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Tempt Me at Midnight
Maureen Smith


Lexi Austin is living a fantasy. At the stroke of midnight, in the most romantic country in the world, a masked stranger sweeps her into his arms.But when the man turns out to be Quentin Reddick, Lexi's best friend since college, the celebrity chef knows she's in trouble. He may be the most irresistible man on the planet, but the powerhouse attorney is also the world's hardest partying bachelor.The sensual woman he kissed on New Year's Eve is a world away from the fast-talking tomboy Quentin always thought of as a kid sister. Back home in Atlanta, he plans to show Lexi that he's a one-woman man. As desire reignites–even hotter than before–he'll tempt her with his passion. Seduce her with his love. And together, they'll ring in the new year–and every year–in each other's arms….









Bracing one foot on the edge of the bathtub, Lexi spread the fragrant cream over her thigh. She massaged it into her skin, working downward to her feet before moving to the other leg.


She swallowed, licking her lips. Staring at herself in the mirror, she began rubbing the mango butter over her belly. Her muscles quivered, tightened. She paused, then slowly slid her hands up to her breasts. An odd, tingling awareness rippled over her skin.

Then, without warning, the bathroom doorknob began to turn. A moment later Quentin stood in the doorway, his lids at half-mast over his smoldering hazel eyes. Their gazes locked in the mirror.

Without a word he started toward her, a slow, stealthy advance that made her pulse hammer.

When he’d reached the tub where she stood, he dipped his fingers into the jar of cream, scooping out enough to coat both of his hands. Her body hummed with arousal. He moved behind her, staring at their joined reflections in the mirror. Then a slow, sensual smile curved his mouth before he reached out to touch her.




MAUREEN SMITH


is the author of sixteen novels and one novella. She received a B.A. in English from the University of Maryland with a minor in creative writing. She is a former freelance writer whose articles were featured in various print and online publications. Since the release of her debut novel in 2002, Maureen has been nominated for three RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Awards and fourteen Emma Awards, and she has won the Romance in Color Reviewers’ Choice Awards for New Author of the Year and Romantic Suspense of the Year. Her novel Secret Agent Seduction won the 2010 Emma Award for Best Romantic Suspense.

Maureen lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her husband, two children and a miniature schnauzer. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached at author@maureen-smith.com. Please visit her website at www.maureen-smith.com for news about her upcoming releases.




Tempt Me at Midnight

Maureen Smith





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


For Lonnie, Brianna, and MJ

The best niece and nephews in the world


Dear Reader,

In my previous novel, Recipe for Temptation, you were introduced to wickedly irresistible Quentin Reddick. With his killer looks, lazy smile and magnetic charm, Quentin is a bona fide ladies’ man who has no intention of ever settling down. That is, until he locks lips with his best friend, Lexi Austin, at a New Year’s Eve party. After that magical night, all bets are off.

I’ve always been a sucker for stories that feature friends turned lovers. What could be more romantic than falling madly in love with the one person who knows you better than anyone else? That’s what Quentin and Lexi are about to find out.

I hope you will enjoy their passionate journey, which begins with a stolen kiss at the stroke of midnight….

As always, please share your thoughts with me at author@maureen-smith.com.

Until next time, happy New Year and happy reading!

Maureen Smith




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue




Chapter 1


The grand ballroom was a sea of masks. Black, white, sequined and feathered masks everywhere Lexi Austin looked.

As she waded through the crowd of revelers, excitement pulsed through her veins. In half an hour the clock would strike twelve, ushering in a new year. Lexi could think of no better way to celebrate than by attending a masquerade ball at a luxurious château owned by legendary fashion designer Asha Dubois. The glitzy soiree was the hottest ticket in France every year, attended by everyone who was anyone in the fashion industry. Which meant that Lexi could be rubbing elbows with the likes of Miuccia Prada and John Galliano without even—

A man in a feathered black mask suddenly jostled her, murmuring apologetically, “Excusez-moi.”

Lexi smiled beneath the jeweled white mask that covered the upper half of her own face. “Ce n’est pas grave,” she assured him, the words rolling smoothly off her tongue.

The stranger returned her smile before moving off.

Lexi continued across the crowded room, taking in the sights and sounds as if she’d just arrived at the party. A canopy of twinkling lights hung from the frescoed ceiling, and ornate wall tapestries and marble columns evoked the grandeur of the French Renaissance. A fifteen-piece orchestra performed a dreamy Viennese waltz that had lured many couples onto the dance floor, the swirl of white ball gowns transforming the scene into a shimmering fairyland.

As Lexi paused to watch the dancers, she couldn’t help wishing she had a date that evening. What could be more romantic than ringing in the New Year wrapped in the arms of a man she loved?

But she’d been woefully unlucky in that department, so tonight she was flying solo.

A soft smile curved her mouth when two of her closest friends, Michael and Reese Wolf, whirled into her line of sight. Michael was darkly handsome in a black tuxedo, while Reese was positively radiant in a long white gown that flowed gently over her round, protruding belly. Being eight months pregnant hadn’t slowed her down that evening; her head was thrown back in laughter as her husband twirled her gracefully around the dance floor.

As Lexi watched the happy couple, she thought of the missing member of their group. Quentin Reddick had called last night to let them know he’d be unable to join them in France, citing an unexpected development in one of his upcoming court cases. Lexi had been sorely disappointed. Quentin was her best friend. Over the years they’d attended numerous parties together, often serving as each other’s “mock date.”

Not that Quentin ever had any trouble finding real dates, Lexi thought wryly. The man was a veritable chick magnet. If he’d been at tonight’s ball, he would have spent the evening surrounded by gorgeous, leggy supermodels. God knows there were plenty in attendance.

Still, despite his popularity with the ladies, Lexi had always known she could count on Quentin to save her a dance or two. When she returned home to Atlanta in a few days, she’d be sure to give him an earful for abandoning her.

With one last envious glance at the dancing couples, Lexi made her way across the ballroom toward a row of French doors that opened onto an ivy-draped terrace. She’d decided to ring in the New Year outside on the balcony, which was preferable to remaining indoors, where she’d be surrounded by couples kissing and embracing at the stroke of midnight.

When she reached the doors to the terrace, she was relieved to see that it was deserted. The cool temperature had undoubtedly deterred the other guests from wandering out there to steal a romantic moment under the stars or enjoy the breathtaking view of rolling green hills, beautifully landscaped gardens and lush vineyards.

Standing at the white stone balustrade, Lexi closed her eyes and inhaled the crisp night air. She almost imagined she could detect the scents of lavender and fermenting grapes that would permeate the French countryside during warmer months.

She’d been thrilled when Michael and Reese invited her to celebrate the New Year with his family in France. Lexi would have been content to spend the holiday with her friends anywhere. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined staying at a sprawling twenty-bedroom château nestled deep in the country’s most famous wine region. Burgundy was a chef’s paradise, a French mecca for lovers of gourmet cuisine and exquisite wine. Lexi couldn’t wait to go exploring tomorrow.

Belatedly, she realized that the orchestra had stopped playing inside the ballroom. An air of hushed excitement swept over the crowd moments before Asha Dubois’s lilting, cultured voice came over the loudspeaker. “Bonsoir, mes amis. I hope all of you are having a splendid time this evening.”

She paused, chuckling softly as a chorus of cheers and applause went around the room. “Très bien. I’m very pleased to hear it. Well, my dear friends, we’re just minutes away from welcoming a new year. If you haven’t already, please be sure to take a flute of champagne from one of the servers circulating around the room. After all, darlings, you can’t toast the New Year empty-handed.”

Glancing down at her empty hands clasped over the balustrade, Lexi smiled ruefully.

“For those of you who have never attended one of my masquerade balls,” Asha continued, “we observe a very simple tradition. At the stroke of midnight, everyone removes their masks and reveals themselves. So without further ado, I’d like to wish all of you a wonderful New Year. May you experience love, laughter and joy—and have plenty of hot, mind-blowing sex!”

Lexi grinned as the crowd roared with laughter and approval. And then the revelers joined together to belt out the last ten seconds of the countdown: “…five, four, three, two—”

As fireworks erupted into the night sky, a pair of strong arms curved around Lexi’s waist and swept her around. She had only a fleeting glimpse of a black mask and impossibly broad shoulders before the stranger lowered his head.

She gasped at the shock of soft, warm lips covering hers.

Her first instinct was to jerk away. But the sudden onslaught of pleasure engulfing her body made it impossible for her to move.

The stranger increased the pressure of his mouth against hers as his hands slid up her back, holding her close against his hard, muscular frame. Dazedly her mind registered that he was very tall, at least six-five. And he tasted delicious—an irresistible combination of chocolate, peppermint and man. Her blood ignited, and her heart thundered furiously.

The stranger, whoever he was, could kiss like no other man she’d ever kissed before. As he traced the shape of her lips with his tongue, violent pulses of sensation charged through her body. She opened her mouth and his tongue dipped inside, lazily stroking hers. A tiny sound caught in her throat, a whimper of pleasure.

He deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with slow, sensual licks that left her quaking all over. She arched against him, craving more.

All too soon, he released her and lifted his head.

Disoriented, Lexi swayed on her feet before strong hands gently gripped her upper arms, steadying her. She opened her eyes slowly.

“Happy New Year.” A deep, familiar voice greeted her.

Lexi went rigid, her eyes widening with shock. No, it couldn’t be. “Quentin?”

Slowly he reached up and removed his mask. A kaleidoscope of bright colors flashed across his wickedly handsome face—a face Lexi knew almost as well as her own.

She staggered backward, stunned and shaken. “Wh-what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Wishing you a Happy New Year,” Quentin murmured.

“You couldn’t do that without kissing me?” she cried in exasperated disbelief.

Another burst of fireworks illuminated the devilish gleam in his hazel eyes. “Come now,” he drawled. “What’s a little kiss between old friends?”

Lexi gaped at him. There’d been nothing remotely “little” about that kiss. Good Lord, her knees were still knocking together!

“That wasn’t some chaste peck on the lips, Quentin,” she said darkly. “You French-kissed me.”

His eyes glimmered with amusement. “We’re in France.”

“So what!”

One broad shoulder shrugged. “When in France…”

Lexi shook her head, her eyes narrowing suspiciously on his face. “Have you been drinking?”

“No,” Quentin said with a laugh, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. He looked like a million bucks in a classic black tuxedo that fit his body like a dream.

“What’re you doing here anyway?” Lexi grumbled. “I thought you couldn’t make it.”

“Things changed.”

“Like what?”

Instead of answering, he took a step toward her.

Alarmed, Lexi backed away until she came up against the stone balustrade. Trapped, she stared up at him, afraid he might try to kiss her again. “Quentin—”

“Relax.” He reached out, gently pulling her mask off her face. She’d completely forgotten she was wearing one, and now she felt utterly exposed without it.

Quentin set the mask down on the banister. His lazy gaze raked over her, taking in the low neckline and cinched waist of her strapless white gown before sliding back up to her face. “You look beautiful, Lex,” he murmured.

“Thanks.” She inhaled deeply, appalled by how uneven her breath was, how hard it was to draw air into her lungs. “Asha had gowns designed for me, Reese and Samara. I really lucked out by having a close friend whose stepmother is a famous fashion mogul.”

Quentin’s eyes glinted wickedly. “That was one helluva toast she made. Words to live by.”

At the memory of Asha’s admonition to her guests to have “plenty of hot, mind-blowing sex,” Lexi flushed deeply—a reaction that confused her. Normally she would have laughed and made some quip about Quentin’s notoriously overactive sex life.

But tonight she could only manage a noncommittal “hmm.”

Inside the ballroom, the orchestra was playing an extended version of “Auld Lang Syne” as the unmasked partygoers milled around laughing, shaking hands and exchanging good wishes. Some had drifted toward the French doors to watch the fireworks display. No one attempted to join the two occupants of the terrace.

Lexi dragged in another deep breath, striving for composure. “When did you arrive?” she asked Quentin.

“About half an hour ago.” Smiling, he touched her face. “I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

She swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you found me.” Had he ever! “Now you can get back to the party. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a roomful of supermodels who are just waiting to be debauched. As a matter of fact, one of them just walked by. I think you caught her eye, Quentin.”

She waited for him to take the bait and glance over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the woman in question. To her surprise, his gaze never strayed from hers.

Frowning, Lexi reached up and laid her hand across his forehead as if to check his temperature. “Sweetie, are you feeling okay?”

He chuckled softly. “I feel fine.”

“Are you sure? You don’t seem like yourself. Maybe you’re jet-lagged. Or—”

“Maybe I’m just happy to see you,” he finished.

The warm, husky undertone of his voice skated along her nerve endings and quickened her heart rate.

She gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m happy to see you too, Quentin.”

And she really was. She just wished they hadn’t gotten off to such a nerve-racking start. That kiss… Oh, God. If that searing kiss was any indication of Quentin’s prowess as a lover, it was no wonder he couldn’t keep women out of his bed.

“You owe me a dance,” he told her.

Lexi shook her head quickly—maybe too quickly. But she couldn’t help it. The thought of being in his arms again scared her senseless. “Sorry, but you’ll have to take a rain check. My feet are killing me in these heels.”

“So take ’em off.”

“Wouldn’t do much good. The damage has already been done. Besides, I was planning to cut out soon anyway. Asha had me and the girls running around Paris all day, so I’m exhausted.” To demonstrate, she covered her mouth to stifle what she hoped was a convincingly huge yawn.

Quentin tsk-tsked her. “Spoilsport.”

She grinned. “Hey, it’s not my fault you got here late. But don’t worry. I’m leaving you in good hands. The supermodel I just mentioned? Don’t look now, but she’s back. And it’s a damn good thing we’re not involved, Q, or I’d have to kick her ninety-pound ass for stalking my man.”

Laughing, Quentin sent a lazy glance over his shoulder. The gorgeous woman, slim and exquisitely tall, hovered near the terrace doors. She met Quentin’s gaze, smiled coyly and fluttered her fingers in a wave.

He flashed her a smile before returning his attention to Lexi. “I’m staying in the room next to yours.” Which was the last thing she wanted to hear. “If you’re still awake when I come up, maybe we can play cards or something.”

Lexi forced out a laugh. “Trust me, I won’t be awake. And something tells me you won’t be thinking about cards by the time you make it back to your room,” she added with a meaningful glance over his shoulder.

Quentin shifted closer. “Lex—”

“Oh, look, there’s Michael and Reese!” she exclaimed, grateful for the distraction. “They told me they’d be heading to bed right after midnight. I’ll walk out with them. Good night, sweetie.” Pressing a quick kiss to Quentin’s smooth-shaven cheek, she slipped from between him and the balustrade and hurried across the terrace.

Although she was retiring early, she didn’t expect to get much sleep. The memory of Quentin’s kiss would keep her awake tonight, and for many nights to come.




Chapter 2


The last thought Quentin had before falling asleep was the same thought that greeted him when he woke up the next morning: he’d kissed Lexi.

In the light of day his behavior seemed surreal, like something he’d only imagined. Except he’d never imagined doing something as reckless as what he’d done last night. To Lexi. His best friend. A woman who’d always been more like a sister to him than anything else.

But there was nothing brotherly about the way he’d felt when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She’d tasted sweeter than he could ever have imagined, and the feel of her petite, curvy body pressed against his had tempted him beyond all reason.

The scary part was, he hadn’t even intended to kiss her when he’d found her on the terrace last night. True, he’d tracked her down with a single-minded focus, bulldozing his way through the crowd in order to reach her before the clock struck twelve. And true, something had clutched in his chest when he saw her standing alone at the balcony, looking ethereally beautiful in that white goddess gown. But even then, as he’d stood in the doorway gazing at her, he’d only intended to sneak up behind her and whisper in her ear, “Happy New Year!”

But as he strode across the terrace, something came over him. Before he realized what he was doing, he was grabbing her, then kissing her. And it felt so damn good he hadn’t wanted to stop.

Swearing under his breath, Quentin rolled over in the king-size bed and frowned up at the ceiling.

What the hell have you done, Reddick?

He and Lexi had been best friends for over twenty years. In all that time he’d never made a move on her, even though he’d have to be comatose not to notice what a sweet little number she was. With her beautiful brown skin, lush lips and long-lashed, exotic eyes that could skewer or beguile with a glance, Lexi had always drawn her share of male attention. At parties and nightclubs, she’d never been able to take three steps without some loser trying to grab her hand and lure her onto the dance floor—until he saw Quentin and Michael looming behind her with menacing expressions. The two friends had been protective of Lexi since college, taking her under their wing like a beloved baby sister. Despite their womanizing reputations, she’d trusted them, deeming them safe to befriend.

She meant more to Quentin than any other woman he’d ever known. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize their friendship because he’d had a moment of temporary insanity. Although Lexi had responded hungrily to his kiss, she’d been stunned and outraged when she discovered that Quentin was behind the mask. For all he knew, she’d spent the rest of the night plotting her revenge by making a voodoo doll of him, which she’d use to inflict pain on him at the worst possible moments. Like when he was arguing a case in court. Or flirting with a beautiful woman.

Chuckling grimly at the thought, Quentin decided to test the waters.

Raising his arm above the headboard, he rapped his knuckle on the wall four times, which was code for: am I in trouble?

He waited tensely.

One knock meant he was forgiven. Two knocks meant he was in the doghouse and would have to do some serious groveling to get back into her good graces.

After an agonizing eternity, Lexi responded. Thump.

A slow, relieved grin spread across Quentin’s face.

Things were back to normal between them. With any luck, they’d stay that way.



Lexi spent a long, restless night tortured by mental replays of the smoldering kiss she and Quentin had shared. But, surprisingly, when she awoke the next morning, she was able to put the whole situation into perspective.

Last night had been an aberration.

The excitement of New Year’s Eve, the mystique of a masquerade ball, fireworks cascading over a moonlit balcony—all were the perfect ingredients for a romantic liaison. Who wouldn’t have gotten caught up in the moment?

She and Quentin were two mature, reasonable adults. They didn’t have to throw away their friendship over what amounted to a fluke. An exquisitely passionate fluke—but a fluke nonetheless.

It was time to put the kiss behind her, Lexi decided. Knowing Quentin, he already had.

No sooner had she completed the thought than she heard four distinct knocks on her bedroom wall.

She smiled to herself. Quentin was reaching out to her in their special code language, which they’d cleverly dubbed “LexiQuen” during a spring break trip to Cabo San Lucas, where they’d argued heatedly one evening after Quentin left her stranded at a nightclub.

Just to make him squirm, as she’d done that night many years ago, Lexi took her sweet time before lifting her hand to the wall and knocking once. And then she grinned, imagining the relieved expression on Quentin’s face. She never could stay mad at him for very long.

An hour later she emerged from her room, freshly showered and dressed in a cream cashmere sweater and designer jeans. Determined to prove that nothing had changed between her and Quentin, she decided to stop by his room so they could head down to breakfast together.

Before she’d taken two steps his door swung open and out strutted the tall, gorgeous waif from last night’s ball. The skimpy dress she wore ended just beneath the curve of her butt and showed off miles of long, slender legs. Her black hair was tousled, as if she’d just risen from Quentin’s bed—which she undoubtedly had.

Lexi froze in her tracks, watching as the woman smiled coquettishly and waved at Quentin, who was framed in the doorway, his chest and feet bare. A smile played at the edges of his mouth as he watched her sashay down the hall. When she’d disappeared around the corner, he shook his head in amusement and closed the door.

Inwardly relieved that he hadn’t seen her standing there, Lexi ditched the idea of waiting for him and headed downstairs alone.

Just as she’d expected, Quentin had already forgotten about kissing her and was back to his womanizing ways. So all was right with the world again. Which was exactly what she’d wanted. Right?

Of course, Lexi thought, annoyed that she was even second-guessing herself. The best thing she could do was pretend that the kiss had never happened. The sooner she put it out of her mind, the better off she’d be.

Easier said than done.

Resolutely ignoring her conscience, Lexi focused on her surroundings. The interior of Asha’s château was every bit as impressive as the exterior. As Lexi made her way downstairs, she couldn’t help feeling as though she’d been transported back in time to the opulent days of the French royalty. Each room she passed was large and luxuriously appointed with beautiful antique furniture, rich fabrics, soaring fireplaces, original period paintings and priceless tapestries.

The grand marble staircase descended to a cavernous foyer that was lit by a massive crystal chandelier. Lexi followed the sound of laughing voices to a pair of French doors that opened onto an enormous breakfast room. A fire crackled invitingly in the hearth, and bright winter sunlight poured through a row of windows that overlooked the immaculately landscaped grounds of the estate.

Everyone was already gathered around the long mahogany table. At opposite ends were Asha and Sterling Wolf, former adversaries who’d shocked their children last year when they announced that they were getting married. They were as different as night and day, yet no one could dispute that they absolutely belonged together.

As did the other two couples seated at the table. Reese had her head resting on Michael’s shoulder as he gently rubbed her swollen stomach, while his younger brother Marcus couldn’t stop smiling at his gorgeous wife, Samara, who sat across from him.

As Lexi entered the sunny room, she was met by a chorus of warm greetings.

“Good morning, everyone.” Smiling, she bent and planted an affectionate kiss on Sterling Wolf’s clean-shaven dark cheek. He’d always been more like a father to her than the worthless man who’d abandoned her when she was a child. Which was why Sterling had insisted that she call him Dad, and she’d asked him to give her away at her wedding four years ago. In light of the way her disastrous marriage had ended, having Sterling walk her down the aisle was the only good decision she’d made that day.

“Where’s your partner in crime?” he asked her.

“Still in his room.” Lexi slid into the empty chair beside Reese, who gave her a disappointed look. “What?”

“We were counting on you to bring Quentin downstairs,” Reese said. “You know he’s always late to everything, and the baby and I are starving.”

Lexi was mildly alarmed. “You mean you haven’t eaten anything yet? It’s almost ten o’clock!”

“I had a light snack,” Reese admitted with a sheepish grin. “But that’s not the point. Whenever we all go out to dinner, you always make sure Quentin gets there on time. That’s, like, your designated role.”

Lexi shrugged, draping a linen napkin across her lap. “I didn’t want to disturb him. He, uh, had a late night.”

“Actually,” Asha interjected drolly from the other end of the table, “he left the ball half an hour after you did.”

Lexi glanced up in surprise. “He did?”

“Oui.” Asha held her gaze. “Alone.”

Lexi flushed. “Oh,” was all she could say.

So maybe the sexy supermodel hadn’t spent the night with Quentin. That didn’t mean he hadn’t slept with her. Maybe she’d sneaked into his room for a quickie early that morning. And maybe she’d been sound asleep, or in the bathroom, when Quentin sent his coded message to Lexi.

Asha was studying her, a calculating gleam in her dark eyes that made Lexi want to squirm. She remembered Samara once telling her about Asha’s uncanny ability to ferret out people’s darkest secrets without them uttering a word. Unless Asha had witnessed what transpired on the terrace last night, there was no way she could know that Quentin had kissed Lexi.

Or could she? Lexi wondered uneasily. Was the truth written all over her face?

As she stared at Asha, the other woman’s full lips curved in a quiet, intuitive smile. “I’m hoping you’ll take my New Year’s toast to heart, Alexis,” she murmured.

Lexi eyed her warily. “What do you mean?”

“With all due respect, chère, my words weren’t intended for those of us who are already having plenty of hot, mind-blowing sex.”

Scandalized, Samara gasped. “Mom!”

Michael and Marcus groaned at the thought of their sixty-something father having sex, let alone steamy sex. But how could he not when he was married to Asha—a tall, voluptuous, stunningly beautiful woman who oozed more sex appeal than most women half her age?

As Sterling chuckled sheepishly, Samara muttered in exasperation, “When other moms make toasts, they wish people health, happiness and prosperity. But not my mother. My mother tells a roomful of her guests to get laid.”

Asha smiled unrepentantly. “Oh, relax, darling. At least you didn’t have to cover any small ears this time.”

“Where are the twins?” Lexi asked, as much to change the subject as out of curiosity. If her face got any hotter, her head would combust.

“The boys already ate.” Samara chuckled wryly. “They were up at an ungodly hour this morning, pestering me and Marcus to take them exploring around the property. Mom’s gardener was kind enough to do the honors.”

Lexi grinned. “Given how huge this place is, you won’t see your offspring for a while.”

The two parents shared a conspiratorial look. “We know.”

Laughter went around the table.

“Don’t start the party without me,” came an amused drawl from the doorway.

Everyone turned as Quentin sauntered into the room with his lazy, rolling swagger. He was dressed in dark jeans that hung low on his hips and a hunter-green turtleneck that molded his wide shoulders and broad, muscular torso. As Lexi stared at him, she remembered the strength of his arms wrapped around her, the hardness of his chest pressed against hers. They’d hugged countless times before, but last night was the first time she’d ever wanted to cling to him, to rub her aching breasts against his body. She wondered if she’d ever be able to look at him again without reliving those heady, forbidden moments in his embrace.

As he approached the table, Michael wagged his head at him. “’Bout time you got here. My wife was seconds away from marching upstairs and dragging you out of your room.”

Quentin chuckled. “Damn. My bad.” He leaned down to kiss Reese’s upturned cheek. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, baby girl. Forgive me?”

Reese grinned at him. “You’re forgiven.”

Lexi did a mental eye roll. It seemed that no woman was immune to Quentin Reddick’s charms. Not even pregnant, blissfully married women.

Quentin rounded the table and lowered his long body into the chair across from Lexi. As their eyes met, a strange ripple of awareness raced down her spine. The color of his shirt brought out the green flecks in his eyes, making them appear even brighter than usual. Piercing.

When he winked at Lexi, her heart fluttered like the wings of a caged bird. Mortified, she could only muster a feeble smile.

A team of servers bearing hot, fragrant platters of food appeared. Asha’s chef had prepared a lavish pancake breakfast, a New Year’s Day tradition in France.

As the meal got under way, Lexi found her gaze straying to Quentin as he conversed with Marcus beside him. As though she were seeing him for the very first time, she mentally catalogued heavy black brows, hazel eyes shaded by long straight lashes, a strong blade of a nose, ruthlessly hard cheekbones, a sculpted mouth and a square jaw. His face was far too masculine to ever be considered pretty, though his glorious golden complexion could inspire poetry when it gleamed in the sun—as it did now. He kept his black hair cropped close to his scalp, but whenever it grew out a little, you could detect the wavy texture he’d inherited from his late biracial father.

As her gaze returned to his lips and lingered, Lexi wondered how she’d never noticed just how lush and sensual they were. Her flesh heated at the memory of them moving slowly and possessively over hers, melting her body until she was nothing more than a quivering jumble of need.

Quentin turned his head then, meeting her gaze. An electric current of awareness passed between them.

“What happened to your friend?” Lexi blurted before she could think better of it.

Those glittering eyes narrowed on hers. “Who?”

“If you’re talking about Giselle,” Asha interjected in an amused voice, “I sent her back to the hotel with my driver.”

Although the château was spacious enough to easily accommodate a royal family and a fleet of their servants, Asha had reserved a block of rooms at a local hotel for her overnight guests, most of whom had traveled three hours from Paris to attend the masquerade ball. She’d made no apologies for limiting her houseguests to family members, which, by extension, included Lexi and Quentin.

Taking a sip of her café au lait, Lexi murmured, “Giselle must have been disappointed to leave.”

“Perhaps.” Asha gave her a meaningful look. “But no woman likes to be a third wheel.”

Lexi faltered, wondering whether she or Giselle would have assumed the unenviable role. Considering that it was Giselle who’d sashayed out of Quentin’s bedroom that morning, it was a safe bet that Lexi would have been the odd one out.

Unsettled by the thought, she returned her attention to her delicious plate of crêpes, making a mental note to pay her compliments to the chef after breakfast. As a graduate of a renowned French culinary school, Lexi could always appreciate a well-executed crêpe—even when she suddenly had no appetite for it.

“I’m so delighted you were able to join us this weekend, Quentin,” Asha said warmly. “We were terribly disappointed when you called to say you wouldn’t be coming. Alexis took the news especially hard. Not even a day of shopping and sightseeing in Paris could pull her out of her funk.”

“Is that right?” Quentin’s eyes glinted with amusement over the rim of his coffee cup.

Lexi inwardly groaned, wondering what she could have possibly done to land in Asha’s crosshairs that morning.

But a moment later, Asha said to Quentin, “I thought it was quite touching the way you went in search of Alexis as soon as you arrived. My goodness, you barely stopped to greet anyone else.” Her dark eyes twinkled. “If I didn’t know better, darling, I would think you rushed here just to be with Alexis.”

Silence descended over the table as the others exchanged amused, considering glances.

Heart thudding, Lexi stared at Quentin and he stared back, neither denying nor confirming Asha’s suspicion.

Eager to defuse the strange tension between them, Lexi forced out a short, breezy laugh. “Of course Quentin wanted to be with me. We’ve spent just about every New Year’s Eve together for the past twenty years. Old habits die hard.”

“Is that so?” Asha didn’t sound convinced by the explanation.

Even Michael had a speculative gleam in his eyes as he divided a look between his two longtime friends.

Deliberately clearing her throat, Lexi glanced around the table and asked brightly, “What time are we leaving to go sightseeing?”

“Actually,” Reese hedged, “we were just discussing that before you and Quentin came downstairs. Don’t kill me, Lexi, but I’m not up for another day of sightseeing. Judging by my swollen ankles and sore back, I must have overdone it at the party last night.”

Michael shook his head at Lexi. “I kept telling her to take it easy, but you know how stubborn she can be.”

Lexi grinned sympathetically. “You know doctors make the worst patients. And since Reese is an obstetrician, she definitely thinks she knows best.”

“That’s because I do.” Grinning unabashedly, Reese rubbed her bulging belly and continued, “Anyway, girl, my overprotective husband has sentenced me to a day of cozying in front of a fire and watching movies with him.”

Lexi gave a mock shudder. “You poor woman.”

“I know.” Reese sighed dramatically. “But I’ll survive.” Everyone laughed.

Turning her attention to Samara, Lexi asked hopefully, “What about you and Marcus?”

Samara grimaced. “I’m afraid we’ll have to bail on you too. Dad and Marcus promised to take the boys fishing today, and somehow Mom and I got roped into joining them.”

Lexi was aghast. “Fishing? In January?”

“Winter’s the best season to go,” asserted Sterling, an avid outdoorsman. “The lakes are less crowded, and I’ve caught some really big bass this time of year.”

“If you say so, Dad,” Lexi said skeptically.

Asha chuckled. “Believe me, chère, I’d much rather follow Michael and Reese’s lead and spend the day lazing around a cozy fire. But a promise is a promise.” Her lips curved. “So it looks as though you and Quentin are on your own until dinnertime.”

“Looks that way,” Lexi said weakly.

When she hazarded a glance at Quentin, he gave her the slow, lazy grin of a scoundrel. A grin she knew all too well.

As her pulse accelerated, she realized that for the first time ever, she was positively terrified to be alone with him.

So much for proving that nothing had changed between them.




Chapter 3


An hour later, Lexi and Quentin were ensconced in the backseat of a chauffeured car bound for Dijon, the capital of Burgundy and the birthplace of Dijon mustard.

The narrow, rambling roads meandered through a scenic countryside of gently rolling hills covered with dense forests and luscious vineyards that cascaded down sloping ridges. The glazed, multihued roof tiles of châteaus added vivid splashes of color to the landscape. It looked like something right out of a van Gogh painting.

“Oh, look!” Lexi said excitedly to Quentin, pointing to a herd of cattle grazing peacefully on a hillside.

Leaning over to peer out her window, Quentin cocked an amused brow at her. “Cows?”

“Not just any cows,” she archly informed him. “Those are white Charolais cattle, which are specially bred to provide the superior quality of beef used in boeuf bourguignon, Burgundy’s most well-known dish.”

“Wait. Haven’t you made that for me before?”

She smiled. “Several times.”

Quentin gazed at the passing herd of cattle with newfound respect. “God bless each and every one of y’all.”

When Lexi laughed, he grinned at her. And just like that, the awkwardness between them was gone. For good, Lexi hoped, though somehow she knew better.

Soon they arrived in Dijon, a gorgeous city characterized by historic buildings and cathedrals, art galleries and museums, upscale boutiques, antiques shops and medieval half-timbered houses nestled along cobbled streets. There were restaurants and cafés with terraces on every corner, offering gastronomic delights to please any palate.

Lexi took in the amazing sights, sounds and smells with the excited wonder of a child, tugging Quentin from one place to the next. The regal Palace of the Dukes of Burgundy was closed for the holiday, but they were able to explore the courtyards and climb up the Philippe le Bon Tower, which offered a wonderful view of Dijon and the surrounding countryside.

Next they visited the church of Notre Dame, an architecturally beautiful gothic building famous for the unusual gargoyles that covered its facade. There was an owl sculpted into one of the stone walls. In keeping with local custom, Lexi and Quentin took turns placing their left hands on the carving to make a wish.

As they started away, Quentin asked, “What’d you wish for?”

She smiled enigmatically. “If I tell you, it might not come true.”

And that can’t happen, she silently added. She hadn’t wished for fame and fortune upon the release of her first cookbook next month. She hadn’t even wished for a better relationship with her mother. Instead, she’d offered up a simple but heartfelt prayer that she and Quentin would always remain the best of friends. Because she couldn’t bear the thought of ever losing him.

After stopping at a sidewalk café to enjoy a local favorite—kir, a white wine and cassis apéritif—they headed to an open-air market that specialized in breads, cheeses, wines, spices and sauces. Lexi had only intended to browse, but as they wandered through the bustling stalls, she found herself reaching for one item after another, her mind racing with ideas for different recipes.

Without being asked, Quentin retrieved a basket for her, a soft, indulgent smile quirking his lips as he watched her shop. “Don’t forget what Asha said.”

Mulling over a wedge of Epoisses cheese that she could serve with a bottle of Chablis, Lexi asked absently, “What’d she say?”

“You and Mike are her guests this weekend, so you’re not allowed to step foot inside her kitchen to cook.”

Lexi groaned. “It’s so unfair. Asking a chef not to cook while in France is like asking a NASCAR driver to remain in neutral on the racetrack.” She scowled. “Damn that woman.”

Quentin laughed. “Tell you what, sweetness. If you don’t want all these ingredients going to waste,” he said, holding up the overflowing basket, “you can cook something for me when we get back home in two days.”

Lexi brightened at once. “That’s an excellent idea.”

He grinned. “Just doing my part,” he said gallantly, as if he were making the ultimate sacrifice by allowing her to prepare a meal for him. But the truth was that he loved her cooking as much as she loved cooking for him. Nothing pleased Lexi more than watching Quentin devour her food. And the more praise he heaped on her, the more she wanted to cater to him.

After depositing the groceries in the chauffeured car, they decided to go for a quick wine tasting. Since Asha’s sommelier had already promised to give everyone a guided tour of the château’s cellars and vineyards tomorrow, Lexi and Quentin stopped by an indoor market operated by a local family of winemakers. The large tasting room lured passersby to venture inside to sample some of the region’s finest pinot noirs and chardonnays.

The place was crowded with holiday tourists. After receiving glossy brochures and a breathless greeting from the harried young woman at the entrance, Lexi and Quentin were pretty much on their own.

At the first tasting table, Lexi showed Quentin the proper way to “nose” wine.

“To really appreciate the flavor of a wine,” she explained, “you sniff it before tasting. The proper technique is to hold the stem of the glass, stick your nose into the bowl and let the scent rise up.” As she demonstrated, she cautioned him, “Don’t try to inhale the scent, or you’ll mostly get alcohol fumes. Here, try it.”

Of course Quentin inhaled, then gasped as the pungent fumes shot up his nose. He took a hasty gulp of wine that went down the wrong way and sent him into a violent coughing paroxysm.

Alarmed, Lexi took the glass from his hand, set it down and pounded him on the back as he wheezed and choked.

“Are you all right, sweetie?” she asked worriedly as several curious heads turned in their direction.

Quentin staggered back a step, his eyes rolling up in his head.

Lexi swept a panicked glance over the crowd. She was about to call out for a doctor when she saw the mischievous grin on Quentin’s face.

“Gotcha!”

Torn between relief and fury, Lexi punched him on the arm. “Idiot! I thought you were choking to death!”

He laughed. “From inhaling wine?”

She skewered him with a glare. “You play too damn much, Quentin.”

As she turned and stalked out of the market, he caught her from behind, engulfing her as he draped his long arms around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

“Come on, Lex,” he cajoled. “Don’t be mad. I was just having some fun with you. I love it when you kick into professor mode. You’re so serious and adorable.”

“Don’t call me adorable,” Lexi grumbled darkly. “Not when I’m seriously contemplating how to kick your ass.”

Quentin laughed, the deep, rumbling sound sending heat from the base of her skull to the bottom of her spine. Although his legs were much longer than hers, he effortlessly matched her stride, step for step. As though it were as natural to him as his own heartbeat.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Lex. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

She frowned. “One of these days you’re going to push me too far, and I’m not going to forgive you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d break my heart.”

“It’d serve you right.” But she was smiling now. She couldn’t help it. He was downright irresistible when he said things like that to her. And he knew it.

“Hold up.” He drew her to a stop. “Stay right there.”

Puzzled, Lexi turned and watched as he sauntered over to a street vendor selling flowers. He exchanged a few words with the woman in his adorably rudimentary French, which Lexi had been teaching him. When he flashed his killer grin, the vendor blushed and beamed at him.

Lexi sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. Another one bites the dust.

A group of tourists strolled by, blocking her view of Quentin. She stood on tiptoe, wishing, not for the first time, that she were taller. Her height, topping out at five-two, had been the bane of her existence for as long as she could remember.

Which was why she hated supermodels.

Like Giselle.

Moments later Quentin reappeared, his arms tucked behind his back.

Lexi shook her head at him. “I don’t care how pretty—”

He handed her a beautiful bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, and she gasped with shocked pleasure. Roses and anemones, from her favorite van Gogh print that he’d given her years ago!

“Oh, Quentin… Damn.”

He smiled down at her. “Truce?”

She buried her nose in the fragrant flowers and sighed. “Truce.”

His smile widened.

“You are very lucky woman!” the street vendor called out to Lexi.

“Merci beaucoup!” she called back, not bothering to correct the woman’s assumption that she and Quentin were a couple.

Quentin glanced at his watch, then took her hand and started purposefully down the cobbled street.

“Where are we going?” Lexi asked curiously.

“We have an appointment.”

“To do what?”

“You’ll see.”

Something in his enigmatic tone sent off warning bells in her head. She pulled up short, tugging her hand free of his. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me where we’re going.”

He scowled at her. “Damn, baby girl. Why can’t you just go with the flow?”

“Quentin,” she said warningly.

He heaved a short, frustrated breath. “I’m taking you on a hot-air balloon ride.”

“What?” The blood drained from Lexi’s head. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’ll be fun. Flying over the region, getting an aerial view.”

She swallowed dryly. “It’s too cold.”

He gave her a knowing look. “We’ve been walking around for hours, and you haven’t complained about the weather once.”

“Yeah, but going thousands of feet into the air—”

“Ever heard of heat rising?”

“Actually, that’s a myth. Nice try, though.”

He groaned. “Come on, Lex. You can’t visit Burgundy without taking a hot-air balloon ride.”

“Why not? I’m sure plenty of other people do.”

“They’re not you,” he countered. “The woman I know experiences life to the fullest. Always has.”

She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t, Quentin.”

“Tell me why.”

She exhaled a deep breath and met his direct gaze. “You know I’m afraid of heights.”

“I know.”

Of course he does. “So why are you pressuring me to do this?”

His gaze gentled, his hazel eyes plumbing the depths of hers. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She gave a grim, shaky laugh. “If the balloon malfunctioned, Q, there’d be nothing you could do about it.”

“Do you trust me?”

She searched his solemn face and had the uncanny feeling that he was referring to more than the balloon ride.

“Of course I trust you,” she said quietly. “You’re my best friend.”

“Then fly with me.”

She stared at him for a prolonged moment, then swallowed hard and nodded, taking the plunge. “Okay,” she whispered.

“You’ll do it?”

“Yes.” She shot him a surly glance. “But if something goes wrong and we plunge to our deaths, just know that my ghost will haunt yours for all eternity.”

Quentin laughed, kissing her forehead. “I’ll take my chances.”

The ballooning company was located along the Burgundy Canal. The friendly, English-speaking pilot introduced himself, went over some housekeeping rules and explained their flight itinerary. And then, before Lexi could change her mind, they were boarding the hot-air balloon. The interior was divided into compartments that separated the pilot from the passengers, giving them a sense of privacy. The basket was lined with cushion and seemed sturdier than Lexi had feared.

But minutes later when the balloon lifted off, her stomach pitched sickeningly. She clung to Quentin, closing her eyes and burying her face in the cool, battered leather of his jacket. He wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking his hand up and down her back and whispering to her the way he might soothe a frightened child.

She could feel the balloon rising higher into the air, soaring toward the sky. Her heart galloped into her throat. A clammy sweat broke out over her skin and she shivered uncontrollably. Quentin opened his jacket and she shamelessly burrowed against his broad chest, taking refuge in the masculine heat and strength that enveloped her.

“You’re going to be okay,” Quentin murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. “Just take slow, deep breaths.”

Lexi did as he told her. She hated this irrational fear of hers, hated that it made her so vulnerable. So pathetic.

She didn’t know how much time passed. At some point the gripping panic receded, giving way to a sense of calm that made her feel stronger, more in control of herself.

“Lex,” Quentin said softly. “Look what you’re missing.”

She cracked one eye open, then another.

Her breath escaped her in a soft gasp.

They were floating—floating!—over Burgundy.

A spectacular kaleidoscope of shapes and colors bombarded her at once. She could see every shade of green covering the slopes of the vineyards. The shiny roofs of châteaus and castles glistened under the late afternoon sun. Clusters of cottages and ancient stone churches were scattered across picturesque villages. The dark ribbon of a canal meandered lazily through forests. The lush beauty of the Saône river valley beckoned, and a rich palette of brown and gold identified the fields of Cote-d’Or.

Lexi stared out in rapt fascination. “Oh, my God, Quentin,” she breathed. “This is… I’m speechless.”

Quentin grinned down at her. “That doesn’t happen very often.”

“Very funny,” she retorted, barely sparing him a glance. She was afraid the stunning vistas would disappear if she so much as blinked.

Keeping one arm securely around her waist, Quentin shifted so that they stood side by side.

Lexi raised her face to the azure sky, soaking up the sun and wind as the balloon glided smoothly through the air. It was absolutely exhilarating. A feast for the senses.

Over the next hour she and Quentin took in the sights, mostly communicating without words. When Lexi excitedly pointed something out to him, he’d nod and smile in shared appreciation. The pilot rarely interrupted to narrate, leaving his two passengers cocooned in their own private world of enjoyment.

When Quentin left her side, Lexi murmured softly, “Hurry back.”

A moment later, she was startled by the sound of a bottle being uncorked.

Turning, she watched as Quentin poured champagne into two glasses and handed one to her. Surprised, she arched a brow at him. “I thought the champagne toast is traditionally done after the safe landing.”

“I asked them to make an exception this time.” A crooked grin curved his mouth. “I’d figured at some point during the flight, you’d appreciate some alcohol to help calm your nerves.”

Lexi chuckled. “Good looking out.”

“Always.” Sobering after a moment, Quentin raised his glass in a toast to her, his eyes glowing with warm pride. “Here’s to you. For bravely conquering your fear of heights.”

Lexi smiled shyly. “I don’t know if I’ve completely conquered it.”

“You’re up here, aren’t you?”

Her smile turned quiet and grateful. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Quentin.”

His gaze softened. “We make a good team.”

“Always.”

Their glasses clinked musically and they drank, smiling at each other.

After a few moments, Lexi sighed contentedly. “What an amazing day this has been. I almost wish we didn’t have to go back home on Monday.”

“Me too,” Quentin murmured.

“I’d love to have dinner tonight in one of those Michelin-rated French restaurants.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“We can’t,” she reminded him with a rueful smile. “Asha’s chef is preparing a special New Year’s Day dinner. Besides, we don’t have reservations.”

“Then we’ll come back tomorrow night.”

“Mmm. Sounds like a plan.”

“Good.” Quentin reached out, his fingertips brushing her cheek as he gently pushed her windswept hair off her face.

Their gazes caught and held. A strange, intoxicating dizziness swept through Lexi.

Altitude, she told herself. Or too much wine in one day.

But she knew better.

The winds of change were upon her and Quentin. That stolen kiss on the balcony had set something in motion between them. Something that had sent them hurtling into the unknown.

Where they landed, only time would tell.




Chapter 4


“How was your trip?”

Lexi jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice, which had snapped her out of her deep reverie. She’d been daydreaming about Burgundy.

And Quentin.

Turning from the kitchen sink, where she’d just finished washing dishes, she saw her mother standing in the doorway, puffing on a cigarette. Carlene Austin had been on the phone when Lexi had arrived at the house half an hour ago. She’d greeted her daughter with a distracted wave and returned to her conversation while Lexi headed into the kitchen. At the sight of dirty dishes piled into the sink, she’d sighed in resignation, then rolled up her sleeves and gotten right to work. Old habits died hard.

Carlene shuffled into the small kitchen. “Thanks for taking care of that for me. The dishwasher’s acting up again.”

“I figured. Have you called someone?”

“No point. I can’t afford the repairs.” After thirty years in civil service, Carlene still complained of earning barely enough to make ends meet.

“It’s just as well,” Lexi said, twisting off the water faucet. “The dishwasher’s old. No sense in sinking more money into it. We can go shopping to get you a new one this weekend.”

“You buying?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, baby.” Carlene sat down at the oak breakfast table, tapping her cigarette into an ashtray already bristling with butts. She’d once been beautiful, with a smooth caramel complexion and long, glossy black hair that she’d meticulously maintained. But time and bitterness, compounded with an unhealthy nicotine habit, had taken their toll. Now there was a hard edge to her features, dark circles rimmed her eyes, her hair and skin had lost their sheen, and the shapely figure she’d once flaunted had withered away to the gaunt frame now swallowed up in a chenille robe.

Averting her troubled gaze, Lexi vigorously wiped down the countertops. She could see through the alcove into the living room that the heavy curtains were drawn closed, plunging the room into gloomy darkness. The worn, outdated furniture reeked of every cigarette Carlene had ever smoked. The whole house did.

Shaking off the depressing thought, Lexi dropped the dishrag into the sink and joined her mother at the table.

“When do you go back to work?” Carlene asked.

“Tomorrow.” A chef instructor at Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts, Lexi couldn’t wait to tell her students all about her trip to Burgundy.

Carlene drew on her cigarette and shot twin streams of smoke through her nostrils. “You gonna keep working after your cookbook comes out?”

“Of course. You know I love teaching.”

Her mother grunted noncommittally. The idea of enjoying one’s livelihood was a foreign concept to her. She’d never reaped personal fulfillment from her government job. It had been a means to an end, a way to feed and clothe her three young children after her philandering husband had walked out on them. His desertion, followed by a string of failed relationships over the years, had turned Carlene into a miserable, embittered woman.

As Lexi stared at the glowing red tip of her mother’s cigarette, she had a flashback to the time when she was fourteen and Carlene had burst into her bedroom late one night, screaming at the top of her lungs because Lexi had forgotten to wash the dishes before going to bed. Trailing cigarette ashes, Carlene had stormed across the room and snatched the covers off her daughter’s body, cursing at her to get up. Shaken and disoriented, Lexi hadn’t moved fast enough. The next thing she knew, her mother was leaning over her and viciously stabbing the butt of her cigarette into Lexi’s thigh. The searing, excruciating pain had wrenched an agonized wail from her that brought her two younger siblings running from their bedroom.

The sound of their confused, frightened sobs had penetrated Carlene’s black rage. Her horrified gaze had swept over Lexi, writhing in pain on the floor. As the enormity of what she’d done sank in, Carlene had backed out of the room and fled from the apartment, leaving Lexi behind to console her distraught siblings before she could tend to her own wound.

The next morning, it was a humble, contrite Carlene who’d entered her daughter’s bedroom carrying a breakfast tray. Lexi had lain there, silent and unmoving, as her mother gently applied a salve to her burn and dressed it with gauze, assuring her that the scar would eventually fade. It had, but the memory of that harrowing night had lingered for years, as raw and painful as ever.

As Lexi watched now, ashes crumbled off the butt of her mother’s cigarette and landed on the table. Carlene didn’t seem to notice or care.

Frowning, Lexi got up to retrieve the dishrag. Returning to the table, she wiped away the ashes, wishing she could erase her memories just as easily.

“I thought you were trying to quit,” she told her mother.

“Don’t start with me,” Carlene warned. “I don’t need no damn lecture from you.”

“I wasn’t going to lecture you.” Lexi silently counted to ten. “However, you really do need to take better care of yourself, Ma. Your doctor’s right. You’re playing Russian roulette with your life by smoking the way you do.”

Carlene took a long, defiant drag on her cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke right into Lexi’s face. Though her eyes stung, she refused to flinch. She wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction.

The strategy worked.

Scowling, Carlene stubbed out her cigarette with short, angry jabs punctuated with muttered expletives. “I’m getting sick and tired of you telling me what to do in my own goddamn house.”

Technically, the house belonged as much to Lexi as it did to Carlene. She’d helped her mother purchase the property by cosigning the mortgage loan and supplying the closing funds. If her cookbook sold well—and by all early indications it would—she intended to buy her mother some badly needed new furniture, which she’d been unable to do at the time because she’d nearly depleted her savings account.

“You never answered my question,” Carlene said sourly. “How was Paris?”

“It was great,” Lexi replied. “But we didn’t actually stay in Paris. Asha has an amazing château in the countryside.”

“A château?” Carlene’s voice dripped with scorn. “Well, well, well. Look at you, Miss Thang. Moving up in the world.”

Lexi tensed, mentally kicking herself for forgetting one of her cardinal rules: Always downplay your good fortune to avoid rubbing salt into the wound of your mother’s broken dreams.

“I have something for you.” Hoping to placate Carlene, Lexi reached inside a bag under the table and withdrew one of the bottles of wine she’d brought back from Burgundy.

Carlene took the bottle, her dark eyes narrowing on the gold leaf label.

“Pinot noir,” Lexi volunteered. “It’s a red wine. Very rich.”

“I bet. It looks expensive. How much did it cost?”

“I meant rich in flavor. Full-bodied. And it didn’t cost me anything.” Lexi hesitated. “It’s a gift from Asha. From her vineyard.”

She half expected her mother to hurl the bottle across the room. Instead Carlene arched a surprised brow. “She grows wine, too? On top of running a fashion company? Good Lord, what doesn’t that woman have her hands all over?”

Lexi shrugged. “She considers herself a connoisseur. Er, she enjoys good wine,” she quickly amended, lest she be accused of throwing around fancy words. “When she bought the château several years ago, she didn’t want the surrounding vineyards to go to waste. So she decided to go into the winemaking business. But she’s pretty much hands-off. Her employees run the whole operation.”

“While she gets richer,” Carlene said, her voice laced with jealousy. “Must be nice.”

Lexi said nothing. She would not be baited into a petty argument over Asha Dubois. God knows she and her mother had quarreled enough when she’d told her that she was spending New Year’s at Asha’s second home in France. Carlene had accused her of preferring the company of strangers over her own family, even though Lexi had just spent Christmas with her—unlike her brother and sister, who’d wisely opted to stay in New York for the holidays.

How many times had Lexi questioned her sanity for remaining in Atlanta all these years? After graduating from the French Culinary Institute in New York, she could have easily justified putting down roots there. But she’d come back home, compelled by forces she couldn’t explain. Her siblings called her a glutton for punishment. Maybe they were right.

“Thanks for the wine,” Carlene said. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

Encouraged by the uncharacteristically gracious words, Lexi smiled. “Maybe you and I could go there together next time.”

“Where? To France?” Her mother snorted. “Why would I wanna go there? They hate Americans.”

“Not all of them. I met some very warm, friendly French people.”

“Sorry, baby. Not interested.”

Of course, Lexi mused. What was she thinking? Her mother had never stepped foot outside of Georgia, let alone traveled to another country.

“How’s Michael doing?” Carlene asked.

“Great. He and Reese are so excited about the baby. They’ve got the nursery set up in their new house, and they’ve been eagerly counting down to the due date.”

“That’s nice.” Carlene heaved a lamenting sigh. “Shame you couldn’t snatch him up before she did. All those years of friendship. Seems like such a waste.”

Here we go again, Lexi thought with a sigh. She and her mother had covered this territory so many times, she already knew what was coming next.

“Maybe if you hadn’t spent so much time trying to be one of the boys, Michael would have seen you more as a woman he could love.”

Striving for patience, Lexi said evenly, “I know this is still hard for you to believe, Ma, but I’ve never been romantically interested in Michael. And I’m glad he never saw me as more than just a friend. He and Reese are absolutely perfect for each other. I’m happy for them, and I wish you could be, too.”

Carlene sniffed disdainfully. “I never said I wasn’t happy for them. I’m just pointing out that you’ve known Michael longer than Reese has. So if anyone should have clipped his bachelor wings, it should’ve been you.”

Lexi shook her head at her mother’s warped logic. “I’ve been friends with Quentin just as long,” she challenged, “and I don’t hear you saying the same thing about him.”

“Quentin?” Carlene scoffed with a laugh. “Oh, baby, that one’s a lost cause. A rascal through and through. Even his own mama knows he’s never going to settle down and give her grandbabies.”

“Things change,” Lexi heard herself saying. “People change.”

Her mother snorted. “Not Quentin Reddick. Even if you were his type—”

Lexi bristled. “Quentin doesn’t have a ‘type.’ He’s an equal-opportunity womanizer.”

Carlene’s brows shot up. “Why are you getting so huffy? It’s not like you’re interested in Quentin.”

“Of course not,” Lexi snapped irritably. “But when you say things like that to me, you make me feel like I’m not even attractive enough to catch the eye of someone like Quentin.”

“Of course you are. But all the good looks in the world can’t keep a man who’s hardwired to stray.” A nasty, satisfied gleam lit Carlene’s eyes. “You know that as well as I do.”

Lexi flinched as the verbal dagger struck home. She should have been immune by now to her mother’s penchant for cruelty, but she wasn’t. After years of railing bitterly against unfaithful men, Carlene had felt vindicated when Lexi caught her husband cheating on her. Since the divorce, Carlene had never missed an opportunity to remind her daughter that they were more alike than Lexi wanted to believe.

“Just once,” she said in a low, strained voice, “could you at least pretend to be sorry that my marriage only lasted two years?”

Carlene sputtered, taking umbrage. “Why would you say something like that to me? I did feel bad for you!”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

“Don’t put this back on me,” her mother snapped. “I told you Adam McNamara was no good, but you insisted on marrying him anyway! If you’d just listened—”

Lexi threw up a trembling hand. “Can we not talk about this tonight? It’s bad enough that the date of my wedding anniversary is coming up next week.”

Carlene faltered, something like pity softening her features. “I forgot.”

Lexi’s mouth twisted sardonically. “I wish I could.”

In the ensuing silence, her mother removed a pack of Newport cigarettes from the pocket of her robe. She toyed with it for a moment, then reluctantly set it aside. In a more conciliatory tone, she said to Lexi, “You haven’t finished telling me about your trip.”

Lexi hesitated, then admitted, “It was wonderful.”

“Really? What was so wonderful about it?”

“Everything. The food, the wine, the scenery.” She smiled faintly. “The balloon ride was definitely one of the highlights.”

“Come again?”

At her mother’s dumbfounded look, Lexi laughed. “Quentin convinced me to go on a hot-air balloon ride with him. Can you believe it? Me, the woman who’s so afraid of heights I have to take sedatives before getting on a plane. Shocking, right?”

“Not that shocking,” Carlene drawled in amusement. “That rascal can talk a woman into doing anything—and probably has.”

Lexi smiled distractedly. For the first time in days, she had something other than Quentin’s powers of persuasion on her mind. “You know, Ma, I’ve always wondered why I’m so terrified of heights.”

Carlene hesitated. “Some people have phobias. That’s always been yours.”

“I know. But it’s so damn paralyzing. It’s almost like…I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

There was a small silence.

Carlene was suddenly eyeing her pack of cigarettes like a junkie craving a fix.

Lexi smiled wryly. “If I didn’t know better, I would think something happened to me when I was a baby. Maybe one of the nurses dropped me, or—”

Her mother’s gaze swung sharply to hers. “Or what? What are you asking me?”

Taken aback by her reaction, Lexi stammered, “N-nothing. I’m just—”

“What the hell’s gotten into you tonight? First you accuse me of not being sympathetic enough about your divorce. Now you’re accusing me of, what, child abuse?”

Lexi frowned. “Of course not.”

“You’ve never forgiven me for what happened that night,” Carlene fumed bitterly. “No matter how many times I’ve apologized for what I did, you’re still holding it against me!”

“That’s not true!” Lexi burst out in angry disbelief. “If I still blamed you, would I be here? You treat me like crap, Ma, but guess what? I’m. Still. Here.”

Resentment darkened her mother’s face. “I know what this is about. You spent the weekend with that bourgeois woman and decided she was a better mother than me because she’s rich and sophisticated and drinks fine wine. Well, let me tell you something. I did everything for you and your siblings when you were growing up. Everything! I have nothing to—”

Lexi shoved her chair back from the table and stood on trembling legs. She’d had enough of her mother’s diatribes for one night. “I can’t do this. I need to go.”

Carlene said nothing as she stalked out of the room to retrieve her coat from the hall closet. She jammed her arms into the sleeves, struggling to get her emotions under control before she got behind the wheel to drive home.

When it became apparent that her mother wasn’t going to see her to the door or even say good night, she sighed harshly and strode back into the kitchen.

Carlene was already lighting up another cigarette.

“Good night, Ma,” Lexi said tersely.

Sucking in a lungful of smoke, her mother gave her a dismissive wave. The same way she’d greeted her when she arrived.

As Lexi slammed out of the house, she wondered, for the millionth time, what the hell was keeping her in Atlanta.




Chapter 5


On the other side of town, Quentin sat alone at the end of a long mahogany bar in Wolf’s Soul, a popular Atlanta restaurant owned by his best friend, Michael. Quentin was hunched over a bottle of beer he’d been nursing for the past half hour.

Taking a long sip, he looked up at the plasma television mounted above the counter. A rerun of Michael’s Emmy-winning show, Howlin’ Good, was on the air. It was one of the “macho man” themed episodes, which featured no-frills recipes geared toward “manly” appetites. Michael hosted one of these shows every season as an opportunity to invite his father’s old police comrades to fill the studio audience. The men stomped, hollered and cheered their way through the whole taping. And viewers loved every rowdy minute of it.

Quentin watched in brooding silence, his eyes glazing over the familiar images.

“Whose funeral was today?”

He glanced around as Michael plopped down on the stool beside him, dressed in his white chef’s jacket and black pants.

“What’s up, man?” he greeted Quentin, clapping him on the back.

Quentin grunted in response.

A bottle of beer materialized before Michael. “On the house, boss,” the bartender said with a wink and a grin.

Michael grinned back, raising his bottle in a mock toast.

The man hitched his chin toward Quentin. “Can I get you another cold one, Counselor?”

“Naw, I’m good. Thanks.”

As the bartender moved off to tend to another customer, Michael took a swig of beer and eyed Quentin’s brooding profile. “Seriously, man. Did someone die?”

“No,” Quentin murmured. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course.” Michael nodded. “The trial starts tomorrow. That’s all Marcus has been talking about for weeks.”

Last year, Marcus Wolf’s prominent law firm had been renamed Wolf & Reddick, LLP to reflect Quentin’s changed status as joint owner. One of his first moves had been to file a lawsuit on behalf of an employee who’d been wrongfully terminated by a health-insurance company after he spoke out against his employer’s fraudulent claim-denial practices. As lead counsel, Quentin would argue the case before the Georgia Court of Appeals.

The upcoming trial should have been uppermost on his mind tonight. The pure adrenaline rush of preparing for a big case, the anticipation of going up against a formidable adversary. This was what he lived for.

So why were his thoughts dominated by a woman he couldn’t have—and had no business wanting?

Michael was talking, his deep voice blending into the other background noise that filled the busy restaurant. “…says you’re the best litigator to take on those health-insurance sharks. He says you’ve been salivating at the opportunity to make mincemeat of them in court.”

Quentin took a long pull on his beer, humming the appropriate “mmm-hmm” to let Michael know he was listening. Even though he wasn’t.

There was a pause.

“On second thought,” Michael continued, “what Marcus really said is that you’re gonna totally blow the case. He thinks you’re gonna be outmatched and outmaneuvered by the defense team’s high-powered lawyers.”

“Uh-huh,” Quentin murmured, his mind drifting thousands of miles away to Burgundy, and the balloon ride with Lexi. He remembered the way she’d gazed out across the stunning landscape, her face aglow with wonder and exhilaration. After a while, he’d found himself watching her more than the view. Because as amazing as the sights were, he knew the experience wouldn’t have been the same without her by his side.

“…planning a surprise baby shower. And Lexi says she’s going to—”

Quentin swung his head around to stare at Michael. “What’d you say?”

A knowing gleam filled his friend’s eyes. “So that’s what it took to finally get your attention. Hearing Lexi’s name.”

Quentin frowned and glanced away, sipping his beer. But he could feel Michael studying him, his eyes shrewd and assessing. He instinctively braced himself for the question he knew was coming.




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