# Maid of Dishonour

Heidi Rice

When she’s very, very bad… Gina Carrington knows exactly how to have fun!But when she slept with her friend’s brother, the off-limits Carter, she quickly discovered she’d overstepped the mark…Years later Gina sees Carter again, and can’t help but wonder what the harm would be in one more night…He’s available, gorgeous, and behind that laid-back Southern charm there’s a wild side even she can’t tame!But Gina has secrets which she can’t hide for ever – will their chemistry be strong enough to keep Carter by her side when they come to light?THE WEDDING SEASON continues next month!

When she’s very, very bad…

Gina Carrington knows exactly how to have fun! But when she sleeps with her friend’s brother, the off-limits Carter, she quickly discovers she’s overstepped the mark.

…life is so much more fun!

Years later, Gina sees Carter again to prepare for her friend’s wedding, and she can’t help but wonder what the harm would be in one more night…. He’s available, gorgeous and behind that laid-back Southern charm there’s a wild side even she can’t tame! But Gina has secrets which she can’t hide forever—will their chemistry be strong enough to keep Carter by her side when her secrets come to light?

‘Didn’t you ever wonder what it would be like between us … without all the emotional garbage tripping us up?’

Emotional garbage.

She heard the words, and saw the harsh cynicism behind the hunger.

‘Yes, I have,’ she answered honestly, because there wasn’t much point being coy when her desire had outstripped her caution a good half an hour ago.

Was she seriously considering this? And why couldn’t she seem to consider anything else, such as running off screaming into the night, which had to be the smarter, safer, more sensible option?

He placed both his hands on her waist and drew her off the stool, until she stood in his embrace, that spicy musky scent intoxicating her. ‘I have a whole hotel suite upstairs, if you want to find out the answer.’

Dear Reader,

MODERN TEMPTED™ is such an exciting line to write for— fresh, flirty, funny, sexy and just a little bit wicked—but even I was unprepared for how much fun I was going to have when I was invited to join forces with Aimee Carson, Kimberly Lang and Amy Andrews to create our first MODERN TEMPTED continuity.

The process of pinging emails back and forth between Alaska, Alabama, Brisbane and London—and even spending one sunny afternoon in Anaheim brainstorming (with Ms. Andrews there in spirit) at a writers’ conference—was almost as much of a hoot as the stories we created, following four former college roomies and their rocky roads to romance (with some seriously scorching guys) during one long, hot, sensational summer!

Now, I’m not gonna lie to you, the brainstorming sessions turned out to be somewhat more carefree than actually writing my story—especially when Carter, my tortured Southern hottie, and Gina, my reckless British bad girl, insisted on playing hard to get. But hey, what else is new! After all the hard work, I hope the end result is as fresh, flirty, free-spirited and generally fabulous as you, dear reader, have come to expect from the MODERN TEMPTED experience.

I certainly think so—and that includes the other three brilliant books in THE WEDDING SEASON.

Be fabulous and enjoy!

Heidi Rice

. S. Heidi loves to hear from readers—you can contact her at heidi@heidi-rice.com. For all the news about her books, check out her website at www.heidi-rice.com.

THE WEDDING SEASON

Look out for Marnie’s story this month in Last Groom Standing by Kimberly Lang!

Don’t miss Reese’s and Cassie’s stories, out last month!

It’s a reunion to remember—with sizzling, scandalous, and very surprising consequences …

Maid of Dishonor

Heidi Rice

www.millsandboon.co.uk

HEIDI RICE was born and bred and still lives in London, England. She has two boys who love to bicker, a wonderful husband who, luckily for everyone, has loads of patience, and a supportive and ever-growing British/ French/Irish/American family. As much as Heidi adores “the Big Smoke,” she also loves America, and every two years or so she and her best friend leave hubby and kids behind and Thelma and Louise it across the States for a couple of weeks (although they always leave out the driving off a cliff bit). She’s been a film buff since her early teens, and a romance junkie for almost as long. She indulged her first love by being a film reviewer for ten years. Then a few years ago she decided to spice up her life by writing romance. Discovering the fantastic sisterhood of romance writers (both published and unpublished) in Britain and America made it a wild and wonderful journey to her first Harlequin Mills & Boon® novel.

Heidi loves to hear from readers—you can email her at heidi@heidi-rice.com, or visit her website, www.heidi-rice.com.

This and other titles by Heidi Rice are available in eBook format—check out www.millsandboon.co.uk

## MILLS & BOON

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To my partners in crime—Aimee Carson, Kimberly Lang and Amy Andrews—for being such fabulous authors, such an inspiration to work with and such cool women to boot. We rock, ladies!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

Hillbrook College Campus, Upstate New York, ten years ago.

‘It sounds awesome, Marnie, but Carter and Missy shouldn’t get overwhelmed by all the glamour of their wedding and forget the important part—that they love each other.’

Reese’s words of whimsy drifted into Gina Carrington’s consciousness—through the cloying perfume of hyacinth blossoms that infused the back porch, and the haze of one too many glasses of vintage champagne—and didn’t improve her melancholy mood one iota.

Can we get off this topic now, please?

Her cheeks heated as a heartening flash of temper pierced through the hollow feeling of loss that had dogged her for days. Ever since she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. And in a life filled to bursting with mistakes of one sort or another that was quite an achievement.

‘That won’t be a problem. They’re devoted to each other and they have been for years. When Carter proposed, Missy and I stayed up all night talking about how wonderful it was that we’d be sisters for ever.’ Marnie laughed at her own observation, the high musical lilt clearing the fog from Gina’s head like a knife slicing through flesh.

Funny to think she’d once enjoyed the sound of Marnie’s laugh. Marnie had been so anxious and serious and unassertive when she’d first arrived at Hillbrook. It had taken them all a while to realise her perfect Southern manners had actually been a disguise for extreme terror. Gina had loved hearing that smoky laugh in the months that followed because it had come to symbolise Marnie’s emancipation from the people she herself had described as ‘the family that feminism forgot’.

But Gina wasn’t loving it much now.

‘So what’s Missy’s dress like?’ Reese asked, still humouring her.

‘Just so perfect,’ Marnie purred, her Southern accent thicker than molasses. ‘It’s ivory silk. She’s going to be a traditional bride.’ Marnie flashed a smile Gina’s way. ‘I know not everyone here approves, but I think it’s so romantic that her and Carter have decided to stay pure until their wedding night.’

Wasn’t it just.

Gina’s stomach heaved up towards her breastbone as she plopped her champagne flute on the porch table. ‘Is anyone getting another bottle? I’m not sure I can stand to hear any more about love’s young dream without alcoholic fortification.’

Cassie jumped up from her seat on the rail. ‘It’s gotta be my turn,’ she said in her broad Aussie accent. ‘I’ll go.’ She sent Gina a bland look that only made Gina feel more miserable.

Cassie knew what had happened a week ago when Marnie’s big brother Carter Price had come to visit. And in typical Cassie fashion had been completely pragmatic about it. ‘I don’t see why you should feel guilty—he’s the one that’s engaged to be married.’

But as Cassie headed off to the kitchen, obviously keen to escape from the tension that had been building all night and only Marnie seemed oblivious to, Gina knew Cassie the super nerd felt uncomfortable. And while Cassie would never judge her, Gina knew it took a lot to make Cassie uncomfortable in a social situation, because normally, unless a discussion involved gamma-ray bursts or cosmic radiation or some other esoteric astronomy principle, Cassie tended to disengage from social situations.

Gina turned to find Marnie watching her from her deck chair, the light blush on her cheeks a symptom of her confusion. She was probably wondering why Gina was being such a cow about the wedding of the century. Her brother Carter’s marriage to her best friend, Missy, had been Marnie’s hot topic of discussion for months—and Gina had enjoyed teasing her about the impending nuptials, but always in a good-humoured way.

But that was before last Saturday night, before she’d met the Sainted Carter, and set out to flirt him into a puddle of unrequited lust. Only to discover that Marnie’s big brother wasn’t the overbearing, self-righteous and boringly judgmental Southern gentleman he’d pretended to be, but a sweet, sensitive, and seriously intense Southern hottie who was as screwed up about his place in the world as she was.

The evening had started out as a joke, played at Carter’s expense, but in the end the joke had been on Gina. How could she have known the Sainted Carter would be the first man to show her that sex wasn’t always about physical gratification? That sometimes your feelings could actually become involved? And how could she have known that, when he looked at her the next day, with the disgust at what they had done together plain in his face, he’d also be the first man to make her feel ashamed of taking what she wanted? And force her to admit that trust and judgment and honour and duty weren’t just buzzwords for boring people?

Those had been harsh lessons to learn in the last week, ever since Carter had walked away, but as Marnie’s face flushed pink and she murmured: ‘Gina, admit it, even you think it’s romantic—that Carter and Missy are going to be each other’s first?’ it wasn’t a harsh lesson she had it in her to appreciate, especially after two glasses of Dom—and the knowledge that her period was now four days late.

‘It’s not romantic, Marnie, it’s certifiable. What exactly would your best friend do, if she got Carter into bed on their wedding night and discovered he was rubbish in the sack?’

‘I’d have to agree that good sex is important in a relationship, if it’s going to last.’ Reese flushed as she took a sip of her champagne—that enigmatic look of excitement and trepidation she’d been beaming out all night lighting her eyes.

Marnie let out a soft laugh, but the colour in her fair cheeks went from pink to a light rosé. ‘You think too much about sex—Missy and me both believe it’s not the most important thing.’

‘And how would you two little virgins know anything about that? Seeing as you’ve never actually had any?’ Gina felt her temperature rising, the twin tides of panic and anger going some way to stem the crushing feeling of rejection and inadequacy.

‘You don’t have to have sex with someone to know you love them,’ Marnie said, but her teeth had begun to chew on her bottom lip. ‘Missy’s not worried about how Carter will...’ she hesitated, obviously having difficulty talking about her brother and sex in the same sentence as the blush went from rosé to stoplight red ‘...perform at the marital act. They’ve talked about it.’

The marital act!

Gina’s temper ignited. From the little Carter had said to her—and the vast swathe of things he hadn’t said—Gina happened to know that Marnie’s best friend, Missy Wainwright, was a simpering, self-righteous little prude who’d rather sew up her vagina than let Carter so much as mention sex, let alone actually touch her.

The man had been literally starved of any kind of physical contact with his fiancée—so desperate to be touched it had almost made Gina cry the way he’d responded with such enthusiasm to a simple kiss and actually thanked her in that slow Southern drawl when she’d pulled down his zipper and placed her palm against the firm, resilient flesh of his erection. She hadn’t realised then that he’d been a virgin, but when he’d admitted the truth afterwards, as they’d been lying in the heady rush of afterglow, his voice embarrassed and reticent, it had made her heart squeeze tight in her chest.

To realise that a man so virile, so handsome and so sexually curious had denied himself the most basic of human connections because the woman who was supposed to be his soul mate had demanded it of him... What kind of woman could be that clueless about the man she was marrying? And how cold and judgmental and frigid did you have to be to even want to?

The harsh laugh that came out of her mouth didn’t sound like her, but somehow it fitted with who she was now: the Evil Sex Queen sent to split up the happy couple and then slink back into the dark forest of regrets and recriminations.

‘Actually your good friend Missy hasn’t talked to Carter about the marital act, but tell her not to worry.’ The two-hundred-dollar champagne soured in her belly. ‘As it happens her groom has a natural aptitude for bringing a woman to orgasm. Not only is he hung like a stallion, but he’s also exceptionally dexterous, remarkably flexible and really goal-orientated. I should know—I road-tested him myself.’

‘What?’ Marnie’s choked sob of distress was accompanied by Reese’s spurt of shocked laughter.

‘Gina, will you quit teasing her? It’s not funny.’

‘If that’s supposed to be a joke, it’s in really poor taste,’ Marnie said, sounding like a child having a temper tantrum—naïve and judgmental and impossibly young, the way Gina had never been. ‘Missy would be heartbroken if Carter broke his vow,’ Marnie finished and Gina could have sworn she heard the rest of the sentence reverberating in her head.

Especially with a tramp like you.

Gina suddenly felt painfully sober, the buzz of alcohol clearing to make her feel reckless and vindictive. Carter had walked away from her determined to throw himself on the mercy of the Virgin Queen—but she wasn’t going to keep his secret. Because she wasn’t ashamed of what they’d done. She wasn’t ashamed of the pleasure they’d shared, and she refused to regret the connection they’d made. It had been real and valid, even if it was only ever meant to be for one night.

‘Don’t upset yourself, Marnie.’ Reese patted Marnie’s back, as her mother hen tendencies came charging to the fore. ‘It’s just Gina’s British sense of humour.’ Reese sent her a quelling look, that held a trace of censure, but a much bigger trace of confusion. ‘Stop being so cynical, Gina, and tell her the truth. I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight.’

Gina heard the exasperation in Reese’s voice and knew exactly what had gotten into her friend, the Park Avenue Princess, because it was written all over Reese’s face, and had been ever since she’d returned from her trip to New York for their final night together. Reese had fallen head over designer heels for that marine she’d met in some diner. She’d seen Reese caressing the dog-tags under her shirt, when she thought no one was looking. And she’d announced earlier in the evening that Mason was ‘The One’... As if she were quoting a line from one of those fluffy chick flicks she often forced them to endure on movie nights.

Bitterness and something that felt uncomfortably like envy scoured Gina’s throat, making her want to hurt Reese too.

Reese the hopeless romantic, who actually believed in love at first sight. Thank goodness she’d never be daft enough to believe such an idiotic concept. Any more than she’d be dumb enough to fall for Marnie’s dictates on the ‘proper way to conduct a committed relationship’.

‘Actually, Reese, the only thing to have gotten into me is Carter Price’s stallion-like—’

‘Stop, don’t say any more,’ Marnie shouted, covering her ears like a child that didn’t want to hear the truth. ‘It’s not true. It can’t be.’ But Gina could tell the truth had sunk in as tears leaked out of Marnie’s eyes. ‘You’re lying. Carter wouldn’t do something like that. He has integrity. And he loves Missy.’

‘He may love Missy, but he made love to me.’

‘Gina, you didn’t,’ Reese whispered, hugging Marnie now, her confusion replaced with sadness and concern. ‘How could you do something like that? You knew he was engaged.’

Because I talked and he listened. And he talked and I listened. And we touched and kissed and held hands and it meant something. Because he was smart and funny and tender and when he looked at me I felt sexy and special, instead of sexy and shallow.

But she didn’t say any of those things, because they weren’t really true. It had just been an illusion conjured up by the sultry summer night and the heady pheromones that had intoxicated them both—and it had all disappeared by morning. So she said the thing that had been true all along—before she’d gotten tripped up by feelings that she now knew she should never have trusted.

‘I did it because he was hot and he was begging for it. Why do you think?’

Reese swore softly. While Marnie jumped to her feet, her face contorted with anger and disgust. ‘But he’s engaged to be married. Don’t you have any honour at all? How could you be such a...such a tramp?’

Gina forced herself not to flinch. She’d been called a tramp before; in fact, she’d been called a great deal worse than that by her own father. But it was the first time it had been said by someone who meant something to her.

‘She’s not the tramp,’ Cassie announced as they all turned to see her with the newly opened bottle of champagne frothing over her fingers. ‘She’s not the one who was engaged to be married. He is. Blaming Gina for his infidelity is just another example of the double standard that—’

‘You knew?’ Marnie interrupted Cassie before she could get into full feminist lecture mode.

‘Yes. She told me the morning after it happened.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Marnie cried, the emotional outburst in sharp contrast to Cassie’s calm, unblinking stare.

‘Why would I tell you? It was between Carter and Gina.’

‘Because Carter’s my brother and his fiancée is my best friend? Because I’m going to be her maid of honour. Because this is a disaster.’ Marnie collapsed back into her seat. ‘I can’t tell Missy. She’ll be devastated. The wedding’s in a week’s time. And Missy’s devoted herself to planning it for over a year.’

‘Don’t worry, he’s not cancelling anything,’ Gina supplied. ‘He went back to her, didn’t he?’ She inspected her nails, battling the clutching pain in her chest as she maintained the charade that it didn’t matter, that she didn’t care. ‘I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up, Marnie. It was nice while it lasted but I didn’t want to keep him.’

‘I can’t believe I respected you. I liked you. I thought you were cool. When all you really are is a lying tramp who has no heart and no scruples.’

‘You got it in one, Scarlett.’ Gina stood up, taking the opened bottle from Cassie. ‘I’m the tart with no heart.’ A phrase she’d heard so many times from her father—and had always believed until a week ago, when her heart had put in a surprise appearance.

She inclined her head towards the now dark athletic track, the buff male bodies they’d had so much fun admiring together over the months now gone for good. ‘Looks like the show’s over for tonight, so that’s my cue to leave.’ She sloshed a final slug of Reese’s priceless champagne into her glass and toasted them all. ‘It’s been a ball, but I’m off. I’ve got an early start in the morning for the flight back to London.’

‘Wait a minute, what about our road trip?’ Cassie asked, her eyes as round with concern as Reese’s now. ‘We’re booking it tomorrow, remember?’

‘I’ll take a rain check on that.’ She nodded towards Marnie, who was staring at her as if she had snakes instead of hair sprouting out of her head. ‘Right at the minute, I’m thinking I’d rather not spend three weeks in a car with Scarlett staring daggers at me.’

She strode back through the house, Marnie’s harsh words and Reese’s concerned buzzing fading as she concentrated on keeping her back ramrod straight and the self-pitying urge to cry on lockdown.

Cassie caught up with her on the stairs. ‘Gina, I don’t get it. You can still come on the road trip. Marnie will get over it. What her brother did with you really isn’t any of her concern.’

But just as she finished saying it the high, angry shout of ‘whore’ echoed through the house, making them both stiffen.

Gina pressed her hand to Cassie’s cheek. And wondered how her friend could be so scary smart and yet so clueless about the most basic of relationship dynamics?

‘We’ll see. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. See how me and Marnie feel then.’

But she already knew, Marnie wasn’t going to forget it. Gina had made absolutely sure of that. Once again, she’d burned her bridges. Pushed the people away who mattered so she wouldn’t have to let them mean that much. She already regretted her outburst. The cruel, outrageous, provocative things she’d said. But it was too late to take them back now. And it was probably better that way.

She wasn’t any good at friendships. And the three of them needed to know that.

Cassie nodded. ‘All right. I’m really going to miss you, you know.’

I’ll miss you too. And Reese and even Marnie.

But instead of admitting that much, Gina simply nodded and walked away.

* * *

She called a cab the next morning before anyone was up. Happy with the deliberately flippant parting note she’d spent several hours before dawn composing.


Sorry for screwing up our last night together so royally, Awesomes. But I think we all knew, me and my insatiable appetite for man candy were bound to mess things up at some point. I hope you can forgive me.

G x

ONE

New York City, August, the present.

Something’s come up. U & M will have to pick fabulous venue for Cassie’s do without me. C u tomorrow at Amber’s Bridal. 11 a.m. Don’t B late. R xxxx


‘Reese Michael, I am going to murder you.’ Gina Carrington glared at the text that had popped up on her smartphone.

This was a set-up, pure and simple.

Now her old college roomie was in the throes of second-chance nirvana with her sexy ex- and soon-to-be-new-husband Mason, Reese was so full of the joys of spring—and Gina suspected really spectacular sex—that she was starting to make Pollyanna look like a killjoy.

The something that had come up was Reese’s cock-eyed optimism, and leaving her and Marnie to have this meeting without her was her unsubtle way of getting them to kiss and make up properly after that fun-filled night a decade ago when they’d hurled words such as ‘Tramp’ and ‘Whore’ and ‘Virgin’ at each other before busting up the Awesome Foursome.

Gina’s fingers hovered over the keypad of her phone as she cursed her own stupidity.

She should have seen this coming, as soon as Reese had suggested that the three of them organise a surprise wedding party for Cassie and Tuck, the hot jock she was scheduled to marry at the Manhattan Marriage Bureau on the Friday before Labor Day.

But the truth was, Gina hadn’t given it a second thought. Reese was classy, committed to her friends and a champion organiser—the original Park Avenue Princess—it had made total sense that she would come up with an idea like this.

In typical Cassie fashion, their super-geek friend had agreed to marry Tuck and then left the arrangements up to him. No fanfare, no fuss, no debauched fun or inappropriate frolics had been either planned or discussed. So after speaking to Tuck, Reese had decreed the three of them should handle that part of the programme without telling Cassie. Because Cassie would go into a geek-induced coma if they made too much fuss, they had opted to celebrate in understated style—inviting the minimalist guest list that would be witnessing the wedding at City Hall to a great meal at a great restaurant right after the event.

Hence the decision to meet at this ungodly hour of the morning in Gina’s favourite diner near Grand Central Station and debate possible venues, before booking one.

But Reese being Reese had seen a way to turn what should have been a polite and straightforward affair, with her as the official gooseberry, into a peace-keeping mission of UN proportions.

Gina and Marnie had remained civil to each other, meeting again for the first time a little over a month ago, during the fiasco that was Reese’s Wedding-That-Wasn’t to Dylan Brookes—the original Mr Too Perfect. That should have been enough, Gina thought resentfully. They had spoken to each other, they had even joked with each other in a strained way. No insults had been hurled, no punches thrown, no eyes gouged out, which in Gina’s mind was a result. But clearly, that hadn’t been good enough for Reese, who was now a fully loved-up member of the sweetness-and-light club. Reese wanted all the dirty laundry properly aired and then washed clean—so the four of them could go back to being the carefree college roomies who’d hit it off instantly at Hillbrook College.

But to Gina’s way of thinking, that simply wasn’t ever going to happen. You couldn’t go back and undo the mistakes you made. You simply had to learn to live with them. And she didn’t think that Marnie would ever forgive her. Because she hadn’t yet forgiven herself.

Not only that, but kissing and making up with Marnie would involve talking about a man Gina had promised herself she wouldn’t even think about again, because she’d thought about him far too often in the intervening years. Namely, Marnie’s big brother, Carter Price. The man she’d had one wild night with just weeks before his wedding day. A wild night the consequences of which had not only nearly destroyed her but, from what Reese had told her, had managed to screw up his life rather comprehensively too.

Gina’s newly manicured nails tapped out a tattoo on the side of her smartphone as she glanced at the ornate clock on the diner’s far wall—and the urge to quickly text Marnie and make her excuses increased. She still had ten minutes to do a runner before Marnie arrived—because for the first time in recordable history she was actually early.

Sighing, she locked her phone and slung it back in her bag. Ten years ago she would have gone with the urge—and run out on Marnie and the unpleasant conversation that loomed large in her foreseeable future. Because when she was nineteen, doing whatever took her fancy and then running away from the fallout had been her speciality. She smoothed damp palms over the vintage dress she’d picked up in a thrift store in Brooklyn a week ago. How inconvenient that she wasn’t that reckless, irresponsible tart any more.

‘Can I get you something, miss?’

Gina pasted a smile on her face at the helpful enquiry from the college kid who was waiting tables.

‘Something hot and strong would be good,’ she said, checking him out from force of habit.

His fresh face flushed a dull red. ‘Umm... What did you have in mind, miss?’

‘Coffee,’ she said, taking pity on him as the flush went from pink to vermillion. ‘And this morning I’m going to need it neat.’

He nodded. ‘Coming right up.’

She watched him stroll off and smiled.

While she might not be in the market for indiscriminate flings any more, it was satisfying to know she hadn’t lost her touch.

In fact, as she took a long gulp of the watery diner coffee ten minutes later, she felt almost mellow. Until the revolving door at the front of the restaurant spun round and out popped Marnie Price looking cute and efficient in her power suit and kitten heels. Gina lifted a hand to wave, and watched Marnie’s expression go from keen to wary when she spotted the empty seat next to her.

The hollow roll of regret flopped over in Gina’s stomach. While it was certainly true that she and the Savannah Belle hadn’t had a thing in common when they’d first met at Reese’s house on campus—and Gina had spent most of that first month teasing Marnie mercilessly about everything from her views on love and marriage to her perfect Southern manners—their friendship had eventually developed into something strong and supportive and surprisingly genuine.

The truth was, Gina had felt superior to Marnie then. Gina had considered herself a sophisticated, cosmopolitan woman of the world who knew all she needed to know about men and sex and relationships—unlike the sheltered, self-confessed Southern virgin.

But Marnie had grown on Gina, despite their differences. Because beneath those pristine Southern manners had been an admirable devotion to doing the right thing, being accountable for your actions and always believing the best of people. And then Gina had gone and mucked everything up by jumping into bed with the brother Marnie idolised—and discovered in the process she was hardly the poster girl for mature relationships either.

But if there was something Gina regretted even more than giving in to temptation that night, it was taking that bright, trusting light out of Marnie’s eyes. Something that now appeared to be gone for good.

‘Hi, Gina.’ Marnie sent her a polite smile as she slid into the booth. ‘Are we early?’ she asked, probably hoping Reese—who was never late—would magically materialise and get them out of this predicament.

If only. ‘Reese can’t make it. Something came up, apparently.’ Gina took a judicious sip of her coffee, resisting the urge to say the something was probably a key part of the hot ex-husband’s anatomy.

‘And I’ll bet I know what it is,’ Marnie murmured, making Gina choke on her coffee. ‘I swear, you’d think Mason had invented sex the way Reese gushes about the guy.’

Gina put down her cup, a grin forming despite the underlying tension. ‘Gushes being the operative word.’

Marnie gave a small laugh. ‘All I hope is that it’s more than just sex this time around—because there is no way I am repackaging a billion truffles again in this lifetime.’

‘Amen to that,’ Gina said, toasting Marnie with her coffee mug and smiling at the memory of how the four of them had spent two solid hours taking table-top truffles out of engagement-ring-style boxes when Reese had decided to reinvent her aborted wedding to Dylan into a celebration of... Well, no one had ever really figured that out.

‘To be frank,’ Gina added, ‘if I ever see another truffle before I die, it’ll be too soon.’

Marnie’s lips curved, but Gina could see the concern in her pure blue eyes—and had the sudden realisation that she hadn’t given Marnie her due in the last month.

Seemed they’d both done quite a lot of growing up in the last decade.

After ordering herself an iced tea and some wheat toast from the blushing waiter, Marnie got right down to business, tugging a smartphone out of her briefcase. ‘Okay, I’ve narrowed a couple of possible venues down that can accommodate a party of seven on the required date, can provide a wedding cake and meet our “classy but not too intimidating” requirements.’ She pressed a few buttons, her gaze flicking to Gina. ‘My personal favourite is the Tribeca Terrace. Do you know it?’

Gina nodded. ‘Sure, chic and funky with sensational food and a dance floor—so Cassie and Tuck can get up close and pornographic for our benefit.’

Marnie’s lips quirked again. ‘It’s pricey, but totally worth it.’

‘Done.’

Marnie blinked. ‘What do you mean, done? We haven’t gone through the other options.... And don’t you have any venues you want to put forward?’

‘I had a couple.’ Gina shrugged. ‘But none of them are as perfect as the TriBee,’ she said, giving it the nickname it had acquired in the foodie press. ‘You nailed it in one. Why shop around?’

The waiter arrived with Marnie’s toast and tea and made a bit of a production about asking Gina if she had everything she needed. As he left Gina noticed Marnie’s gaze follow him, before she concentrated on buttering her toast. There was no censure in the look, just a simple acknowledgement. But Gina could still hear the words running through Marnie’s head even if the well-mannered woman would rather bite off her own tongue than voice them.

There goes another of Gina’s conquests.

Ten years ago, Gina would have played up to that assessment and enjoyed it—and quite probably taken full advantage of whatever the young waiter had to offer. But not any more.

Placing her coffee mug back on the table, she waited for Marnie to stop buttering. When the bright blue eyes finally met hers, she could see the tension around the edges of Marnie’s mouth and realised that—while she still had a low-grade urge to throttle Reese—their mutual friend had been right. They needed to get this out in the open, if they were going to have any chance of getting past it and repairing the friendship between the four of them the rest of the way.

Marnie and her would never be best friends, Gina had already screwed that up for good, but surely they could be more than just civil to each other. A bit more warmth between the two of them would also take the pressure off the other two—and as both Reese and Cassie had weddings coming up, she couldn’t think of a better gift to give them both.

‘I’m sure we both know why Reese didn’t show this morning,’ she said evenly. ‘And for once I’m not convinced it has anything to do with her inability to leave Mason’s bed first thing in the morning while he’s still in it.’

Marnie’s eyes widened a fraction. She raised her napkin to her mouth to remove an invisible crumb. ‘Reese has always been a peace-maker.’

She put the napkin down, folded it carefully.

‘But I’m confident she’ll stop trying to be Mother Teresa when we turn up at Amber’s Bridal tomorrow having booked an awesome venue for Cassie’s party without having gotten into a catfight in the Grand Central Diner.’

Gina’s lips curved at the droll statement. ‘True, but funnily enough...’ She took a deep breath, fortified by the odd feeling of connection between them—because right about now it seemed they both had a low-grade urge to throttle Reese. ‘I think I can probably go one better than that.’

Wariness crossed Marnie’s face. ‘How?’

‘By apologising for all the crappy things I said to you on our last night together—which were cruel and juvenile and totally unnecessary.’ She huffed out a steady breath when Marnie remained silent.

Now for the biggie.

‘And more importantly by apologising for seducing your brother the week beforehand—which was equally cruel and juvenile and totally unnecessary.’ Even if it had felt very necessary at the time.

‘My only excuse is that I was in a bad place at the time.’ A bad place that had got a whole lot worse in the months after that night. ‘And I did bad things as a result—including being a heartless, reckless, selfish, philandering tart. And although I can’t promise that I won’t do bad things again—because if there’s one thing I despise more than a heartless tart, it’s a hypocrite—I’m trying a lot harder not to.’

Marnie’s face remained unnervingly impassive, before she gave her head a little nod. ‘Thanks for the apology. But if you were being cruel and juvenile, I was too. And...’ She paused. ‘While I could have done without such a graphic description of my brother’s...’ she coughed, clearly struggling to get the word out ‘...assets, you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.’ She looked down at her hands, which were mangling the carefully folded napkin. ‘Carter was the one that cheated, Gina. Not you.’ Her eyes met Gina’s, disillusionment clouding the blue depths. ‘And after seeing his marriage die a slow, painful death and seeing what a player he’s become since his divorce—I don’t think you should take all the blame.’

A player? Carter?

Gina’s throat constricted as the memories she’d filed carefully away in the ‘biggest disaster of my life’ box had a coming-out party.

Yes, he’d been devastatingly handsome, and moody and magnetic and sexy enough to make any woman salivate uncontrollably, even an accomplished flirt like her. But beneath that potent machismo had been a man who, like Marnie, had been determined to do the right thing—who had been honourable and sensitive and touchingly reserved, despite the hunger burning in those cool blue eyes. How could that man be a player?

Nobody could change that much. Even in ten years....

‘Reese told me Carter had got a divorce,’ she said. The guilt she’d worked hard to mask ever since Reese had told her the news throbbed in her belly like a lump of radioactive waste—alongside an inappropriate rush of heat, which she studiously ignored.

‘I’m sorry about that too,’ she said. It would be conceited of her to think she was wholly responsible for the failure of Carter’s marriage, but she still had to shoulder her share of the blame. She’d slept with an engaged man and then tried to push the blame onto the only innocent party in the whole thing, Carter’s fiancée, Missy.

‘You don’t need to apologise,’ Marnie remarked with sober certainty. ‘The divorce wasn’t your fault—they had a lot of other...’ her voice trailed off ‘...issues.’

‘It’s nice of you to say that.’ And nicer still to see that she actually meant it. ‘But I was there when it happened, and I know how hard he tried to resist me.’

Marnie shot her hands out in the shape of a T. ‘All right, time out, because you are straying back into “things I will never need to know about my brother” territory, here.’

Gina huffed out a laugh at the look of horror on Marnie’s face. Maybe the Southern Belle had grown up, but it seemed she still had the same demure sensibilities when it came to discussing her big brother’s sex life.

‘The point is...’ Marnie put her hands down ‘...I’m ashamed of the things I said that night too.’ She drew a circle on the table. ‘I wanted to put all the blame on you, because blaming Carter would mean admitting he didn’t belong on the pedestal I’d put him on.’ She sighed. ‘We’re not close these days.’

Gina felt the renewed stab of regret. ‘Oh, Marnie, I’m so sorry. Did I do that too?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Marnie said, sounding adamant. ‘It would have happened anyway once I got older and wiser and realised what he was really like.’ The wry smile on Marnie’s lips did nothing to dispel the thoughtful expression. ‘You know, I don’t remember you having such an overdeveloped guilt complex.’

Gina chuckled at the observation. ‘Unfortunately, it’s the end result of believing everything is about you.’

Marnie sent her a quick grin, the unguarded moment a reminder of the easy friendship they’d once shared.

‘Look, I hope we’re good now,’ Marnie said. ‘Because my relationship with my brother isn’t as important to me as my friendship with y’all.’

‘Yeah, we’re good,’ Gina said, but felt oddly deflated as Marnie excused herself to go to the restroom.

Maybe they hadn’t had a catfight, and maybe she’d finally got out the apology that she should have given Marnie ten years ago... But somehow it didn’t feel like enough.

Maybe her thoughtless seduction that night hadn’t been the only reason Carter’s marriage had ended, but it had definitely helped to screw up his relationship with his sister. And Gina couldn’t quite shake the thought that Marnie had fallen back on her perfect Southern manners to smooth everything over, but didn’t really mean it.

The buzzing of Marnie’s phone jolted Gina out of her guilt trip, and made coffee slosh over the rim of her mug. She mopped up the spill and made a grab for the phone as it vibrated towards the edge of the table. Then nearly dropped it at the photo that flashed up in the viewfinder under the text message.


Arrive @ The Standard 7pm 2nite. In NYC til next Fri. Txt me. We need 2 discuss yr allowance. C


Her heart leapt up to bump against her larynx and the swell of heat that she’d been busy ignoring flared. She pressed her thumb to the screen and ran it over the darkly handsome face that had hardly changed in ten years. His hair was longer, the brutal buzz cut now a mass of thick waves that curled around his ears and touched his collar. Those hollow cheeks had filled out a bit, the electric blue of his eyes looked colder and even more intense, and there were a few distinguished laughter lines, but otherwise Carter Price looked even hotter than she remembered him. She touched the tempting little dent in his chin—biting the tip of her tongue as a blast of memory assailed her. The rasp of stubble and the nutty taste of pistachio as she licked a rivulet of ice cream off his full bottom lip.

Stop fondling Marnie’s phone, you muppet.

The sharp rap of metal on wood rang out as she dropped the phone on the table. Carter Price’s unsettling gaze continued to stare at her, so she flipped it over—moments before Marnie appeared at her shoulder.

‘Your phone was buzzing,’ she offered, as nonchalantly as she could manage, while blood coursed up her neck and pulsed at her temples.

‘Right, thanks.’ Marnie picked up the phone and slid back into the booth.

A frown formed on Marnie’s forehead as she read the text. And Gina wondered for one agonising moment if Marnie would mention the texter—and then wondered how she was going to conduct a conversation while having a hot flush. But Marnie didn’t say anything, she simply frowned, keyed in a few characters, pressed send and then tucked the phone into the pocket of the briefcase.

‘Shall I go ahead and book the Tribeca Terrace?’ she asked, her voice clear and steady and businesslike, the frown gone.

Gina’s shoulders knotted with tension and the sinking feeling in her stomach dropped to her toes.

So Marnie had lied—maybe she wanted to pretend that they were both past what had happened ten years ago, that it didn’t matter any more. But how could it be true when she couldn’t even bring herself to mention Carter’s name?

Marnie didn’t trust her. And frankly who could blame her?

They made arrangements to meet up the next day for the bridesmaids’ fittings at Reese’s friend Amber’s bridal boutique in the Manhattan Bridge Overpass District before Marnie—who seemed more than a little preoccupied—rushed off to get to her office in Brooklyn.

Gina watched her leave, and realised that there was only one way to win Marnie’s trust—and prove to herself that she deserved it. And that was to finally make amends for everything that had happened ten years ago, on the night she’d thrown herself at a virtually married man.

She gulped down her lukewarm coffee as goosebumps prickled up her spine. Unfortunately that meant apologising to more than just Marnie.

TWO

Gina climbed out of the cab under the High Line in New York’s Meatpacking District and mounted the metal steps to the linear park constructed along an old L-train track. The concrete pathway, edged with planters of wild ferns and flowers, bustled with joggers, canoodling couples and families enjoying the pleasantly warm but not overly muggy New York evening.

Sweat trickled down her back as she stepped out of the heat into the cool lobby area of The Standard Hotel. The retro chic decor—all white plastic sculptures, distressed stone walls and dark leather scooped seats—made her feel as if she’d stepped onto the set of a sixties sci-fi movie.

She lifted her arms, to deter the sweat from dampening the armpits of the vintage Dior mini-dress she’d spent half an hour selecting from her extensive wardrobe of couture originals and thrift-store finds. The plan was to look cool and sophisticated and in control while finally confronting the ghosts of her past, not like a bedraggled rag doll.

She lingered for a moment—feeling a bit like an alien from the planet Zod—before taking a deep, calming breath, and stepping up to the reception desk.

The expertly coiffured receptionist took down the message she’d spent most of the afternoon composing. The perfect combination of polite, impersonal and not too pushy—the single sentence gave Carter the option of contacting her, so she could give him her apology in person.

Whether he would or not was entirely up to him. The sense of relief as she left the desk was immense. She’d done what she had to do. It really didn’t matter now if Carter called her or not. But somehow she doubted he would.

Because as well as spending far too much time that afternoon composing the perfect message—she’d also spent rather a lot of it Googling information about the CEO of the Price Paper Consortium of Savannah, Georgia. After wasting a good twenty minutes poring over the numerous pictures, gossip items and local news reports featuring Carter Price and the ever-changing kaleidoscope of model-perfect ‘possible future brides’ who’d accompanied him to an array of high-society functions and charity events in the last few years, she’d had to concede that Marnie hadn’t lied.

The sensitive, conflicted Southern gentleman who had once been so susceptible to her charms wasn’t just a major player now, he appeared to be attempting a world record for dating and dumping the entire debutante population south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

This Carter was not the man who had rushed back to his childhood sweetheart crippled by guilt and self-loathing at what they had done. So she very much doubted he’d want to revisit that time in his life. But exactly how much of the change in him was her fault?

The thought struck and stopped her in her tracks—right beside the entrance to the hotel’s lobby bar.

Damn, her throat felt as if she’d been swallowing sand. She glanced at her watch. Ten to six. Still an hour before Carter was due to check in. She had time for a soft drink without risking bumping into him.

She shrugged off the thought of how much Carter appeared to have changed in the last ten years as she entered the brightly lit bar. Apportioning blame for that now was a little late.

Crowded with New York’s young and lively in-crowd celebrating the start of the weekend and a few tired-looking tourists ready to call it a day, the pristine blonde wooded space was already throbbing with life. One small table right on the outskirts of the action was still vacant. She nabbed it and waylaid a member of the wait staff.

‘A club soda, please.... No, scratch that,’ she said as indecision struck. ‘Make that a small dry martini, light on the vermouth.’ One drink couldn’t hurt and she’d earned it.

When the martini arrived, Gina took a single sip, then placed it on the table in front of her, savouring the flowery taste of the gin and resisting the urge to down it in three quick gulps. She never drank to excess any more. Mostly because she now knew that inebriation had a direct correlation to stupid behaviour.

She speared the olive at the bottom of her glass with a cocktail stick and swirled it around, savouring the light buzz from the alcohol as the guttural chatter of the Japanese tourists at the next table cocooned her in the blessedly anonymous corner. The muggy scent of body odour and expensive perfumes and colognes overwhelmed the blast of cold air from the bar’s air-conditioning system, drawing her back in time to a sultry summer afternoon a lifetime ago.

The ripples in her martini glass shimmered out to the rim and dissipated as the hazy memory floated at the edges of her consciousness and invaded her senses.

The phantom scent of lime polish and hyacinths tickled her nostrils as she recalled the pleasantly cool hallway of the clapboard house on Hillbrook College Campus. The parquet cold beneath bare feet as she tiptoed down the compact house’s corridor with her shoes clutched in her fist. Guilt tugged at the pit of her stomach—because she was creeping home at four in the afternoon after an all-night frat party when she had promised faithfully to spend the day revising at the college library with Reese. And then she heard again the sound of an unfamiliar male voice, low and brusque despite being infused with the lazy rhythms of the Deep South, echoing down the stairs from Marnie’s room on the first landing.

THREE

‘No is my final answer, Marnie. Mama’s not going to allow you to go on a road trip with your friends and neither am I. Once the wedding is over, you will be staying in Savannah for the summer.’

Gina’s brows drew down in a sharp frown. So the famous older brother, the Sainted Carter, had finally showed up to transport Marnie’s stuff back to Savannah. She slipped her shoes back on and decided to stay put in her hiding place—and get some vicarious pleasure from hearing Marnie give the guy the smack down he clearly deserved.

What a tool, ordering his sister about like that.

‘I don’t believe I need your permission, Carter,’ Marnie replied, succinctly. ‘You’re not Daddy—and Mama will come around once I’ve spoken to her.’

Way to go, Marnie.

Pride swelled in Gina’s chest at the knowledge that a year ago, when Marnie had first arrived at Reese’s house on campus from deepest, darkest Georgia, she never would have had the guts to talk back to the Sainted Carter like that. A man Gina and Reese and Cassie had all suspected was a total douche, hence the nickname they’d given him together, despite the way Marnie gushed about him.

‘Mama doesn’t control the mill’s finances, I do,’ came the low, irritatingly patient reply. ‘So I’d like to know how you’re gonna go on this road trip, if I refuse to pay for it.’

‘Daddy left me a share in the mill, surely I can—’

‘Daddy left your share in trust,’ he interrupted with the same implacable calm. ‘A trust which he left me to administer until you reach your majority—and I’m refusing your request for funds on this occasion.’

‘That’s not fair, Carter.’

Gina’s fingers fisted into tight balls as the argument continued and slowly but surely all the confidence and assurance Marnie had gained in the past year leached away as her brother refused to budge. In fact, Gina was fairly sure from his uninterested replies that he wasn’t even listening.

For that alone, Gina could have throttled him with her bare hands. Why did so many men have to be like her father, judgmental and superior and always, always right?

She pressed back into the alcove as Marnie’s bedroom door closed upstairs and footsteps came down the stairs. She caught a glimpse of a tall figure dressed in a creased chambray shirt and suit trousers as he strolled into the kitchen.

She stayed in the alcove, hearing his heavy sigh, and debated the wisdom of getting involved: with her tendency to be provocative she was liable to make it worse, and it really wasn’t any of her business. But as she walked to the kitchen doorway and spied on him helping himself to one of Reese’s chilled diet colas from the fridge, anger and resentment flared.

He closed the fridge, his broad back to her as he twisted the cap off the bottle and flipped it into the bin, then took a long swallow of the cola. One large hand gripped the edge of the sink but the rigid line of his shoulder blades relaxed.

Why should she respect his privacy when he hadn’t respected Marnie’s—and how could she possibly make things worse?

Leaning insolently against the doorjamb, she gave her voice the soft smoky purr she knew made men putty in her hands. ‘You know, you really ought to take that huge stick out from up your arse. It’s going to ruin the very nice line of those designer trousers.’

He swung round and her lungs seized in astonishment.

It seemed Marnie had failed to mention one fairly crucial bit of information about her big brother during all the gushing this year. Carter Price was a total hottie.

At six foot two or three, with mile-wide shoulders and the tanned skin of a pirate, he was as big and dark as his sister was small and fair, but the relationship was confirmed by the striking eyes that narrowed on her face—and shared the exact same shade of cerulean blue as his sister’s. On Marnie they looked cute and appealing. On her brother they looked cold and intense.

The unblinking gaze drifted down her frame as he took another swig of the stolen cola and Gina felt the prickle of response, everywhere.

She settled back against the doorjamb, but clamped down on the urge to stretch her back—thus displaying what she knew to be an exceptional pair of breasts to their best advantage.

Focus, Gina. You’re not here to flirt with the guy. You’re here to tell him a thing or two about women’s emancipation—and his sister’s emancipation in particular.

‘You’ve got quite a mouth on you, miz.’ The deep drawl was as slow and seductive as molasses but for the steely hint of censure beneath. ‘My daddy would have taken a hickory switch to my backside if I’d used that sort of language in the presence of a lady.’

‘I guess we’re both very fortunate then that you’re not in the presence of a lady,’ she replied tartly.

Carter Price wasn’t just a hottie, he was also a sexist control freak, but no way was he going to control her, with his cool Southern manners and his total contempt for a women’s right to self-determination.

She let her gaze drift over him too. ‘Because I’d really hate to see what I can imagine is an exceptionally cute backside being whipped with a hickory switch—unless I was the one doing it.’

Let’s see how you like being objectified, Buster.

Two dark eyebrows arched, and she felt the wave of satisfaction at the knowledge that she’d shocked him. Gina Carrington was no simpering Southern miss prepared to bow down to the dictates of a man. And the sooner Carter Price got that message, the better. But then his irises darkened and his lips twitched at the edges. And she had the strangest feeling she might have underestimated him, a tad.

‘Why do I get the feeling your daddy didn’t take a hickory switch to...’ he paused to direct his gaze pointedly at her mid-section and she had to resist the urge to tuck in her bottom ‘...what I can see is also an exceptionally cute butt, nearly often enough?’

She wanted to be outraged at the suggestion—and any mention of her father and/or the corporal punishment of a child would ordinarily do that—but unfortunately she wasn’t outraged. Because she was far too distracted by the surge of heat making her nipples tighten against the confines of her bra and the way her cute butt was now sizzling alarmingly.

‘You’re very perceptive, Mr Price. My father never hit me,’ she informed him with as much dignity as she could muster while her behind was still pulsing from the imagined thrashing. ‘Because he knew he would lose an arm if he tried,’ she finished, with the purr still firmly in place, even though it was starting to sound less and less like an affectation—and more and more like an invitation.

‘Seems to me an arm is a small price to pay when it comes to instilling good manners in your child.’

The outrage came without a problem this time as the sizzle fizzled out. The man was serious.

‘If you actually believe that hitting a child—or a woman—is less heinous than bad manners, then an arm isn’t the only thing you deserve to lose.’

She could see she’d done a lot more than shock him this time, when he stiffened and the twitch on those firm sensual lips disappeared. ‘You mistake me, miz?’

‘Carrington. Gina Carrington.’

‘Miz Carrington. I’ve never hit a child, or a woman, in my life, and I never would. I respect women. Absolutely.’

‘Is that something else your daddy taught you with his hickory switch?’ she said, the contempt dripping now.

But instead of the smug affirmative she had expected, something flickered across his face, and she had the feeling she’d crossed a line she hadn’t intended to. He turned away, and braced one hand against the sink. Then fixed her with an unsettling stare. ‘You seem to have a problem with me, Miz Carrington. And as this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of your company, I’d like to know why!’

It occurred to her that he hadn’t answered her question, but this was the opening she’d been waiting for, so she took it.

‘I heard you upstairs, bullying Marnie into doing what you wanted. Not what she wanted. She’s eighteen years old and perfectly capable of coming on a road trip with us this summer. And as I understand it, you’ll be on your honeymoon anyway, so why is it so important to have her sitting in Savannah twiddling her thumbs instead of having fun with us?’

The grim line of his lips thinned out and a muscle in his jaw clenched. ‘So your exemplary manners include eavesdropping?’

‘It would seem so.’ What did she care what some self-righteous Southern prig thought of her manners? ‘And while we’re on the subject, there happens to be several things in life that are a great deal more important than exemplary manners. And letting your sister follow her heart’s desire happens to be one of them.’

‘Going on a road trip with y’all hasn’t got a damn thing to do with following her heart’s desire.’

So much for his Southern manners, Gina thought, relishing the spurt of temper. At last, here was something she could work with; she happened to be very good at handling male tantrums.

‘How would you know that?’ she said coolly.

‘Because she’s my sister.’

‘And that makes you her keeper, does it? Perhaps Marnie doesn’t need a keeper any more.’

His brows furrowed into a deep frown and she could almost see the frustration pumping off him. She knew he wanted to say something derogatory about her, and Reese and possibly Cassie right about now.

Because what other reason could he have for wanting to keep his sister away from them?

She waited for him to accuse all three of them of being a bad influence, but to her surprise, after several deep breaths, his shoulders relaxed and she saw him visibly draw himself back from the brink.

She dismissed the moment of admiration—control after all wasn’t one of her strong points.

‘I don’t consider myself to be Marnie’s keeper, Miz Carrington,’ he said, in a tight voice, the drawl no longer quite so pronounced. ‘But I am her brother and I intend to do what’s best for her—with or without your consent.’

Her lips curved in a wry smile. Talk about getting hoisted by your own petard. It seemed Carter’s perfect manners were going to prevent him from saying what he actually thought about her and her friends. Well, she hoped swallowing that down gave him heartburn. ‘And why is what’s best for her your decision and not hers?’

The muscle in his jaw pulsed. ‘Because she’s eighteen,’ he said. But she could see what he wasn’t saying in that look of calm condescension. And because she’s a woman.

‘How old are you, Carter?’ she asked.

The frown deepened, as if he were looking for the trap. ‘I’m twenty-two.’

‘And how old were you when you got engaged?’ she asked, although she already knew the answer, because Marnie had talked about her big brother’s insanely romantic engagement to her best friend, Missy, incessantly when she’d first arrived at the house.

‘It’s not the same thing,’ he said, seeing the trap too late.

‘Umm-hmm. And why ever not? You were the same age as Marnie is now and yet you were mature enough to decide you were going to love your childhood sweetheart for the rest of your life.’ She said the words with conviction, but couldn’t help feeling a little sick to her stomach.

When had she ever been that romantic? That naïve? To believe that anyone was worth that much of a commitment?

‘It wasn’t like that. Missy and I are well suited. And it was the right thing to do after my father died. My mother and Marnie needed stability and they were both in favour of the match.’

It was Gina’s turn to frown. And not just because Carter’s description of the engagement was in sharp contrast to the wildly romantic whirlwind of love and devotion Marnie had described. Who the hell proposed marriage because they were being sensible? And he’d made it sound as if the primary motivation had been the approval of his mother and his kid sister? She was by no means a hopeless romantic, but wasn’t that taking filial duty a bit too far?

‘But you do love Missy, right?’ The question popped out before she could stop it.

He looked taken aback. As well he might, because this really was none of her business. But curiosity consumed her. He’d only been eighteen. What on earth had he been thinking settling for ‘The One’ so young? What about hormones? And exploring your options? And sowing wild oats?

‘Of course I love Missy. She’s going to be my wife in two weeks’ time. We’re friends, we understand each other and we both want the same things out of life.’

None of which sounded remotely like convincing reasons for proposing marriage when you were just out of high school. But what did she know? ‘What things?’

He shrugged, the movement stiff and defensive. And she realised for the first time that he looked unsure of himself. ‘Companionship, trust, compatibility, children. Eventually.’ The affirmation came out in a monotone, as if he’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

‘Why, Rhett,’ Gina said, fluttering her eyelashes and affecting a simpering Southern drawl. ‘I can see how you must have swept Missy off her feet with that proposal. How romantic of you to compile a checklist for the perfect marriage.’

‘Missy knows she can trust me,’ he said firmly, the look on his face delightfully annoyed and confused. Clearly the Sainted Carter wasn’t used to being teased—or questioned about his carefully planned love life. ‘That’s what matters.’

‘Really? What about love and passion and adventure and...’ she groped for another quality that might get the message across to this indomitable and resolutely anti-romantic man ‘...and the promise of multi-orgasmic sex for the rest of your life?’

His gaze flicked to her cleavage, then shot back to her face and a dull shade of red rose up his neck and made his tan glow on chiselled cheekbones. He looked away, taking a large fortifying gulp of the cola. And suddenly she knew.

Oh. My. God.

Carter Price had been eighteen when he’d proposed to his very-appropriate fiancée. And if Missy was as much of a sanctimonious prude as her best friend, Marnie, had been when she’d first arrived from Savannah—wearing a little promise ring on her finger that signified her purity, and had needled Gina no end—then Missy had probably demanded she remain a virgin until her wedding night.

She searched the long tanned fingers of Carter’s left hand wrapped around the cola bottle. Was it possible that Carter had made a similar promise? Hadn’t Marnie said boys wore them too, when Gina had lit into her for being a disgrace to Women’s Liberation. Gina held back the gasp as she spotted the silver band on Carter’s pinkie, identical to the celibacy ring that Marnie no longer wore when she was at college.

Oh, no, surely not? A man who was as virile and handsome and overwhelmingly male as he was, and who looked at her with that dark sexual intensity he couldn’t hide? That man hadn’t had sex since he was eighteen? It was just too delicious. And too ridiculous. No wonder he looked so tense and uptight. And no wonder he was far too involved in Marnie’s personal life, because he clearly didn’t have one of his own.

An intervention was called for.

The surge of excitement and anticipation gripped Gina’s chest—and some other interesting parts of her anatomy. Suddenly she had the perfect way to bring the Sainted Carter down a peg or two. Prove to him that he was as human and fallible and sinful as the rest of them.

She was after all an accomplished flirt. And there was no harm in simply flirting with the man. Especially a man as stuffy and controlling and undeniably hot as this one. And once she’d proved to Carter Price that bad girls were people too, once she’d reduced him to a puddle of overactive hormones and sexual desperation, she’d be able to get him to agree to anything.... Even letting his innocent kid sister go on a riotous road trip with three loose women.

The man was celibate. He hadn’t had sex in four long years. The challenge was simply irresistible. She’d lost her virginity at sixteen with her thirty-five-year-old biology teacher at St Bude’s boarding school, and she hadn’t looked back since. Carter Price wouldn’t know what hit him. And while she wouldn’t do the dirty deed with him, because she never poached on another woman’s territory, why shouldn’t she take her flirtation far enough to get Saint Carter primed and ready for his wedding night? Missy would end up thanking her.

* * *

‘Would you like another martini, miss?’

Gina blinked, staring absently at the harassed young waitress as the question brought her spinning back to the present. And the bar at The Standard where she’d gone for a quick fortifying libation. And been blind-sided by too many memories.

She looked down at her glass, surprised to find it empty, the olive on its cocktail stick lined up on the table. ‘No, thanks, just the check, please.’

The waitress nodded, clearing away the empty glass.

Tension tightened Gina’s stomach as the reality of exactly how reckless and manipulative she’d been that night slammed into her in all its grim glory.

Maybe Marnie was right, and Carter was the one who had been cheating.

But there was no getting away from the fact that she had seduced him. Not the other way around. And it wasn’t until twelve hours after meeting him in the kitchen and making a conscious decision to bend him to her will that she’d finally been forced to admit the magnitude of her mistake. As she lay in the dew-drenched grass under a maple tree, the dawn light casting a redolent glow on the rebel wave in Carter’s cropped hair, her heart beating a staccato rhythm of shock and guilt, her thighs spread and aching, his erection still huge inside her and his pinkie ring cutting into her cheek.

Heat washed through her at the visceral memory—and it occurred to Gina that maybe the decision to cab it over to the High Line this evening and deliver her carefully composed message in person, when she could just as easily have phoned or emailed it, might have a lot more significance than she wanted to admit.

Had she on some subconscious level hoped to bump into the man whose picture she’d glimpsed on Marnie’s smartphone that morning—for reasons other than closure and accountability? Was her new leaf not as well turned over as she thought?

Crap! She needed to get out of here now.

The waitress returned with the check, and Gina threw several bills on the tray without counting them. The guilty flush made her breathing speed up as she shot across the lobby.

Gloria Gaynor singing ‘I Will Survive’ blasted from her bag at top volume, making her steps falter. It took her a moment to remember that Gloria’s strident disco classic was her phone’s ringtone.

She paused, fumbled for the phone and stared at a number she didn’t recognise. Glancing at the clock above the lobby’s exit doors, she felt a little of the panic retreat. She still had thirty minutes before Carter was due to arrive. She took a steadying breath and clicked the answer button. This might be a new client responding to her recent social media campaign for new business. She couldn’t afford not to answer. She’d simply have to talk and run.

But as she pressed the phone to her ear the deep laconic Southern accent had the heels of her sandals sinking into the deep pile purple carpet and her heart pounding into her throat.

‘Hello, Gina. It’s Carter Price. I got your message.’

‘Carter. Hi. How are you?’ she said, the false brightness making her wince.

Good grief, was he at the reception desk? Right behind her? Maybe he’d phoned ahead? Please let him have phoned ahead. She couldn’t risk turning around to check. So she kept walking. The exit doors were only a few feet away.

‘I’m good,’ came the husky reply. ‘Although I’m wondering where you’re off to in such a hurry.’

Crapola!

She spun round. The phone dropping away from her ear as she spotted the man standing less than ten feet away, with one elbow propped against the reception desk, a phone at his ear—and cool aquamarine eyes locked on her face.

Her breath got trapped somewhere around her solar plexus—as she debated the probability of teleportation actually existing.

Beam me up, Scottie. Right now.

‘Don’t move,’ he said into his phone, before switching it off and tucking it into his back pocket.

Her thighs quivered alarmingly as he walked towards her. She locked her knees, determined not to collapse into a heap as the shot of adrenaline collided with the explosion of heat in the pit of her stomach—and it occurred to her that the paparazzi pictures had not done him justice. Savannah’s most eligible bachelor wasn’t just hot, he was positively combustible.

She forced air through her burning lungs, grateful for the fortifying buzz from her martini as he got close enough for her to pick up the smell of soap and man—and remember how much taller he was. At five foot seven, she wasn’t used to men towering over her, but Carter Price had no trouble at all making her feel like a midget.

His steady gaze swept over her—then arrived back at her face. ‘It’s been a while, Miz Carrington.’

But not nearly long enough, if the sweat popping up on her top lip was anything to go by.

‘You’ve improved with age,’ he said, his tone low and amused. ‘Like a fine wine.’

So had he, she thought. The few strands of grey at his temples, the new creases round his mouth, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the waves of thick dark hair that now touched the collar of his white shirt only adding to the confident, take-charge charisma that had been all too evident in the paparazzi pictures.

Say something, you silly cow!

‘It’s flattering of you to say so,’ she murmured, struggling to maintain cool distance and not give in to the throaty purr.

His gaze strayed to her cleavage and her breathing quickened again, keeping a natural rhythm with the pounding beat of her pulse. But then the heavily lidded gaze met hers. The deep, lazy Southern accent reverberated across her nerve-endings. ‘It’s good to see you again. Marnie told me you were living in New York now,’ he said, surprising her.

So he had asked Marnie about her. And Marnie had answered.

Then, to her utter astonishment, he took her hand in long, cool fingers and lifted it to his lips. The quick gallant buzz on her knuckles spun her back in time to the clean-cut young man he’d once been. But then his thick dark lashes caught the overhead light as he blinked slowly, and the inscrutable gaze had all thoughts of the boy disappearing—until all she could see was the man.

‘How about we catch up in the bar? And you can tell me what’s on your mind?’

‘Okay, that would work,’ she said, thinking no such thing. His hand settled on the small of her back as he directed her towards the bar.

Terrific! How the heck was she going to get her head round the perfectly simple apology she’d planned, while her mind was being fried to a crisp by all the zaps of electrical energy now radiating up her spine?