“I’m only here to get back my bikini bottoms.”

“How about we make a bet?” Doug backed her up against the credenza, stopping only when his body was pressed completely to hers. He moved one hand to her waist, slipping it beneath her crop top.

“What sort of bet?” Kinsey couldn’t think. His hand cupped her rib cage, sliding upward until the heel of his palm brushed the full curve of her breast.

“This weekend’s football game.” He wedged her legs apart with one knee. “The Texans win, I keep your bottoms. They lose, you model them for me.”

“How fair is any of that?” she asked, then gasped when he touched her.

“I like winning.” His hand made quick work with the hooks of her bra. “And getting my way.”

“So I can tell.”

Doug growled and ground his body against her until she whimpered. “Why the hell are you wearing pants?”

“I like pants.” She moaned.

“Learn to like dresses.”

Dear Reader,

A favorite story theme of mine is best friends who fall in love. We’ve all seen these couples in real life and in television, but reading about them in books gives us a deeper look into their thoughts as the magic happens.

What’s a girl to do when her decision to pursue a man comes too late—after he announces that he’s packing up and moving on? Why, she plays Wicked Games, of course! When Kinsey Gray and Doug Storey finally realize that the magic is greater than their determination to keep things simple, that’s when the fun begins. After all, personal complications and seemingly impossible odds are no match for love that is meant to be.

(And for those of you who’ve written to ask about the couple on the veranda in Bound To Happen? Here’s the book that reveals all!)

In January look for the final book in my gIRL-gEAR series—Indiscreet—in which outspoken Annabel “Poe” Lee meets her match in a hero who deserves every bit of grief she gives him!

Enjoy, and let the games begin!

Alison Kent

Wicked Games
Alison Kent

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Mauri Stott for stepping in at the last minute to rescue me from myself, to Tamara Collins for helping me bring Izzy and Baron to life, and to Jan Freed for making me see what I couldn’t.

Also, a belated thank-you to Rob for the technical assistance regarding Webcams and capture software. In fact, a big shout-out to the entire ninth floor for putting up with my writing flurries and my lack of participation in waffle making.

The gIRLS behind gIRL-gEAR
by Samantha Venus for Urban Attitude Magazine

Welcome back, loyal readers, to another deliciously dishy and voyeuristic peep into the world of gIRL-gEAR…a place where the women have brains and the men don’t stand a chance.

This month we catch up with two of our long-time bachelorettes whom we last saw on that luscious island vacation off the coast of Belize. And our number one bachelorette of the month is none other than that Scandinavian beauty, Kinsey Gray.

Those of you male readers who might like to get to know Kinsey better will have a chance later this month. Urban Attitude is pleased as punch to bring you the scoopage on the Halloween night bachelorette auction.

During said auction, Kinsey will be put on the block and made available to the man among you whose pockets run deepest. Get out those checkbooks! Don’t be cheap! The cause—and Miss Gray—are worth every penny.

Until next time, this is Samantha Venus for Urban Attitude Magazine. Ta-ta for now!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

1

“DID YOU HEAR THAT Doug Storey is moving to Colorado?”

Holding a forkful of spring greens halfway between her plate and her mouth, Kinsey Gray stared across the gIRL-gEAR conference room table at one of her lunch dates and business partners, Lauren Neville.

Doug? Moving to Colorado? Impossible. Unbelievable. “Run that one by me again?”

Lauren nodded, cutting off a chunk of spinach-and-feta cheese pizza and stabbing it with her fork. “Anton told me last month. Doug got an offer from a firm in Denver. An offer so amazing that he’s considering selling his half of Neville and Storey.”

“Selling out to Anton?” A curious frown creasing her brow, Annabel “Poe” Lee, the newest gIRL-gEAR partner, squeezed a lemon wedge into her steaming cup of tea.

Lauren shook her head, took a sip of her soda before answering. “No. One of the junior execs wants to buy into the firm. Nothing’s been settled.”

Maybe not in the world of the architectural firm Doug owned along with Anton Neville, but one thing had certainly been unsettled—Kinsey’s stomach.

Slowly, she lowered her fork to her plate and twisted her fingers into the linen napkin on her lap.

The thought of parting with even a pittance of her stake in gIRL-gEAR, the fashion empire she and her five girlfriends from college had launched the year after graduation, was absolutely unfathomable. Equally unfathomable was the idea of Doug selling his half of the company he’d been a part of building from the ground up.

But the thing she had the most trouble understanding was how he could even think of leaving her when she was still undecided about her feelings for him.

What did that song say about not knowing what you’ve got till it’s gone? Something like that, anyway. She took a deep breath and looked back at Lauren. “When is he leaving?”

Lauren shrugged, sawing again at her pizza. “The date’s still up in the air. Nothing’s been finalized. I thought he might’ve already said something to you.”

“No, he hasn’t.” And why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he? The dog! Friends shared the goings-on in their lives. Especially friends with the history she and Doug had. In fact, if their history wasn’t so…scandalous and her feelings for him so personal, she’d think of him as family. He was that much a part of her life.

Still, Kinsey was not going to panic yet. “And, anyway. If nothing’s been finalized, then you should’ve said that Doug might be moving to Colorado.”

“No,” Lauren answered, shaking her head. “He’s definitely going. The timing and whether or not he sells his share of the firm are the only things not yet decided.”

Now Kinsey was going to panic.

“He’s flying back from Denver today, in fact, and flies out again on Monday.” Lauren took another sip of soda, then transferred another slice of pizza from the raised serving pan in the center of the table to her now empty plate.

She dived right back in. “But I can guarantee you the man will be in the office all weekend long. One day his work habits will be part of a case study on burnout, I swear.”

Watching Lauren attack her food, gIRL-gEAR CEO Sydney Ford frowned. “Uh, Lauren? You’re not eating for two, are you?”

Lauren rolled her eyes, but barely looked up from her plate to do so. “Ha. No. I’m not pregnant. I’m starving. Anton and I argued over bedroom furniture until the store closed at ten. I wasn’t in any mood to eat when we got home, so I went straight to bed.”

“And this morning?” Sydney blotted her lips with her white linen napkin. “Don’t tell me you were still arguing at breakfast.”

“Actually, no. We were making up.” Lauren didn’t even stop eating to blush. “I hardly had time to get to work, much less eat.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Kinsey said. Her stomach rolled; her face felt clammy, as did the palms of her hands. This true love stuff was disgusting.

And now Doug was leaving Houston for parts unknown. Okay. For Denver.

Arching one dark brow, Poe studied Kinsey’s plate. “You don’t like your salad?”

“I don’t think it’s her salad.” Sydney ran a finger around the rim of her iced tea glass, a far too intuitive smile lighting up her face. “I think it’s Lauren’s news.”

“What?” Lauren finally stopped eating long enough to glower at her tablemates. “My fighting and making up with Anton is sickening?”

It was, but that was the least of Kinsey’s trouble.

She glanced from Lauren to Sydney to Poe, all the while feeling as if she’d left her body and was looking down at herself and the other three gIRL-gEAR partners. The four of them sat around one end of the conference room table.

The three remaining original partners—Poe having joined the firm only last year—had taken the afternoon off to spend a long Columbus Day weekend with their respective significant others.

Macy Webb and Leo Redding were busy moving the rest of her furniture out of the loft she’d once shared with Lauren in preparation for Poe to move in, while Chloe Zuniga and Eric Haydon were off for a weekend trip with Melanie Craine and Jacob Faulkner.

Kinsey almost needed a scorecard, so much had happened this last year: Sydney, Macy, Chloe and Mel finding their soul mates. Lauren finally marrying hers. Poe coming into the company as a full partner, taking over Chloe’s product lines, while she and Rennie Faulkner, Jacob’s sister and soon to be Melanie’s sister-in-law, launched the gUIDANCE gIRL mentoring program.

And what had Kinsey done? Waste the sixteen months since last year’s trip to an island paradise—a vacation during which she’d gotten to know Doug Storey intimately—twiddling her thumbs.

She and Doug had dated off and on. Nothing serious. Dinners and movies and ball games and concerts. Neville and Storey functions; gIRL-gEAR soirees. She’d thought he would always be around. She’d never imagined he’d move out of town.

Or leave her.

Now what was she supposed to do?

Poe offered her clearly expert opinion on Kinsey’s sudden illness. “No, Lauren. Not the fighting-and-making-up news. The news of Doug’s abandonment. Kinsey just realized she’s about to lose a friend with convenient and sizable options.”

“Pfft. Doug and I are friends, yes,” Kinsey said. “But I don’t know a thing about the size of his, uh, options.”

Poe returned her teacup to her saucer and laced her fingers together along the table’s edge. “Wait a minute. You’re saying you haven’t slept with him?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I have not slept with him.” Emphasizing the word slept saved her from telling a lie.

“Even last year on Coconut Caye?” Sydney asked. “Like maybe late one night on the first-floor veranda?”

Kinsey shook her head. She wouldn’t call what she and Doug had done on the veranda that night sleeping. No bed had been involved. No postcoital cuddling. Besides, they’d been drunk and that meant it didn’t count.

Or so she’d been telling herself for sixteen months.

Neither of them had spoken of the incident again. And as much as she enjoyed her girlfriends’ kiss-and-tell bonding, she couldn’t bring herself to reveal the things that had happened that night.

Or how she felt about Doug.

Especially since she wasn’t quite sure what that was. “Doug and I are friends. That’s all. I haven’t even kissed him but once or twice since last summer.”

Three women turned their full attention on Kinsey. Two sets of blue eyes and one of brown prodded and probed and drilled. Brows up, brows down, brows level.

“What? What? What do you expect me to do? I’m not a first-move kinda girl. Besides, he’s always got work on the brain.” Kinsey was not going to put in any serious pursuit time only to end up an after-thought—after work, after business, after meetings, after deals.

No sirree bub. Once she settled down, it was home and hearth all the way. Dinner on the table at six. Kids’ homework done by seven. Bedtime no later than eight. Cuddled up to the hubby by ten. Hmm. Okay. She was getting a bit ahead of herself here.

“So, give him something else to think about.” Lauren waved her fork, then stabbed again at her pizza.

“Yes,” Poe added. “Change his mind.”

“About moving? How am I supposed to do that?” And did she even want to do that?

“Tell him how you feel.” This advice from Sydney.

Good advice if Kinsey had a clue as to how she did feel—besides panicked and sick.

“No.” With a vigorous shake of her head, Lauren shared a kernel of her wisdom. “Show him how you feel.”

Kinsey moved her gaze from one woman to the other to the next. “You’re talking about sex.”

Poe folded her used napkin into a precise square and placed it in the center of her plate. “Aren’t we always talking about sex?”

Feeling suddenly bullied, Kinsey crossed her arms. “You’re only talking about it because you’re not getting any.”

“Is that so?” Poe replied, her dark eyes giving nothing away.

Calm. Calm and collected. Deep breath. In and out. Ohhmmm. Kinsey slumped back in her chair. Her usual ability to relax and blow off stress wasn’t working. She had a feeling nothing was going to work this time.

She hadn’t been looking where she was going and had stepped off into a big pile of emotional poo. Ask her a month ago, and she’d never have believed it possible that what she’d thought was friendship was actually more.

But with the specter of Doug’s departure hanging over her head…

She blew out a frustrated breath. “So, what do I do?”

Sydney looked to Lauren, Lauren to Poe, Poe back to Sydney, then all three turned their attention on Kinsey. Sydney was the one who finally spoke. “I think we need to put a few of the Web site’s gIRL gUIDE tips into play.”

Kinsey closed her eyes, shook her head. This was exactly the reason she kept her private life private. Glancing around at her girlfriends, she said, “I’d really rather not become a gIRL-gEAR project.”

Puffing up her cheeks so she looked like Dizzy Gillespie, Lauren pushed away her plate and scooted her chair back from the table. “Get over it, Kinsey. The rest of us have had to put in time as test cases. It’s what keeps us honest and makes the site’s advice columns such a success. We know of what we speak.”

“Besides,” Sydney said, a teasing smile blossoming as she glanced from Kinsey to Poe. “It’s time for you two holdouts to take the relationship plunge so those of us who have can return the grief you’ve given us now for months.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. I don’t need six hovering fairy godmothers when Doug comes running should I decide to crook my finger.” Now if only her bite lived up to her bark, Kinsey ruefully mused.

Sydney laughed. “C’mon, Kinsey. You know I’m kidding.”

Lauren butted in promptly. “Ha! You’d better be only partially kidding, because I am quite in the mood to return the relationship harassment Kinsey has been so generous in doling out.”

“And what about Poe?” Kinsey was not going to suffer the payback alone. “Ms. Cool-As-An-Asian-Cucumber over there is hardly the picture of innocence.”

Poe’s chin and nose went up. “I certainly hope not. I work hard at my cosmopolitan image.”

“You just wait.” Lauren pointed a finger. “Some guy is going to come along and take you down so hard and fast you won’t have a clue what happened.”

“I welcome the challenge,” Poe said, keeping a straight face as she added, “Many have tried. All have failed. Most have begged for another chance.” Even the hand holding the china cup remained steady, as if serenity were the woman’s middle name.

Kinsey, on the other hand, sputtered the tea she’d been drinking. “Poe, you crack me up. Truly. And manage to make me envious at the same time.” She pressed her lips together in a grimace of sorts. “If I had even a smidge of your confidence, I’d go after Doug in a heartbeat.”

“It’s not about confidence,” Poe said, her fingers now drumming thoughtfully on the arms of her chair. “It’s all about the game. You have to know your opponent’s weaknesses. And then you dig in.”

Pondering that, Kinsey shook her head. “I’m not sure Doug has any weaknesses. But I’ve never thought of him as an opponent.”

“Then you need to change your way of thinking. If he’s standing in the way of something you want, then he’s an adversary. And you have a decision to make.” Poe waited. One heartbeat, two. “How badly do you want it?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know if a relationship with Doug is what I want.” Kinsey gave a slight shrug. “Maybe I’m overreacting, and once the shock of his moving wears off I’ll be first in line to throw him a bon voyage bash.”

Lauren leaned forward. “Do you want to find out?”

That seemed to be the question of the day, didn’t it? No matter the denial that leaped to the tip of Kinsey’s tongue, her first flustered response to the news of Doug’s move had been too strong to discount as meaningless.

What would it hurt to explore the chemistry they’d largely ignored this past year? As long as she kept her eyes wide open and did nothing as stupid as putting her heart on the line, no harm, no foul, right?

It wasn’t as though she was going to set a trap, then watch him gnaw off his leg trying to escape. If he decided to stay, she didn’t want it to be because she’d crippled him.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. I like him a lot.” She toyed with the cherry tomato on her plate, stabbing at it with the tines of her fork. “We have loads of fun, and I don’t want to screw that up. I don’t want to lose a good friend because I was desperate and stupid.”

“Then don’t be desperate and stupid,” Lauren said with a shrug, reaching for her diet soda. “Promise yourself you won’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“That sounds all well and good in theory, but in practice?” Kinsey shook her head. “It’s more like I’ll seduce Doug, we’ll get married and have three children, then we’ll turn forty or so and realize we have nothing in common. That’s when the regrets will set in. And divorce and child support. I just can’t deal with it all,” she said, and with one last stab, her tomato went flying.

While Poe rolled her eyes and poured herself another cup of tea from the white ceramic pot she kept at the office, Sydney took the fork out of Kinsey’s hand. “Kinsey? While you’re not being desperate or stupid, why don’t you try not borrowing trouble? You have no idea where you’ll be five years from now, much less fifteen.”

“Where she won’t be is running a five-star kitchen,” Poe said, eyeing the tomato on the floor.

“See?” Kinsey slumped in her chair. “I can’t even manage something as simple as testing the theory that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Let me tell you a little secret.” Lauren pulled her chair back up to the table, braced her elbows on the edge and leaned forward. “A man has only one organ he wants taken care of. And it’s neither his heart nor his stomach.”

Sydney nodded. “For the most part, Lauren’s right.”

“I never had any doubt,” Poe added sagely.

“So?” Lauren asked. “Yes or no? Do you want to explore the untapped possibilities between you and Doug?”

With an enthusiasm that continued to grow the longer she considered the question, Kinsey glanced from one woman’s inquiring gaze to the next. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Lauren rubbed her hands together gleefully. “I love the chance to put a plan in motion.”

COLLAPSING ONTO the leather sofa in Anton Neville’s office, Doug Storey stretched out his legs, laced his hands behind his head and gave in to exhaustion.

Who knew flying between Houston and Denver three times in one week could take so much out of a guy?

Either he was getting old or he needed to find more time to work out. Sleep wouldn’t hurt. Whatever. Something had to give before he collapsed like a bad knee.

He had decisions and deals stacked one on top of the next, and needed a working body and a fully functional mind. Right now he felt as if the only thing working was his ability to sit still and not move.

Anton finished his phone call and cradled the receiver, his hand lingering on the phone, his eyes lingering on Doug as if something vital hovered on the tip of his tongue.

Finally, with a shake of his head, Anton walked around to the front of his desk. He dropped into one of the office’s visitor chairs and waited—the way he always waited, sitting and thinking and driving Doug crazy.

Doug had to be on the go all the time, which he was rapidly coming to learn was not as easy to manage when his going was spread from the Gulf Coast to the Rocky Mountains several times a week. He’d be glad to get settled in Denver at last.

“Man, I can’t take much more of this,” he said, shaking his head and stifling another yawn. “If this is what it feels like to be eighty, I’d rather go out in a blaze of glory at thirty-one.”

Anton snorted. “If you’re what blazing looks like, remind me not to light a match.”

Doug rolled his eyes. “What? You’d rather sit behind your desk than burn up the street?”

“No, dude.” Anton leaned back and squared an ankle over the opposite knee. “I’d rather get out of here by seven and take my butt home to Lauren.”

Dragging both hands down his face, Doug grunted. “Damn marital bliss. I remember when I wasn’t the only one around here ordering in pizza and chicken teriyaki. We got a hell of a lot of work done after-hours back then.”

“I still do. It’s just business I don’t want to be taking care of up here. Especially with you for an audience.”

“Your discretion is much appreciated.” Ah, but it felt good to be able to smirk. “I don’t think I could take it, seeing you snowed under by a honey-do list.”

“Oh, yeah. Funny,” Anton said, flipping him off.

“Hey,” Doug said with a slow-rolling shrug and a grin. “I just call ’em like I see ’em.”

“Then you need to clean the dollar signs out of your eyes, because work is making you blind.”

“And here I thought it was all that stroking I’ve been doing on the road.”

“Man, you need help. Hell, you need a woman, at the very least.”

Doug scooted forward to sit on the sofa’s edge, knees spread wide, elbows braced on his thighs. “No woman. Women. Plural. One woman means complications, expectations. And honey-do lists.”

This time it was Anton who smirked. “One woman also makes for a much warmer bed.”

“Except when you’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Whoever’s giving you advice about women is charging way too much.” Anton grunted. “You don’t know jack about what you’re saying.”

“Maybe not. But I know more than jack about what I’m seeing. Especially on the soccer field. You guys who’ve shacked up or gotten your butts married? You suck. Leo can’t defend a goal worth a crap anymore.” Doug liked his life fine just the way it was. He had no plans to put his nuts on the line to be snipped.

Anton didn’t even bother with a comeback. “Speaking of soccer, are you planning to make the scrimmage Sunday night? What with you being eighty and all?”

“Nah. I’m having dinner with Kinsey.” Slumping into the cushions again, Doug grinned and waggled both brows. “She’s cooking.”

Anton did that waiting thing again. Then that smirking thing. “You know Lauren will kick your butt back to the Rockies if you hurt that girl.”

“Screw you, Neville. It’s just dinner.” Though Doug almost had trouble convincing himself that Kinsey didn’t have more on her mind. When he’d picked up his voice mail on the way to the airport earlier today, he’d been surprised to hear her message.

And even more surprised at the invitation.

Her tone and the words she’d chosen made him think she wasn’t just wanting to put food in his stomach. He couldn’t help but remember that breakfast-time kiss they’d shared while vacationing last year on Coconut Caye.

Not to mention the tabletop pole dance he’d watched a very tipsy Kinsey perform, her head thrown back, her blond hair swinging down to the red thong bikini bottom that bared her fantastic ass.

Then there was that night on the veranda when they’d both had too much to drink. A night neither of them had spoken of again. A night he wished he could better recall because he had a feeling he’d forgotten a hell of a lot he needed to know—though the most important part he did remember.

Oh, yeah. He remembered.

He cleared his throat, slumped lower where he sat. “It’s just dinner.”

“You said that already.”

“Well, I’m just making sure you heard me.”

Anton leaned to the side, shifting his weight onto one elbow. “You sure you’re not trying to convince yourself instead?”

“Of what? The fact that Kinsey and I are only friends?” Doug snorted and picked a loose string off the knee of his khaki Dockers. “She knows I don’t want a relationship.”

“Just dinner and…dessert?”

“Dinner.” He shrugged. “Dessert’s up to her.”

“Right. It’s not like you’re on a Kinsey-free diet or anything.”

Doug didn’t say anything because he didn’t know what to say. He liked Kinsey a lot. If he’d been the type to settle down with one woman, she’d be there at the top of his list. Correction. She’d be his list. But he just didn’t see himself ever giving up the freedom that let him live his life without baggage or…honey-do lists.

“Does she know about Denver?” Anton asked.

Doug shook his head. “Dunno. I plan to tell her Sunday night.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean, and then what? Then I go home and sleep for six hours or so, get up and pack.” That was the routine he’d settled into of late. “I’m flying out again first thing Monday morning.”

Anton narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to have to decide about Reuben buying you out, you know. Especially considering how he bailed you out with Media West this afternoon. We can’t afford to screw up this remodeling job.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Doug hated that his late flight had cost him the Media West meeting, hated even more that he would’ve been on time if he hadn’t rescheduled to make one more contact in Denver. A contact that had been a big waste of time.

“Hey. Don’t blow this off,” Anton barked. “You’re lucky Reuben runs with Marcus West’s boys or you’d be eating crow for a very long time to come.”

“As a matter of fact, Reuben and I have tickets to tomorrow night’s Rockets game. A few beers and it’ll all be good.” This decision was the hardest one Doug faced. Not the beer or the basketball, but the firm. He was no closer to making a decision tonight than he had been a month ago.

He and Anton had made their original Neville and Storey plans while at the University of Houston’s College of Architecture, nearly ten years back. The move to Denver felt like an upward move on the career ladder. Doug had been wooed by the biggest boys on the block, and that was something that came along only once in a lifetime.

It was just that selling his share of their architectural firm made him feel as if he were giving up on a dream, as well as selling out and betraying his very best friend. He’d thought the change would bring a sense of calm to his restlessness of late. He’d been wrong.

And that was what was keeping him from signing on the Denver group’s bottom line.

“You’ve got time,” Anton said, pensively studying the leather arm of his chair. “And I’d rather you take it than do the wrong thing.” He pushed to his feet then, shaking off what seemed to be a remnant melancholy. “Now, me? My time’s up. Lauren’s waiting.”

Doug slapped his palms to his thighs and forced himself to follow. “Yeah, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.”

“And all I’ve got is a honey to do.”

“POE, I THINK you’re the only one here who doesn’t know Isabel Leighton, a friend from further back than I care to admit. Izzy, this is Annabel Lee, known fondly around the office as Poe.” Sydney made the only introduction necessary, then turned and gave Kinsey a grin of devious proportions. “Kinsey, who everyone knows, is the reason we’re here.”

Where they were was in the kitchen of the suburban home Sydney shared with Ray Coffey. Sydney, Lauren, Izzy and Poe had all come to help Kinsey put together a meal guaranteed to make Doug weep. And weep in a good way, not because her cooking sucked. Since her woefully understocked kitchen sucked, as well, Sydney’s state-of-the-art setup made for a much better classroom.

It was definitely good to see Izzy again. Though Kinsey had lost touch with the other woman once both were busy in school, the two of them had been fast friends as young girls. They’d spent hours running wild at Kinsey’s parents’ home where, for almost twenty years now, Izzy’s uncle Leonard had worked magic with the Grays’ lawn and tropical garden.

“You know this is hopeless, don’t you?” Kinsey really wanted to smack whoever had started the rumor that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. “I burn microwave popcorn. I add too much water to packets of instant cocoa. Carryout was invented for a reason, hello. Doug is not going to want to eat anything that comes out of my kitchen.”

“It won’t be coming out of your kitchen.” Lauren climbed onto the bar stool behind the cooking island. “It’ll be coming out of Sydney’s.”

“With too many cooks spoiling the broth, it looks like,” Kinsey grumbled, glancing at the latest batch of hovering fairy godmothers. Calm. Collected. Ohhmmm. Why had she let herself be talked into such a ridiculous idea?

Now it was too late to back out.

She’d canceled the regular Sunday morning breakfast she shared with her parents to get in this quick cooking lesson before tonight’s date. She’d left Doug a message Friday afternoon after the infamous planning luncheon; he’d left her one last night on his way to a basketball game.

But a phone tag relationship was not what she’d been hoping to explore.

“So, what’s on the menu?” Wearing a royal-blue headband to hold back her short chunky dreadlocks bronzed with highlights, Izzy pulled open the refrigerator door and peered inside. “And do not tell me you’re thinking to fix up anything low or reduced or light. You will not win a man with a woman’s diet. Just ask my Gramma Fred. A man’s hunger has to be fed and fed right.”

Sitting beside Poe on a third bar stool, Kinsey buried her face in her hands. “Why do I sense a disaster rather than a home-cooked meal in the making?”

“Have a little faith here, Kinsey.” Sydney joined Izzy at the refrigerator’s open door. “You know full well Izzy grew up in her grandmother’s restaurant. And Ray hasn’t exactly wasted away since I’ve taken over the cooking, though Patrick’s been doing a lot of it since he’s been home.”

Kinsey sighed, then glanced over at Poe, who shrugged and said, “I’m only here for the show.”

One less pair of hands in the mix, anyway. And since Kinsey planned to do nothing but take notes…“Okay, then. Where do we start?”

“Hmm.” Sydney examined the labels on several packages of butcher-wrapped meat. “I bought pork and lamb and chicken and beef. Whatever you don’t use for Doug, I’ll freeze for Ray. I guess the first thing is to decide what you’re in the mood for, since you’ll be eating it, too.”

“If I’m supposed to eat my own cooking, then the deciding factor is what’s the easiest to fix and the hardest to screw up?” Sad, but true.

“No. The deciding factor is what you want your cooking to say.” At the sound of Patrick Coffey’s voice, five pairs of female eyes turned toward the doorway where he stood.

His hands hooked into the frame overhead, he leaned forward, his long, lanky body covered by nothing but a pair of low-rise jeans and a ribbed white tank-style T-shirt that showed off an intricately woven tattoo ringing the bulge of his right biceps.

His hair hung in dark twisted strands to his shoulders, hiding much of his face in the shadows. At least until he pushed away from the door frame and entered the room, raking all that hair back into a ponytail he secured haphazardly with a thick red rubber band.

Kinsey released the breath she’d been holding, heard Poe do the same at her side. Having seen him off and on now for over a year, Kinsey still remained clueless how the man managed to inspire equal parts lust and trepidation. But he did.

She supposed it was a normal reaction to his circumstances. After all, how many guys returned home after being held hostage for three years by Caribbean pirates?

Naturally, her heart pitter-pattered in a fan-to-movie-star response—one no more meaningful than the patter inspired by Brad Pitt, or the pitter brought on by George Clooney.

Now the trepidation…that part was real. That pirate thing was too bizarre to let go.

Totally unaffected by Patrick’s arrival, Sydney moved away from the refrigerator with a chicken in her hand. She tossed it to Patrick, who caught it without even looking her way.

“Believe it or not, ladies,” Sydney began, “here is the member of the Coffey household best suited to showing Kinsey how to turn a meal into magic.”

2

KINSEY TOOK THE CHICKEN from the oven and moved the golden-skinned bird from roasting pan to platter. She whisked butter along with half the papaya glaze she’d prepared earlier into the drippings, the way Patrick had instructed her to do.

He’d sent her home after this morning’s cooking lesson with the chicken marinating in orange juice, shallots and brown sugar. All she’d had to do was strain the marinade into the food processor she’d borrowed from Sydney, add the Dijon mustard, papaya, garlic and additional seasonings Patrick had measured out, and baste the bird as it cooked.

So far, so good. Nothing burned, nothing broken, nothing blown to bits. Her kitchen had never smelled this mouthwateringly yummy. If the food tasted half as good, well, she’d have to confess to Doug that she was really a terrible cook and tonight’s dinner was a fluke.

Or, she supposed, such a confession could wait.

Sydney had even offered Kinsey use of the baking and serving dishes. Expert cook that she was not, she’d had nothing appropriate in which to roast and serve Patrick’s Caribbean Chicken with Orange Papaya Glaze.

Her cooking instructor had been equally as generous as his soon-to-be sister-in-law. He’d proposed he come do the cooking for her. Kinsey had declined. Cooking for one man while using another’s recipe was bad enough.

But cooking for one man while another worked to seduce her didn’t seem exactly copacetic.

Patrick’s equal-opportunity flirtation was flattering, but meaningless ten minutes later—a fact to which both Izzy and Poe could attest. Both women had fallen victim to his mercurial moods this morning, one that had him walking out of the kitchen in the middle of a lively conversation.

Still, Kinsey had left the Coffey home feeling much more competent than she had when she’d let her girlfriends talk her into this plan for entrapment. Okay, she admitted, she hadn’t actually been talked into anything. She’d pretty much been her own ringleader.

And now the circus was coming to town…no, wait. That was ringmaster. Whatever.

The wine was chilled, the salad freshly tossed, the chicken warm and ready to serve, and the table set with dishes, flatware and linen that actually were her very own. She might not be able to cook, but she knew how to dress a table as well as she knew how to dress herself.

Tonight she wore a brand-new outfit, one she’d just added to the gROWL gIRL partywear line—a pair of low-rise leisure pants with a fold-over waistband and a matching knit camisole covered with a fluttery chiffon top.

Both the pants and the cami were white, a brave decision if she did say so herself, but the red-and-zebra stripes of the sheer topper made it too much fun to resist. And besides, she looked damn good in the black, white and red combination.

Or so said her fashion diva’s sixth sense.

Now, as long as she didn’t start blabbering incessantly, or throw up due to the unexpected nerves turning her stomach inside out, and as long as Doug arrived before the chicken cooled completely, leaving her with too much leftover food for one person to eat in a lifetime—

The doorbell chimed.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, looked up again…and realized she had totally forgotten dessert. Oh, yes. Definitely the start of a great impression. She should’ve gone with her original instinct not to mess with what was a really good friendship. This trap-setting idea was going to backfire with all sorts of regrets.

The doorbell chimed again, and Kinsey found herself wearing a wry smile. Doug never rang twice; he simply walked in with a loud “Yo!” and called out her name. That told her he shared her expectant sense of this evening being different than any they’d spent together in the past.

And since that was causing butterfly fountains to bubble in her stomach, she gave up worrying that a lack of dessert meant she’d flubbed the entire evening, and reached for calm, cool and collected. Ohhmmm.

But when she opened her front door and saw him standing in the porch’s yellowed light, she didn’t know how to react, because the idea of never seeing him again hit her like a blow to the center of her chest.

When had he become so integral to her life, and when had she started taking him for granted?

She released the lock on the glass storm door and pushed it open, nearly breathless when she said, “Hi.”

The smile he’d originally given her deepened, his eyes going wide and his brows coming down as he took her in from head to toe. “Wow. And hi yourself.”

His “wow” made all the effort she’d taken with her appearance worth every minute of the tweaking spent on hair and makeup. “Back atcha.” Back atcha in a very big way.

He looked better than she remembered, and she had to wonder if she’d really ever noticed him before, or if she was simply caught up in the moment.

He wore charcoal-gray trousers and a heather-green sweater over a pale yellow dress shirt. He walked into her living room, and she turned to close the door, leaning back against it and thinking she’d never seen a guy’s backside look better than Doug Storey’s did in gray wool.

He stopped, one hand shoved into a pocket, the other holding a bottle of wine, and turned back, smiling. “It smells great in here. You should’ve told me you cooked. I would’ve been over more often.”

She thought about telling him the truth regarding her culinary skills, but went with a different truth instead. “You would’ve been welcome. You are welcome. Anytime. I just need advance warning if you expect food.”

He laughed at that. “Why’s that?”

“Well, actually, I don’t cook.” She considered the fit of his clothes one last time, then pushed away from the door and led him into the kitchen, her slides clicking from hardwood floor to rich Italian tile. “I don’t cook at all.”

“Hmm. Not sure if I should be honored here or worried.” His chuckle followed close on her heels.

The thrill of the chase was on. “Honored, of course. No need to worry. This recipe came straight from Sydney’s kitchen.”

Doug set the bottle of pinot noir on the kitchen island, leaned a hip on the edge and crossed his arms. “Now that you mention it, I have noticed Ray getting a little pudgy around the middle. I guess that’s a good sign.”

Kinsey decided it was best not to let him know who exactly was cooking these days in the Coffey household. She handed him the corkscrew she’d rummaged in her utensil drawer earlier to find. “Like I said. No worries. I happen to have this meal totally under control.”

One of Doug’s brows lifted sharply as he opened the wine and poured them each a glass. He drank, his eyes never leaving hers even after he’d returned the stemware to the island’s tiled surface. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, darlin’, but I’m wondering if you might need to check whatever it is boiling away in that pot.”

“Oh, shoot.” Kinsey cut off the gas flame, took up the wooden spoon and stirred furiously. The glaze still smelled incredible, thank goodness. She sighed deeply, glanced back at Doug. “Thanks. You saved the day.”

He shrugged, winked. “Saved dinner, at least.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” But she did want to be sure the glaze hadn’t burned before she served it with the chicken. She dipped the tip of a clean spoon into the sweet sauce, blew across the surface to cool it down, then taste-tested.

“Mmm.” She smacked her lips, then did so again, knowing Doug watched. “Okay. You’re right. You saved dinner.”

“Well, then?” Doug tapped his lower lip, signaling that he wanted a taste, too. “How ’bout a little hero respect here?”

Rolling her eyes, Kinsey grabbed another spoon. “I guess this goes to prove that cooking is probably one thing I should learn to do.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, then added, “Other than the obvious need to avoid burning down the house,” as she offered him the tip of the spoon, and he took hold of her wrist.

His hand was so large around her much smaller one, and he never broke eye contact as he opened his mouth. Watching his lips close over the spoon, watching his tongue flick at a smudge of glaze left on his lips, she remembered the intimacy of the kisses they’d shared during last summer’s vacation.

She wondered if she’d be able to find her voice to answer his question. “Oh, something about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach,” she finally said.

He licked his lips and murmured his approval of the orange and papaya, breaking into a grin that pulled deeply at the dimples in his cheeks. His smile grew wider as he carefully timed his reply. “You’re catering to the wrong organ, darlin’. Trust me on that one.”

And with that, he kissed her. Still holding her wrist, he moved his other hand to the small of her back and pulled her into his body. He tasted of sweet citrus and the even sweeter promise of sex, and Kinsey melted.

She felt the beat of her pulse in the grasp of Doug’s fingers, felt the beat of his heart beneath the palm she’d pressed to the center of his chest. His lips parted and she opened her mouth, smiling as his tongue slipped deftly inside.

So warm, so demanding, so confident. So sure of what he wanted, and of being able to give her all that her body desired. When he slid his hand up her spine, when he threaded his fingers into her hair, when he cupped the back of her head to hold her still, she chuckled because she couldn’t help it.

He felt so good. He made her feel so good, even when way too soon he began to slow what had started as a fast and furious and very sudden need to connect. Damn the man for having the restraint she was struggling to find.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked when he finally put enough space between their mouths to talk.

“Nothing.” She shook her head but found it hard to push him away. She had to, for the food and for her plan to have time to come together. “Just a happy laugh. You make me feel nice.”

“You make me feel even better, especially since you’re not laughing at my technique.” He shoved a hand through his hair, which had grown overly long and rakish. “A guy can take only so much rejection in one day.”

He let go of her wrist and stepped back, his dejection replacing the thrill of seconds before. But just as quickly, the emotion was gone, and Kinsey wondered if she’d imagined it all along. “Why? What happened?”

He leaned against the countertop and snitched a piece of carrot from her chopping block. “A late flight and a missed meeting earned me a hell of a reaming from Anton, not to mention a butt-chewing by my client.”

“A late flight is hardly your fault,” she said with a frown, feeling strangely protective instincts kick in. As if Doug needed her to watch his back.

“No, but I cut it too close. I knew what time I needed to be back here and…” He shrugged, grabbed another slice of carrot from the bowl she held. “I got greedy, I guess. Trying to make one more contact in Denver while I was there.”

Kinsey paused to consider the best answer to give, not knowing if he was looking for support or censure. “So you’ve got a go-getter sort of work ethic. You can hardly be faulted for that.”

Doug grimaced as he finished the carrot. “Except there are times it seems more of a fault than an asset.”

“Like now?” she asked, sensing he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have made what he considered an error in judgment.

He nodded. “Reuben Bettis, one of the junior execs…Reuben covered my ass on this end, but it’s really bad career karma to forget where you came from. Or the people who helped get you to where you are.”

She handed him the salad bowl and the cruet of dressing, wondering if this Reuben Bettis was the one wanting to buy out Doug’s part of the architectural firm. “But that isn’t what you were doing.”

Doug took both to the table, giving her a smile on his return. “When you say that it sounds much more convincing than when I tell myself the same thing.”

“So you were forgetting?” she asked, offering him a fork and carving knife.

“I don’t want to think so.” He set about cutting off thin slices from the chicken breast and arranging them on the platter. “Media West is one of my original clients. I guess having Marcus West, not to mention Anton, question my commitment and loyalty doesn’t sit well.”

Lifting her wineglass, Kinsey swirled the liquid inside. How real was the possibility that Doug was actually more torn about this move and the impending sale of his investment in Neville and Storey than she’d been led to believe?

Lauren had made it seem as if Doug was only waiting to sign, seal and deliver the deal. But now…now Kinsey wasn’t so sure the other woman knew what she was talking about.

Kinsey sipped her wine, looking over the upraised glass at Doug, wondering what facets of his personality she might have missed during the time they’d spent together. Commitment and loyalty had never been an issue. She was surprised anyone who knew him would question either, especially Anton, who knew Doug so well.

“What’re you looking at?” he asked, refilling both their glasses once she’d set hers beside his on the island.

“Just thinking, wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“What it will be like not to have you around.”

A look of guilty relief crossed his face. “How did you find out?”

“From Lauren.”

“I was planning to tell you tonight.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously. I was.” She could hear the guilt again, this time with added regret. “It’s just tough breaking that sort of news to good friends.”

Friends. Well, that was all they were, wasn’t it? So she shouldn’t be feeling the sadness that had her eyes welling. “It’s tougher having to hear it. Especially secondhand.”

“I am sorry, Kinsey.”

“For what? Not telling me yourself? Or for going off and leaving me?” When he didn’t say anything, she decided to let it go. She didn’t want to spend their time together in an inconsolable, emotional state. And something in his pained expression told her she wouldn’t like hearing what it was he had to say.

Blinking away the threat of tears, she carried her wine and the platter of chicken to the table. When she returned for the glaze, she found Doug pouring it into the gravy boat she’d borrowed from Sydney, and her heart tripped at how at home in her kitchen he seemed.

“It’s going to take a lot of getting used to. You being gone and all that. Especially since you’re turning out to be quite handy. I’m sorry I never knew this before.”

His grin was amazingly wicked. “I have talents you can only imagine.”

“Is that so?” she asked, wishing she still had her wineglass there because she really, really needed something to do with her hands. As it was, she was having a hard time not slipping them underneath his sweater and shirt. She wanted so badly to get close to his body.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely so.”

“Well, then. Do you care to share what you know?” she asked, settling on toying with a strip of peeled cucumber skin. “Or are you keeping your skills secret?”

Doug slowly lowered the gravy boat. He stood where he was for a very long moment, his hands flat on the countertop as if he wasn’t at all certain what he was doing or why.

But as Kinsey looked on, he came to a decision. She saw it in the tensing of his shoulders, and in the way he finally tossed back his head, blond hair flowing, like a stallion having selected his mare.

The analogy made her laugh, or would have if the look he gave her didn’t make her feel as if he was considering the best way to mount. And even though that was what she’d wanted, where she’d wanted this evening to go, she couldn’t deny the sting of surprise at the speed with which they’d progressed.

He turned and walked toward her, determination in his step as well as in his bright gaze. Once he stood directly before her, he set both hands at her waist. She moved hers to his biceps, a placement that allowed her to feel the flex of muscle an instant before he lifted her to perch on the edge of the tiled island.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders as he stepped fully between her spread legs. His hands still at her waist, he cocked his head and gave her a smile that had her wondering why they’d never taken the time to get to know each other more deeply.

That smile raised a myriad of questions. And his eyes were as bright as green lights. “My kitchen skills are pretty much limited to dessert. And as great as the chicken smells, I’d rather start with what I know best.”

She responded with a bit of a grimace. “I didn’t remember to make dessert.”

“Trust me, darlin’. What I have in mind is better than anything you could’ve whipped up.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t easily taken in by a sweet-talkin’ man. “You say that without having tasted any of my cooking.”

“Yeah, but I’ve tasted you.” And then he moved forward and pressed his lips over the hollow of her throat.

She leaned her head back to give him better access, wrapped her legs around him and hooked her heels at the base of his spine. Her fingers dug into the tight muscles of his shoulders; he was more tense than she’d imagined, and she began to knead the hard knots.

“Mmm,” he murmured, his lips creating a soft buzzing tickle on her skin. “You have no idea how good that feels.”

“It can’t feel half as good as what you’re doing with your mouth.” He’d moved down her collarbone, pushing aside the loose neckline of her fluttery top, kissing his way along the bared skin.

He nipped at the edge of her shoulder and growled. “It would feel a hell of a lot better if you’d lose this top.”

She couldn’t get it off fast enough. It was less a necessary piece of clothing than it was a tease that had accomplished its purpose.

And now Doug could easily get to the rest of her, which he did immediately, pulling the thin strap of her knit camisole down one shoulder and working his way beneath the hem with his other hand.

He surrounded her—his hands, his mouth, his clean and subtle scent. The breadth of his chest, which blocked any movement she might want to make. She didn’t want to move anywhere at all, except closer to the beautifully exquisite sensation of his touch.

His skin was on her skin, and all she could think about was the night they’d both been drunk and only half aware of being on the veranda at the house on Coconut Caye. His hands had been all over her then, beneath her clothing, in her hair, inside her body in ways she still imagined vividly when she went to bed alone.

With his hands now on her rib cage beneath the curve of her breasts, she thought again of that previous contact, realizing her memories were nothing compared to the bliss of the real thing.

He was deft in the way he teased her, making sure she enjoyed his touch. He tested her reactions, his mouth whispering his kisses along with his words. Both thrilled her beyond belief.

“Is that good?” he asked, his lips drawing on the skin just beneath her shoulder. “Do you like that?” he added, before she could do more than softly moan. “What do you want me to do?” As if his tongue wetting a line along the upper curve of her breast wasn’t enough. “You’re so beautiful. Soft. Sweet. Like silk. And you smell so damn good.”

She whimpered because she couldn’t help it. Her shoulder was bare, the strap of her top long since having fallen to her elbow. He took hold of the edge of the material and began to peel it from her breast. His other hand cupped her other breast fully, his palm circling over the very tip of her budded nipple.

And then her top was around her waist and both breasts bared. Oh, but she felt reckless in such delightful ways, reckless enough not to give thought to anything but the physical joy of the moment, and to the man offering her this pleasure. Doug leaned down, his eyes wide, his gaze locked wickedly on hers, and took her into his mouth.

She remembered everything then, every detail of the way he knew how sharply to tug, how sweetly to kiss, how softly to curl his tongue around her nipple. He’d learned so many things about her in that one dark night of sea breeze and sex, and he remembered. He remembered.

When had any man ever remembered, ever paid the sort of intimate attention needed for such perfect recall? Kinsey moved her hands to her sides, bracing her weight on the counter. She scooted her lower body closer into his and tossed back her head. Eyes closed, she kicked off her shoes and slid her heels up and down Doug’s backside, feeling all that taut resilient flesh beneath his very GQ attire.

The sensations of slipping and sliding, of being tongued and tasted, the reality that dinner was going to have to wait…She wasn’t sure anything she’d ever felt had been so perfect, any man she’d ever known this amazingly right.

When he moved his mouth to her other breast, she knew that having him now mattered more than waiting to be certain, than wondering if she was making a mistake she’d regret not having the resolve to avoid.

She threaded her fingers into his thick hair. “Doug?”

“Hmm?” he breathed against her skin.

She shivered. “The food is going to have to be reheated anyway….”

He slowed his very attentive movements, finally looking up, his eyes bright, his hair falling dashingly over his forehead, his mouth red and wet from the kisses. He kept his hands on either side of her rib cage, holding her there as if he expected her to bolt.

As if she wanted to be anywhere else.

“What’re you saying here, darlin’?”

She met his gaze candidly. “Just that dessert sounds really good right about now.”

He closed his eyes, as if to assure himself he wasn’t living a dream, then looked back at her with an expression defined by one simple word.

Hot.

“Kinsey Gray, you have made me a very happy man.”

The very words a girl wanted to hear. “I expect total reciprocation.”

“Trust me, darlin’. You’re about to be the happiest woman alive.”

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