Event planner Sofia Silva is hiding a big secret. No one can know that her engagement to her lying, cheating fiancé is over. Until she meets gorgeous, wealthy newcomer Jonathan Gunther. Jon moved to Miami for a legally sinful life of waterfront property, convertibles and no emotional entanglements. When he invites Sofia to lie low at his house, their undeniable attraction explodes...but will her dilemma ruin their chance at forever?

NADINE GONZALEZ was born in New York City, the daughter of Haitian immigrants. As a child, she was convinced that NYC was the center of the universe. But life has its twists and turns, and eventually she landed in Miami. She fell in love with the people, the weather and the unique mix of cultures. Now this vibrant city has become her home and muse.

Raised on a steady diet of soap operas, Mills & Boon romances, pop culture, global music, film and classic literature, Nadine hopes to infuse her novels with her unique worldview.

A firm believer in work-life balance, Nadine is not only a lawyer but also a self-proclaimed fashionista, political junkie, art lover, amateur illustrator, wife and mother. Learn more at www.nadine-gonzalez.com.

Unconditionally Mine

Nadine Gonzalez

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07805-4

UNCONDITIONALLY MINE

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Ariel, my love, and Nathaniel, my heart.

For Stephanie, Katherine, Melissa, Ericka, Alexander and Andrew. The future is yours.

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to the editors at Kimani Press: Shannon Criss, Glenda Howard and Keyla Hernandez. Special thanks to Keyla for being the best first editor an author could have. Your patience and dedication to authentic storytelling is greatly appreciated. I wish you all the best in the future.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Sofia cupped the bottle of Dom Pérignon and released the cork. Pop! She poured the overflow into a glass and took a sip. Like water into sand. When was the last time I’d opened a bottle and had some non-work-related fun, she wondered. Short answer: her engagement party. But that didn’t count. The formal event had been organized at her mother’s request. And since that night, over a year ago, life had gone stale. No joy, no fizz, no pop.

This, however, was no time for a pity party. Sofia had an actual party—cocktails and hors d’oeuvres for fifty—to wrap up. Real life was work. Whoever promised her fizz and pop, anyway?

Sofia rested her champagne glass on the counter—a treat for later—took a deep breath and handed out her orders. “Melissa, please set up the champagne flutes... Ericka, where’s the box with the trays?”

The kitchen door creaked open. Expecting one of the waiters, she frowned at the guest peering in. Ground zero—in this case, a French country kitchen in the host’s Coral Gables home—was a madhouse. Guests weren’t welcome. And this guest... Jesus! He was two hundred pounds of muscle beautifully packaged in a heather-gray suit. She took in his toasty brown skin and intelligent brown eyes, and cleared her throat. “May I help you?”

“Some water...please.”

“Melissa, get this gentleman a glass of water.”

“A bottle, if you have it.”

Melissa held open the refrigerator door. “Would you prefer sparkling or flat?”

“Flat.”

“Spring or—”

“Melissa, please!” Sofia cried. The man shouldn’t have to answer a quiz.

Melissa handed him a small FIJI bottle. “Here you go.” She smiled shyly.

He smiled too, but there was nothing shy about it. Sofia stiffened. She felt the oddest sensation, the turn of a dial.

But with Watergate resolved and the guest gone, she focused on the task at hand. “Guys, the toast is in five minutes. Let’s go!”

Melissa lined up a row of champagne flutes, giggling as she worked. “That guy was so hot I nearly fell on my face.”

Ericka piled a dozen silver trays on the counter. “I thought you were only into pretty boys.”

“Comes a time in every woman’s life to forget the boys and find a man,” Melissa said.

“You’re a woman now?” Ericka asked.

Valid question. Melissa was only nineteen and looked even younger. But now was not the time to delve into it.

“Quiet!” Sofia snapped. “I need to focus.”

Everybody fell silent. She took a breath and started pouring from the bottle of Dom. The host, a hotshot Miami lawyer, was throwing this party for his firm. This wasn’t the usual office party fare. Normally, they’d serve coconut shrimp and California sparkling wine. This event was all about grilled scallops, crab cakes, smoked salmon topped with caviar, top-shelf liquor and fine champagne. For that reason, she’d taken on the task of filling the glasses herself—not that she was any good at it. It required steady hands, and she was anything but calm.

“Can I help?”

Damn! The words were spoken so close to her ear, she jumped and nearly spilled two hundred dollars’ worth of champagne down her shirt. Him again! What was he doing back in the kitchen? She straightened up to better confront him. His eyes had flecks of gold. One sip of champagne would do that to you; make you see all the sparkle in the world.

She clutched the bottle to her chest. “You really shouldn’t be here.”

He slipped off his suit jacket, revealing a gorgeous garnet lining, and draped it over a chair. Sofia’s mother owned a fabric shop and Sofia had her eye for quality.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I used to be a waiter.”

So what? Hadn’t everyone?

Over her protests, he confiscated the bottle of champagne. Then she watched as he expertly poured eight glasses with a sure hand, not spilling one precious drop. Those brown hands...the nails were clean and clipped, but there was no mistaking them for the hands of a gentleman. If he applied even the slightest pressure, the thick green bottle might shatter.

“How many glasses do you need me to fill?” he asked.

“I don’t need you to do anything,” Sofia replied. “I’d love for you to join the party and enjoy your evening.”

She couldn’t drop the show of indignation. She had employees to impress. He glanced up at her. Brown eyes like rum swirling into a glass.

“Fifty,” she said. “Plus an extra ten. You never know.”

“Well, line ’em up.”

Melissa handed him bottle after bottle. Ericka loaded up the trays. Sofia stood to the side, watching her team and this stranger work quietly and efficiently together. The door swung open again. A young guy, a lawyer-in-the-making type, poked his head in. “What are you doing in here? Everyone’s looking for you.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m done!”

Sofia inspected his work. All sixty champagne flutes were filled to equal height, ready to go. He reached for his jacket. On his way out, he turned to her and said pointedly, “You’re welcome.”

She shrugged. He wasn’t worth sparring with—because for sure she’d lose. Her staff, though, cheered the unlikely hero.

“Give me a break!” Sofia groaned. “He poured champagne!”

“But he did it with style!” Melissa declared.

“Let’s stay on schedule,” Sofia said. “Ericka, have the waiters serve the host and the guest of honor first.”

Her troops went out and returned with news. “You won’t believe it! Mr. I-Used-To-Be-A-Waiter? He’s the guest of honor. He’s out there giving a speech. This party is for him.”

Sofia popped a crab cake in her mouth. Interesting. He must have been nervous and slumming in the kitchen was his way to take the edge off.

“That’s so cool, don’t you think?” Melissa said.

There was no time to think. The kitchen door swung open again and this time a woman burst in. She was stunning with a caramel complexion and cheekbones that ought to be insured, but her features were distorted. Tears streaming down her cheeks made tar of her mascara. “I need a drink! Give me something, anything.”

Sofia braced herself. What roller-coaster ride was this?

Melissa offered her a bottle of water. The woman huffed. “Do I look like I need water?”

Sofia sent her employees away and took over. She grabbed a bottle of Patrón and a couple of glasses and guided the woman to a table by the kitchen’s fantastic bay windows. She poured generously and began her usual speech to calm unruly party guests. “I don’t know you or what you’re going through—”

“I’ll tell you.”

Oh, boy.

“He was only supposed to be with us a few weeks!” Her Brazilian accent produced petal-soft o’s and u’s. “I thought, why not have a little fun?”

Sofia knew instinctively who he was. She spotted him through the window out by the pool, sipping from a glass of champagne that he’d poured. He looked radiant in the fading September sun. His dark hair was cut short, barely visible, and it didn’t matter because his thick brows framed his face beautifully. But that was neither here nor there.

“I should’ve known they were going to recruit him. They all love him at the firm. He has a nickname and everything.”

“What’s the nickname?”

“What?” the woman asked.

Sofia flushed. “Never mind.”

“The Gun.”

Sofia poured some tequila for herself and wondered how he might’ve earned it. It couldn’t have been looks alone.

The woman read her mind. “He’s that good.”

Okay, then.

“They asked him to stay and he said yes. Things were great between us. We had this amazing connection, so I figured—”

“You figured wrong.” Sofia didn’t need GPS to figure out where this story was heading.

The woman slammed her glass on the marble-top table. Tequila flew everywhere.

Sofia reached for a napkin and wiped up the mess. The hostess was really fond of her antique furniture.

“I’ve seen him.” Sofia pointed out the window, but “The Gun” was no longer out there. “The man is a shot of rum and he went straight to your head. But you can’t afford to fall apart like this. You work with these people, and you’ll have to face them all on Monday. Mess up and I promise you the catty bitches out there won’t ever let you live it down. And I’m not talking about the women.”

Sofia assumed the silence that followed her little speech was a well-earned response. Then it stretched out a beat too long and something in the way the woman gripped her glass warned her that they were no longer alone.

How much had he heard?

The woman rose from the table, brushed tequila droplets off her dress and strode out of the kitchen without uttering a word.

Sofia sat with her back to the door and didn’t move until she heard it creak shut and she was certain he was gone. When you thought about it, she’d done him a favor—a big one. Life had a way of leveling the score.

So, Mr. Gun...you’re welcome.

Chapter 2

Five months later...

Jon had expected nothing until she walked in. Then, suddenly, his morning burst open with possibilities. After a glance around the auditorium, she picked a seat near him. Was it coincidence or the might of his will? He watched her drop her massive purse on one of the three empty seats between them, effectively erecting a wall. She crossed her golden-brown legs and went about the careful business of removing her sunglasses. Her profile was partially obstructed by a cloud of reddish-brownish curls flowing past her shoulders, but he made out the fringe of her lashes, the upward curve of her nose and a carefully drawn mouth.

It was going to be a lovely day.

“Please rise for Judge Antoine Roland.”

Jon rose. He couldn’t shake creeping déjà vu. Had they met before and where?

Judge Roland welcomed the drowsy assembly to the Miami-Dade County jury pool. After a reminder of the importance of jury duty in the great scheme of American democracy, he led the assembly in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. When he was done, some applauded—but not too many. The judge exited the auditorium as solemnly as he had entered. With that over, the oddly familiar woman sat and mumbled, “Let’s get this over with.”

He took it as an opening. “That’s the spirit.”

She looked his way, as if seeing him for the first time. Another announcement stopped him from introducing himself.

“Please fill out the jury questionnaire as best you can,” a clerk said through the piercing feedback of a microphone. “Don’t lose it. You’ll have to hand it to the bailiff when you’re called. And, if you’re eligible, don’t forget to request a reimbursement form. It’s only fifteen dollars, but times are hard. In the meantime, enjoy the movie. Julia Roberts—she’s always fun. The snack bar is open. Plus, there’s the quiet room if you prefer to read. All in all, it’s going to be a long day, folks! So why not make a friend?”

She immediately shot to her feet. Jon figured he’d scared her away, but she only went as far as the front desk to request the forms. Then for five minutes or so, she sat quietly, brows drawn, filling in each document using a pen retrieved from the depths of her bottomless purse. It was a fountain pen with some weight to it. The ink was a brilliant indigo blue. When she was done, she carefully replaced the pen’s cap, and he noticed her fingers, long and slim with deep red lacquered nails.

She turned in one form, kept the other, returned to her seat and folded those beautiful hands on her lap. Without looking at him, she said, “You’re nosy.”

“Observant,” he said. “And so are you, but you’re better at it.”

She swiveled in her seat and studied him, her wide brown eyes taking him apart and stitching him back together. He waited, counting the seconds for her to draw her conclusions. Women either loved him or hated him. There was never any middle ground. If she fell into the wrong camp, he had ways to drag her across the line.

Her eyes narrowed. “Have we...?”

“Slept together?” he asked. “I don’t think so. I would’ve remembered.”

If he was hoping to rattle her, it didn’t work.

“I remember you,” she said drily.

There was little evidence that the memory was a pleasant one.

“I knew we’d met before,” he said. “Now clue me in. It’s been driving me crazy.”

She reached into her purse for earbuds and plugged them into her phone. “Sorry. Not trying to be rude, but all I want is to get through jury duty in peace.”

“You heard the clerk. Let’s be friends. My name is Jon—in case you’d forgotten.”

“I have enough friends.”

“Your friends are not like me.” He got up and buttoned his suit jacket. “I’ll get us coffee. Then you can tell me the story of us.”

She surprised him by rising to her feet. Even on impressively high heels—the sexiest pumps he’d seen in a while—she only reached his chin. “I can get my own coffee.”

“Let’s each get our own coffee together,” he proposed. “My treat.”

She grunted and took the lead. He happily followed, feeling like a winner. In a room full of dull and disgruntled people, she had brought light and something else that he needed: a challenge. Ten minutes in, he didn’t know her name or their shared history. He was going to have to work for it.

The snack bar offered Cuban coffee, Cuban toast, Cuban breakfast pastries and a Cuban breakfast special priced at $3.99. While they waited in line, he asked her what she’d like.

“Coffee with lots of milk. But don’t worry. I’ll order.”

“I’m not worried.”

The woman at the register took one look at him and made a suggestion. “American coffee?”

“No,” he said. “Un cortadito y un café con leche bien claro.”

He paid and stuffed a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. She watched him with an amused smile.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Do you really speak Spanish? Or just know how to order coffee?”

He wanted to stay on topic. “You were about to tell me how we met.”

“No, I wasn’t,” she said. “If you can’t remember, it’s best to leave it in the past.”

“Who said that? Aristotle?”

The cashier tapped on the glass partition to get his attention. Their order was ready. Jon grabbed both cups and held hers up and out of reach. “Here you go...” He gave her a chance to fill in the blank.

She folded her arms across her chest, her generous chest. “My name is Sofia.”

The name didn’t ring any bells.

“Nice to meet you again, Sofia.” He handed over her coffee. “Should we check out the quiet room?”

“Too much quiet and I’ll start crying,” she said wearily. “Let’s just find a place to sit.”

Slot machines in Vegas weren’t as loud as those going off in his mind.

She led him to the far end of the auditorium to an empty row of chairs under a window. Sunlight exposed the dust in the air, like so many microscopic angels. They sat closer this time, shoulders touching, and he wondered what she’d have to cry about. Instead, he asked why she’d filled out a wage reimbursement form.

She shot him a look. Her brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She was very lovely.

“You are observant,” she said.

“We’ve established that.” It was no mystery. She’d filled out two forms and he’d filled only one.

“My time is worth money. That’s why. Not that it’s your business.”

“We’re talking fifteen dollars for an eight-hour day, right? You’ve got to be worth more than that.”

He was aware that he sounded like an elitist ass. Fifteen dollars was plenty for anyone who needed it. As the clerk had said, times were hard. But her sunglasses were Tom Ford, and that enormous purse was Louis Vuitton.

“I’m self-employed,” she said. “And to be honest, I’ve got a couple of toll violations. The state of Florida might as well pay for them.”

He laughed. She was a hustler. He could fall in love with this girl.

“You know what?” she snapped. “I hope you get stuck in jury duty all week.”

“Not going to happen. They won’t pick me.”

“Why not?” She took a sip of coffee. “Are you a felon? If you tell them, they’ll let you go home. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the law.”

Jon carefully lifted the lid of his mini Styrofoam cup and blew on the frothy surface. “Do I look like a felon?”

“Honestly?”

Jon had no illusions. His bulk intimidated some. His weathered face didn’t hide that he’d been punched more than a few times. An ex once told him that his expensive clothes only sharpened his rough edges. He gestured to the form lying flat on her lap. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

A typical jury questionnaire had more information than any online dating profile, and Jon liked to have all the facts up front.

She brought her cup to her lips to hide a smile. “I haven’t fallen for that since ever.”

“You can trust me,” he said.

“Before coffee I don’t trust my own mother,” she said.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his form, folded in squares. She hesitated, then snatched it from his hands. He took note of the things she chose to read.

“Jonathan Gunther. Thirty-two. Single. No kids. Attorney, criminal defense...”

She stopped reading and glanced up at him.

“They never pick lawyers,” he said with a wink. “We can turn a shoplifting case into a constitutional crisis.”

“Criminal defense?”

“Is that going to be a problem?” he asked. “I won’t bring my clients home.”

“You’re the problem,” she said with a smile.

That smile could light up the world, Jon thought. “Your turn.”

She handed over her form, but he didn’t take it. “Why don’t you tell me what’s there?”

She pressed her lips together. “Let’s see... Sofia Silva. Twenty-nine. Event planner.”

“A party girl?” he asked.

“I’m an entrepreneur, an award-winning small business owner.” She frowned. “You have a strange way of making friends.”

“I thought you had enough friends. I put us on another track.”

“Don’t. You’re wasting your time.”

“Why?” he asked. “Married? Kids?”

She read from the questionnaire as if she’d forgotten what she’d written. He knew it was all to avoid making eye contact. “No kids—yet. One significant other.”

Jon took another sip of coffee. Normally, this would be his cue to back off. But she’d stirred things up, and there was no quick way to calm those things down.

The clerk assembled a panel, calling out numbers like lottery picks. One by one, those selected gathered their things and stumbled out of the room. The room fell silent again with Julia Roberts’s laughter for pleasant background noise.

“Why defend criminals?” she asked.

“Criminals are just people who’ve made bad choices.”

“Or they’re selfish and stupid people with complete disregard for others.”

“Callous disregard,” Jon said. “Sounds better.”

She moaned. “You really are a lawyer.”

“One of the best.” He handed her a business card. “Next time a client tries to sue you, you’ll be glad you know me.”

She laughed at the joke and took the card. Another panel was assembled and time passed. It was easy talking with her. She was sharp; nothing he said went untested. But a pattern was emerging. She’d fire questions at him but carefully avoided revealing anything about herself.

“You’ve tried cases at this courthouse?” she asked.

“No. Federal court.”

“Are your clients killers?”

“Alleged killers, you mean,” he said. “And no, they’re not. They’re alleged Ponzi schemers, tax evaders and embezzlers.”

“Can you name some of your clients?”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?”

“The one-sided conversation. I invented that trick.”

“All I’ve done is ask a few questions,” she said defensively. “If you weren’t so careful, you wouldn’t mind.”

“Careful? No one’s ever accused me of that.”

“Not an accusation,” she said. “An observation. You’re careful with words.”

“I’m good with words.”

“You’re not at all modest,” she observed.

“Not even a little,” he said. “I’ll note that we have a past that you’re trying to bury. So who’s being careful here?”

She held him in her soft brown gaze. “But if you can’t remember our past, does it exist?”

“And if a tree fell in the forest...?”

The clerk returned to the microphone, this time to announce an extended lunch break. He invited her out to eat.

“I’m going to pick up a salad at the medical campus across the street,” she said. “You’re welcome to come with.”

They rode the elevator to the courthouse ground floor. Outside, the aroma rising from the hot-dog carts made him nostalgic for New York City. With a hand on her elbow, he steered her across the street toward the parking lot. His Porsche was parked in an open lot reserved for jurors. Its steel-blue glaze matched the hazy Florida sky.

She yanked her arm free. “We can walk to the salad place. It’s not far.”

“We’re not going to the salad place. I heard there are seafood restaurants along the river not far from here.”

She came to a full stop in the middle of the street. “I’m not getting in your car.”

She really didn’t trust him. He wondered what he’d done to her? And why couldn’t he remember? He was sharper than this.

“I’ll bring you back in one piece,” he promised from the sidewalk. “How else will you collect your fifteen bucks?”

She stood rooted in place, stubborn. A patrol car turned a corner and signaled a warning for her to move out of the way. This was her chance to escape; all she’d have to do was turn and run. They locked eyes, engaging in a mental arm-wrestling match. Another whirl of the police siren propelled her into motion. Picking up the pace, she made her way toward him. He watched in quiet fascination as the wind tossed her hair and her body moved under a fitted blue dress.

“Let’s go to Garcia’s,” she said. “It’s the best.”

* * *

He let her take charge at the restaurant. She chose the table on the terrace overlooking the bloated river. She ordered on his behalf with the assumption that he, the guy with the questionable Spanish skills, would not know how to order Latin food. He watched her come alive in the fresh air, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, eyes glistening, gesticulating madly as she talked. Over ceviche and cerveza, she kept the conversation light and he played along. At some point, she lifted the weight of her hair off the nape of her neck to better feel the breeze. When she leaned forward to reach for a napkin, the deep V-neck of her dress revealed more than she might have wanted—and he remembered everything.

The party.

Champagne.

The woman in the kitchen.

That evening, she’d worn her hair in a knot and was dressed plainly in a black shirt and pants. She’d managed to calm his ex down. And Viviana wasn’t a woman who was easily calmed. More importantly, she’d compared him to a shot of rum. He would’ve gone for whiskey.

No wonder he’d forgotten! That whole week had been emotionally charged. He’d made the decision to move to Miami only minutes after receiving the offer for a lateral move as a partner. He’d acted on his instincts. And when Viv tried to turn a summer thing into a more permanent one, those same instincts told him to nip that in the bud. Still, even during that windstorm, he’d noticed this woman bent over a table, tense over having to pour from a respectable bottle of champagne. The opening of her loose blouse had offered the same gorgeous view as now. How could he have walked away?

Sofia pointed to a pelican perched on a dock, its damp feathers coated in mud. “Poor little guy.”

“I have a question for you,” he said.

“Yes?”

“How do you like your rum? With Coke, ice or like I like it, neat?”

She went still. “You remember.”

“Every little thing.” He leaned back in his seat. “You never thanked me for helping out with the champagne.”

“I never asked for your help,” she said evenly.

“And women wonder why chivalry is dead.”

“You weren’t being chivalrous. You were showing off.”

“Okay,” he said. “You got me.”

“Just curious. How’s your friend?”

“She’s fine,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about her.”

She shook her head as if she’d lost all faith in mankind. “You never thanked me for defusing that bomb.”

He thanked her with a tip of an imaginary hat. “You have my undying gratitude.”

She shrugged a slender shoulder. “Just doing my job.”

Now he better understood her reticence. “You think I’m a jerk,” he said. “A woman cried and you bought the whole act.”

“Was it an act?” she asked.

“I think so,” he said. “Does that make me a jerk?”

“I don’t know what it makes you. I don’t know you that well.”

He leaned forward. “Let’s get to know each other, Sofia. Really well.”

She mimicked his move, resting her arms on the table and leaning in. “That’s not going to happen, Jon.”

“How significant is this ‘other’ of yours?” he asked.

If he’d taken a second to think, he might not have asked the question, not so bluntly anyway. But now that it was out there, he had to know.

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