Tempted. Kimberly Van Meter

board a singles cruise, so that implied she was interested in meeting up with people, he reasoned.

      Or maybe she’d been roped into this gig, same as Teagan, and just wanted to get through it.

      Guess there was only one way to find out.

      Hell, there was no harm in being friendly.

      Teagan smoothed his hair and then exited his room to knock on his neighbor’s door.

      She opened it with a subtle frown until she saw him. “Yes?” A slow quizzical smile followed, and he started stuttering like a jackass who’d never been around a female in his life.

      “Uh, so here’s the thing... I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. And...forgive me if I sound like a perv, but...is this by any chance a swingers cruise?”

      Way to lead with something nonthreatening, dude.

      Her smile faltered but she didn’t slam the door in his face—good sign—then answered, “No, it’s for singles. Why? Were you looking for a swingers cruise?”

      “No, not all!” Teagan smiled with relief. “Thank God. I’m not into that swapping business. I mean, no judgment for those who are, but I’m not the type who enjoys sharing.”

      “Good to know,” she said, mildly amused. “Was there anything else...?”

      Well, he was batting a thousand. Had he completely forgotten how to flirt?

      Apparently.

      The rust was practically grinding his gears. At one time, he’d been damn near the cat’s meow. Now he couldn’t even make simple conversation. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

      Time for some damage control.

      “My brother booked this cruise for me and I’m...sort of flying blind,” he said by way of apology.

      A spark of reluctant interest lit up her blue eyes. “Does your brother always book your vacations?”

      “Hell no. I don’t usually have time to vacation, but even if I did, I wouldn’t let J.T. take on that job. He and I have different ideas of what constitutes fun.”

      She crossed her arms lightly as if amused. “So why did your brother book you on a singles cruise?”

      “It’s not a story you want to hear standing in a hallway. It’s more of an over-dinner conversation,” he said with a grin. “Maybe with some wine, good food, excellent company.”

      “Oh, is that so?” she said, one eyebrow lifting. “And what makes it worth all that?”

      Teagan held up three fingers then said, “Three words—plane crash, corporate intrigue and danger.”

      “I see math is not your strong suit.”

      “I don’t know... I can count quite clearly how you plus me equals a cozy dinner for two. How about it? I know you want to hear this story.”

      She laughed. “No doubt you’re the hero in this tale.”

      “I don’t mean to brag, but I did my part.”

      “Let me guess, you’re a covert operative in the CIA and you were on a super secret international mission,” she teased, clearly not buying an ounce of his story. The irony was that his story was absolutely true. Although, he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Confidentiality and all that.

      “Sorry to disappoint, but not the CIA,” Teagan said with a half grin. “Just a private pilot with a charter who got lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.”

      “Where’d you learn to fly?”

      “The US Air Force.”

      “Hmm.”

      Usually that sentence prompted more interest. He wasn’t one to use his service to open doors or drop panties, but he was a bit surprised by her lack of reaction. “Got bad history with a flyboy?” Teagan asked.

      “No. Not at all. I just don’t like people lying about time in the service. Some things should be sacred.”

      Teagan lost his smile. She thought he was lying? That was a new one. He straightened, quick to set her mind at ease, because it didn’t sit right to be accused of doing something he abhorred. “You’re right,” he agreed, seeming to surprise her with his firm tone. “People who lie about serving their country are the lowest scum and I can assure you, there is no stolen valor here. I served my country willingly, as did my brother. Now we own a private charter plane business here in Los Angeles.”

      “What is your name?”

      “Teagan Carmichael. And yours?”

      Again that enigmatic smile but no reciprocal answer.

      “Not gonna share?” he asked, drinking in every bit of her. She was so pretty, looking at her nearly hurt his eyes. There was something so untouchable about her, like a queen gracing her people with a glance and a subtle wave. “Seems kinda the point of this trip, right? Getting to know people?”

      At that, she answered, “Harper Riley,” and he nearly crowed with happiness. He had a name!

      “Nice to meet you, Harper.”

      “Likewise, Teagan.”

      They were off to a decent start.

      “So...about that dinner...”

      But Harper wasn’t as charmed as Teagan had thought because she flat out turned him down.

      And then she closed the door firmly in his face.

      Well, hell, that was not a good sign at all.

      * * *

      HARPER CLOSED THE door with a frown.

      Why were the charming ones always broke as hell?

      His idea of a good time probably included a monster truck rally and convenience store hot dogs.

      Definitely not to her standard.

      But, he was certainly nice to look at.

      Damn, when was the last time she got to choose based on chemistry?

      Boohoo, life’s rough. Stop crying and start focusing.

      Stuart Buck was the real prize.

      Vulnerable, looking for someone to share his life with and hopefully old-fashioned when it came to prenups—as in he didn’t believe in them.

      Harper pulled her phone from her purse to refresh her mind with all the research she had archived on the old billionaire.

      His wife, Rachel, had been the quintessential silent partner, standing behind her man as he’d built his empire, smiling with adoration at the man who’d revolutionized the toilet industry.

      Props to you, Rachel, Harper thought with derision. I could never do that.

      Harper was more about the end game than the building game.

      And Stuart was nicely set up.

      He owned property in the Hamptons, a Manhattan apartment, a log cabin in Vail and, of course, his palatial mansion on Nob Hill in San Francisco, as well as his well-appointed beach house in Santa Barbara.

      An excited tingle tickled her stomach. She loved the thrill of the hunt, especially when the prize was fat and juicy like Stuart.

      Harper would do her best to help Stuart move on from the death of Perfect Wifey Number 1.

      Because life was for the living.

      And it wasn’t as if his wife was going to spend his millions.

      A small smile found her, but, in spite of her plans to go over her research, Harper’s thoughts drifted to her cute neighbor.

      She certainly knew that type. Teagan Carmichael was the kind of man her mother would’ve