Книга - Nothing to Hide

Nothing to Hide
Isabel Sharpe


You never know who will end up in your bed…NYC in the summer is unbearable. So when a former coworker invites Allie McDonald to stay at his family's "summer home" (read: rich manor) for two weeks, how can she say no? She may end up spending most of her time avoiding his not-so-subtle advances–but his ridiculously hot brother, Jonas Meyer, will be there, too….And Jonas has a seriously fine physique. Allie gets a sneak preview one night when she accidentally crawls into his bed and discovers, uh…wow. Now she's running from one guy while seducing his brother with some super-sexy vintage lingerie and a little inspiration. And with (almost) nothing to hide, Allie also has nothing to lose!







You never know who will end up in your bed…

NYC in the summer is unbearable. So when a former coworker invites Allie McDonald to stay at his family’s “summer home” (read: rich manor) for two weeks, how can she say no? She may end up spending most of her time avoiding his not-so-subtle advances—but his ridiculously hot brother, Jonas Meyer, will be there, too….

And Jonas has a seriously fine physique. Allie gets a sneak preview one night when she accidentally crawls into his bed and discovers, uh…wow. Now she’s running from one guy while seducing his brother with some super-sexy vintage lingerie and a little inspiration. And with (almost) nothing to hide, Allie also has nothing to lose!


“Let’s start here…”

Jonas’s lips were soft, responsive, warm. Allie closed her eyes to concentrate on their shape, their taste, the change between the moist curves of his mouth and the smooth skin of his cheeks and chin, delicious contact that shot shivers through her body.

He let her keep leading the pace and their movements. Jonas Meyer, who had all the power associated with his wealth, breeding and connections, was leaving Little Brooklyn Allie in control.

Very gradually she started to rock back and forth over the thin fabric of his shorts, continuing to explore his mouth, without kissing him full-on or deeply. Always hold something back.

Jonas inhaled through his teeth. Allie let her head drop back, riding him, eyes still closed, taking her pleasure.

“Allie.” He’d bent forward, murmured against her throat. “You’re making me crazy.”

You’re making me crazy, too.

She had to work harder and harder to appear calm. Her breath caught in little gasps, and her thighs began to tremble. Not the plan. Not what was supposed to—

To hell with the plan.







Dear Reader,

I have always been fascinated by what draws people to one another, and often wondered why we should have to fall for people who aren’t right for us. Wouldn’t it be nice if you were only attracted to the perfect partner? In Nothing to Hide, part of The Wrong Bed miniseries, I had a lot of fun mixing up the chemistry among my quartet of heroes and heroines before guiding them to the person they were meant to love.

For the perfect setting, I stumbled over Lake George, NY, in an online article about a summer lake house. It turned out to be just the elegant playground I wanted for the wealthy Meyer brothers Jonas and Erik, and just the kind of place least comfortable for Allie and Sandra, the two feisty women they bring there for a hot, crazy and somewhat confusing week.

Finally, I threw in absolutely gorgeous clothing from the 1920s and 1940s left in the house by Jonas and Erik’s grandmother and great-grandmother. I had so much fun researching these fabulous pieces. I hope you enjoy the creative and seductive way my clothing designer heroine Allie wears them!

Visit my website, www.isabelsharpe.com (http://www.isabelsharpe.com), for news and more.

Cheers,

Isabel Sharpe


Nothing to Hide

Isabel Sharpe




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


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Isabel Sharpe was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she quit work to stay home with her firstborn son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than thirty novels for Mills & Boon, a second son and eventually a new, improved husband, Isabel is more than happy with her choices these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.isabelsharpe.com (http://www.isabelsharpe.com).


To my wonderful new brothers- and sisters-in-law,

John and Nicky, David and Mary, Matt and Lisa,

and Seth and Bridie.

You couldn’t have made me feel more welcome

to the family.


Contents

Chapter 1 (#u032fec41-acfb-5117-9d49-0345b36d795d)

Chapter 2 (#ucf07126c-fdb4-53b6-864e-37d057ccac6d)

Chapter 3 (#u6aa11785-e570-57a4-982c-6eb416147ddb)

Chapter 4 (#ude1a05d0-a95b-598b-9652-6eb6769c7cac)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


1

“I STILL CAN’T believe I was fired. Everyone loved my work. They told me so every day. Well, okay, most days.” Allie McDonald paced from one end of her and Julie’s living room to the other, which took about four and a half steps. You had to love the wide-open spaces of Manhattan apartments. She could pace the kitchen standing still. “Clients loved my ideas, too. I heard a hundred times how their products or services really popped in the pieces I designed. And most of all, it makes no sense that they’d let me go and keep old whatshername, who everyone hated, even though she’s been there forever.”

“Yeah?” Her roommate sedately turned a page of Saveur magazine, her long legs tucked under her on their bright red couch. “Get over it.”

“I know, I know, you’re sick of me.” Allie stopped pacing and shoved her hands through her long hair. Her bangs were getting caught on her eyelashes. At least she could hack those off herself. The rest could just keep growing until she got another job. With luck she wouldn’t look like Rapunzel by then. “I’ve been whining about this for the past week.”

“Have you?” Julie turned another page, examining it with apparent fascination. “Honestly, I stopped listening after the first four or five hundred times.”

Allie cracked up. A native New Yorker through and through, Julie Turner talked tough but she’d walk through lava to help those she loved. They’d been roommates and fast friends at the Rhode Island School of Design—Allie with a full scholarship, Julie with a full tuition check from Mom and Dad—and had found this apartment through one of Julie’s parents’ friends. No matter what you needed or wanted in the city, the Turners knew someone or knew someone who knew someone.

It would be very easy to hate Julie if she wasn’t so wonderful. Beautiful, sophisticated, wealthy and smart, she led a charmed life. Men fell for her in droves. She could eat whatever she wanted and stay thin. Straight out of RISD, she’d landed a job at Vanity Fair...

Come to think of it, Julie was the type of woman Allie’s father had ditched his family for. Only Julie was human.

Allie wasn’t the type men lined up for. She had dull caramel-blond hair and girl-next-door features, scoured secondhand shops, made her own clothes and controlled her weight through relentless exercise and constant sacrifice. It took her nearly a year after graduating to land her job as a graphic artist at Boynton Advertising. Five years later, having been promoted to assistant art director, the company hit hard times and—bang, thanks, bye—here she was, pounding the crowded New York City pavement again, worrying about rent again, though Julie had promised to cover her until Allie got back on her feet. Trust funds must be wonderful things. The closest Allie ever got to a trust fund was the jar in their old Brooklyn apartment into which her mother dropped quarters whenever Allie babysat her five brothers and managed not to kill any of them.

She flopped onto the couch next to Julie and let her head sink back on the cushion. “I feel like a failure.”

“You’re not a failure.”

“I didn’t say I was a failure, I said I felt like one.”

“Stop feeling like a failure.”

Allie clapped her hands. “Hey, that worked. Thanks!”

“Your problem is that you don’t have enough to do.”

“Because I have no job, because I was fired.”

Julie snorted. “You’re doing everything you’re supposed to be doing to find another one. But it’s not enough to fill your day, so you—”

“Get restless and cranky and then I whine at you.”

“Yuh-huh.” Julie put down her magazine. “Hey, you know I don’t mind. Whine away. God knows I would. Losing your job is serious stuff. As I’ve said over and over, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. Besides giving you my job.”

“Aw! I was just about to ask for it.” Allie grinned at her. “You are doing more than enough just putting up with me. This is so not where I thought I’d be six years out of school.”

Julie lifted a perfect dark eyebrow. “My point is you need something to do, some project. Like design a line of clothing that will take London, Paris and Milan by storm. You’ll fill your time and your creative well.”

“My creative well.” Allie stared hopelessly at a triangular crack in the ceiling paint. She hadn’t designed anything substantive since she’d started working at Boynton. “Someone threw a plagued rat into it.”

“There’s my little optimist.”

Allie’s cell phone rang from her back pocket. She pulled it out. Maybe a job interview? Maybe London, Paris or Milan?

“It’s Erik.”

“Oooh, your favorite colleague and sexual predator.”

“Ex-colleague. Who finally did stop hitting on me.”

“Because you’re not there anymore.”

“Good point.” Allie answered the call. “Hey, Erik.”

“Alli-i-ie.” He yelled her name so loudly Allie yanked the phone from her ear. Julie rolled her eyes and went back to her magazine.

“Shhh, Erik. Jeez, you just made my head explode.”

“And that’s a problem because...”

“What’s going on? No!” She raised her hand dramatically. “Don’t tell me. Boynton wants me back. They’re begging, in fact.”

“They should be. They’re morons for letting you go.”

Even though Erik tended to say whatever people wanted to hear, she decided this time he was being absolutely sincere. “They certainly are.”

“So how are you doing?”

“Anxious. Frustrated. Bored.”

“Need a little excitement?”

“Uhh...why don’t you tell me what kind of excitement first, then I’ll tell you if I need it.” A lead on a job was the kind of excitement she needed. Erik trying to get into her pants was not.

Getting into female pants was what Erik did. If he could get women to pay him for sex, he’d be twice the billionaire he already was, due to family megabucks. Sometimes she thought the only reason he paid her so much attention was because he still hadn’t succeeded with her. Nor would he ever, which she’d told him in no uncertain terms, but to Erik that was so much blah-blah-blah.

The funny thing was, Allie liked him. Really liked him. She respected that he worked hard at a day job like the rest of the poor rats in the race. And she suspected that underneath all the BS and swagger there was an insecure mess of a guy with a really good heart. She even managed to feel a little sorry for him. Which meant she was nice to him, which, unfortunately, meant he thought he still had a chance. Men were pretty slow about stuff like that.

“This is the chance of a lifetime, Allie.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How’d you like to spend a week in the Adirondacks on Lake George? Or two weeks?”

“Your family’s summer house?” She’d heard about the place and had seen a few pictures—beautiful house, beautiful lake. The temptation was immediate, even as she was formulating her no-thank-you speech. Leave hot, smelly New York in July for a luxury oasis? For a wonderfully cool, breezy, relaxing week...or two? It would be impractical, irresponsible, and serve as needless encouragement for the Great Horned Predator, but who wouldn’t be tempted?

“Yes, our cottage in the woods.”

Allie snorted. If that enormous place was a cottage, she was the queen of planet earth. “So, Erik, we’re talking a week up there, just the two of us?”

Julie shook her head emphatically no.

“Oh. Well... Wait, I haven’t gotten to the best part.”

“I’m listening.” She was a little afraid of the best part.

“My grandmother and great-grandmother were total fashionistas and they never threw anything away. The attic is full of their clothes. In mint condition.”

Allie came to full attention. Antique clothes. Her passion. “Really.”

“Here’s the best part. Mom wants to get rid of them before we sell the house.”

“You’re selling that place?”

“Yeah.” His voice thickened. “Since Mom and Dad moved to Germany they can’t get back here often enough to make it worthwhile. I’ve been after my brother to buy it with me, but so far no good. I’d buy it myself, but it’s too much for one person to keep up. And they’re right, the house deserves to be used and lived in.”

“Erik, that’s terrible.” She knew how much he loved the place.

“It is. But back to the clothes. There are at least four trunks. You’ll get first rights to everything.”

“I’ll— Everything?” Allie stood there, blinking at Julie’s curious stare. Erik’s grandmother and great-grandmother would mean clothes from the 1920s and ’40s. This could be an amazing collection. It could be fashion nirvana. “Wow. That sounds incredible. But, Erik...it’ll just be you and me up there?”

Julie waggled her finger urgently, no, no, no.

“Allie, Allie, Allie. You still don’t trust me?”

“Nuh-uh,” she said pleasantly, her heart still pounding at the thought of all those clothes. Would she sell her body for this chance?

Umm...not quite.

“I’m not going to try anything. I swear.” He was trying very hard to sound sincere. Or maybe he was sincere. It was frustratingly hard to tell with Erik. “I figured you’d want first shot at the clothes. Plus, you being in a tough spot and all, I thought the break would be nice, too.”

“I don’t know...”

Julie drew her finger across her neck. Cut!

“Yeah, so, anyway.” Erik cleared his throat. “It won’t be just me there.”

Allie narrowed her eyes. “Now you’re telling me this?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

She waited. Nothing. “So...who else will be there?”

Julie frowned skeptically.

“My brother, Jonas. And his girlfriend.”

Hmm. Allie narrowed her eyes, ignoring the jump in her pulse at the mention of his brother, the hottest man in the Northeast if not the universe. “Are you making this up?”

“No, I’m not making this up. What makes you think I’m making this up?”

“The way you never hesitate to make things up.”

“I’ll prove it to you. I’ll have Jonas email you saying he’s going. That okay?”

“I’m not even sure I’m going.”

“How could you not go? A whole attic full of clothes, Allie, yours for the taking. Gowns and hats and shoes and I don’t know, they probably even kept underwear. How can you pass this up?”

She didn’t think she could. Not only would the break do her good, but somewhere in this treasure trove of history, there might be the seeds of a new business or career. All her life she’d been obsessed with clothes of the past, watched old movies obsessively, worshipped Edith Head, who’d costumed the greatest stars from the golden age of cinema—the 1920s to the 1960s. When Allie was a little girl, she’d designed outfits for her dolls on her mom’s old sewing machine, and started designing her own clothes in high school.

Reality hit her when she graduated from college. She needed a stable, well-paying career, because unlike Erik, she couldn’t count on her family for support or inheritance. Three of her five brothers had gone to community colleges to learn trades, but Allie had wanted more from the minute she was old enough to understand the difference between the haves and have-nots. Which, not coincidentally, was when her father had met La Richesse Bitchesse and left them to live on the Upper East Side. He’d moved into a fabulous full-floor condo with his new wife and her two snotty kids, while his real family had moved to Kensington in Brooklyn. All seven of them had crammed into a three-bedroom apartment located in a borderline neighborhood at best. Mom had started drinking in earnest then.

A few times a year they visited their father in his luxury digs, and were sneered at by his new children and ignored by his wife, Betsy. Allie had vowed that someday she’d live well enough to get back at him for what he’d done to them. And that she’d never make the same mistake her mother had, and depend on a man for her livelihood. Nor would she make the same mistake her father had, and go crawling after money she hadn’t earned.

“I’ll pick you up on Friday after work.”

“Erik...”

“Jonas will be emailing you as soon as I can get in touch with him.”

“Erik.”

Julie threw up her hands.

“We’ll have fun. More than fun. We’ll have a blast. And you’ll come back with a truckload of the most fabulous clothes you’ve ever seen.”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Except she sort of had.

“C’mon, say you’ll go.” Mr. Account Executive, trying to close the sale.

“Give me an hour to think about it.”

“Allie, Allie, you want to go, you know you want to go. You can keep up with job openings online, you have your cell in case anyone calls, you’re mere hours away if you need to get back. You won’t miss anything. Unless you stay here.”

He was right. Her panic stemmed from feeling as if she could control her life better from here, where the solutions lay. But really, she could stay on top of the job hunt up in paradise, too. If any of the résumés she’d sent out caught someone’s eye, Allie could rush home in a blink.

In the meantime, there were those clothes. And that lake. And the elegant house. Julie’s life. Her father’s life. Maybe hers someday. Lives that fascinated as much as they repelled her. Just for a week. Or two. Then back to reality and more important things.

“You absolutely promise your brother will be there with his girlfriend, and that this is not some elaborate seduction ploy?”

“I absolutely promise.” He spoke firmly, without hesitation.

Allie turned away from Julie’s warning look. “Okay, Erik. I’ll go.”

* * *

JONAS SAT IN the conference room at Boston Consulting, tapping his capped pen on his thigh. Same old meeting, same old client, same old problems. Same old management consulting team suggesting the same old solutions. Give the employees a suggestion box. Combine a few positions into one. Develop more efficient means of bringing the product to market by reorganizing the physical space and eliminating redundant steps.

Yeah. That would help slow down, possibly reverse, the slide the company was in right now. For today, tomorrow, next year, the year after that. It would be good enough, stop the worst of the bleeding. But to become one of the future leaders of the industry, they’d have to do more. Make harder choices, shake up corporate culture to a degree that would panic everyone, at least for a while. When the changes took hold, when employees could walk into the building not just with an absence of bitterness and dread, but with a real sense of team spirit and enthusiasm, then BC would have really done its job.

But Boston Consulting execs didn’t think that way. Jonas knew that, because once he rose through the ranks of consultants to a level where he had the power to make recommendations, he’d made several, all of which he’d been excited about, all of which would have meant real progress for the companies they served, real progress for them. But he’d been shot down every time.

Too expensive. Jonas, the client is looking for us to save money, not spend more.

Too radical. It will never fly.

Jonas was thinking more and more that he didn’t belong there.

Yeah, okay, he’d been thinking that for the past year, and he still hadn’t done anything about it. The first six months, he’d been a basket case after breaking up with Missy. The next six months...he had no excuse but his own passivity.

The meeting droned on. Jonas’s pen tapped harder. He maintained his expression of interest, automatically turning toward whoever was speaking, but took in only enough that if his opinion were asked, he’d be able to contribute coherently. Automatic pilot. Robo-employee.

He wanted out of there.

As if God had heard his prayer, his cell phone started vibrating. Erik. Immediately he got up, waving his phone apologetically at the stony faces in the room, and bolted. Very important call. Have to go. So sorry. If it wasn’t urgent...

“Hey, Erik, what’s up?”

“I need you to come to Lake George this weekend. And all of next week. And maybe the week after that.”

Jonas gave a brief laugh. His brother shouldn’t be able to surprise him anymore, but he still managed. “Yeah? What for?”

“Allie McDonald.”

“What about her?” He’d met Allie last December. He’d joined her and Erik for dinner when he’d been in New York on business. She’d been different from the artificial blondes Erik usually went after—Allie had seemed more genuine. She had the same sophistication, intelligence and beauty of Erik’s girlfriends, but it hadn’t seemed as if she’d been trying to impress anyone. Jonas remembered that night as a landmark: it was when he’d really begun to believe that he’d survive Missy’s betrayal. “You’re still dating her?”

“Still trying to.”

“Still trying over six months later? Is this a record?” It was beyond him how his brother scored with as many women as he did. Jonas’s theory was that he wore them down by being so persistently charming that they eventually gave in, hoping he’d leave them alone. But this was a new level of chase.

“Allie’s different.”

“Uh-huh.” Behind him, the meeting door opened. Jonas strode down the hall toward his office so his team wouldn’t realize his important call had to do with whether or not his brother could get laid. “Different because she’s turned you down longer than anyone else?”

“This trip to Lake George is my best chance yet. I think she’s weakening.”

“Really.” Jonas pushed open the door of his office. Ten years with the company and he finally had a door, which at times he was very happy to be able to close. “Then why do you want me there?”

“I promised you’d be around. To chaperone.”

“That’s your best chance? With a woman who doesn’t want to be alone with you?”

“She agreed to spend the week with me, didn’t she?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jonas pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He was developing a headache named Erik. His brother’s life was a restless and relentless quest for a type of fulfillment Jonas was convinced Erik hadn’t yet identified, which obviously didn’t stop him from trying to achieve it. Erik changed styles, cars, apartments, jobs and women as if nothing held his attention for longer than a season. He drove their steady, regimented German father completely up a wall. Sometimes Jonas thought Mom and Dad had moved to Munich not only to care for Dad’s parents, but so they wouldn’t have to watch their younger son play hummingbird through his life.

“I’m doing us both a favor. She got laid off.”

“Tough break.” He went to his window—with a view of the building next door—and pictured Allie sitting across from him at the restaurant, cheeks pink from the wine, hazel eyes bright under girlish wheat-colored bangs, talking about her design-career hopes and ambitions with every ounce of the passion he no longer had for his. Being laid off would have hit her hard. That depth of excitement had been one of the sexiest things about her.

What he hadn’t seen in Allie was even the slightest trace of sexual interest in his brother. Unless Jonas’s radar had misfired, he’d say he had more chemistry with her than Erik did, though a lot could’ve changed in seven months. Was she really “weakening”—Erik’s typically charming choice of words? It was disappointing to think she might fall like the rest of them.

“She’s incredibly talented. You should see the costume designs she did in school. I told her about Grandma Bridget and Great-Grandma Josephine’s clothes and how Mom wants to get rid of them. She was practically drooling.”

Aha. So Allie could be more interested in the clothes than his brother. Jonas relaxed his shoulders, unaware of how tightly he’d been holding them.

“So you’ll come?”

“Erik, I can’t just take a week off work.”

“Sure you can. You just don’t think you should.”

Jonas suppressed a jolt of irritation and tapped a pencil on his desk. His brother always made him out to be a somber slave to duty like their father. Maybe compared with Erik’s hedonistic lifestyle he was the more responsible one, but nothing extreme, and typical for an oldest child.

He could go up for the weekend. It had been a while since he’d been to Lake George. Two years, since the last time the family got together there before his parents’ move.

“A long weekend, then,” Erik said.

“Quite a drive for a weekend.”

“C’mon, help me out, brother.”

Jonas rolled his eyes. He usually did give in to his brother, sometimes against his own instinct. But Erik was family, and that seemed to win out. Jonas rarely asked for anything in return—but there was one thing he did want from his brother now. “Tell you what. I’ll go up for a long weekend if you drop your objections to selling the house.”

There was a long silence. Jonas had expected an immediate refusal. Either Erik had been considering changing his mind anyway, or he wanted this time with Allie more than Jonas thought. “For that, you’d owe me a whole week.”

Jonas peered at his BlackBerry, checking the next week’s schedule. He could move his Monday trip to Wednesday afternoon and take Monday and Tuesday off.

“Half a week. I’d have to leave Wednesday morning.”

“Deal.”

Jonas lowered his brows suspiciously. His brother had been persistently vocal in his objections to selling Morningside. “Just like that?”

“Look, you, Mom and Dad all want to sell. I’m outnumbered, I get that. This is sooner than I’d planned to cave, but I’ll do it for Allie.”

“Okay.” The victory left Jonas less triumphant than he’d expected. With their parents abroad, the house had been sitting empty except for Erik’s brief, infrequent visits. Upkeep was expensive. With money from the sale of the house, Jonas would rather buy a retreat of his own, closer to Boston, maybe in Cape Cod. A place he could use year-round.

“Bring Sandra.”

“Jeez, Erik.”

“I told Allie—”

“Well, un-tell her. I’m not involving Sandra in your schemes.”

“This isn’t a scheme. I think Allie could be the one.”

Jonas turned from the window. He’d never heard Erik talk like that. Size of boobs, lushness of ass, depth of sexual depravity, sure, but marriage? “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding. I’m crazy about her. She’s everything I want.”

“Since when do you want to get married?”

“I’m almost thirty. It’s time. And I want kids.”

Jonas took the phone and stared at it before replacing it to his ear. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

“Just call Sandra.”

“She’ll have shows this weekend.”

“So have her come next week.”

Jonas scowled, tempted in spite of himself. Sandra was a long-ago lover and good friend. She’d been a rock during the ugly breakup with Missy. “You’re a piece of work.”

“I owe you one, bro.”

Jonas hung up the phone, shaking his head. He could stand up to the highest-level executives in the company. But around his brother he became as indulgent as their grandfather, who used to bring cookies and candy from Germany when he visited, as if Jonas and Erik were still kids. Really good cookies and candy. They didn’t object.

Taking consolation from the knowledge that if he didn’t want to make the trip to Lake George, wild horses couldn’t make him, he dialed Sandra, whom he’d known for ten years, since the night he’d gone to one of her shows on a musician friend’s suggestion. She’d spotted him in the audience and had come over to his table. They spent the intermission together, then time after the show, then made a long, hot night of it—that night and several others. For two years, if they weren’t seeing other people, they’d hook up for a night, once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less. He’d liked the uncomplicated nature of their sexual relationship and was disappointed when she ended it and broke off contact. Happily, they met again by chance a few years later, and had started a platonic friendship. Who knew, maybe they would end up together forever. They joked about it now and then.

Sandra picked up. “Hey, hottie, what’s happening?”

“Want to come with me to Lake George for a long weekend?”

She gasped theatrically. “Oh, you are so speaking my language.”

“Seriously? You don’t have a show?”

“I’m between them, and can’t stand myself anymore. You called just as I was about to become a heroin and shopping-channel addict. I don’t know which one’s worse.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled. She had a fairly edgy sense of humor, to put it mildly. Came from a rough childhood in South Boston. “Put down the needle and the remote and pack your bags.”

“When do we leave?”

“Considering the week I’m having, not soon enough. Saturday morning? I have a dinner meeting Friday.”

She clucked her tongue. “Only you would have a business meeting on a Friday night.”

“He’s a client in town for a conference.”

“I’m telling you, they own your very fine Jon-ass.”

“Ha.” He bristled at the dig. “Maybe not for long.”

“Yeah?” She dropped the sensual lounge singer act she did so well, her voice rising to its normal sweet pitch. “No offense, but I’ve been hearing that for a while.”

Jonas sighed wearily. “I know. But I’m getting closer. We can talk.”

“Good deal. Saturday suits me fine. What brought this on, by the way? I thought you were going to get rid of the place.”

“We’ve been summoned to chaperone young Erik and his latest target.”

“Erik needs a chaperone? What’s wrong with that boy? Or more to the point, what’s wrong with the woman? Frigid? Closet gay? From a past century?”

“I was just asking him the same thing. Between you and me, I think it’s a case of ‘she’s just not that into him.’”

“Ah. I suppose even a master can fail sometimes. Well, after all the stories you’ve told me, I look forward to watching him in action.”

“That makes one of us.” His voice came out more brusquely than he intended. “I’m sure he can’t teach you a thing.”

“You got that right.” Her voice went back to the sensual purr she used in her act to great effect. Sandra had been performing since she could walk, in community theater, in equity shows and her favorite—singing jazz and show tunes in clubs around Boston. She was beautiful, sexy, magnetic and a hell of a singer. “I also look forward to hanging out with you, Jonas.”

“That definitely makes two of us.” He hung up the phone, still annoyed with Erik and with himself for being persuaded, but now thinking the weekend might be just what he needed. A chance to get away, gain some perspective on life and work and what he wanted to do next. Lake George was a good place for that kind of deep thinking. And he’d have the chance to catch up with an old friend.

Nothing strange about that. He always looked forward to seeing Sandra. The odd thing was his immediate follow-up thought: that he was also looking forward to seeing Allie.


2

Hi Allie,

Erik asked me to email you to confirm that I’ll be at Lake George on Saturday (the 19th)—he didn’t think you believed I was coming. Obviously you’re a smart woman. I’ll make sure he behaves, though I’m guessing you can take care of yourself.

By the way, sorry you got laid off. The world makes no sense sometimes. I’m sure you’ll find a job soon. Mine isn’t thrilling me these days—I’m dreaming about starting my own company.

Wow. I haven’t admitted that to anyone yet. Barely even to myself. So now you know my deepest secret.

Jonas

P.S. It will be good to see you again. I enjoyed meeting you in New York



Hey Jonas,

No, I probably won’t need your protection, but I also enjoyed meeting you last Christmas. Erik said you’re bringing your girlfriend. Was he telling the truth there, too?

Thanks for the sympathy on being laid off. I’m sure something else will turn up. It’s the limbo that’s hard. Luckily I’ve had every crap job a teenager can land, so I won’t starve.

As for your new company, congratulations! But if that’s your deepest secret, you need more excitement.

Allie



Hi Allie,

I’m bringing an old friend. Sandra.

As for needing more excitement, hmm. Maybe being back at Lake George will inspire me to wilder things?

On that note, why are you stuck vacationing with Erik? I would think there’d be an army of Manhattan men clawing for your attention. Or do you just turn them all down? You should come to Boston. It’s a great city.

Jonas



Hey Jonas,

Ha! The only men clawing for my attention want me to pay my bills. As for Boston, you’re seriously tempting me.

Allie



I bet you say that to all the guys.

Jonas



Only the ones who do.

Allie

* * *

ALLIE CLIMBED OUT of Erik’s Mercedes after a long, bumpy ride down a tree-lined gravel driveway branching off a road halfway up the west side of Lake George. She inhaled the light, cool air with relief, having spent too many miles listening to Erik’s horrible music.

The Meyers’ property and Morningside—really, they named their house?—were even more stately and elegant in person than they’d looked in the pictures Erik showed her. Determined not to betray her intimidation or awe, Allie dragged her suitcase out of the backseat, waving off the very solicitous Erik who’d come around to help. He was being the perfect gentleman—almost too perfect. Less like a concerned friend and more like a guy lulling his intended victim into complacency. On the way over, he’d taken her to a lovely bistro off Interstate 87, and had seemed a little too eager to refill her wineglass, a little too eager to compliment her, touch her arm, bump hands and shoulders when they were walking. Maybe she was paranoid, but her guard was up—to put it mildly—and she was very glad Jonas and Sandra would be arriving the next day.

Jonas, anyway. Sandra, not so much.

Stop! Honestly, one meeting last Christmas and a few emails and she was as giddy as a preteen with a crush, obsessing over every word he’d said. Allie was the only person he’d told about wanting to start his own company? Uh-huh. Did she remember whose brother he was? Boston was probably littered with women who were “the only person he’d told.”

Shutting down those thoughts, she turned to face Morningside, which was lit with a soft glow from outdoor lights and the moon. The place was imposing. Eight bedrooms, Erik had said, in two gleaming white stories. A wide screened-in porch—or should she say a ver-an-da—wrapped around the north side, punctuated by a white balustrade and a lattice fence that effectively hid unsightly underparts. The south end of the house, also two stories, sat slightly lower, like a stunted afterthought. Black shutters—Dark green? Navy? Hard to tell at night—downstairs, and on the second floor, dormers relieved the whiteness. Farther north on the property and closer to the lake was the silhouette of a smaller house, begging to be explored. By the water stood a third structure, a boathouse, she’d guess. Surrounding the family compound, a fern-strewn pine and hardwood forest covered hills that came right to the water’s edge on either side of the curving sand beach. The grass around the house looked freshly mowed. She wouldn’t be surprised if the sand by the lake had been raked, too. The place had been thoroughly readied for the Lord of the Manor’s visit.

Sarcasm aside, Morningside was tranquil and totally private. Allie was glad that she wouldn’t have to cope with a cluster of mansions, women twirling parasols, wearing bonnets and the latest frocks, their gold-plated opera glasses trained on Allie, anticipating her every faux pas.

Okay, wrong century, but real fears.

From an early age she’d been conscious of class status in a way no one else in her blue-collar family seemed to be. Not that she’d grown up in the jungle, though at times Brooklyn felt that wild. But she’d been the only one of her siblings so determined to put that life behind her. Which she had. Just not this far.

“You like it?” Erik’s blue eyes were bright with pleasure, or maybe just reflecting the moonlight.

“How could I not?” She gestured to the house and grounds, acting as if this was just the latest in the long line of similar vacation mansions she’d stayed in. “It’s beautiful. So quiet.”

“C’mon, I’ll show you inside. You can have Mom’s room upstairs.”

She fell in step beside him on the flagstone path. “And where do you sleep?”

“I’ll be in Dad’s room.” His voice was casual. “There’s a connecting door, but you can lock it if you’re worried.”

Allie stopped walking. “How many keys?”

“Allie, Allie, Allie.” He bent to take her suitcase up the front steps. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Said the shark to the seal. “If you say so.”

“I do. Jonas and Sandra will be here tomorrow. They’re sleeping down the hall and will hear your screams of terror and revulsion if I attack you.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks, Erik, that helps a lot.” She gestured toward the small cottage out back. “So what’s that place, the butler’s quarters?”

“Nah. Escape pod, used by various people over the generations. Mom had sleepovers there with girlfriends. I think my grandparents honeymooned there. Jonas slept there when he was a teenager. My great-grandfather used it most. He was a writer with five kids and needed peace and quiet.”

“How nice for your great-grandmother that he had somewhere to go.” She rolled her eyes, imagining the poor woman managing five screeching kids while her husband peacefully awaited inspiration.

Erik dismissed her with a wave. “They probably had one nanny for each kid. Great-Grandma Josephine was a party animal. Wait till you see her outfits.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Tomorrow.” He unlocked the front door. “The light will be better up in the attic.”

Inside, the house was cool and still, but with none of the mustiness one would expect from a place shut up for so long. Erik hit a switch and a brass chandelier sprang to light, illuminating the tiled foyer and curving staircase ascending to the left. To the right, against the wall under a huge gilt-framed mirror, stood a glass table on which sat a low vase of perfectly dried flowers—lavender, hydrangea, roses and curly willow.

Glimpses into the surrounding rooms revealed similar decor. Subtle, simple, nothing overdone. Everything reeked of elegance and good taste. Julie had that talent. She could absently throw on skinny pants and any old shirt and look ten times more chic than Allie trying her hardest. Dad’s wife, Betsy, was the same way, only she was openly smug about it.

Maybe the gift of effortless style came with the money genes.

“It’s late, I’m beat.” Erik gave a long, loud yawn. “I’ll treat you to the full tour tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

“Sure, no problem.” Allie followed him up the staircase, hiding her oh-so-low-class disappointment. She felt like a little kid, wanting to see everything now! The downstairs, the upstairs, the cottage, the boathouse. She wanted to take a long moonlit walk by the lake, lie on the beach and count stars...

But okay, she’d still be here tomorrow night, and several more after that. She’d get her moonlit walk, probably more than once.

Upstairs, the landing was furnished with a grandfather clock and old-fashioned daybed. Near a window overlooking the lake were a smaller wing chair and a bookcase. It was a perfect spot for a rainy day.

“Yours.” Turning right down a long hall, Erik pushed open the first door on the lake side and ushered Allie in.

“Wow.” She walked to the center of the good-size room and turned slowly, taking it all in. The bed was the centerpiece: a white iron frame with curving lines, decorative but not overly ornate, covered in a bold floral quilt with matching pillows. Around the windows hung a more subdued fabric, displaying the same pattern in a smaller print. A few watercolor landscapes brightened the pale yellow walls. A bedside table supported a fresh bouquet that nearly matched the bedspread. Under her feet, a blue-and-white rug lay over carefully preserved hardwood. All of it managed to look perfectly haphazard and totally put together at the same time.

She could never live here.

Turning once more, she noticed something laid out on the bed—

“What is that?” Allie pointed accusingly at the nightie. It was cotton eyelet with embroidered pastel roses. Very sheer. Very short. Very low-cut.

“Our housekeeper prepared the room for you. You’re welcome to wear it if you want, otherwise, just hang it up and forget about it.”

She met Erik’s guileless eyes, unamused. “Thanks. I brought my own.”

“Okay.” His smile didn’t waver. “Anything else you need tonight?”

No. “Not a thing, thanks.”

“Good night then.” He grasped her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead, standing just far enough away that she didn’t feel she needed to call him on it. “Welcome to Morningside, Allie. I’m really glad you decided to come. We’ll have a great time.”

“I’m sure we will.”

Another kiss, this one on her cheek, and a closer embrace, just this side of platonic. She had to admit he smelled good, expensive and masculine, but that was about it for her attraction. After he left, she hurried to close the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Allie had unpacked and was lying in bed, listening to Erik humming through the connecting door—locked, she’d checked—and the faint lap of waves outside, nothing at all like the honk-and-siren sounds of Manhattan. The earplugs she wore every night still lay on her bedside table, waiting for her to get sleepy enough to put them in. As long as she was wide-awake, she might as well tune in to the natural world around her.

An hour later, she was still lying there. The swishing of the waves had gotten more vigorous and the wind had picked up. She could hear Erik snoring.

It had been a while since Allie had tried to sleep in a new bed—alone, anyway. Apparently she was bad at it. And this room made her feel as though she had to be sure she didn’t drool or sweat during the night. Her someday-mansion would feel welcoming and comfortable to anyone. Even her brothers.

She put the earplugs in, hoping they’d trigger some kind of Pavlovian sleep response.

They didn’t.

Finally the obvious hit her.

No one was forcing her to lie here. Erik was asleep; no one else was around. She’d wanted to go for a moonlit walk? She could do that. Right now. Sliding out of bed, she stuffed the earplugs into the pocket of her sleep shirt.

Hell, if she wanted to, she could dance naked on the beach all night long.


3

JONAS TURNED ONTO I-87 from Route 7, after skirting Albany. Forty-five minutes, give or take, and he’d be at Morningside a day earlier than expected. Funny, now that he was on his way, he couldn’t get there fast enough. The feel of the breeze, the way the woods smelled, the sand under his feet, the clear water around his body—it was like returning to the best part of his childhood. Maybe it was the best part. The one place his parents had relaxed their rules, or at least some of them.

His client had canceled dinner that afternoon, then Sandra texted him that she’d agreed to take over a Friday night gig for an ill friend, so would be delayed leaving. She’d encouraged him to go without her, saying she’d drive out the next morning. Jonas had protested, but not very strenuously—the idea of leaving the hot, crowded city behind him after a long week had been too seductive.

And Allie. What was it about a few perfunctory emails that had intrigued him so much? He knew plenty of smart, funny women in Boston. Most likely his memory of her from that dinner at Christmastime had been warped by time into a fantasy. Fantasy had an unfortunate way of beating reality. Case in point: he had believed Missy was a good life-match for him, while she’d been off spending his money and screwing one of her investment firm colleagues.

Plus, Erik might truly like Allie in a deeper way than usual, and she might have changed and truly like him. Someone like Allie would be good for Erik, settle him down, give him something to think and care about other than his own needs and desires.

Blink 182’s Neighborhoods ended; he fumbled around for his iPod and selected his favorite Red Hot Chili Peppers album, Stadium Arcadium, absently wondering what kind of music Allie liked, and whether Erik had entertained or appalled her on the drive up with his penchant for hard rock and heavy metal.

He’d better get Allie out of his head. Erik had described this trip as his best chance with the woman he wanted to marry. Jonas wouldn’t break the brother code of ethics by trying to get close to her himself.

But he might have to come to terms someday with being hot for his sister-in-law.

* * *

ALLIE STOOD AT the lake’s edge, enjoying the water’s surprising warmth lapping at her feet. This was fabulous! The moon was just over half full, but so bright, even through a thin layer of cloud cover, that she hadn’t bothered bringing out her flashlight. The pleasantly cool breeze kept any bugs at bay. She’d made a good decision to come out here instead of lying in that too-perfect room trying to force her body to sleep.

She strolled toward the boathouse, relishing the rolling splash of waves, the distant creak of tree trunks, the occasional glimpse of a bat. At the boathouse, she peered inside a window and was able to discern a few shadows that might be canoes or kayaks, she wasn’t sure.

Farther up the beach and toward the woods, the cottage tempted her. Moving closer, she could see a deck on the beach side of the house, on which sat a table and chairs. The perfect spot for sunning, reading or sipping cocktails. At the door, she hesitated before trying the knob. Locked up tight, she was sure.

It wasn’t.

Feeling guilty for preempting Erik’s tour, she couldn’t resist her curiosity and pushed the door open. The cottage was dimly lit by the moonlight through the windows, but she could make out a cozy cabin with all the comforts of home—even what appeared to be a tiny kitchen. This was her kind of luxury.

Feeling the need to be quiet, even though there was no way Erik could hear her, she tiptoed around the couch, past the fireplace, toward stairs to what turned out to be a charming bedroom with a wall of windows facing the lake. She crossed to the bed, a king on a frame high enough that sleepers could easily see the view, climbed on it and shuffled on her knees toward the glass to look out at the water. Somewhere close by, a loon called out, a long, mournful cry and trill. What a wonderful place to sleep, tucked away almost in the woods, yet close to the lake. If this were her property, she wouldn’t go near the big house.

Erik wouldn’t even have to know if she slept there tonight. She’d wake up early with the sun most likely, and be back in the main house before he stirred. Judging by how often he was late to work in the mornings, he was not an early riser.

She pulled back the covers to find soft cotton sheets waiting for her. The pillows were piled high, real down pillows like those at Dad’s, the kind her family hadn’t been able to afford. They always had enough to eat―that was their luxury.

Temptation warred inside her with a touch of anxiety. This wasn’t her home. Erik had his mother’s room prepared for her. There might be some reason she shouldn’t be out here. Maybe Jonas would want to stay in the cottage when he arrived the next day.

Or it might be completely fine.

Unable to decide, she cheated by lying down on top of the bed, scooting to the side closest to the windows. Within minutes she was yawning, as if it were completely natural to her body to sleep there. Giving in with only a slight qualm, she fished out her earplugs, put them in and let herself drift off.

* * *

JONAS INCHED HIS Toyota Camry to a halt a few yards from his brother’s beloved Mercedes sports coupe. The wind had picked up considerably in the last half hour, so there was little chance Erik or Allie would hear him arrive. He cut the engine, got out and inhaled the gusting lake air greedily. It was nice to be back. Assuming the place sold quickly, this would probably be his last pleasure trip here. Visits from now on would involve packing, sorting, throwing stuff away...

He didn’t want to think about that now.

Lifting his bag out of the backseat, he closed the door and walked up to the dark, still house, where Erik and Allie were sleeping. Alone? Together? Alone tonight at least, he decided. Erik would wait until Allie was comfortable here before he made the big move.

For a full minute, Jonas stood in the clearing, gazing at Morningside. Again, he was gripped by emotions—longing, pleasure, affection. Many years of good times in that house, going back as far as his recollections.

A burst of wind brought the first drops of rain and he turned toward the cottage, which Clarissa, the wife of their caretaker, George, kept cleaned, aired out and well-stocked, as well as the house. He’d texted Erik that he’d be arriving a day early but wasn’t sure his brother had read the message, since he hadn’t replied. Barging into the house unexpectedly could be an unpleasant surprise. Jonas didn’t want his second meeting with Allie to take place in the middle of the night after he’d just terrified her. And he wasn’t in the mood to face his brother’s smug I’m-gonna-score-this-weekend certainty.

A grumble of thunder quickened his steps across the neatly mown grass that managed to grow in the sandy soil by the house. He stepped into the cottage just as the storm hit, wiped a drop of rain off his forehead and grinned at the familiar, dimly lit interior. This had been his refuge when he was too teenager-cool for his old room and his parents.

He spent a few minutes walking around, touching old memories. Still-life paintings his grandmother Bridget had done of flower gardens and seashell-strewn beaches. Knickknacks bought on various family trips abroad—his mother’s clan had been avid travelers. Fertility figures from Ghana, nesting dolls from Russia, stone turtles from Hawaii...

Wind and rain buffeted the house, making creaks that sounded like soft footsteps overhead. Jonas unpacked his toiletry kit, brushed his teeth and washed his face in the kitchen sink. The upstairs, with no windows facing west, would be black as a cave, and he’d forgotten to bring a flashlight. The little cottage had never been wired for electric power.

Lightning illuminated the stairs as he made his way toward them. He loved lying in bed watching storms like this blow over the water.

In the bedroom, he dumped his clothes, found the bed by feel and crawled in naked, enjoying the moonless midnight-blackness between the flashes of lightning, already growing further apart. It was a fast-moving storm, probably not that close. He wouldn’t see much drama up here tonight. One summer a house across the lake had been badly damaged by a lightning strike.

Closing his eyes, he relaxed, concentrating on the steady pummeling of rain on the roof, directly over his head. He’d had good times in this bed. Lost his virginity here, when their summer neighbor Sally Sampson, older than he was by a few years, decided it was time he got started.

He hadn’t objected.

She’d sneaked into the cottage one night and had woken him with her mouth, doing things that at that age he’d only read about....

Nice memory. His dick certainly remembered, was already standing hopefully at attention. Jonas shifted to his side, experiencing a mild disorientation when the king mattress seemed to move too much.

What was that?

Probably sinus pressure messing with his sense of balance and motion. Long drives could bring it on. Storms usually made it worse.

The cottage hadn’t seen any action from him since Sally. The first and only time he’d invited a girlfriend up here, his parents had gone so ridiculously overboard making sure they were never alone long enough to have sex, that Maria had gone home days early and dumped him soon after. He hadn’t bothered trying again. His parents firmly believed that all women wanted from Erik and Jonas was to get pregnant and trap them and their Meyer money. Given his experience with Missy, he was starting to wonder if they were onto something.

His eyes opened. Allie wasn’t in that camp if she’d resisted Erik for this long.

Lightning flashed.

Huh? In his peripheral vision, he could have sworn...

It flashed again.

What the—

Allie?

Good God. Had he conjured her up? Hallucinated her? Why didn’t he notice her before when lightning lit the room? Did she know he was there?

He stared at the blackness, frozen in surprise, heart pounding.

What now?

Maybe she didn’t know he was there. Maybe she’d been in the bathroom when he came upstairs? Crazy coincidence.

“Allie,” he called softly.

No answer.

The storm renewed itself, rain that had been tapering off hammered again, thunder rumbled louder.

Back asleep already? She couldn’t be. Sleepwalking, then?

“Allie?” He tried louder, worried he’d terrify her. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw her, but at least he knew she and Erik were on the property. She thought he was still in Boston.

Maybe he should just sneak out. If she caught him, okay, at least he’d be an intruder in her bedroom, not in her bed.

Small problem: he was naked. Should he get out of the bed and risk fumbling for his clothes on the floor? Better just to go downstairs and get more from his bag.

Another problem: she’d been able to get into bed with him, and he’d registered her only peripherally, but he was considerably larger. If he moved, she’d notice.

Damn.

A bad situation. He’d just have to choose one of the equally bad options.

As carefully as he could, Jonas lifted the covers...

* * *

ALLIE’S EYES SHOT open in the dark. What the hell was that? The mattress had moved. She swore it had.

It moved again.

Erik.

She was going to kill him.

No, torture him, and then kill him.

Of all the sleazy....

She tore out her earplugs, unaware the storm had gotten so bad. Why hadn’t she brought a flashlight?

Lightning provided what she needed: a view of Erik, in bed next to her! The jerk!

She didn’t think twice, turned and shoved him with her feet as hard as she could. He shot off the bed and landed with a thud on the floor.

“Ow!”

Served him right. “What the hell do you think you’re trying to pull?”

“Nothing!”

“For God’s sake, Erik,” she shouted. Honestly. The only thing stupider than a horny guy was...an amoeba.

“I’m not Erik,” he bellowed. A flash of lightning showed that he’d stood up. He wasn’t wearing anything. And he wasn’t Erik.

Jeez-o-Pete. The Meyer slimeball brothers. What had Jonas thought? A few friendly emails meant he could just sneak into her bedroom and—

She blinked, her brain catching up to her eyeballs. What a great body.

“What are you doing here? You’re not even supposed to be here. Especially not naked!”

The rain slacked off abruptly, leaving her last word shrieked into relative silence.

“Allie.” Lightning showed him holding the bedspread over his best bits. “I didn’t know you were in here. I came to the cottage so I wouldn’t bother you and Erik, arriving at the big house so late.”

Her breath was still coming fast. She didn’t know when she’d experienced such a huge adrenaline rush, first fear, then anger. So it took a while for his words to sink in. To process them. To make them appear possible. The rain calmed further.

“Just hang on. Let me get dressed and find a light.”

She waited, trying to understand what had happened. She’d been asleep. Had woken up, needing to use the bathroom. Had trouble finding it, trouble using it in the total darkness. Made her way carefully back, annoyed at the lightning for holding off when she needed its brilliance. She’d gotten back into bed and sensed him when he moved.

She heard a thud, followed by a curse. Allie grinned savagely in the dark, still shaky and breathless. Served him right. “Having fun?”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks. I’m sure I can just hobble for the rest of my life. Hold on, there’s a kerosene lamp over here somewhere.”

Long pause. Another thud. Another curse. Allie snorted. This sounded like a Three Stooges movie.

“You don’t have to enjoy my pain.”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“There.” A glimmer as he struck a match, then fed the flame to the wick of a kerosene lamp and replaced the chimney. A soft glow filled the room and showed that he was now wearing jeans. And that he was even more gorgeous than she remembered, with Erik’s blue eyes and strong chin, but darker hair, thicker and curling.

No, no. Until he proved he didn’t deserve her fury and outrage, she could not risk melting into lust.

“So.” She crossed her arms over her chest, wishing he wasn’t getting his second view of her with advanced bedhead and no makeup, wearing a shapeless sleep shirt. “What happened?”

“My dinner appointment tonight canceled, I texted Erik that I was coming. I arrived, came up here, got into bed and you joined me.” He lifted his hands and let them slap down on his thighs. Long, solid, very nice thighs. Not that she was looking. “Nice to see you again, by the way.”

“Well...oh.” What was she supposed to do with that story? So devoid of evil or plot or menace of any kind. Almost disappointing.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Allie. If it’s any consolation, I nearly had a heart attack when I saw you next to me. I thought I was alone in here, had started drifting off, listening to the rain, then the lightning flashed and guess what?” He mimed comic terror, clutching his chest, mouth hanging open, eyes bulging with shock.

Allie smiled unwillingly and shrugged, her breathing slowing down. “Well, I guess it’s just a big, weird mess.”

“I guess.” He was standing by the bed watching her, hands on his hips, jeans slung low, chest bare. She hugged herself more tightly, hoping she was covering her nipples adequately because they were reaching for him like baby birds for Mama.

The silence stretched. She had a sudden fantasy of him lunging for her, dragging her down on the bed and covering her mouth with his, her breasts with his hands, her—

“You want a beer or something?”

“Yes.” Her breath rushed out in relief. “I would love a beer or something.”

“Clarissa usually leaves some in the fridge downstairs. Let’s check it out.”

Carrying the kerosene lamp, he led the way downstairs, accompanied by a distant growl of thunder and the now-gentle patter of rain.

There was indeed beer in the refrigerator, plenty of it, plus wine, champagne, at least two kinds of cheeses, orange juice, limes and tonic. The cottage was clearly party central. Jonas opened two bottles of Bass Ale and offered Allie a glass, which she declined.

They sat at the small pale yellow table in the kitchen area with the lamp between them spreading its light surprisingly far into the room.

“Why isn’t there power in the cottage?” Allie took a sip of her beer. She generally preferred a lighter brew, but right now the Bass was seriously working for her. Probably the circumstances. Undoubtedly the man. “Wait, and if there’s no electricity, how is there a refrigerator?”

“It runs on gas, like the stove and water heater. My great-grandfather wired the big house for electricity but was stubborn on keeping this place ‘pure.’ Grandma Bridget felt the same way when she inherited it, and it just stayed that way. I like it.”

“I do, too. It’s sort of romantic.”

He chose that moment to put down his beer and meet her eyes. “It is.”

Allie had trouble breathing. What was it about him? The dim light, the smooth gold of his skin out of which his blue eyes blazed, the fact that he was incredibly handsome and hot and she’d just seen him naked? Yeah, that might be it.

Ulp. She needed to break the silence, but her mind had gone blank. She could only sit there gawking stupidly at him.

“So, are we okay with everything?”

“Oh.” Allie brought herself out of her daze. “Well, sort of.”

“I know.” He shook his head, looking perplexed. “I’m not straight on some of it, either. Where were you before you got into bed with me?”

“Bathroom. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know you were there until the lightning showed you.”

She narrowed her eyes skeptically over her beer, which was already half-gone. “I climbed into bed with you, and you didn’t notice?”

“It was dark. The proverbial couldn’t-see-my-hand-in-front-of-my-face dark.”

“The mattress must have bounced.”

“I felt nothing.” He gestured toward her, up and down. “You’re a wee thing.”

Allie snorted. “Come on.”

“Okay.” Jonas pushed back his chair and stood. He narrowed his eyes, which made him look bad-boy fierce and even sexier. “You don’t believe me? Come on. We’ll reenact it.”

“No, no...”

“Look, my honor is on the line here.” He picked up the lamp and headed for the stairs.

Allie hesitated a moment, then left with the choice of being abandoned in a dark, unfamiliar room versus being upstairs in a bedroom with a god among men, she followed him.

She was not stupid.

“Lie down.” He set the lamp on the bedside table and pointed to the bed. “Here, where I was.”

“Fine.” Allie lay on the edge of the mattress.

“Now close your eyes. I’ll lie on the other side. Bear in mind I’ve got at least sixty pounds on you.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes and waited. When he climbed on, the mattress tugged and dipped some, but nothing like the earthquake she’d expected.

“Anything?”

“Yes. But, okay, not that much.”

“If I was as light as you, and you were changing position at the same time, you might not feel anything.”

“Hmm.” She kept her eyes closed. “I guess I might not.”

“Come on, victory is mine. Admit it.”

She turned her head to scoff, trying not to let on that she was pretty fired up being this close to him. “I admit nothing.”

“Coward.”

“Okay, okay.” She held up her hands. “It’s plausible. I’ll give you that much.”

“I even said your name. Twice.”

“Oh.” Allie pointed to both sides of her head. “Earplugs.”

“Ah. That explains that. I thought about tapping you on the shoulder but I was afraid I’d give you a coronary.”

“You probably would have.”

“Good thing I didn’t.” He stretched out his arms, folded them behind his head and settled himself comfortably, closing his eyes. “So with that cleared up, you want to go to sleep?”

“What?”

“Why not?” He peeked at her, and then closed his eyes again, smiling faintly. “I like being in bed with you.”

Allie struggled up on her elbows, squinting down at him, grinning in spite of herself. “Oh, really.”

“Yeah. I mean it’s a little weird, since we don’t know each other, but look, we’ve got it all here. Excitement, drama, intrigue, possible conspiracy.” He turned to look up at her, stubble darkening his jaw and highlighting his cheekbones. “Everything.”

Allie’s smile faded. She swallowed awkwardly. Those eyes were dragging her into him. The attraction was so powerful she could barely maintain the contact. Her gaze flicked to his mouth before she could stop herself. A beautiful mouth, masculine and full. She’d like to—

“I was kidding. I’ll walk you back to the house.”

“Oh.” She jerked her gaze back to his. “Yes, sure. Thanks.”

He didn’t move, didn’t look away. “Okay, mostly kidding.”

Allie drew in a breath, face and body heating. “I see.”

“I can’t, though. Erik.”

Allie shook her head quickly. “I have no romantic feelings for Erik.”

“None?” His intense gaze got more intense. She had a crazy feeling he was pleased. Was that ego or real interest? Erik talked about Jonas as if he were a straight arrow, not a player by any means.

“No. He’s a great guy. But not for me.”

“He has feelings for you.”

She wanted to laugh. “He thinks he does.”

“Maybe. But he’s my brother.” Jonas sat up, clutched his chest and gazed off into the distance with comic gravity. “Therefore we must venture out. Together...but alone.”

Allie giggled. Erik hadn’t mentioned his brother had a playful side. “Yes, my liege. Through storm and peril we shall uh, whatever.”

“Yeah, that.” He came around the bed and gave her a hand up. She came face-to-face with him, nearly chest-to-chest. Well, her face to his neck, her chest to his upper abdomen. He was tall. Probably six-two. She was barely five-four.

“I look forward to getting to know you, Allie.” He smiled warmly, a touch of mischief in his blue eyes that brought out more of his resemblance to his carefree brother. “Too bad we’ll have to leave it at that.”


4

“JONAS SAID, ‘TURN RIGHT on driveway after the big blue mailbox.’ Okay.” Sandra scanned the side of the road, her wipers going full power. Blue? She couldn’t tell blue from orange in the dark, and the rain wasn’t helping. Wait...there was a mailbox. Big, yes. Blue? She had no idea, but she was turning. Who would build a house out here in the middle of east bejeezus on purpose? Besides Bigfoot? She’d bet there wasn’t a decent slice of pizza or cup of coffee within fifty miles. Forget mani-pedis.

Her tires bumped and bounced, sending her swaying back and forth. Secondhand car—its suspension was already shot when she bought it five years earlier. Ahead of her, the road continued through the rain-blurred woods as far as her headlights reached. Lord have mercy, Jonas called this a driveway? No. Driveways were about fifty feet long with nice, smooth pavement.

She should have waited to drive up until the next morning, but she hated mornings. Getting up any time before ten required an entire pot of coffee. And when Gina, the “sick” friend Sandra had agreed to cover for tonight—she glanced at the car’s clock—make that last night, had made up with her boyfriend, she’d also miraculously recovered from her illness and could perform. Which meant Sandra was able to come early and surprise Jonas.

Lightning illuminated a clearing ahead. Thank you, God. Must be the place. Two cars were there already: the insatiable Erik’s and that of the very enticing and wonderful Jonas Meyer.

She didn’t entirely regret ending their sexual relationship—how many years ago now? Eight? Well, okay, sometimes she did regret it. He was hot and she was human. But it had been the right thing to do. She’d started having more than casual feelings for Jonas, had started seeing him as an easy rescue from her financial and personal struggles. The problem with that? Jonas hadn’t given up on true love yet, and as much as he adored her, she knew she was never going to be “the one.”

Three years after she cut off their contact, they’d bumped into each other and met up shortly afterward for such a nice lunch that they’d decided to stay in touch. He was probably one of her closest friends.

Ever since Jonas’s nasty breakup with that bitch Missy left him cynical and bruised, Sandra had been wondering if hooking up together permanently could still work out. They enjoyed each other. The sex had been great. They both liked kids. And, oh yes, his lovely money would make her life a hell of a lot easier. She was thirty-four and had just about reached the end of her tolerance for a life lived paycheck to paycheck. Not to mention she had next to nothing saved for retirement.

They’d joked about ending up together, but she had a feeling neither of them had been totally joking. Maybe this was the weekend to have a serious talk with him if the opportunity presented itself.

As she brought the car to a stop, the rain let up and visibility improved enough that she could see around her. Nice lake. Cute little cabin on the beach. Farther in, by the edge of the woods, the house. No, that couldn’t be it. Too small. There it was, nearly behind her. A mega-mansion, all lit up as if it was some kind of monument.

She took a moment to breathe and tamp down the pain inside her. Ancient history, honey. This life didn’t belong to her anymore, hadn’t since she left home and then her marriage. She had no one to blame but herself for losing it all, and no one but herself to rely on if she wanted it back now. Living hand-to-mouth had been a satisfying rebellion in her twenties, but not so much in her thirties. Afterward came the forties and fifties, when her appeal to men her own age would wane. God knew she wasn’t going to get rich performing, and she didn’t have the brains or patience to go back to school. If she wanted financial security, she’d have to start nailing him down now.

Practical, yes, but a bit sickening. She certainly hadn’t expected to end up in this situation when she’d marched defiantly out of her parents’ lives. Ah, the stupidity of pampered youth. Apparently she’d expected that money would just keep showing up, as it always had.

The rain started coming down harder again. She cut the engine, grabbed her overnight bag from the passenger seat and bolted for the mega-mansion’s front door before it decided to pour again. Peering up, she couldn’t see any lights on in the house, not that she expected to. Most people were asleep at this hour. Performers were a different breed.

Not wanting to wake anyone, she tried the door, even though she was sure it would be locked against the inevitable psycho with a shotgun who favored remote lake areas.

The door wasn’t locked.

Sweet Jesus, these Meyers were certifiable.

Making her way inside the house, she shut the storm out behind her, locking the door as any sensible person would, and found a switch that bathed the entry in warm light. Wow. Look at this chilly museum of a place. She tried to picture Jonas as a kid, probably not allowed to bring sand or candy inside. Feeling as if you weren’t welcome or didn’t belong in your own home sucked. She should know.

No wonder he leaned toward the conservative side. A place like this would beat the wildness out of anyone. It was a beach house, for heaven’s sake. Even her uptight parents decorated their place in the Hamptons with summery stuff. Nautical print rugs, painted buoys and model ships, seashell upholstery on the furniture, paintings of oceanscapes and sailboats on the walls. No big shock that Jonas wanted to sell. This wasn’t a house you fell in love with. He’d mentioned buying a place on Cape Cod. She could seriously get behind that concept.

Climbing the stairs, she heard a door open and saw a man stumble out into the hallway. Not Jonas. Erik, then. Drunk? Or sleepy?

“Hello?” She reached the landing in time to see him turn toward her voice.

Well. Jonas’s brother was adorable. Not that she was surprised, given his success with women. Kind of a more casual, blonder version of Jonas, carrying a few more pounds that softened him and made him seem more approachable. The kind of guy you’d slap on the back instead of shake hands with.

“I’m Sandra McKinley.”

“Sandra.” He blinked his baby blues in confusion. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”

She spread her hands to say whatcha-gonna-do, adopting the South Boston persona she’d created for herself so long ago that it was nearly instinctive. “Tomorrow is today now. And I’m here.”

“What time is it?”

“Two a.m. Where’s Jonas?”

“Not coming until tomorrow. I mean today.”

“No, baby, he’s here now.”

“Hmm.” His eyes focused on her, his mouth twisted in a half grin. Cute. Definitely cute. A very boyish thirty. “Baby?”

“You don’t like it?” She shrugged. “I’ll call you something else.”

“Erik works.” He put his hands on his hips, looking swagger-confident in an old T-shirt and boxers. “I remember now, Jonas texted me about showing up early.”

“Uh-huh. Where does he sleep? East wing? West wing? North? South? How many wings you got in this place?”

He laughed easily. “The house too much for you, baby?”

“Not for me.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Nothing’s too much for me.”

“Well, well.” He took a step closer and pointed down the hall, fully alert now. Not drunk then, just groggy. “Jonas usually sleeps in the last room there on the right. I’m sure he’d love you to join him. If you want your own room, there’s one made up for you across the hall.”

She was only mildly surprised that he thought they were still lovers. Erik and Jonas weren’t the closest of brothers. And Jonas wasn’t big on sharing personal information.

“Thanks. Anything else I need to know?”

“Bathroom’s behind me on the left. No, your right. Towels are in the closet opposite if there aren’t any in your room.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off her. “Should be a robe in your room, too.”

Sandra stared back, expecting him to drop his gaze. He didn’t. “What’s the matter, you never seen a woman before?”

“Thousands.” He didn’t look remotely apologetic. “But Jonas didn’t tell me.”

“Didn’t tell you what?” She let her arms drop to her sides, sure she’d just handed him the opportunity for one of his favorite lines.

Here it came.

“That you were so beautiful. So exotic, like Salma Hayek. And so...” He gestured toward her body. “Beautiful.”

“Ah, I see.” She pretended complete nonchalance, but deep down she was pleased even knowing his reputation as a flatterer. “Should he have told you?”

“Maybe not.” Erik shrugged. “Most men would brag.”

“Jonas isn’t most men.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “So I keep hearing.”

Ah, sibling envy. Interesting, since Erik wasn’t exactly passed over when it came to handing out gifts. He had the looks and charm and was good at his job, too, from what Jonas had told her, as well as being a connoisseur of food and wine. But family dynamics didn’t thrive on logic. They often thrived in spite of it.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Erik. I look forward to getting to know you better this weekend.” She gave him a sultry smile because why not, and started down the hall, rolling her suitcase along, swinging her hips since she was sure he was watching.

“Oh, Sandra. Jonas might not be up here. Sometimes he sleeps in the cottage.”

“Cottage?” Sandra turned, smirking. “You mean that whole other house outside?”

He smirked back. “You got a problem with money, Sandra?”

“Only in that I don’t have enough, Erik.”

He chuckled, a laugh remarkably similar to his brother’s. “I like you. You’re not Jonas’s type at all.”

“No? Whose type am I?” When he just kept grinning, she and her suitcase turned back and started again down the hall. “See you in the morning, baby. Butler serving breakfast?”

“Yuh-huh. Seven a.m. sharp. You miss it, you don’t eat.”

“I’ll see what I can manage to—”

A frantic pounding came at the front door, then the sound of male laughter and a female squeal, followed by a cascade of giggles.

Sandra turned to stare at Erik, who stared back. “Expecting company?”

“It sounds like—”

The front door burst open.

“We made it.” Jonas’s voice, out of breath. “Thank God I remembered the extra key.”

“I’m soaked!” Unidentified woman’s voice.

Behind Sandra, Erik’s footsteps, approaching fast. Apparently that unidentified voice was now identified.

Sandra descended the curve of the staircase with Erik close behind. And there they were, Jonas and Allie, dripping wet, smiling at each other in a way that people who had only just met generally didn’t, and standing much closer than strangers usually did, even if they were very nearsighted. Which Jonas, at least, wasn’t.

Sandra’s heart contracted sharply. Jealousy, unwelcome and unwarranted. Allie was supposed to be Erik’s project up here. Jonas was supposed to be hers.

Above them, on the landing, her suitcase fell over with a loud thud.

Jonas and Allie looked up.

There was a brief and deliciously awkward silence.

“Sandra,” Jonas said cheerfully.

“Hello, Jonas,” she replied calmly.

“Allie!” Erik, mildly apoplectic.

“Oh. Hi, Erik.” Allie spoke too loudly, her tone a combination of guilty and giddy.

Well.

What an interesting weekend they were all going to have.

* * *

Text from Allie: Julie, you would not believe what happened tonight. It involves Jonas, me and a bed. Nothing actually happened, but it felt like it could have. People magazine knows nothing. This is the sexiest man alive.

* * *

ALLIE’S EYES FLEW OPEN. Morning. How early was it? She squinted at her watch. Nearly eight. She hadn’t slept well, not surprising after all the excitement the night before. Terror and titillation and tremendous awkwardness. She and Jonas had run out of the cottage, intending to head straight for the main house, but Jonas had grabbed her hand and swerved, leading them down to the lake. The rain really let them have it then, but instead of escaping, they’d sprinted, splashing, along the water’s edge, getting soaked and having a total, exhilarating, childish blast. Allie was a sucker for men who could play. After meeting Jonas in New York, as polished and interesting as he was, she wouldn’t have thought he had that in him.

Yum.

Back inside, breathless and laughing, they’d found Erik and Sandra sending them such icy looks she was surprised the water hadn’t frozen on their bodies.

A waste of their energy. Jonas and Allie’s fun had been entirely innocent.

Well, mostly innocent.

Okay, buried under a thick layer of sexual tension there had probably been a speck of innocence somewhere.

Sigh.

With the four of them there, together for the first time, it had been hard to know what to say to whom, how to frame their entrance, or whether to apologize for something they hadn’t really done. It was a complicated mess, with relationships among the quartet poorly defined all the way around. Were Jonas and Sandra really just friends? Had Erik really told his brother he had feelings for Allie? Did he?

Allie had no idea. The best thing to do was get up, have breakfast and start over. But first, she’d scramble out of bed and have a long look out the window—being careful not to leave smudges or fingerprints or shed skin cells on anything.

The morning was glorious. A cool breeze blew in through the screen and the lake sparkled in the sun, shining out of a cloudless sky. Ahhh, much better than the city, at least for this week.

She showered and dressed in black shorts with a peacock feather design—from the Artists & Fleas market in Brooklyn, her favorite source for relatively inexpensive secondhand clothing—and a simple white top. Minimal makeup. She wasn’t out to seduce anyone. Right, Sandra? Right, Erik?

At least she probably wasn’t.

Ready for the day, she wandered out into the hall, noting the still-closed doors. Nobody up but her? Erik had said breakfast was a free-for-all, that their house elf, Clarissa, would have stocked the kitchen and they could rummage around and grab whatever they wanted.

She was fine with that. In fact, it would be good to grab a bite and have a leisurely jolt of caffeine to fortify herself before she had to deal with anyone else.

Except...Jonas was already up, standing with his back to her, barefoot in the cinnamon-smelling, sparkling clean, nearly antiseptic kitchen. He was wearing a royal-blue T-shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and khaki cargo shorts that emphasized the sexy shape of his ass.

“Good morning.”

“Hey, Allie, good morning.” He swung around, wearing a natural grin that made her relax. There might be lingering tension with Sandra and Erik this morning, but at least she had an ally. “How did you sleep?”

She debated whether to be polite or honest, and chose the middle ground. “Not too bad.”

“But not too good? Same here. Coffee?” He pointed to the pot. “I’ll pour.”

“Love some.” She perched on a stool by the huge kitchen island, thinking how much more welcoming and cute the cottage kitchen was than this stainless steel, white-countered bastion of state-of-the-art perfection. She would have loved to see the kitchen original to the house.

“Clarissa’s got fresh fruit for us and pecan cinnamon rolls. That sound okay?”

“I thought I smelled heaven. That sounds wonderful.” She accepted her mug and sipped gratefully. The brew was dark, rich and strong, just the way she liked it.

“I’m guessing Erik and Sandra will be asleep for a while.” Jonas pulled a pan of the fragrant rolls out of the oven. “They’re both night owls and late sleepers. So we’re on our own for a few more hours.”

“Okay.” She liked the sound of that, but not the concept of him being familiar with Sandra’s sleeping habits.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go kayaking on the lake.”

“Sure, I would love that.” Allie twisted her lips wryly. “At least I think I would.”

“You’ve never been in a kayak?” He asked offhandedly—not as if he’d never heard of anything so outrageous—and set out a plate and napkin for each of them.

“Nope.” Her family’s idea of summer water sports was to fight the crowds at public pools in Brooklyn, a fact she’d stopped admitting after her friend Melanie made a huge deal about how disgusting they were.

“I think you’ll enjoy it.”

She hoped so. And that she wouldn’t be completely inept. The women Jonas knew were probably all kayak experts. Sandra was likely a national kayak champion, though she didn’t look the sporty type. She seemed to be more of a city girl, like Allie, only more beautiful, more voluptuous, more exotic, probably more experienced in bed...

Ugh. She was tying herself up in knots. Julie accused her of overthinking everything, especially where men were concerned. Julie was undoubtedly right. Allie would do her best to think of Jonas’s interest in her as a different version of his brother’s knee-jerk flirtation, nothing to do with his feelings for her, personally. Because the more she fantasized them into a relationship the more it would hurt when he dragged Sandra into his bedroom tonight. The fact that he could turn Allie on by biting into a cinnamon roll would remain her little secret.

The fact that she could get turned on by biting into a cinnamon roll wouldn’t. “Oh my heaven, these are amazing. Does Clarissa make them?”

“She gets them from a bakery in town.” Jonas sat opposite her at the kitchen island. “They’ll have to build a cardiac hospital in Lake George if people keep eating them.”

“Worth it.” She licked buttery frosting off her lips. “A shorter life is a small price to pay.”

“You know I suggested kayaking without thinking.” He helped himself to a second roll. “Would you rather get started on the clothes in the attic?”

“Oh, no, there’s time for that.” Jonas was probably the only thing in the world more tempting to her than the contents of that attic. “Kayaking sounds fun. And I think Erik wanted to show me around...”

“Ah. Right.” He nodded abruptly and concentrated on his roll. “Absolutely.”

Allie put down her coffee. This warranted a discussion. “Do we have to get weird and tiptoe over who has rights to whom all weekend? I really don’t want to.”

“No, you’re right. We’ll keep it simple. You’re here with Erik. I’m here with Sandra.”

“Okay.” Served her right for bringing it up.

“But when they’re still asleep...” A slow smile spread over Jonas’s face. “We can cheat on them.”

Allie giggled, wilting into relief. “That’s exactly what I meant!”

“Don’t worry.” He finished his coffee and took his plate to the sink. “It’s not going to be a big deal. Sandra and I are friends...”

Allie jumped on his hesitation. “With privileges?”

“Not anymore.”

“She knows that?”

“Her idea. Years ago.” He turned back to Allie, not displaying any sign of discomfort that might indicate he was lying. “Last night was weird, but it won’t be that way going forward. Erik will calm down. It’s all good. We can hang out on kayaks with our consciences clear.”

She wasn’t totally convinced. Sandra had looked as if she could cheerfully tear Allie apart with her teeth. “Okay.”

“But only because kayaks don’t have beds in them.”

“Huh.” Allie shook her head at him, shame-on-you, and devoured the last of her roll’s buttery bliss. Kayaking was exercise, right? She’d burn off the calories of one roll paddling for only...twenty-five or twenty-six hours. And if she came back from this outing with Jonas and found Sandra and Erik upset again, that was it. She would make sure she and Jonas weren’t alone again.

The idea made her instantly miserable.

After breakfast, she and Jonas changed into their bathing suits, slathered on their sunscreen and met down at the boathouse where Jonas found water shoes that fit her and selected kayaks and paddles. He gave her a short lesson, which, while she was swinging the paddle around on the beach, made Allie even more certain she was going to be hopeless at this.





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