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Synopsis
Workaholic Nick Taziano is the proud owner of a successful marketing company in Montana. But his career takes a backseat when he learns his dad plans to remarry his ex. Nick fears she'll break his heart . . . again. And he doesn't like being reunited with her obnoxious daughter-until the all-grown-up beauty kisses him at the engagement party. The kiss might be a mistake, but once he tastes Jane's lips, nothing-not even her famous blueberry pie-compares. A promising chef at Big Sky Pie, Jane Wilson never, ever wanted to see Nick Taziano again, but he's just been hired to do the pie shop's marketing. How's a girl supposed to bake the best pastries in town when he's a constant reminder of their steamy chemistry? His chocolate eyes and sexy dimples heat up the kitchen-and every part of her body. Jane has no room for a man in her life, yet sometimes the most delicious dishes don't follow the recipe . . .
Release date: December 3, 2013
Publisher: Forever
Print pages: 273
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Adrianne Lee
Chapter One
When it comes to men, Janey, your mama is as flaky as the crust on my blueberry pie.”
Her grandmother’s words taunted Jane Wilson as she stared at her ringing cell phone. The screen showed a stunning, amber-eyed brunette, former Miss Montana, every bit as beautiful now as the day she’d been crowned. Rebel Scott, aka her “flaky” mother. If Jane could, she would detour around the coming evening like a highway accident and just avoid the whole mess. But somehow she always got sucked into the mama-drama.
“I didn’t forget, Mom,” she answered, juggling the phone and two pie boxes into her Jeep. This month’s specialty at Big Sky Pie just happened to be Jane’s specialty, blueberry pies with buttery crusts that melted on your tongue. “Just leaving the pie shop now.”
Her mother laughed, a sound as melodious as perfectly tuned chimes. “Oh, good. I was afraid…”
That I’d changed my mind? That I wasn’t interested in meeting your latest fiancé, a man whose name you won’t even tell me? Jane prayed for the courage to do what she meant to do tonight; after all, it was for Mom’s own good. “I have the address and the pies. I’ll see you around six.”
If I don’t chicken out by then.
If I can find something to wear, Jane thought, half an hour later as she shuffled through her closet, keeping in mind her own preference for comfortable clothes and her mother’s idea of dinner-appropriate attire. Her mother insisted that she had passed her grace and beauty on to Jane, as well as her singing talent, and that Jane should be competing in beauty contests. Wishful thinking. Jane knew better. She would never be a “Miss” anything. On a one-to-ten beauty scale, she was a solid seven. She’d inherited her dad’s strawberry blond curls and aqua eyes, and Grandma Wilson’s tendency to gain weight just passing by a refrigerator. Could she have chosen a worse profession than pastry chef? Jane smiled. The fact was, the career had chosen her. She’d been baking pies for as long as she could remember.
If getting married was her mother’s passion, baking pies was Jane’s. Not men or dating. Growing up with a serial-bride mother had soured Jane on love. She didn’t need a man to define or complete her. She had a calling.
A calling that was not doing her figure much good, she realized, as she tried on her black sheath and leopard heels. The effect was a longer, leaner look, as chic as Jane ever got, and pulling her hair back in a French braid would highlight the one asset she shared with her mother, her cheekbones, but the image in the mirror showed the dress hugging in a few wrong places, thanks to the fifteen pounds she’d gained at cooking school. The sheath was her only option, however, and it would have to do.
Not that she was likely to gain an ounce tonight given the knot filling her stomach, a knot that grew worse as she soaked in a bubble bath, and after, as she gave herself a pedicure. She might be a mess inside, but she was determined to look put together.
* * *
“Love is like-a my cottage cheese pie, Nickola. Some never take a taste, but those willing to give a try…they in for a big delish-a surprise-a.” Anna Taziano’s advice seemed to pour from the car speakers, startling her grandson Nick as he hit the city limits of Kalispell, Montana. Just back from a business road trip, Nick was suffering the sting of yet another romantic split and longing for some good, old-fashioned, family comfort. So much so apparently that he was receiving it from the great beyond.
He sighed with regret. Granna’s loss was always with him like a bruise that wouldn’t ease. He missed her old-world wisdom, her counsel. What would she say if she were still here?
Stalled at a red light, he envisioned her standing in her farmhouse kitchen, her solid little body encased in its proverbial apron, gray hair twisted into a knot on her head as she shook her wooden spoon at him and tsked. “What I tell-a you, Nickola? You must make-a the sincere, from-a the heart.”
Nick smiled wryly, thinking this was probably the root of the problem. His love life had never been sincere, or from the heart. More like a series of hookups based on convenience, the L word never entering into the equation. A by-product of his business. He didn’t have time for any long-term, serious relationships, so there had been no Ms. Right’s in his life, just a lot of Ms. Right Nows.
The light went green, and Nick turned onto a side street, then circled into an alley two blocks over and into his garage. Though the main office for his advertising company, Adz R Taz, was housed in this downtown Kalispell building, Nick traveled a corridor from Spokane to Billings to Cody, and all places in between to work with customers, setting up or improving their advertising campaigns. The result of so much traveling was that he met some interesting women. Mostly through the lens of his camera. Mostly too-thin models.
And he’d been fried more times than a digital image sensor.
It was getting old. Hell, he was getting old. And lonely. If he wasn’t careful, he would end up like his dad—an aging workaholic with no personal life. Nick would give anything if his dad could find someone he loved the way he’d once loved his second wife, but the bitch had soured his dad on marriage and skewed Nick’s view of it as well. She and her obnoxious little girl, a real pain in the ass.
Nick grabbed his bags from the back of his SUV and started up the stairs to the second-floor loft where he lived and worked. His cell phone rang as he unlocked the door and shoved the bags inside. Still in ad-man mode, he answered without looking at the screen. “Nick Taziano.”
“Nicky!” His dad’s booming voice instantly lifted Nick’s spirits. Damn, he missed his old man. He and Nick moved to Las Vegas after the divorce. His dad still lived there, but Nick had returned to Montana a couple of years ago, where a man could fill his lungs with fresh, crisp air and let his creative juices flow.
“Dad, I was just thinking about you.” Nick shut the loft door and glanced around. Everything looked as he’d left it. The loft was wide open with brick walls, high ceilings, exposed ductwork, and warehouse-sized windows. His work area took up one end wall and consisted of a wraparound counter/desk combo that held his computers, printers, and cameras. “Just walked in the door from a road trip. How’re things shaking in Sin City?”
“Wouldn’t know,” his dad said.
What the hell did that mean? Nick set the briefcase on the work counter, then carried his duffel bag into the bedroom and dropped it on the bed, frowning. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally taken a vacation.”
“Even better.”
Nick pulled his toiletry bag from the duffel and went to the bathroom. A glance in the mirror confirmed a need to shower and shave, but right now, he wanted a beer. He headed back into the main room to the mini-fridge, mulling over what his dad considered even better than a vacation. Romeo Taziano loved cars. Old, new, hot rod, classic. An ace mechanic by the time he was twenty, outgoing and honest, he soon owned an auto repair shop, and when they moved to Vegas, he bought a Rolls-Royce limousine and started Black Tie Limo. Over the past fifteen years, he’d acquired Town Cars, Cadillacs, Hummers, stretch limos, and party buses, becoming one of the city’s premiere transportation services. The only thing Nick could think of that his dad would consider better than a vacation was a staycation chauffeuring some world-famous movie star around town. “Congratulations.”
His dad laughed. “Tell me that after you’ve heard my news.”
“Okay. I’m all ears.”
“I sold the business and retired.”
Nick’s fingers froze on the twist cap of the beer bottle as the impact of this registered. Romeo had meant for Nick to take over the business when he retired, but Nick didn’t share his love of cars, and the frenetic energy of Vegas got on his nerves, stifled his creativity. Still, why would Dad suddenly sell out and retire? He wouldn’t. It made no sense…unless…God, was he ill? Seriously ill? “Dad, are you feeling okay?”
“Never better, son.”
Relief flooded Nick, but it didn’t answer his questions about his dad’s sudden retirement, and his dad wasn’t offering explanations. “I figured you’d keel over behind the wheel of the Rolls before you ever retired.”
“Yeah, I kind of thought that might be my fate, too. But things change.”
Nick took the beer to his bedroom, sank onto the bed, and kicked off his shoes. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? What the hell changed?”
“A lot. In a pretty short time span, too. Look, it’s more than we can discuss over the phone—”
“Like hell. I’m not letting you go until you’ve told me everything.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” There was a pause, then his dad said, “I sold my place in Vegas and bought a condo here.”
“Here? As in Kalispell?”
“Yep. On Flathead Lake.”
“No shit?” Nick gave a whoop of joy. “Then you’re in town?”
His dad laughed. “Moved in this weekend. Wanted to be settled before I told you.”
More likely, he hadn’t wanted to ask Nick to help him move since he knew Nick had a solidly booked work schedule. Like father, like son. As he took down the address, Nick said, “Hey, I know this place. I did their brochure ads and some online stuff. Dad, I can’t wait to see you.” They’d had too little time together these past few years. “We have lots of catching up to do. Let me unpack and wash off the road, then I’ll head that way.”
“Sounds great. Bring your camera. I’m throwing a little get-together, and I’d like to commemorate this new phase of my life.”
He wouldn’t be having his dad to himself? Normally that might disappoint Nick, but given his dad had moved to town, there would be plenty of father-and-son time. Nick had only one reservation. This new phase might bore the socks off his type A personality father. He didn’t want to rain on his dad’s parade, especially when he sounded so cheery, but it had to be said. “Are you sure you’re going to have enough to do with your days now?”
“Well, that’s another little surprise I’ve been saving for you.”
Nick wasn’t sure he could take another surprise and braced for bad news. “What?”
“You might want to sit down for this one, pal.” His dad laughed.
“I am sitting down.”
“Your old man is getting married.”
Nick’s mouth dropped open, but the shock quickly spun to delight. Yes, it was happening pretty damned quickly, but after a two-decade drought, fast seemed almost called for. “That is fanfuckingtastic! Who is this lucky lady?”
His dad was laughing again. “You’ll meet her tonight. Party starts at six p.m. Champagne and dinner on me.”
Nick hung up, grinning. “Well, Granna, it looks like your son, Romeo, took your advice.” He was taking a chance on love. Nick hoped his dad was in for one “big delish-a surprise-a.”
* * *
At five forty-five, Jane found herself maneuvering through Kalispell’s late afternoon rush hour traffic, summer sunshine a glare on the windshield. A warm breeze swept in through the open Jeep windows and across the pie boxes on the passenger seat, blowing the sweet perfume of freshly baked blueberry pie past her nose. Instead of comfort in the familiar aromas, Jane found only disquiet. Why wouldn’t her mother tell her who she was marrying?
Probably worried I’ll Google him. Like last time. And the time before that. But wasn’t it a daughter’s obligation to look out for her mother when the mother didn’t seem to ever look out for herself? Of course it was.
Once Jane reached the outskirts of town, she glanced at the GPS app on her phone, checking the directions. Five miles farther on, she spied the sign for Buffalo Ridge hanging from a massive stone arch and pulled onto a blacktopped drive that led down to a wide-open parking area. Jane’s gaze went to the four-story building that stood on the edge of Flathead Lake. The exterior seemed to have been carved from the natural, gigantic boulders and Douglas fir prevalent along the lakeside, the visual effect something between a grand hotel and a mountain lodge.
The interior continued the natural theme and yet offered a sense of grandeur in the slate floors and rich decor. There was even a doorman and security. She gave the doorman her mother’s name, was checked off his list of expected party guests, and given directions to the condo.
Balancing the pie boxes on top of each other, Jane headed for the bank of elevators, her gaze on the wall of windows that showed views of the lake and manicured flower beds that swept right to the water’s edge. The sheer beauty captured her attention…until the heel of her pumps caught on a groove in the slate flooring. She wobbled, but righted herself, clutching tighter to her packages. A fine mess she’d be if she ended up on her butt in the lobby of her mother’s new digs, blueberry pie splattered everywhere.
She concentrated on putting one foot then the other solidly on the floor, trying to ignore the splendor of her surroundings and failing. How much did it cost to live in a place like this?
Leave it to Mom to snag another wealthy Romeo. A chill slipped down Jane’s spine and triggered an old anger. A man named Romeo had caused the breakup of her parents’ marriage almost fifteen years ago. To this day, Jane had never forgiven him. She’d lived a year with him as her stepfather and his evil son as a stepbrother. She shuddered.
If not for that Romeo, her mother wouldn’t be flaky when it came to men, or have ended up marrying every Romeo since who crossed her path. That man ruined her mother’s life. And mine.
Jane grappled with the pie boxes, her purse, and cell phone as she stepped into the private elevator and pushed the penthouse button. Just as the door started to close, Tall, Dark, Drop-Dead Gorgeous hurried inside. She reared back and almost dropped the pies, her face heating with alarm.
He reached out to steady her, his cologne stealing through her, a citrusy scent that smelled like…key lime pie? He had a husky, sensuous voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
His deep-dimpled grin reached his warm chocolate eyes, sending a curl of heat through her middle. She couldn’t find her voice. She just nodded.
He turned toward the control panel, humming, seeming to be too happy about something to notice her discomfiture. She wished she could find something happy in this situation, wished that she were only a party-goer and not the daughter of a woman who’d lost her last marble.
As the elevator began its ascent, he moved into the corner opposite her and did what men seemed wont to do whenever a woman crossed their paths…checked her out from head to toe. The already too-tight dress seemed to shrink under his assessing eye, making her more aware than ever of how the fabric hugged her curves. A burn, not unlike desire, flamed through her, but of course, it wasn’t desire. She didn’t even know this guy, or want to know him.
His gaze finally reached her face, his expression belonging to that of a champion poker player. He gestured to the boxes she held. “. . .
When it comes to men, Janey, your mama is as flaky as the crust on my blueberry pie.”
Her grandmother’s words taunted Jane Wilson as she stared at her ringing cell phone. The screen showed a stunning, amber-eyed brunette, former Miss Montana, every bit as beautiful now as the day she’d been crowned. Rebel Scott, aka her “flaky” mother. If Jane could, she would detour around the coming evening like a highway accident and just avoid the whole mess. But somehow she always got sucked into the mama-drama.
“I didn’t forget, Mom,” she answered, juggling the phone and two pie boxes into her Jeep. This month’s specialty at Big Sky Pie just happened to be Jane’s specialty, blueberry pies with buttery crusts that melted on your tongue. “Just leaving the pie shop now.”
Her mother laughed, a sound as melodious as perfectly tuned chimes. “Oh, good. I was afraid…”
That I’d changed my mind? That I wasn’t interested in meeting your latest fiancé, a man whose name you won’t even tell me? Jane prayed for the courage to do what she meant to do tonight; after all, it was for Mom’s own good. “I have the address and the pies. I’ll see you around six.”
If I don’t chicken out by then.
If I can find something to wear, Jane thought, half an hour later as she shuffled through her closet, keeping in mind her own preference for comfortable clothes and her mother’s idea of dinner-appropriate attire. Her mother insisted that she had passed her grace and beauty on to Jane, as well as her singing talent, and that Jane should be competing in beauty contests. Wishful thinking. Jane knew better. She would never be a “Miss” anything. On a one-to-ten beauty scale, she was a solid seven. She’d inherited her dad’s strawberry blond curls and aqua eyes, and Grandma Wilson’s tendency to gain weight just passing by a refrigerator. Could she have chosen a worse profession than pastry chef? Jane smiled. The fact was, the career had chosen her. She’d been baking pies for as long as she could remember.
If getting married was her mother’s passion, baking pies was Jane’s. Not men or dating. Growing up with a serial-bride mother had soured Jane on love. She didn’t need a man to define or complete her. She had a calling.
A calling that was not doing her figure much good, she realized, as she tried on her black sheath and leopard heels. The effect was a longer, leaner look, as chic as Jane ever got, and pulling her hair back in a French braid would highlight the one asset she shared with her mother, her cheekbones, but the image in the mirror showed the dress hugging in a few wrong places, thanks to the fifteen pounds she’d gained at cooking school. The sheath was her only option, however, and it would have to do.
Not that she was likely to gain an ounce tonight given the knot filling her stomach, a knot that grew worse as she soaked in a bubble bath, and after, as she gave herself a pedicure. She might be a mess inside, but she was determined to look put together.
* * *
“Love is like-a my cottage cheese pie, Nickola. Some never take a taste, but those willing to give a try…they in for a big delish-a surprise-a.” Anna Taziano’s advice seemed to pour from the car speakers, startling her grandson Nick as he hit the city limits of Kalispell, Montana. Just back from a business road trip, Nick was suffering the sting of yet another romantic split and longing for some good, old-fashioned, family comfort. So much so apparently that he was receiving it from the great beyond.
He sighed with regret. Granna’s loss was always with him like a bruise that wouldn’t ease. He missed her old-world wisdom, her counsel. What would she say if she were still here?
Stalled at a red light, he envisioned her standing in her farmhouse kitchen, her solid little body encased in its proverbial apron, gray hair twisted into a knot on her head as she shook her wooden spoon at him and tsked. “What I tell-a you, Nickola? You must make-a the sincere, from-a the heart.”
Nick smiled wryly, thinking this was probably the root of the problem. His love life had never been sincere, or from the heart. More like a series of hookups based on convenience, the L word never entering into the equation. A by-product of his business. He didn’t have time for any long-term, serious relationships, so there had been no Ms. Right’s in his life, just a lot of Ms. Right Nows.
The light went green, and Nick turned onto a side street, then circled into an alley two blocks over and into his garage. Though the main office for his advertising company, Adz R Taz, was housed in this downtown Kalispell building, Nick traveled a corridor from Spokane to Billings to Cody, and all places in between to work with customers, setting up or improving their advertising campaigns. The result of so much traveling was that he met some interesting women. Mostly through the lens of his camera. Mostly too-thin models.
And he’d been fried more times than a digital image sensor.
It was getting old. Hell, he was getting old. And lonely. If he wasn’t careful, he would end up like his dad—an aging workaholic with no personal life. Nick would give anything if his dad could find someone he loved the way he’d once loved his second wife, but the bitch had soured his dad on marriage and skewed Nick’s view of it as well. She and her obnoxious little girl, a real pain in the ass.
Nick grabbed his bags from the back of his SUV and started up the stairs to the second-floor loft where he lived and worked. His cell phone rang as he unlocked the door and shoved the bags inside. Still in ad-man mode, he answered without looking at the screen. “Nick Taziano.”
“Nicky!” His dad’s booming voice instantly lifted Nick’s spirits. Damn, he missed his old man. He and Nick moved to Las Vegas after the divorce. His dad still lived there, but Nick had returned to Montana a couple of years ago, where a man could fill his lungs with fresh, crisp air and let his creative juices flow.
“Dad, I was just thinking about you.” Nick shut the loft door and glanced around. Everything looked as he’d left it. The loft was wide open with brick walls, high ceilings, exposed ductwork, and warehouse-sized windows. His work area took up one end wall and consisted of a wraparound counter/desk combo that held his computers, printers, and cameras. “Just walked in the door from a road trip. How’re things shaking in Sin City?”
“Wouldn’t know,” his dad said.
What the hell did that mean? Nick set the briefcase on the work counter, then carried his duffel bag into the bedroom and dropped it on the bed, frowning. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally taken a vacation.”
“Even better.”
Nick pulled his toiletry bag from the duffel and went to the bathroom. A glance in the mirror confirmed a need to shower and shave, but right now, he wanted a beer. He headed back into the main room to the mini-fridge, mulling over what his dad considered even better than a vacation. Romeo Taziano loved cars. Old, new, hot rod, classic. An ace mechanic by the time he was twenty, outgoing and honest, he soon owned an auto repair shop, and when they moved to Vegas, he bought a Rolls-Royce limousine and started Black Tie Limo. Over the past fifteen years, he’d acquired Town Cars, Cadillacs, Hummers, stretch limos, and party buses, becoming one of the city’s premiere transportation services. The only thing Nick could think of that his dad would consider better than a vacation was a staycation chauffeuring some world-famous movie star around town. “Congratulations.”
His dad laughed. “Tell me that after you’ve heard my news.”
“Okay. I’m all ears.”
“I sold the business and retired.”
Nick’s fingers froze on the twist cap of the beer bottle as the impact of this registered. Romeo had meant for Nick to take over the business when he retired, but Nick didn’t share his love of cars, and the frenetic energy of Vegas got on his nerves, stifled his creativity. Still, why would Dad suddenly sell out and retire? He wouldn’t. It made no sense…unless…God, was he ill? Seriously ill? “Dad, are you feeling okay?”
“Never better, son.”
Relief flooded Nick, but it didn’t answer his questions about his dad’s sudden retirement, and his dad wasn’t offering explanations. “I figured you’d keel over behind the wheel of the Rolls before you ever retired.”
“Yeah, I kind of thought that might be my fate, too. But things change.”
Nick took the beer to his bedroom, sank onto the bed, and kicked off his shoes. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? What the hell changed?”
“A lot. In a pretty short time span, too. Look, it’s more than we can discuss over the phone—”
“Like hell. I’m not letting you go until you’ve told me everything.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” There was a pause, then his dad said, “I sold my place in Vegas and bought a condo here.”
“Here? As in Kalispell?”
“Yep. On Flathead Lake.”
“No shit?” Nick gave a whoop of joy. “Then you’re in town?”
His dad laughed. “Moved in this weekend. Wanted to be settled before I told you.”
More likely, he hadn’t wanted to ask Nick to help him move since he knew Nick had a solidly booked work schedule. Like father, like son. As he took down the address, Nick said, “Hey, I know this place. I did their brochure ads and some online stuff. Dad, I can’t wait to see you.” They’d had too little time together these past few years. “We have lots of catching up to do. Let me unpack and wash off the road, then I’ll head that way.”
“Sounds great. Bring your camera. I’m throwing a little get-together, and I’d like to commemorate this new phase of my life.”
He wouldn’t be having his dad to himself? Normally that might disappoint Nick, but given his dad had moved to town, there would be plenty of father-and-son time. Nick had only one reservation. This new phase might bore the socks off his type A personality father. He didn’t want to rain on his dad’s parade, especially when he sounded so cheery, but it had to be said. “Are you sure you’re going to have enough to do with your days now?”
“Well, that’s another little surprise I’ve been saving for you.”
Nick wasn’t sure he could take another surprise and braced for bad news. “What?”
“You might want to sit down for this one, pal.” His dad laughed.
“I am sitting down.”
“Your old man is getting married.”
Nick’s mouth dropped open, but the shock quickly spun to delight. Yes, it was happening pretty damned quickly, but after a two-decade drought, fast seemed almost called for. “That is fanfuckingtastic! Who is this lucky lady?”
His dad was laughing again. “You’ll meet her tonight. Party starts at six p.m. Champagne and dinner on me.”
Nick hung up, grinning. “Well, Granna, it looks like your son, Romeo, took your advice.” He was taking a chance on love. Nick hoped his dad was in for one “big delish-a surprise-a.”
* * *
At five forty-five, Jane found herself maneuvering through Kalispell’s late afternoon rush hour traffic, summer sunshine a glare on the windshield. A warm breeze swept in through the open Jeep windows and across the pie boxes on the passenger seat, blowing the sweet perfume of freshly baked blueberry pie past her nose. Instead of comfort in the familiar aromas, Jane found only disquiet. Why wouldn’t her mother tell her who she was marrying?
Probably worried I’ll Google him. Like last time. And the time before that. But wasn’t it a daughter’s obligation to look out for her mother when the mother didn’t seem to ever look out for herself? Of course it was.
Once Jane reached the outskirts of town, she glanced at the GPS app on her phone, checking the directions. Five miles farther on, she spied the sign for Buffalo Ridge hanging from a massive stone arch and pulled onto a blacktopped drive that led down to a wide-open parking area. Jane’s gaze went to the four-story building that stood on the edge of Flathead Lake. The exterior seemed to have been carved from the natural, gigantic boulders and Douglas fir prevalent along the lakeside, the visual effect something between a grand hotel and a mountain lodge.
The interior continued the natural theme and yet offered a sense of grandeur in the slate floors and rich decor. There was even a doorman and security. She gave the doorman her mother’s name, was checked off his list of expected party guests, and given directions to the condo.
Balancing the pie boxes on top of each other, Jane headed for the bank of elevators, her gaze on the wall of windows that showed views of the lake and manicured flower beds that swept right to the water’s edge. The sheer beauty captured her attention…until the heel of her pumps caught on a groove in the slate flooring. She wobbled, but righted herself, clutching tighter to her packages. A fine mess she’d be if she ended up on her butt in the lobby of her mother’s new digs, blueberry pie splattered everywhere.
She concentrated on putting one foot then the other solidly on the floor, trying to ignore the splendor of her surroundings and failing. How much did it cost to live in a place like this?
Leave it to Mom to snag another wealthy Romeo. A chill slipped down Jane’s spine and triggered an old anger. A man named Romeo had caused the breakup of her parents’ marriage almost fifteen years ago. To this day, Jane had never forgiven him. She’d lived a year with him as her stepfather and his evil son as a stepbrother. She shuddered.
If not for that Romeo, her mother wouldn’t be flaky when it came to men, or have ended up marrying every Romeo since who crossed her path. That man ruined her mother’s life. And mine.
Jane grappled with the pie boxes, her purse, and cell phone as she stepped into the private elevator and pushed the penthouse button. Just as the door started to close, Tall, Dark, Drop-Dead Gorgeous hurried inside. She reared back and almost dropped the pies, her face heating with alarm.
He reached out to steady her, his cologne stealing through her, a citrusy scent that smelled like…key lime pie? He had a husky, sensuous voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
His deep-dimpled grin reached his warm chocolate eyes, sending a curl of heat through her middle. She couldn’t find her voice. She just nodded.
He turned toward the control panel, humming, seeming to be too happy about something to notice her discomfiture. She wished she could find something happy in this situation, wished that she were only a party-goer and not the daughter of a woman who’d lost her last marble.
As the elevator began its ascent, he moved into the corner opposite her and did what men seemed wont to do whenever a woman crossed their paths…checked her out from head to toe. The already too-tight dress seemed to shrink under his assessing eye, making her more aware than ever of how the fabric hugged her curves. A burn, not unlike desire, flamed through her, but of course, it wasn’t desire. She didn’t even know this guy, or want to know him.
His gaze finally reached her face, his expression belonging to that of a champion poker player. He gestured to the boxes she held. “. . .
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