By Invitation Only

by Wilde, Lori; Etherington, Wendy; Burns, Jillian

  Then when he lowered his mouth to capture first one nipple and then the other, Olivia let out a low, soft moan of intense pleasure. Her muscles tightened and her body caught fire.

  “Do you have protection?” she whispered.

  “On that score, call me reliable,” he said, leaning over to search through the pocket of his shorts, which lay discarded on the floor.

  After a quick fumble, he got the condom in place and then Nick lay back and pulled her on top of him. Olivia straddled his waist; her knees dug into the covers, his throbbing erection pressing hard against her bottom.

  An excess of sensations washed over her—the husky sound of his breathing, the heat of their bodies pressed together, the scrape of his whiskers as he claimed her mouth in another demanding kiss.

  A whirlpool of sinful pleasure carried her away on a turbulent tide of passion whipping high, increasing the sexual intensity that had been building since the moment she’d faced off with him at the Austin airport.

  He tasted hearty, manly. Their tongues teased, sliding in and around and over each other.

  She had a fierce urge to stroke him, to travel the tempting terrain of his body. Her hand, suddenly mischievous, slipped lower. She ran her fingertips over his belly, exalting in the way his taut stomach muscles quivered at her touch. His low groan fired her engines.

  She traced a trail to the long, hard length of him.

  Exhilaration stirred her blood. “Mmm,” she murmured at the feel of his hardness in her hand. “Mmm, you feel so good.”

  “I gotta have you, Livvy,” he crooned, giving her a nickname that snatched at her heart. Only her family called her Livvy.

  Joyfully Olivia descended on him, gasping as he filled her up completely. A groan tore from his lips. Pleased that she’d so unhinged him, she ground her pelvis against him.

  Nick reached his other hand up to thread his fingers through her hair and guided her face down to his so he could capture her lips in a fierce kiss. Then he carefully flipped them over so they stayed fused. He was on top now and she happily relinquished control. His mouth captured hers as he thrust into her. Pushing hard and faster.

  Nick couldn’t breathe. There were no words to describe the incredible feeling of being inside her hot, moist body. His cock pulsed.

  Olivia moved over him, eyes on his, her long blond hair falling over her face. He wrapped his hands around her waist, guiding her rhythm, watching with fascination as her gorgeous breasts jiggled. Each stroke brought him closer…and closer…and closer to bliss.

  He fought the urge to come. It was a fierce battle—the way she was contracting her tight little box around him was almost more than he could bear. He had to clench his jaw and close his eyes and concentrate on making sure her pleasure was as great as his. He lightly pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and she went wild, thrashing and writhing. “Nick, Nick, Nick.”

  “Livvy,” he breathed and in spite of all the living he’d done, he felt as if he’d just been born. He was clean and fresh and new.

  “Nick…I’m about to…I…I…”

  “That’s it, come for me. Let yourself go.”

  “I want to wait. I want you to come with me.”

  “For once you don’t want to best me?” He chuckled.

  “Well, put like that…”

  “Beat me to it, Livvy.”

  She thrust her hips upward, pushing him to the limit. He clenched his jaw to hold back his own orgasm, determined she would enjoy her climax to the fullest before he let loose, but hearing her cry out in ecstasy triggered something primitive inside him. Instinct tensed his muscles for a hard primal thrust and as she screamed his name, he pumped into her with an urgency he’d never experienced.

  And when it was over he held her in his arms until they both fell into an exhausted sleep.

  7

  THE MORNING SUN WARMED Olivia’s face and she started grinning before she ever opened her eyes. Last night she’d made love with Nick three times and it had been the hottest sex of her life. Her grin widened. He had a reputation as a great lover and he’d certainly lived up to it. She stretched, yawned and glanced over to his side of the bed.

  It was empty.

  He took off on you.

  A moment of panic slipped a knife into her heart. Then she immediately corrected the doom-and-gloom voice nibbling at the back of her mind. So what? This was a no-strings-attached fling. She didn’t expect him to wake her up with a kiss and a snuggle. That would have been too romantic. She didn’t need romance from him. Simple hot sex was fine by her.

  Just when she was just about to buy into her propaganda, Nick appeared at the sliding glass door, a tray in his arms. His face lit up when he saw her. He winked.

  She got up, wrapping the sheet around her—yes, he’d seen every inch of her last night, but now she was feeling a little shy—and padded to the door.

  “Breakfast in bed,” he announced.

  A flush of alarm flashed through her. He was romancing her!

  And she liked it. A lot.

  No, no, no.

  But the encouraging smile on his face and the delicious aroma of maple syrup, Belgian waffles and bacon had her scurrying for the bed. How did he know that Belgian waffles were her favorite?

  It’s probably just his go-to menu for the morning after.

  Once she was back in the bed, covers tucked around her naked body, Nick stretched out on the mattress beside her. Giddy goose bumps raised on her arms. He pulled a small square box from his pocket and laid it on the tray beside the single red rose in a bud vase.

  “What’s this?” she asked, her throat constricting.

  “Just a little something I picked up in the gift shop while I waited on the breakfast.” He shrugged. “Go on, open it.”

  “I can see why you have such a reputation as a Romeo. Breakfast in bed on the morning after, gifts. Seduction 101.”

  “You’ve got such an erroneous impression of me.”

  “Hmm. I wonder how I came by that impression? Oh, could it be because you blog about your conquests?”

  “I don’t blog about my conquests.”

  “You so do!”

  “I blog about what it’s like to be a single guy in Texas.”

  “Which includes conquests.”

  “I never name names.”

  “How noble of you.”

  “Are you going to open the present before you make me regret getting it for you?”

  “If it’s expensive jewelry, I’m not keeping it. I’m not that kind of woman.”

  “You seem to think I’m a throwback to some 1960s Dean Martin romp. Want me to wear an ascot and mix martinis?”

  She eyed him and the mystified look on his face had her laughing. He was right. In her mind, she’d created a slick, playboy image of him that didn’t really fit with the fun-loving, easygoing man beside her. She picked up the box, untied the crisp pink ribbon and removed the lid.

  Nestled on a bed of soft cotton lay a silver charm of a hammock strung between two palm trees.

  “As a reminder,” he said. “To slow down and enjoy life a little. All those charms on your bracelet are about work. You need something to balance you out.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling breathless, and she had no idea why.

  “Here.” He reached over to pluck the charm from the box. “Give me your wrist and I’ll put it on for you.”

  She stuck her hand out and his fingers went to her charm bracelet. He opened the clasp on the palm tree charm and attached it to the bracelet between the Pulitzer medal and the miniature computer. His fingers were warm against her wrist and over the aroma of her breakfast she could smell his enticing masculine scent. Her stomach somersaulted.

  “There,” he said, let go of her wrist and leaned back.

  He looked so comfortable against the pillow, his dark hair a sharp contrast to the white sheets. His gaze hung over hers, that sweet expression on his face making her feel downright loopy with joy.

 
; “Livvy?”

  “Yes?”

  “You look so damn sexy right now.” His words sounded heartfelt. “All rumpled and naked and amazing. You’re better than I ever dreamed.”

  “You dreamed about me?”

  “Almost constantly since you read me the riot act in McGulicutty’s. Do you know how few women tell me off?”

  What did he mean by that? Had he really being dreaming of her? If she were being honest, she’d admit she’d had a dream or two about him herself.

  Uncertain of how to process her feelings, Olivia dug into her waffles. Nick reached over to filch a slice of bacon from her plate. The moment felt so cozy—too cozy for people who were having nothing more than a weekend fling.

  She didn’t know what to do or what to say. Part of her kept hoping…hoping for what? A real relationship with Nick? That was absurd on so many levels. And yet he wasn’t at all like she’d thought he was. On the outside he might be a smooth operator, but on the inside beat a heart of gold.

  Can you really take a chance on that?

  A knock sounded on the door and relief surged through her.

  “Olivia Carmichael, you open this door right now,” Holly Addison commanded, the anger in her voice cold as a steel blade.

  Panic bit into her as her eyes met Nick. “We’ve been found out,” she said, her worst fear coming true.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s my fault. I take full responsibility.”

  “I’m as culpable as you,” she said, shoving the breakfast tray aside and scrambling for her clothes. “We take this licking together.”

  Holly kept pounding. “Open this door right now or I’ll knock it down.”

  Nick went to answer it. Olivia pulled up her skirt, smoothed down her hair. Hand on the knob, he hesitated, looked at her, waiting for her go-ahead. She nodded. He opened the door.

  Holly came tumbling inside, eyes blazing, a fax of a newspaper article held in her fisted hand. “Explain yourself!”

  “I…I…” Olivia stuttered. “What is it?”

  With trembling hands, Holly smoothed out the paper and read aloud from it. “‘J. D. Maynard and Holly Addison, match made in heaven or just the ultimate publicity stunt? By Olivia Carmichael.’” Holly wadded up the paper again and shook it under Olivia’s nose. “How dare you pretend to be my cousin Honey. How dare you write such things about me?”

  “I…I…” Olivia blinked. The headline came from the side notes she’d written to herself before she’d ever met Holly and J.D. A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Ross had lied to her. He’d taken her notes, turned them into an article and published it after he’d promised he wouldn’t.

  Except the nausea roiling inside her couldn’t be as bad as what Holly must be feeling. “I’m sorry,” Olivia apologized, “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “There is no excuse for what you’ve done,” Holly said. “I’ve called security. They’ll be here any minute to escort you from the premises.”

  But Holly wasn’t the only one feeling betrayed by Olivia. “Let me see that,” Nick said and snatched the printout from Holly’s hand. He read it, raised his eyes and looked at Olivia with the most hurt expression she’d ever seen on a man’s face. “This is this morning’s edition of the Austin Daily News. You made me promise not to scoop you and then you went behind my back and scooped me?”

  “Nick.” She extended her hand.

  “Here, I’m supposed to be the untrustworthy one and you blindsided me. What an idiot I am.”

  “Please, let me explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain,” he said, backing away from her. “I get the message loud and clear. You’ll do anything for your career. Even sleep with me to lull me into a false sense of security.”

  “That’s not how it was,” she said miserably, knowing he was not going to believe her.

  “You’re a reporter, too?” Holly blinked.

  “No,” Nick said. “Just ask Olivia. I’m nothing more than a college dropout who lucked into a successful internet blog.” And with that, he turned on his heels and walked out.

  OLIVIA SAT IN THE AIRPORT waiting for the next commercial flight back to the States, blinking away tears. What a difference two days made. She thought of all that had happened. All that she’d lost. She’d called Ross to confront him. The man was old-school journalism and he didn’t apologize for what he’d done. All he’d said was, “It was a killer story. I ran it early to save our jobs.”

  “You hurt a lot of people,” she said.

  “Did I?” he accused. “You wrote it.”

  She realized he was right. It was her fault. Every bit of it. From pretending to be Holly’s cousin, to scooping Nick. She should have taken a stand. She had not.

  To comfort herself, she fumbled for the Pulitzer medal, but instead her fingers found the hammock charm. Balance. The charm Nick had given her was supposed to represent balance. Of which she had none in her life.

  They’d been working on something and she’d gone and ruined it all by sending Ross that article. Hadn’t part of her known he was capable of using it exactly the way he had? Had her subconscious sabotaged her?

  It was a miserable thought. Was she that afraid of falling in love?

  Love.

  She took a deep breath. No matter how much she’d tried to tell herself it was just sex, she knew she was starting to fall in love with Nick Greer.

  Well, that was all over now. Anxiously she rubbed the hammock charm as if it was Aladdin’s lamp and she could conjure a genie to grant her most heartfelt wish.

  To start again with Nick.

  “Is that your touchstone?”

  At the sound of his voice, she jerked her head up.

  She turned to see him standing behind her in the terminal, his chocolate gold eyes studying her with intent. “Nick.”

  “Livvy.”

  “I sent my editor my notes,” she said. “I made him swear not to publish it before I gave him the go-ahead but—”

  “Shh,” he said and crossed the space between them. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You forgive me?”

  “Forgive you? I should be thanking you.”

  “Thanking me for scooping you when I made a promise I wouldn’t?”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No. No, it’s not. Now you’ll have trouble getting your book contract and—”

  He shook his head. “I got another idea for a book. I called my publishers and they’ve agreed to a contract.”

  “You came up with an idea that fast?”

  “Getting punched in the ego can really kick the muse into gear.”

  “What’s your new book about?”

  “A perennial playboy and career-focused journalist go undercover at a celebrity wedding and fall madly in love.”

  “Love?” she whispered. “You love me?”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him. “I love every maddening thing about you, woman. How you finger that charm bracelet when you’re feeling insecure. How you barrel fearlessly after your goals. How you’re so loyal to your friends you’re willing to make a spectacle of yourself in McGulicutty’s bar. How you’re a limbo star. That’s seriously impressive.”

  “You only want me for my moves,” she teased, her heart taking wing.

  “No, I want you for your brains and your beauty, for your sharp tongue and your sweet lips. I want you in my life, Olivia Carmichael and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “I’m not putting up a protest.”

  “For once,” he said, then kissed her with a passion that stole her breath. He kept kissing her until the plane arrived, until the other passengers around them had gotten on the plane, until the gate agent called for final boarding.

  Then he took her by the hand, led her onto the plane and they flew off into their future together.

  PRIVATE PARTY

  Wendy Etherington

  To my Y Girls team. Burning calories with you

  is my f
avorite way to start the day.

  1

  SEATED IN THE LOBBY of the posh and exclusive Rapture Island Resort, Tara Lindsey flipped through Food and Wine magazine and pretended to be engrossed in the pages she’d read at least twelve times already.

  Foolproof method for roasting chicken? Got that. Ad for a new convection oven? Saw it, too expensive. “Wine Pairings For Every Occasion” had lent some interesting tips. The article titled “You, Too, Can Perform Molecular Gastronomy!” made her roll her eyes. Ah, probably not. At least not without some serious training or a liquid nitrogen tank.

  Interview with her mother? Saw that first thing, as her celebrity chef parent had been the one to send Tara the magazine in the first place.

  Tara turned the page on her eerie, if older, twin. She saw the same features in the mirror every morning—curly dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, heart-shaped face, camera-ready smile.

  Well, not so much with the smile. At least lately.

  Which was why she was staking out the lobby of the exclusive Caribbean resort that was the setting of the wedding between Holly Addison, statuesque blond A-list Hollywood actress and J. D. Maynard Jr., son of J. D. Maynard Sr., Texas cattle ranch billionaire and oil magnate.

  It was the event of the year. Invitations had been hand-delivered. The paparazzi were in a frenzy to get an inside peek. Security was insanely tight.

  Tara had gotten a reservation at the resort—one of the few hotels on the island—by using her mother’s name.

  Nearly thirty and still hanging on to Mommy’s coattails? Embarrassing beyond belief. Still, the employees of her catering company—especially the ones she was likely to lay off if business didn’t drastically turn around—probably didn’t care about her humiliation.

  As long as they got paid each week, anyway.

  An overly thin woman with long, sleek black hair sank onto the sofa a few feet away. She cast Tara a speculative look. “Are you here for the…you know?”

  “Wedding?” Tara whispered back.

  The woman’s gaze darted from side to side before she inclined her head in a surreptitious nod.