by Mallory Kane
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Mallory Kane. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit into any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact Mallory Kane.
Cover design Copyright © 2012 by Mallory Kane
This book is dedicated to my Hermit Week peeps, Rita Herron, Stephanie Bond and Anna DeStefano, who encouraged me to finish this book and publish it. Thank you, ladies!
PROLOGUE
Six years ago
Life just didn't get any better than this. Michael Grey turned over onto his stomach and propped his chin on his hands, savoring the warmth of the late June sun on his back. The rough boards of the pier dug into his knees and his ribs, but that was a small price to pay for the luxury of relaxing under a cloudless sky. Buying the lake house was one of the best ideas his parents had ever had.
He mentally added the lake house to his list of reasons to stay in Nashville and work for the D.A.'s office rather than take the corporate job in Japan. Satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment washed over him and he smiled lazily.
He'd done it. He'd graduated law school, top of his class, and now he was back in Nashville, with his pick of a dozen great jobs, including what he'd always wanted to do, work for the D.A.
He felt a faint shimmy and heard the creak of the boards as someone stepped onto the pier. Michael opened one eye and peeked. The figures were just silhouettes, but he recognized both immediately. Sara, his older sister, was one. The other--he'd know those forever legs and that shapely waist in a coal mine at midnight.
Catherine Mary Morris, Cat, his best friend. His smile cranked up a notch, and he reached for his sunglasses. No need to miss this perfect opportunity to watch Cat walk.
It was good to see her. What with finals and moving home from Brown University and taking the bar, he hadn't laid eyes on her for several months. He'd asked Sara to invite her out to the lake house for the weekend.
As Cat drew closer, he admired her slender, tanned figure in the little pink bathing suit. His heart, as well as another part of him, did a funny jump as he took in the gentle rise of her breasts, her flat tummy, and those long, long legs. Swallowing, he set his jaw, determined not to react like a teenager. There would be plenty of time for that, depending on Cat's reaction to what he'd finally, after all these years, decided to tell her.
"Michael!"
"Hey little brother. Look what dragged in--the Cat."
Gathering his willpower, he tamped down on his raging hormones and rolled up his jeans legs, then dangled his feet off the side of the pier into the water.
"Couldn't resist me, eh?" he asked, grinning.
"Well, you know how it is Michael. Nothing better to do than be here at your beck and call." She lowered her sunglasses and stared intently at him, her green eyes sparkling.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to see if you look any different, now that you're a real lawyer."
She peered more closely, and Michael had a hard time holding her gaze. His eyes wanted to look at her luscious, kissable lips.
"Well, Madame Foreman? What's the verdict?"
"You're beginning to look a little beady-eyed. And methinks I see dollar signs in your pupils."
He shot her a disgusted look as he fumbled behind him for the lid of the cooler.
"Wait!" Sara cried. "I'll get it. You're going to dump the lid into the lake." She handed him a cold beer. "Want one, Cat?"
"What else have you got?"
Sara tossed Cat a canned soft drink, and took one for herself.
Cat sat down next to him, and Sara sat beside her.
"Oh this day is perfect," Sara said, lifting her face to the sun.
"So what have you been doing, Cat?" Michael asked, sloshing his feet in the water, and silently disagreeing with Sara. The day was almost perfect. Perfect would be if Cat reacted the way he hoped she would. A shard of apprehension lodged under his breastbone. He was taking a risk, a big one.
He eyed her sidelong. What if she didn't feel the same way he did? What if all she wanted to be was friends, as they'd always been?
Well, being friends, even best friends, wasn't going to cut it for him any more. His feelings had gone way beyond that. He wasn't sure he could pinpoint when it had happened. Some time in the past sixteen years, since they first met when they were eight years old, he had fallen in love with Cat.
For years, he'd tried to deny it. It had been hard, watching her dating other guys, being her friend and confidant, when he wanted to be more. He'd watched her grow from a scared, brave little girl to a young woman who was still scared, and still brave. He smiled to himself. She met the world head on, and dared it to mess with her.
He realized she was talking and concentrated on her words.
"--have I been doing? Oh, you know, same old stuff. Working." She turned up the soda can and drank.
Michael watched her. There was a note in her voice that he recognized. She had something to tell him, something she was excited about.
Well, he had things to say to her, too. "Hey, Sara, isn't that Bill over there? Your boyfriend is looking lonely."
Sara kicked her feet, splashing water up. "I guess I'd better go entertain him. We're cooking spareribs, Cat."
"Yum. I can't wait."
"Y'all don't stay out here too long. The sun is hot."
"We'll get in the water after a while."
Sara left, her footsteps sending quivers through the boards of the floating pier.
"Michael--"
"Cat--"
They spoke together, then laughed.
"Cat, let me--"
"Michael, I've got--"
They looked at each other and laughed again. Then Michael put his fingers over Cat's mouth.
"Listen for a minute," he said.
Cat's eyes widened. "Is everything okay--?"
"Ah, ah, ah! I said listen." He didn't want to stop touching her soft lips. In fact, he wanted to curl his fingers around her nape and pull her close and kiss her. But he had to talk to her first. "I've got something to tell you."
She grabbed his wrist. "Me too. Oh, Michael, I think I'm going to burst. I've got to go first. Notice anything different about me?"
He gave in as he always did. He wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise, until Cat was through. She was like a child with a secret. She was literally bursting.
He looked at her critically. "You've gained weight?"
She slapped his arm. "No, you twit. Look!" She held out her left hand, palm down.
Michael frowned at her.
She pointed to her left hand with her right. "Look at the hand, Michael," she said pointedly.
He looked. On her ring finger was a diamond solitaire. Something tore inside him. "It's--" he stammered in disbelief.
"An engagement ring!" she finished, her voice rising with excitement. "I'm engaged!"
"You're engaged." His lips felt numb. He stared at the glittery thing until he thought he would go blind.
"Well?" Her impatient voice penetrated the haze in his brain.
"Huh?"
"Aren't you going to congratulate me?"
He had to find his voice, had to answer her. But he needed a minute. He felt like he'd felt once years ago when a baseball had hit him in the head, stunned, sick, light-headed. He struggled to act normally, while his brain worked to accept what she'd said.
"Uh, you and Jack? I didn't realize things had gotten so serious. I thought you didn't like him that much."
Cat laughed, the sound
tinkling around him like glass shattering against concrete. "Not Jack. He was just a fun date. I'm engaged to Jeff Walker. He works in the same building I do. He's a stock broker."
She sounded so proud. Michael swallowed. For some reason his eyes were stinging. Suddenly, anger erupted inside him. He had no idea where it came from, only that it had to get out.
"What the hell are you doing, Cat? It wasn't two months ago you were dating Jack. And a month before that, it was Tom Somebody. Now you're engaged?"
"Hey!" Cat recoiled. "What's the matter? I thought you'd be happy for me."
"Happy for you? I don't get you, Cat. You go around playing with guys, dating this one and that one. You've never been serious about anybody. What makes this Jeff guy any different?"
Cat stared at him, her eyes no longer sparkling.
Well that was fine. He'd burst her bubble? That was nothing compared to what she'd done to him.
When she spoke, her voice sounded strained. "I don't understand why you're being so mean."
"You're just going to end up hurt, or you're going to hurt him. You can't possibly love him."
"Oh? And what makes you such an expert?" she asked tightly.
"Because I know you. Because--oh hell. You trample on hearts as if they're grapes and you're making wine. Just don't be surprised when one of them turns around and tramples on you."
Cat's eyes turned liquid and her face paled.
Michael almost reached for her. He almost apologized, but his throat was still tight with anger, and hurt.
"You--you twit," Cat choked. "You're so high and mighty with your big fat law degree. You've changed, Michael. Right now, I think I hate you. You take the happiest event in my whole life, and use it to insult me." She took a shaky breath. "I thought you were my best friend. Well, apparently I was mistaken."
"I am your best friend, Cat. That's why--"
"Don't. Don't do me many favors. No wait, do me one favor. Stay out of my life, okay? I don't want to ever see you again. Ever!"
"That can be arranged," he shot back, thinking of the cushy job in Japan.
Her brow furrowed, and for a second he thought she was going to say something, but instead, she jumped up, splattering water on him. Without another word, she turned on her heel and took off down the pier. He watched her stomp away, each footstep vibrating through the pier and his body.
He slammed his fist into the post beside him, relishing the pain that lanced through his hand and arm. The physical pain was a lot easier to take than the pain that gripped his heart. What a schmuck he was, thinking he could tell her he loved her, and have her miraculously say, "I love you too." He laughed harshly at his naivete.
Shaking his sore hand, he drained the lukewarm beer, and thought about what he was going to do now. He could stay in Nashville and work for the D.A., or a private firm, and watch Cat get married.
Not likely.
Or he could take that high-profile, high-pressure job in Japan and make three times the money. At least half a world away, he wouldn't have to watch Cat’s engagement and marriage unfold in minute detail.
He glanced up at the sky, which was suddenly darkening with storm clouds. He was right. Life hadn't gotten any better than this morning. It had gotten a whole lot worse.
CHAPTER ONE
"I cannot do this web page."
As soon as they exited the boss's Thursday morning meeting, Catherine Mary Morris waved the piece of paper in front of her friend Deb's face. "I can't do it."
Deb headed for her desk as the rest of the office staff scattered toward their various cubicles. "I think it's funny," she said.
Cat sniffed in disgust as she followed her. "You would. Do you have no sympathy for me at all?"
"Of course I do. I also heard what Scott said. You Dot Com is the biggest client we've ever landed."
"But assigning me a dating service is like asking Wrong Way Corrigan to lead the fleet. Scott might not like where it ends up."
Deb sat down at her desk and snatched the piece of paper from Cat's hand. "'You Dot Com, because YOU are our most important product,'" she read dramatically, then looked up at Cat. "Not to mention because you're our best web designer. Scott thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread."
"And that must be why he pays me bread and water rations. No. He's just too wrapped up in his marital problems right now to do the page himself."
Cat flopped down in a chair and sighed. "You do see the irony, right? I am the absolute worst person in this office, possibly in the world, to design a dating service."
Deb looked back at the piece of paper. "Ah but Cat, this dating service is special. She pointed to a line on the page. "It says so right here. 'Not your normal computer dating service.'"
"Let me see." Cat took the paper. "'We match you with your perfect mate, based on your psychological--" she rolled her eyes. "'Psychological profile.' Oh, brother." She made a gagging motion with her finger.
"See, not your ordinary computer dating service."
"It sounds like a painfully embarrassing version of The Dating Game." Her mouth widened in an evil grin. "I know. I'll make it look like an X-rated site, with flashing banners and lurid red background."
"I'm not even going to ask how you know what X-Rated sites look like." Deb arched a brow. "You could make it subdued and tasteful."
Cat held the look for a beat, then both of them laughed. "Nah," they chorused in unison.
Cat stood and backed out of Deb's cubicle. "I can see I'm going to get no help here," she grumbled.
Debra's voice followed her. "Remember what you said when he assigned me MLO-97.6, 'mellow rock for middle-aged listeners?'"
"Yep, and I stand by it. You're perfect for 'Mellow Ninety Seven.' It will ease your way into middle age."
"My point exactly," Debra's voice wafted up from behind the padded dividers. "You Dot Com will ease your way back into dating."
"No it won't, because I am never going there again."
Deb's laughter followed Cat back to her desk. She sat down and looked at the sheet. Under the logos and mottoes, there were some basic specifications for what the client wanted. But Cat's gaze kept coming back to that one phrase.
"Your own personality," she muttered, feeling a twinge in the general region of her heart. She set the page aside and stared at her screen saver.
What if your personality was shaped by a mother who was never there? What did You Dot Com have planned for those people who couldn't sustain a relationship long enough to actually get married?
Her phone rang.
It was the CEO of You Dot Com, a no-nonsense woman who immediately announced that she didn't have time to talk, but would fax over the questionnaire, the forms, and, according to her, "Everything else you could possibly need."
Cat hung up. "Does that include the perfect man?" she wryly asked the silent phone.
Around eleven, Deb stuck her head in. "Lunch?"
Cat looked up from the computer screen. "What time is it? Oh no, I'm late." She jumped up and grabbed her purse. "Can't do lunch, Deb. I've got to take the afternoon off. The movers are coming to pick up David's things."
Deb twisted her long curly hair into a bun, then let it fall loose again. "Your ex-fiancé can't even pick up his own things?"
Cat shooed Debra out of her way. "Are you kidding me? He delegated everything. I think he'd have delegated sex if he could have done it without me noticing."
Deb laughed, but as Cat slid by her, she touched her arm. "You okay?"
"Me? Sure." Cat's mouth twisted wryly. "I've had a lot of practice getting unengaged."
Debra patted her arm. "Okay, but you call me if you need me."
She smiled and nodded as she rushed out the door.
* * *
Two hours later, Cat closed her front door behind the movers, the lock clicking into place with an echo of finality. She sighed and turned away, trailing her fingers across the back of the couch that David had magnanimously left for her. They had picked it o
ut together. Okay, to be truthful, she had picked it out, while David checked his watch six times, checked out the sales girl once, and checked his cell phone twice to be sure it was working.
"So much for nostalgia," she muttered, flopping down on the leather cushions. She switched on the television, but there was nothing worth watching on any of the twenty-seven hundred channels. She turned it off and looked around.
Well, she had lots more room now, for as long as it lasted. David had paid the rent through the end of the month, which brought up another problem. She had to find a roommate fast, or move.
Pushing that depressing thought aside, she went into the kitchen. Maybe she'd indulge herself and fix something delicious for dinner. A quick perusal of the refrigerator revealed eggs, three lemons, a quart of expired milk, and more eggs. She made a face. There'd been a special on eggs.
She wandered back into the living room and sat down, staring into space. What was the matter with her? After all, it wasn't as if she was a novice at broken engagements. After all, this was her third. She winced. "Let's don't go there."
Too late. Nothing like telling your brain not to think about something to encourage it to do just that. Three broken engagements. It was probably a record. She wondered what the You Dot Com questionnaire would say about that.
"You mean besides the obvious, that you have miserable taste in men?" she muttered. Well, she'd finally learned her lesson. This was absolutely, positively the last time. She was through with men, forever.
She sighed in exasperation. Not only was she talking to herself, she was answering. She glanced at the phone. It would be much healthier to talk to another person wouldn't it? More productive too.
Something tickled her cheek. When she swiped at it, she was surprised to find her finger damp. Berating herself for letting David get to her, she picked up the receiver and dialed.
"Mama?" she said, after the brisk 'hello' on the other end of the phone.
"Call me Janice, dear."
Cat sighed. "Hello, Janice dear."
"Try not to be sarcastic, dear."
