A Taste Of Paradise: Addicted to You. Leslie Kelly

“We broke up...” He was about to yell because she cheated, which she had. But he instead fell silent. Felicity was very popular right now, and the team’s PR reps had thought it best that the breakup appear mutual.

      “Because you’re just not ready to be a father?”

      “That wasn’t it.” He glanced around for an organizer, hoping someone could get rid of the human piranhas who loved to nip at the heels of any celebrity, especially one who’d recently dumped a VH-1 goddess. No one was nearby. Figures.

      “Is it because of the redhead?”

      Jaw tight, he responded, “What redhead?”

      “You’ve been seen all over town this week with a mysterious red-haired woman named Heather.”

      Nate reached for the guy’s lapel, ready to grab and shake him, but sanity prevailed. “She has nothing to do with this.”

      On cue, the other one leaped in with the same question. “Is she the reason you abandoned Felicity and the baby?”

      There is no baby, he mentally screamed, absolutely certain it was true.

      Yes, he and Felicity had broken up only a month ago. But before that, she’d been on tour in Australia. Before that, he’d been wrapped up in the playoffs. Plus, their relationship had been on the rocks, since he’d suspected—correctly—that she was cheating on him. The point was, they hadn’t slept together since Christmas. If she was four months pregnant, the world would have known about it by now, or she’d have told him during their ugly breakup scene when she’d begged him to take her back.

      This was a publicity stunt, it had to be. And on the off chance she was pregnant, the baby wasn’t his. The father was probably the married music producer she’d screwed around with.

      “Look, this is the first I’m hearing about any of this.”

      “Did you have an affair with Heather and break Felicity’s heart?”

      It was like talking to a damned wall.

      Whatever happened, he had to protect Heather. She was a private person, one who valued her reputation as a business owner. The first priority was to get the spotlight off her.

      “This redhead you keep harping on is a stranger,” he said. “I met her a couple of days ago, we hung out and that’s it.”

      “So there was no love triangle between you, her and Felicity?”

      “Definitely no love triangle,” he said, keeping cool. “There’s no love between me and Felicity, or me and anybody else. The redhead is a chick I picked up in Vegas. She’s a nobody.”

      He mentally apologized to Heather. He’d explain it to her later, when they were safely inside his gated house in Miami.

      Unfortunately, he immediately realized, that wouldn’t work.

      She couldn’t come with him, not now. Bad enough that he lived in the spotlight because of his own fame. Felicity positively thrived on it. She’d milk this as much as she could, for whatever twisted reasons she’d come up with for announcing the pregnancy and naming him as the daddy.

      The press would watch his every move, and would notice if Heather traveled with him or if she showed up at his place. She’d be thrust into the spotlight, and she would hate it.

      As much as he dreaded letting her go, they had to separate so he could deal with this. It might drag on for a while, but the truth would come out eventually. Fortunately, since his dad lived in Albuquerque, they could hopefully manage a few visits.

      Trying to decide how to explain all of this to Heather, he returned to the hotel late in the day. Entering his suite, he called, “I’m back.” No answer. The suite was utterly silent. “Heather?”

      When he walked into the bedroom and saw that none of her clothes were draped across any of the furniture, his heart skipped a beat. He opened the closet door, finding it empty of all her belongings.

      “Heather?” he called again, willing her to answer.

      Again, silence. He was completely alone.

      Then he saw the note propped up against the lamp.

      He grabbed it, certain something major had happened, and she’d bolted. While he didn’t wish anyone ill, he couldn’t help but hope there had been an emergency back home and her departure had nothing to do with his tabloid drama.

      Nate—I had to leave. Emergency at home. No lie.

      “Thank God,” he muttered, though guilt speared him the moment he said the words. His relief was short-lived, however.

      I guess the timing works out well for you, considering what the reporters said when they cornered me at the pool.

      “Oh, shit.”

      Glad to hear we were both on the same page about it being a fling. Makes me feel better about having to leave like this.

      Thanks for everything.

      —The nobody

      Nate read the note twice, his eyes returning to those final words. The nobody. That’s what he’d called her to the reporters. His unthinking comment—meant to spare her from the public eye—had hurt her and then sent her running. She might sincerely have had an emergency, but he doubted she’d have left without even a call if she hadn’t been targeted by the press.

      His first instinct was to go after her, to fix this right now. Hell, maybe she could use his help with her emergency.

      His second—more rational—instinct was to let her go. He could be in for a long, ugly fight, both in the media and, possibly, in the courtroom. A public relationship with Heather would only make things worse for both of them.

      Besides which, she was apparently in the midst of a crisis. What kind of asshole would he be to heap more stress into her life by drawing the bloodsucking flies of the paparazzi to her door, as his presence would surely do?

      He couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it to her.

      “Damn it, Felicity,” he muttered, wishing he’d never laid eyes on his ex, who’d fooled him and the world into believing she wasn’t the vapid, shallow, vain woman she truly was.

      Now he’d met a real woman—a smart, sexy woman he knew he could fall for. And, for her own good, he had to let her go.

      At least for now.

       2

       Ten Months Later

      BEING A BRIDESMAID was supposed to be fun. Being the maid of honor at the wedding of someone you truly loved even more so.

      But when the bride was your mother, who’d been widowed due to the death of your adored father less than a year ago, fun wasn’t the word to use. Heather would prefer to listen to a chorus of six-year-olds singing that song from Frozen on a 24/7 loop than hear her mom say one more word about her upcoming Caribbean wedding.

      “Are you sure you’ve got enough sunscreen?”

      “I’m sure,” she said, even as she fantasized about getting a bad case of sun poisoning so she could bail on the wedding.

      “And a hat and cover-up? That tropical sun is so strong!”

      “Two hats, three cover-ups, a few long-sleeved shirts. Know where I can find a burqa?” Her tone was as calm and even as her expression. Frankly, she was starting to congratulate herself on both. She’d gotten pretty good at hiding her true thoughts.

      “Smarty-pants,” her mother said with a laugh, not reading anything into Heather’s mood. How she couldn’t realize that her daughter was a steaming ball of emotion most of the time was beyond her.

      Seriously,