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Feels Like the First Time
Tawny Weber


Hello, hot blast from the past!Zoe Gaston must survive her dreaded school reunion – and the fancy dress party that opens it. But Zoe, once voted Girl Most Likely to Die a Virgin, thanks to a costume mix-up, comes dressed as a leather-clad dominatrix…whip and all! Her scandalous outfit catches a secret lover. He seems so deliciously familiar under his disguise…But Zoe is shocked to discover the sexy body she’s been so thoroughly enjoying belongs to Dexter Drake – her oldest friend! And he’s hiding something bigger than just his identity…Dressed to Thrill – The best part of dressing up is taking it off!










Praise for Tawny Weber

“Double Dare establishes Tawny Weber as a new force in the Blaze


lineup.” —CataRomance

“Does She Dare? is another sinfully spicy and chocolate sweet read by the highly entertaining and creative Tawny Weber.” —Romance Junkies

“A great setup, sizzling attraction and wonderful

characters all make Risqué Business, by Tawny Weber, impossible to put down.” RT Book Reviews

“Tawny Weber weaves her magic with

Coming on Strong, another blazing-hot tale of betrayal, love and passion … With Coming on Strong, Tawny Weber will quickly rise to the top of many auto buy lists.” —CataRomance




About the Author


TAWNY WEBER is usually found dreaming up stories in her California home, surrounded by dogs, cats and kids. When she’s not writing hot, spicy stories for Blaze®, she’s testing her latest margarita recipe, shopping for the perfect pair of boots or drooling over Johnny Depp pictures (when her husband isn’t looking, of course). When she’s not doing any of that, she spends her time scrapbooking and playing in the garden. She’d love to hear from readers, so drop by her home on the web, www.TawnyWeber.com.


Dear Reader,

I had so much fun working with Sam, Karen and Lisa on this series, brainstorming all the ways a costume could open the door to so many secret fantasies. And I admit I went a little overboard with it. Because both my hero and heroine end up in disguise … and playing “what’s-my-fantasy” is fantastic foreplay!

After spending her entire adult life avoiding her past, Zoe is forced to go back home in search of the one man who can save her brother’s business. All she wants to do is get in, find the guy and get out with her dignity intact. When her costume turns out to be completely different from her order, she ends up attending her school reunion wearing leather and studs. Lucky for her, there’s one guy who isn’t intimidated at all by her dominatrix getup. In fact, he’s begging for more …

If you’re on the web, feel free to drop by my website at www.TawnyWeber.com and let me know what you think of Zoe and Dex’s story. While you’re there, check out my blog, vote for the hunk of the month, or enter my current contest. I’d love to hear from you.

Enjoy!

Tawny Weber


Feels Like

the First Time

Tawny Weber






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Samantha Hunter, Karen Foley and

Lisa Renee Jones.

Ladies, this was a pleasure!




Prologue


SURROUNDED BY the makings of a million fantasies, Josie propped her chin on her fist and stared out the plate-glass window at her very own daydream—a hottie in a brown uniform, his name was Tom and he delivered thrills by the truckload. Of course, the thrills were actually costumes, and he didn’t realize he was the star of all of her hottest dreams.

And at this rate, he never would.

“Another delivery for Dressed to Thrill,” Tom said as he wheeled a loaded hand truck into the shop. “Hiya, Josie.”

“Tom,” she said softly, silently cursing her shyness. He was even cuter close-up. Wavy brown hair, bright-blue eyes and shoulders to die for. She always regretted September, since it meant he switched from shorts to long pants and covered those sexy legs.

Josie cast around for something clever to say, some conversation starter. But as always when she was around him, her mind went blank.

“How’s business?” he asked as he stacked the boxes by the counter then handed her the electronic board to sign.

“Giving thrills is always good business,” she responded automatically. His brown eyes widened. Josie realized what she said and blushed. Good thing her hands were full with the board and pen or she’d have slapped them over her mouth.

Then he grinned. “That’s the store’s tagline, isn’t it? I’ve seen it on the labels. It must fit. This is definitely the place to go to make fantasies come true, huh?”

Conversation. Wow. Don’t drop the ball now, she warned herself. Josie gave a hesitant smile back and nodded so fast, her blond bangs flew in her eyes. “Definitely. I’ll show you.”

Glad to finally have his interest as well as an excuse to keep him here a little longer, she grabbed a box opener and cut through the tape on the top carton.

“We get a lot of requests,” she explained. “People want to live out their wildest desires, you know?”

She’d spent the past two months wondering what his desires were. Maybe now she’d find out?

Flipping back the tissue paper, she grabbed the first costume and pulled it out without looking. Her eyes were locked with Tom’s, her mind giddy at finally having his attention.

“Can’t you see how sexy this could be?” she asked. “Is it the kind of thing you might fantasize about?”

At the same time, they both glanced at the costume in her hands. A bunny rabbit. White, fluffy, sexless.

Josie’s cheeks burned. She gripped the costume so tightly, she’d probably find fur under her fingernails.

Tom laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know, Josie. I think bunnies have to be wearing bow ties to be considered sexy.” With that and a friendly wave, he left. Just like that.

Josie managed to wait until the door closed before she groaned. As usual, she couldn’t even manage a simple flirtation with the guy.

Of course, head-to-toe white fur didn’t help matters.

“Definitely not fantasy material.” She sighed and shook out the bunny costume before sliding it onto a hanger. “At least it wasn’t a Smurf costume.”

The next box of new costumes was better. A revealing slave-girl outfit, like something Princess Leia would have worn. A gorgeous cabaret getup. And, Josie sighed, a new Marilyn Monroe costume. All very sexy.

Unlike forest creatures and space aliens. She rolled her eyes. She’d blown it. What a dork, trying to flirt like that. She should have known better. She could no more flirt than she could just ask Tom out. Just imagining how bad she’d mess that up, her cheeks burned again in humiliation. But maybe she could drop a couple of hints next time he was in?

Contemplating different hints she could give without sounding stupid, Josie started to package costumes.

She glanced at the stack of Internet orders that needed to be shipped. A dominatrix for New York. A Betty Boop for Idaho. Sexy pirate in Pittsburgh. Gathering outfits for the already labeled boxes, she hummed a little tune. She frowned as she pulled the dominatrix costume from the rack. Could she ever find the nerve to wear something like this?

“Josie?”

She spun around, one hand still holding the other on her chest to calm her pounding heart.

“Tom?” She hoped he’d take her breathlessness as surprise instead of nerves. “What’s up? I thought you’d already left.”

He gave her a sheepish, little-boy grin that melted her insides. “I forgot to deliver one package.”

He held out a small box. But he was staring at the costume in her hands. He eyed the skimpy leather, then shifted his gaze to Josie. Interest sparkled, a naughty smile quirking one corner of his mouth.

“Now that’s an interesting getup,” he said. “I don’t suppose …”

Josie glanced at the leather in her hand, then back at Tom. Her eyes widened. Was he asking if she liked to play naughty? Color washed over her cheeks.

“The best thing about working at Dressed to Thrill is being able to role-play,” she told him. Then she hesitated and with a deep breath said, “Like our slogan says, ‘Bring us your fantasies, we’ll make them come true.’“

Tom smiled, but before he could respond, the phone rang. With a shrug, he said, “We’d better get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Josie didn’t even pout when he left. Listening to her boss take the call, she grinned and gave a little dance and skip as she returned to the packing counter. He’d see her tomorrow. He’d said it like he was looking forward to it. Maybe tomorrow was the day he’d ask her out? Head filled with daydreams of Tom, she folded the dominatrix costume into the box heading for Idaho.

Wasn’t love grand? She patted the black leather and smiled. She sure hoped this costume brought the wearer as much luck as it had brought her.




1


“THE GIRL VOTED most likely to die a virgin.” “So unpopular, she attended her prom alone.” “The queen of geek chic.”

Zoe Gaston sneered at the labels people had scribbled under her senior picture. She hated labels. Although, she sighed as she glanced at the photo, sometimes it was hard to deny them. An ode to the dark side, she’d called her teen years. Black spiked hair, black-lined eyes, black glossy lips. She’d been a pudgy-cheeked brainy Goth-girl.

In other words, a total misfit.

“You think I should attend my ten-year reunion … why?” she asked Meghan with a grimace.

“To relive happy high-school memories and reconnect with all your friends, of course.”

Zoe’s sister-in-law actually believed that. She was the kind of gal who’d liked school. Plenty of friends, good times, general acceptance. The total opposite of Zoe’s experience. Other than one brief weekend when the hottie football star she’d crushed on had seemed to return her interest, she’d spent her high-school years as persona non grata.

“Oh, yeah, the good ol’ days.” Zoe squinted at Meghan and nodded sagely. “That would be when the cheerleaders hated me, the jocks were terrified of me and the teachers, ah, yes, the teachers. They were just as happy when I cut class as when I showed up.”

Meghan shrugged and snatched the yearbook away, obviously sensing the trip down memory lane wasn’t helping her argument any. She tossed it on Zoe’s electric-blue couch, the glossy cover swooshing across the slick leather.

“You publicly mocked the cheerleaders,” she pointed out with a dirty look.

Oops. Zoe bit her lip to hold back a laugh as she realized perky Meghan probably had a pair of bronzed pom-poms hidden away somewhere.

“Zach told me you kicked the quarterback in the balls,” Meghan continued, sounding shocked and irritated. Zoe raised her brow as if to ask what was wrong with that, but managed to keep her mouth shut as the other woman continued. “And he said you regularly argued with the teachers.”

A quick grin escaped. Okay, so her school days hadn’t totally sucked. “Exactly. I didn’t fit in. I didn’t want to fit in. And nobody wanted me to try to fit in. So why on earth would I go back?”

“To show them all how hot you are, how successful you are and how wrong they were about you.”

“Sure. Because I still don’t look like a Kewpie doll, I change jobs more often than most people change hairstyles and it’s been so long since I had sex that I might as well be the lifelong virgin they dubbed me.”

“So what? Those things don’t mean they were right about you, do they? And it’s not like you have to fill out some sexual-activity roster if you attend.”

Zoe smirked, then picked up her margarita glass and took a sip. Before she could come up with a clever response, Meghan puffed up her cheeks so she looked like an angry blond chipmunk, then blew out a gust of air. “If you don’t go, they’re all going to think they were right. Are you going to let them win?”

Zoe opened her mouth to say she didn’t care if they won or not. Then she sighed and shut it again. She couldn’t deny it. She did love to win. It was almost an irresistible need in her, that inability to step away from a competition, the compulsion to try to get the last word, to fight to the often-bitter end. It’d been the only thing that’d kept her in school after her parents’ deaths—that need to prove all the gossips wrong.

Of course, as soon as the challenge was met and she’d won, she lost all interest. Boredom was Zoe’s major downfall.

“I can overcome my need to win if I don’t step up to play,” she muttered, adding a silent maybe. She picked up the flashy neon invitation to the weeklong reunion and grimaced. “And returning to Central High’s school of torture is good incentive to stay out of the game.”

“And a rotten excuse for being afraid they might be right.”

Zoe glared, but didn’t respond to the direct hit.

“Why are you pushing this, really?” she asked, turning the tables. Zoe pointed to the bright reunion invitation that Meghan had brought over with an explanation that it’d been mailed to Zoe’s brother when the committee hadn’t been able to track her down. “You don’t care if I relive my teen years or not, so what’s behind it? The truth this time.”

Meghan picked up a fuchsia pillow and ran her fingers through the fringe, her diamond wedding band sparkling. Finally, she looked up at Zoe with puppy-dog eyes and said, “Zach’s in trouble.”

Zoe sat upright so fast, her margarita sloshed over the edge of her glass. She ignored the icy stickiness trickling down her fingers and grabbed Meghan’s arm. “What’s wrong? What happened to Zach? Is he sick?”

“Nothing like that,” Meghan hastened to assure her, her blue eyes wide and shocked at the vehement response. Zoe realized she might have overreacted a smidge, but Zach was all she had. “He’s fine. Overworked and overstressed, as usual. It’s not his health that’s the problem. It’s his business.”

The fear slowly released its hold on her muscles. Zoe forced herself to breathe. Once, twice, then a deep, relieved sigh.

“Z-Tech?” she asked, referring to Zach’s company. When the dot-com boom had gone belly-up, Zach had struck out on his own, creating a video-game company that catered to niche markets. Since she specialized in business consulting, Zoe had advised him more than once to expand his horizons, but Zach had always claimed he liked the cozy feel of specializing. He had decided last year to risk it all on his own platform. To compete with the likes of Sony and Microsoft, he’d gone with the concept of cheap, functional and expandable.

“Is his new system having problems?”

Meghan nodded. “He’d be furious if he knew I was telling you, but yeah. He sank everything, all our money, into this idea and now nobody is interested in the system. Not without something extra. If it doesn’t take off, Z-Tech won’t survive through the end of the year.”

“Damn,” Zoe breathed, sinking back in her chair.

Z-Tech was everything to Zach. Oh, sure, he adored his wife. But he’d loved that company first. He’d talked about starting it, had planned it way back when they were kids. Their parents had moved to Bradford, Idaho, when Zoe was fifteen. Zach, at eighteen, had stayed behind to try his luck in Silicon Valley. When their parents had died, he’d set aside his dreams, moved to the small Idaho town to let Zoe finish high school and gone to work in the dot-com industry to support his sister.

Zach had given up everything for her. Zoe never forgot that. She owed him. Owed him for keeping her in school, for pushing her to excel instead of curling up in a ball of misery. Owed him for reminding her what family was, and what it meant to be loved when the whole world as she’d known it had turned into an upside-down hell. Not that he saw it that way. The few times she’d tried to express gratitude, he’d rolled his eyes and changed the subject.

Three years ago, after she’d quit yet another job, it’d been Zach who’d suggested Zoe pile all her qualifications into a portfolio and call herself a consultant. She could step in, boss people around, fix their problems, then leave before she got bored. Specializing in startups with growing pains, she evaluated, assessed and created business plans to help companies move to the next level. Or, a lot of times, to realize that they’d tapped out their market, in which case she pointed out options to reinvent themselves. It’d turned into the perfect—and very successful—solution to all of Zoe’s career woes.

And now her brother, who’d essentially given her her career, was losing his own company. She set her glass on the side table with a frown. Nothing like the heavy taste of debt to ruin a perfectly good margarita.

“He had this idea, though,” Meghan said, her tone hushed as though she was sharing secrets. “Zach was saying if he could get a hook, something special, he’d be able to make it work.”

“Something to convince buyers to try his system? That they could only get with it?” Zoe clarified.

“Exactly.”

“That’s a great idea.” Something Zoe had actually tried to suggest a few months back, but Zach had been in a weird macho I-can-succeed-my self-and-prove-I’m-not-a-loser mood so it hadn’t sunk in. If his business was in this bad shape, that probably accounted for his attitude, she realized now. What boredom was to her, failure was to her brother—pure hell. “What’s the problem?”

“Zach figures he needs one killer game. An exclusive attached to his system. And there’s only one game designer out there who’s really exclusive, you know? Who everyone’s heard of but who’s never worked for one of the big companies.”

Starting to see how this would circle back to her high-school reunion, Zoe waited.

“Apparently there’s this guy. He goes by Gandalf the Gaming Wizard. He’s the hottest video-game designer in the industry and he’s a total mystery. Nobody knows who he really is. Zach’s tried to reach him through Leeton, the company he works for, but no luck.” Meghan got up with a bad-tempered “huff” and stalked to the large plate-glass window to stare out over the San Francisco skyline. “I tried to help Zach research him, but it’s like digging in the dark. Nothing to go on but a few rumors.”

Which was where the reunion issue came in. Zoe reached for her margarita glass and downed the rest of the watery contents. Oh, yeah, she’d heard plenty of rumors about Gandalf.

Meghan turned and, apparently seeing the recognition on Zoe’s face, pointed in triumph. “You know him, don’t you?”

“No.” Not a lie. She had no idea who Gandalf was.

“But he knows you. He’s got the hots for you. Even Zach admits it, although he growled a little bit when he did. It’s obvious based on his launch game—Class Warfare.”

“Circumstantial,” Zoe dismissed, even though she knew Meghan was probably right. Five years ago, after hearing Zach rant about it, she’d checked the game out herself. The designer had obviously lived in Bradford at some point. The similarities were glaring: landmarks, sayings, class slogans. Her.

She gave a little shiver. She’d never been able to pinpoint if she was flattered or freaked that the main character, a busty heroine named SweetCheeks, had been based on her. Not so much in looks—or bra size—but in attitude. Some of her catchphrases, her habit of tapping her lip when she was thinking. The purple-tipped, spiked black hair she’d sported in school. And more specifically, the one-of-a-kind tribal wings tattoo on her shoulder blades Zoe had gotten at sixteen in memory of her mother.

It was like a strange homage to her teenage self. A nice antidote to the ignominy of being voted most likely to die a virgin. The guy obviously knew her. But him? As far as she knew, nobody had a clue who he was.

“Circumstantial my ass,” Meghan returned, slapping her hands on her denim-clad hips and glaring. “The answer to Zach’s prayers, the hottest video-game designer in the country, is from your town. And chances are, given that he knew you in school well enough to see your naked back, he’s likely your age. So he’d be at this reunion. Doh … it’s a connect-the-dots win. Even you can focus long enough to connect dots, can’t you?”

“Nobody likes a smart-ass,” Zoe muttered, her lips twitching as she uttered the lie.

“Sure they do,” Meghan claimed, sensing Zoe wasn’t going to slam the door on the discussion. “Zach and I love you.”

The trickle of guilt intensified.

Needing to move, Zoe got up and crossed the apartment to the kitchen. A push of the button on the blender whirred a nice loud distraction, as well as mixing up another batch of margaritas.

Central High. Cliquish, snotty and judgmental. Zoe had never fitted in. She’d been an odd dichotomy. A moody fifteen-year-old Goth-girl brainiac with a chip on her shoulder. She’d taken to the exclusive small town and its high school like a cat to water. Thankfully she’d had Dex. Because of him, her one friend, she’d been able to ignore how poorly she’d been accepted. Until she was sixteen and her parents had died in a car accident and she’d had to deal with another nasty small-town reality. Gossip. While she’d been trying to deal with her shock and grief, the gossip mill had gone into overtime, whispering on every corner rumors of her parents’ pending divorce and claiming it was over her mom having an affair with the school principal.

Zoe had wanted to drop out, go anywhere and hide. But Zach had insisted she graduate. He’d set aside his dreams to be responsible. Despite the rotten high-school experience, she was grateful that he hadn’t let her wienie out. Wasn’t it her job, now, to set aside her irritation with the past to give his dreams a chance? After all, she wanted him to succeed, And even more, she wanted to prove herself. To him. And to herself.

Zoe sighed. Talk about pressure. She carried the pitcher into the living room and refilled both glasses.

“You know he’d be pissed if he found out you were doing this,” she muttered to her sister-in-law as she sat back down. But she still picked up the invitation. “Nobody’s even sure if Gandalf is from Bradford. You know that, right? He could have just passed through. There’s no real reason to believe he’s going to be at the reunion.”

“Zach thinks he will be. Anyone that sentimental about his hometown would go to his reunion. The timing, a bunch of things in the game, suggest he’s your age. Zach’s been racking his brain to figure out a way to find the guy.”

The guilt was a waterfall now.

Seeing the crack in Zoe’s armor, Meghan moved in for the kill. She gave a perky smile and tugged a fat envelope out of her purse. “Look, here’s more information on the reunion. I found the link when I used that Web site, you know? The Classmates one? When I saw your class was having a reunion, I e-mailed them to send me the invitation package.”

Zoe’s eyebrow arched. So that’s how they’d really found her. She’d wondered. It wasn’t like she’d left a trail of breadcrumbs for her ex-schoolmates to track her down.

“There was even speculation about Gandalf there on the message boards,” Meghan continued, once she was sure Zoe wasn’t going to chide her for the behind-the-back maneuvering. “People wondering if he’s really from your school. What class he was in. If he’ll come to the reunion. That kind of thing.”

Figured. More gossip, this time cyber-style. Zoe just rolled her eyes.

“Even if he is there, it’s not like he’s going to be wearing a sign. The guy’s managed to keep his identity a secret from major competitors for five years. He won’t show up wearing a pointed hat and carrying a game controller.” Seeing the stubborn look on Meghan’s face, Zoe sighed. Then, as she did when faced with any impossible business challenge, she started breaking it down into smaller tasks to research, areas to consider, things to do. In other words, her brain had gone into strategy mode.

While she mulled all the angles, she absently took the reunion booklet Meghan held out. When she flipped the neon cover open, all thoughts of strategy fled; Zoe’s stomach knotted. With narrowed eyes, she looked at the grainy black-and-white picture of the king and queen. Brad Young and Candice Love. Her crush and the girl who’d stolen him away from her.

She gave a low growl. Candice was the mean, snotty bitch behind making Zoe’s high-school life a living hell. Galaxies apart socially, the two girls had been in direct competition in most things academic. Zoe snickered, remembering that four out of five times, she’d beaten Candice.

But Candice had had her revenge. Her whispers had taken Zoe’s one spark of happiness and turned it into a worthless misery. Buzz of Zoe’s parents and the affair had surfaced the same week she’d won the Governors’ Award for Excellence. Candice had been the one whispering loudest, saying that since Zoe’s mom had been fooling around with the principal, his recommendation and support of Zoe were based on her mother’s bedroom skills. Zoe hadn’t believed the gossip. She knew her parents were having problems, but cheating wasn’t one of them. But she’d never forgiven Candice for starting the ugly rumor. Or for planting those doubts in Zoe’s head.

Which meant helping out her brother was also her chance to go back, show the stuck-up cheerleader and her gang of friends that she was all those things Meghan tried to convince her she was. Hot and successful.

“Okay, fine,” she decided with a determined thrust of her chin. “I’ll go.”

“Thanks, Zoe.” Meghan’s gratitude, apparent in her blue eyes and huge, relieved smile, gave Zoe a warm feeling. Helping was good. Meghan picked up the reunion folder and flipped through the pages. “You need a costume. And you’re late sending an RSVP, so it might be hard to get a room at the reunion hotel.”

“I’m going, but I’m not wearing some stupid costume. The last thing I want to do is dress up and make nice with the people who so easily judged and dismissed me,” she sneered as though she didn’t care. And she didn’t. At least, not much.

“Please, Zoe. If you’re going to get these people to help you find Gandalf, you have to at least pretend you’re going to play their game.”

Zoe wrinkled her nose. Play nice? She hadn’t factored that into her calculations. But the pitiful begging look on Meghan’s face forced her to nod.

“I’ll take care of the RSVP,” she said with her best negotiation smile. “The reunion is at Drake Inn. I know the owners. So I’ll be right there in the thick of things and able to track down all the Gandalf insider info. But I’m not doing a costume.”

Meghan waved the purple and orange flyer. “You have to. It’s a costume party!” she declared.

“No, thanks,” Zoe said. “I’ll find a sexy little dress and wear that instead.”

She wasn’t going for the reunion festivities. She was going to help out her brother. And maybe, just maybe for a second shot at the crush that got away. A chance to show the hottie football star, Brad Young, just what he’d missed out on. Blond and buff, he’d inspired many a fantasy and her sadly failed attempt to divest herself of that pesky virginity problem.

And then he’d left her high and dry.

Oh, yeah. The promise of showing everyone—Brad, Candice and all the people who’d mocked her—just how well she was doing was the last bit of incentive she needed to return to hell and chase down Gandalf.

As she imagined that scenario and considered shopping for new lingerie, Zoe tapped her bottom lip and considered. Die a virgin, her ass. The problem with a title like that, though, was how the hell did one prove it wrong?

Two weeks later

ZOE STRODE UP TO the beveled-glass doors of the Drake Inn, her four-inch stiletto boots rat-a-tat-tatting against the stamped cement. She’d spent a lot of time here in her teens since her best friend Dex’s parents owned the place.

After Meghan had convinced her to attend the reunion, Zoe had pulled out her one photo album and laughed over the few happy memories she had of Bradford. All of them had included her best friend, Dex.

As much an oddball as she was, Dex had joined in with Zoe’s schemes and dreams. They had sketched castles in the air of the wonders they’d accomplish when they were out from under the oppressive judgment of all the small-town minds that didn’t understand them.

A brainy Goth-girl and a geeky math nerd, both proud not to fit in with their mainstream classmates.

She could use some of that youthful arrogance now. Oh, sure, she was still distinctive and self-assured. People treated her with respect, curried her favor and sought out her professional advice. But as soon as she drove into town, all her old doubts, self-consciousness and worry about not fitting in had hit her.

It’d been one thing to plan a brilliant reunion coup with Meghan in her living room, to draw up a list of ideas, just the way she’d outline a plan of attack for one of the flailing businesses that regularly consulted her. Zoe had made a roster of people to talk to. She’d gone through the yearbook and researched all of her classmates, coming up with a list of possible wizards. She’d e-mailed everyone she knew in the business industry who might have any ideas about Gandalf, and she had had Meghan use Zach’s contacts to dig for information.

Her plan for this week? Divide and conquer. She’d talk to everyone on her list, from teacher to geek. She’d poke around all the places Gandalf featured in his video games and see if she could find some clues. She’d pull strings, make nice and play sleuth. One way or another, if Gandalf was in Bradford, Zoe would track him down for Zach.

But now, faced with actually implementing the plan? She remembered what it’d felt like to be a gawky teen. Only now she didn’t have her Gothic F-you attitude to hide behind. Of course, she’d been faking it ten years ago anyway.

She squared her shoulders. It’d served her well enough before, so she might as well fake it again. Phony attitude or not, she was on a mission. Like SweetCheeks, she had her orders and she was here to kick ass.

Snickering at the image, Zoe reached the door and paused. She really didn’t want to go in there. The only way this could be less appealing was if she was going in for a back-to-back mammogram, root canal, public weigh-in.

Would anyone recognize her? Maybe she wasn’t a pudgy Goth dressed in black with spiked hair and random piercings, but, as she glanced at her reflection in the door, she realized she hadn’t changed that much. Her short, wild hair was still black in places, along with chunky red and blond highlights. She still sported an extra five pounds, but now she emphasized those curves instead of hiding them in baggy T-shirts. And while she’d let most of her piercings close up, she wore a small diamond in her nose and eight in each ear.

Yeah, she was still “different.” But at least now, she had enough confidence in her abilities not to let that bother her. Unlike in high school, when she’d been stuck in this town with no options, for this round she’d come with an agenda. And that gave her the advantage. She was on the ball and in command.

And flying monkeys were delivering her luggage.

Amused by her own idiotic pep talk, Zoe grabbed the brass handle and swung the door open.

Showtime.

Ten minutes and a room key later, Zoe crossed the lobby, congratulating herself. She’d checked in, gotten her reunion welcome package and managed to avoid any actual reunions.

“Zoe? Zoe Gaston, the chic geek?”

The shrill chorus stopped her in her tracks. Zoe gave a horrified little spasm before clearing her face and turning toward the giggling.

The Fenton sisters. Two perfect, redheaded porcelain dolls with hearts of ice. Zoe had to fight to put a fake smile on her face. She fought even harder against the urge to run.

“Hello,” she voiced tonelessly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Well, well. You’ve certainly changed,” one said. The other eyed her up and down, probably gauging the cost of her outfit—skinny jeans, ankle boots and a black velvet tunic—to the nearest dollar and, from her sneer, figuring she’d overpaid.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Zoe shot back with a smirk of her own. “And yet, neither of you have at all.”

Julie and Jackie, or Jingle and Jangle as Zoe had dubbed them in school due to their shrill voices and her lack of ability to tell them apart, engulfed her in perfume-laced hugs. Just as oblivious as she remembered, they didn’t even notice her stiff-as-a-board lack of a reaction. They just launched into a babbling cacophony of chatter and gossip. As though she was one of them.

Zoe’s eyes narrowed. The twins had never had time for her ten years ago. She’d have sworn that if it weren’t for Candice’s sour-grapes gossip-fest over the award, they wouldn’t have even known her name. And now they were welcoming her and acting like she was their friend?

What were they up to?

“Did you hear Brad Young is here? He’s divorced now, I heard. And still the hottest thing ever, but now he’s rolling in the dough.” Jangle tittered.

It was all Zoe could do not to look around in case Brad was actually here in the lobby. How had he aged? Did he remember her? More important, did he remember their one and only date? The one he’d cut short for no reason, mid makeout session. The one that had broke her teenaged heart and leveled her tentative faith in the acceptance of her peers.

Zoe shook off the irritating memories and the doubts they dredged up and focused on the twins’ speculation about how Brad, who’d needed that football scholarship to go to college, had struck it rich. Jingle shot Zoe a snide look, her smile dripping glee. “Remember that crazy rumor about you and Brad at the drive-in?”

Had they read her thoughts? Zoe narrowed her eyes, glad that she’d never been the blushing type. The redheads’ giggle made it clear just how unbelievable they thought the idea of Zoe and the captain of the football team doing the movie mambo was. The speculative look, the disdain in their cornflower-blue eyes, confirmed Zoe’s suspicion. They weren’t welcoming her as an old classmate. They were priming her for fodder.

She sighed. Figured. In school, they’d been the gossip queens. Nothing happened but they got the first dirt on it. Obviously they were reprising their grimy roles all over again.

Zoe ground her teeth to keep from telling them to mind their own business. She knew this gossip game was her best shot at tracking down clues on Gandalf. If she wanted to win, she had to play. She considered a coquettish giggle of her own but figured she’d choke on it. Instead, she arched one brow and gave a naughty smile.

Lashes fluttering like stiff caterpillars, two sets of heavily lined eyes widened and the women stepped closer.

“Hey, I’m not a kiss-and-tell kind of gal,” she said. The twins exchanged shocked looks. Perfect. Maybe they’d be willing to barter for information on who might be the gaming wizard. From her research, four of the guys in the graduating class were possibilities. Much to her dismay, one of them happened to be Brad, who’d gone on to be a computer-science major.

Zoe hoped that a little gossip-gathering, some more online research once she got her hands on the attendee bios at the reunion welcome party tonight, and she’d have all the info she needed to pinpoint Gandalf. But she couldn’t deny the thought of facing Brad put her on edge.

“Of course, I’m sure nobody’s interested in my little secrets,” she said, launching the gossip-gathering portion of her plan. “After all, I’m not one of the graduating class to go on to fame and fortune. I’ve heard quite a few did, though. C’mon, all the former classmates’ lives can’t be complete secrets. Don’t we know what a few people are doing? You know, like who’s married to who, where everyone is living? Or who’s hit it big?”

“Well,” one of the sisters said, exchanging a look with the other, “we do have a few details, of course. I mean, keeping up with what everyone’s been doing is sort of a hobby of ours.”

“Do tell,” Zoe encouraged while mentally mocking her vapid performance.

“Well,” said one of them, leaning closer. “Do you remember Teresa Roberts? She was that girl who had such a big crush on you?” She barely waited for Zoe’s wince before continuing, “She’s filthy rich, I hear. Huge success in writing computer programs of some kind.”

Teresa? Computer success? But Gandalf was a guy, wasn’t he? Then again, this was Teresa. The only person in high school other than Brad to ever show any semblance of interest in Zoe. Maybe using a guy’s name wasn’t so far-fetched.

Before she could ask for details, another woman Zoe didn’t recognize joined them in a chorus of squeals and giggles.

Zoe winced. She’d dig for more gossip later, hopefully without having to hear any more shrill laughter. Before she could break in and excuse herself, a ruckus across the room caught her attention.

Someone had overturned a full luggage cart. The giggle twins still babbling in her ear, Zoe watched a guy hurry forward to help collect the bags. Something tugged in the back of her mind, but she ignored it in favor of watching the delicious view as he bent low to retrieve the scattered suitcases.

There it was. The finest ass she’d ever seen. Nerves fluttered in her throat and she tapped her finger against her bottom lip as she considered the odds of the front equaling the back. Long shot, she knew. Guys were either good to watch coming or going.

And it’d been a long cold spell since she’d seen a guy coming.

The man straightened, the luggage all reloaded on the cart and the embarrassed guest reassured. He turned toward Zoe and stopped as if he’d hit a glass wall. Their gazes met. She felt the impact all the way across the room. Her tummy spiraling like she’d fallen off a cliff, Zoe’s breath caught. Her body went from hot to blazing.

Gorgeous, was all she could think.

Shaggy coffee-brown hair was shoved off a face that made her think of poets and scholars. His long jawline and dark brows gave intensity to a face that would be pretty otherwise. She wanted, needed, to see his eyes. Were they as sexy close-up as they seemed from across the room?

A loose, blue button-up covered broad shoulders but hid his arms and chest. Zoe wondered what that chest was like. Was he muscled and hard? Or soft and snuggly? Her eyes skimmed the shirt fabric and dropped to the well-fitted denim hugging his slender hips. She sighed in appreciation as she noted how the worn fabric hinted that he dressed left. It was all she could do not to walk over and cup that fabric herself and confirm the suspicion.

Yeah, his body pretty much screamed sex to her. Hot, unbridled, mind-blowing-orgasm sex.

He smiled at her. A crooked, sexy smile that rang a bell in the back of her head. But she was too busy paying attention to the sirens going off in her body to pay attention to it.

His smile pulled her in. She automatically smiled back. Just as automatic was the shoulders-back-breasts-high shift as she angled her body toward him. Suddenly she had a second agenda besides snagging Gandalf this week—to see how many ways she could see this guy come.




2


DEXTER DRAKE FROZE as his gaze met Zoe’s across the room. Even from ten yards away, he could see the sparkle in her eyes. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Zoe’s were clear plate glass. Everything she felt was reflected in those bottle-green depths. And right now the reflection was an interesting mix of irritation and intrigue. He’d like to think the intrigue was a little sexual, a hint of interest in him. But even though he’d made a fortune with his imagination, Dex wasn’t the kind of guy who lied to himself.

More likely, she was trying to figure out why the hell, at his age, he was apparently still working at his parents’ hotel. Dex winced. This wasn’t how he’d planned to greet her for the first time. He’d hoped to make it a surprise. Preferably when she was alone instead of surrounded by a gaggle of giggling women who reminded him of overaged teenagers. Maybe when he was dressed decently, and not, he grimaced with a glance at his jeans, like one of those overaged teens himself.

Regardless of timing, Dex couldn’t stop his grin. All he’d been able to think about for the past couple weeks was seeing Zoe again. And there she was. While he’d have recognized her trademark dimple and sassy head tilt anywhere, the rest of her was a delicious surprise.

Sleek and sexy, she wasn’t Goth anymore, but her rebellious individuality was still apparent. No longer short, spiky and pitch-black, her hair hit her shoulders in a cacophony of curls and chunky streaks of color. Red, blond and, yeah, he was happy to see, still some black. She’d lost the roundness that ten years ago she’d lamented and he’d secretly loved. Her black top fell in a straight line to her thighs, but didn’t disguise the swell of her breasts or the indention of her waist. A stack of thick silver bangles clanged on her wrist every time she moved her arm, matching metal glinting from her ears.

Just as Dex raised his hand to wave to her, she gave him one last, long glance. Then she turned away. He frowned. What was up with that? He caught his own reflection in the large mirror behind the registration desk and realized that as much as she’d changed, so had he.

Ten years ago, he’d been a foot shorter, built like a noodle and worn glasses. Laser eye surgery, a good workout program and the discovery of protein had definitely had their effects on his body.

Cool. He could still surprise her. With that in mind, Dex worked his way around the lobby. He positioned himself between the clucking clutch of women and Zoe’s probable escape route so he could step out and greet her once she headed for her room. He kicked back against one of the rosewood columns, crossed his ankles and arms and let loose a grin. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she saw him.

A year younger that Zoe, Dex had taken a lot of advanced classes with her. Brainiacs like them tended to band together. But she’d never seen him as more than a sidekick. A younger buddy. Funny, safe and sexless. Emasculating, yes, but still better than the rest of his schoolmates, who usually saw him only as a wallet or the keys to the best party house in town.

After Zoe had graduated and left town, Dex had lost all interest in Central High and had counted the days until his own graduation. A scholarship to MIT had been his ticket away from the memories of his unrequited crush and out from under his father’s ever-unfulfilled demands. College, life and a little bit of luck had healed his bruised heart. But he’d never forgotten Zoe. And now was his chance to reconnect, hopefully on equal footing this round.

He heard one of the ditzy chicks ask, “So, who are you looking forward to seeing again, Zoe?”

His ears, among other things, perked up. He’d love to hear her say his name. Crazy wish, since he wasn’t even a member of her graduating class and she’d have no reason to expect him here. But the seventeen-year-old in his heart still wished just a little.

“Oh, you know, everyone,” Zoe hedged. Dex snickered. He knew better than anyone what a lie that was. They’d spent hours on end holed up here at the hotel, raiding the kitchen and lamenting the nastiness of their peers.

“C’mon, there must be someone you’re looking forward to seeing again,” one of the women nudged. “Maybe Brad?”

Dex shot upright, peering around the column to frown at Zoe’s face. Brad? Brad Young? That ass? With an ugly surge of jealousy, Dex remembered Zoe’s crush on the blond jock. Unlike the typical jock, Brad hadn’t been an idiot. Just a jerk. He and Dex had gone head to head in all things science. And usually, Dex remembered with a snicker, he’d won.

“Maybe,” Zoe said with a shrug. Resentment momentarily forgotten, Dex watched the way the soft black fabric of her top moved. Touchably soft, the material emphasized her round breasts. He’d spent years dreaming about those breasts. Lusting as only a callow, teenage boy could. And she’d been lusting after Brad the cad.

Dex ground his teeth. If her questions were anything to go by, she still was.

“Actually, it sounds like Brad’s done really well for himself,” she said in the offhand tone that people used to pretend they don’t care. “But Julie mentioned nobody’s sure how. Sounds like a mystery. Anybody have a clue?”

She asked the question with the enthusiasm and verve that’d always inspired him to crazy acts. Like TPing the science hall, letting the air out of the tires of the entire track team’s vehicles and rigging the microphones so everybody on the debate team had sounded like Donald Duck.

“I hear it was the stock market. He pulled out just before Wall Street tanked last year,” one of the redheads said.

“Are you sure?” the one who looked just like her asked. “I heard he’s doing something creative with his degree in computer science. Writing or something like that.”

“No, no, no,” interrupted the third woman. “He inherited a pile of money from his great-granddad.”

The three women compared gossip sources while Zoe watched, transfixed, as if the answer to Brad’s success meant world peace and calorie-free chocolate.

Dex shoved his fists in his pockets and kicked at the pillar. After all these years, all the crap the guy had done to her, she still wanted to see Brad? Didn’t she ever learn?

Hell, didn’t he? When his mom had told him Zoe’s class was holding its reunion at the hotel, he’d been intrigued. When she’d mentioned Zoe had booked a room, he hadn’t been able to resist a trip home. Even if it meant facing his dad’s nagging that, instead of starting his own business, he invest all his savings in the Drake, and his mom’s lamenting that he was ruining his life by quitting his well-paying job as a video-game designer and going out on his own. Using one of his hard-learned lessons from high school, he’d dealt with their negativity by throwing money toward a fancy vacation for them and sending them packing with the assurance that he’d take care of the hotel while they were away.

Anything for a chance to hang out with his best friend again. And yeah, he admitted to himself, a chance to nurture that tiny hope that he and Zoe might be a little more than friends this time. He imagined the two of them, cuddled up in the tree house back behind the inn property where they’d planned so many teenage escapades. In his imagination, Zoe’s sweet body was naked as she poised over him calling him big boy and urging him to new heights of pleasure.

Who said you couldn’t go back in time? Dex grinned. Five minutes in her presence and he was already fantasizing like a seventeen-year-old again.

“I was surprised that careers and bios weren’t listed in the reunion program,” Zoe said, pulling his attention back to the giggling group. “I mean, isn’t everyone here to catch up on what everyone else has done? I’d think Brad’s success would be the talk of the reunion.”

His hope—among other things—shriveled at her words.

“I’m on the reunion committee,” the blond lady said importantly. “We wanted to make this fun, involve everyone in a game or two. You know, like ‘guess the careers.’ That’s why we decided to kick things off tonight with the costume party. It’s all a part of the theme. Didn’t you read your welcome package? You’re supposed to give hints, but keep your actual career a secret. On Wednesday, we’ll play the match game and everyone can share then.”

“Lovely,” Zoe said tonelessly, her smile strained. “Was that supposed to tie in somehow to our costume? The whole career angle?”

“Well, yeah,” blondie said with a roll of her eyes. “But it’s supposed to be, you know, like a riddle. Not a giveaway.”

From Zoe’s infinitesimal grimace, her riddle was going to be figuring out how to turn whatever costume she had into a tie-in to her job. Dex couldn’t wait to find out what she’d ended up doing. He’d tried checking up on her a few times over the years, but he’d never had much luck. She didn’t even have a Facebook page. It baffled the mind.

“I’ll bet Candy Love is coming as some kind of super-woman. She’s just so perfect, isn’t she? I can’t wait to hear what she’s been up to,” said one of the redheads.

The look on Zoe’s face was priceless. If he remembered correctly, and when it came to Zoe he usually did, she’d hated Candice. With good reason. Like Brad and him, the two girls had gone head to head in all things academic, with Zoe walking away with the lion’s share of the winnings.

“I guess I’ll see you all later,” was all she said though. “It was a long flight and I’m a little tired. I might just skip the costume party and catch up with everyone tomorrow.”

“Oh, no,” chorused the ex-cheerleaders in perfect harmony. They all giggled, then one of the redheads said, “You have to come to the welcome bash. After all, Brad will be there.”

Zoe’s drooping shoulders straightened at that and she tapped her hip as though she was weighing her choices. Then she shrugged and said, “Sure. I’ll see you all there.” She shifted her purse and prepared to leave, then hesitated and said, “If you see Brad, tell him I’d like to talk to him, okay?”

She headed across the lobby away from the pillar Dex was hiding behind. Frowning, he watched the sway of her hips as she departed, not bothering to follow her.

Brad Young. Again.

Dex shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans with a silent growl. He’d be damned if he’d waste his last week of vacation watching the woman he’d come across the country to see fall all over some other guy. Especially not his old nemesis. Damned if he was going to spend the week taking a backseat in Zoe’s attention to that jerk the way he had all through school.

Not that he figured he had a claim on Zoe. Hell, it’d been ten years and he knew she’d never seen him as anything but a buddy. Sure, he’d had a few fantasies of changing her viewpoint, but they didn’t even know each other anymore. And the last thing he needed at this juncture of his life was to hook himself into a relationship. So no, no matter what his analytical brain tried to label it, this was not jealousy.

Brad Young was a dick. A class-A jerk who’d always been out for himself. Oh, sure, he’d always made it look like he was Mr. Friendly. Despite their scholastic competitions, he’d gone out of his way to make friends with Dex, had invited him to hang out. Only the hanging out was always at the Drake’s rec room and Dex was always the one footing the bill. When Dex had wised up and called him on it, Brad had denied that was why he’d kept him around. But when Dex’s wallet had closed, the invites had ended.

What really pissed Dex off, though, was that Brad had used Zoe. Things like getting her to write his papers, pretending to be her friend while mocking her behind her back. He’d even tagged her with the lousy moniker of longest-living virgin or something like that. All because he’d lost a bet with his football pals about getting down her pants at the drive-in.

Dex didn’t figure an asshole like that changed much over time. So it was up to him to protect his old friend. For all her tough shell, Zoe was sensitive. He’d have to make sure she wasn’t used or hurt this week.

Yeah. That was it. It was for her own good that he’d be doing his damndest to monopolize her time and keep her away from Brad. Definitely nothing to do with jealousy.

As he settled that lie in his head, the twins sauntered past, hips swaying as they whispered together. One of them caught sight of him and stopped, lifted a brow and gave him a long, slow once-over.

“Well, hello. Are you here for the reunion?” she asked in a throaty purr.

“Nah,” Dex said, a little unnerved to realize what the phrase eat him up with her eyes actually felt like. It made him want to put protective hands over his privates. “Wrong year.”

“Too bad. Maybe we can talk about new times instead of old, then,” she murmured before letting her sister tug her away.

Call him a wimp, but it was all he could do not to run.

“Dexter.”

And there was a voice that never inspired the urge to escape. With a reluctant grin, he turned to face the elderly woman.

“Nana, I thought you were fleecing Vegas of its riches,” he said as he bent in half to hug his tiny grandmother. The frailty under his hands was an illusion, he knew. Essie Drake was the strongest woman in the world.

“Vegas was rigged,” she said with a sniff. Still in her travel wear—a tracksuit of some fuzzy red fabric—her white hair in curls and her gold-rimmed bifocals, she should have looked like Mrs. Claus. Except she was too small, skinny and if Dex were honest, naughty, to be that sainted lady. Instead, Nana looked like a mischievous elf who’d put saltpeter in Santa’s cocoa and graffiti the sleigh.

She was his favorite person. His absolute champion. And the biggest pain in his butt. But any irritation was worth having her in his corner.

His parents had never understood his fascination with video games. They’d always figured it was a bad habit he’d outgrow. They’d been thrilled that he’d gone to college. Although his father said he’d only ponied up the funds for Dex’s college expenses so that his son could earn big money and support the family business after graduation. That those expenses had been trivial considering Dex had a full-ride scholarship didn’t negate the expectation in the slightest. No surprise that when, eight years ago, he’d decided to drop out of college and pursue his passion, his parents had thrown a fit.

But Nana? She’d cheered and urged him to strike out on his own. Her faith and encouragement supporting him, he’d combined graphic-design skills he’d learned in school, his computer obsession and the vivid imagination he’d always hidden for fear of being teased. The results, a highly successful career as a video-game designer. As a nod to his father’s worries—and his own self-consciousness at sharing his creative side—Dex had designed under a pseudonym, since his first game had featured—and mocked—the small Idaho town that his father’s ancestors had founded. Because of his discretion, and his Nana’s unwavering championship, his parents had eventually tolerated his career choice enough to let him come home for the holidays. The buckets of money he’d made hadn’t hurt either. Funny how money had a way of paving the way with people. All his life, the impression of money had opened doors. Friends, invitations, opportunities to hang with the in crowd.

Only Zoe hadn’t cared about what he had. She’d simply accepted him for himself, not for what she could get out of him. Which brought the number of people who did to a grand total of two. Zoe and Nana.

“Is your sweetie here yet?” his grandmother asked, looking around the lobby. “Did I miss her?”

“Is that why you’re back early? Another matchmaking game? Look, Nana, I don’t have a sweetie. I’m just here to help out Mom and Dad before I get too busy.”

Nana shook her head, a look of censure in her bright-blue eyes. “Dexter, I have the sight. I see you and your sweetheart hooking up soon.”

Dex’s jaw dropped. “Hooking up? Where do you come up with these things?”

He skipped right over the “sight” comment. Nana thought she was psychic. She claimed to have precognitive dreams and carried around a tarot deck. Much to his parents’ chagrin, she liked to set up a table in the hotel lobby and offer readings to gullible guests. Recently Nana had taken her dreams on the road, attempting to supplement her retirement income by hitting the jackpot. So far, she’d had three trips to Vegas and five to Reno, and the most she’d won was a huge stuffed monkey dressed like Liberace.

“Admit it, you’re here to find your one true love,” his grandmother nagged, tucking her hand around his arm so he could lead her out the back door toward her cottage in the private grounds.

Zoe’s image popped into his mind. But it wasn’t love his imagination was interested in, given that she was naked and spread out over his bed.

“No true love, Nana. I don’t have time.” Or more to the point, love didn’t have time for him. Dex had tried to fall in love, he’d really wanted to believe in the sweet myth of unconditional emotions. But love, like his childhood, had always come with a price: money, favors, connections.

Nana sniffed and stuck out her narrow chin. “Love doesn’t happen on a schedule, you know. You’d do well to find her this week, before you risk everything in this crazy scheme of yours.”

“I thought you liked gambling,” was all he said. He’d heard all the reasons his family didn’t want him to go through with his plans. Four generations of Drakes had run this hotel and it was now on his shoulders to keep it in the family. His parents would tolerate him not directly working in the building, but family tradition demanded that he help keep the business afloat in these hard economic times. Blah blah blah.

But when this vacation ended next Monday, he’d make the biggest change of his adult life. He was leaving his well-paying job at Leeton Games and putting all his resources toward starting his own company. Years of dreaming, months of planning, and it was time to make his move. A familiar mantle of nerves settled on his shoulders and Dex tried to shrug it off. After all, the money didn’t worry him much. Nor did the risk, even though it was a huge one given that the guy who’d drawn up his business plan and who was supposed to sign on as his manager had backed out, citing worries over having to start a company without being able to use Dex’s main claim to fame. His pseudonym.

But Dex had an agreement with Leeton Games. When he’d started there, the pseudonym had been his idea, but the notoriety it had built over the years had garnered the company a lot of accolades. In return for relinquishing all claims to the name and keeping silent for three years, they’d pay him enough money to give him a healthy cushion for a year to get his business going.

Dex had enough faith in his skills, his talents, to know that the computer-graphics company would take off.

But it was a damned shame his alter ego, Gandalf, had to be thrown on to the sacrificial pyre in the name of insurance.

D“ID YOU FIND Gandalf yet?” Meghan asked over the speaker-phone. Her words were impatient, her tone the equivalent of an irritated shove in the small of Zoe’s back.

Zoe paused in the act of unpacking to shake her head at the phone. “I’ve been here an hour, Meg. It’s not like the guy is going to be wearing a sign or anything. The biggest companies in video gaming have tried to find his identity for years now and failed. But you think all I have to do is saunter into the hotel and poof, there he’ll be? I’m good, but not quite that good.”

“If anyone can do it, you can,” Meghan insisted. “But you have to talk to people. You know that, right? Did you ask around or did you register then beeline to your room to hide?”

“I talked, I asked. I’m trying, okay?” Zoe’s irritated tone was in strong contrast to the underlying panic in her sister-in-law’s voice. Zoe sucked in a breath and tried for calm. “Don’t stress so much, okay? If the guy is here, I’ll find out.” Zoe recalled the twin’s assertion about Teresa Roberts, but dismissed the idea. Gandalf had to be a guy.

“What’s your first step? What’re you doing tonight?”

Zoe winced. She’d been hoping Meghan wouldn’t ask that. She hated I-told-you-so moments. Hoping to avoid this one, she talked fast. “I figured I’d hang out in my room tonight. You know, do a little online research, touch base with a few people in the industry and see if they have any leads. And I still need to figure out how to convince this guy to work for Zach once we find him. I’ve got a few ideas, but I need to polish them before I run them by Zach since it’s his company and money.”

“No,” Meghan broke in. “Wait to talk to Zach until you’ve found Gandalf.”

Zoe snickered. “Hiding this little venture, are we?”

Meghan’s huff blew through the phone, making Zoe laugh out loud. “Why aren’t you attending the reunion’s costume party tonight?” Meghan asked. That shut up Zoe’s laughter.

“You were right,” she admitted with a sigh. “Costumes are mandatory to attend the event. Dressing up in a costume that represents your career is part of the whole reunion game plan. They’ve created all these events during the week to force people to get to know each other again.” Zoe kept her As if I care to to herself, figuring Meghan would launch into her lecture again.

“You need to go.”

“No, I don’t,” Zoe argued, figuring Meghan would pitch the idea of her going in her pajamas if she left even the tiniest opening for argument.

“You do. You have to. This is the perfect way to eliminate the reunion members from your search. Just check out their costumes, right? So you have to go. And to make sure you do, I took care of everything,” Meghan said in a bossy yet begging sort of tone that pushed all Zoe’s guilt buttons. “I ordered you a costume. It should be delivered any time.”

With a sigh, Zoe expressed her reluctant gratitude as she unpacked her laptop and powered it up. Two clicks and she’d pulled up her e-mail.

“Awesome,” she exclaimed, all visions of stupid costumes fleeing from her mind.

“What? Your costume is there?” Meghan exclaimed.

Zoe grinned, pleasure surging through her as she plopped cross-legged on the bed and pulled her computer close.

“No. Even better. Dex is here.”

“What’s a Dex?”

“My lifeline to sanity,” Zoe said, leaning back onto the cushy pile of pillows as memories washed over her. “We used to hang out. He was as much of a geek as I was, totally obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons, role-playing, that kind of thing. His parents own this hotel.”

She scanned his note again and told Meghan, “I guess he’s here this week to help out. That’s how he got my e-mail addy, from the registration.”

“So what’re you going to do? Get some sexy times in? Don’t you have enough on your plate already without dishing up distractions, too?”

An image of the hottie in the lobby flashed through Zoe’s mind. That guy was all about sexy times. But Dex? She snickered. He’d been three inches shorter than her, shy to the point of stuttering and given his obsession with playing dress-up with other men, quite possibly gay. Do Dex? Hardly.

“Nah, Dex and I are just friends,” she told Meghan, avoiding the sexual distraction rebuke. After all, she was quite capable of juggling two things at once. Especially if one of them had shoulders like the guy in the lobby.

“Dex rocks,” she told Meghan. “I was bummed when we lost touch after I left school. It’ll be great to catch up with him, see what he’s been up to.”

She scanned the e-mail again, noting that he said he was visiting. That meant he’d left town, too. They’d have a lot of show-and-tell to share.

“Just don’t lose sight of why you’re there,” Meghan chided. Then she started reiterating suggestions on how to find Gandalf. Zoe listened with half an ear as she did a Web search, trying to find out what Dex had been up to the past ten years.

A knock sounded. She set the laptop aside and told Meghan to hold on as she went to answer the door. The bellboy handed her a large box with a wicked grin. Zoe glanced at the label, Dressed to Thrill and rolled her eyes.

“Costume party,” she told the snickering deliveryman.

“Uh-huh,” he said as he pocketed his tip and sauntered away.

Zoe wrinkled her nose at his retreating back, wanting to point out that if she was in the market for thrills, they’d hardly show up in a brown cardboard box. Before she could, though, she heard Meghan’s shout over the phone.

“Is it there? Is that the costume?”

Looking at the label again, Zoe shut the door and lugged the box over to the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding. You went through a place called Dressed to Thrill? Do I really want to open this, Meghan?”

“As tempting as it was to get you something wicked and fun like a spy costume, I went with Betty Boop,” Meghan said with a laugh. “I figured that was your favorite cartoon. Betty’s sexy and fun, and she’s always involved in lots of different things. And she might shoot down those virgin rumors you are so obsessed with.”

Zoe rolled her eyes again and ignored the insult as she pulled her metal nail file out of her purse and started cutting through the packing tape. She pulled a large white garment bag out of the packing container and tossed what looked like a note and invoice back in the box, which she then shoved on the floor so she could lay out the bag.

“So how do I turn Betty Boop into a riddle that says career consultant-slash-business manager-slash-troubleshooter-with-commitment issues?” she asked as she unzipped the bag.

Meghan snorted. “I didn’t know about the career requirement when I ordered it. But in your case, you can just wear sneakers and carry your BlackBerry and a cap gun.”

Zoe’s grin faded to a frown when her fingers encountered leather. Betty didn’t wear leather, did she? She pulled the hanger from the bag, holding the outfit out at arm’s length.

“Holy shit.” She dropped the hanger and jumped back a foot, staring in openmouthed horror at the slinky mound of black leather on her bed. Her eyes shifted to the rest of the outfit which had fallen from the bag when she pulled out the costume. A studded collar, black mask and riding crop.

Shock, fascination and an insane urge to giggle fluttered in Zoe’s stomach as she stared.

“You should have gone with the spy costume. There’s no way in hell I’m going down there in this.” Zoe eyed the black leather again and couldn’t hold back her laugh. “Although I have to admit, nobody would ever call me as a virgin again after I walked in dressed like a dominatrix.”




3


“ICAN’T BELIEVE I’M doing this,” Zoe groaned as she tugged the leather and lace skirt down over her fishnet stockings, trying to cover her butt. She stopped for the third time on her march down the hotel hallway, reluctant to take that final step into the elevator and commit herself to this joke of an evening. “I should have come down in my pajamas and called myself a dream analyst.”

But, no. She’d shimmied and shoved herself into the leather getup. Why? Because her brother was counting on her. And, as Meghan pointed out, if she didn’t, not only would she miss an important chance to track down Gandalf, she’d be seen as a cop-out. As a loser.

The elevator doors swooshed open. This was her last chance to back out. Zoe sucked in a breath, puffed out her cheeks and then shrugged. One last reminder that she didn’t care what people thought of her, she exhaled sharply and walked in, turned around and hit the lobby button.

Alone in the elevator, she inspected her reflection. She’d refused to wear the thigh-high pleather boots. Instead, she’d substituted her own ankle boots. Sexy shoes were mandatory, even when offset by fishnets and studs.

The majority of the outfit consisted of the boots and a wide, ruffled leather-and-lace miniskirt, with its nod to modesty. The rest was a black leather bikini top, slender strips anchoring it to a studded choker on top, and crisscrossing to the tiny panties hidden by her skirt on the bottom. Studded cuffs and a leather crop completed the outfit.

At least, she assured herself as she tugged at the skirt again, her body was pretty well covered. If you counted fishnet and leather straps as coverage.

Way to make an impression after ten years. Realizing she was freaking out over the same people who’d judged her so rudely before, Zoe repeated to herself that she didn’t give two good damns what they all thought. She pulled back her shoulders and stuck out her chest. Then she glanced down. Maybe not quite that much, she winced as she noted the spikes on the black leather and adjusted her spine. No point in damaging someone accidentally before she found Gandalf. And, she reasoned, she’d dressed Goth her entire three years at Central High. How was this so different? Still black, still filled with attitude. Just a little less … fabric. And this time she had a handy-dandy riding crop to deal with anyone who got snotty.

Snickering at that idea, Zoe patted the BlackBerry clipped to her waist. Since almost every troubleshooting job she’d taken in the past year had been in the communications field, it was the sole clue to her actual career.

To say nothing of her means of escape. Dex had said he’d contact her at some point tonight to get together. She just hoped it was during the party.

Fifteen minutes later and Zoe could only laugh and shake her head. What was the shelf life on immaturity? Twenty-eight years old and these people still acted like teenagers. You’d think the guys would have at least learned a few new pickup lines.

Tapping her crop against her thigh, she made her way through the loud, humid room.

“Do you charge by the hour?” one guy said as she turned sideways to try to get past him to reach the committee’s table.

“You couldn’t afford me,” Zoe said with a wink and a wave of her crop. She recognized him as a football player. If he’d recognized her, he’d have been crossing his legs.

By the time she reached the table to sign in, she’d been hit on five times, insulted eight and even though nobody had recognized her, she’d been treated with the same disdain as she’d hated in school.

It really was just like old times.

She automatically tucked the hurt away, firmly enmeshed in her old screw-you attitude, and lifted her chin.

“Zoe Gaston, checking in,” she said to the puppy dog across the table. The woman was sporting a full body of fur, floppy ears and black-nosed whiskers.

“Gaston?” The puppy ran her paw down the chart, found Zoe’s name and, while her eyes were huge as she took in the black leather ensemble, she just smiled and handed Zoe her name tag. “Please step over to the photo booth.”

“Why?”

“Everyone whose costume qualifies for the reunion contest has to have their picture taken.”

“What’re the qualifications?”

“That your costume doesn’t give away what you really do for a living,” the puppy said, and then she winked. “I’m guessing you don’t support yourself with spankings?”

Zoe blinked in surprise at the smile and friendly joke, then she laughed and said, “Nah, spankings barely keep me in grocery money,” before returning the grin and moving to the picture line.

Zoe said cheese. The photographer, who she recognized as her old P.E. teacher, gave her the clear signal and as she slid off the stool, he commented, “You’re the best costume since Brad’s.”

“Brad Young?” she asked. “What’s he dressed as?”

“A wizard. Great cape.” With that, the guy turned to the next person, camera at the ready and Zoe forgotten.

Brad. Figured. All the signs had been pointing to Brad Young, and now he was dressed as a wizard. Didn’t that say it all? Zoe shook her head. Of all possibilities, it had to be the guy who’d rejected her. She forced herself to quit the mental whine-fest. She’d been way out of her league with Brad ten years ago. She wasn’t now. This time, she’d call the shots and he’d be grateful. She’d find him, maybe flirt a little. If he was Gandalf, she’d contact Zach, find out what he wanted her to do, then get the hell out of Dodge. And leave Brad Young panting in her dust. Perfect.

Her eyes peeled for a pointy hat, Zoe reviewed her plan for the night. Connect with Brad was number one for the Gandalf quest. She tapped her crop against her thigh as nervous anticipation shimmied in her belly. She couldn’t wait to see the look on her old crush’s face when he caught a load of what he’d given up to chase a pair of pom-poms.

Cautioning herself against getting too cocky or tunnel-focused that Brad was her man, she scanned the room. There were three other guys whose careers she hadn’t managed to verify before the reunion. Since all she had to go on were their graduation pictures, she figured she’d watch for name badges and costume giveaways. Any guy sporting a joystick was on her follow-up list.

“Well, well. You still haven’t found any color other than black, hmm?”

Chin high, Zoe turned around. Her jaw clenched as she forced her lips into a smile.

Candice Love. Central High’s homecoming queen, head cheerleader and girl voted most likely to have the world bowing at her feet.

Lovely.

Zoe straightened her shoulders, cocked her hip to one side and lifted her chin. Attitude to the rescue.

“I could barely believe my ears when Julie told me you were here. Zoe Gaston, the geeky virgin.” Candice gave a tinkle of icy laughter as she eyed Zoe up and down with artfully rounded blue eyes. “You did know this costume party was to guess your career, right? Not to try to deny your graduating title?”

Zoe inspected the blonde’s costume, then raised a brow. “Really? And you realized it’s 2009, right? Not 1999? Or has life been so bad since school that you’re living in the past?”

Fair question, given that Candice was wearing a cheerleader costume. Not quite the same as the one she’d worn in school, instead of a C on her low-cut sweater, there was a picture of a bee wearing a crown and a bunch of tiny bees lined up like her court. What the hell? Queen-bee bitch was now a job designation? Contrary to Zoe’s petty hopes, Candice hadn’t sagged, uglified or turned into a toad in the past decade. Nope. Blondie was still trim, perky and pretty. Figured.

“I’m in costume,” Candice dismissed. “Apparently we both held on to quite a bit of our high-school personas, hmm?”

Charming as always. Zoe decided then and there she wasn’t giving Candice a second more of her time than she had to. Stealing Gandalf out from under her nose would be her reward for resisting the urge to fling insults.

“Apparently,” was all Zoe said, flourishing her riding crop with a quirk of her brow. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to meet someone.”

Blue eyes narrowed at the dismissal. Zoe took pleasure in brushing off the woman who so easily stirred up every insecurity she’d ever had.

Crop tapping against her thigh, Zoe made her way across the loud, overheated room and out the side doors into the dark garden, letting the pitch-black evening envelope her in obscurity. She breathed a deep, cleansing breath and closed her eyes. Two more breaths and she could feel her shoulders again underneath the ropes of tension.

Well. That’d been fun. Not.

Absorbing the serenity of the moonlit garden, Zoe took another deep breath and tried to pep-talk herself into going back into the ballroom. Gandalf was in there. She’d be damned if she’d let Candice and her pom-poms intimidate her into losing her edge.

“Whip me, beat me, make me attend a class reunion?”

Zoe spun around to face the owner of the low, male voice. She peered through the dark, only able to make out his costumed body, since his face was shadowed. Still, heat flared and a wide, appreciative grin curved her lips.

Helloooo, gorgeous.

Breathless, she stared. Leaning against the wall, the guy was pure sex appeal. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out his costume. Tight leather pants, a loose shirt and a bigass sword. Between the dim garden light and what looked like a wide mask à la Zorro, she could barely make out his face. But his body was a work of art. Tall, lean, but well-muscled, all Zoe could think about was pressing herself against his chest and trying him on for size. A black cape completed the mysterious look.

“Having fun?” he asked, his question reminding her of his ordinal comment.

“Hardly. To tell you the truth, it would have taken a whip to get to me attend if I’d known it would be this bad,” she admitted.

“Time heals all wounds?” he asked in a teasing voice.

“Or sharpens all claws.”

“Interesting image coming from a woman wearing leather and studs,” he teased, his tone low and husky, almost as though he had a cold or was disguising it along with his face. He had a faint accent, giving his sexually charged words an extra dose of romance. She couldn’t tell from where, though.

But there was something familiar about him. Not surprising, given the circumstances, but still she wished she knew who he was. She eyed his cape and recalled the photographer’s comment. But, even though it’d been ten years, this guy just didn’t remind her of Brad.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Aragorn.”

She narrowed her eyes. Wasn’t that a Lord of the Rings character? She scanned the costume again and tried to remember the movie. Unlike some of her friends, she hadn’t read the books. Instead, she’d gone to see the hot, sexy hunk hero and that cute blond elf guy. She regretted not paying more attention to the names, but with all that eye candy, she’d been distracted.

“How about your real name?” she invited.

“Nah. It’s a costume party. Go with the mystery.”

Zoe debated. He could be Brad under that mask. Better yet, he could be Gandalf. Or was she just justifying her need to spend some time with a guy who got her thinking naked thoughts with just a few words?

“How about a break?” he suggested. “Catch your breath before you head back in to whip butts and make them beg.”

He gave a charming, one-sided grin in response to her snort of laughter, then gestured to the path leading toward the rose arbor. “Maybe a walk in the moonlight?”

When he gestured, his cape fell back. She could clearly see the outline of his chest and shoulders beneath the soft flowing fabric of his shirt. Her breath caught. The sculpted muscles beneath the white cotton owed nothing to the costume and everything to Mother Nature. Broad shoulders, solid pecs and biceps that made her mouth water.

Sexy. Zoe swallowed hard, her body already aware, went on hyperalert. Her breasts swelled, nipples pressed arousingly against their leather restraints.

“A walk sounds tempting,” she breathed, tucking her hand in his elbow. God, what could be more romantic? A moonlit walk in the gardens beside a gorgeous guy with a really big sword who got her hot with just the sound of his voice.

She slid him a sideways glance, but even close-up she couldn’t make out his features. Between the dark night and the wide black mask wrapped around his upper face and tied behind his head like a bandana, all she could tell was that his hair was slicked back. Short? A wig? The way the mask was tied made it hard to tell.

Who was he? If he was Brad, he’d have said something, wouldn’t he? But Brad was the only guy at Central High ever to really notice her. She tried to remember if he’d been this lean. Granted, it’d been ten years, but she’d remembered him as having more of a ballplayer build than a runner’s physique.

They stepped off the patio and into the open garden. The cold evening air hit her almost-naked body. Zoe grimaced and instinctively stepped closer to the man’s warmth.

So much for romance. She’d forgotten she was dressed up as the menacing man-eater.

“Here,” he said shifting his cape.

She caught her breath, wondering if he meant to pull her under it with him. But he didn’t. Instead he released the collar and swung it off, then wrapped it carefully around her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“You looked uncomfortable.”

“I forgot how chilly it could get,” she said.

“I meant in there,” he said, gesturing toward the curtained windows of the ballroom. The noise was blunted out here, but they could still hear the occasional loud laugh, screech or drum roll.

“I forgot what it was like. Feeling like such an outsider,” she murmured. “I didn’t quite expect …”

“Were they rude?” His words were simple enough, but the anger underlying them made Zoe shake off her pity party and stare up at him. Now that he’d pulled off the cloak she could see the wide strength of his shoulders. But it was the set of his jaw that caught her attention. Stiff with anger, for all his calm words he looked like he might go back in there and … what? Give them a one-two-kapow?

Zoe snickered at her imagination. Then she realized she’d given too much energy to the responses in the ballroom. She hadn’t cared what those people thought ten years ago, why should she now?




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