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Twice the Temptation
Cara Summers
Playing with Reese Reese Brightman has a busy life. . . and a secret fantasy: to play with a no-strings-attached boy toy!When she arrives at the resort she and her sisters own, gorgeously rumpled Mac Davies seems to be up to the task. Who’d have guessed he’d be the best sex she’d ever had? And what would it take to get a repeat performance? Saving Brie Being witness to a mob hit lands Brie Sullivan at remote Haworth House for her own protection.Still, she also gets an irresistibly sexy new bodyguard, Cody Marsh! Why not indulge in her fantasy of one wild night with him? It’s not like all that amazing sex will kill her. But if she keeps distracting Cody, somebody else might…



Look what people are saying about Cara Summers.
“Cara Summers knows how to write fun yet passionate plots that readers will never forget.”
—Romance Junkies
“I can’t wait to read more by Cara Summers.”
—The Best Reviews
“Ms. Summers is a compelling storyteller with a gift for emotional and dramatic prose.”
—Rendezvous
“With exquisite flair, Ms. Summers thrills us with her fresh, exciting voice as well as rich characterization and spicy adventure.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A writer of incredible talent with a gift for emotional stories laced with humor and passion.”
—Rendezvous
“A great mystery. The excitement and romance never end. Top Pick.”
—RT Book Reviews on Christmas Male
Dear Reader,
When the Brightman sisters open Haworth House, a small hotel on an island off the coast of Maine, they get more than they bargained for—including Hattie Haworth, a resident ghost who can transform their most secret fantasies into reality …
And she’s going to do it again for a few lucky couples attending a special singles’ weekend.
As the youngest of three sisters, workaholic five-star chef Reese Brightman has always followed the path of least resistance. But no more. Now she’s going to take charge of her life, starting with fulfilling the secret fantasy she drew out of Hattie’s hat box.
Not only is lounge singer Brie Sullivan the star witness in the murder trial of a mob boss, but her first bodyguard has been shot. When she meets her new protector, former CIA agent Cody Marsh, the thrill of having him watch over her, day and night, definitely takes her mind off her problems.
I’ve had so much fun writing this FORBIDDEN FANTASY book. It’s allowed me to bring to a conclusion all the stories that I began in my other Blaze
books, Led into Temptation and Taken Beyond Temptation. I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did.
Love and laughter always,
Cara Summers

About the Author
Was CARA SUMMERS born with the dream of becoming a published romance novelist? No. But now that she is, she still feels her dream has come true. She loves writing for the Blaze line because it allows her to create strong, determined women and seriously sexy men who will risk everything to achieve their dreams. Cara has written more than thirty books, and when she isn’t working on new stories, she teaches in the Writing Program at Syracuse University and at a community college near her home.
Twice the Temptation
Cara Summers


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my brother Andy who reads all of
my books and thinks I’m a better writer than
“Billy” Shakespeare! You are definitely my
biggest fan. And thanks for posing for all of my
covers, too! I love you!

Prologue
MAKING A SALES PITCH to a ghost wasn’t something they’d covered in the MBA program at Harvard’s Business School. No, indeedy, thought Avery Cooper as he stepped into the tower room where the spirit of legendary film star Hattie Haworth had resided for some forty-five years.
Avery straightened his tie and took a deep breath. He’d been managing the Haworth House hotel for the Brightman sisters well over a year now, and he’d known right from the get-go that the original owner haunted the place. The story was that she’d fled to Belle Island to build her new home when both her marriage and her career had tanked in Hollywood.
She’d appeared to all three of the sisters right in this very room. Jillian Brightman, his best friend and excollege roommate, had included that piece of information when she’d hired him to manage the hotel.
Avery doubted that a dozen ghosts could have deterred him from accepting her job offer. Not once Jillian had explained what she and her sisters, Naomi and Reese, had in mind. And now, the picture she’d painted for him—a small exclusive hotel on an island off the coast of Maine—had become a reality.
He let his gaze sweep the tower room. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through a circle of windows, and the muted sound of the sea could be heard crashing on the rocks below. During the renovation, the tower room had been turned into an office/sitting room where each of the sisters worked when they were in residence. But fifty-five years ago, this was where Hattie Haworth and her lover, a man from the village, had shared their love and lived out their fantasies for nearly a year.
You’re stalling. Avery frowned. What in the world was wrong with him? In his line of work, he was never at a loss for words. And Hattie Haworth had already proven that she loved the sisters as much as he did. Not only had she played a role in saving both Naomi’s and Jillian’s lives but she’d brought them each together with their true loves by satisfying their most secret fantasies.
And the fantasies were what he needed to talk to Hattie about. Avery strode forward until he stood in front of the gilt-framed, beveled mirror. Peering into it, all he could see was his own reflection—a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned man in his late twenties. His grandmother would have approved of the clothes—a suit, tie and shirt in varying shades of gray. Grandma Cooper had always told him that it was important to dress well.
He could only hope that Hattie shared that opinion. But so far, he saw no sign of that in the glass. All three of the sisters claimed to have glimpsed Hattie Haworth’s image in the mirror. Naomi and Jillian had also claimed to have carried on one-sided conversations with her.
Shit. He fingered his tie again. He hadn’t been this nervous when he’d defended his Masters thesis at Harvard.
“Hattie, I’m Avery Cooper. You may have seen me around.”
Duh. Get to the point. “I came to talk to you about an idea I have. It concerns your fantasy box and Reese.”
Avery blinked, then narrowed his eyes. Was that the tiniest flash of light he’d seen in the mirror?
“Jillian told me all about how she found your secret room and the hat box with the fantasies in it, how she and her sisters each chose an envelope out of it on the night they bought Haworth House.”
He paused, but saw nothing in the mirror. Had he imagined it?
“Okay, old news. But I want you to know that I think the world of the two men Naomi and Jillian have hooked up with as a result of those fantasies. Dane and Ian MacFarland are the best.” In his opinion, the two men were perfect matches for Naomi and Jillian. Now, if Hattie could just work the same magic for Reese …
This time he was sure he saw a shimmer of light. Just for an instant. But it was enough to make his heart skip a beat.
Okay, you’ve got her attention. Now all you have to do is sell it.
“I have this idea. Reese is a bang-up chef. The whole menu here at the hotel is hers. And she designed the kitchen. She’s so good that the pilot she filmed for a syndicated cooking show in L.A. has just sold thirteen episodes.”
Get to the point. “But she hasn’t been back to visit the hotel in a while. She’s moved all her stuff in, but she hasn’t really made the place her home. Reese claims she’s too busy. But even now, when she’s on a break from filming her new TV series, she’s holed up in L.A.”
Avery stepped closer to the mirror. “I’m wondering if she’s worried about that parchment envelope she drew out of your fantasy box. You know, you’re two for two in the fantasy-fulfillment department. If I’d drawn one out, I might be a little nervous, too.”
When he paused to take a breath, Avery was almost sure he heard a sound. Laughter?
Narrowing his eyes, he raised both hands, palms outward. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m okay in the fantasy department. My partner and I are very happy.”
Nothing.
When in doubt, forge ahead. “The thing is, I’d like to see Reese as happy as her sisters.” He cleared his throat. “And she’s not. What I think she needs is a good nudge. And you’re the best nudger I know. So I came up with the idea of offering a Singles Weekend here at the hotel, one that would include events—beach picnics and other activities like hiking and sailing—so that singles with similar interests can hook up with each other. I did some fast talking and convinced Reese she needed to be here for it. Her sisters and their fiancés are all traveling and I told her one of the owners had to be around.” He waved a hand. “Yada, yada, yada. I’ve even persuaded her to do a little hands-on cooking demo on Sunday afternoon for the foodies.”
Avery stopped and drew in a deep breath.
When he paused this time, there were no lights, no laughs. He hoped he was good at selling ideas. But he hadn’t mentioned the kicker yet.
“Once she’s here, I figure it will be up to you to handle the rest, the way you did for her sisters.” He drew in a breath and let it out. “But here’s the part I thought I ought to talk to you about.”
Nothing.
“I want to use the fantasies in your box as an added marketing draw. We’ll have a mixer party on the first night and allow those singles interested to draw out one of the parchment envelopes. We might not get any takers, considering that only the locals know about your fantasy box. The sisters have kept it pretty quiet. But when I was thinking about how to get Reese here for a few days so that you could deal with her fantasy, I thought, why not offer the opportunity to someone else? And then …” Avery waved a hand. “What will happen, will happen.”
Any minute now he was going to break out into a chorus of “Que sera, sera” from that old Doris Day film.
For a moment the air around him stilled. And in the reflection in the mirror, he saw a panel in the wall behind him slide open.
The secret room.
He’d heard Naomi and Jillian both speak of it, but he’d never seen it. Turning, he strode to it, and sure enough, there on the floor was a linen-covered hat box. Lifting it, he carried it with him to face the mirror again.
On the cover he read the words Fantasy Box: Choose carefully. The one you draw out will come true.
Though the sisters had all spoken about the warning, seeing the words for the first time sent a little shiver up Avery’s spine.
He shifted his gaze to the mirror. “This isn’t for the faint of heart. But I’m going to assume I have your approval.”
For a moment, he could have sworn that the sound of the ocean grew louder. Then he saw two images take form in the mirror—a woman in a long white dress with reddish gold curls falling to her shoulders and a tall man with fair hair standing with her, their hands joined.
Both of them were smiling.
Even after the images faded, Avery stared into the glass for a long time.

Playing with Reese

1
Thursday morning—the day before Singles Weekend
THIS IS THE DAY I’M TAKING Charge of my Life.
At least that was the plan, Reese reminded herself as she got out of the van in the driveway of Haworth House. Shading her eyes, she glanced up at the tower, the place she and her sisters now called home. A home she’d moved all her belongings into and then allowed a ghost to scare her away from.
Not that she was afraid of Hattie Haworth herself. After all, she owed the silent film star big time for saving the lives of her two sisters and bringing them each together with a man they’d fallen in love with—Dane and Ian MacFarland. It was the fantasy she’d drawn out of Hattie’s fantasy box, along with Hattie’s matchmaking skill that had kept her from really settling in at Haworth House.
Well, that was going to stop. She was twenty-four years old, and Reese Brightman’s M.O. was about to change. No more running away. No more letting the people who cared about her push roadblocks out of her path.
That had been the history of her life so far. She’d been a baby, her sisters a few years older when they’d lost their mother, and their father had left them in the care of the nuns at a Catholic boarding school in the south of France. Six months later, when he, too, had died, the good sisters had kept them and raised them. All of her life, there’d been people taking care of her, making her life run smoothly, eliminating obstacles when they appeared in her path.
From now on, she was going to deal with her own problems. And first on her list was taking care of the silly fantasy she’d drawn out of Hattie’s fantasy box. Avery’s phone call inviting her to help launch the hotel’s first Singles Weekend was just the nudge she’d needed.
For starters, it allowed her to take a reprieve from her problems in L.A. Just thinking about the two anonymous notes she’d received during the last two weeks had fear bubbling up again. Ruthlessly, she shoved it down. She wasn’t a wimp. She might have ignored the notes if they both hadn’t been accompanied by a single black rose. It was the roses that gave her the willies.
And then there was the finicky producer of her TV cooking show, Mr. Can’t-Make-Up-His-Mind Mac Davies, who after shooting three different pilots, was still waffling about the setting for the thirteen episodes they’d sold. According to her agent, Davies’ staff was scouting out locations and filming was on hold until he found the perfect one. And she should be patient.
Usually, she was. Usually, she was quite willing to let events run their course. But this TV show was the biggest thing that had ever happened to her so far. And it frustrated her that Mac Davies hadn’t once asked for her input. Both times she’d tried to make a personal appointment with him, he’d refused to see her. And she’d let him get away with that. Shading her eyes, she frowned up at the tower. That was the old Reese Brightman.
“Your bag, Ms. Brightman.”
Reese shifted her gaze to the young man who’d driven her from the ferry.
“Would you like me to carry it into the lobby for you?”
“No thanks, Larry.” Noticing the surprised look on his face, Reese smiled as she took her duffel. “I can manage.” She wasn’t quite ready to go inside and talk to Avery yet.
She needed to gather her thoughts and have a little chat with Hattie. As soon as the van drove away, she strode down the driveway, and after a quick look around to make sure the driveway was deserted, she pulled a parchment envelope out of her pocket, then narrowed her eyes once more on the semi-circle of windows in the tower. “Because of you, I’ve been avoiding this place like the plague.”
As soon as the words were out, a ribbon of guilt wound its way up her spine. “Okay, okay, maybe it’s not all your fault.” Her schedule had been very busy—finishing her first book tour and then filming those three pilots for the hard-to-please Mac Davies.
“Part of the blame can be laid at the door of my boy-genius producer, Mac Davies. In the first pilot, I was a French pastry chef and the whole set was pink. Yuck! Then he changed his mind and turned me into a ditsy housewife giving everyday dishes a gourmet flair. Double yuck! “
Reese blinked. Had it been her imagination or had she seen a figure at one of the windows? Hattie had been pretty familiar with the L.A. scene some sixty-plus years ago. Maybe it hadn’t changed all that much. Encouraged, she continued, “I’ve never met this producer, but my agent urged me to be patient. Evidently, Mac Davies is the guy the networks go to when they want to raise ratings. Every show he’s produced so far has been an Emmy-winning hit.”
Reese frowned and waved the parchment envelope. “And that is not what I want to talk to you about. It’s this ridiculous fantasy.”
And it was ridiculous. But telling herself that hadn’t stopped a tingle of anticipation every time she thought about it.
Drawing a deep breath, she pulled the parchment out of the envelope and read the words again. You will explore all the sensual delights of having your own boy toy.
Boy toy.
Just looking at the words had her skin heating, her breath catching. The nerves in her stomach danced their way into a regular highland fling.
Tucking the parchment back into the envelope, she shot an accusing glance at the tower. “Having a boy toy has never been my fantasy.”
At least it never had been before.
Frustrated, she began to pace back and forth in the driveway. “Naomi and Jillian both drew out fantasies that they’d entertained before. So I figured you’d made a mistake with me.” She’d never had the time nor the inclination to … what? Play with a boy toy?
“Fantasies,” she muttered. Maybe that was the way Hattie and her lover had chosen to spend their time. And that was fine. Considering what had come to light about Hattie’s affair with Samuel Jenkins and its tragic ending, she didn’t begrudge them any of the short time they’d had together. But she had better things to do.
“I simply don’t have time for men. Been there. Done that.” For the first time in years, Reese found herself remembering the man she’d met when she’d first entered Le Cordon Bleu. Charlie Dutoit had been one of her classmates. He’d been handsome and charming, and she’d been young. It had been April in Paris and she’d fallen hard. When he’d dumped her two weeks before graduation, she’d run back to the boarding school and very nearly given up on her dream of becoming a worldclass chef.
That had been five years ago, and so much had happened since then. Reese stopped short and whirled to face the tower windows again. She hadn’t thought of Charlie in years. So why was she thinking about him now?
She glanced down at the envelope she still held in her hand. Was she worried about more than the fantasy?
Narrowing her eyes, she shifted her gaze to the windows again. “Maybe it is more than the fantasy I’m nervous about. At first I might have stayed away because I thought you made a mistake. But I’ve seen what you’ve done with my sisters. You made a lot more than just their fantasies come true. Dane MacFarland is perfect for Naomi, and Ian is exactly right for Jillian.”
Was that the real source of her skittish nerves?
She fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m not interested in having a man in my life right now.”
But a boy toy …?
Even as the words formed in her mind, Reese was sure she saw two figures standing in one of the windows. Then they faded. But the words in her mind lingered.
A boy toy …
Reese glanced down at the envelope. Was it possible that she was still letting a betrayal that had happened five years ago affect her life? Was it possible that Charlie Dutoit still had her doubting her own judgment when it came to men?
Well, not anymore.
She shifted her gaze to the front door of the hotel. She held in her hand an, as yet, unfulfilled fantasy and she was going to a Singles Weekend—for better or worse.
When she glanced back up at the tower, she saw nothing but the windows. “I know you’re there, Hattie, and here’s the deal. I’m not letting you or anyone else push me into something I’m not ready for. I’ve come to help Avery launch the hotel’s first Singles Weekend. If I decide to enjoy a boy toy, it will be my decision.”
This is the day I’m taking charge of my life.
Reese strode to the hotel steps and took them two at a time. She had to let Avery know she was here a day early. Then they could talk about what he wanted her to contribute to his big Singles Weekend. He’d mentioned a sunset cookout on the beach, a volleyball tournament, as well as hiking and sailing day trips. And she had to firm up the cooking demo he wanted her to do on Sunday. Then, of course, there would be the big singles mixer tomorrow night that would include a chance to draw a fantasy from Hattie’s box.
The door of the hotel swung open. As she dashed through it, she glanced down to see she was still holding the envelope with the fantasy she’d drawn gripped tightly in her hand. And in that moment of inattention, she ran full tilt into a solid wall of muscle and man.
Her breath whooshed out, her duffel and the envelope both went flying as she shot backward onto her butt. For a moment, all she could do was stare at the long, denim-clad legs in front of her.
Then before she could blink or even draw in a breath, two strong hands gripped her wrists and pulled her to her feet. She was tall, but she had to glance up to meet his eyes. They were so blue, they seemed to burn right through her.
Her pulse raced frantically against the pressure of those long, lean fingers. But it wasn’t just awareness that moved through her. There was a ripple of something else. Recognition?
“Sorry. Are you all right?”
Reese thought she managed a nod. But several things were distracting her. He was so big, his shoulders so broad. The hands that had moved to her upper arms were large and very male. She was very aware of the heat of them against her bare skin.
“You’re sure you’re all right?”
She couldn’t manage more than another nod because she couldn’t seem to breathe yet, and her knees felt weak. Those incredibly blue eyes held her captive, but she still noticed the handsome face with the warrior cheekbones, the strong chin. It was a wonder that the modeling industry hadn’t snapped him up and made him a media star. His dark hair looked mussed as if someone had just run her hands through it.
Her hands? Even as her palms tingled, Reese felt heat rush through her—the same kind she’d felt each time she’d let herself think about the boy toy fantasy.
Her fantasy! Where was it?
“My … things.”
She pulled away, dropped to her knees and glanced frantically around for the envelope. Spotting it just behind him, she reached for it at the same time he did.
When she jerked it away, she ended up with the envelope and he the message.
Panic and embarrassment raced for first place when she saw him glance down at it.
What would he think? What could she say? Her first impulse was to get to her feet and run. But she was through with that.
“Here.”
She didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes when she took it from his outstretched hand. But she hadn’t run. “Thanks,” she managed as she stuffed it into the envelope and crammed both into her pocket. Then she scrambled to her feet.
“You’re sure you’re all right?” he asked as he handed her the duffel.
No.
She drew in the first full breath she’d taken since she’d run into him. “Absolutely.” One way or another, she was going to face head-on what life dealt her. Lifting her chin, she met his eyes.
Relief flooded her when she read nothing in his gaze. No laughter, no questions, not even curiosity. Perhaps he hadn’t read the words, after all.
It’s not disappointment I’m feeling. Really.
“Reese, my darling girl.”
Even more relief flooded through her when she saw Avery hurrying toward her. He’d called her my darling girl from the first moment that her sister Jillian had introduced him to her, and the endearment never failed to warm her.
When she ran into his arms, he scooped her up and swung her around. “You’re early.”
“Only a day.”
“Well, you’ve made mine! I can definitely use your help. I just booked the last room to one of Ian MacFarland’s old buddies from his CIA days, Cody Marsh. You remember him?”
“Of course. He helped Ian save Jillian’s life. And he has a gift for sensing and often seeing ghosts, right?”
“That’s him.” Avery grinned at her. “He’s been anxious to get back here ever since he saw Hattie’s lover on the cliff walk. I think the Singles Weekend will provide him with a few more sightings.”
Reese’s stomach clenched. “You’re expecting Hattie to play an active role, then?”
“It’s her fantasy box.”
Perhaps Hattie had already gotten involved. As she let Avery draw her farther into the lobby, Reese couldn’t prevent herself from taking a quick look over her shoulder.
Blue Eyes was just walking out the lobby door. As she ran her gaze over the broad shoulders, the narrow waist and those long, long legs, she felt a pull. For an instant, she was so tempted to run after him that she nearly pulled her arm out of Avery’s grip.
Then he was gone. And this time, she couldn’t deny it was disappointment she was feeling.
“Reese? Is something wrong?”
She glanced up at Avery and managed a smile. “No.”
Holding her at arm’s length, he let his eyes roam over her. “It amazes me that you can always manage to look elegant in jeans and a T-shirt.”
Reese made a snorting sound. “Don’t you start in on me. Now that Jillian has influenced Naomi into dressing more stylishly, they’re both telling me I need a new wardrobe. And I don’t. Why bother when I practically live in a chef’s coat, anyway?”
“Because you’re a bit of a workaholic.”
Reese’s eyebrows shot up. “And you’re not?”
“The difference is I know how to play. And you need to do more of it. Molly Pepperman, who runs the boutique in the village, is going to be a guest this weekend. I asked her to talk to you about clothes designed more for play. Just a few special pieces.”
“Molly’s coming as a guest?”
“Yes, she is. She’s talked her grandmother into coming and taking over the store for the weekend. Miss Emmy Lou Pritchard, our local librarian, is also a guest. She and Molly each want a shot at making a secret fantasy come true.”
Nerves danced in Reese’s stomach as the image of Blue Eyes filled her mind. If anyone fit the description of a boy toy, he did.
“People are coming from all over for this Singles Weekend. In fact, there’s even someone who’s come a long way to see you. He claims he’s an old friend.”
“Who?”
“Can’t spoil the surprise,” Avery said as he drew her along through the archway into a courtyard that served as extra dining space when the weather permitted.
“There he is over by that pillar.”
When Reese glanced over to where Avery was pointing, she saw a tall man with his back toward her and a shorter woman in a wide-brimmed straw hat. “Who is it?”
“Charles Dutoit,” Avery said. “He claims the two of you were very tight five years ago in Paris.”
Charlie? Nerves tightened in her stomach. Could it be? But as the man began to turn toward them, recognition trickled in. He wore his hair close cropped to his head now. When she’d known him in Paris, he’d had to tie it back from his face with a leather thong. His face was leaner, too, the angles more pronounced, his jaw more firm. Her eyes dropped to his mouth. He had the same charming smile he’d had five years ago when she’d fallen in love with him.
She wanted to hold back when Avery drew her forward. But she made herself put one foot in front of the other and murmured in a low voice, “Of all the gin joints in all the world—”
Avery’s crack of laughter turned heads and gave Reese the courage to meet Charlie’s eyes as he moved to take both of her hands.
“Reese. You’re as lovely as ever.”
Relief streamed through her. It was Charlie all right. There was that same intent look in his eyes that had captivated her in Paris, but whatever spell he’d had over her when she’d been nineteen had been broken. She felt nothing but a vague curiosity as she returned his smile.
He kissed the fingers of one hand, then the other. It was a practiced gesture that had made her heart flutter in Paris. No flutters today.
“Charlie, it’s good to see you,” she said. And she meant it.
“He goes by Charles now. To match his restaurant and cookware brands, Avec Charles.”
Reese shifted her attention to the deep-voiced woman at Charlie’s side. She couldn’t see much of her because of the wide brimmed hat and sunglasses. When the woman held out her hand, Reese pulled hers out of Charlie’s to grasp it.
“I’m Annie Thornway, Charles’s publicist.”
“Nice to meet you.” Then Reese turned back to Charlie. “Congratulations. Your own restaurant and a cookware brand. That’s amazing.”
“And I’m thinking of expanding.”
“He’s checking out locations for a restaurant in the North East,” the woman said. “Someone we ran into raved about your cooking and—”
Charlie waved a hand to silence her. “I don’t want to talk about business. I wanted to see you, Reese. I need to talk to you. I made a huge mistake in Paris, and I want to do what I can to make amends. Join me for coffee. We can catch up with each other.”
Reese managed to step on Avery’s foot before he could agree. “Later, perhaps. Avery and I have business to discuss. We have a big weekend coming up.”
“A Singles Weekend that will fulfill your secret fantasies,” Annie Thornway said. “Charles picked up one of the brochures. You even have a matchmaking ghost on the premises.”
Reese had time to catch the annoyance in her tone before Charlie said, “Reese, can’t you see it’s fate that we’ve met here in this time and this place? Please, join me for dinner.”
Fate? Reese felt a ripple of something close to panic before she forced herself to get a grip. She was not going to let herself be pushed into anything. “I can’t, Charlie. Avery and I are working tonight.”
“Since you’re here, you might consider getting in on the fun,” Avery said smoothly to the couple. “We’re having a big kick-off mixer tomorrow night. Everyone who’s registered at the hotel this weekend is invited.”
Then taking Reese’s arm, Avery drew her toward a table in the shade of one of the porticoes that framed three sides of the courtyard.
“Sorry, my darling girl. He led me to believe that he was an old flame.”
“He was, and the flame went out a long time ago.”
Avery flicked a glance over Reese’s shoulder. “The way he’s looking at you I’d say the flame has never died for him. Hard to believe he came all the way to Haworth House because someone raved about your food. He came to see you, my darling girl.”
“Well, he’s seen me. And five years ago, his flame definitely went out. He made that clear when he dumped me.”
“He dumped you? Silly boy.” Avery signaled a waitress. “Bring us some champagne.” Then he turned to Reese. “He was your first love?”
She nodded. “First and last.” Turning her head slightly, she glanced up at the tower windows. “And not even Hattie has a blowtorch strong enough to reignite it. So if she has any intentions in that regard, I’m giving her fair warning. Charles Dutoit is history.”
When she turned back, Avery handed her a glass of champagne and touched his flute to hers. “I’ll drink to that.”

2
WHY WAS REESE BRIGHTMAN at Haworth House?
Mac Davies circled around the side of the hotel and headed down one of the garden paths. According to her agent, she was supposed to be in L.A. working on the cookbook they would launch with her new cable TV show. That was why he’d thought it safe for him to check out the place she called home.
In spite of the fact that he’d sold thirteen episodes of her show, he wasn’t completely satisfied with the product yet. It was still missing something. So he’d flown across a continent hoping that Haworth House would provide the answer. It had.
The instant he’d seen the gray tower rising into a cloudless blue sky, he’d felt it—that special feeling he always got when something just clicked. And the moment he’d entered the lobby of the hotel, he’d experienced it again.
Finally. Using Haworth House as the setting for Reese Cooks for Friends would provide that special element, that difference, that had built the reputation of Mac Davies Productions. And it should also bring Reese’s show the kind of megaratings that the cable network had hired him to provide.
But reaching that moment where everything “clicked” had been a challenge. It usually didn’t take him three tries to nail a concept. And he’d never flown cross country to personally check out a location.
The problem was Reese. She’d affected him on a deeply personal level from the first moment he’d set eyes on her. So he’d avoided dealing with it. And her.
Reaching a gazebo, he climbed the steps and then looked back at the hotel. He’d never intended for their paths to cross. In the six months he’d spent working on the development of her television show, he’d made sure that they’d never met face-to-face. He’d turned down her request for a personal meeting after he’d changed the concept of the show for the third time. Hadn’t she interfered with his concentration enough?
Now they had met. Up close and personal. When the staff member assigned to the lobby door had pulled it open, she’d barreled right into him, and in that brief moment of contact, his mind had emptied and filled with her. Every soft curve and angle of that body had branded his.
The reality of the contact had surpassed whatever he’d conjured up in the fantasies he’d been having about Reese Brightman for the past several months. And he’d had quite a few.
Mac let his mind drift back to the first time he’d ever seen Reese. She’d been giving an interview for her first cookbook on a talk show he’d produced. The instant her image had flashed on the screen, the stir of desire he’d felt had been both intense and raw. He’d felt a connection with her that bordered on recognition.
But he’d never met her before. That much he was certain of. Intrigued, he’d moved closer to the TV and spent a few moments trying to analyze his response to her. She wasn’t beautiful. Attractive, yes, with delicate features and a long, lean body. But she definitely wasn’t his type. She wore her dark hair short, and he preferred blondes with long hair. The eyes were certainly unusual—large and slanted at the corners like a cat’s eyes. Or a witch’s?
She’d definitely cast a spell on him. When the camera had moved in for a close up, she’d smiled, and he’d simply stopped breathing.
Just for an instant. But it was in that same instant he’d gotten that feeling, that tingling along his nerve endings that Reese Brightman was his next project. He was going to make her a star on the small screen.
He’d nearly convinced himself that his reaction to her was completely professional when a commercial had flashed onto the screen. Suddenly, she was gone, and the sharp sense of loss he’d felt wasn’t professional at all.
Reese Brightman pulled at him in a way no other woman ever had. Instinct told him that she might have the power to pull him all the way in. And that definitely wasn’t in the cards for Mac Davies. He’d learned his lesson at an early age. Getting too emotionally attached to anyone led to rejection and loss. So he’d kept his distance.
And he’d been right to do that. A few moments ago, when he’d taken her wrists to pull her up from the floor, he’d lost all track of his surroundings. And he hadn’t wanted to let her go. If she hadn’t snapped him out of his trance, he might not have.
Leaning against the railing of the gazebo, Mac took out his cell phone and punched in the private number of Reese Brightman’s agent.
“Madelyn, it’s Mac Davies.”
“Tell me you love Haworth House,” she said. Madelyn Willard had been in the business for over twenty years and had a reputation for being smart and tough, but reasonable.
“Well?” Madelyn said. “Don’t keep me in suspense. I haven’t said a word to Reese about your idea to use Haworth House as a setting for her show because I thought you might change your mind again. Who knows? You might get a yen and switch to the Caribbean, or perhaps the Himalayas.”
Suppressing a grin, Mac kept his tone serious. “I hadn’t thought of Tibet …”
“And don’t you dare start now. I was joking.”
“Me, too.”
“Good. But I know who I’m dealing with. And for you, filming in Tibet could be in the possibility box.”
She was right. In the three years that he’d been producing his own projects, he’d gained a reputation for good instincts and taking risks. So far both had paid off. Variety had recently referred to him as a magnet for both ratings and Emmy nominations. The network that had bought Reese’s show wanted both. With Haworth House as part of the package, “Reese Cooks for Friends” should deliver them.
When Mac realized that he’d turned back to face the hotel, he ruthlessly dragged his thoughts back to the problem at hand. “Tibet’s off the list for now. I called to find out what Reese is doing here at Haworth House.”
“She’s there?”
“I saw her in the lobby not ten minutes ago.” In the flesh, Mac thought.
“She hasn’t informed me of any travel plans. Last I heard, she intended to hole up in her apartment and work on that cookbook that you want to launch with the start of her show. However, I’m not her mother or even her fairy godmother. You’ve definitely settled on Haworth House, right? You’ll use it for the series?”
Right back to business. It was one of the things he admired about Madelyn. “Yes. The hotel will serve as the perfect backdrop for the show.” He’d already pictured some of the scenes, Reese serving friends in one of the private dining rooms, a picnic on the beach, an alfresco dinner in the very gazebo he was standing in right now.
“Hallelujah! Picture me doing a happy dance.”
“Once you get her approval and we do the paperwork, I can get a production crew here to start filming background shots.” And he could do all of that from L.A. The director could scout out other locations easily enough. He didn’t have to micromanage everything. He could catch the next ferry to the mainland and be on his way.
That was the smart thing to do. The safe thing. And Mac had always chosen the safe path when it came to women. Being orphaned at four and separated from his brothers and sister had taught Mac to be cautious when it came to personal relationships. You could lose everything in a heartbeat. His experiences in his adoptive home had reinforced that lesson early on. His new parents, an actor and actress, had always put their careers first. As a result, his relationship with them had never been close. He’d always been an outsider, looking in at their lives.
On the whole, though, Mac couldn’t complain. They’d provided him with nannies, an excellent college education at NYU and access to an incredible professional network that had allowed him to advance quite quickly in a career he loved. A career in which he thrived on taking risks. But before seeing Reese, he’d never been tempted to take a risk on a personal level.
“You still there, Mac?”
“Yes.”
“I can call Reese about using Haworth House as a background setting for the series, of course. But as long as you’re right there, why don’t you broach the subject? Then you could sell it in person and not through an intermediary.”
He frowned. “You think there’ll be a problem?”
“I didn’t say that. But you did shoot three versions of the pilot before you were happy. She may fear you’re waffling again. In person, you could reassure her that you’re not.”
And he could blow his plan to keep his distance.
When Mac said nothing, Madelyn hurried on. “I’m a bit curious as to why she’s there. Even though it’s the family home she and her sisters have always wanted to build, she doesn’t go there often. Perhaps her sisters are flying in for some special event.”
Event.
Mac reached into his pocket and drew out a brochure that Tess, one of the waitresses, had handed him. It advertised a Singles Weekend. Tess had chattered on about it each time she’d waited on his table, and she’d encouraged him to attend the activities, promising him that he wouldn’t be disappointed. There were going to be a variety of singles mixing events and even a night when anyone brave enough could draw fantasies out of a box that silent film star Hattie Haworth had reputedly used with her lover.
Suddenly, Reese’s exchange with the hotel manager flashed into his mind.
“You’re early,” he’d said.
“One day,” she’d replied.
And he’d mentioned the Singles Weekend.
Then Mac recalled the parchment paper he’d picked up off the floor…. You will explore all of the sensual delights of having your own boy toy.
He’d been puzzled about it at the time, but any curiosity he might have felt had been overridden by his need to get away from her.
So that he could think. His frown deepened. He sure as hell didn’t like what he was thinking right now. Boy toy? Had she changed her plans to come home so that she could explore a sexual fantasy?
No. She just wasn’t the type of woman he’d ever suspect of being into sexual … games. That certainly wasn’t the girl-next-door persona she projected on the small screen.
“I’ll talk to her, Madelyn. You’re right—it will be best if I sell the idea in person. Now that I’ve seen the place, I think it’s essential to set the show at Haworth House. I’ll reassure her that this is a final decision. That I won’t bring in camera crews and then change my mind … and fly her off to Tibet.”
“Great. I’ll check with her tomorrow before I start the paperwork.”
“Right.”
After pocketing his cell, Mac made his way back to the hotel. As much as he might be wary of her on a personal level, making sure that he delivered the best possible show for her had to be his first commitment. So he’d stay long enough to convince her that Haworth House would nail the kind of ratings that would help both their careers.
Then he’d fly back to L.A.
That settled, he climbed the steps and entered the lobby. A buzz of conversation drew his attention to the arch that opened into a courtyard. A small group of staff members and guests had gathered around one of the tables. He spotted Avery Cooper first. As he moved forward, he saw that the manager had his arm around Reese.
It took him a couple of seconds to recognize the man on Reese’s other side. Charles Dutoit. He was one of the up-and-coming restaurant chefs in the Los Angeles area—very popular with the young movie star crowd. The man’s agent had been shopping him around for a TV show. Mac had even looked briefly at some video clips, but though the man was handsome enough, there was something about Charles Dutoit that hadn’t clicked for him.
What was the L.A. chef doing here at Haworth House?
Mac spotted Tess, the waitress who’d been so friendly to him, and joined her at the edge of the group surrounding Reese’s table.
“I’m just over-reacting because of jet lag,” Reese was saying.
“I don’t think so,” Charles Dutoit commented. “A black rose is a nasty thing to send anyone.”
Mac was tall enough that he caught a glimpse of the rose. A chill worked its way up his spine. He spoke in a low voice to Tess. “What happened?”
“Oh, Mr. Davies.” She, too, spoke in a hushed voice. “It’s the most horrible thing.” She paused, glancing back at Reese. “Ms. Brightman just arrived and she was having lunch with Mr. Cooper. There was a flower delivery for her and I brought it right out.”
The young woman’s eyes were wide when she met his. “It was this black rose. And there was a note.”
“Do you know what it said?”
She shook her head. “No. But it upset her. I heard her tell Mr. Cooper that she’d received two other notes recently in L.A. and they both came with black roses.”
Mac shifted his gaze to Reese. She was perhaps five feet away, and he could all but feel the fear radiating off of her. For an instant, the urge to comfort, to protect was so strong that he’d taken a step closer before he stopped himself.
Introducing himself right now and asking if he could help wouldn’t be wise. He’d bide his time until after she’d settled. Until after he’d settled, also. Then he’d introduce himself and sell her on using Haworth House as the setting for her show. That was, after all, his goal.
For a second time, he shifted his gaze to the black rose. His stomach clenched. One threatening incident might be some sort of a sick joke, but three black roses and three notes? Could Reese have acquired a stalker?
Celebrity was a multi-edged sword. And he bore some responsibility for setting Reese Brightman on the path to stardom. Two weeks ago, Variety had published the news of her upcoming TV pilot. Could that have brought her to the attention of a crazed stalker?
Whoa! Mac shoved his hands into his pockets. He could be jumping to conclusions. There could be another explanation for the black roses. Perhaps someone was jealous of her success, or maybe there was an ex-boyfriend involved.
Or a current boyfriend? His gaze shifted to Charles Dutoit. He didn’t know anything about Reese Brightman’s personal life. He hadn’t wanted to before now. But it was clear that she and Dutoit were acquainted. What was the man doing at Haworth House?
A waiter from the bar area moved past him and carried a snifter of brandy to Charles Dutoit.
After taking it, the man turned to Reese. “Here, my dear. I ordered this for you. Take a sip.”
When Reese took the glass, her hand trembled so much that Dutoit had to take it back and set it down on the table.
Once more, Mac found himself stifling the urge to go to her. Whoever had sent the roses had scared her. His temper surged. He’d like to have a heart-to-heart talk with the guy. Soon.
Then he shifted his gaze to Dutoit, who’d taken Reese’s hands in his and leaned closer. Mac couldn’t catch what he was saying, but there was an intimacy in the way he was talking to her that left a bitter, coppery taste in his mouth.
Anger and jealousy were just the kind of emotional responses that he didn’t want to have. Didn’t allow himself to have. If you didn’t become too attached, you didn’t get hurt.
A moment later, Dutoit walked to a nearby table and took a seat across from a woman in a wide-brimmed straw hat. Others in the small group around the table also dispersed.
Mac would have turned away then if Reese hadn’t glanced over and met his gaze. In the long moment when their eyes held, desire rushed through him, hotter and more urgent than anything he’d ever experienced before. It melted him, skin, bone and muscle. And made him ache.
An image flooded his mind. He was with her in a very small space, and those long limbs were naked and wrapped around him, trapping him. He had no choice but to take her—to move into her and feel her heat wrap around him, trapping him even more forcefully.
The sensations, the image lingered even after she’d lowered her eyes. He couldn’t move. He didn’t dare until he was sure that when he did, he’d have the power to walk away.

3
Thursday evening—the day before Singles Weekend
“HERE YOU GO.” A young bartender whose name tag identified him as Grant set a beer down in front of Mac.
“Thanks.” Mac guessed Grant to be in his early twenties and he had a tendency to talk in bullets. “Are you always this busy?”
Grant grinned. “August. Height of the season. The restaurant closes at 10:00 p.m. Guests only have two choices.” Grant held his hands out, palms upward imitating a scale. “Here or their rooms.”
“From the looks of it, there are very few in their rooms.”
“Just the way we like it,” Grant said.
Mac glanced around the nearly fully occupied room. The U-shaped bar with its richly detailed mahogany panels and brass trim filled the center of the room. In a corner, a grand piano sat on a small raised stage surrounded by a dance floor. Windows lined one wall and, during the day, the ocean could be seen in the distance.
Grant pulled down two wineglasses from an overhead rack and used a practiced eye to fill them evenly. “Some of the guests are early arrivals for our Singles Weekend. Are you staying for it?”
“Yes.” And he’d dithered over that decision as much as he had over selecting which venue to use for Reese Brightman’s show.
It wasn’t just because he might have some responsibility for the threatening notes she’d been receiving. Or the fact that he had a vested professional interest in keeping her safe. Or even that he had yet to approach her about using Haworth House for background shots in her TV series.
All of those reasons were valid ones for staying on at Haworth House. But Mac knew that his decision had also been influenced by what he’d read on that damn parchment paper. And by the feelings Reese Brightman could trigger in him.
Otherwise, why would he be sitting here, waiting, on the off chance that she’d come into the bar? He’d purposely chosen a seat at one end of the counter, between the drink pick-up station and a richly foliaged plant that offered a clear view of the archway to the lobby. If she did make an appearance, he’d see her.
He was glancing in that direction when Charles Dutoit entered the room and scanned the tables, obviously looking for someone. The woman he’d been having lunch with earlier? Mac glanced around, but he didn’t see her.
Or was Dutoit looking for Reese? The thought had Mac frowning. The man certainly seemed to have some history with her. Was the L.A. chef here for the Singles Weekend? Mac’s frown deepened.
After a moment, Dutoit whirled and exited into the lobby.
“It’s the first Singles Weekend we’ve ever held,” Grant said as he efficiently loaded a tray with drinks. “Very exciting. Lots of events to encourage mixing, like hiking and a volleyball tournament on the beach.”
Grant leaned closer to Mac. “And tomorrow night we have a very special event scheduled here. Guests are going to be able to draw fantasies from our resident ghost’s fantasy box.”
“So I’ve heard. What can you tell me about this box?”
“Long story. Very romantic. Think Romeo and Juliet, West Side Story.”
“Star-crossed lovers,” Mac said.
“You got it.” Then he winked at Mac. “According to the local gossip, Hattie Haworth and Samuel Jenkins might have been star crossed, but they made the most of their time together. They created this box of fantasies. They’re all written on parchment paper. Not that I’ve seen any. But they’re supposed to be quite … stimulating.”
Mac had to agree with that. What he’d seen on the parchment Reese had dropped in the lobby had kept his erection hard all day. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to shake the fantasy of becoming Reese Brightman’s boy toy.
Why else hadn’t he approached her already and introduced himself? Because once she knew who he was and why he’d come to the island, everything between them would become complicated. For both of them. She’d know he was Mac Davies, the waffling producer of her TV show who wanted to tinker with the concept one last time.
And any chance for the fantasy might well be lost.
Disgusted with himself, Mac picked up his glass and took a long swallow of beer. She was making him nuts. She’d interfered with his ability to think clearly from the first instant he’d seen her on that TV screen, and now she’d clearly sent him over the edge.
All day he’d lingered in the background trying to decide what to do. And he was still dithering over it. The last thing he should be considering was pursuing some kind of crazy fantasy with Reese Brightman. She didn’t just attract him on a physical level. She had the ability to push his emotional buttons, also. Case in point—the bitter, coppery taste he got in his mouth whenever he thought of someone else becoming her boy toy.
He was lifting his glass for another swallow when he felt her. The sharp tug in his gut and the way each of his senses sharpened had him glancing up. As she moved toward his end of the bar, she was flanked by two men. He recognized Avery Cooper. The other man, tall and sandy-haired, wore a badge and a gun strapped to his belt.
So they weren’t taking the black rose lightly. But it wasn’t relief he felt as Reese and the two men slid into a booth almost directly to his right. The foliage of the plant partly obstructed his view, but he saw it as she sat down—just the edge of that piece of parchment sticking out of the pocket of her jeans.
First the words echoed inside of his head: You will explore all the sensual delights of having your own boy toy. Then the image filled his mind. They were in bed together. Candles flickered in the background, flowers scented the air, but his attention was on her face, watching her eyes darken, hearing her breath hitch, seeing how her expression changed as he touched her, slowly, thoroughly.
What might it be like to be Reese Brightman’s boy toy? To focus all his being on simply giving her pleasure? And making her his own.
“Can I get you another beer?”
Grant’s words seemed to come from a distance, and when they finally penetrated the sensual fog that engulfed him, Mac found that his hands were locked on the edge of the bar.
He wanted Reese Brightman with a possessiveness that he’d never felt for any other woman. And the intensity of his desire had been building to a flashpoint ever since he’d first met her.
“Sure,” he said to the bartender. But it wasn’t a cold beer that he needed. It was a cold shower.
“OPEN A BOTTLE OF OUR NEW Pinot Gris for Ms. Brightman,” Avery told the hovering waitress. “Sheriff Kirby and I will have the house draft.”
As soon the young woman hurried off, Reese said, “You didn’t have to come all the way up here, Nate. Your deputy, Tim, took my statement earlier.” She shifted her gaze to Avery. “You shouldn’t have called him.”
Avery reached over to pat her hand. “I honored your wishes and I didn’t call your sisters … yet. Someone is going to a lot of trouble to threaten you. The sooner we put a stop to it, the better.”
Avery was right, she thought. Ever since the flower and the note had arrived, he’d tried to distract her with the last minute details of the Singles Weekend. He’d proposed that she end the festivities on Sunday afternoon with a cooking demonstration. And she’d slipped right back into her old M.O., using her work to escape from her problems.
She watched Nate pull out a notebook and flip it open. The flowers and the notes weren’t going to go away. Neither was Mr. Blue Eyes. She was going to have to deal with both problems, soon.
She’d caught glimpses of Blue Eyes off and on all day long and each time, his effect on her senses seemed to grow stronger, more urgent.
That moment in the courtyard when her eyes had locked on his, the heat rushing through her system had wiped out everything—all of her worries, all the stress she’d been under the past few months. She’d even forgotten all about the black roses and the notes.
If he could do that just by looking at her … what could he do if he touched her? What might it be like if he kissed her? If she kissed him back?
But each time her thoughts drifted in that direction, panic would bubble up. Could he be the man Hattie had chosen for her fantasy? Was Blue Eyes destined to become her boy toy? And what did she want to do about that?
Those were the questions that Avery hadn’t been fully successful in distracting her from.
And if she was going to take charge of her life, she needed those answers…. A little thrill moved through her at the idea.
“Reese?”
Gathering her thoughts, Reese saw that Nate had his pencil poised. First things first. Mentally, she squared her shoulders. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”
“According to Tim, the first note just said, ‘Congratulations'?”
“Yes. I didn’t see it as a threat.”
Avery’s brows shot up. “My darling girl, even with your convent school background, you must have thought a black rose was a bit ominous.”
“I put it out of my mind.” And buried my head in the sand, as usual.
“The second note and flower arrived a week later. This time the message read, ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.’”
“Yes.” Hearing the words conjured up the chill she’d felt when she’d first read the message. But she’d ignored that one, too.
“The whole gist of that poem is about how fleeting time and life is,” Avery pointed out. “Why didn’t you report the incidents to the police?”
Reese drew in a breath. “Because I was a coward. I didn’t want to face the possibility that I was being threatened.”
Avery took one of her hands. “My darling girl, you’re not a coward.”
“I am. When you called and asked me to come for the Singles Weekend, I jumped at it. I thought if I could just get away from L.A. for a while, the whole problem might disappear. Or I could take care of it when I got back to L.A. When I got the note today, I realized that I wasn’t going to get my reprieve.”
“The third note is definitely a threat,” Nate said. “‘Enjoy the sweet taste of success while you can. It will end soon.’”
“I know. But I’m not going to run from it anymore. I’m aware that it’s a very bad sign that whoever this person is, he’s tracked me here.”
“Do you have any idea who could be sending the notes?” Nate asked.
Reese bit back a frustrated sigh. “No. I haven’t been dating, so it can’t be an ex-boyfriend. As far as I know, I don’t have any crazy fans. I live a pretty quiet life.”
“There’s Charles Dutoit,” Avery added with a glance at Nate. “He’s an ex-boyfriend and he’s here at Haworth House. He sent Reese three dozen white roses this afternoon.”
“He was just being kind,” Reese said. “He wanted to erase the memory of the black ones.”
“And he left a message at the desk asking her to have dinner with him,” Avery added. “Again. He’d asked her earlier, before the rose arrived, but she’d turned him down.”
“I can talk to him,” Nate said, “but it sounds more like he’s trying to rekindle an old romance than scare you. How about a rival? The first note and flower arrived after the news of your TV show hit the papers. Is there anyone who might be jealous of your success?”
Reese shook her head. “I know that there are a lot of young chefs who have to be envious. I’ve been on a fast track ever since I graduated four years ago from Le Cordon Bleu. But I can’t think of anyone who might do something like this.”
“Think harder,” Nate cautioned. “The notes all carry a hint of professional jealousy.”
“Sending black roses—that’s going to a bit of trouble,” Reese said.
“Not too much,” Nate said. “Tim checked with Lynn McNally, who runs The Best Blooms in Belle Bay. She gets orders for colored flowers every so often—usually around the holidays. The process is pretty simple. She told Tim it took her less than ten minutes to spray a white rose today. But she didn’t know anything about a black one.”
“So what do we do next?” Avery asked.
“Watch and wait. I’m assuming that you’ll keep an eye on Reese while she’s here this weekend.” He turned to Reese. “And I want you to keep thinking about people who might have a motive. Start back in your days at Le Cordon Bleu if you have to.”
“You could browse through those scrapbooks you keep,” Avery suggested.
“Scrapbooks?” Nate asked.
Reese felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Collecting memories was Sister Margherite’s idea. She’s the nun who first taught me to cook. She insisted that it was important to chronicle my culinary successes. Then whenever I doubted myself, I could just review my laurels. I still keep them.” The truth was, she’d brought new photos with her from L.A.
“Check through them,” Nate said. “They might trigger something.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to put in a call to a police captain I know in L.A. and make sure they document the first two incidents there. They can check with your production crew on that end and see if they noticed anyone hanging around your set while you were filming.”
Avery frowned at Reese. “I wish you’d let me call your sisters. MacFarland Investigations could send someone here to watch over you.”
“You can’t. If they knew anything about what was going on, they’d fly in. And Naomi’s arguing a case on Monday to get a judge to open up the sealed adoption records on the woman Dane and Ian believe might be their sister.”
“They’re trying to locate a brother, too, aren’t they?” Nate asked.
Reese nodded. “All they’ve been able to find so far is that after they were all separated, their younger brother was placed in a foster home for a year. In any case, I don’t want Naomi distracted—she’s got too much on her plate as it is.”
“Okay,” Avery conceded. “But—“
Whatever else he was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of two women who stopped at their table. Reese recognized both instantly. The tiny and bubbly brunette was Molly Pepperman. She ran a boutique in town and had become a close friend of her sister Jillian. Rising, Reese hugged Molly first and then the older woman at her side, Miss Emmy Lou Pritchard, the local librarian.
“Reese, Avery told us you’d be here. We don’t see enough of you in Belle Bay,” Molly said. Then she nodded at the two men. “Avery, Nate, good to see you both.”
“What are you two doing here?” Reese asked.
“We’re checking in early for the Singles Weekend,” Molly said. She flashed a grin at Miss Emmy Lou. “We decided we might get a head start, check out our prospects, so to speak. We’re also planning to take a chance on the fantasy box.”
“No, I—” Miss Emmy Lou began.
Nate cut her off. “You’re what?”
Molly met his eyes. “There’s a big mixer kicking everything off tomorrow night, and Avery is going to let interested guests draw fantasies out of Hattie Haworth’s fantasy box. Miss Emmy Lou and I are going to be the first two in line.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about the hat box that was discovered in Hattie’s secret room?”
“That’s right,” Molly said brightly. “My grandmother is coming in tomorrow to run the store for a couple of days so I can devote my full attention to the festivities here.”
“Clarissa is coming back to run the store?” Nate asked.
“That’s right.” Molly turned to Reese. “Are you going to draw one? “
“No,” Reese said. Hers was already burning a hole in her pocket.
“Oh, that’s right.” Molly tapped a finger against her forehead. “I forgot. You must have drawn yours at the same time Naomi and Jillian did. And theirs have come true.” She took Reese’s hands in hers. “That must be why you’re here this weekend. To see if Hattie can work her magic for you, too.”
Reese opened her mouth intending to set Molly straight. But then it struck her suddenly that Jillian’s friend might have it exactly right. She might not have come here with the idea of letting Hattie work her magic, but the seed had been firmly planted the instant she’d run into Mr. Blue Eyes in the lobby.
The question was, what was she going to do about it?
It was at that moment she felt the tingling awareness that she’d felt off and on during the day whenever Blue Eyes had been near.
He was here in the bar right now.
For an instant, everything inside of her yearned to search the crowd in the bar and find him. To leave everything else behind and go to him.
“Miss Emmy Lou and I are going to work the room.” Molly released her hands. “Feel free to join us when you’re done.”
Reese didn’t watch the two women walk off. If she did, she was sure she’d see him. And she hadn’t yet decided what to do. Panic and anticipation bubbled up. Once she did see him again, she would have to make a decision. She would have to take charge.
“What kind of a Singles Weekend are you running here, Avery?”
The sharpness of Nate’s tone had the effect of allowing Reese to refocus on the two men. Tension was radiating off the sheriff in waves.
“Just the regular kind. Lots of hotels and resorts run them. The trade magazines all rave about how they build business.”
“Other hotels and resorts don’t offer Hattie Haworth’s fantasy box and the promise that those fantasies might come true,” Nate pointed out.
Avery studied Nate for a moment. “Capitalizing on the growing reputation of Hattie Haworth and her lover as matchmakers isn’t against any law I’m aware of.”
“It’s not their reputation as matchmakers you’re capitalizing on. Ever since news of that box has leaked out, the talk in the village is that the fantasies on the parchment papers are all very sexual.”
“And what’s the harm in that?” He winked at Nate as he pulled out a brochure and pushed it toward him. “What happens in Haworth House stays in Haworth House.”
Reese watched color rise in Nate Kirby’s face.
“The harm is that Miss Emmy Lou Pritchard, a pillar of our community, intends to draw out one of those sexual fantasies. She’s close to seventy.”
Avery’s brows shot up. “Is there some kind of age limit on fun—some statute that I’m not aware of?”
“No.” Nate glanced toward the two women, and it was then that it clicked for Reese. Nate Kirby wasn’t upset that Miss Emmy Lou was going to draw out a fantasy.
He was worried about Molly. Jillian had mentioned to her that Nate and Molly had a history.
“No,” Nate repeated as he turned back to Avery. “Nothing you’re doing is against the law. But just to make sure it stays that way, I want to book a room for your Singles Weekend.”
Avery smiled at him. “I had a feeling you might, so I saved one for you. Come right this way.”
Reese managed to hide her amusement until the two men had exited the booth and started toward the lobby. But her smile faded entirely as a man slid into the seat across from her.
The moment she glanced up, the blue eyes trapped hers. Thoughts slipped away as her heart leaped into her throat and fluttered like a bird.
“I think we should talk about the fantasy on your parchment.”

4
“YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT the parchment?” Reese asked.
Mac nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since we ran into each other in the lobby this morning. I was sitting close by at the bar,” he continued, “and I couldn’t help but overhear most of your conversation.”
Reese narrowed her eyes. “You eavesdropped?”
“Rude, I know. But I’m not sorry.” What he’d learned had finally settled the conflict that had been going on inside of him—perhaps since that first moment he’d seen her. If Reese Brightman was somehow destined to hook up with a boy toy this weekend, Mac was determined it would be him. And he didn’t have a moment to lose. Not if Charles Dutoit had come here with the same purpose in mind.
“Did you draw that parchment I read out of Hattie Haworth’s fantasy hat box?” he asked.
When she nodded, he felt some of the tension inside of him ease. He knew he was taking a huge risk professionally and personally. He wasn’t about to tell her who he was, not yet—there was too much baggage there. He had no doubt that he’d eventually pay a price for that, but he’d handle it. There’d be a price to pay personally, also.
But right now, sitting across from her, Mac felt that tingle of certainty, that “click” he always felt when a project jelled for him. Whatever the consequences, he knew he was doing the right thing.
“Can I see it again?”
For a second, Reese simply stared at him while her head spun and her pulse pounded. She’d looked into his eyes before and experienced a kind of intense desire she’d only ever read about. But right now she saw something dangerous in them, something reckless that she hadn’t noted before. And it thrilled her to the bone.
Anticipation and panic warred inside of her. She could refuse. She could get up and walk away. Avery and Nate were just outside in the lobby. But that wasn’t what she wanted. What she wanted more than anything was to give in to the temptation to take the wild ride only this man could give her.
He smiled at her, and she felt the impact right down to her toes. “Please? Can I see it again?”
Without taking her eyes off of his, she drew it out of her pocket, opened it up, and placed it on the table between them. When he took it out of the envelope and turned it so it was facing him, his fingers accidentally brushed against hers. Both of them went very still. It wasn’t just the flame shooting through her and melting everything in its path. There was also a flutter in her heart that continued to dance as his gaze returned to hers.
Who was he that he could do this to her? And who was she turning into that she couldn’t seem to prevent it from happening? Both questions fascinated her. And she wanted answers.
“'You will explore all of the sensual delights of having your own boy toy,'” he read. “I just wanted to make sure that I remembered it correctly. If this is your fantasy, I want to apply for the boy toy position.”
The flutter in her heart danced again. And for one long moment, Reese was tempted to fling caution to the wind and just say yes. It would be the wildest thing she’d ever done. Maybe the only wild thing she’d ever done. And he was making it so easy for her. All she had to do was let herself be swept away.
But that had been the story of her life. People had always made decisions easy for her—whether it was her older sisters smoothing the way or her agent negotiating with her hard-to-please producer.
She dropped her gaze to the piece of parchment lying on the table between them. Even Hattie had somehow gotten into the act, providing the fantasy that was supposed to take care of everything for her, not to mention delivering the perfect boy toy.
She had to hand it to Hattie on that one. Blue Eyes was nearly perfect. But she couldn’t live the rest of her life going along with the flow.
Later she would wonder how she managed it, but she carefully picked up the parchment and slipped it back into the envelope. “You’re going a little fast for me.”
He continued to look at her for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Fair enough. When I really want something, or someone, I tend to rush my fences. But I can do slow.”
She just bet he could. It was easy to imagine those hands moving over her very carefully, very slowly. At the thought, the room was abruptly too hot, her throat too dry. She moistened her lips and glanced around. “I’ve never done this, hooked up with somebody in a bar. I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m Mac. And while I have hooked up with women in bars before, I don’t make a habit of it.” He leaned against the back of the booth. “There’s usually a bit of small talk involved. I’ve put it together—what with eavesdropping and your very friendly staff—that you’re Reese Brightman, one of the owners of this delightful hotel. And this is the first Singles Weekend Haworth House has ever offered. It’s a first for me, too. I’ve never been to one before. How about you?”
Reese leaned forward a bit. “Never. I’m here because the manager asked me to help out. Normally, I’m very cautious. I don’t even jump into the deep end of the pool without testing the waters first. I’m very focused on my job. My sisters accuse me of being a workaholic.”
“I’ve been accused of the same. When I was growing up, I had a nanny who thought I was too serious. She used to invent all sorts of games for us to play.”
Reese found herself smiling. “Sounds like my sisters. Left to my own devices, I would have spent all my time in the kitchen.”
“Looks like we have something in common.”
She studied him for a moment, totally surprised. She wouldn’t have believed she had anything in common with this large, incredibly handsome man. He appeared to be so self-assured. The reckless gleam had faded from his eyes, but they were still very intent and focused totally on her.
She tapped a finger on the parchment. “It’s my first experience with fantasies, too.”
His eyebrows rose. “Ever? You didn’t entertain any even when you were a little girl?”
She thought for a few seconds, then shook her head. “No. I had dreams of becoming a famous chef, and my sisters and I always dreamed of going into business together. But dreams and goals are different than fantasies.”
“You’re right. Goals and dreams are serious business. Achieving them takes hard work and perseverance, not to mention luck. But fantasies should be fun. That would certainly go along with the boy toy theme, don’t you think?”

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