To adopt a child, best friends conveniently tie the knot. But will they inconveniently fall in love?

Since they were young, tech mogul Max Marquez and socialite Lizzie McQueen have always agreed on one thing: they’re just friends! But fate has thrown them a curveball in the form of a lovable orphan who needs a good home. To adopt the little boy, they must marry. And to marry, they must face the unthinkable: sharing a bedroom! Will they discover that their friendship is a facade for a deeper attraction, long denied, causing their arrangement to spin right off its axis?

Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride is part of the Billionaire Brothers Club series.

“We’re going to be awesome parents.”

“The best,” he agreed. “And don’t worry about the wedding expenses. I’m going to pay for everything.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He touched her cheek, then lifted his hand away. “But what am I going to do during the part of the ceremony where I’m supposed to kiss my bride?”

She wet her lips, a bit too quickly. “You’ll have to kiss her, I guess.”

“She’s going to have to kiss me back, too.”

Her pulse fluttered at her neck, as soft as a butterfly, as sexy as a summer breeze. “Yes, she will.”

As they both fell silent, she glanced away, trapped in feelings she couldn’t seem to control. She didn’t want to imagine what the wedding kiss was going to be like.

Still, she wondered how it would unfold. Would he whisper something soft and soothing before he leaned into her? Would their mouths be slightly open, their eyes completely closed? Would she sigh and melt against him, like a princess being awakened by the wrong prince?

Just thinking about it felt forbidden.

* * *

Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride is part of the Billionaire Brothers Club series— Three foster brothers grow up, get rich…and find the perfect woman.

Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride

Sheri WhiteFeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SHERI WHITEFEATHER is an award-winning, bestselling author. She writes a variety of romance novels for Mills & Boon and is known for incorporating Native American elements into her stories. She has two grown children, who are tribally enrolled members of the Muscogee Creek Nation. She lives in California and enjoys shopping in vintage stores and visiting art galleries and museums. Sheri loves to hear from her readers at www.sheriwhitefeather.com.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Extract

Copyright

One

Lizzie McQueen emerged from a graceful dip in Max Marquez’s black-bottom pool, water glistening on her bikini-clad body.

Reminiscent of a slow-motion scene depicted in a movie, she stepped onto the pavement and reached for a towel, and he watched every long-legged move she made. While she dried herself off, he swigged his root beer and pretended that he wasn’t checking out her perfectly formed cleavage or gold pierced navel or—

“Come on, Max, quit giving me the look.”

Caught in the act, he dribbled the stupid drink down his chin. She shook her head and tossed him her towel. He cursed beneath his breath and wiped his face.

The look was code for when either of them ogled the other in an inappropriate manner. They’d agreed quite a while ago that sex, or anything that could possibly lead to it, was off the table. They cared too much about each other to ruin their friendship with a few deliciously hot romps in the sack. Even now, at thirty years old, they held a platonic promise between them.

She smoothed back her fiery red hair, placed a big, floppy hat on her head and stretched out on the chaise next to him. Max lived in a 1930s Beachwood Canyon mansion, and Lizzie resided in an ultra-modern condo. She spent more time at his place than he did at hers because he preferred it that way. His Los Angeles lair was bigger, badder and much more private.

He returned the towel, only now it had his soda stain on it. She rolled her eyes, and they shared a companionable grin.

He handed her a bottle of sunscreen. “You better reapply this.”

She sighed. “Me and my sensitive skin.”

He liked her ivory complexion. But he’d seen her get some nasty sunburns, too. He didn’t envy her that. She slathered on the lotion, and he considered how they’d met during their senior year in high school. They were being paired up on a chemistry project, and, even then, she’d struck him as a debutant-type girl.

Later he’d learned that she was originally from Savannah, Georgia, with ties to old money. In that regard, his assessment of her had been correct, and just being near her had sent his boyhood longings into a tailspin. Not only was she gorgeous; she was everything he’d wanted to be: rich, prestigious, popular.

But Max had bottomed out on the other end of the spectrum: a skinny, dorky Native American foster kid with a genius IQ and gawky social skills, leaving him open to scorn and ridicule.

Of course, Lizzie’s life hadn’t been as charmed as he’d assumed it was. Once he’d gotten to know her, she’d revealed her deepest, darkest secrets to him, just as he’d told her his.

Supposedly during that time, when they were pouring their angst-riddled hearts out to each other, she’d actually formed a bit of a crush on him. But even till this day, he found that hard to fathom. In what alternate universe did prom queens get infatuated with dorks?

She peered at him from beneath the fashionable brim of her pale beige hat. Her bathing suit was a shimmering shade of copper with a leopard-print trim, and her meticulously manicured nails were painted a soft warm pink. Every lovely thing about her purred, “trust fund heiress,” which was exactly what she was.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He casually answered, “What a nerd I used to be.”

She teased him with a smile. “As opposed to the sexy billionaire you are today?”

“Right.” He laughed a little. “Because nothing says beefcake like a software designer and internet entrepreneur.”

She moved her gaze along the muscle-whipped length of his body. “You’ve done all right for yourself.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Now who’s giving who the look?”

She shrugged off her offense. “You shouldn’t have become such a hottie if you didn’t want to get noticed.”

That wasn’t the reason he’d bulked up, and she darned well knew it. Sure, he’d wanted to shed his nerdy image, but he’d started hitting the gym after high school for more than aesthetic purposes. His favorite sport was boxing. Sometimes he shadowboxed and sometimes he pounded the crap out of a heavy bag. But mostly he did it to try to pummel the demons that plagued him. He was a runner, too. So was Lizzie. They ran like a tornado was chasing them. Or their pasts, which was pretty much the same thing.

“Beauty and the brainiac,” he said. “We were such a teenage cliché.”

“Why, because you offered to tutor me when I needed it? That doesn’t make us a cliché. Without your help, I would never have gotten my grades up to par or attended my mother’s alma mater.”

Silent, Max nodded. She’d also been accepted into her mom’s old sorority, which had been another of her goals. But none of that had brought her the comfort she’d sought.

“The twentieth anniversary is coming up,” she said.

Of her mom’s suicide, he thought. Lizzie was ten when her high-society mother had swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. “I’m sorry you keep reliving it.” She mentioned it every year around this time, and even now he could see her childhood pain.

She put the sunscreen aside, placing it on a side table, where her untouched iced tea sat. “I wish I could forget about her.”

“I know.” He couldn’t get his mom out of his head, either, especially the day she’d abandoned him, leaving him alone in their run-down apartment. He was eight years old, and she’d parked him in front of the TV, warning him to stay there until she got back. She was only supposed to be gone for a few hours, just long enough to score the crack she routinely smoked. Max waited for her return, but she never showed up. Scared out of his young mind, he’d fended for himself for three whole days, until he’d gone to a neighbor for help. “My memories will probably never stop haunting me, either.”

“We do have our issues.”

“Yeah, we do.” Max was rescued and placed in foster care, and a warrant was issued for his mom’s arrest. But she’d already hit the road with her latest loser boyfriend, where she’d partied too hard and overdosed before the police caught up with her.

“What would you say to your mother if she was still alive?” Lizzie asked.

“Nothing.”

“You wouldn’t tell her off?”

“No.” He wouldn’t say a single word to her.

“You wouldn’t even ask her why she used to hurt you?”

Max shook his head. There wasn’t an answer in the world that would make sense, so what would be the point? When Mom hadn’t been kicking him with her cheap high heels or smacking him around, she’d taken to burning him with cigarette butts and daring him not to cry. But her most common form of punishment was locking him in his closet, where she’d told him that the Lakota two-faced monsters dwelled.

The legends about these humanoid creatures varied. In some tales, it was a woman who’d been turned into this type of being after trying to seduce the sun god. One of her faces was beautiful, while the other was hideous. In other stories, it was a man with a second face on the back of his head. Making eye contact with him would get you tortured and killed. Cannibalism and kidnapping were among his misdeeds, too, with a malevolent glee for preying on misbehaving children.

The hours Max had spent in his darkened closet, cowering from the monsters and praying for his drugged-out mother to remove the chair that barred the door, would never go away.

He cleared his throat and said, “Mom’s worst crime was her insistence that she loved me. But you already know all this.” He polished off the last of his root beer and crushed the can between his palms, squeezing the aluminum down to nearly nothing. He repeated another thing she already knew. “I swear, I never want to hear another woman say that to me again.”

“I could do without someone saying that to me, too. Sure, love is supposed to be the cure-all, but not for...”

“People like us?”

She nodded, and he thought about how they tumbled in and out of affairs. Max went through his lovers like wine. Lizzie wasn’t any better. She didn’t get attached to her bedmates, either.

“At least I have my charity work,” she said.

He was heavily involved in nonprofits, too, with it being a significant part of his life. “Do you think it’s enough?”

“What?” She raised her delicately arched brows. “Helping other people? Of course it is.”

“Then why am I still so dissatisfied?” He paused to study the sparkling blue of her eyes and the way her hair was curling in damp waves around her shoulders. “And why are you still stressing over your mom’s anniversary?”

She picked up her tea, sipped, put it back down. “We’re only human.”

“I know. But I should be ashamed of myself for feeling this way. I got everything I ever wanted. I mean, seriously, look at this place.” He scowled at his opulent surroundings. How rich and privileged and spoiled could he be?

“I thought your sabbatical helped.” She seemed to be evaluating how long he’d been gone, separating himself from her and everyone else.

He’d taken nearly a year off to travel the world, to search for inner peace. He’d also visited hospitals and orphanages and places where he’d hoped to make a difference. “The most significant part of that experience was the months I spent in Nulah. It’s a small island country in the South Pacific. I’d never been there before, so I didn’t really know what to expect. Anyway, what affected me was this kid I came across in an orphanage there. A five-year-old boy named Tokoni.”

She cocked her head. “Why haven’t you mentioned him before now?”

“I don’t know.” He conjured up an image of the child’s big brown eyes and dazzling smile. “Maybe I was trying to keep him to myself a little longer and imagine him with the family his mother wanted him to have. When he was two, she left him at the orphanage, hoping that someone would adopt him and give him a better life. She wasn’t abusive to him, like my mother was to me. She just knew that she couldn’t take proper care of him. Nulah is traditional in some areas, with old-world views, and rough and dangerous in others. It didn’t used to be so divided, but it started suffering from outside influences.”

“Like drugs and prostitution and those sorts of things?”

“Yes, and Tokoni’s mother lived in a seedy part of town and was struggling to find work. She’d already lost her family in a boating accident, so there was no one left to help her.”

“What about the boy’s father?” she asked. “How does he fit into this?”

“He was an American tourist who made all sorts of promises, saying he was going to bring her to the States and marry her. But in the end, he didn’t do anything, except ditch her and the kid.”

“Oh, how awful.” Lizzie’s voice broke a little. “That makes me sad for her, living on a shattered dream, waiting for a man to whisk her away.”

It disturbed Max, too. “She kept in touch with the orphanage for a while, waiting to see if Tokoni ever got a permanent home, but then she caught pneumonia and died. The old lady who operates the place told me the story. It’s a private facility that survives on charity. I already donated a sizable amount to help keep them on track.”

She made a thoughtful expression. “I can write an article about them to drum up more support, if you want.”

“That would be great.” Max appreciated the offer. Lizzie hosted a successful philanthropy blog with tons of noble-hearted followers. “I just wish someone would adopt Tokoni. He’s the coolest kid, so happy all the time.” So different from how Max was as a child. “He’s at the age where he talks about getting adopted and thinks it’s going to happen. He’s been working on this little picture book, with drawings of the mommy and daddy he’s convinced he’s going to have. They’re just stick figures with smiley faces, but to him, they’re real.”

“Oh, my goodness.” She tapped a hand against her heart. “That’s so sweet.”

“He’s a sweet kid. I’ve been wanting to return to the island to see him again. Just to let him know that I haven’t forgotten about him.”

“Then you should plan another trip soon.”

“Yeah, I should.” Max could easily rearrange his schedule to make it happen. “Hey, here’s an idea. Do you want to come to Nulah with me to meet him?” He suspected that Lizzie could manage her time to accommodate a trip, as well. She’d always been a bit of a jet-setter, a spontaneous society girl ready to leave town on a whim. But mostly she traveled for humanitarian causes, so this was right up her alley. “While we’re there, you can interview the woman who operates the orphanage for the feature you’re going to do on your blog.”

“Sure. I can go with you. I’d like to see the orphanage and conduct an in-person interview. But I should probably spend most of my time with her and let you visit with Tokoni on your own. You know how kids never really take to me.”

“You just need to relax around them.” Although Lizzie championed hundreds of children’s charities, she’d never gotten the gist of communicating with kids, especially the younger ones. A side effect from her own youth, he thought, from losing her mom and forcing herself to grow up too fast. “For the record, I think you and Tokoni will hit it off just fine. In fact, I think he’s going to be impressed with you.”

“You do?” She adjusted her lounge chair, moving it to a more upright position. “What makes you say that?”

“In his culture redheads are said to descend from nobility, from a goddess ruler who dances with fire, and your hair is as bright as it gets.” Max sat forward, too, and leaned toward her. “He’ll probably think you’re a princess or something. But you were homecoming queen. So it’s not as if you didn’t have your reign.”

Her response fell flat. “That doesn’t count.”

He remembered going to the football game that night, sitting alone in the bleachers, watching her receive her crown. He’d skipped the homecoming dance. He wouldn’t have been able to blend in there. Getting a date would have been difficult, too. As for Lizzie, she’d attended the dance with the tall, tanned star of the boys’ swim team. “It counted back then.”

“Not to me, not like it should have. It wasn’t fair that my other friends didn’t accept you.”

“Well, I got the last laugh, didn’t I?”

She nodded, even if neither of them was laughing.

Before things got too morose, he reached out and tugged on a strand of her hair. “Don’t fret about being royalty to me. The only redhead that influenced my culture was a woodpecker.”

She sputtered into a laugh and slapped his hand away. “Gee, thanks, for that compelling tidbit.”

He smiled, pleased by her reaction. “It’s one of those old American Indian tales. I told it to Tokoni when he was putting a puzzle together with pictures of birds.” Max stopped smiling. “The original story involves love. But I left off that part when I told Tokoni. I figured he was too young to understand it. Plus, it would have been hypocritical of me to tell it that way.”

She took a ladylike sip of her tea. “Now I’m curious about the original version and just how lovey-dovey it is.”

“It’s pretty typical, I guess.” He went ahead and recited it, even if he preferred it without the romance. “It’s about a hunter who loves a girl from his village, but she’s never even noticed him. He thinks about her all the time. He even has trouble sleeping because he can’t get her off his mind. So he goes to the forest to be alone, where he hears a beautiful song that lulls him to sleep. That night, he dreams about a woodpecker who says, ‘Follow me and I’ll show you how to make this song.’ In the morning, he sees a real woodpecker and follows him. The bird is tapping on a branch and the familiar song is coming from it. Later, the hunter returns home with the branch and tries to make the music by waving it in the air, but it doesn’t work.”

Lizzie removed her hat. By now the sun was shifting in the sky, moving behind the trees and dappling her in scattered light. But mostly what Max noticed was how intense she looked, listening to the silly myth. Or was her intensity coming from the energy that always seemed to dance between them? The sexiness that seeped through their pores?

Ignoring the feeling, he continued by saying, “The hunter has another dream where the woodpecker shows him how to blow on the wood and tap the holes to make the song he’d first heard. Obviously, it’s a flute the bird made. But neither the hunter nor his people had ever seen this type of instrument before.”

She squinted at him. “What happens with the girl?”

“Once she hears the hunter’s beautiful song, she looks into his eyes and falls in love with him, just as he’d always loved her. But like I said, I told it to Tokoni without the romance.”

She was still squinting, intensity still etched on her face. “Where did you first come across this story? Was it in one of the books you used to read?”

“Yes.” When he was in foster care, he’d researched his culture, hoping to find something good in it. “I hated that the only thing my mom ever talked about was the scary stuff. But I’m glad that Tokoni’s mother tried to do right by him.”

“Me, too.” She spoke softly. “Parents are supposed to want what’s best for their children.”

He met her gaze, and she stared back at him, almost like the girl in the hunter’s tale—except that love didn’t appeal to either of them.

But desire did. If Lizzie wasn’t his best friend, if she was someone he could kiss without consequence, he would lock lips with her right now, pulling her as close to him as he possibly could. And with the way she was looking at him, she would probably let him kiss the hell out of her. But that wouldn’t do either of them any good.

“I appreciate you coming to Nulah with me,” he said, trying to shake off the heat of wanting her. “It means a lot to me, having you there.”

“I know it does,” she replied, reaching for his hand.

But it was only the slightest touch. She pulled away quickly. Determined, it seemed, to control her hunger for him, too.

* * *

A myriad of thoughts skittered through Lizzie’s mind. Today she and Max were leaving on their trip, and she should be done packing, as he would be arriving soon to pick her up. Yet she was still sorting haphazardly through her clothes and placing them in her suitcase. Normally Lizzie was far more organized. But for now she couldn’t think clearly.

She hated it when her attraction to Max dragged her under its unwelcome spell, and lately it seemed to be getting worse. But they’d both learned to deal with it, just as she was trying to get a handle on how his attachment to Tokoni was making her feel. Even with his troubled past, being around children was easy for Max. Lizzie was terribly nervous about meeting the boy. Kids didn’t relate to her in the fun-and-free way they did with him. Of course her stodgy behavior in their presence didn’t help. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to change that side of herself.

After her mother had drifted into a deathly sleep, she’d compensated for the loss by taking on the characteristics of an adult, long before she should have.

But what choice did she have? Her grieving father had bailed out on parenthood, leaving her with nannies and cooks. He’d immersed himself in his high-powered work and business travels, allowing her to grow up in a big lonely house full of strangers. Lizzie didn’t have any extended family to speak of.

Even after all these years, she and her dad barely communicated. Was it any wonder that she’d gone off to Columbia University searching for a connection to her mom? She’d even taken the same journalism major. She’d walked in her mother’s path, but it hadn’t done a bit of good. She’d returned with the same disjointed feelings.

Her memories of her mom were painfully odd: scattered images of a beautifully fragile blonde who used to stare unblinkingly at herself in the mirror, who used to give lavish parties and tell Lizzie how essential it was for a young lady of her standing to be a good hostess, who used to laugh at the drop of a hat and then cry just as easily. Mama’s biggest ambition was to be awarded the Pulitzer Prize. But mostly she just threw away her writings. Sometimes she even burned them, tossing them into the fireplace and murmuring to herself in French, the language of her ancestors.

Mama was rife with strange emotions, with crazy behaviors, but she was warm and loving, too, cuddling Lizzie at night. Without her sweet, dreamy mother by her side, Elizabeth “Lizzie” McQueen had been crushed, like a bug on a long white limousine’s windshield.

After Mama killed herself, Dad sold their Savannah home, got a new job in Los Angeles and told Lizzie that she was going to be a California kid from then on.

But by that time she’d already gotten used to imitating her mother’s lady-of-the-manor ways, presenting a rich-girl image that made her popular. Nonetheless, she’d lied to her new friends, saying that her socialite mother had suffered a brain aneurysm. Dad told his new workmates the same phony story. Lizzie had been coaxed by him to protect their privacy, and she’d embraced the lie.

Until she met Max.

She’d felt compelled to reveal the truth to him. But he was different from her other peers—a shy, lonely boy, who was as damaged as she was.

The doorbell rang, and Lizzie caught her breath.

She dashed to answer the summons, and there he was: Max Marquez, with his longish black hair shining like a raven’s wing. He wore it parted down the middle and falling past his neck, but not quite to his shoulders. His deeply set eyes were brown, but sometimes they looked as black as his hair. His face was strong and angular, with a bone structure to die for. The gangly teenager he’d once been was gone. He’d grown into a fiercely handsome man.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Sorry. No. I’m still packing.”

He entered her condo. “That’s okay. I’ll text my pilot and tell him we’re running late.”

Lizzie nodded. Max’s success provided him the luxury of a private jet. She’d inherited her mother’s old Savannah money, but she was nowhere as wealthy as he was. He wasn’t the only Native American foster kid in LA who’d made good. He remained close to two of his foster brothers, who’d also become billionaires. Max had been instrumental in helping them attain their fortunes, loaning them money to get their businesses off the ground.

He followed her into her room, where her suitcase was on the bed, surrounded by the clothes she’d been sorting.

He lifted a floral-printed dress from the pile. “This is pretty.” He glanced at a lace bra and panty set. “And those.” Clearly, he was teasing her, as if making a joke was easier than anything else he could think of doing or saying.

“Knock it off.” She grabbed the lingerie and shoved them into a pouch on the side of her Louis Vuitton luggage, glad that he hadn’t actually touched her underwear. As for the dress, she tugged it away from him.

“Did you really have a thing for me in high school?” he asked.

Oh, goodness. He was bringing that up now? “Yes, I really did.” She’d developed a quirky little crush on him, formed within the ache of the secrets they’d shared. But he’d totally blown her away when she returned from university and saw his physical transformation. He’d changed in all sorts of ways by then. While she’d been hitting the books, he’d already earned his first million, selling an app he’d designed, and he hadn’t even gone to college. These days, he invested in start-ups and made a killing doing it.

“It never would have worked between us,” he said.

Lizzie considered flinging her makeup bag at him and knocking him upside that computer chip brain of his. “I never proposed that it would.”

“You were too classy for me.” He gazed at her from across the bed. “Sometimes I think you still are.”

A surge of heat shot through her blood. “That’s nonsense. You date tons of socialites. They’re your type.”

“Because you set the standard. How could I be around you and not want that type?”

“Don’t do this, Max.” He’d gone beyond the realm of making jokes. “You shouldn’t even be in my room, let alone be saying that sort of stuff.”

“As if.” He brushed it off. “I’ve been in your room plenty of times before. Remember last New Year’s Eve? I poured you into bed when you got too drunk to stand.”

She looked at him as if he’d gone mad. But maybe he had lost his grip on reality. Or maybe she had. Either way, she challenged him. “What are you talking about? I wasn’t inebriated. I was coming down with the flu.”

“So you kept telling me.” He gave her a pointed look. “I think it was all those cosmopolitans that international playboy lover of yours kept plying you with.”

Seriously? His memory couldn’t be that bad. “You were tending bar at the party that night.” Here at her house, with her guests.

“Was I? Are you sure? I thought it was that Grand Prix driver you met in Monte Carlo. The one all the women swooned over.”

“He and I were over by then.” She wagged a finger at him. “You’re the one who kept adding extra vodka to my drinks.”

“I must have felt sorry for you, getting dumped by that guy.”

“From what I recall, it was around the same time that department store heiress walked out on you.”

“She was boring, anyway.”

“I thought she was nice. She was hunting for a husband, though.”

“Yeah, and that ruled me out. I wouldn’t get married if the survival of the world depended on it.”

“Me, neither. But what’s the likelihood of us ever having to do that, for saving mankind or any other reason?”

“There isn’t. But I still say that you were drunk last New Year’s, and I was the gentleman—thank you very much—who tucked you into this very bed.” He patted her pillow for effect, putting a dent in it.

“Oh, there’s an oxymoron. The guy feeding me liquor is the gentleman in the story?”

“It beats your big-fish tale about having the flu.”

“Okay. Fine. I was wasted. Now stop taking it out on my pillow.”

“Oops, sorry.” He plumped it back up, good as new. “Are you going to finish packing or we going to sit here all day, annoying each other?”

“You started it.” She filled her suitcase, stuffing it to the gills. She only wished they were going on a trip that didn’t include a child she was nervous about meeting.

“Are you still worried about whether or not Tokoni will like you?” he asked, homing in on her troubled expression. “I already told you that I think you’re going to impress him.”

“Because he might regard me as a princess? That feels like pressure in itself.”

“It’ll be all right, Lizzie. And I promise, once you meet him, you’ll see how special he is.”

She didn’t doubt that Tokoni was a nice little boy. But that didn’t ease her nerves or boost her confidence about meeting him. Of course for now all she could do was remain by Max’s side, supporting his cause, like the friend she was meant to be.

Two

Lizzie awakened inside a bungalow, with a tropical breeze stirring through an open window. Alone with her thoughts, she sat up and stretched.

Yesterday afternoon she and Max had arrived at their destination and checked in to the resort he’d booked for their weeklong stay. They had separate accommodations, each with its own colorful garden and oceanfront deck, equipped with everything they needed to relax, including hammocks. The interiors were also decorated to complement the environment, with beamed ceilings, wood floors, cozy couches and canopy beds.

Nulah consisted of a series of islands, and the sparsely populated island they were on was a twenty-minute boat ride to the mainland, the main island within the nation, where the capital city and all the activities in that area were: the airport, the orphanage they would be visiting, shopping and dining, dance clubs and other tourist-generated nightlife, nice hotels, cheap motels, burgeoning crime, basically what you would find in any city except on a smaller scale.

Of course at this off-the-grid resort, things were quiet. Max had stayed here before, during his sabbatical, and now Lizzie understood why it appealed to him.

With another body-rolling stretch, she climbed out of bed. She suspected that Max was already wide awake and jogging along the beach. He preferred early-morning runs. Typically, Lizzie did, too. But she’d skipped that routine today.

She showered and fixed her makeup and hair, keeping it simple. She didn’t want to show up at the orphanage looking like a spoiled heiress. Or a princess. Or anything that drew too much attention to herself.

Returning to her bedroom, she donned the floral-printed dress Max had manhandled when she was packing yesterday, pairing it with T-strap sandals.

Lizzie made a cup of coffee, with extra cream, and headed outside. With a quiet sigh, she settled into a chair on her deck and gazed out at the view—the pearly white sand and aqua-blue water.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Max appeared along the shore, winding down from his run. For a moment, he almost seemed like an apparition, a tall, tanned warrior in the morning light.

He glanced in her direction, and she waved him over. But before he strode toward her, he stopped to remove his T-shirt, using it like a towel to dry the sweat from his face and chest. Lizzie got a sexy little pulse-palpitating reaction from watching him. He’d already told her that his shower was outside, located in a walled section of his garden. He’d requested a bungalow with that type of amenity. So now she was going to envision him, naked in the elements, with water streaming over his sun-bronzed skin.

“Hey.” He stood beside her chair. “What happened? I was expecting to see you out there. I figured you would’ve joined me at some point.”

“I wasn’t in the mood to run today.” She glanced past him, making sure that she wasn’t ogling his abs or giving him the look. Instead, she checked out a foamy wave breaking onto the shore. This island was a certified marine reserve, allowing guests to snorkel off the beach from the front of their bungalows. Lizzie hadn’t been in the ocean yet, but according to Max there were heaps of fish, clams and coral reefs.

“You look pretty,” he said.

His compliment gave her pulse another little jump start, prompting her to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

“I like your hair that way.”

All she’d done was tie a satin ribbon around a carefully fastened ponytail, creating a girlish bow. “It’s nothing, really.”

“I think it gives you an interesting quality. Like a socialite trying to be incognito.”

So much for her plan to be less noticeable. She changed the subject. “You must be hungry by now. I can get us something and bring it back here.” Although room service was available, there was also an eat-in or takeout breakfast buffet. She didn’t mind packing up their food to go. The restaurant and bar that provided their meals was a short walk along the beach.

She waited while he balled up his sweaty T-shirt and pondered her suggestion.

Finally he said, “I’ll take bacon and eggs and a large tumbler of orange juice. Last time I was here, they served seafood crepes in this mouthwatering wine-cheese sauce, so fill my plate with those, too. I’m pretty sure they’ll have them again. It’s one of their specialties.”

Apparently he’d worked up an appetite. “Anything else?”

“No. But I have to shower first.”

Damn, she thought. The outdoor shower she shouldn’t be thinking about. “Go ahead, and I’ll see you in a few.”

He left, and she watched him until he was out of sight. She finished her coffee, then headed for the buffet.

As she made the picturesque trek, she admired the purple and pink flowers she passed along the way. They flourished on abundant vines, growing wild in the sandy soil. The garden attached to her bungalow was also filled with them, along with big leafy plants and tall twisty palms.

After she got their food, she set everything up on her patio table. Inspired by the flora that surrounded her, she used a live orchid from her room as the centerpiece.

Max returned wearing a Polynesian-print shirt, board shorts and flip-flops. His thick damp hair was combed away from his face, but it was already starting to part naturally on its own. He smelled fresh and masculine, like the sandalwood soap he favored. Lizzie had used the mango-scented body wash the resort gave them.

He said, “This looks good.” He sat across from her and dived into his big hearty breakfast.

For herself, she’d gotten plain yogurt and a bowl of fresh-cut fruit. But she hadn’t been able to resist the crepes, so she was indulging in them, too.

He glanced up from his plate and asked, “Do you want to see a picture of Tokoni? I meant to show it to you before now. It’s of the two of us.”

“Yes, of course.” She waited for him to pull it up on his phone, which took all of a second.

He handed it to her. The photo was of an adorable little dark-haired, tanned-skinned boy, expressing a big toothy grin. Max looked happy in the picture, too. She surmised that it was a selfie, snapped at close range. “He’s beautiful.”

“He’s smart as a whip, too. Kindergarten starts at six here, so he isn’t in school yet. But they work with the younger ones at the orphanage, preparing them for it.” He took the phone back and set it aside. “I’m glad that you’ll get to meet him today.”

“What time are we supposed to be there?”

“We don’t have an appointment. Losa said we can come any time it’s convenient for us.”

“That’s her name? Losa? The woman who runs the orphanage?” The lady Lizzie would be interviewing today.

He nodded. “The kids call her Mrs. Losa.”

“So is that her first or last name?”

“Her first. It means Rose in their native tongue.”

That seemed fitting, with all the other flowers Lizzie had encountered today. “Is there a mister? Is she married?”

“She’s widowed. She started the orphanage after her husband died. They were together for nearly forty years before he passed away.”

She couldn’t imagine being with the same person all that time. Or losing him.

“She has five kids,” Max said. “They had three of their own, but they also adopted two from their village, orphaned siblings whose extended family wasn’t able to care for them. But those children weren’t adopted in an official way. Losa and her husband just took them in and raised them.”

“Really? That’s legal here?”

“Yes, but mostly it’s the country folks, the traditionalists who still do that. They live in small communities where the people are tightly knit, so if there’s a child or children in need, they band together to help. Losa and her husband used to be farmers. But she sold her property and moved to the capital to open the orphanage when she learned how many kids on the mainland were homeless. Her entire family supported her decision and relocated with her. All of her children and their spouses work there, along with their kids. She has two grown granddaughters and three teenage grandsons.”

“They must be quite a family, taking on a project like that. Do they have any outside help?”

“At first it was just them, but now they have regular volunteers. And some who just pitch in when they can.” Max drank his juice. “I volunteered when I was here before. That’s how I spent the last three months of my sabbatical, helping out at the orphanage.”

Lizzie hadn’t realized the extent of his commitment. She’d assumed he’d merely visited the place. “No wonder you know so much about it.”

He offered more of his knowledge by saying, “Nulah didn’t used to allow international adoptions. But they finally decided it was in the best interest of the children. Otherwise, finding homes for these kids would be even more difficult. There aren’t enough local families who have the means to take them. The older folks are dying off, and most of the younger ones are struggling to raise their own children.”

He paused to watch a pair of colorful seabirds soaring along the shore. Lizzie watched them, too, thinking how majestic they were.

Then he said, “Not all of the kids at the orphanage are up for adoption. Losa is fostering some of them, keeping them until they can return to their families. But either way, she devotes her life to the children in her care, however she can.”

“She sounds like a godsend.”

“She is. She spent years lobbying for the international adoption law here. Without her, it might never have happened.”

Clearly, Losa had strength and fortitude, seeing things through to the end. “When we’re on the mainland, I’d like to stop by a florist and get her a rose.”

“You want to give her a flower that matches her name?”

“Mama always taught me that you should bring someone a gift the first time you visit.” She paused to reflect. “I should bring something for the kids, too. Not just for Tokoni, but for all of them. How many are there?”

“The last time I was here, it was around thirty. It’s probably still about the same.”

“And what’s the age range?”

“It varies, going from babies to young teens.”

“That’s a wide margin. I’m going to need a little time to shop for a group like that. We should leave for the mainland soon.” Lizzie was anxious to get started. “We can take the next boat.”

He grinned. “Then maybe we should eat a little faster.”

She knew he was kidding. He’d already wolfed down most of his meal. Hers was nearly gone, too. “It’s delicious.” She raised her fork. “These crepes.”

“This island is paradise.” He stopped smiling. “If only everything on the mainland was as nice as it is here.”

“Yes, if only.” She’d caught glimpses of the capital city yesterday and had seen how poverty-stricken some of the areas were, the places where the kids from the orphanage had come from. And if anyone could relate to their ravaged beginnings, it was Max. He’d been born in South Dakota on one of the poorest reservations in the States, before his mother had hauled him off to an impoverished Los Angeles neighborhood.

As lonely as Lizzie’s childhood had been, she’d never known the pain and fear of being poor. But that hadn’t stopped her and Max from becoming friends. They’d formed a bond, regardless of how different they’d been from each other.

Trapped in emotion, she said, “Thank you.”

He gave her a perplexed look. “For what?”

For everything, she thought. But she said, “For inviting me to take this trip with you.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too.”

Their gazes met and held, but only for a moment.

Returning to their food, they fell silent, fighting the ever-present attraction neither of them wanted to feel.

* * *

Max and Lizzie got to the mainland around eleven, and he hailed a cab. Taxis weren’t metered here, so they had to agree on the price of the fare before departure. Max arranged to keep the taxi at their disposal for the rest of the day. Their driver was a big, broad-shouldered twentysomething with a brilliant smile. As pleasant and accommodating as he was, he drove a bit too fast. But tons of cabbies in the States did that, too. As for the car, it was old and rickety, with seat belts that kept coming unbuckled. But it was better than no transportation at all, Max thought.

As they entered the shopping district, the car bumped and jittered along roughly paved roads. The still-smiling cabbie found a centrally located parking spot and told them he would wait there for them. To keep himself occupied, he reached for his phone. Max, of course, was consumed with technology, too. It was his world, his livelihood, his outlet. But he never buried his face in his phone when he was with Lizzie. She hated it when people ignored each other in favor of their devices, so he’d made a conscious effort not to do that to her.

Behaving like tourists, they wandered the streets, going in and out of small shops. Some of the vendors were aggressive, trying as they might to peddle their wares. But Max didn’t mind. He understood that they had families to feed. He went ahead and purchased a bunch of stuff to ship back home, mostly toys and trinkets for his nieces—his foster brothers’ adorable little daughters.

Lizzie wasn’t faring as well. Although she’d already gotten a stack of baby goods for the infants and toddlers at the orphanage and placed them in the taxi for safekeeping, she couldn’t make up her mind about the rest of the kids.

Finally she said, “Maybe I can put together a big box of art supplies that all of them can use.”

“That’s a great idea. Tokoni would appreciate it, too, since he loves to draw. There’s an arts and crafts store around the corner. They also have a little gallery where they sell works by local artists. I always wanted to check it out.”

“Then let’s go.” She seemed interested in the art, too. “But first I want to get what I need for the kids.”

They walked to their destination. The sun was shining, glinting beautifully off her ponytailed hair. He’d teased her earlier about her looking like a socialite who was trying to go incognito. In his opinion, Lizzie wasn’t the type who could downplay her breeding. She’d already spent too many years perfecting it, and by now it was ingrained into the woman she’d become.

When they came to the arts and crafts store, they went inside, and she gathered paints, brushes, crayons, markers, colored pencils, paper, blank canvases and whatever else she could find. She added crafts, too, like jewelry-making kits and model cars. The man who owned the shop was thrilled. He was a chatty old guy who introduced himself as George. Max figured it was the English translation of his birth name.

After Lizzie made her purchases, she and Max browsed the work that was for sale in the gallery section. George followed them. Hoping, no doubt, that Lizzie was an art collector.

Only it was Max who got curious about a painting. It depicted a ceremony of some sort, where a young couple was cutting pieces of each other’s hair with decorative knives. In Native American and First Nations cultures, shearing one’s hair was sometimes associated with death and mourning. But the people in this picture didn’t appear to be grieving.

While he inspected the painting, Lizzie stood beside him. George was nearby, as well.

“What are they doing?” Max asked him.

The owner stepped forward. “Preparing for their wedding. It’s an old custom, chopping a betrothed’s hair. Doing this symbolizes their transitions into adulthood.”

Max frowned. “I’d never do that.”

“Do what? Cut your lady’s hair?” By now George was gazing at Lizzie’s bright red locks.

“I meant get married.” Max shook his head. “And she isn’t my lady. She’s my friend.”

“Hmm.” George tapped his chin. “Is this true?” he asked Lizzie. “You’re only friends with this man?”

“Yes, that’s all we are,” she assured him.

“It’s different for me,” he said. “I have a wife.” He took her hand and tugged her toward the other side of the gallery. “You come, too,” he told Max. “I’ll show you something else.”

As soon as Max spotted the painting George wanted them to see, he stopped to stare at it. The nearly life-size image depicted a wildly primitive young woman on a moonlit beach, dancing with a male partner, only he was made completely of fire. She swayed in his burning-hot arms, with her long slim body draped in a sparkling gold dress. Her flame-red hair blew across her face, shielding her mysterious features from view.

“It’s called Lady Ari,” George said.

Max sucked in his breath. “After the royal goddess of fire.” He hadn’t known her name until now.

“Yes,” George said. “With hair like your friend’s.” He glanced over at Lizzie.

Max shifted his attention to her, too, but she didn’t acknowledge him. She continued looking at the painting. Was she as captivated by it as he was, or was she focusing on the picture so she didn’t have to return his gaze?

He couldn’t be sure. But the feverish feeling Lady Ari gave him was too overpowering to ignore. “I’m going to buy it.” Now, he thought, today.

With a sudden jolt, Lizzie jerked her head toward his. “And do what with it?”

“I’ll hang it in my house.” He considered where to put it. “Above the fireplace in my den.”

“You already have a nice piece of artwork there.”

“So I’ll replace it with this one.”

She fussed with her ponytail, as if she was fighting its brazen color, and he realized how uncomfortable his attraction to Lady Ari was making her. But he simply couldn’t let the painting go.

As they both fell silent, Max noticed that George was watching the two of them, probably thinking what strange friends they were. But nonetheless, the older man was obviously pleased that he’d just made a significant sale.

“The artist would be enchanted by you,” George told Lizzie. “You would be charmed by him, too. He’s young and handsome.” He then said to Max, “A lot like you.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows at that, and Max shrugged, as if the artist’s virility was of no consequence. But it made him feel funny inside, with George making what seemed like romantic comparisons.

Still, it didn’t change his interest in buying it. The need to have it was too strong. Max arranged to have the painting shipped home, as he’d done with the items he’d bought for his nieces.

After the transaction was complete, they said goodbye to George and returned to their taxi, piling the art supplies Lizzie had purchased into the trunk.

She scowled at Max and said, “I still have to get Losa a rose.”

“Okay, but don’t be mad about the painting.”

“I’m not.”

Yes, she was, he thought. She didn’t like the idea of him owning a picture that could be mistaken for an untamed version of her. But he wasn’t going to apologize for buying something he wanted.

“Do you know where the florist is?” she asked him.

“No.” He didn’t have a clue. He checked with their driver and was informed that it was close enough to walk, so they set out on foot again.

The florist offered a variety of exotic plants and blooms. Max waited patiently while Lizzie labored over what color of rose to buy.

She decided on a pale yellow, and they returned to the taxi and climbed into the car. The driver started the engine and off they went, en route to the orphanage.

After a beat of silence, she said, “I wonder who modeled for it.”

For it. The painting. Obviously her mind was still on Lady Ari. “I assumed that the artist had created her from his imagination.”

She sat stiffly in her seat, clutching the rose. “I should have asked George, but I didn’t think of it then. I’d prefer that she was a real person.”

“Why? Because then she would seem less like you and more like the model? Just think of how I feel, knowing the artist is a handsome guy who’s supposedly a lot like me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It serves you right. I mean, really, what were you thinking, buying something like that?”

He defended himself. “You ought to be glad that I did.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you figure?”

“Because now I can lust over the painting and forget that I ever had the hots for you.”

“You wish.” As they rounded a corner, he leaned into her. She shoved him aside. “And stop crowding me.”

Max cursed beneath his breath. He wasn’t invading her space purposely. The force of the turn had done it. He wanted to tell the driver to slow down, that this wasn’t the damned Autobahn. Instead he said to Lizzie, “You’re nothing like Lady Ari. It’s not as if you’d ever dance that way in the moonlight.”

“Gee, you think?” She waved her arms around, willy-nilly. “Me and a male heap of burning fire?”

“That was the worst sensual dance I’ve ever seen.”

“That was the idea.”

“To suck?”

The taxi came to a quick halt, stopping for a group of pedestrians. Max and Lizzie both flew forward and bumped their foreheads on the seats in front of them.

He turned to look at her, and she burst out laughing. He did, too. It was impossible to keep arguing in the midst of such absurdity.

“I’m sorry for giving you a hard time,” she said. “You can buy whatever artwork you want.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He leaned toward her and whispered in a mock sexy voice, “I didn’t mean what I said about forgetting that I have the hots for you. Even if you can’t dance like her, you’re still a temptress.”

She accepted his flirtation for what it was. But she also pushed him away from her again, keeping him from remaining too close.

Then...vroom! The car sped off, taking them to the grassy outskirts of town, where the orphanage was.

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