Hot Mistake

by Cara Lockwood

  “Look, I was wrong about you, okay? I’ll admit it.”

  Sebastian turned, studying her. “You were wrong?”

  “Yes. Wrong. I’m sorry.”

  Sebastian fell silent. Did he accept her apology?

  “Look, if you’re truly embarrassed about being with me, then this won’t work.” Sebastian stared at her sadly. “I thought we really had something, but if for you it was all an act, then it won’t work. I want to try, but if you don’t, then it ends here.”

  In front of them, Felicia and James walked down the aisle and then it was their turn. No more time to talk. Sebastian let her go and she took her place on the bride’s side. Then, it was the bride’s turn to come down the aisle, and all eyes were on her.

  The ceremony passed in a blur, as emotions churned in Gabriela’s chest. She realized with perfect clarity as Marco and Lola kissed beneath the flower canopy that she wanted to try. She had to try with Sebastian. He was right: something as unique as this didn’t come along every day. She realized she’d been too scared to try.

  The bride and groom retreated down the path and the bridesmaids followed, Gabriela linking her arm in Sebastian’s.

  “He’s going to leave you,” Felicia hissed at her back once they got to the staging area. “He leaves everyone.”

  “No,” Gabriela said, voice stony as she whirled on Felicia. “He left you. Get over it. It was more than ten years ago.”

  “How dare you...” Felicia balled her hands into fists.

  “You’ve never been nice to me,” Gabriela said. “Ever. And I’ve always been nice for Lola’s sake, but that stops now. This is my life, I’ll do what I want with it.”

  And with that, she turned to Sebastian, pulled him down by his pink tie and kissed the life out of him. Gasps went up from the bridal party, but she didn’t care. She’d kiss him in front of the whole ship if he wanted it.

  When she pulled back, she was out of breath. “I want to try...us,” she said.

  A playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, there’s an us now, is there?”

  “Hell, yes there is.” She tossed her bouquet to the carpet and tugged him down for another kiss.

  EPILOGUE

  Three years later

  THE BRIDE’S HEEL got stuck in the train of her ample white dress as she tried to maneuver down the short aisle on the deck of the Royal Harmony cruise ship as it overlooked the bright blue water of the Atlantic Ocean just off the shores of Key West.

  “Gabbie! You’re stuck,” cried Lola, beautiful in an aqua-colored silk gown as she helped Gabriela get untangled. Her own bright gold ring shone on her finger. “And I can’t believe you’re getting married on my anniversary.”

  “It’s a lucky date.” Gabriela laughed a little, nodding at Lola’s baby bump, just starting to be visible beneath the silk. She was due in four months. “Besides, this is where it all started. How could we not get married on this ship?”

  Music drifted into the passageway where they were standing. “Ooh! Almost my turn.” Lola helped Gabriela fix her train. “You ready for this?”

  She glanced down the aisle at Sebastian Lott, looking gorgeous in his rented tux. She nodded. “I’m ready to take the biggest leap of faith ever.”

  “When you land on love, the leap’s not that bad.” Lola grinned and then darted down the aisle.

  Gabriela took a deep breath, ready to follow. She saw Sebastian, his hazel eyes never leaving hers, and couldn’t wait to start the rest of their lives together.

  * * *

  If you loved Hot Mistake, try these other great

  romances by Cara Lockwood:

  No Strings

  Look at Me

  First Class Sin

  available now from Harlequin DARE!

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  She Devil

  by Christy McKellen

  CHAPTER ONE

  April

  SEX ISN’T ABOUT love and connection; it’s about power and control.

  That’s what I’ve come to realise over the last ten years.

  Yes, okay, I accept that it can also be used for the purposes of procreation and continuing a lineage—or, in my father’s case, providing an heir to his vast business empire—and I know that some people even think they’re doing it for fun but, take it from me, sex is just a tool we use to manipulate each other.

  And, yes, it is true what people say about me—and when I say people I’m specifically talking about Jamie De Montfort here—I am a total and utter bitch.

  Because I’ve had to be.

  ‘Hard as nails’ is one of the things I hear people say about me behind my back.

  I like that.

  Nails are useful items—essential, even. Structures would fall down without them.


  ‘As cold as a polar bear’s arsehole’—that one I’m not quite so keen on.

  But I wouldn’t have risen to the position of Chief Operating Officer at DH Worldwide, my father’s aforementioned multinational corporation, if I hadn’t developed the ability to ignore what people say about me.

  Except this time when I say people I don’t mean Jamie De Montfort because I’ve always been uncomfortably aware of what he thinks of me. Let’s just say that ever since my mother died and I was forced to step into her role as matriarch of the family—much to my sister Maya’s disgust—my relationship with Jamie has been on less than friendly terms.

  Because it’s had to be.

  I’ve never been able to tell him exactly why I finished our eighteen-month relationship during our third year at St Andrew’s University, so he’s chosen to think the very worst of me—and to make sure everyone knows it too.

  But that’s okay. It’s had to be. For both our sakes.

  If I told him why I’d been forced to do what I did it would destroy him—and me too.

  Because I loved him.

  But not any more. Not after the way he’s treated me since then.

  Unfortunately we end up running in the same social circles a lot nowadays and he never misses an opportunity to let me know exactly how little respect he has for me now.

  Like he did last night, for example.

  Except in the end, last night turned out to be completely different from all the other times. In fact, thinking back, I can hardly believe it happened now. It feels more like a dream—or perhaps a nightmare, depending on how you choose to interpret it.

  I’d gone to a charity fundraiser that my business associate’s wife had organised to raise money for a children’s charity that’s very close to her heart, having agreed to attend at the last minute after a meeting in Rome had fallen through and I’d found myself without anything to do that evening.

  Which is why I had no idea that Jamie De Montfort was compèring the event.

  As a world-famous former tennis champion, securing him as the host was quite a coup, and it was clear from the reaction to his obsequious, crowd-pleasing performance there was going to be a lot of money dropping into the charity’s coffers that evening.

  At least from my seat near the back of the room I was able to observe him without feeling the usual compulsion to turn away.

  I grudgingly have to admit he was looking good. Very good, in fact. His athletic physique was very much in evidence, despite being encased in a dinner jacket. He’s always had a great body, even in his early twenties, when I knew him best. And by ‘knew him’ I mean when I’d seen him naked on a regular basis.

  Prohibiting my body from reacting to those memories, I attempted to study him with a dispassionate eye. He’d grown his strawberry-blond hair a little longer since the last time I’d seen him a few months previously so it curled around his collar at the nape of his neck and fell in tousled strands over his forehead. It reminded me of the way he used to wear it when we were dating, when he’d had to push his fringe out of his striking blue eyes whenever he’d turned to look at me. That simple idiosyncrasy had never failed to conjure a need in me that I’ve never been able to explain in words.

  His strong jawline was very much in evidence that night too, because he was clean-shaven for once, seemingly taking a break from the designer stubble he’s famously sported in the ads he’s starred in for his own line of men’s sports clothing.

  He’s always been demonstrably aware of how attractive he is, so it doesn’t surprise me at all that he has no qualms about using his looks for monetary gain.

  The self-important narcissist.

  I think that’s why he was so incredulous—and unreasonably malicious—when I called a halt to our relationship. He couldn’t believe I’d had the nerve to dump someone as outstanding as him.

  But dump him I did. And I don’t regret that decision. Even now, ten years later. Especially when I see him flirting shamelessly with every single woman in the room, even the women I know he’s already talked into his bed—including some of my friends, I might add—but still treating me like the scum of the earth.

  But I don’t care any more.

  I really don’t.

  Ironically, it happened to be that exact thought that was racing round my mind when the person sitting to my left—who I think was one of the organiser’s good friends—leaned over to me and whispered, ‘Did you hear about Jamie De Montfort’s father, Cliff?’

  Just the mention of that name sent a shiver of unease through me.

  ‘No,’ I managed to reply, even though my mouth felt like someone had just filled it with rocks.

  My dinner companion shook her head sadly, her eyes wide with compassionate dismay. ‘He had another heart attack and passed away a few days ago. Jamie was devastated, apparently, but he was determined to still come and host tonight.’ She nodded towards where Jamie stood proudly on stage, shaking the hand of the director of the children’s charity as everybody clapped. ‘That man is the definition of a true hero,’ she shouted above the sound of the applause, admiration shining in her eyes.

  A thin smile was all I could manage as blood thumped in my temple and my stomach did sickening somersaults.

  So Cliff was dead. And Jamie had still turned up for this gig. I couldn’t quite get my head around that. Jamie had idolised his father and, even though I had no kind feelings towards him any more, I understood how much he must be hurting right then. The news brought back a flood of painful memories from when my mother had died after a skiing incident, swiftly moving on to remind me of the dread and fear I’d felt when I heard that my own father had been in a near-fatal car accident only a month ago.

  Yes, I knew exactly how he felt.

  Frighteningly alone.

  Especially because he was now the only De Montfort left. The last of his kind.

  A wave of something like nostalgia crashed through me—undoubtedly in response to my own tormenting memories—and I had to excuse myself and stumble out of the room to drag some air back into my lungs. I meant to go towards the bathrooms, but there appeared to be a stream of other women doing the same thing ahead of me, so instead I diverted to a nearby office, which was mercifully empty. I didn’t bother switching on the light and strode straight over to the window, cracking it open so that the cool evening air rushed over my heated face.

  My heart was pounding like I’d just run a mile at full pelt and my whole body hummed with agitation.

  Cliff was dead.

  I wondered whether my father had heard and if so why he hadn’t told me.

  I jumped as the door to the room opened behind me, flooding it with light from the corridor.

  I blinked at the outline of the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood in the doorway, instinctively knowing who it was even before my eyes adjusted and I was able to make out the familiar features of his face.

  ‘Good evening, Jamie,’ I said with as much indifference as I could muster. I didn’t want him to see me in this weakened state, and I knew if I gave anything away he’d jump on it immediately. I hoped, once he realised it was me alone in there, he’d just turn and walk away.

  But it was not to be.

  ‘April, fancy finding you here skulking in the dark.’

  Irritation clawed up my spine at the disparagement I heard in his tone.

  ‘I’m just taking a moment out. It’s so hot in there,’ I said blandly, keeping any emotion out of my voice so he had nothing to comment on, hoping he’d soon get bored and go away.

  But of course he didn’t. This was Jamie, after all. The man who never passed up an opportunity to torture me.

  Instead, he closed the door behind him, throwing the room back into shadow, and walked over to where I stood stiffly by the window.

  Right at that moment I was immensely grateful for both t
he darkness and the cold breeze.

  ‘Is there a reason you chose to do it in my dressing room?’ he asked, the streetlight from outside casting his face into light relief.

  ‘I thought it was an empty office. I didn’t realise it was your room,’ I countered, aware of my face flushing with embarrassment at my unlucky faux pas.

  ‘Is that right?’ he replied, his scepticism clear.

  There was an awkward pause as I tried to think of something to distract his attention away from my obvious discomfort.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about you father passing away,’ I said, deciding I might as well tackle the subject head on. No doubt it would come up at some point soon anyway. Jamie already thought my family was responsible for everything bad that had happened to his father and would no doubt try to pin this heart attack on us as well.

  If only he knew the truth...

  The air in the room had become very still, and I thought I caught a flash of pain cross his face, but in the semi-light I couldn’t be sure. My stomach still swooped at the thought. Jamie hadn’t shown me any real emotion—apart from anger—for years.

  ‘You heard about that, huh?’ he said eventually.

  ‘Yes, just now at dinner. I was surprised I hadn’t heard about it sooner.’

  He shucked off his jacket and tossed it onto the back of an office chair that was tucked under a nearby desk. ‘No, well, my father didn’t want his death spread around like gossip. He’d had enough of that shit, thanks to your family.’

  I had a lot of trouble biting my tongue at that, but somehow I managed it, despite the usual resentment building inside me. He’d have a very different attitude if he knew how much I’d done to protect both Cliff and him from gossip. And worse.

  ‘Speaking of which, I hear your father’s been spending time in hospital himself recently,’ Jamie went on, tugging undone his bow tie and popping open the top button of his shirt.

  ‘Yes, he was there for a week or so, but he’s back at home now recuperating,’ I said stiffly, trying not to think about how distractingly arousing it was to witness him messing up his neat formal attire.