The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection. Кейт Хьюит

was a statistic. Just like everyone else.

      Even worse, she was a fraud.

      Half of what she’d written in her book had turned out to be untrue, and the other half was skewed so far out of proportion it was hardly credible.

      How many times, as a form of therapy, had she suggested her patients write down their feelings in a personal journal, or in a letter that they would later shred? To accept and validate their emotions. Which is exactly what she’d done. Then she’d sent them off to a publisher and printed them for the whole world to see.

      And the really frightening part was people had actually listened. They had taken the ranting of a hurt, embittered woman and made them sacred.

      What had she done?

      And how could she justify doing it again?

      She had a contract. She’d taken an advance. It was too late to back out now. To say, oops, I was wrong. What I said before, just ignore that. This is what you should really do.

      She didn’t even know what this was. What if she never figured it out?

      “You look disturbed,” Dillon said, genuine concern in his eyes. “I thought you would be happy.”

      “I am,” she lied, because to admit what she was really feeling was a humiliation she just couldn’t bear. And she owed him a huge apology. “I’m sorry for all those things I wrote about you.”

      He shrugged. “Like you said, you didn’t write a single thing that wasn’t true.”

      “May be, but I had no right to publish it in a book. If I had issues about our marriage, the only person I should have talked to was you or my shrink.”

      “I guess we’ve both made our share of mistakes. What do you say we forget what happened in the past and start fresh. Right here, right now.”

      He had every right to hold what she’d done against her. Instead, he was willing to forgive and forget. And she would be wise to do the same. “I’d like that.”

      He looked at her for a second, just looked at her face, as if he were seeing it for the first time. She wondered what he saw. If he could tell how conflicted she felt.

      “You want to get out of here?” he asked.

      “And go where?”

      He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

      He was right, it didn’t matter. As long as she was anywhere but here, torturing herself.

      She couldn’t run from the past any longer, and she couldn’t change the fact that her life was in total chaos. But this was a vacation, darn it.

      She would worry about fixing this mess after the wedding. Tonight, she just wanted to forget.

      Twelve

      It can be very tempting, particularly on lonely nights, to look up your ex. But the more you fall back on your old ways, the harder it will be to truly move on.

      —excerpt from The Modern Woman’s Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)

      It began as a walk on the beach. The air was warm and a full moon hung low in the sky, lighting their way. They didn’t say much. Just strolled quietly side by side. Then Dillon suggested they walk to the village for a drink, and alcohol in any form sounded pretty good to her.

      When they got there they found themselves in the middle of a Mexican carnival. Colorful lanterns and twinkling lights lined the street, and the air was scented with a mouthwatering combination of sugar and spicy fried food.

      They snacked on authentic Mexican treats, drank salty margaritas and danced to a live salsa band. The evening was a blur of bodies, bumping and grinding, laughter and fun. Ivy couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt more relaxed and…alive. Hadn’t it always been that way with Dillon? The man excelled at having a good time.

      It was well after midnight when they headed back to the villa. They were halfway there before she realized Dillon was holding her hand. She’d obviously been impaired by the alcohol, because she liked the way it felt. She didn’t pull away. Not even when they went inside. If someone saw them that way, they could get the wrong idea. Or may be it was the right idea. Either way it could get very messy and complicated for both of them. But mostly for her.

      It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right that after everything they had been through, after all the pain he’d caused her, Ivy still wanted him this much. Of all the possible men in the world, why did it have to be him? Why did he have to be the one?

      It was dark and still in the villa. Probably everyone else was already in bed. As he walked her up the stairs, disappointment began to tug at her insides.

      She didn’t want this night to end. She wanted to make this last, to feel happy just a little while longer. She didn’t want to fall asleep and wake knowing that it wouldn’t happen again.

      She wanted to invite him into her room. She wanted him naked in her bed. One last time before they said goodbye forever.

      That was a terrible idea. She should be trying to figure things out, not make them worse. And being caught sleeping with her ex would definitely make things worse.

      Ivy would never hear the end of it from her mother. There was nothing she loved more than reminding Ivy of the mistakes she’d made, and finding new ones to nag her about.

      So the decision that suited her best interest was to say good-night and go to sleep.

      When they reached her bedroom door, she turned to him. To tell him she’d had a good time, and she was glad they could part from this vacation on better terms. Heck, may be they could even be friends. But before she knew what was happening, Dillon was kissing her. And even worse, she was kissing him back. Not just your run-of-the-mill making out, either. They were ravaging each other, as if they were battling over who wanted it more.

      His mouth still on hers, he backed her into the room and shut the door. She couldn’t comprehend much over the moans and breathless sounds she had begun making, but she was pretty sure she heard the lock turn. Then Dillon was walking her backward. She wasn’t sure where until the backs of her thighs collided with the mattress.

      She was vaguely aware that she was pulling at his clothes. She wanted skin. Didn’t matter where. Just something to put her hands on. She needed to put her hands on him.

      Before she could get his shirt pulled from the waist of his slacks, she was on her back lying sideways across the bed, her calves dangling over the edge. And she couldn’t touch Dillon because he had her wrists pinned over her head with one of his hands.

      Then he was kissing her, pushing her clothes out of the way so he had more area to explore. More to touch. Her stomach, her rib cage, and…oh! Her breasts. First through her bra, then he pushed that out of the way, too. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was thinking how small she was there, how he must have had much better, much bigger. Then she felt his mouth, hot and wet, and as long as he kept touching her, just like that, she didn’t care what size they were.

      She felt his hand on her thigh and the sensation was so foreign to her, so exquisitely intense, she gasped and jerked with surprise.

      Dillon stopped what he was doing and looked at her, his lids heavy. “Do you want me to stop?”

      Oddly enough, his asking was even worse than if he were to ravage her without her permission. If she didn’t take this opportunity to stop him, she would only have herself to blame. And at the same time, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking it would be worth every bit of grief it caused her.

      “Yes or no?” he asked, his eyes dark and intense. And she had no doubt that if she told him no, he would stop. No questions asked.

      “Don’t stop.”

      A hungry smile curled his mouth and the hand on her thigh began