Winning It All

by Catherine Mann

  Vanessa caught a quick glimpse of her father and brother. Her dad lifted his hands, clapping. Even Sebastian shot them a thumbs-up. Peace settled inside her as she soaked in the support from her family. Any concerns or aches over the adoption scattered faster than chunks of turfs from under Maximo’s hooves.

  She tipped her face up to Nicolas, nuzzling his neck as he navigated his way out of the crowd. “I don’t know what made you change your mind about us, but you’d better find a place for us to be alone, or I’m going to cause another scandal.”

  “As long as you’re creating that scandal with me, count me in.” His brown eyes glinted with amusement, arousal, love.

  He swept her sunglasses up onto her head, the bright sun glinting off of the barn roof in the distance. Then she couldn’t see at all as her eyes closed for his kiss. Her world narrowed to just the two of them, the taste of him on her lips, the bristle of his cheek against her skin, the sensuous way he dipped his nose toward her hair and inhaled.

  Nicolas secured her against his chest with an arm and urged Maximo into a canter toward the pear orchard near the fields. Her heart pounded in time with horse’s hooves. They slowed to a stop in the same clearing where they’d tucked away for a clandestine moment during a party. Now, glossy white ribbons and bows were draped from the branches.

  “Oh, Nicolas,” she gasped. “How did you manage all of this?”

  “Bridgehampton Polo Club hires only the best staff.”

  Her laughter bubbled up and over like champagne freed from the bottle. “Of course. I should have known.”

  He slid from the horse and raised his hands to help her dismount with reverent tenderness. Then he knelt in front of her. She tugged his arm.

  “Really, you don’t have to do this. No one is looking now,” she grinned.

  His face went as solemn as she’d ever seen it.

  “You’re looking, and that is what matters most to me.” He clasped her fingers. “Vanessa, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  In spite of the sincerity and emotion she saw in his eyes, a final doubt lingered. “If you’re saying this because of the baby—”

  He squeezed her hand lightly to silence her. “I am asking because I love you. You already know how much I want you. But I also love you—the way you stand up for yourself, the way you care for your father, the way your eyes dance as you share finger puppet stories.”

  “How did you find out about the puppet play?” she asked, incredulous.

  He traced her lips, caressing. “Does that matter? All that matters to me right now is that you give me a lifetime to prove how happy we can be together.”

  Then her mind zeroed in on the most important part of his declaration. “You love me?”

  “Completely. And I intend to make sure you never have to phrase that as a question again.” His bold face furrowed with regret over the hurt he’d caused.

  How easy it was to forgive him when he’d found such a dramatic way of making amends.

  He continued. “I think we bring balance to each other, in addition to the love and passion. Together, we have everything.”

  The peace in his eyes matched the quiet joy in her heart. Her last reservation was put to rest.

  “Yes.” She knelt into his arms. “Yes, yes and again yes, I love you and want to be your wife.”

  Pulling her close, he kissed her firmly, shuddering with unmistakable relief. This unshakable man, her cool, collected lover, had been afraid she would say no? Tears of happiness stung her eyes. She pressed her face to the warmth of his neck, savoring the fact that she would have years to enjoy his embrace endlessly.

  He nuzzled her hair. “So how does the story of Nessa and Nicky end? I had to leave before you finished.”

  Smiling, she looked up at him. “They worked together and won the match, of course.”

  “Hmmm…” He rested his forehead against hers. “I am sorry I didn’t come through for you right away.”

  “We’re here now.”

  She stayed in his arms and the moment until Maximo pawed the ground impatiently.

  Nicolas glanced at his horse. “Thank you for reminding me, my friend.” He looked back at Vanessa, a heated gleam in his eyes as he stood. “I have more planned for you today.”

  “More? But I already have everything I want right in front of me.

  “I can think of one more thing that I want.”

  “What would that be?” She would do her best to deliver.

  “I want to see an engagement ring on your finger by sunset. What do you say to a shopping expedition before dinner?”

  Certainly filled her heart as surely happy tears filled her eyes. “I say absolutely yes.”

  He reached for her, his hand steady and sure, his thoughtfully romantic ribbons and bows rustling overhead like a sentimental bridal bower. Anticipation tingling through her, she clasped his hand and settled atop Maximo with him.

  Nicolas brushed her ear with a kiss. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going after we pick out the ring?”

  “Surprise me.”

  And she knew without a doubt this intensely driven, sexy man would always deliver a winner.

  HIS ACCIDENTAL FIANCÉE

  EMILY MCKAY

  To the fabulous women (and men) of ARWA, the best RWA chapter in the world.

  Y’all are wonderful, supportive and just dang fun.

  One

  Connor Stone looked up from his drink and saw the next woman he was going to take to bed.

  He knew it the instant he saw her standing by the bar in Riffs, the jazz bar where he was sipping away his Thursday night. The fact that she was there with a date didn’t particularly worry him.

  He had met his buddy Tim for drinks. Connor had been watching the gorgeous blonde since she’d arrived ten minutes earlier. Based on the way the guy was acting, they were probably on a bad blind date. He kept glancing at his watch and tugging at his tie.

  Though why a guy would try to ditch a woman like her, Connor couldn’t guess. Her face had an extravagant beauty that made her impossible to ignore. Her movements had a grace and sensuality to them, as if she moved in rhythm to the quartet playing standards in the corner. Through the constantly moving crowd, he could see her well enough to tell her body was made for sin. Unfortunately, all those lush curves were encased in a demure navy dress. Why would a woman with a body like that shield herself in a layer of protective armor meant to hide her most appealing attributes?

  Connor was debating whether to wait for her date to leave before approaching her when Tim nudged him. “If you’re thinking about hitting on her, I should warn you, you’re going to strike out.”

  Something about Tim’s tone irritated him. Tim was a work friend, and frankly, Connor had always thought Tim got by on family connections rather than hard work.

  “Don’t tell me you know her.”

  Tim smiled smugly, then leaned closer to be heard over the music. “Brittney Hannon. Daughter of Senator Jonathon P. Hannon. Just last week, New York Personality magazine did a big interview with her. Called her ‘The Last Good Girl in America’.”

  Connor eyed his target. She did have a certain puritanical quality to her. She wore her blond hair long and straight. If Marcia Brady had come to the bar directly from Sunday school, this is what she’d look like.

  He’d always had a thing for Marcia Brady.

  “You think good girls can’t be tempted?”

  As he asked the question, Brittney looked up from her nervous date and met Connor’s gaze. The awareness between them arced across the room. He felt it like a strong kick to the gut.

  “I’ll bet you a thousand dollars you can’t get her into bed by the end of the summer,” Tim said.

  Brittney looked down at her drink, clearly disconcerted. Connor smiled. “I’ll have her in my bed by the end of the week.”

  Tim just laughed. “You’re going to have to work fast then. From what I’ve heard, she’s a polo fan.”

  �
�So?”

  “Boy, you really don’t follow society news, do you?” Tim looked at him like he was a moron.

  “I follow the financial news.”

  “Well, she’ll be in Bridgehampton all summer for the polo season. While you’re in town, working.” Tim gave him a punch in the arm. “You should get your head out from under that rock and play a little.”

  Easy for Tim to say. His family was old money. All Tim had to do was sit back and make sure he didn’t screw up too badly.

  Connor, on the other hand, came from a blue-collar family in Pennsylvania. If he didn’t work his ass off, his clients lost millions. And if that happened, his career as a hedge-fund manager would be over. “I gotta work hard so I can play hard,” he explained.

  But the truth was, he had been working too hard lately. It was time to cut loose. And Brittney Hannon was just the woman to do it with. As if on cue, her nervous date tossed down a few bills, gestured toward the door and made a run for it.

  The guy was clearly an idiot, but at least he hadn’t stiffed Brittney with the bill. But his loss was Connor’s gain.

  This is going to be too easy.

  Being dubbed “The Last Good Girl in America” was killing Brittney Hannon’s love life.

  She sighed as her date abandoned her at Riffs. If her drink hadn’t just arrived, she’d leave too. But she figured she’d earned the appletini.

  In the two weeks since the profile had run in New York Personality, she’d had no fewer than three disastrous dates.

  She blamed the article. She’d agreed to the interview as a favor to her college sorority sister, Margot. It was supposed to be an in-depth look at how Brittney was using her Web design background to manage her father’s “cyber campaign.” Instead, Margot had taken a few quotes from the actual interview and cobbled them together with bits and pieces of private conversations from over the past decade. The resulting “profile” made Brittney out to be a sanctimonious prude who was on the hunt for a husband and who encouraged women to withhold sex in exchange for an engagement ring. There was nothing overtly libelous about the article, but the title had not been meant as a compliment.

  And this was exactly why she didn’t talk to the press very often. She was too blunt. Too outspoken. Too honest. And it always got her in trouble. Which was why she hadn’t confronted Margot after reading the profile. Why risk giving the woman more fuel? She had decided long ago she was better off giving reporters nothing interesting to say about her.

  For now, her love life was taking a hit. The best she could figure, most men simply weren’t interested in working any harder than they had to. They saw her as a pain, rather than interesting challenge. She was trying to view this as simply a way to weed out the men who scared easily. But it wasn’t much consolation. She’d just have to suffer through it. It wouldn’t kill her.

  The truth was, she was more concerned about how the profile would affect her father’s campaign. Zoe, her father’s senior aide, had assured her the profile wasn’t as bad as she thought. And then politely reminded her to schedule any dealings with the press through the senator’s office. Most of the time, Brittney’s own views came off as too socially conservative for her father’s urban constituents, and she had no talent for tempering her opinions to make them more palatable. In short, she was a total failure as a politician’s daughter. As if it wasn’t bad enough that the circumstances of her birth had cast suspicions on her father’s morals.

  She’d grown up knowing that marriage to her showgirl mother had nearly destroyed her father’s budding career. That, combined with the fact that she was the very image of her mother, motivated her to stay out of trouble. She certainly didn’t want to do any more damage to her father’s career. Her mother might not be around anymore to create scandalous headlines, but Brittney certainly didn’t want to remind anyone of her. She’d learned long ago, her safest course of action was to smile serenely, pose for the photos and keep her mouth shut.

  And then Margot had come along asking for an interview. Brittney hadn’t imagined that an innocent profile of her work on her father’s campaign could cause any problems. But once again, her honesty had come back to bite her on the ass.

  Thank goodness the polo season was just around the corner. The rich, famous and dissolute would descend on the Hamptons. They’d stir up enough gossip to satisfy even the most inquiring of minds. Within a week or two, everyone would forget about the silly profile. Then Brittney could enjoy the rest of the summer at her father’s place on Long Pond. The house was secluded enough that she could get plenty of work done during the week, but close enough to Bridgehampton she could enjoy the social scene on the weekends.

  In a discreet, quiet fashion.

  No more interviews for her. For the rest of the summer, she was going to focus on keeping her nose clean and her mouth shut. Maybe by fall she would find a man brave enough to date her.

  Normally, she wasn’t much of a drinker, but since her date had abandoned her, she raised her martini, gave a silent toast to the door through which he’d left, and then downed the rest of it.

  When she lowered the glass, her gaze met a pair of piercing blue eyes from across the room. The same man she’d seen earlier was still watching her. She tore her gaze away, but then a second later, looked back. Still there.

  That piercing gaze of his was just the tip of the iceberg. He had jet-black hair, disheveled in a way that could be bought only from a very expensive hairdresser. His shoulders were broad and encased in Armani. The intensity of his eyes was balanced out by a rakish smile, full of charm and humor. Dimples slashed his cheeks, making it almost impossible to resist returning his smile. The overall combination resulted in a ’berg big enough to sink the most titanic of female hearts.

  Everything about the man exuded sensual promise. The scary thing was, just once she wished she were the kind of woman who would take him up on it.

  But no, she was Brittney Hannon, daughter of a prominent senator. Stalwart defender and representative of middle America’s values. She truly was the last good girl in America. Unfortunately.

  She set down her empty glass and picked up her clutch, ready to leave. When she looked up, he was there, standing beside the chair across from her.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  She should tell him that she did mind. Or better yet, that she was just leaving. She knew that. Instead, she nodded, allowing her purse to slip through her fingers and land back in her lap.

  He gestured to a passing waitress to bring her another drink. “A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be sitting in a bar alone.”

  Somehow, she’d expected better from him. “Do pickup lines that cheesy ever work for you?”

  He smiled ruefully. “Only when I really mean them.”

  She wanted to resist but couldn’t help smiling back. “Nice save.”

  The waitress brought her drink over. Brittney blinked in surprise at the bright green concoction. “I had to wait twenty minutes for my first drink to get here.” She took a sip. “Do you have a name?”

  She looked up at him. The heat from the intensity of his blue gaze burned through her, hotter than the warmth from the vodka in her drink.

  The connection she felt almost made her sorry she’d looked into his eyes. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and charming—she encountered handsome, charming men every day. No, there was something else about him. When he looked at her, she felt enticing. As if she were the only woman in the room. As if she were a sex goddess. And for a second there, she’d wanted to be that person for him. She wanted to be sexy and alluring.

  “Connor Stone,” he said.

  She blinked. She’d nearly forgotten the question she’d asked. He was watching her, waiting for her to tell him her name. For a second she hesitated. Normally, she was proud of who she was, proud of being good. So what was it about this man that made her want to forget all of that, just for one night?

  She took another generous sip of her drink. “I’m Brittney.�
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  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Just Brittney?”

  “Just Brittney.”

  He leveled that shrewd, assessing gaze at her, and she could have sworn he saw right through her. To the lies she was telling herself even now.

  “Like Britney Spears,” he supplied.

  And just like that, who she really was came crashing back. “No,” she shook her head. “Not like Spears. More like the spaniel.”

  He chuckled at her self-deprecating analogy. The sound was low and sexy. It made her want to keep saying funny things so she could hear it again, but she was all out of witty repartee.

  Her sorority sisters—Margot included—had come up with that assessment of her personality. Brittney…not like Spears, like the spaniel. Steadfast. Loyal. Dependable. And even if she wanted to be more like Spears for one night—reckless, careless and fun—she wasn’t that person.

  She set down the appletini and leaned forward. “I have to be honest. I’m not really this kind of woman.”

  “What kind of woman?”

  “The kind who lets a stranger pick her up in a bar for a one-night stand.”

  He smiled a knowing smile. “I didn’t really think you were.”

  “So I should go. Give you a chance to try with someone else.” She nodded toward the room in general, where there were countless other women who’d cheerfully fill her empty chair.

  Now he leaned forward. His gaze shifted from amused to something more intense. “Then I should be honest, too. That guy that you think I am—the one who’ll hit on one woman, strike out and then mindlessly move on to the next—I’m not that kind of guy.”

  Surprised, she asked, “Then what kind of guy are you?”

  “I’m the kind of guy who gets what I want.”

  Her throat tightened even as warmth spread through her limbs. It was an odd combination of dread and excitement. To cover her discomfort, she stood up. “Well, then, Connor Stone, you should prepare yourself to be disappointed.”