotte. He’d probably jinxed himself by daring to think the Grand Legacy was a done deal. Now he had to hope that Sawyer didn’t mention who his ten o’clock was with, opening the door for Charlotte to rail on Michael, call him a jerk or insensitive or any of the things she’d called him the day she’d ended it with him.

The thing was, Michael had had no choice but to open the door for Charlotte to break things off with him. Three months of monogamy was a lifetime for him, and all signs were there that Charlotte was taking things much more seriously than he ever would be able to. He just wasn’t built for focusing on a relationship. There was nothing to win. He’d be lying if he said he was looking forward to speaking to Charlotte. He could only imagine what she might spout off at him. But he was most certainly looking forward to seeing her, even if it might be as she huffed and stormed past him in the lobby of her brother’s office.

Lily’s phone buzzed. “Yes, Mr. Locke?” She glanced over at Michael. “Certainly. I’ll send him right in.” She hung up and rose from her seat. “Mr. Locke will see you now.” She stepped out from behind her desk and headed for Sawyer’s office.

“I thought you said he was meeting with Charlotte.”

Surprise crossed Lily’s face. “You know Ms. Locke?” She gently tapped her forehead. “Of course you know Ms. Locke. You both work in real estate.”

Michael cleared his throat. That’s not the only reason. “We’re acquainted.”

“Well, good. Mr. Locke won’t need to make any introductions.”

Michael was beyond confused, eyeing the door as Lily rapped on it lightly. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m running a step slow today. My meeting was with Sawyer. It’s an important one, too. If he’s busy, perhaps I should come back another time.” And cut out of here before Charlotte lops off my head.

The door opened. Sawyer waved him in. “Michael. I understand you’ve already met my sister, Charlotte.”

Two

Michael did not like to go into meetings unprepared, but he did love a challenge. He first saw Charlotte only in profile, her long, golden-blond hair framing her rosy cheeks, full lips and adorable chin. She sat straight as a pin in a dark purple jacket and black skirt, poised on the edge of her seat. That was Charlotte. Beautiful, but always on the edge. She turned toward him, her vivid blue eyes immediately putting him on notice. She was still angry. He not only saw it, he felt it, as if her eyes were slicing right into him.

It was pretty hot.

Just seeing her brought back the day they first met seven or eight months ago, when she’d come to interview for a position in his agency. She’d been professional and polished, but her résumé was thin. As they talked, he became more and more enchanted by her as a woman, but he knew she wasn’t cutthroat enough to work for him. She smiled so easily, almost as if she couldn’t help it. She laughed in much the same, affable manner. She was clearly beguiling, but he couldn’t see her playing hardball in a negotiation, or putting up with an ultrademanding billionaire client. He’d told her as much. That hadn’t gone over well. In fact, she’d argued with him about it, giving him that first vision of the fire behind those eyes. In the end, she didn’t get the job she wanted, but he called her a few weeks later anyway. He asked her out and she said no, but then she started peppering him with questions about real estate, and the next thing he knew, they’d been on the phone for an hour, the conversation ultimately drifting to more personal topics. Three or four more marathon calls after that, he asked her out again, and that time she said yes. The rest—all three months of it—was history.

“Michael, hello.” Charlotte’s words were polite enough, but the tenor of her voice was rigid. She’d never taken that tone with him before, not even when she left. That day, she’d only had tears and gasping breaths. Crying was one of his weak spots when it came to relationships. He never knew what to say. So he often didn’t say much of anything.

“Charlotte. It’s nice to see you.” He reached out to shake her hand and it was clear she was thinking twice about it. When she finally reciprocated, she was quick to retreat, but even a lightning-fast brush of her skin against his brought back memories of just how white-hot their connection had been. Charlotte might be a handful, but that was also the reason she was impossible to forget.

She folded her hands in her lap as Michael took the open chair next to her and Sawyer sat behind his desk. Michael’s full attention needed to be on Sawyer at this moment, but he had to steal a glance at Charlotte’s legs as she crossed them and sat even straighter. She was wearing jet-black heels today, and he would’ve been a fool not to take his chance to admire her, while his mind flashed to what the rest of her looked like naked as she did the simplest of things, like padding from his bed to the bathroom and back.

“Michael, the reason I’ve asked Charlotte to sit in on this meeting is because I’ve decided to make a change with the Grand Legacy condos. I’m giving half of the listings to Charlotte.”

Michael always did everything he could to keep his cool in a business meeting, but he did not like surprises. Not at the last minute. “You’re what?” His voice betrayed him. The anger was apparent and quite possibly too strong, but as far as he was concerned, he had every right to be mad. He glanced over at Charlotte, only to see her fighting back a smile. He knew that look—the corners of her plump lips twitching while she was trying everything she could not to laugh.

Sawyer held up his hands in defense. “I know this is a surprise, and it’s not the way I like to do business, but the timing just wasn’t right on this one. You were already on your way here when Charlotte and I talked about it this morning.”

“You do realize I can sell those units ten times faster than she can, right?”

Charlotte’s hair whipped through the air when she turned to Michael. “Excuse me?” She was no longer close to smiling. Her mouth was slack and gaping with disbelief.

“It’s the truth.” Michael shrugged and sat back in his chair, reminding himself to stay cool and calm, however angry he might be.

“Look, I hear what you’re saying,” Sawyer said. “You’re a rock star of an agent. There’s no denying that.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“But Charlotte is family,” Sawyer continued. “And she brings some unique qualities to the table that, quite honestly, I hadn’t considered and no one else has.”

“Like what, exactly?” Michael couldn’t imagine that anyone had a talent that he didn’t possess. If he was lacking in some way, it had yet to materialize in his life in a formidable way. If he didn’t know how to do something, he learned. Quickly.

Charlotte huffed and shook her head. “I have a history with the hotel. I know it almost as well as Sawyer. And I have the Locke name. That counts for something.”

She had him on that. “I can always introduce a client to your brother, Charlotte, if they want to meet a member of the Locke family. Of course, at that point, the only name they’ll truly care about is mine. They’ll get experience with me. How many properties have you even sold since you became an agent?”

“I didn’t come here to share my résumé with you. Sawyer doesn’t care about that.”

“It’s not that I don’t care about it. I’m simply willing to see past it in order to make a compromise,” Sawyer said.

So that’s what this was. A compromise. Michael was not a fan. “Sawyer, I have buyers lined up. It’s just a matter of giving me the go-ahead, and I can start showing units later today.”

“I already have a buyer for one unit in the building and she’s ready to make a full price offer today,” Charlotte piped up.

Michael had plenty of potential buyers and other interested agents on the line already, but no one had seen the condos yet. Sawyer had kept everything under lock and key. “She’s bluffing.”

Charlotte turned, narrowing her vision on Michael. Her jaw tensed. He could only imagine what was going through that gorgeous head of hers. Murderous thoughts, probably. “I’m not bluffing. I don’t need to bluff.”

“Then where is this mysterious buyer?”

“You’re looking at her.” She thrust her chin into the air.

Michael laughed and shook his head at the irony. “You sure you want to do that? You might not like your first neighbor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Michael gave me a verbal offer on a unit for himself a few weeks ago,” Sawyer said.

“I’m dying to get into the hotel. It’s so much closer to my office. My commute takes way too much time.”

“Are you serious?” Charlotte asked.

“The more important question is, are you serious?” Sawyer asked. “It’s a big commitment.”

Charlotte twisted her lips tightly. “Yes, I’m serious. I need a place to live. I gave up my apartment when I went to England. I’m already living and working out of the hotel. I can quite literally do a showing at any time, day or night. And these apartments will be the only thing I’m working on. You’ll have my undivided attention, unlike with another agent, who might be such a hotshot that he’s juggling hundreds of properties.”

“She might have you there,” Sawyer said. “You can’t deny that’s a compelling argument for her half of the listings.”

Michael had a long string of counterarguments cued up in his head, but the reality was that Charlotte was Sawyer’s sister. In Michael’s experience, family won out over nearly everything. Sometimes, it even won out over money. Michael needed to focus on his long game, especially with Gabe Underwood on his heels. Sawyer Locke and his brother, Noah, were quickly becoming some of the most prominent real-estate developers in the city. The sooner Michael aligned himself with them, and elbowed Gabe out of the picture, the better. That meant playing ball.

“I’d never want to get in the way of family,” Michael said. “I understand it’s important you give your sister this opportunity.”

“Thank you,” Sawyer replied earnestly. “I really appreciate it. Truly. I owe you one.”

Music to Michael’s ears. “Happy to do it.”

“We can get the paperwork in line later today and be on our way.” Sawyer rose from his seat. “I’m ready to get these sold. It’s one of the final pieces of the puzzle for the Grand Legacy.”

“I’m so excited to work together. Thank you so much for the chance,” Charlotte said, embracing her brother. That was the reason Michael hadn’t stood a chance when he walked into this room. Family bonds were always the strongest.

Sawyer walked them into the lobby, but didn’t have time for long goodbyes, as his admin let him know he had a call. Charlotte was putting on her coat. Purely out of habit, Michael lifted the empty sleeve for her. She yanked it from his hand. “No, thank you. I’m good.”

“I’ll go down with you.”

“I’m taking the stairs.”

“Me, too.”

“Suit yourself.” Charlotte held on to both railings as she descended the stairs, preventing Michael from walking next to her.

He stopped her when they reached the lobby. “Charlotte, hold up for a second.” He grasped her arm, but dropped his grip immediately when he saw the disdain on her face. “You gave up your apartment when you went to England? Were you planning on staying?” The timing still seemed odd to him. She’d dumped him, disappeared from his life altogether, and then he’d heard from a friend that she’d run off to Europe without saying goodbye to anyone.

“I didn’t know how long I was going to be in London, but my lease was up, so I just put my stuff in storage and left.”

Michael shrugged. “Must be nice. Running off at the drop of a hat, no responsibilities to tie you down.”

“I was regrouping. And spending time with my aunt.”

Regrouping. Michael wasn’t sure what that meant, but he knew very well that it was Charlotte’s inclination to leave when she had a problem. “You know, you can’t run away every time you hit a rough patch. My dad practically drilled that into my head.”

“You can stop right there, okay? You don’t even know why I went to England. Don’t assume.”

“So tell me.”

“Um, let me think.” She set her finger against her temple. “No.”

Good God, she was stubborn. “All I’m saying is that you have to keep going when things get tough. This was a problem when we were together. You were always letting the little things get to you. And you were always coming to me with your problems, expecting me to fix everything.”

Charlotte nearly blew steam out of her nostrils. “First off, I don’t remember asking for your sage life advice. And second, you have a lot to learn about women. I never wanted you to solve my problems. I wanted you to listen.”

The biting tone she’d taken gave him pause. But only for a second. “Fine, then. I’m listening. Tell me why you went to England.”

She glared at him. “It’s a little late for listening. Goodbye, Michael.” She opened the building door with a shove.

Charlotte. Always the drama queen.

“Dammit,” she muttered. “I forgot to have Lily call me a car.”

Michael followed her as she shuffled to the curb. “Do you want me to do it? Or I’ll call Lily.”

She rifled through her handbag, hunched over it while resting it on her leg. “No. I’m fine taking a taxi.”

“Then let me give you a ride. I have my car. It’s cold out here. You’ll freeze.”

He took a step toward her and she shot him another one of her piercing looks. Her breaths left her lips in puffs of white and her cheeks began to turn bright pink. “I like the cold.”

“No, you don’t. You hate it.”

“You think you know me, Michael. But you don’t. You never took the time.”

Clearly, they were having two separate conversations. He didn’t have the patience for more of her thinly veiled innuendos about his personal shortcomings. “Okay, then. Have a nice day.” He turned and headed for the parking garage.

“I hope you have the worst day ever!” she called back.

Fine. Be like that.

He trudged around the corner and retrieved his car. When he pulled out of the lot, Charlotte was still standing on the sidewalk, looking for a cab. A heavy sigh left his throat. It would be easiest to turn on his blinker, take a right turn and leave Charlotte to fend for herself. But there was this little voice inside him, a voice he normally ignored, suggesting that he might have a few things to make up for, even if he might never know his actual past transgressions because Charlotte spoke in secret code most of the time.

He rolled down his window and the icy air rushed inside. “Charlotte. Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

“A cab will come along any minute now,” she replied, not looking at him.

The street was dead. You’d have more luck if you walked over to Seventh Avenue. “I’ll turn on your heated seat.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. That flash of her blue eyes was still pretty damn potent from this distance. “Fine.”

Shoulders bunched up around her ears, she hurried around to the passenger side as Michael rolled up his window. The instant she climbed inside and closed the door, her sweet vanilla scent hit his nose. Her presence was impossible to ignore in the confines of the car. It sent a powerful wave of recognition through his body. Even with her prickly attitude toward him, if she said she wanted him, he’d go so far as to blow off work for an hour. He never did that for anyone.

“You have to promise you’ll drive carefully.” She rubbed her hands together in front of the vents. Without asking permission, she reached over and cranked up the heat.

“Charlotte, you know me. There is no such thing as careful.”

* * *

Charlotte’s heart was beating so fiercely, it didn’t even faze her when Michael laid on the horn and yelled at the car in front of him. Everything was getting to her right now, like having the air sucked out of her triumphant announcement that she was going to buy an apartment, only to learn from Michael that he’d made an offer to Sawyer weeks ago. It was bad enough that he’d never said a thing while they were together about cooking up a deal with her brother to sell the Grand Legacy units. It was the perfect illustration of the divide between Michael and Charlotte. A normal couple, a real couple, would have discussed such things.

She felt like such a fool, but she had to go through with buying the unit. Her brother knew Charlotte as the woman who made bold, sweeping promises and later changed her mind. Plus, she couldn’t stand the thought of Michael being one sale ahead of her.

“Dude. You’re killing me with this.” Michael jammed the heel of his hand into the car horn again. “Just go.”

“See? This is why I didn’t want a ride from you. It’s more relaxing having a complete stranger take me somewhere.”

Michael zipped into the next lane without using a blinker or even looking. “You’re in excellent hands.”

She slumped back in her seat, unable to ignore the conflicted feelings pinging back and forth between her head and her heart. She hated Michael. Or at least she was trying very hard to. Every logical brain cell in her head knew the reason why—she’d tried harder with him than she had with any other guy, and she still wasn’t enough. So why was there some fragment of her that was happy to be in the car with him, even when she also despised his driving? Who had decided that this irrational part of her brain, hopelessly turned on by the vision of his hand wrapped around the gearshift, should have a voice?

She’d spent an awful lot of time during those five weeks in England talking with Aunt Fran about Michael, about the differences between men and women, heartache and the ways in which Charlotte was regularly sabotaging herself. It was good to be open and optimistic, Fran had said, but it wasn’t so smart to dive in headfirst every single time. Well, she hadn’t quite put it that way. Her exact wording was, Charlotte, stop picking out your children’s names on the first date. Call it what you will—jumping the gun. Running away with the circus. Going overboard. It was Charlotte’s greatest inclination. She knew this about herself.

By all reports, she’d been that way since she was a little girl. Her brothers teased her mercilessly about her endless string of crushes, all of which she’d been stupid enough to identify by name, starting at the age of four with the first boy she ever kissed, Darren Willingham, on the playground in preschool. As the story went, Charlotte had announced her engagement to be married to the unwitting Darren at the dinner table that night. She had no way of knowing if Sawyer and Noah were making up the part of the story where Charlotte produced crayon drawings of her wedding dress, the flowers and the church. The only other witness to the conversation had been their mother, and she’d passed away before Charlotte could ever ask her about it.

Despite the regular razzing from Sawyer and Noah, Charlotte remained undeterred on her quest for love. By the time she was sixteen, she’d figured out that the affection she wasn’t getting at home was easily obtained by sneaking out of the house, taking the train into the city and partying all night. It wasn’t love, but it was an acceptable substitute, and after a few drinks obtained with a fake ID, a handsome guy flirting with her on the dance floor, wanting to kiss her and hold her and take her home, it sure started to feel like something real. Love had always been Charlotte’s drug of choice. She’d wanted it more from Michael than she’d wanted it from any other man.

What a shame she’d invested so much time and effort into the Michael project. She’d killed herself trying to be the perfect girlfriend, making him meals that took hours to prepare because everyone knew what a horrible cook she was. She’d tried to get him to open up about work problems—she could see how stressed he was—but he wasn’t big on talking about any of it. Charlotte had been so sure that whatever was wrong, she could make it better. None of her efforts seemed to make much of an impression on him. Maybe it was because he was used to women fawning all over him. Even if that was the case, it still hurt. Of course, cooking and listening had become the least of her worries when she’d finally decided that the best approach with him was a direct one.

She’d planned a romantic evening at his place, bought a gorgeous silk nightgown and had his favorite meal brought in. They’d had dinner that night, they’d made love and Charlotte had waited for the perfect moment to confess her love to Michael. They were curled up in his bed, warm under the covers, lips inches apart. She was just about to profess her love for him when she was preempted by Michael’s own confession. He was getting the impression that she wanted a lot more out of their relationship than he was equipped to give. He was too busy for a real girlfriend. It never worked out. Of course. It never worked out for Charlotte, either, just for different reasons.

“So? What’s your plan?” Michael asked.

If only he knew the true breadth of that question. Her hand instinctively rested on her lower belly. She had a lot to plan for, and a lot to accomplish. It all scared the crap out of her, especially the notion of telling Michael. If he’d managed to anticipate and fend off “I love you,” there was zero chance he was up for the challenge of a child. Even so, the baby seemed like the one truly bright spot on her horizon. Motherhood was going to be a lot of work, and she was in no way confident she was up to the task, but she liked the idea of finally having a deserving vessel for the love she was so eager to give. “My plan?”

“Yes. For selling your half of the apartments.”

She wasn’t aware she needed a plan outside of getting out her address book and calling her contacts, starting with the wealthiest ones. “I don’t really feel like I should share my strategy with you.”

“So you don’t have one.”

He was so arrogant it made her want to scream. And kiss him. Again, confusing. “That’s not true. My plans are just more fluid than yours are. It’s called being flexible and thinking on your toes. You should try it sometime.”

He shook his head, his signature dismissive move. “Being flexible isn’t a strategy, it’s a coping mechanism. You sell with a strategy. That’s the name of the game in real estate. Sell, sell, sell.”

Blah, blah, blah. If only he knew that his little lecture on business was like rubbing salt in the wound. She didn’t need constant reminders of how he lived and breathed his job. She was collateral damage from the importance of Michael’s career.

“You know,” he continued, “if you need some help networking, I host a party every year on December twenty-third. I invite other agents, potential clients. Usually some pretty big hitters. I always get a great turnout. I think people enjoy avoiding their families at the holidays.”

“Is that what you do? Avoid your family at Christmas?” Michael had never talked about his family when they were a couple, however hard she’d tried to get him to do it. She didn’t know anything more than he had a brother, and parents who he’d hinted were perfectionists.

“You might say that.”

She didn’t want to take his help, but it might be good to keep her options open. “I’ll think about it.”

Michael pulled up in front of the Grand Legacy and put the car in Park.

“It really is a beautiful building.” Michael rested his hand on the center console, leaning over her and peering up at the building. He was so close, she could practically count the hairs in his perfectly tended stubble. She had once loved to hold on to his face right before he kissed her. He had no idea, but it was her way of reminding herself that Michael Kelly actually wanted to make out with her. The man was an Olympian, as shrewd a businessman as there ever was and the finest male specimen she’d had the good fortune to take to bed. She’d wanted to mark the moment and thank the universe.

But that was in the past. And today was all about her future, as well as that of the baby, the two of them on their own. “It is. I love it. I absolutely love it. Which is why I’m going to sell my units before you do. I simply care more.” She reached for the door handle.

“Are you challenging me to a race?”

“No,” she scoffed, even though she knew very well that she would take extreme glee in selling her apartments before him. She might be forced to take out a full-page ad in the New York Times, or at least go to his office, blow raspberries at him and say, “I told you so” a few hundred times. “I’m a grown-up. I’m not racing you.”

“Right. I mean, how would we even decide what the prize is?” He bounced his eyebrows at her, his voice so low and husky that she worried she might pass out and knock her head into the dashboard.

“You do your thing. I’ll do mine.”

“Or I can just tell myself it’s a race. To stay motivated.”

“What? You can’t do that. You need someone else to race you. I refuse to be that person.” Except I already am that person.

“I’m pretty sure I can do whatever I want.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” It would be just like him to do this. The doorman appeared and opened Charlotte’s car door. “I’m going now.”

“You’re welcome for the ride, neighbor. Oh, and by the way, we’re totally having a race.”

Fine. I’ll just have to figure out a way to beat your sorry butt.

Three

Charlotte stood inside the doorway of her brand-new luxury Grand Legacy apartment, mesmerized by muscles.

“Ma’am, where do you want this?” Chad, the head of the moving crew she’d hired, blew his sandy blond surfer-dude bangs from his forehead. His lightly tanned brow glistened with sweat. His biceps bulged through his black T-shirt, which was emblazoned with his company’s name: Hunks with Trucks.

Charlotte felt giddy. This was the most fun she’d had in months. “In the bedroom, Chad. Thank you. And please, call me Charlotte.” Her voice was high and girlie and exploding with flirtation, and she didn’t care in the least how goofy it might make her seem.

“Of course. Charlotte.” He smiled and winked at the same time, a talent Charlotte did not possess. Chad was getting a really good tip at the end of the day. As was Marco, the tall one with the megawatt smile, Phil, the one with the nerdy glasses whose side job was as a runway model, and James, the brooding serious one with the mysterious tattoo snaking up his arm.

“I can’t believe you hired this moving company,” Fran said under her breath when Chad was out of view. “But I’m not sorry you did.”

“I figure we’re entitled to a little fun. Plus, I hate moving.” Charlotte had moved thirteen times, more than once a year since she’d moved out of the house at eighteen. That was when her dad had announced that he couldn’t “deal” with her anymore—too much sneaking out of the house, and doing things that were unbecoming of a Locke, mostly staying out late and dancing. There was always a lot of dancing.

Charlotte’s brothers had done some of the same things, and although their carousing was never on a par with Charlotte’s, they were also never reprimanded for it. She despised the double standard and had been glad to go out on her own. She started her party-planning business the next day, and kept at it during her first two years of college, until she eventually flunked out of school and shifted gears out of boredom, the next phase being interior design. “And they’re doing a great job.” The bonus of hiring Hunks with Trucks was that as a pregnant single woman, these guys might be the only primo male physiques she’d see up close for the foreseeable future.

Fran consulted her watch. “They got here pretty late, though. Aren’t you supposed to be done using the freight elevator at two? It’s nearly two thirty.” She pushed up the sleeves of her pale pink long-sleeved T-shirt. Even helping Charlotte move, Fran was dressed impeccably, like a modern-day Jackie O in slim black capris, flats and pearl earrings.

Charlotte had gone for yoga pants, a camisole and a slouchy T-shirt over that. Her hair had gotten dry shampoo that morning and was pulled back in a ponytail, but she had gone to the trouble of putting on makeup. She was spending part of her day with Hunks with Trucks, after all. She wanted to look good. “I think there are only a few more things for them to bring up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chad said from behind her. “One or two more trips and we’ll be out of your hair. The guys are bringing the bigger pieces of furniture up now.”

Thor whimpered from his kennel, which had been put in the quietest corner of the living room. Charlotte rushed over to him and poked her fingers between the metal bars. Thor licked her mercilessly with his tiny pink tongue. He wagged his tail so violently that the crate shook. “Sorry, buddy. Just a little longer and I can spring you from jail. I can’t let you out when the door’s open. I know you and you’ll run away.” Charlotte turned to Fran. “Let’s start getting the plates and glasses unpacked. I have to have something to eat on.”

The two made their way to the kitchen, which was over-the-top considering Charlotte’s lack of culinary skills, but she loved it nonetheless. Classic white cabinets, white marble countertops, gleaming chrome fixtures and stainless steel appliances, including a six-burner range with a massive hood. She even had a center island, which was practically unheard of in Manhattan, but Sawyer’s architect had done an excellent job with maximizing space. Charlotte also had a huge soaking tub in her bathroom, another NYC anomaly, something she was definitely going to break in before the end of the night. The apartments were a new addition to the hotel, as these top floors had been only guest rooms in the hotel’s earlier incarnation. It had been Sawyer’s idea to bring a residential feel to the building, and Charlotte had to admire her brother’s devotion to both carefully restoring the building and not being afraid to try something new. Plus, it meant a business opportunity had fallen into her lap and she was immensely thankful for that.

“I have my first showing on Monday morning,” Charlotte said, cutting the packing tape on one of the boxes labeled Glassware. “An old party-planning client. She’s newly divorced and got a huge settlement. She wants to move into the city from New Jersey.”

“Sounds promising.” Fran began helping Charlotte unwrap the paper around the glasses. “Remind me. How many units do you have to sell?”

“Seven, now that I’ve bought one. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but it’ll be a big deal. There’s so much competition out there and you have to find the right buyer.”

“A person with deep pockets.”

“Who also likes the idea of living in a hotel. Sawyer was very specific. He wants resident buyers. He doesn’t want absentee owners, so it’s a little trickier than simply selling them to anyone with money.”

“Well, you could sell it as almost like being in a small building. With only four floors, the residential space is relatively small, and access is closed off from the hotel. That could appeal to buyers.”

“Of course, you’re sharing the elevators with hundreds of hotel guests.”

“You don’t have to remind anyone of that. You have a fantastic restaurant downstairs and there will be two bars to choose from once The Cellar is open. You don’t get that in most apartment buildings.”

“True.”

Chad and his big brown eyes appeared in the kitchen doorway. “It seems we have a problem. Another resident was scheduled to move in this afternoon. He’s demanding his time with the service elevator and wants to talk to you.”

The other resident could only be one person. Michael. To her knowledge, no other units had been sold. “Where is he?”

“He’s down the hall, arguing with my guys.”

Charlotte glanced at Fran. “I’ll be back.” Reminding herself to stay calm, Charlotte marched down the hall, Chad in her wake. She could hear men’s voices before she rounded the corner to the main stretch, where the elevator bank would be visible. Michael’s voice, a sound she had once loved, was the loudest.

When she turned, he was standing there, pointing into the elevator. “You guys have to turn the sofa on its side or it’s never going to come out.” He caught sight of her and simply shook his head. Again with his never-ending dismissiveness. No one was ever as competent as Michael.

She forced herself to smile sweetly. “Problem?”

“These guys have no clue what they’re doing. And they won’t let me touch your stupid sofa.”

Charlotte stepped closer to check out the scene in the elevator. Two of Chad’s guys were trying to turn the sofa, but it seemed pretty well wedged in there. “Chad? Can you take charge here? I’m guessing you’re enough muscle to make this happen so we can relinquish the elevator to Mr. Kelly.”

“You got it, Charlotte.” Chad went to work, instructing his men to make some changes in their plan of attack.

Michael simply folded his arms across his broad chest, pacing the width of the hall. He was dressed in jeans and a Boston Celtics T-shirt. She’d always loved it when he dressed down. It was even sexier than him in a suit, which was already out-of-this-world sexy. Perhaps because it made him more approachable, more like an everyday guy. “Nice moving company,” he said. “Hunks with Trucks? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous. I didn’t think that was possible.” He did seem a little green-eyed about the presence of her studly movers. It left her feeling like things were more even between them. She’d stepped out of his car the other day with the distinct sense that he had the upper hand.

“No, Charlie. I’m not jealous.”

Just like that, his words cut her down to size. She hadn’t heard him call her Charlie in months and it was like a flaming hot poker to the heart. Nobody called her that. It was a nickname he’d bestowed on her, and he rarely used it when they were around anyone else. It’d been reserved for the times when they were alone as a couple. It was such a potent reminder of the reasons she’d been convinced she not only loved him, but that he was also at least capable of falling in love with her. How wrong she’d been. “You could stand to get a sense of humor, Michael. They’ve been great to work with. Totally professional outfit, top to bottom.”

“I think I see the problem,” Chad said.

“Oh, good. He thinks he sees the problem.” Michael threw up his hands. “You might find them professional, but I have a team of six guys downstairs, waiting to use the elevator, the elevator that I had reserved for two o’clock. You’re using up my time.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea you were in such a rush.”

“I have a showing this evening. Here.”

“Tonight?” Damn him. He was always ahead.

“Yes, tonight. You know I don’t waste time.”

Yes, she knew all about that. And she hated the way it made her feel like a lesser person.

“I have work to do,” he continued. “I can’t be standing around here all day waiting for everything to get moved into my apartment.” He pointed down to the other end of the hall.

“You mean that apartment, but on the eighteenth floor, right? I was told you bought the corner unit up top. Please don’t tell me you’re going to be living on the fifteenth floor.”

Charlotte’s pulse began pounding in her ears. I haven’t even moved in, and I’m going to have to start thinking about moving out.

* * *

Michael was going to have to lie about the location of his apartment. There was no way around it. “I always meant to be on fifteen. It’ll be quieter. Those top units are too close to the shared terrace. There will be all sorts of parties up there. I don’t want to deal with that.” The truth was that he’d asked to have his unit moved to Charlotte’s floor. He’d told Sawyer it was because the upper units were primo and would be easier to sell. Hell, he’d told himself the same thing. But the minute he saw Charlotte again today, he suspected that she was the real reason. He was still so drawn to her, but it was an even more pronounced feeling now. Was it because she seemed to despise him so much? Was that what made it so hot? The conversation they were having was a prime example of their incompatibility.

“You’re going to be living down the hall. From me.” Her voice and expression carried what he could only describe as profound disappointment. Was he really that bad?

“I’m sorry if that’s a disdainful idea, but yes.”

“Hmm. Okay.” She twisted her lips into a kissable bundle. Charlotte made annoyance and anger sexy.

“Got it,” one of the movers said, and just like that, the end of the sofa popped out of the elevator.

“Oh, good. Now we can get off Mr. Kelly’s naughty list.” Charlotte touched Chad the mover’s arm with the tips of her slender fingers.

Michael wrestled with the reasons it bothered him so greatly, while trying to ignore Charlotte’s sarcastic comment. He had the elevator reserved and she was using his time. She needed to stop acting as though he was being petty.

The movers in the elevator carried the bright turquoise sofa wrapped in a cocoon of clear plastic out into the hall. “Can we give you a lift?” Chad asked Charlotte.

“I’m sorry?” she asked in a voice that rivaled a cartoon princess.

“A ride. Hop on the sofa and we’ll carry you down the hall.”

She giggled. “Really?”

“Yes, really. We promise we won’t drop you. It’s fun.”

Chad is fun. Good for him.

“Oh. Okay. Great.” Charlotte sat on the couch and the men hoisted her into the air. She grasped the sofa arm as surprise and delight crossed her face. They carried her away, Charlotte waving her fingers at him.

At this rate, Michael just wanted them gone. He couldn’t stand another minute of Charlotte and the muscle squad.

Time to get back to work. He made a quick call down to his movers, a perfectly normal company called Manhattan Moving, and retreated to his apartment to make a few phone calls while waiting for the first load to arrive upstairs. Without his home office ready, he was forced to set up in the kitchen, his laptop on the counter. His chocolate Lab, Abby, had already made herself at home, stretched out in a sunbeam gracing the living room floor. One of his hopes with now being closer to his office was that he’d have more time to take Abby to the park and out for runs. He had a dog walker, but it wasn’t the same. Abby wanted to spend time with him, and he wanted to spend time with Abby. The relationship between dog and master was a simple one, much easier and more symbiotic than most human relationships.

He touched base with three clients about a handful of different properties, including the client who was coming to see the Grand Legacy that evening. The movers were bringing in the first load when he got a call from his younger brother, Chris. They talked or texted almost every day.

“The Islanders won last night,” Chris said.

“Sometimes I wish you had a real job so you wouldn’t call me in the middle of the day.” Michael smiled and leaned back against the kitchen counter. Chris lived in Washington, DC, about twenty minutes from their parents in Maryland. He worked as a lobbyist. As Michael had learned over the last several years, it’s pretty easy to get someone to take a meeting with you when you’re a former Olympian.

“You owe me five bucks.” They were always betting on sports. No longer living in the same house or competing in swimming, it was one way to keep their sibling rivalry going.

“The winning goal was completely bogus. He kicked it into the net.”

“Nope. It went off his skate. They reviewed it. A win’s a win.”

“Fine. I’ll pay you when you come at Christmas.” Michael stepped aside as a mover brought several boxes into the kitchen. He pointed at the center island, indicating that was a good landing spot. “I mean, if you still want to come.”

“What else am I going to do? Go visit Mom and Dad? I don’t think so.”

Michael and Chris had been spending Christmas together, but separate from their parents, for six years now. Things had always been difficult with their father. The man had all the warmth of a dark night in Siberia. There was no parental affection, only an intolerance for anything short of perfection. It was one thing when that revolved around swimming. It had helped both Michael and Chris get to the Olympics. It was quite another when it came to one of their sons being on the wrong end of a broken engagement.

“Okay. I’m just saying that I’m fine. I don’t want you to feel like you have to come to New York every year and console me.”

“Hey. It’s not just you. We both sort of lost our parents that day.”

Michael did his best to ward off the guilt. Chris had sided with him when Dad went off the rails about Michael’s admittedly disastrous engagement party. Mom took Dad’s side, which still confounded them both. Their marriage was anything but blissful.

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw a small dog rocket through his foyer. Charlotte raced in behind him. “Thor! No!”

“Hey, Chris. I need to run. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Michael hung up and rushed to investigate. Charlotte’s dog was in the living room, straddling a very startled Abby’s leg, humping away. “I take it this is Thor?”

Charlotte pulled her dog off Abby and tucked him under her arm, scolding him. “No. Bad dog.”

“Does he always do that? Rush into someone’s house and try to mate with the nearest canine?” Michael crouched down and showed Abby some love. “I’m sorry, sweets. He woke you up from your nap and everything.”

Charlotte blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. He got out of his kennel and bolted down the hall. He’s my little Houdini.” She lowered herself to the floor and sat with her legs crossed, letting the dogs sniff each other while she petted Abby. “Hi, Abs. Long time, no see.” Charlotte had such a sweet side when she chose to let it out, and he’d nearly forgotten what it was like to witness it. It made her even more beautiful, if that was possible. She cast her eyes up at him. “I think they can get along. I swear Thor’s not really like this. I think the move has him out of sorts. He can’t figure out what’s going on.”

“It’s funny. I’ve seen so many pictures of him, but you never brought him to my place. It seems strange that I never met him.”

Charlotte shot him one of her looks. He’d said the wrong thing. Again. “Are you serious right now? It wasn’t that I never brought him to your place. It’s that we always went to your apartment and my dog was never invited. You’re lucky I had a lonely retiree living next door to me. Thor spent most of our relationship with my old neighbor.”

Michael hadn’t really thought about it. It just always seemed easier to meet up at his apartment. “I’m sorry if it seemed that way to you.”

“It didn’t seem that way. It was that way. You never came to my apartment. Not once.”

Was that really true? He guessed it was. Damn. Michael’s phone rang again, saving him from the onslaught of shame Charlotte was likely about to launch at him. He straightened and fished his cell out of his pocket. “It’s your brother. Sorry. I need to get this.”

“It’s Sawyer? Why would he be calling you?” Charlotte seemed once again miffed by Michael’s existence on the planet.

“Maybe because we’re working together?” Michael pressed the button to pick up the call. “Hey there, Sawyer. What can I do for you this afternoon?”

“Nothing, actually. This call is purely social. I wanted to know if it’s best to mail you something at your office or if you’re ready to start getting mail at the Grand Legacy.”

“What sort of something?”

Michael watched as Charlotte attempted to further acquaint the dogs by placing Thor back on the floor. Unfortunately, the little brute returned to his previous libidinous activity.

“Is he fixed?” he whispered to Charlotte.

“Yes.” She frowned at him.

“I want to send you an invitation to my wedding,” Sawyer said.

“Oh. Great. I’d love to come to your wedding.” Michael said it entirely for Charlotte’s benefit, although he wished he could’ve received this invitation earlier, when Gabe had been bragging about it.

Charlotte’s face made the very short trip from shock to horror.

“It’s in a week, and I know this is last minute, but it occurred to me after we met the other day that we’re working on this project together and you’re the first resident of the Grand Legacy who isn’t related to me. I’d like to include you that day if you’re free. We’re having the ceremony and the reception at the hotel, so you won’t have far to go. And, of course, you should feel free to bring a date.”

Michael hadn’t been on a date since Charlotte had broken up with him. Not that he hadn’t entertained the idea. There were several women he’d considered asking out. But something stopped him, every time. He just wasn’t sure what his problem was. “Sounds great. You can go ahead and put me down with a plus-one. I’ll definitely bring a date.” Michael watched for Charlotte’s reaction, which turned out to be an overblown eye roll.

Michael and Sawyer said their goodbyes, and the movers brought in another round of boxes along with a few smaller pieces of furniture.

Charlotte scooped up her dog again. “So you’re bringing a date to my brother’s wedding? Or did you just say that for my benefit?”

Maybe. “Yes and no.”

“It wasn’t payback for Hunks with Trucks?”

He could admit to himself that he’d been irked that she’d hired an all-male revue to move her into the building, but he wasn’t about to own up to it with her. “I don’t bother with payback, Charlotte. You’re free to do whatever you want. You broke up with me, remember?” He disliked the tone in his voice, the one that said it still bothered him. He knew he should be over it by now, but it still felt like there was a lot unresolved between Charlotte and him. Being around her only brought it to the surface, like scratching a wound that hadn’t healed.

“I broke up with you because you practically dared me to do it. Which is probably why we should just agree to be kindly neighbors and work adversaries.”

Was that where this was going to end? It seemed a shame, but all signs pointed to yes. And maybe that was for the best. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“So says the guy who insists we’re racing to see who can sell their apartments first.”

“We’re still doing that.”

She closed her eyes and sucked a deep breath through her nose. “Goodbye, Michael.”

“’Bye.” He watched down the hall as she walked away, unable to ignore how much he loved the sway of her hips in stretchy black pants. He was definitely going to need to find a date for her brother’s wedding. There was no telling who Charlotte would show up with—probably Chad from Hunks with Trucks.

No, it was time for Michael to get back on the horse and start dating again. Maybe it would help him finally get Charlotte out of his system.

Four

Charlotte’s new apartment, especially her home office, was shaping up nicely. Her desk, one of her favorite pieces of furniture, was a floor model she’d picked up for a steal at a lovely designer shop in SoHo. It had weathered gray wood and legs that were heavy and scrolled, with a glass top for smoother writing. She’d never liked the idea of a rolling desk chair—too many opportunities to sit and miss—so instead, she used an upholstered side chair in linen with dark legs and nail-head trim. With a lovely bank of windows streaming in daylight, it was the sunniest possible spot to get her life back on track.

Primped by 9:00 a.m. and dressed for the day in a knee-length navy skirt, black-and-white checked blouse and black pumps, she sat at her desk and began to plan out her day. It was almost enough to make her feel like a confident and accomplished businesswoman. The only thing nagging her was the distinct sense that the clock was ticking. It would only be another ten days or so until she was starting her second trimester.

The words alone—second trimester—filled her with a cocktail of excitement and worry that far surpassed any bout of anxiety she’d ever had to battle. She couldn’t spend too much time perched on this feather-stuffed chair in her photo-spread-ready office, casually writing herself notes. Soon a crib would need to be added, a rocking chair, a bureau for the baby’s things. After that, she’d be focused on practicing breathing techniques and the best ways to navigate her environment while her belly was the size of a Smart car. Soon after that she’d be wandering the apartment in slippers and pajamas, holding her sweet little bundle, wondering what day it was and whether her breasts could ever again be used for anything fun. Or at least that was what Fran had said.

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