CHAPTER TWO

That night

C HARLEY TOOK AN unsteady breath as she stepped out of the taxi onto the torchlit lawn of the staggering stone-and-glass mansion on the Tiburon Peninsula.

Built on an extensive piece of untouched land in Marin County, the Broussards’ home had spectacular views. The lack of any nearby developments afforded the guests, as they walked to the dramatic arched entrance, a panoramic vista which included Angel Island, the Golden Gate and Bay Bridges, and San Francisco’s towering skyline across the water.

Charley was no stranger to luxury living, or the parties of the rich and famous. After all, she’d once been one of their number, in her own backhanded fashion. But she’d learned the hard way to hate that life—the wild parties, the endless hotel rooms, the long workdays and even longer play nights which had eventually become a blur of overindulgence, anxiety, and exhaustion, sucking up all of her adolescence.

She lived frugally now, in a flat in London’s up-and-coming East End bought from her earnings as a model—her new life funded by the trickle of revenue from the growing cache of exclusive clients she had managed to impress with her innovative and eclectic dress designs.

Her passion for fashion was one of the few upsides of her short-lived career as a teenage catwalk model, which had mostly just exposed the ugly grit behind the glamour of the industry. But after three years at fashion college in London, learning her craft as a bespoke designer, and an end-of-year show which had piqued the interest of Cassandra Broussard—enough for the tech billionaire’s influential wife to become her first buyer—she was now set to finally make a success of her life...on her own terms.

So when Cassandra’s email had dropped into her in-box, inviting her, oh-so-casually, to one of the most sought-after and exclusive social events of the summer on America’s West Coast, she’d maxed out her credit card to buy an economy class ticket to San Francisco International—and spent every spare evening in the meantime sewing by hand the cocktail dress she was currently wearing—without a single hesitation.

All she needed to do now was model the design at the Broussards’ party, without making it too obvious she was touting for business...

Cassandra had handed her a golden opportunity to showcase her signature design style with the exclusive Silicon Valley crowd who were Charley’s dream clientele. Now, if she could just get a handle on the butterflies in her stomach, which had turned into dive-bombers on the flight across the Atlantic...

She brushed shaky palms down the bronze silk which stopped mid-thigh and tucked the matching purse under her arm, thinking momentarily about all the hours she had spent painstakingly sewing on the beading.

Look confident. And no one will know you’re terrified of doing this sober!

The ankle boots she’d chosen to go with the dress—because, for a garden party, heels were definitely out—clicked on the stone path in time with her rampaging heartbeat. She took a deep breath and offered the uniformed security guard a bright smile along with the QR code on her phone.

The man nodded after checking her ID, then handed her over to a young woman in a tailored suit—who beamed at her.

‘Miss Courtney, I’m Alex Burley, Mrs Broussard’s assistant. Luke and Cassie are delighted you could join them tonight. Would you like me to give you a tour of the estate, or do you want to go straight through to the party? There’s a lounge area by the pool, cocktails on the terrace, or the band, who have started a dance set in the garden.’

‘Brilliant, Alex, thanks,’ Charley said with a confidence she didn’t feel, but had learned how to fake years ago.

She needed to locate Cassie and say thanks to her personally for the invite, and the opportunity. But the sound of the music coming from below the house—a joyous if unfamiliar mix of R&B and rock ’n’ roll accompanied by some insane fiddles—was undeniably infectious.

‘Actually, I’d love to check out the band,’ she said, because she needed to loosen up before she started networking.

‘Good choice.’ Alex beamed some more, then led her around the house before excusing herself.

Charley walked down stone steps into the garden, enchanted by the informal surroundings—which had the vibe of a music festival rather than a posh society party.

Fairy lights adorned the arbour of trees and twinkled in the glimmer of twilight, framing the view across San Francisco Bay and making it magical as well as breathtaking. The fast-paced fiddles had been joined by an accordion on the stage, and the dulcet tones of a singer—whose throaty French patois seemed to sink into Charley’s soul—had her heels tapping of their own accord.

But what enchanted Charley more was how unselfconscious everyone seemed. As if they were enjoying the chance to let off steam, rather than trying to be seen.

The throng of guests chatted and laughed, drinking more beer than champagne, while a huge hog roast was being served on the level above the stage. The dance floor had been laid out under the stars, and was packed with people young and old, some famous, most not, wearing everything from jeans and T- shirts to boho dresses and designer couture as they twirled and boogied in a couples’ dance.

In the centre of the mêlée were Luke and Cassandra Broussard.

Charley’s pulse kicked against her throat, and she felt weightless for a moment—which had to be her excitement at the stellar business opportunity tonight’s event presented, and not the romantic sight of the Broussards dancing together in joyous unison, as if they were completely alone.

She didn’t believe in love. Her own parents’ marriage—from the little she could remember of it—had been a disaster. And her brother, Adam, had never managed to hold down a serious relationship as far as she knew.

But even so, Charley found herself spellbound.

Cassandra Broussard was a brilliant businesswoman who was warm and kind, and also impossibly serene and sophisticated. But tonight, wearing a summer dress which floated around her body as her husband launched her into a twirl, she looked incandescent. When she threw back her head and laughed at something her husband had whispered in her ear, Charley had the weirdest urge to believe what the Broussards shared was real and would last, when Charley had never had such a cheesy thought in her entire life.

Not even as a little girl.

Especially as a little girl. The vague memory of her mother’s broken sobbing and her father’s brutal criticisms soured the happy glow.

‘Hello, Charlotte. Why aren’t you on the dance floor?’

The low, husky voice at her earlobe had Charley swinging round to find a fierce blue gaze she recognised locked on her.

‘Or better yet, on one of the tables,’ he added, his Southern drawl edged with amusement.

Sensation streaked through her, burning away the last of the romantic glow.

‘Cade Landry, what an unpleasant surprise,’ she murmured, then wanted to kick herself when the rich sapphire of his irises twinkled like the damn fairy lights.

Fabulous! The man had caught her totally off guard, or she never would have admitted she remembered him or that brutal humiliation from four years ago.

She swallowed, trying to stifle the unwelcome sensations already making the hair on her neck tingle with awareness.

She’d been eighteen and seriously messed up back then, or she never would have thrown herself at him and exposed herself to his ridicule. She was twenty-two now and had left that miserable phase of her life behind—weirdly enough as a direct result of his brutal rejection, which had finally made her confront how far out of control her life had become and how vulnerable she had made herself to men like him. But she would rather die than admit to him that his cruel slap down had helped turn her life around. Because she doubted he’d care. Plus, she had stopped looking for approval in all the wrong places... Especially from overbearing billionaires like Cade Landry, who—from the amused, indulgent expression on his handsome face—still had an ego the size of Las Vegas and the rough-hewn, rugged muscles to match...

Rough-hewn...rugged...? What the heck?

What was she doing noticing the defined contours of his chest through the tight white T-shirt, and his long legs and lean waist displayed to perfection in worn jeans?

She didn’t do needy and desperate any more. And she didn’t get turned on by anyone—however fit they might be—because in her limited experience, sex was about as much fun as a root canal.

So stop checking out his pecs, then.

‘How about you dance with me and we test that theory?’ he said, with an audacity she should have expected from a player like him.

She’d read all about Landry and her brother, Adam, and Adam’s mate Zane deMarco, and their giddy dating shenanigans in an article on the plane...which would have been funny if it hadn’t been illustrated with so many candid photos of the man in front of her with a host of different women on his arm. Beautiful, smart, stunning, sophisticated women...

Making her far too aware of how swiftly he’d slapped down her clumsy attempts to seduce him, once upon a time. Okay, she’d been off the rails and screwed-up, but he hadn’t needed to be so cruel.

‘What theory would that be?’ she asked, annoyed by the adrenaline spike at the sparkle in his eyes.

‘The theory that you and I can’t be friends now, Charlotte,’ he said.

‘ Friends? Really? You think we can be friends? Have you forgotten how you kicked me out of your place four years ago? Because—FYI—I haven’t.’ Good grief, did he really think she wanted to give him an opportunity to slap her down all over again? She might be a lot more resilient now, a lot more aware of her own worth, but she wasn’t a masochist, or an idiot.

But then his gruff chuckle at her snarky response made her heartbeat accelerate. Disconcerting her.

‘Sure, why not? Aren’t you a woman now, Charlotte, instead of a kid?’ he said, the provocative question entirely deliberate. Was he coming on to her?

She should be insulted, but she wasn’t... quite . Which was even more disconcerting... But then, Cade Landry was an exceptionally hot guy—and unfortunately, he knew it.

‘Actually, I was a woman back then,’ she said, because she owed it to that wayward girl to defend her. ‘You just didn’t have the guts to handle me.’

His eyebrows launched up his forehead. And she congratulated herself on the direct hit. But then his lips curved, and his hot gaze roamed over her. Not with disdain this time, but with approval, which was a great deal more disturbing.

Her sex clenched and released, just as it had four years ago, a response she’d never felt for any other man.

Oh... Hell. Seriously?

‘Sounds to me like you’ve held a grudge for four years because I wouldn’t kiss you,’ he said.

‘Sounds to me like your ego is still the size of Pluto,’ she shot straight back, refusing to confirm or deny. Maybe she had been devastated at the time—disproportionate to his actual crimes—because she’d been so vulnerable then, behind the bad girl pose. But he’d still been an overbearing humourless arse, so there was that.

‘Touché, Charlotte,’ he said, the teasing tone tempting now, rather than judgey. ‘How about I say sorry for being so blunt last time we met...and we start over.’

It wasn’t much of an apology, but somehow, it helped to ease her anxiety at seeing him again, and being reminded of that awful encounter in Vegas.

He held out his hand. ‘Dance with me...’ he asked again, the glow in those searing sapphire eyes hot enough to thaw the polar ice cap.

The urge to accept his invitation—simply to rewrite that chapter in her misspent youth, she told herself staunchly—had the anxiety downgrading even more...

But then the band dived into another fast-paced song. The couples on the floor whirled around, their intricate steps a dance Charley had never seen before—and knew she couldn’t pull off without making a fool of herself.

She’d once loved dancing, on tables especially, but sobriety had made her less of an extrovert. And she didn’t want to end up on her backside wearing her signature dress. Especially not in front of Mr Ego-the-Size-of-Pluto.

‘Of course, I would totally take you up on your generous offer,’ she lied without a qualm. ‘But I’m not sure I should help you get one up on my brother so soon in the One Date Wonder stakes.’

He winced. ‘Is there anyone who has not read that damn article?’

She chuckled, surprised to have found a chink in his armour without even trying. ‘You aren’t flattered?’

She’d always assumed guys like him loved to flaunt their playboy image.

Her father had cheated on her mother with impunity and made no attempt to hide it. After her mother’s death, his sordid sex life had even threatened to bring down the family business. But it had taken years for him to be held to account. Cade Landry, on the other hand, looked genuinely uncomfortable.

‘Flattered? At having my dating history ridiculed for clickbait?’ he scoffed. ‘No. Would you be?’

‘Of course not,’ she replied. ‘But the standards are different for women. Especially...’ She raised her fingers to do air quotes. ‘An “off the rails kid with an attitude problem”.’ She placed her hand on her hip. ‘And, if I recall correctly, you judged me accordingly when you met me.’

‘Charlotte, you were drunk, underage, and shaking your booty on a table at two a.m. when I met you. So you weren’t doing a whole heck of a lot to challenge that assumption.’

‘I wasn’t drunk,’ she said in her defence.

Because I remember every single detail of that encounter with far too much clarity .

‘But getting back to you...’ she continued, because Cade Landry did not need to know how often she’d thought about him. Or that his brutal dismissal of her charms back then had been the wake-up call she’d needed to stop making a spectacle of herself and confirming everyone’s low expectations. The man’s ego was enormous enough. ‘You’re not doing a whole heck of a lot to challenge that article by asking me to dance when you were photographed with Jenna Carmody two nights ago at the Met.’

She thought she had him bang to rights. But instead of looking chastened, his sensual smile returned—which only made him look more delicious. The rat.

‘Have you been keeping tabs on me, Charlotte?’ he asked, with the same arrogance she remembered. But why did his attitude towards her feel exhilarating now, rather than critical?

‘I don’t need to keep tabs on you...’ she fired back. ‘Your dating history is kind of hard to miss.’

‘Fair point,’ he murmured. Before she could congratulate herself, though, he added, ‘Although Jenna and I aren’t dating. She’s in a long-term relationship, and she only came to the gala as my plus-one because her partner, Melanie, had the flu.’

‘I’m pretty sure that still qualifies as a date,’ Charley said, trying to maintain the argument, but oddly disarmed that he had bothered to explain the situation.

‘Not in all the ways that count,’ he said, his voice becoming a husky purr. His gaze took on that hot glow again, and his hand reappeared. ‘This dance, on the other hand, has a lot more potential...’

The seductive tone was back with a vengeance. She couldn’t deny the powerful urge to say yes any more. Forcing her to come clean.

‘I’d love to accept...’ She glanced at the dance floor, where the band had begun another high-tempo number. ‘But I can’t...’

‘Why the heck not?’

‘Because I’ve never danced like that. I don’t even know what kind of music they’re playing...even though I think it sounds fabulous.’

‘It’s Zydeco. Because Luke is a Cajun boy from the Bayou Teche.’ The devastating smile became a devastating grin. ‘You’ve really never danced the Cajun two-step?’

‘Nope,’ she said. ‘There aren’t a lot of Cajuns in Shoreditch,’ she added, which was where she lived in East London.

‘Then you’ve missed out.’ He beckoned her again with those long, strong fingers. ‘I can teach you to Zydeco. All you have to do is follow my lead...like a good girl.’

Four years ago, the provocative comment would have inflamed her rebellious nature, but now all it did was inflame her senses—the wicked glint in his eyes tempting her to share the joke rather than become the butt of it.

She suddenly had a vision of following Cade Landry’s lead in other ways.

The man was a bona fide player, but he was currently unattached, and into her. And she’d once wanted him desperately. She’d never envisioned wanting him again—not after that brutal rejection—but the liquid pull in her abdomen was impossible to ignore as he waited for her to take the bait...or chicken out. Maybe dancing with him now could be a reward for making the changes to become, if not a good girl, then at least much more together now than she had been that night in Vegas.

In the interest of full disclosure, she added, ‘I’m terrible at following anyone’s lead. And I’ve always found good girls remarkably dull.’

He laughed, the rich sound making the heat in her abdomen throb. Then he captured her fingers, his warm skin rough against hers as he tugged her towards him.

‘That sounds like a challenge I can’t resist,’ he said as he lifted her hand and buzzed a kiss across her palm.

The jolt of heat arrowed down. The intense gaze was something she recognised from long ago, but it wasn’t cold this time. It was scorching her skin in the most delicious way possible.

‘Okay. I’ll dance with you.’ She grinned, feeling daring for the first time in a long time. ‘But be warned, you might lose a few of your toes.’

‘I’ve always figured toes are like good girls...’ he declared as he led her onto the moonlit dance floor. ‘Overrated.’

‘It’s just an easy two-step, but with more of a booty sway...’ Cade clasped Charlotte’s left hand and placed his free hand on her waist to direct her movements. ‘But let’s not get too fancy right off.’

‘Yes, let’s definitely not do that!’ she remarked, her face a picture of concentration as he showed her the forward and backward steps, and helped her to roll her hips in time with the music. ‘I do not want to fall on my arse in this dress,’ she added.

He laughed, the comment as infectious as the scent of her—sultry and fresh—on the night air. And the feel of her in his arms.

‘And it’s such a nice arse,’ he offered, using the British word.

He’d been determined to avoid Charlotte Courtney if she showed up at Luke’s party. He had important business tonight if he was going to secure a summer date to win the bet.

But the second he’d laid eyes on her, strolling into the garden wearing a wisp of a dress which hugged her slender curves, the rush of adrenaline had been followed by a heady shot of desire. And all the reasons why he shouldn’t approach her and shouldn’t pander to his curiosity about her had flown right out of his head and drifted away on the warm sea breeze.

After their ten-minute conversation, he’d made the welcome discovery the fragile, lawless girl had become a stunning, strong and forthright woman—her brittle edges replaced by a refreshing sass.

She moved with the same easy rhythm he remembered from when she’d danced on that table, but she seemed more circumspect now—which only charmed him more.

The band launched into an old Cajun classic, full of rhythm and swing—the fiddles joined by bass guitar and the whine of a harmonica. The dance floor was packed, and the slower tempo allowed him to hold her closer. But as the familiar musical lilts flowed through him, she tensed.

‘Relax, Charlotte. Ain’t nobody grading you, I swear.’

Her gaze, which had been locked on her feet, met his. He found himself drowning in that bright green gaze, her lips a feast he wanted to taste so badly his mouth watered. Ironic, given that when she’d offered them to him four years ago, he’d been appalled.

She grinned. ‘Easy for you to say.’ But she softened enough to brush against him in a sensuous rhythm, which could get awkward fast.

He lifted her arm and stepped back. ‘Go for it,’ he murmured, and she took the hint.

Her ripple of laughter as she spun round under his arm was almost as intoxicating as the breathless excitement on her face when she landed the turn and slapped her palm against his chest to regain her balance.

He launched her into another twirl.

‘Enough!’ she chuckled as she fell back into his arms.

Damn, but she was delicious, and a remarkably fast learner.

He imagined a host of other things he would love to teach her...

Whoa, boy. Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.

He needed to find the perfect summer date, and Charlotte would always be an unknown quantity. Plus she was based in the UK, so however attracted he was right now, she wasn’t likely to be the woman who could help him win Helberg. But who said he had to find his date tonight? Why not just enjoy himself—and satisfy his curiosity once and for all?

He clasped her waist, anchoring her hips, as the band dived into another tune. Their easy moves became more potent, more passionate, a dance of ecstasy and joy. The swift streak of heat and excitement felt familiar and yet entirely new as they moved to the beat—and she lost her inhibitions, becoming bolder and brighter and more dazzling.

When was the last time he’d danced the Zydeco? And taken the time to relax and enjoy himself with a woman who fascinated him? He picked up the pace, captivated when she followed his lead effortlessly, and added some booty shakes that had his senses reeling as fast at the fiddles.

The soft, silky dress and the firm, toned flesh beneath moved against his palm as they pressed closer, the dance floor filling, the heat rising.

Time faded as the night flew past in a haze of sensation.

By the time they’d danced for almost an hour, they were both breathing hard, covered in a light sweat in the muggy night. The press of the other bodies, the scent of burning pork and salt on the sea air was underlaid with the sultry perfume of flowers and female sweat.

She laughed up at him. ‘This is so fun!’ she said, her excitement clear and uninhibited. ‘But I can’t believe I haven’t crippled you.’

‘You’re a natural,’ he said, tugging her back towards him. Her palm flattened against his chest as the band’s set moved into a slow dance. He settled his hand on her hip to hold her close. She didn’t protest.

Her body pressed so intimately against his made the heat pound. Her eyes widened. Was she aware of the reaction he couldn’t control? Her lips parted, reminding him of their meeting four years ago, except that this time, they were irresistible.

But as the last note died, and the band announced they were taking a break, she stepped away from him.

He knew they probably ought to cool off, him especially, but he heard himself ask, ‘How about some hog roast?’

He waited patiently for her answer, while not feeling patient at all. Something had happened on the dance floor, something vivid and potent—and mutual. She’d captivated him, that much was obvious, but he needed time to think before he acted on this attraction. And considered all the angles. Even so, he knew he wasn’t ready to let her go.

Her face glowed from their recent exertion, but her expression became wary.

‘I should start networking,’ she said with a candour he had not expected. ‘To justify the exorbitant cost of my airfare.’

‘Is this about your designer brand?’

‘You know about that?’ Her face flushed with pleasure, and he realised her business couldn’t be the vanity project he’d assumed it was when Luke had mentioned it.

‘Luke told me you made a dress for his wife, and she loved it.’

Her face glowed. ‘Yes, I did. I’m so pleased he told you that. Cassandra Broussard has been wonderful. I’m sure she only invited me tonight because she knew how much it could boost my business...’

‘How so?’ he asked, genuinely intrigued.

He wished now he’d taken the time to check her out on the internet—something he’d avoided to convince himself he wasn’t that interested in her.

‘I’m modelling one of my own designs,’ she said, giving him an impromptu twirl, and filling his senses with another lungful of her intoxicating scent. ‘What do you think?’

‘Stunning,’ he said. Although he couldn’t help thinking while the dress was pretty enough, the woman inside was the real stunner.

Her grin widened. ‘You see, that’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for. But I need to get myself in front of all the potential clients here—who would be mostly female—and wow them with this dress, so they want to commission me,’ she added breathlessly. Then she chewed her lip. ‘Although...’ She glanced around as people filed past them, heading for the dining tables set up by the treeline or the terraces above. ‘I really did not expect anything like this.’

‘Like what?’ he asked, enchanted by the flush on her cheeks and the fierce purpose in her eyes.

‘Something fun and not at all formal. It feels a bit rude now to start touting for business, even incidentally...’

He captured her hand. ‘How about we eat some burnt pig while you tell me who you want to target,’ he said. ‘I may not need a designer gown,’ he added. ‘But I know most of the women here. So I can introduce you around.’

‘Is that a good idea?’ she said, sounding doubtful. ‘I want to sell bespoke haute couture by Trouble Maker, not piss off all your former lovers.’

‘Hey.’ He choked out a gruff laugh. ‘First off, we’re not dating...’ Yet. ‘Second, I don’t sleep with every woman I date. And last but not least, I’m not so prolific that I know every woman in the Bay Area in a biblical sense. You shouldn’t believe everything you read.’

‘Duly noted.’ She looked suitably chastened, but then she smiled. ‘You really don’t mind introducing me around?’

‘Of course not. I’m happy to boost your business any way I can,’ he said, surprising himself. Truth was, he wasn’t usually a sociable guy, and he never networked at parties. But he was more than happy to help her out, if it meant having her by his side for the rest of the night and keeping that flush of pleasure on her face.

‘Well...’ She chewed her bottom lip some more. ‘That’s actually an offer I’m not sure I can afford to refuse...business-wise.’

‘Then don’t... But let’s start with the offer of burnt pig,’ he said.

‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘I’m starving.’

He chuckled at her enthusiastic response, her smoky voice arrowing straight into his groin.

‘Cool.’ He patted his belly, enjoying the way her gaze tracked down his torso. ‘The dancing has made me ravenous, too.’

Although it occurred to him that roast pork wasn’t going to satisfy the main reason he was ravenous right now—forcing him to reconsider his priorities again as he led her toward the barbecue pit.