Designed by Desire. Pamela Yaye

wished she could be a nobody. Someone no one knew or recognized. Not Brianna Hamilton, fashion designer and eldest daughter of Roger and Lila Hamilton. Just Brianna. No last name.

      A clean, refreshing scent washed over her. It was aftershave, and the fragrance reminded her of home, of her father, of all the cold winter days they’d spent inside playing chess and watching Jeopardy! on TV. Brianna opened her eyes, half expecting to see her gray-haired father sitting in the stool beside her, but when she saw him—the sexy heartthrob who’d caused a stir when he’d entered the Carrousel du Louvre—she gasped.

      “I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, his expression one of genuine concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

      His smile was apologetic, but Brianna eyed him warily. She wasn’t used to men approaching her at a hotel bar, or anywhere for that matter. Guys rarely asked her out, and that suited her just fine because she wasn’t interested in having a one-night stand or finding that special someone, either. Dating didn’t appeal to her, and neither did racking up more sex partners than the Material Girl. She’d much rather work or spend time with her family than sweat out her perm with a guy who was more interested in getting off than pleasing her. Brianna knew, in theory, that there were still a few good men out there, but she didn’t have the energy or patience that dating required.

      And why bother when love doesn’t last, anyway?

      “Do you mind me sitting here?”

      “Yes—I mean, n-n-no,” she stammered, tripping over her own tongue. “It’s a free world. You can sit wherever you want.” Brianna recognized she was rambling, but she couldn’t get her lips to stop moving or her hands to quit shaking.

      “I won’t bother you. I promise.” He gestured with his head to the TV. “I just want to watch the World Cup qualification match between Italy and Germany.”

      Brianna flashed him a smile. He was definitely American, likely from the West Coast, and radiated a calm, laid-back vibe. His voice was deep, husky—a sound she’d love to hear more of. So why not strike up a conversation? Despite all the drama at the fashion show, she was feeling surprisingly upbeat.

      Sitting at a bar with a gorgeous guy can do that to a girl, Brianna thought, shifting nervously on her swivel stool.

      “I bet on the boys in blue, and I’m anxious to see how they’re doing,” he said.

      “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the game’s over. Germany won by two.”

      His eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

      “As a heart attack.”

      “How the hell did that happen?” The stranger raked a hand over his brown close-cropped hair. “The last time I checked, Italy was up by two.”

      “In the second half, the Germans were the faster, more aggressive team,” Brianna explained. “They’re a talented, young squad that plays with a lot of heart, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they won it all in Brazil next year.”

      He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know so much about European football?”

      “I lived in Milan for a year, and it was the only thing on TV!” Brianna laughed. “Italians live and breathe football, and it wasn’t long before I fell in love with the sport, too. I don’t watch as many games as I used to, but I still follow my favorite teams.”

      “Interesting.” Studying her, he stroked the length of his jaw. “Who do you like in the France versus Spain game? I was just about to place my bet.”

      “That’s a no-brainer. France.”

      “How can you be so sure? They haven’t been playing well as of late.”

      “That’s why I’m convinced they’ll win,” she told him. “The French perform best when it matters most, and they know if they lose to Spain they’ll have to permanently relocate because their fans will never, ever forgive them!”

      The stranger chuckled and offered his right hand. “I’m Collin.”

      No, you’re fine-as-hell, Brianna thought.

      He was, without a doubt, the best-looking man she’d ever seen in the flesh, and being in such close proximity to him was wreaking havoc on her body—and her mind. Her nipples had hardened under her dress, and she couldn’t stop picturing Collin naked in her bed. And if he looked half as good in real life as he did in her fantasy, that could spell serious trouble.

      “Are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to buy you another glass of wine first?”

      “I’m Brianna,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. A flutter danced in the pit of her stomach, then spread south. Brianna sat up taller, straighter. She had to be on guard if she wanted to withstand the heat of his gaze and his devilish smile. Her body’s reaction to Collin— a dark-skinned brother with killer swag and dreamy brown eyes—momentarily stunned her, but she found her voice and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

      “No, the pleasure is all mine.”

      For a moment, they sat in complete silence, appraising each other.

      “Did you enjoy the show?” Brianna asked, reluctantly releasing his hand.

      “Yeah, I thought it was real cool, but it wasn’t as good as the RHD show I caught the day before. Roger Hamilton is one of my favorite designers, and I can’t wait to get my hands on his spring line.”

      Brianna wore a proud smile but didn’t reveal who she was. Tonight, it didn’t matter. She was just a woman in Paris, enjoying a drink inside a swank bar, chatting with the sexiest man in the room. Why spoil the mood by telling him she was Roger Hamilton’s daughter? And one of the top designers at RHD?

      “Your girlfriend doesn’t mind you skipping the Vanity Fair party to watch the soccer game?” she asked.

      “I’m single,” he said smoothly. “And Evangeline isn’t my girlfriend. She’s doing the new ad campaign for my company, and when I heard she was in town for Fashion Week, I decided to meet up with her to finalize the deal.”

      “Do you work in the industry?”

      “No, I’m in the hotel business. Hardly exciting, but it pays the bills.”

      Brianna gave a nod and sipped her wine. She found it hard to believe this attractive, impeccably dressed man was single. In her experience, men who looked like him didn’t have just one girlfriend, they had several. But who knew? Maybe he was telling the truth. Brianna told herself it didn’t matter—it wasn’t like she was taking Collin back to her suite tonight, or any night for that matter. They were just making small talk and sharing space at the bar, and once Brianna finished her drink, she was going upstairs, alone.

      “Are you a model?”

      “God, no! I’m a designer.” Brianna laughed, and he did, too. “I enjoy food too much to be on a calorie-counting diet, and I don’t have the stomach for all the backstabbing in the modeling industry. My sister is always teasing me for staying home on the weekends, but I love my quiet, drama-free life just the way it is.”

      Collin nodded. “I hear you. I travel a lot for work, and when I get back to the States after a long overseas trip, all I want to do is put on some sweats and veg out on the couch.”

      “And watch European football,” Brianna added, smiling at him.

      Chuckling, he slipped off his coat and draped it on the back of his chair. “Are you sure it’s okay if I sit here?” he asked, glancing around the bar. “Your man isn’t going to storm in here and beat me to a pulp for talking to you, is he?”

      With that body, no one could ever beat you to a pulp, she thought, unable to resist glancing at his ripped physique. “I’m not here with anyone. I’m divorced.”

      A look of sadness washed over his face, but when he spoke his tone was filled with