Hard To Handle. Jamie Denton Ann

      She dug her nails into her palms as the server finally approached. “There’s a twenty in it for you if you’re back in less than five minutes,” she told him, placing an order for another two glasses of soda and another round for Lauren and Rory.

      Opening her black silk evening bag, she pulled out her car keys and set them in front of Rory for safekeeping. “Just in case,” she said tightly. “It’s one of those days.”

      Rory’s expression instantly filled with concern, but Mikki shook her head, signaling she didn’t want to discuss the war going on inside her. She’d get through this, just as she always did. One second at a time if necessary. Ridding herself of her car keys was merely a precaution.

      Contrition clouded Lauren’s eyes. Reaching across the table, she gave Mikki’s hand a light squeeze. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

      She looked at Lauren and tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but could only manage a slight grimace. “Forget about it,” she said with as much sincerity as she could muster. “I already have.”

      A lie. A big fat one, but she wasn’t about to hurt Lauren’s feelings further or cause either of her sisters more worry. Mikki’s ghosts were her problem.

      She knew they were only concerned about her, and with good reason, but she wasn’t about to blow all her hard work because of a silly reminder that she’d willingly chucked her own glass slipper out the window. She’d made her choices and, for the most part, was perfectly content with her life. She had a job she loved, a small but close circle of friends and her odd, mismatched family. If she needed a man, she found one to ease her frustration. On those occasions between lovers, she took care of her needs the way any woman with a healthy sex drive did—by making sure there were plenty of batteries on hand.

      The server returned in record time. As Mikki paid him and included the bonus she’d promised, Rory said something she didn’t quite catch, but the urgency in her voice had Mikki looking up to follow her sister’s gaze.

      There wasn’t enough alcohol in Clementine’s to numb her. Not when she found herself gazing at a pair of familiar dark brown bedroom eyes she’d never been able to forget, no matter how many vices she abused to banish them from her mind.

      The buzz of conversation, the raucous beat of the music and the colorful changing lights from the dance floor faded. Rory’s hand settled on her arm, but Mikki took no comfort from the supportive gesture as she returned the stare of the one man she’d hoped to never see again—Nolan Baylor.

      Her heart gave a sudden traitorous lurch. Damn.

      The passage of time had been good to him. His shoulders seemed wider than she remembered and his biceps, emphasized by the snug fit of the sleeves of the dark, charcoal-gray polo shirt he wore, were definitely thicker. His waist appeared leaner, too, but he still possessed the same rugged good looks she’d always preferred.

      A slow, sinful smile tipped his mouth. The lines of his face were more angular now, too, she realized. Sharper. Harder. Just like the challenging glint in his eyes.

      Every step that brought him closer filled her with tension.

      His smile deepened.

      A flash of silver caught the light. Apprehension slid down her spine, chilling her. Dangling from her ex-husband’s long, tanned fingers was a small white-gold key.

      2

      MIKKI WAS EVEN MORE beautiful than Nolan remembered. Seeing her again had him recalling plenty, too. Not just how incredibly sexy she looked in that skimpy black dress clinging to her voluptuous curves, but the passion and how they’d never been able to get enough of each other. The laughter, the good times and, unfortunately, the arguments and mistakes made by two people who’d been too young and headstrong were equally prominent.

      Mikki always did have a short fuse. One look reminded him of just how volatile she could be as her shock segued into apprehension, followed by a distinct flare of hot temper evident in those sapphire-blue eyes that defied her heritage.

      “What the hell are you doing here?”

      Not the greeting he’d hoped for, yet no less than he’d expected, or even deserved, for that matter. “Nice to see you again, too, Mikki,” he said, tucking the key into his pocket.

      “The name is Michaela,” she said with an unmistakable chill. “Only people I care about call me Mikki.”

      A smarter man than he would’ve taken her icy retort as a signal to keep his distance. God knew they could be poison to each other, but that hadn’t ever kept them apart for long in the past. Probably because the makeup sex had always been phenomenal. Besides, when it came to the onyx-haired, curvaceous spitfire with contempt in her eyes as she stared at him, he never had been all that bright.

      “Is that any way to greet an old…” He intentionally left her hanging. Behind him, his oldest friend, Tucker Schulz, muttered something about a death wish. “…Friend?”

      Mikki shifted nervously on her stool, then issued a short, derisive bark of laughter. Her hand trembled as she reached blindly for her drink. The contents sloshed close to the rim and she shot him another frosty glare. “That isn’t the term I’d use.”

      He chuckled. “No, I don’t imagine you would.” Any one of the choice phrases she’d occasionally hurled at him whenever he’d riled her hot Sicilian and fiery Irish blood were no doubt already hovering on her tongue.

      Before the night ended, he thought, she’d have more than enough opportunity.

      After the way they’d parted, with her calling him a selfish, egotistical bastard and him responding with equally hateful words he wasn’t exactly proud of, he hadn’t expected her to welcome him back to San Francisco with open arms. If she was this ticked off at just seeing him, she’d rupture something vital when she learned he’d moved back for good. And that was only the beginning.

      He’d anticipated her anger, but he sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for the stirring of his blood. An unfortunate miscalculation on his part, he decided, because he really should have been prepared for nothing less. He might be older, but he’d just been handed proof he hadn’t gained an ounce of wisdom where Mikki was concerned.

      The passion between them had always been white-hot and explosive, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough to keep them together. He understood now their relationship had been built on sexual attraction, which hadn’t prepared either of them for the day-to-day struggles of marriage, let alone coping with the problems that eventually led to their divorce.

      “You remember Tuck,” he said, needing a diversion. He stepped aside in hopes of allowing his libido a chance to cool. Not that he actually believed it possible now that he was within touching distance of her again. She was the kind of woman that dug under a man’s skin. And stayed there.

      “Oh, my God. Tuck.” A genuine smile softened her expression as she came off the bar stool and moved right past him to greet Tucker with a warm hug. “It’s been such a long time,” she said, stepping back. “You’re looking yummy. What have you been doing with yourself?”

      “As little as possible.” Tucker gave her an appreciative once-over. “Since you and Nolan split, he’s taken to working hard enough for both of us.”

      She made no comment, not that Nolan expected her to. Slipping her arm through Tuck’s, she steered him toward the table. “I don’t think you’ve ever met my sisters. Rory Constable,” she said, indicating a woman Nolan hardly recognized. Mikki’s older sister had matured into an elegant, Rubenesque beauty. The Rory he remembered had been a friendly frump in granny glasses and long hair, a golden retriever following on the heels of her Birkenstock sandals.

      “And this is Lauren Massey.” She looked to her sisters. “Tucker Schulz. He and Nolan have been friends for…” She smiled at Tucker, studiously ignoring Nolan.

      “More years than I care to keep