A Taste Of Paradise: Addicted to You. Leslie Kelly

      He was not the same man she’d fallen for. And while that made it easier to resist him, it also broke her heart a little.

      Enough with the broken heart, she told herself. He didn’t want her heart, and he seemed pretty anti-love-and-romance in general, judging by his assumptions about this wedding. For the past year, since Dad’s death, love had been one of the foremost things on her mind. She wanted a once-in-a-lifetime love. Nate Watson did not.

      The car stopped more quickly than she’d expected, and she was the first to hop out when the driver opened the door. To her surprise, they were not parked in front of a hotel, but rather in the circular driveway of what seemed to be a private home.

      “Mansion,” she clarified, eyeing the sprawling white house, three stories tall, that was framed by swaying palm trees and lush flowering rhododendrons. Marble columns lined the expansive front porch, and the massive door stood open, with waiters on either side of it, holding trays of cocktails for the guests.

      “Yeah, this is Jerry’s son’s place,” said the woman from the limo. “We’re dining here before going on to the hotel.”

      Oh, brilliant. She was going to have to spend the evening wondering if he had a servant on guard to follow her mother around to make sure she didn’t steal anything.

      Heather politely declined a tour of the house. Instead, she veered straight through to the back patio, which overlooked the ocean. And there she felt her tension ease.

      It was, without a doubt, glorious. The views of the beach were stunning, extending as far as she could see in either direction. The crashing of the waves onto the white sand a few dozen steps below was almost lyrical, lulling in its regularity. She could happily have pulled up a lounge chair and spent the night right here. Or the entirety of the upcoming cruise.

      “It’s something, isn’t it?” asked Steve, her cousin. He stood nearby with his wife, Becca, who was five months pregnant.

      His brother Josh replied, “Sure is. I wonder if he could score us some tickets.”

      “He seems to be a nice guy,” said Steve. “I bet he would. Especially if his little sister asked him.”

      “For God’s sake, stop gushing,” she snapped, the word sister hitting her like a punch. “He plays a game for a living. He hasn’t brought peace to the Middle East or cured a disease. He runs around on grass like a ten-year-old, and gets paid an obscene amount of money to do it. It’s disgusting.”

      “Actually, I didn’t start playing until high school. So maybe I run around like a fifteen-year-old?”

      Heather groaned when she realized Nate had walked up in time to hear her comment.

      Hell. Last she’d seen him, he’d been inside, talking to the caterer, doing his best to pretend there wasn’t a party going on. He might be Mr. Charming for the press, but she’d noticed his sullen mood. If she weren’t so unhappy about this wedding herself, she’d slap him for being such a downer.

      Of course, he had offered up his house for this party. She honestly couldn’t figure out his motives.

      Stiffening her spine, she turned to face him. “Okay,” she said, not relenting, “so you get paid an obscene amount of money to run around like a teenager. Is that better?”

      “Sure.”

      “Come on, Heather, there’s a little more to it than that,” said Josh, frowning at her for her rudeness.

      “Occasionally I have to throw the ball, too,” Nate said.

      “Yes, I’m sure that’s so challenging.”

      “Ask my body. It’s been challenged.”

      She couldn’t resist casting a quick glance over him. He wore a dress shirt, open at the throat with the sleeves rolled up, and khakis. He looked casual and totally at home here in Florida. And hot. So damned sexy. No shirt could mask the broadness of his shoulders, and the fabric strained against his muscular arms. His waist was still narrow, his hips lean. Every inch of him was in perfect physical condition.

      God, the dreams she’d had about that body. Those hands. Those lips. That big cock that had given her such pleasure. The man had ruined her for other lovers. She hadn’t had one since she’d last seen him.

      Maybe she’d remedy that on this cruise. Pick up some young island guy who’d ply her with rum and cool off all her hot urges. She imagined letting loose and proving to herself—and Nate—that he no longer had any claim on her. And, having freed herself from the physical longings, maybe then the emotional ones would disappear, too. She could go back to Santa Fe with a clear head and a clear heart, ready to meet Mr. Right, having purged herself of all longing for Mr. Oh-So-Wrong.

      Finally realizing she’d been staring, she cleared her throat. “Well, I guess people who don’t have the intelligence to hold an important, meaningful job have to find something to do.”

      Becca gasped. So did Josh’s wife, Tracy.

      “Yes, how lucky I am to have found a job that requires no brains, drive or dedication.” He smirked. “And how goes the art biz? Changing the world one brilliant paint splatter at a time?”

      Another gasp from the onlookers.

      “I do all right.” She gestured toward the house. “And you certainly seem to be well compensated for your aches and pains.”

      “I am. In fact, I’m hoping to invest some of that compensation in art. I hear you’re the expert. Maybe you could help me out.”

      Oh, hell no. “I doubt we have similar tastes.”

      “You sure about that?”

      “I’m not into black-velvet paintings of card-playing dogs.”

      Beside her, Josh coughed. Nate’s eyes narrowed, but his lips twitched the tiniest bit. “Gee, and I thought you’d skipped the tour of the house.”

      Had he been watching her from the minute she’d arrived? “I can use my imagination.”

      “That’s not necessary,” he said, reaching for her arm and sliding his own through it. “I’ll take you on a private tour.”

      “Not interested,” she snapped, trying to pull way.

      But he had a strong grip and they were surrounded by wide-eyed witnesses. She couldn’t very well shove him over the patio railing onto the beach below, as tempting as that might be. Which was why she gave up and let him pull her inside.

      As soon as they were clear, she snapped, “Let me go.”

      “No. You’ve been avoiding me. We need to talk before we leave on the cruise with all these people.”

      “You can’t just...just pull me around.”

      “Would you rather I pick you up and sling you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?”

      “If you do, I swear to God, I’ll kick you in whatever spot my feet are close enough to reach.”

      He didn’t loosen his grip. “Try it and I’ll tie you up.”

      That threat sent excitement surging through her, not fear. Nate was so different now—not the sweet, sexy lover she’d come to know in Vegas. There was an edge to this Nate, a darkness. It scared her a bit. Mostly, though, she found it arousing.

       Stop it. He’s a jerk. You’re not falling for him again.

      “Come on,” he insisted, dragging her toward a large, sweeping staircase that curved gracefully to an upper level.

      They marched up to the landing above. He continued prodding her toward the end of the hall and a pair of closed doors. She had the feeling she knew what was behind them. When he pushed them open, showing her a huge master bedroom with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and glass doors, she stopped dead.