The Ballantyne Billionaires

Thanks to her protected, insulated childhood, she would’ve been utterly lost without Beck making the decisions for her. Was that why he’d ditched her, because she’d been lacking in self-confidence and because she’d become more of a responsibility than a girlfriend?

Who knew? He’d been long on termination and short on explanations. He’d just handed her a ticket and stood in line with her at Passport Control. When she’d cleared that, she’d turned back to look at him through the glass walls and saw him walking away, taking a fair share of her shattered heart with him.

“Cady.”

Cady looked up and accepted Tom’s quick brush of his lips against her cheek. He sat down opposite her and immediately glanced at his watch. “I have about a half hour before I need to be back in the office. Can we make this quick?”

Wow, nice to see you, too, Tom. “I thought we were having dinner together?”

“Can’t. I have some problems at work, so I need to get back to my desk.”

She was sleeping with her client, and the fact that she was still embarrassed her. Tom dismissed her concerns of their lack of professionalism, saying they were both single and it wasn’t a hanging offense. She’d tried to be okay with it but she’d finally made the decision to call it quits. Fate, however, had other ideas.

“You look like hell, Cady. What’s up with that?”

Tom’s jerk quotient always went up when he was stressed, Cady thought. It wasn’t personal, she reminded herself.

But it sure felt pretty personal. Beck had hurt her when he tossed her away, but he’d never talked to her like this. Then again, Tom Steel wasn’t Beck Ballantyne. Nobody could be.

Gorgeous, super-smart and highly successful, he’d set the bar pretty high and no man could reach it.

Let’s get some perspective here, Collins. Beck kicked you out of his life; he sent you away. You expected it from your parents, but not from the man you loved to distraction. Who you thought might love you.

That had been a very erroneous assumption.

Tom’s flat hand hitting the table jolted her back into the present. “Cady! Just say what you have to say, will you?”

Sure.

“I’m pregnant.”

Tom’s low, vicious curse hung in the air between them. “Get rid of it.”

She’d somehow expected him to say that. “Not an option.”

Her parents had rid themselves of Will by sending him to live at a residential home when he was thirteen, and Beck had sent her away, too, but she was not prepared to do the same to her child. Sure, a pregnancy wasn’t convenient, but neither had Will’s autism or her falling in love with Beck been convenient.

You didn’t just erase the problem because you didn’t like the outcome.

Tom’s face turned paper-white. “I need a drink.”

Cady watched Tom walk to the bar and hoped that her baby didn’t inherit his knock-kneed walk. Or his lack of height. Or the cowlick just above his right ear.

He isn’t Beck...

Damn him for being the entire package, both smart and sexy. A blue-eyed wavy haired blond, Beck looked like he belonged on the cover of a surfing magazine. Long-limbed and muscular, he looked as good in a tuxedo as he did in a pair of swimming shorts. Unlike Beckett, Tom didn’t make her head swim or her heart race and she liked it that way. It was an adult relationship with no teenage hormones and irrationality to cloud her thinking. She certainly never felt short of breath or felt the need to rip Tom’s clothes off.

She’d been careful with Tom; she hadn’t given him any of her heart. She’d given Beckett everything—including her virginity—only to be dismissed when he’d had enough of her.

So, yeah, Tom never set her panties, or her heart, on fire and walking away from him was going to be easy. She’d just prefer not to be pregnant while she did it.

Single and pregnant. Her parents were going to be so proud.

Cady rested her hand on her stomach. There was only one fact of which she was certain: she was keeping her baby.

Tom banged his tumbler of whiskey onto the table and sat down again. He lifted his glass to his lips and sent her a long, cold look.

“Is it mine?”

Cady lifted her hands in the air. “Are you crazy? Of course it’s yours. I haven’t slept with anyone else but you since we started dating.”

Tom shrugged. He turned his head toward the bar, leered at a new female arrival and turned back to her, looking supremely disinterested.

“The baby is yours, Tom,” Cady repeated, enunciating the words.

He pouted. “So you say.”

“Tom, we’ve been seeing each other for the best part of a year.”

“I didn’t think we were dating only each other.”

Cady blinked, utterly astounded. What the hell?

Wait, hold on a second... If Tom thought that they weren’t exclusive then that meant that he had colored outside the lines, so to speak. “Have you cheated on me?”

“Since I didn’t think we were exclusive I don’t consider it cheating.”

“You bastard!” Cady stopped herself from banging the table. “Who?”

“Does it matter?” Tom asked, his voice cool. He motioned to her stomach, and his next words catapulted this exchange from a bad dream into a nightmare. “Get rid of it or you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me. I have a contract with you!” Cady stated, not recognizing the cold, heartless man sitting opposite her. God, if she lost Tom’s business, as well...

“So sue me.” Tom shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ll win. Cady, I’m not interested in having a baby. If you want child support you’re going to have to sue me for that, as well,” Tom stated after draining his glass of whiskey. “But I should warn you that I’ll sic both sets of lawyers on you—mine and my wife’s.”

What? His wife’s lawyers? He was divorced; he’d been divorced for a little over a year. He’d divorced her because she’d refused to date him until he was free.

Oh, dear God...

“You called Gretchen your wife.” Cady forced the question through her now-numb lips. “Have you been cheating on me with your wife?”

Tom’s cold look pushed ice into her bones. “Cady, I never divorced her. I’ve been cheating on her...with you.”

* * *

After sending a text message to the group name “family” on his phone—telling them he was fine and enjoying his trip—Beck sat down at the desk in his luxury hotel room to Skype Amy.

His computer did its thing and then Amy’s pixie face filled his screen. She scowled at him. “It’s about time you called.”

“Hello to you, too,” Beck said with a faint smile. Beck wondered, not for the first time, who was the boss in the relationship. He might be a Ballantyne director, but Amy, the PA he shared with Linc and the person he and his siblings entrusted with the most confidential information, was the power behind the throne. “What’s up?”

“So much,” Amy answered and held up her index finger. “Don’t go away. I’m just going to get my wine.”

Beck laughed when Julia hung her face, upside down, over the screen to blow him a kiss. Amy’s long-term partner and soon-to-be wife was a goofball, and around her loved ones, she rarely acted like the cool professional the financial world knew her to be.

Beck picked up his laptop, walked toward the bed and placed the device on the bedside table. He tucked pillows between his head and the headboard of the massive bed and stretched out his legs. He liked beds to be big enough to accommodate his six-four frame.

Beck placed his laptop on his knees and reached for his beer. He sipped it as he watched Amy’s cat, Lazy Joe, jump with great effort onto her chair and curl up into a gray-and-white ball. Amy returned, picked up the cat and resettled the feline on her lap.

“God, look at you with your messy hair and your stubble, wearing only a pair of track pants. So hot.” Amy tossed a quick look over her shoulder. “Julia, I’m thinking of going straight.”

“Stop lusting over Beckett, you pervert. He’s your boss.” Julia’s voice drifted over from the kitchen, sounding perfectly relaxed.

“And you’re not my type. Even if you were straight we’d have no chemistry,” Beck said mildly.

“True. So, I’m now going to ignore that fabulous chest and six-pack abs.”

“So kind,” Beck murmured.

“You look like you’re having a miserable time on your forced break,” Amy commented.

After his first year of working for Ballantyne International, Connor had insisted that, because he was a driven, relentless workaholic with a habit of working sixteen or more hours a day, he take a week off every four months. Initially, he’d felt like Connor was punishing him for working too hard, but he eventually realized that it was his uncle’s way of looking after his health. Connor knew that he couldn’t force Beck to stop working but he could at least manage him.

No one did that now. Connor’s death had leveled the playing fields between him and his brothers and he no longer took orders that he not work so hard. His siblings didn’t understand, and he’d never explain, that he liked to work insane hours, that his devotion to Ballantyne International was his way of showing them that he was an asset to the company, his way to earn and keep his place in his family.

“It was the kid’s fault. He asked them to come home. He’d broken his wrist and he needed to have it pinned and made a big deal about them coming home to be with him.”

“Which one is he?”

“Can’t see him right now. But he’s the middle child, the one who had a panic attack in church.”

“Two lives and a baby on the way—a hell of a price to pay for a broken arm. I wonder if he’ll ever know the damage his whining caused.”

Because Beck was under the table, hidden by the long tablecloth, and listening to the whispered conversations of the mourners invited back to the family home after the funeral, he heard the comments and understood perfectly. His parents’ deaths were his fault.

It was a conclusion he’d already come to. Hearing it spoken aloud just confirmed what he already thought. From that day on, he’d always felt like the outsider looking in and he’d made himself as independent as he possibly could be. He’d emotionally distanced himself from his siblings and, really, it was better that way. Distance allowed a buffer against the hurt that emotional connections always created. Distance allowed him to keep control.

He’d come close to losing control once and he’d paid the price for it. Over two months and on a continent across the world, Cady had snuck under his skin and into his heart and he’d lost himself in her.

She was just a young man’s stupidity, Beck told himself for the millionth time. Every guy had that one woman he idolized in his head. It didn’t mean anything.

He’d been trying for nearly a decade to believe his own BS. At the time she’d meant everything.

“Where are you this time?” Amy demanded, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Please, please tell me you’re lying on a beach somewhere reading a book.”

Not his style. Admittedly, all his breaks were action based and full of physical activity, but at least his brain slowed down from constantly operating at warp speed.

“Saariselkä, Finland.”

“Of course you are. Heli-skiing?”

Beck smiled at her concern. Amy hated it when he indulged in his love for high-risk adventure sports. “Not this time. Cross-country skiing.”

“Dangerous?”

“Not at all,” Beck lied. There had been a couple of hairy traverses this morning, but he was here in one piece, wasn’t he? What was the point of upsetting her?

“Liar.”

Beck smiled and took a sip of his beer. Since meeting Amy in Thailand, she’d been his closest friend. He was reasonably sociable but the reserve he cultivated meant that he didn’t have many close friends. Amy had ignored his “keep out” signs and had barged her way into his life. He’d flown to Hanoi after saying goodbye to Cady in Bangkok and Amy had immediately sensed that he was hurting. She’d plastered herself to his side and traveled with him as he hauled his dented heart over the soil of various Southeast Asian countries.

You couldn’t BS a person who’d witnessed your heart bleed.

Amy had been a kind and consistent presence, a true friend. And because of her sexual orientation, they’d never complicated their friendship with sex. He and Amy had quit traveling at the same time and he’d joined Ballantyne International, knowing that it was time to put his MBA to work. Amy had needed a job and he’d arranged for her to do some temporary secretarial work at Ballantyne International. Within three months, she’d made herself indispensable, not only to him, but also to his ex-guardian and uncle, Connor Ballantyne. Amy, irreverent and hip but brutally efficient, became Connor’s eyes, ears and right hand and she’d been devastated when Connor was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

It was Amy who’d made all the arrangements to transport Jaeger back home when he was involved in that car accident in Italy, and Amy who’d held Beckett’s hand at his brother’s hospital bed and at his uncle’s funeral.

“So, what’s happening at work?” Beckett asked her, tapping his finger against the neck of his cold beer bottle.

“The usual. I sent out the briefs to various PR firms today to bid for the rebranding strategy.”

A small frown appeared between Beck’s eyes. “Which firms did you send the brief to?”

Amy named a few firms Beck was familiar with and he nodded his approval. “Linc instructed me to send them to smaller firms, too, ones that think outside the box,” Amy added.

“Hard to find.”

“Jules had a suggestion or two.”

“Who?”

Amy shrugged. “You wouldn’t know them.”

Beck couldn’t identify the emotion flashing in Amy’s eyes and he frowned at her uncharacteristic reticence.

“Well, let’s see what they come up with. Email me their bid documents and I can go through them.”

Amy shook her head. “Linc told me that that he’ll run through them and pick the top four to do detailed presentations. You’ll be back for their presentations, so you can weigh in then.”

Amy had her stubborn face on and he knew he’d lost this round. To be honest, he really didn’t want to plow through the bid documents. It was tedious work and if Linc wanted to do it, he’d let him.

“Listen, Beck...”

Amy bit the inside of her lip and Beck knew she was about to say something he didn’t want to hear. Worse, she had the same look on her face when every year or so she suggested that he track down Cady, that he see where she was and what she was doing. That he find a real connection, like the one she and Julia had.

And every year he told her he wasn’t interested, that he was perfectly happy as he was. Well, not happy, but content.

“Guess who I saw today?” Amy asked before he could tell her not to go there.

Beck tensed. He didn’t need her to say the name; he heard it in her voice. “Where?”

“At Bonnets, a cocktail bar off—”

“I know it.” Beck felt hot then cold. He stared down at the patterned comforter, the blue-and-white pattern rising and falling.

He forced his tongue to move. “New York is in so many ways a small town. Listen, I have to go.”

“No, you don’t. You’re just trying to avoid talking about Cady. I need to tell you—”

“Bye, Ames, I’ll talk to you soon.” Beck slapped his laptop shut on her annoyed squeal.

He ran his hand through his wavy hair and flipped the laptop open again. He quickly accessed a file, opening the one photo he’d kept of her. She was lying on the sand at Maya Bay on Phi Phi island, her bright pink bikini a blaze of triangles against her tanned skin. She’d turned her head to look at him and her long and silky hair dropped into the sand. Her startling eyes brimmed with laughter. And love.

They’d been apart for nearly ten years and would be apart for a lifetime more. He knew that, accepted that. That was why he never thought about her, said her name, discussed those first few months of his trip. They were completely, solidly over. So why was he looking at a photo of her, wishing that things had turned out differently?

Because he wasn’t busy and he had time to think. And to remember.

But mostly because he was, despite his high IQ, a moron.

Two

Beck exited the private elevator that only he, his siblings and Amy had access to and stepped into the corridor of Ballantyne International. The corporate offices were situated above their flagship, and oldest, jewelry store on Fifth Avenue. Unlike the classic decor of the store below, the Ballantyne offices were light, airy and modern. Beck, as director of finance and the group’s troubleshooter, saw an intern walking down the hall to the copy room and struggled to remember his name.

“Cole, Cody...”

The kid turned and offered a tentative smile. “Charles, sir.”

He had the C right and he was only in his early thirties, far too young to be called sir. Beck shrugged out of his leather jacket and laid it across the top of his suitcase and pushed the bag in the intern’s direction. “Put this in Amy’s office and bring me a very large cup of coffee. I’ll be in Linc’s office until further notice.”

“Mr. Ballantyne—Linc—is in the boardroom with the other Mr. Ballantyne and Ms. Ballantyne.”

Beck nodded, holding back his smile at the mouthful of Bs. “Thanks.” He turned and headed in the opposite direction, greeting the odd person he encountered on his way. Monday morning and thanks to his flight being diverted to Newark because of an anticipated emergency landing at La Guardia, he was late. He’d picked the least aggressive cab driver in the city and his trip from New Jersey had taken forever. He hated being late.

Beck opened the door to the conference room and pushed his shirtsleeves up his elbows. As Charles said, his siblings were all in the room, but Amy wasn’t.

“Driven is back,” Jaeger stated, leaning back in his chair.

Jaeger had given him the nickname shortly after his thirteenth birthday when he graduated at the top of his class and made both the state swimming and track teams. They thought that he was an outlier, one of those kids who was gifted in both sports and academics. They never suspected that he’d always felt the need to prove himself worthy of being born a Ballantyne.

“How was Finland?” Linc asked, standing up to give him a one-arm hug. Linc was almost as big as he was and a couple of years older. Beck stepped away and bent down to drop a kiss in Sage’s black hair. Like him, his brothers were big and brawny but Sage had the body of a ballerina.

“Good,” Beck replied, slapping his palm against Jaeger’s. “How’s Ty? Flu gone?”

Jaeger nodded. “He’s fine. When are you going to find a woman and bake yourself a kid, Beck? They are a blast.”

Oh, no, not this again. Beck noticed the glint of mischief that appeared in Jaeger’s eyes and did an internal eye roll. Since reconnecting and falling in love with Piper, Jaeger was determined to pull his siblings into his sparkly, loved-up world. Beckett had no objection to being loved up; he just didn’t need the emotional connection. He had no intention of flirting with that hell again. After Cady, it had taken him six months to feel halfway human and another six before he’d felt relatively whole again.

He refused to think of her, not now, not ever. He hadn’t been able to discuss her with Amy; couldn’t bear to even hear her name.

“I’ve had a nightmare morning so don’t start,” Beck said as a hesitant tap came from the half open door. He pulled the door open, took his cup of coffee from Charles, said thanks and took a reviving sip. “So, this looks like a meeting. What’s on the agenda?”

“Only one thing,” Linc told him.

“And that is?”

“Deciding who we are going to appoint to oversee our new PR and rebranding campaign.”

Linc dropped into the chair at the head of the conference table and Beck sat to his right. “A lot has happened lately. At the beginning of last week, I met with eight PR companies, including Jenkins and Pale, who’s always done our PR and advertising.”

As the Ballantyne finance director and all round troubleshooter, this item for discussion was in Beck’s wheelhouse. Jaeger sourced magnificent gems and Sage was their head designer, but Beck and Linc ran the business side of Ballantyne International.

“We decided that we needed to rebrand a while back, but I moved it higher up our priority list,” Linc said. “As we know, Connor was the face of Ballantyne. He had the personal connections and brought charisma to the brand. Without him the Ballantyne brand is...staid, stuffy.”

Linc leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table and looking at Beck. “The day you left town Sheik Abdul Ameen went to Moreau’s and bought a diamond bracelet for his mother instead of coming to us. I did a sales audit and I noticed that other long-term, super-rich clients have also moved on.”

Their clients’ loyalty was to Connor, not to them, Beck realized.

“But we have the same quality of gems we always have had,” Sage protested.

“Yeah, but we don’t have Connor selling them,” Linc pointed out. “Connor knew his clients inside out. They liked dealing with him and only with him.”

“And our younger, rich clients want sexy and they want hip.” Beck sipped his coffee, agreeing with his brother. Linc was brilliant at managing their staff and dealing with their shareholders. He was a hands-on manager, but Beckett was their strategist, able to see the big picture. He and Linc worked really well together with each of them playing to their strengths.

He looked back to Linc. “So you met with these PR firms and...?”

“And I isolated four who, I think, have some idea of what we want. They aren’t perfect by any means, but their ideas have potential. One of them is better than the others.”

“Who?” Sage asked Linc.

Linc shook his head. “Listen to their pitches and make up your own mind.”

Beck glanced at his watch. “When are we due to start?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Jaeger replied.

“Good, I have time to change. Where’s Amy?” Beck asked, standing up, his coffee cup in his hand.

“She should be out in the reception area meeting and greeting the company representatives,” Linc replied.

Beck nodded. “I just need to say hi to her and I’ll see you back here in fifteen.”

“Beckett,” Linc said as he reached the conference door. Beck heard the note of concern in Linc’s voice and turned around to look at his brother.

“Yeah?”

“Remember that we’re making the right choice for the company. That might not be the right choice for you.”

Beck looked from Linc to Jaeger and to Sage’s worried eyes. “What the hell do you mean by that?” he demanded.

“You’ll see.”

Beck heard Linc’s ominous words and felt a shiver run up his spine. He looked down the hall to the bank of elevators and wondered why he had the instinctive urge to run.

* * *

What in the name of all that was holy was she doing here?

Saving her business, Cady reminded herself. No more, no less. Sitting on one of the low, tangerine-colored ottomans in the reception area of Ballantyne and Company, she placed her hands under her thighs and ordered her knees to stop knocking. God, there was Gayle from Jenkins and Pale, Ballantyne’s long-term PR partner. And was she talking to Matthew from Anchor and Chain Consulting? They were at the top of the PR food chain. She was plankton. Or the stuff plankton ate.

Cady fixed her eyes on the large, abstract painting on the wall behind the receptionist’s head and begged her queasy stomach to settle down. Yes, baby, it’s been a hell of a week, but I had no choice. If we want to eat and have a roof over our heads, I have to work and not sleep, as I so want to do.

Ten days ago, after her disastrous meeting with Tom, she’d doubted she could pull herself out of this hole. Accepting that her baby’s father was a cyanide pill, she’d headed back to the office that night, knowing that she had plans to make. When dawn broke that Saturday morning, she realized that she had three months to turn her business around. If she didn’t she would be single, pregnant and broke.

Not knowing how to do that, she’d fallen asleep on the sofa in her office and was jerked awake later that morning by the ping of her computer, informing her of a new email. Congenitally unable to ignore a communication, whether it was an email, a text message or a smoke signal, Cady opened the email from pr@ballantynes.com.

Ballantyne International is seeking to appoint a specialist PR agency to work with us to reinvent our century-old brand. We require a passionate and creative firm/individual to develop and install a range of external communications and media activities.

The brief attached sets out our objectives and requirements, together with a range of background information on Ballantyne International. Interested agencies are asked to respond in full by 9:00 a.m. Monday January 3 at the latest.

Somehow, somewhere, the PR person at Ballantyne’s had heard of her and she was invited to the party. Late, but still invited.

Given the choice, she would’ve avoided doing work for Beck’s company but she didn’t have that luxury. Winning this project would keep Collins Consulting afloat. Sure, she was a minnow competing with the sharks and she didn’t have that much of a chance, but if she didn’t submit a proposal she didn’t have a chance at all.

Basically, it was a choice between telling her parents she was pregnant, single and could support herself and her child or that she was pregnant, single and could they help her out until she found a job?

Yeah, when she broke it down like that, it was no contest.

But first, she needed to face Beck.

At the thought of him, she resisted the urge to grab her laptop and run. She had no other option. She had a business to save, a baby to raise, money to earn. Unlike Beck, she didn’t have endless family money and hefty trusts as a backup plan.

Not fair, she chided herself. Beck never used his position as a Ballantyne heir as an excuse not to achieve. If anything, it spurred him on to prove to the world that he would be successful whether he was a Ballantyne or not. Even though the Ballantynes were practically American royalty, Ivy League schools didn’t hand out MBAs just because you were rich.

But she didn’t want to be fair. Beck’s actions in Thailand, his playing loose and fast with her feelings and her love, had devastated her. And she wished more than anything there was something she could do to never lay eyes on him again.

“Cady?”

At the sound of her name Cady looked up and saw Amy standing over her. Amy? Beck’s Amy?

“Hi. I’m glad you made it through the selection process.” Amy smiled at her, effortlessly confident.

Cady quickly realized Amy must have sent her the pitch documents and the brief; the timing made sense since she’d given her card to Julia Parker on Friday night and she received the email on Saturday morning. Well, the how made sense but not the why.

“You emailed me,” Cady said as she stood up. “Why?”

“Take a walk with me,” Amy suggested and Cady fell into step with her as she proceeded down the hallway that led to the glass-walled offices of Ballantyne International.

Amy stopped under another large, expensive art piece. “Linc asked me to contact a range of PR firms, both big and small, to bid for this job. Julia said that you did good work for Trott’s, so I gave you a chance to pitch, just like I gave seven other companies the same chance. Linc liked your ideas and you’re one of the final four.”

“So this has nothing to do with you feeling guilty about taking my place with Beck?”

Cady felt like a twit the second her words left her mouth, and Amy’s laughter deepened her embarrassment. God, she sounded like a sulky teenager.

When she stopped laughing at her, Amy said, “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard for a long, long time.”

“Hey, Ames.”

Oh, damn. She recognized that voice; she heard it in her dreams often enough. Dark as sin, rich as butter, warm as hot chocolate after playing in the snow.

Cady looked over Amy’s shoulder and watched him walk down the hall toward them, dressed in battered jeans, boots and a navy, long-sleeved T-shirt the exact color of his eyes. The shirt was tight across his chest, skimming his muscled stomach. Blond stubble covered his cheeks, and his wavy hair brushed his collar. He looked rough and hot and fifty times better-looking than the Greek god she’d traveled with so many years ago.

His hair was a lot shorter than she remembered; the man bun was gone and so was the heavy beard. His eyes, a brilliant dark blue, seemed harder and his face thinner. His mouth, that clever mouth that had once dropped hot kisses all over her body, was a slash in his face. He looked hard and tough and every inch the smart, determined, sometimes ruthless businessman he was reputed to be. He looked like he could handle any and all trouble that came his way.

Her knees buckled and air rushed out of her lungs as she remembered those brawny arms around her, the way he used to easily lift her off her feet to kiss him. Cady tasted him on her tongue, could feel his heat, and smell his citrus and cedar scent. She was back in Thailand, the air was muggy, the sky was blue and she was turned on.

Breath short, mouth dry, panties damp...so turned on.

Oh, dammit!

Beck didn’t pay her any attention as he scooped Amy off her feet and dropped a kiss on her lips. He hugged her again before he allowed her feet to hit the ground, his hands on her hips.

“Before you ask, no, I didn’t bring you a present,” he told Amy, that open smile flipping Cady’s stomach up and over. She shivered, remembering the sexy phrases he’d muttered in that same baritone as he’d taught her how to give and receive physical pleasure.

Amy mock pouted before half turning away from him. Cady saw her suck in a deep breath before she placed her hand on Cady’s bicep. “Obviously you remember Cady, Beck.”