Star-Crossed Scandal. Kimberley Troutte

tried to play it straight, but her full lips seemed to want to turn up of their own accord. He liked the dimples in her cheeks. They reminded him of sideways smiles, and he had the urge to caress one of them with the back of his hand.

      She blinked, clearly flustered. “A flicker, sure, but I want you to trust that I’ll be...”

      “Professional?” he finished for her.

      “Yes.” Her voice cracked. The way her gaze locked on to his told him she was into him, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

      He noticed they’d stopped in front of a door. “Is this my room?”

      “Yes.” She took a key ring out of her pocket, unlocked a door and held it for him to step inside. “Mine is just down the hall. Let me know if there is anything you need.”

      When he passed her, he inhaled the coconut scent of her shampoo. Did she taste as good as she smelled?

      She licked her bottom lip as if she’d heard his thoughts.

      The suite had a large sitting room, wet bar, overstuffed leather couch, full-size desk and large patio.

      “There is something I need,” he said circling back to her.

      He could hear her swallow. “Name it.”

      Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms. “A date for dinner tonight. Will you be mine?”

      Her breath came out in a rush. “Me?”

      He was thoroughly intrigued by the blush traveling up her neck. What was she thinking? Whatever it was, he liked it. He usually avoided starstruck fans, but she was too tempting for his usual caution.

      “Yes, gata, you.”

      She blinked. “Did you call me a cat?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

      “Gata is a term of endearment in Brazil. Gatinha, as well, which means kitty. Would you prefer I say sexy?”

      “Gata,” she tried the word on for size. “I like it.”

      Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Pure heat flashed between them.

      He wanted to kiss her. Tasting a stranger was nothing new for him. Women still threw themselves at him. Wild hookups came with the territory as a musician. As a producer, he still had his pick of women, though he was careful not to mix business with pleasure. He enjoyed sex. But as he’d gotten older, he started to think he was missing something—a real life with deep, loving relationships.

      But he wasn’t the picket fence, loving wife and two kids in the yard kind of a guy. He’d left Hollywood for Plunder Cove because of the show and because he had a rather public breakup with a supermodel. It was better for him to stick with short-and-sweet-while-it-lasted flings. A pretty blonde fan might be exactly what he needed right now.

      “Seven o’clock?” he pressed.

      Her lips parted but no words came out. Some emotion he couldn’t read passed over her face. Worry? Sadness?

      Droga. Was she going to decline?

      “Say yes, Chloe.”

      “Nicolas, there’s something I should tell you...” she began in a tone that did not bode well for him.

      His phone rang. “Merda,” he cursed. “Sorry. Give me a moment to take this.”

      To his disappointment, Chloe used the phone distraction as her chance to walk away from him. For some reason, that hurt.

      Just before his door closed, she said the word he desperately needed to hear.

      “Yes.”

       Two

      Contrary to what he’d led his daughter to believe, RW was not going to stay curled up in a dark room all day.

      His chest hurt and the pain behind his eyeballs was excruciating, but he wasn’t staying in bed. Not today. He waited until Chloe went down to greet their guest before sneaking out the back to take care of business.

      His daughter had a job to do and so did he.

      Even if his children didn’t know it.

      Shielding his eyes from the California sunshine, he strode across the patio and took a seat across from the first woman he’d ever loved—Claire Harper. It had been ten years since she’d walked out on him, taking their daughter with her. She’d arrived back in Plunder Cove for Jeffrey’s wedding two months ago, and for some damned reason she was still here. He’d invited her for a late lunch today to get to the bottom of what she wanted.

      “Claire, you do not age,” he said.

      She smiled at the compliment, but the fine lines around her eyes and lips hardly creased. Her forehead was smoother than he remembered. Ah, so that’s where some of the millions he’d sent her had gone.

      A flash of Angel, the woman he loved now, entered his mind. He preferred a real lady who came with wrinkles and flaws. A woman who could accept his flaws, as well.

      Dealing with Claire was the first step in bringing Angel back to him.

      “And you seem—” she studied him “—healthy.”

      He wasn’t. Not yet. Still, he was much better than he’d been when he had lived with Claire.

      “I’m impressed with this place. Our son did all this?” Claire motioned to the restaurant.

      Where they sat under the eaves, it was easy to see that the amazing wood-and-glass structure resembled a pirate ship. It was an architectural masterpiece that was sure to grace the pages of magazines for years to come.

      “That boy has come alive with this resort and restaurant project. I’m so proud of him.”

      A waiter arrived carrying one plate of pasta that he sat down in front of Claire.

      “I went ahead and ordered my lunch. Wasn’t sure you’d show,” Claire said.

      “I’m here, Claire. This is my home.”

      The waiter nervously stood by him. “Sorry to interrupt. Would you like anything, Mr. Harper?”

      “Just a glass of water. Thanks.”

      The waiter quickly walked away.

      “Water? Not bourbon and Wagyu steak?” Claire wound the fettuccine carbonara around her spoon and took a bite. As she chewed, her face tried to screw up into her old expression of disgust, but her forehead refused to budge. “The sauce is horrid.”

      “Impossible. Our chef is acknowledged as a top chef on both coasts.”

      Tentatively, she licked the sauce on her spoon. “It’s spoiled!” She scrubbed her cloth napkin over her tongue.

      A satisfied smile crept over his lips, for he knew what Michele had done. God, he loved his daughter-in-law. “I wouldn’t eat the rest of that.”

      Claire swigged her pinot to cleanse her palate only to find a tiny bandage at the bottom of the glass. The look of horror on her face made his entire year.

      RW threw his head back and roared with laughter. For the first time in...hell, he couldn’t remember when...tears of laughter streamed down his face.

      Indignantly, Claire stood. “It’s not funny. Do you see what’s in my glass? The health department will shut Jeffrey’s restaurant down for this sort of negligence. I’m going to have a talk with the chef.”

      “Sit down,” he ordered, wiping his eyes. “The chef is Jeffrey’s wife.”

      She sat slowly. “My daughter-in-law did this to me? Why?”

      RW shrugged. “She heard about the time you locked