The suggestion was so ludicrous Charlotte nearly spit out the wine she’d just sipped. “That’s insane.”
“Why? It could be a ton of fun.”
Fun? Returning to Paradise and seeing Nate again? Sleeping with him again? It sounded like a nightmare.
Except… The moment she thought about looking into his smoky-gray eyes again, her thighs clenched together. Just a bit.
Shit. No way would she consider this. So what if she hadn’t been able to find a man who turned her on as much as Nate had? So what if anger continued to roil inside her, even though fifteen years had passed since he’d uttered those nasty words to her?
“Okay, best plan ever,” Georgia suddenly burst out, her cheeks rosy red from all the alcohol.
Charlotte played along. “Let’s hear it.”
“You drive into town in a stretch limo, looking all gorgeous and sexy, which shouldn’t be hard since you are gorgeous and sexy. You let everyone fawn all over you, sign some autographs. Then you head to the reunion.” Georgia’s voice became more animated. “You find Nate, talk to him, convince him that you’re totally over what happened, you know, so long ago. And then…”
She had to ask. “And then what?”
“You seduce the crap out of the man!” Georgia declared. “Seriously, you rock his world. You show him how wild and desirable you are, make him pant after you, hell, get him to fall in love with you—and then bam! You dump him.”
“Uh-huh. And what if he’s married?” The thought brought a lump of bitterness to her throat. If Nate was married, while she was still single and battling the insecurities he’d placed inside her, then she would totally freak.
“He’s not.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows rose. “How do you know that?”
“I Googled him after you told me about the Russ thing.” Georgia shrugged, but had the decency to look contrite. “Apparently his brother Austin is big in photography circles, and there were a bunch of articles about him. One article mentioned that all four Bishop brothers are single. So as of last year, your man’s single.”
“He’s not my man.” She twisted her lips in a scowl. “He never was.”
“Well, make him yours now.” Georgia beamed. “And then yank the rug out from under him.”
If a healthy dose of alcohol hadn’t been pulsing in her bloodstream, Charlotte would have never even considered Georgia’s juvenile idea. She was Charlotte Hill, for Pete’s sake. She was a rich, successful recording artist. She was about to embark on a ten-city East Coast tour. She didn’t need Nate Bishop or the town of Paradise. And she didn’t care what Nate or anyone else in that awful town thought of her.
So why was her heart pounding at the notion of seeing Nate? At the thought of showing him that everything he’d said to her, everything he’d thought about her was a load of crap?
“I need to get him out of my system once and for all,” she murmured.
Georgia grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Reaching for her glass, Charlotte took a long swallow. “And I won’t be able to move on until I get some closure.”
And ridiculous as it had sounded at first, Georgia’s plan solved both of those problems. If she slept with Nate, she could finally convince herself that the sex she still dreamed about hadn’t been all that good to begin with. She’d see that Nate Bishop was nothing special and finally get him out of her system. And this time, she’d give him her own break-up speech, put him in his place, and finally have her say when fifteen years ago she’d been too shocked and mortified to say anything at all.
She could feel her hesitation crumbling as the scheme came to life in her mind. She’d go back to Paradise, wow everyone in the damn place, seduce Nate Bishop—maybe she would make him fall in love with her—and then she’d break it off. Give him a piece of her mind, a taste of his own medicine, and finally be rid of Nate and Paradise forever.
And if she broke his heart in the process…well, who said revenge and closure were mutually exclusive?
Chapter Two
“Have you heard from Austin?” Owen asked as he dropped two sugar cubes in his cup and stirred his coffee with a spoon.
Nate didn’t miss the concerned flicker in his brother’s gray eyes. At twenty-nine, Owen was three years younger than Nate, and the brother Nate had always been closest to. Probably because the two of them were so alike—serious, gruff and happy with the simple things in life. Jake, Owen’s twin, was an adventure junkie who’d joined the army right out of high school, and Austin, the youngest at twenty-five, had followed his wanderlust all over the world and now worked as a photographer. The only thing all four of them had in common was their popularity with the ladies, along with the wild streak each of them had as teenagers and which Jake and Austin still possessed in spades.
Nate and Owen were the two who’d stayed in Paradise, content with small-town life, while Jake and Austin traveled and came home only when it suited them. Austin was better than Jake at checking in, usually calling every few weeks to say hello, but neither Nate nor Owen had heard from their younger brother in six months.
Around them, the other patrons in the diner chattered over their coffees and greasy lunch plates, oblivious to the grave expressions and worried glances from the Bishop brothers.
“Not a word,” Nate admitted.
Owen rubbed the stubble covering his chin. “That’s not like him. Think he’s in trouble?”
“Knowing Austin, yes, but it’ll be the kind of trouble he likes. You know, snapping pictures of rebel leaders decapitating villagers, getting caught and barely escaping with his hide intact.” Nate gave a dry, humorless smile at the very real example he’d just given. His little brother’s determination to throw himself right into the path of danger had always annoyed the shit out of him. Why couldn’t Austin pick a normal career? Or, hell, just work as a photographer for a newspaper. Who chose to take pictures of war zones?
“The last time he called, he was in Johannesburg,” Owen offered. “Said he was commissioned to do a photo essay on some diamond mines up in the mountains.”
“Yeah, I got the same call.”
“Nothing since?”
“Nothing.”
They fell silent, each one sipping their coffee. Nate didn’t want to say it aloud, but he was pretty fucking worried. Ever since Austin’s last visit home, he’d been acting strange, sounding distant over the phone. Nate had known something was up, but talking about their feelings wasn’t something the Bishops did often or with each other. So Nate had put his brother’s odd behavior out of his mind—until Austin went AWOL.
“Maybe we should call Jake,” Owen finally said.
Nate shook his head. “His unit is overseas. He said he’d call when he gets back home.” He paused. “I’ll stop by Mom’s, though. She might have heard something from him.”
“If you want to go by tonight, I can come with you.”
“Can’t. I have that reunion thing tonight.”
“Right, I forgot.”
“You forgot? Even with the bright red banner strung from those lampposts out there? And your crew doing all the work?”
Nate gestured out the front window of the diner at the big sign advertising tonight’s main event. Apparently the whole thing would be held in the town square. The town officials had hired a band, caterer, photographer, the works. Nate stared at the group of workers in the process of laying down sheets of plywood to create a makeshift dance floor. The men worked for Owen’s small construction company, and Nate recognized many of them since the same crew had helped to build his house.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” Owen said with a pained look. “Maddie quit this morning and—”
Nate hooted. “Again?”
“Yes, again.” Owen cursed softly. “I swear that woman is going to be the death of me. She’s so fucking contrary all the fucking time! I’d fire her if she weren’t so damn popular with all the customers. And she knows her stuff, she’s like a construction
expert.”
Nate had heard this all before. Owen and his assistant Maddie got into an explosive fight at least once a day, and Maddie quit at least once a week. Somehow she still worked there, though Nate suspected the girl had a thing for his brother and that was why she kept coming back. He’d always thought the two of them would make a good couple—the passion was definitely there, judging from their arguments—but Owen would balk at that. Maddie Wilson was a tomboy from head to toe, and Owen didn’t do tomboys, only leggy supermodel types with big tits and air between their ears.
“We worked it out,” Owen was saying, “and she agreed to come back, but only if I retile her bathroom for her—for free. So yeah, that’s what I’m doing tonight.”
Nate laughed, then offered a rueful look. “I bet it’ll be more fun than what I’m doing. Who the fuck wants to catch up with people they haven’t seen in more than a decade? I’m already bored and ready to leave, and the thing hasn’t started yet.” Rolling his eyes, he reached for his coffee and took a long swallow.
Owen’s dark brows drew together. “You don’t even want to see Charlotte? She should be getting in any minute now. I thought—”
Nate choked. Loudly. Several patrons in neighboring booths craned their necks to see what was up.
Coughing, he grabbed the glass of water next to Owen’s coffee and gulped the liquid down to clear his clogged windpipe.
When he finished, he found Owen staring at him in bewilderment. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Nate ignored the comment and said, “What do you mean, she’ll be here any minute? How do you know that?”
“It’s all over town. Charlotte’s assistant booked a room for her at the Anderson B&B, made the reservation last night. According to Mrs. Anderson, Charlotte said she’d check in sometime in the early afternoon.”
“How do you know this?”
Owen shrugged. “Someone told me. Can’t remember who. Oh, and Charlotte RSVP’d for the reunion with Mayor Price. Our good old mayor tried to make a huge production out of it, but apparently the assistant said Charlotte wouldn’t show if he alerted the media. She wants the visit to stay under the radar.”
Nate was absolutely floored. He had no clue how Owen had amassed so much information when Nate hadn’t heard a damn peep from anyone. Then again, he didn’t open the pub until noon, so Owen had had all morning to accumulate the data.
Charlotte was coming back to Paradise.
Holy shit.
Those were six words he’d never imagined he’d hear. He’d followed Charlotte’s career over the years, from that first pop album that didn’t suit her throaty voice at all, to the later string of folksy-type contemporary that made her the star she was today. He owned every record she’d ever made, and each time he listened to that smoky pitch, his heart ached with regret and lingering emotion.
Fuck, he’d loved her.
And she’d loved him back. Charlotte had been the one girl who was able to look past his undeserved reputation and see him for who he really was. With her, he could truly be himself, and he’d clung to each second they’d spent together.
In the end, though, he’d pushed her away. Back then, it had seemed like the right thing to do. When Charlotte had been accepted into Julliard—with a full scholarship to boot—he’d been ecstatic. But the happiness faded into panic when he realized she was going to throw away her future so she could stay with him. The thought of forcing her to live in a town she despised had torn him apart. So he’d ended it.
But not before he allowed himself a taste of her.
He regretted that now. He should have never slept with Charlotte. Not just because it had been a shitty prelude to a breakup, but because, to this day, sex had never been as good as it was with Charlotte. She’d spoiled him for any other woman.
“I get why you’re freaked,” Owen said, jerking Nate from the past to the present. “It’ll be tough seeing her again, huh? Since she dumped you and everything.”
Nate frowned. “Why does everyone assume she dumped me?”
Owen blinked in surprise. “Well, because she’s Charlotte Hill. She’s one of the most famous singers in the country.”
“She wasn’t famous back then,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but she got that scholarship to Julliard. I always figured she dumped you before she left.”
“Sorry to burst that bubble.”
Owen gaped at him. “You dumped her?”
The abrupt exclamation made Nate glance around to make sure nobody had overheard his brother. The people in this town were nosy enough to begin with—no point giving them fuel for their fires. Fortunately, no one seemed interested in what was going on at the Bishop brothers’ booth.
“Yeah, I did,” he replied in a low voice. “But I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself.”
“Huh. So…what are you going to say to her when you see her?”
The image of Charlotte’s pale green eyes and wavy red hair flashed across his mind. He’d just watched her most recent televised concert a few weeks ago, alone, in the dark, and had wondered that exact same thing. What would he say to her if they ever crossed paths again? He hadn’t had an answer then, and he didn’t have one now.
He did know one thing, though, and, in a strained tone, he voiced the thought to his brother.
“I doubt I’ll get the chance. She won’t want to talk to me.”
Sympathy flickered in Owen’s gray eyes, the same stormy silver as Nate’s. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do.” He spoke through his suddenly tight throat. “Believe me, I’m the last person Charlotte will want to see. Tonight…or ever.”
Welcome to Paradise.
The sky-blue sign welcoming Charlotte to the town of Paradise, Colorado, brought both a jolt of anger and a bittersweet lump to her throat.
She was home.
Leaning forward in the backseat of the taxi, she peered out the window and absorbed her familiar surroundings. Georgia would probably scold her for vetoing the stretch limo idea and taking a cab instead, but a limo was way too pretentious for Charlotte’s liking. She’d also decided against bringing her usual crew of bodyguards, much to her manager’s irritation. But no way was she coming home with an entourage. Growing up, she’d hated drawing any attention to herself, and old habits died hard.
“Pretty town,” the cab driver spoke up. “My granddaughter just moved here.”
Yes, she couldn’t deny Paradise was pretty. With the mountains looming in the distance, Paradise was home to lush forests, big lakes and secret creeks, an outdoorsman’s dream. As they ventured into the heart of the town, she noticed that not much had changed. Aside from the outlet mall they’d passed half a mile ago, Paradise had stayed immune to big city interference. Main Street still featured a variety of little shops and family-owned restaurants, and as the taxi stopped to let a few pedestrians pass, she noticed a construction crew working hard in the town square, evidently getting ready for tonight’s big event.
They drove past the beautiful historical buildings that housed the Paradise Post, the courthouse, and the offices of Lockhart and Lockhart Attorneys, all of which made Charlotte smile ruefully. The Price and Lockhart families owned nearly everything in town, even co-owned some, which was ironic since the two families despised each other. Charlotte wasn’t much of a history buff, but everyone in Paradise knew of the Price-Lockhart feud. The two town founders, Jeremiah Price and Edward Lockhart, had once been friends according to the legends, but a falling out between them had led to a rivalry that still existed today.
It had been fun, watching Lexie Price and Bree Lockhart claw each other’s eyes out during high school. Charlotte always found it funny how prejudice was passed down from generation to generation.
“Here we are,” the driver announced, coming to a stop in front of the quaint Victorian that housed the Anderson B&B.
As Charlotte got out of the cab, the driver hopped out to get her suitcase from the trunk. She’d packe
d light—she only planned on being here for a few days—and she carried her own suitcase down the flower-lined pathway toward the wooden wraparound porch.
The front door flew open before she could even knock and a pair of chubby arms engulfed Charlotte in a big hug.
“My Lord!” Sue Anderson exclaimed. “Look at you, all grown up! Why, Charlotte Hill, you are stunning!”
The first smile of the day sprung to Charlotte’s lips. Unlike everyone else, Sue Anderson had been good to her back then, and she knew there was nothing false about Sue’s excitement or compliments.
“It’s good to see you, Mrs. A,” she said, genuinely pleased by the sight of Sue’s familiar cornflower-blue eyes and short curly hair, which was now more silver than blonde.
Sue ushered her inside, barraging her with questions about her music, her career and life in general. When Charlotte assured her that everything was going well, Sue gave a beaming smile and led her upstairs to the suite she’d prepared for her.
“Everyone is so excited that you’re back,” Sue gushed.
I doubt it.
She kept the thought to herself and admired the pretty bedroom, complete with a canopy bed, thick cherry-red curtains and antique mahogany furniture.
“I am so proud of what you’ve accomplished, Charlotte,” Sue said as she lingered in the doorway. “I’m sure your mama would be too.”
Bitterness seeped into her mouth, making her swallow down the sour taste. Her mother, proud? Not likely. Tiffany Hill—Tiff, as she’d liked to be called—had only cared about one person when she’d been alive: herself. And maybe her vodka. And the parade of men she brought into their home.
Her daughter, on the other hand, never even made a blip on Tiff’s radar.
“It’s a shame you had the old house torn down,” Sue added, referring to the childhood home Charlotte had ordered to be demolished less than a week after her mother’s death.