Читать книгу Hard To Handle - Jamie Denton Ann - Страница 8

“IS CHOCOLATE REALLY better than sex?” Michaela Correlli asked her sisters, licking a dollop of creamy dark chocolate from the tip of her index finger. Savoring the rich taste, she moaned with sheer hedonistic delight. “This stuff definitely qualifies as a front runner.”

“Depends on the chocolate—and the man.” Lauren Massey polished off her éclair and already had her eye on a second. “Not that I’ve had much by way of comparison lately,” she added.

Mikki envied her younger sister’s ability to eat whatever she wanted and not gain an ounce. If Mikki so much as considered indulging in a second of her older sister Aurora “Rory” Constable’s scrumptious bakery goodies, she’d be relegated to the treadmill for the remainder of her natural life.

“These are a lot more satisfying than the last loser I laid.” Mikki slid the delicate rose-patterned china plate in front of Lauren. “Maybe I should give up sex and stick to chocolate.”

Rory held an oversize Lavender Field promotional mug in her hand. “That’ll be the day,” she said, her green eyes warm with affection.

“I could, you know,” Mikki said, a tad too defensively to be totally convincing.

Lauren snickered.

Mikki smoothed her hands down her slim black skirt as she rose to pour herself another cup of coffee from the big stainless-steel coffee urn in the corner of the back room of Rory’s flagship bakery, Lavender Field. She shot them both a warning glance, which they ignored.

Lauren only laughed louder. “Not in this lifetime, Mikki Mantis.”

Mikki gave the hem of her wine-colored blazer a sharp, indignant tug cringing at the nickname. They knew her too well. She had about as much hope of giving up sex as the San Francisco 49ers did of making it to another Super Bowl without the quarterbacking talents of Joe Montana or Steve Young. Some things in life just weren’t meant to be. As long as Lauren or Rory didn’t expect her to start mooning over some guy, then she figured no harm, no fumble.

“Are you going to tell us what was so important that it couldn’t wait until Saturday?” Lauren asked. “I have a meeting with my managing editor, aka the Queen of Pain, in an hour.”

Mikki returned to her stool and set the matching china cup on the scarred surface of the old butcher-block worktable. The air was redolent with the aromas of freshly baked bread and the dried bunches of lavender strung from the overhead beams. Since Rory had first opened Lavender Field, which had grown into one of the Bay area’s most popular bakeries with a fourth location under development, Mikki and Lauren had been meeting here most Saturday mornings. Their weekly bull sessions touched on men, sex, hopes, dreams, men, sex, work, life, men, sex, films, books. No taboo subject existed between them.

Since Lauren and Rory weren’t her sisters by blood, but of the heart, their relationship was even more precious to Mikki. Rory’s mother, Emma, had been Mikki’s foster mother from the time Mikki had been placed in the Constable home when social services had stepped in to remove her from a bad situation.

Twenty years later she still cringed whenever she recalled what a horrid little witch she’d been those first few months. Mouthy. Sullen. Sneaky… She’d ducked out one night and got herself busted for lifting a bag of potato chips from the corner liquor store. Another night, she’d been picked up by the cops on a curfew violation. All in all, she’d just made a general nuisance of herself. After cutting so many classes she now considered it a miracle she’d even made it out of the seventh grade. She hadn’t made Emma Constable’s job easy, but then, Mikki hadn’t been expecting to stick around for long. Why would she when, at twelve, she’d already been shuffled through a half-dozen foster homes in less than two years?

Initially she’d kept her distance. She hadn’t seen the point in becoming attached to people when they’d eventually call her social worker and toss her out because she wasn’t worth the effort. Although she had instantly recognized that Emma wasn’t like the other foster moms she’d been subjected to, she hadn’t been dumb enough to believe the woman’s earth-mother mask had been for real. In her experience, once the social worker dumped her and took off, the wholesome, all-American family facade faded fast and Mikki would be faced with a not-so-pleasant reality that consisted of foster parents who cared more about the state’s monthly stipend than the kids in their care.

But Emma had eventually proven different. Months later the mask remained firmly in place, which had only added to Mikki’s confusion. On the surface Emma’s devotion to each of the children in her care appeared sincere. She’d been kind, fiercely protective and gently handed out discipline when warranted, the latter of which Mikki had earned plenty of during those first few months. Regardless of whatever stupid stunt she’d pulled, though, Emma’s affection had remained steadfast. With an abundance of unconditional love, an unending supply of patience and her own odd brand of homespun wisdom, Mikki had eventually figured out that Emma Constable was the genuine article.

A number of troubled young girls had benefited from being placed in Emma’s care over the years, but for the most part, they hadn’t been long-term cases like herself and Lauren, who’d arrived four years after Mikki. Lauren had been fifteen, scared, confused and orphaned, and one year behind Mikki in school. As a matter of emotional survival, Mikki had made a habit of keeping people at a distance, but she’d done the unthinkable the day a group of preppies had picked on Lauren and had become her champion. Mikki had gone ballistic and ended up with a two-day suspension for fighting. To this day, she wasn’t about to stand down when someone messed with her family.

She remembered expecting Emma to ground her for a month after that trick, but while the peace-prone Emma hadn’t condoned Mikki’s behavior, she hadn’t exactly condemned it, either. Instead she’d encouraged Mikki to nurture her protective instincts in a more positive way. With Emma’s guidance and encouragement, she’d become an attorney. She truly loved her work as a child advocate with San Francisco County Legal Aid, representing kids with backgrounds similar to her own who desperately needed someone in their corner.

A smile touched Mikki’s lips as she pulled a pair of tickets from her handbag. “Because Saturday would be too late,” she said, handing one to each of them. “These are only good for Friday night.”

Rory set her mug on the table and shot Mikki a wry glance. “What’s this all about?”

“A charity event.” She sounded much too chipper, instantly raising her sisters’ warning flags. They really did know her far too well.

“‘Unlock the possibilities,’” Lauren read, then regarded Mikki with the same wariness as Rory. “Mikki, you’re up to something.”

Mikki took no offense at the accusation in Lauren’s tone. “Before either of you even think of saying no, it really is for a good cause.” Forget playing a trump card, she’d go straight for the emotional jugular. “Maureen Baxter is hosting the event to raise money for a transitional home for young girls in crisis situations. With the shortage of qualified foster care, Baxter House will be an alternative to county housing.”

What were once commonly known as orphanages or county homes were supposed to be safe havens, but overcrowded conditions and understaffing had all too often led to less than desirable environments that made the juvenile facilities an unfavorable option for displaced children.

“You know what nightmares those places can be,” Mikki added, shooting Lauren a meaningful glance. “Courtesy of all the budget cutbacks, the situation is only becoming worse.” Mikki and Lauren had both briefly lived at McClanin Hall, a county facility with a bad reputation due to its rough, prisonlike atmosphere. Rory had heard their horror stories and Mikki felt confident that that alone would be more than enough to push her sisters into conceding.

They both looked resigned, which made Mikki smile. Maureen Baxter, who was a couple of years younger than Mikki, had been another of Emma’s girls. She had come along during Mikki’s last year of high school after her mother had been killed by her abusive husband. Mikki wasn’t as close to Maureen as she was to Lauren or to Rory, but they still shared a few bonds. Their affection and respect for the woman who’d cared for them for one, their work with children being another. As an attorney and child advocate for legal aid, the bulk of Mikki’s caseload came from the child welfare division, where Maureen was employed as a social worker.

“If anyone can make it happen,” she continued, “it’ll be Maureen. She’s one of the most compassionate, driven women I know.” Mikki supported the cause completely, and had been working closely with Maureen, wading through the sea of legal red tape involved in such a huge undertaking.

“She already has the licensing,” she told them. “Between what little government funding she’s finagled, and the generosity of several financial contributors, she’s close to turning Baxter House into a reality. She’s having it built on that piece of raw land she inherited from her mother’s estate. This event is to raise money for the building fund.”

Lauren flicked her fingernail over the glossy black ticket with bright neon-pink lettering. “Fifty dollars?” she exclaimed, upon closer inspection. “Per person?”

“It’s on me,” Mikki reassured her. Fifty bucks wouldn’t make a dent in Rory’s wallet, and would leave only a small one in her own, but Lauren was a struggling journalist who worked for little more than peanuts half the time.

“Exactly what kind of possibilities are we supposed to unlock for fifty bucks?”

Rory leaned forward on the table, giving the éclairs she’d foresworn a longing look before resolutely wrapping her hands around the mug. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Ever hear of speed dating?”

“Sure,” Lauren said with a shrug. “You pay an entry fee and then spend ten minutes chatting with some guy. If you hit it off, great. If he’s a dud, then in ten minutes you’re free to move on to the next one.”

“Count me out.” Rory plunked down her mug and stood.

“But—”

“Speed rejection is more like it. Forget it, Mikki,” Rory said in that stubborn way of hers that drove Mikki even crazier than when she called her Mikki Mantis. “I’ll reimburse you for the ticket and I’ll fork over a nice-size donation, but there’s no way I’m going to subject myself to that kind of humiliation.”

“Oh, come on, Rory,” she argued. “It’s not technically speed dating. Actually, it’s more like a key party. Sort of.”

Looking even more dubious, Rory smoothed her sweater over her generous hips. “A key party? Like in The Ice Storm? You’ve got to be kidding. I thought those died out way back in the seventies, along with Mom’s love beads and hookah pipe.”

“Key parties are trendy again.” Mikki grinned. “I hear hookahs are, too.”

“I’m not the trendy type.”

“Oh, I dunno, Rory,” Lauren chimed in hopefully. “It might be fun.”

“It will be,” Mikki rallied. “Fifty dollars buys a key or lock ticket. The male guests are all given keys and the women an adorable pendant in the shape of a tiny white-gold suitcase. Which, by the way, we get to keep. How can you say no to free jewelry, all for circulating, flirting and having fun trying to find out who holds the key to your locket? The guy with the key that opens your suitcase is your date for whatever prize is drawn from the raffle ticket hidden inside. Everybody wins.”

Non-key-holder tickets were also available, but Mikki kept that fact to herself. She knew which option Rory would choose and, in Mikki’s opinion, there was more to life than bread rolls and solitary annual excursions to France. Her sister desperately needed a life—even if she refused to admit it.

Rory still didn’t look too convinced. “I don’t know…”

Mikki understood her sister’s hesitation, although she didn’t agree with it. Rory was a beautiful, striking woman, but after an awkward adolescence plagued by weight problems and few dates, coupled with a nasty breakup with her only long-term boyfriend, she was now painfully self-conscious about her figure. Having more than a few hang-ups of her own, Mikki couldn’t completely discount Rory’s apprehension.

“Oo-oh,” Lauren murmured, putting down her ticket to pluck a flyer from Mikki’s purse. “The grand prize is an all-inclusive weekend in Mendocino at the Painter’s Cove Resort. The winners share a luxury suite with a hot tub and private pool.” A lascivious grin canted her lips. “I could handle that.”

“A weekend with a total stranger,” Rory reminded them. “It could end up being the blind date from hell.”

“Or not,” Lauren said, opening the brochure. “Tennis, golf, horseback riding on the beach. Even an on-site spa. Oh, my God—they have mud baths and hot stone massages.”

Rory shuddered. “A naked weekend with a total stranger.”

“No one says you actually have to go on the date with the guy,” Mikki pointed out. “Look, Maureen’s been working hard on this event and is counting on all of us being there to support her. The backing from city merchants has been amazing.”

Lauren perused the extensive list of prizes, then handed the brochure to Rory. “It looks like every movieplex in the entire Bay area has donated passes.”

Rory brightened. “Movie passes? Now you’re talking my language.”

“Tons of them,” Mikki said. “Including the theaters, the opera house—even the ballet company. They were all happy to hand over almost a dozen pairs of tickets. Maureen’s gotten just about every trendy or exclusive restaurant in San Francisco to each contribute three or more dinners for two, and even managed to wrangle nearly a third of the B and B’s in Napa to donate weekend stays. There are a couple of day-spa packages, too. I would love to get my hands on one of those.”

“She really worked hard on this,” Rory said. “It looks like every lock-and-key ticket holder will receive a prize of some sort.”

Mikki sensed her weakening and went in for the proverbial kill. “Baxter House is important to her. And to me, too. I wish there’d been a place like that when I was in the system,” she added, hoping it would be the final push over the edge into acceptance.

Rory let out a sigh, then placed the brochure on the table before crossing the workroom to pull a lavender apron from the hook by the rear door. “I’ll reimburse you for my ticket, but I don’t need to be there.”

“Well…” Mikki hesitated. She wasn’t all that comfortable the key party plan herself. When it came to men, she didn’t exactly wear a user-friendly label. The truth was, she had a tendency to use men for sex. She had no use for relationships or romantic entanglements. The female version of the old love-’em-and-leave-’em cliché. “You sorta do.”

Rory slipped the loop of the apron over her head and tied the sash. “Why, exactly, do I sorta have to be there?”

“Because I kind of promised Maureen you’d…” Oh, she’d really done it this time. Rory was going to kill her.

Her sister’s eyes instantly filled with suspicion. “That I’d what, Mikki?”

“Donate desserts and pastries from the shop,” she said in a rush.

Rory folded her arms, raised one eyebrow and gave her a direct look. “For how many people?” Her sister obviously knew a rat—even one with good intentions—when she smelled one.

Lauren nudged Mikki with her elbow. “Have you ever noticed how much she looks like Mom when she does that? Scary.”

“I always hated that look,” Mikki muttered.

“Because you knew she’d busted you cold,” Lauren reminded her.

“Well?” Rory impatiently prodded.

Mikki sucked in a quick breath that did nothing to alleviate the stab of guilt. “Five hundred.” She winced before adding, “Minimum.”

Lauren’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Mikki, you’ve always been pushy, but even you have to admit this time you just may have crossed the line.”

“I think I figured that one out, Lauren.”

“Are you for real?” Rory’s tone rose sharply, but contained no anger, only shocked disbelief.

Mikki couldn’t really blame her if she was angry. She had resorted to out-and-out manipulation, even if it was for Rory’s own good. Since she’d opened Lavender Field she’d been working too hard and it was time she let loose and had a little fun. Although whipping up baked goods for five-hundred-plus people didn’t exactly qualify as fun, she suddenly realized.

“I’ll help,” Mikki offered. She was a much better lawyer than a cook, and hoped her sister would forget that minute detail.

“Prepare baked goods and pastries for five hundred people or more with only four days’ notice?” Rory’s expression remained tough as nails even though she had an expert staff at her disposal. “You bet you will.”

“So will I,” Lauren added, leaning over to offer Mikki a sympathetic hug.

Rory shook her head. “Dammit, Mikki. I can’t believe you did this to me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I should be shot. But think of all the great publicity for Lavender Field. With your fourth store opening soon, it can’t hurt.”

“Maureen’s really expecting five hundred people to show up for this thing?” Lauren asked.

“She’s hoping for twice that,” Mikki answered. “She’s sold five hundred tickets so far.”

“Impressive, but that’s hardly going to cover the cost of construction,” Rory pointed out.

“Maureen found a contractor willing to donate the work for free, and is arranging for subcontractors who’ll do the same. All she has to do is raise enough to cover the cost of materials,” Mikki explained. She turned to Lauren. “Could you do a story on the fund-raiser? This is San Francisco. You know how we love our causes. Who knows what kind of additional donations it might bring in for Baxter House. Maureen would love the free publicity.”

“Maybe,” Lauren said with a fair degree of hesitation, but Mikki could tell by her sister’s expression she was giving serious consideration to the idea.

“Maybe you should ask Maureen first,” Rory chided with a hint of sarcasm.

Mikki shot Rory an exasperated look. “I said I was sorry. Sheesh, do you want it in blood?”

Rory’s wry smile was slow in coming. “Flour will do just fine. And you’d better be here by six o’clock to start signing. Call it just deserts for volunteering my services.” She snorted. “And risking my dignity at a key party, of all things.”

Mikki she loved these women with all her heart. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact they never could say no to her.

BALANCING THREE DRINK glasses in her hands, Mikki nodded her thanks to the bartender then navigated the crush of charity-loving partygoers at Clementine’s to make her way back to the table where Rory and Lauren waited for her. A particularly attractive denim-covered ass caught her attention and she paused momentarily to check out the rest. Trim waist, wide shoulders and…oops. That little gold band on his left hand was more than enough of a deterrent for her to keep walking. Still, that ass definitely deserved a second glance and she shamelessly enjoyed the view as she passed.

A stocky guy with dark wavy hair sporting a small, twinkling diamond in his ear blatantly gave her the once-over as she moved closer to Rory and Lauren. Under normal circumstances, Mikki didn’t go out of her way to encourage men who came on to her, but she’d had a brutally disappointing day in court. She still couldn’t believe the judge had ordered the minor she’d been representing back into his junkie, trick-turning mother’s custody when the child’s paternal grandparents were willing to assume his care. Despite Mikki’s strenuous objections, the judge had ruled in favor of the boy’s biological mother, but Mikki knew from experience the kid would be back in the system within a few months, with who knew how many new emotional scars.

The guy with the earring winked at her. Maybe some safe but mindless sex would take the edge off, she thought. She usually preferred the role of the aggressor. Her party, her rules. As long as she called the shots, she stayed in control, which was the only way she liked it.

Diamond Jim did have a pair of gorgeous, clear green eyes that perhaps made him worthy of a pithy innuendo about locks and keys. At least until he nudged the guy next to him and made an obscene gesture about the generous size of her breasts.

She considered pouring her drink over his head as she passed, but couldn’t justify wasting a perfectly good diet soda on a classless jerk. Instead, she shot him a cold look and kept moving.

In an era where reed-thin models graced the covers of nearly every magazine on the stands, she had the kind of body that had gone out of fashion five decades ago. As one of her previous lovers had told her after she’d shown him the exit, she had a body made for sin, but the heart of an ice queen.

She’d laughed in his face as she held the door open for him, all because he’d kept pressing her for a commitment. She’d warned him she wasn’t into exclusive relationships, but he hadn’t listened. Why was the concept of a no-strings affair so difficult to grasp? Men did it all the time, but when a woman wanted to do the same, she was called coldhearted or worse. She’d already found and lost her one true love—if such a thing even existed—but it had ended badly and she had no desire to repeat the experience. Ever.

“Don’t you just love a good buffet?” Lauren said when Mikki reached their table, now laden with small oval platters, one of them heaped with various tidbits and a small sampling of the goodies from Rory’s shop—thankfully prepared by Rory and her competent staff. Rory had lightened up and hadn’t forced Mikki to actually keep her word when she’d arrived to help. She’d even added a prize of her own to the cause with a day behind the scenes at Lavender Field along with a month’s supply of baked goods.

“Who wouldn’t?” Mikki answered, carefully setting their drinks amid the array of food. “There’s always bound to be just the right combination to sate most any appetite.” She paused while handing Lauren her drink to blatantly follow the progress of a tall, athletically built Adonis with sun-kissed blond hair and a confident swagger striding toward the black-and-white-tiled dance floor.

Rory made a minor adjustment to the shimmering lilac shawl draped loosely over her shoulders before taking a tentative sip of her white wine. “I have a feeling she’s not talking about the food,” she said to Lauren over the din of conversation.

“Does she ever think of anything besides sex?” Lauren returned with a laugh, taking her drink from Mikki.

Mikki perched on the stool and carefully tugged down the hem of her short, black sleeveless dress. “Not really,” she said, before taking a sip of soda. God, what she wouldn’t give for a real drink. She’d even settle for one of Lauren’s favored frou-frou blended numbers—a sign of true desperation.

Lauren let out a weighty sigh. “Don’t you ever want more from a relationship than sex?”

“Sex is the only relationship I’m interested in, thank you very much.” A long and lean stud looked her way. She smiled at him and slowly lifted the delicate white-gold chain around her neck, the small suitcase charm Maureen had given her upon arriving swinging enticingly in front of her cleavage. His deep-set eyes filled with regret as he shrugged and displayed empty hands.

She let out a sigh. Damn. No key. Not every guest at Clementine’s had opted to purchase a lock or key ticket, although they had paid the rather steep entrance fee to the private party. The few moments she’d had to speak to Maureen upon arriving, her friend had been ecstatic about the money being raised for Baxter House. There’d even been a sizable donation from one of the wealthy and privileged Telegraph Hill set.

“Don’t you ever look at a guy—like him for instance—” Lauren inclined her head in the keyless stud’s direction “—and wonder if he could be the one?”

Mikki forced a laugh. She’d found “the one” once and, as a matter of self-preservation, she’d pushed him away. Hell would freeze over before she ever went there again. She had too many skeletons in her closet and preferred to keep them locked away, something a serious relationship wouldn’t permit, not when trust required a certain level intimacy she had no interest in exploring.

Keep it simple, keep it short, keep them from getting close enough to see what she kept hidden in the closet. That was her motto, and she was sticking to it—with the tenacity of a pit bull.

“The one to make me scream with pleasure?” she replied with her usual flippancy whenever Lauren started with the Cinderella propaganda. “All the time.”

“No,” Lauren said, her tone serious. “Settle down. Buy real estate.” She studied the creamy liquid in her glass, appropriately called a White Knight. “Have a family.”

“I don’t need a man for that,” Mikki said with more brittle laughter. “Just a better-paying job.” She let out a weary sigh. “I don’t have the intrinsic need most women do to nest. I’m a realist, Lauren. Not a romantic.”

Lauren lifted her clear hazel gaze to give her a pointed look. “What about a family?”

Mikki shrugged, but the unexpected weight settling on her shoulders refused to budge. “You, Rory and Mom are my family.” She downed a large portion of her diet cola. The sorry substitute did nothing to quell the sudden sharp craving for something a whole lot more potent than an innocuous soft drink.

“I meant a family of your own,” Lauren pressed. “You’d make a great mother, Mikki. I hope you realize that someday.”

No way. Not her. Never.

She knew exactly what her sister meant and she resented the reminder. She suffered with more sorrow than she’d ever admit to over her decision to never have children. But she couldn’t change the past. She was who she was—a Correlli. And the bloodline ended with her. Period. She’d learned to accept her fate—why wouldn’t anyone else?

But something deep in Mikki’s chest still caught and squeezed hard anyway. It wasn’t the sharp pang of longing. Or was it? Maybe it was another one of those annoying ticks from her biological clock that hadn’t caught on that Correllis had no business breeding. She kept hitting the snooze button, but every so often the what-ifs managed to sneak past her barriers to tweak her self-pity nerve. She couldn’t change who or what she was: the last woman who should ever consider having a baby.

“Motherhood doesn’t interest me,” she said a tad too snappishly. Guilt instantly slammed into her at the flash of hurt in Lauren’s eyes.

Shit. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but Lauren was hitting a nerve she didn’t appreciate having nudged. What was done was done. And she’d gotten over it a lifetime ago.

“You’re wonderful with kids.” Rory tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Just as long as they belong to someone else,” she reminded Rory. “When you two decide to start having babies, count on me to spoil them rotten. Now, can we please change the subject before I break out in hives?”

A server neared and Mikki signaled to place another order. She would have sold her soul and then some for a something strong enough to anesthetize her mind. She loved Lauren but, dammit, she had no desire to navigate an emotional obstacle course.

The server took his sweet time coming their way, giving the craving gnawing at her time to build. Her hands trembled, so she fisted them in her lap and attempted to concentrate on the rich red-and-gold, bordelloesque decor of Clementine’s. The need for a shot of bourbon only grew stronger. After four years of sobriety, it annoyed the life out of her that she still had to fight off such strong temptation for a drink—for several drinks—but she’d learned early on that some days were easier to get through than others.

She dug her nails into her palms as the server finally approached. “There’s a twenty in it for you if you’re back in less than five minutes,” she told him, placing an order for another two glasses of soda and another round for Lauren and Rory.

Opening her black silk evening bag, she pulled out her car keys and set them in front of Rory for safekeeping. “Just in case,” she said tightly. “It’s one of those days.”

Rory’s expression instantly filled with concern, but Mikki shook her head, signaling she didn’t want to discuss the war going on inside her. She’d get through this, just as she always did. One second at a time if necessary. Ridding herself of her car keys was merely a precaution.

Contrition clouded Lauren’s eyes. Reaching across the table, she gave Mikki’s hand a light squeeze. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

She looked at Lauren and tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but could only manage a slight grimace. “Forget about it,” she said with as much sincerity as she could muster. “I already have.”

A lie. A big fat one, but she wasn’t about to hurt Lauren’s feelings further or cause either of her sisters more worry. Mikki’s ghosts were her problem.

She knew they were only concerned about her, and with good reason, but she wasn’t about to blow all her hard work because of a silly reminder that she’d willingly chucked her own glass slipper out the window. She’d made her choices and, for the most part, was perfectly content with her life. She had a job she loved, a small but close circle of friends and her odd, mismatched family. If she needed a man, she found one to ease her frustration. On those occasions between lovers, she took care of her needs the way any woman with a healthy sex drive did—by making sure there were plenty of batteries on hand.

The server returned in record time. As Mikki paid him and included the bonus she’d promised, Rory said something she didn’t quite catch, but the urgency in her voice had Mikki looking up to follow her sister’s gaze.

There wasn’t enough alcohol in Clementine’s to numb her. Not when she found herself gazing at a pair of familiar dark brown bedroom eyes she’d never been able to forget, no matter how many vices she abused to banish them from her mind.

The buzz of conversation, the raucous beat of the music and the colorful changing lights from the dance floor faded. Rory’s hand settled on her arm, but Mikki took no comfort from the supportive gesture as she returned the stare of the one man she’d hoped to never see again—Nolan Baylor.

Her heart gave a sudden traitorous lurch. Damn.

The passage of time had been good to him. His shoulders seemed wider than she remembered and his biceps, emphasized by the snug fit of the sleeves of the dark, charcoal-gray polo shirt he wore, were definitely thicker. His waist appeared leaner, too, but he still possessed the same rugged good looks she’d always preferred.

A slow, sinful smile tipped his mouth. The lines of his face were more angular now, too, she realized. Sharper. Harder. Just like the challenging glint in his eyes.

Every step that brought him closer filled her with tension.

His smile deepened.

A flash of silver caught the light. Apprehension slid down her spine, chilling her. Dangling from her ex-husband’s long, tanned fingers was a small white-gold key.