Supermodel Nicole George is giving up her glamorous career to become an agent. And even though she’d rather stay private, she’s agreed to an exclusive magazine profile—anything to help her new business. But that was before Nicole realized that the journalist is her high school nemesis, Jordan Masters. How balanced can this story be when she and Jordan have such a murky past? But as they grow closer, Nicole can’t believe this is the same guy. This Jordan is even more handsome than she remembers, and his opinions now seem intriguing rather than arrogant. Just as she starts to believe they might have something, though, Jordan lets her in on a family secret that could change everything.

“Jordan, stop being an interviewer for five minutes and just watch the northern lights.”

He made mental notes, trying not to think of Nicole standing there in the close, intimate darkness, or the heated imprint of her body against his. A cool breeze across the park did little to dispel it.

Focus, he ordered silently. For example, he should ask why she and her partners had chosen Seattle when there was such an active fashion industry in Southern California. Hollywood was there, too. Since Moonlight Ventures was obviously interested in areas beyond modeling, they were a significant distance from some of the most lucrative markets to place their clients.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Nicole asked. “I can practically feel the tension emanating from your body, as if the questions are charging through every cell.”

Actually, it was hormones charging through his system. The questions as a journalist were the only things keeping him sane.

Dear Reader,

If you’ve read my book At Wild Rose Cottage, you may remember that the heroine had a sister, supermodel Nicole George. In the beginning I didn’t plan to tell Nicole’s story, but then she decided to take a big risk in changing her career to become a talent agent in partnership with her friends.

As the idea grew, Nicole’s story became more and more irresistible to me. Besides, I moved her to Seattle, a beautiful city in which to spend time, whether for real or in a book. In Nicole’s new home she soon runs into someone from her past, Jordan Masters, who isn’t exactly a childhood friend—more a thorn in her side. I enjoyed spending time with Nicole and Jordan in Seattle, and hope you will, too.

I love hearing from readers and can be contacted at: c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, ON M3B 3K9, Canada. Please also check out my Facebook page at Facebook.com/callie.endicott.author.

Best wishes,

Callie Endicott

Moonlight Over Seattle

Callie Endicott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As a kid CALLIE ENDICOTT had her nose stuck in a book so often it frequently got her in trouble. The trouble hasn’t stopped—she keeps having to buy new bookshelves. Luckily ebooks don’t take much space. Writing has been another help, since she’s usually on the computer creating stories instead of buying them. Callie loves bringing characters to life and never knows what will prompt an idea. So she still travels, hikes, explores and pursues her other passions, knowing a novel may be just around the corner.

For all the people who pursue their dreams, even when someone else calls those dreams impossible. The grandest things have happened when the impossible is turned into possible.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Extract

Prologue

NICOLE GEORGE TURNED and lifted her arms, pushing up against the beach ball hanging from the boom. She tried to project the same energy she would have if she was actually playing a game in the sand rather than modeling a swimsuit.

A sense of déjà vu came over her.

How often had she done this? How often had a photographer’s camera captured her image for a magazine or billboard? A pang hit her at the thought that this was one of her last days as a model. After all, she’d been modeling for thirty years. It was what she knew best.

Although there were a few tedious moments, inevitable in any career, she enjoyed her work. All the same, for the past six months she’d been turning down contracts and only had a few more commitments left. It was time to get started on the other things she wanted to do in her life. Besides, sooner or later, modeling jobs would become less plentiful and she liked the thought of leaving the business while she was at the top.

“Rachel, there’s a shine on her collarbone,” Logan called, and Nicole’s friend, Rachel Clarion, stepped forward with a powder puff to dab it away.

Because she put so much energy into her job, Nicole always perspired when working, even when it was cold. Logan winked and she grinned at him. Another close friend, Logan Kensington was a great fashion photographer—one of the best in the business—and had his own way of keeping things light on the set.

“So,” he said, “why did the chicken cross the road? Because she wanted to show the possum it could be done,” he answered before Nicole could open her mouth. “Why did the punk rocker cross the road? Because he was stapled to a chicken.”

Nicole groaned. “Those jokes weren’t funny the first time someone told them, at least two generations ago.”

“There you go again, suggesting I’m using dated material.”

“Suggesting? I’m saying it outright.”

Unfazed, Logan continued shooting. They hoped to finish photographing the summer clothing line that afternoon.

“It’s time for you, Adam,” Logan called finally. “I want to finish with the romantic shots.”

Adam Wilding came over, dressed in what the designer hoped would be the hottest men’s swimsuit of the coming year. With dark wavy hair, blue eyes and a firm chin, he looked like a dashing Irish buccaneer...or he would have if not for the swimsuit.

Trying to hurry, but not look as if they were hurrying, she and Adam posed together in different positions. Rain was predicted and summer wear didn’t advertise well with storm clouds in the background.

“Okay,” Logan finally called. “That ought to do it.”

A family had stopped to watch and their adolescent son was staring at Nicole with wide eyes. His sister, on the other hand, seemed entranced by Adam, though she ran over to Nicole after he’d headed for the dressing trailer on the parking lot.

“Aren’t you Nicole George?” the girl asked.

Nicole smiled and put on a terry robe. “Yes.”

“Jeez. I’ve seen your picture, like, a gazillion times. Can I have your autograph?”

“I’d be happy to sign something for you.” Nicole took the pen and postcard being held out. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Tamara.”

To Tamara, Nicole wrote on the back. Hope you have an amazing life! Nicole George.

The teenager stared at the message in delight. “Awesome. Uh, I was, uh, wondering, is it hard to become a model?”

It was a common question from kids Tamara’s age.

In the past two years, Nicole and three of her friends had grown interested in becoming talent agents. So she studied Tamara the way she would a prospective client. The girl was pretty, had nice bone structure and her face was surrounded by a cloud of shiny brown hair.

“Some of being a model happens through persistence, but I’d say quite a bit of it is luck and timing,” she said honestly.

Being an agent wasn’t going to be easy—there were plenty of pretty girls with good bone structure and high hopes. You had to have the right look, at the right time, with the right people to make it happen. The question was whether she would be the right person to aid clients in reaching their potential. Sometimes she felt nervous about it; she took influencing people’s lives seriously.

Tamara bit her lip. “How did you start?”

“I had parents in the fashion industry, which helped. I’ve been modeling since before I can remember.”

“But do I have a chance? I could diet and color my hair. I could even get my nose fixed or do anything else that’s needed.”

This was an area in which Nicole had particularly strong opinions, something she planned to act on as an agent.

“You’re healthy and attractive the way you are,” she answered firmly, but she had a feeling the kid wasn’t listening.

“I’d do anything to look like you,” Tamara breathed.

“Don’t turn into a clone of someone else. Be yourself. There’s nothing better than that.”

“But I bet guys just look at you and fall in love.”

Sure, Nicole thought to herself, they look at me and fall in love, but they just want the surface. Through bitter experience she’d learned that too many men saw only the image on the magazine cover...the fantasy. Either that, or they couldn’t handle the notoriety that came from being involved with a supermodel. She’d believed her ex-fiancé, Paulo, was different. Instead, he’d wanted perfection—the ultimate trophy wife. Paulo was a nice person and had loved her in his own way, but that hadn’t been enough for her.

Adam’s voice intruded. “Nicole, are you coming?”

“On my way,” she called back. “Bye, Tamara. I hope this helps. Sorry I have to go now, but I’m freezing. Good luck with whatever career you choose.” Turning, she swiftly walked to the dressing trailer.

She was shivering harder now, despite the terry robe, and it was a relief to put on jeans, a T-shirt and jacket.

“See you later,” she called to Rachel as she ran to her car. They were all having dinner together and she wanted a hot shower first.

The warm water felt wonderful after a cold day in skimpy swimsuits and shorts, yet a part of her mind was preoccupied with what Tamara had said, I bet guys just look at you and fall in love. Nicole hadn’t wanted to get into a discussion about the difference between love and lust with a teenager, but it was something she’d learned the hard way.

It might be different if she’d ever gotten involved with Logan or Adam—they were terrific guys—but they’d remained friends, not lovers. And after multiple broken hearts and betrayals from men more interested in hitching a ride with a well-known face than genuine love, she’d decided friendship was far more satisfying.

Nicole dressed quickly and in less than an hour, rang Rachel’s bell.

“Hey,” Rachel greeted her at the door. “Adam and Logan are already here. Hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m starved. I know you said not to bring anything, but I ordered a super-sized pizza to be delivered.”

Rachel staggered backward and clasped a hand over her heart. “Pizza? That’s treason.” She laughed.

“Just call me Benedict Pepperoni.”

“You never gain weight, anyhow. But what about the healthy glow that fruits and vegetables are supposed to provide? ‘The camera can tell you eat crap,’” she said haughtily, quoting one of the fussier photographers they’d worked with.

Nicole shook her head. “I’ve only got a few more jobs left, so I’m not worried about it.”

“Then you’re serious about quitting.”

“If I’m going to make a change, I have to actually do it.”

Rachel whistled. “The press will claim it’s a play for more money.”

“They’ll print whatever they want, no matter what I tell them.” Nicole knew she sounded cynical, but didn’t care. She’d run out of patience with reporters a long time ago. When they didn’t get the story they wanted, some of them just invented one they liked better.

“Don’t I know it,” Rachel muttered.

Nicole squeezed her arm in sympathy. Rachel had started in the modeling business in her early teens and become a star, only to have her career end after a terrible accident on a modeling set. The scars left from it weren’t disfiguring, but they were enough to put her out of demand by advertisers who generally preferred their own version of flawless. Now she handled makeup on shoots and seemed happy enough, but once in a while the so-called journalists dug the story out again, usually when there was a scandal surrounding her ex-husband.

“How do your parents feel about your plans?”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “I haven’t told them. They think I’m taking a vacation to find a husband.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I tried to soften the news by saying I wanted a normal life. But I made a mistake in talking about it at my older sister Emily’s wedding in Montana.”

“At least you enjoyed meeting Emily’s husband and his family.”

“Very much. Trent is a good guy and the whole thing was beautiful and romantic. Em positively glowed. Anyhow, Mom and Dad assumed that’s what I wanted when I talked about having a more normal life. I didn’t tell them I’d been turning down contracts before that. They feel if I must get married, it’s easier to find someone suitable while I’m working. And by ‘suitable,’ they mean a husband who won’t interfere with my career.”

“I suppose you could have chosen a better moment than the wedding to make your announcement. Especially since you’d just broken things off with Paulo.”

“That’s for sure.” With a not-so-humorous laugh, Nicole followed Rachel out to the balcony where Logan and Adam were kicking back in chaises.

“Nicole just confirmed she’s taking an extremely long vacation from modeling,” Rachel announced.

“I have only two more contracts left to fulfill.”

Logan sat forward, his eyes intent. “That makes my announcement even more interesting.” There was a pause while he waited for everyone to focus on him. “I’ve been putting out feelers and got a call yesterday—Moonlight Ventures in the Seattle area is going up for sale. Kevin McClaskey will give us first crack at buying the agency.”

Nicole caught her breath. They’d talked about finding a small talent agency to purchase and develop. All of them had benefited from people who’d helped them and they wanted to do the same for others.

And Moonlight Ventures? The agency had a great reputation. They were especially familiar with it because Kevin had once managed Rachel’s career, and Logan had worked with the McClaskeys several times while arranging photo shoots. Moonlight Ventures was small since Kevin and his late wife had wanted to keep it that way, but with four of them, they could expand.

“Is it in the same building?” Rachel asked.

“Yep and the building goes with the purchase. There are solid renters in the space the agency doesn’t use, so that will provide some maintenance income.”

“But increases the price.”

“Not outrageously, and I think it’s worth the investment. But there’s a wrinkle,” Logan said. “With the loss of his wife last year, Kevin has decided he wants to sell almost immediately and retire.” He looked at Nicole intently. “You’re the only one who’d be free to run it until the rest of us can join you.”

Nerves sent Nicole’s stomach roiling. It was one thing to talk of buying a talent agency and working on it together, and another to know everything would depend on her, at least temporarily. Sure, she’d researched and knew the job in theory, but there was a gap between knowledge and reality.

“What do you think?” Adam asked. “Could you grab the ball and run with it until we can get up there?”

Nicole took a deep breath and nodded. She’d always thought she loved a challenge; now she would find out if she’d been lying to herself.

Chapter One

NICOLE GLARED AT her living room wall and let out a shriek of frustration.

Toby, a young beagle recently adopted from a rescue center, yipped in concern. Since the front door stood open to let in fresh air, she’d tied his long leash to one of the few chairs in the room.

“Don’t worry, boy,” she said soothingly.

But she made a face at the wall that still glowed green through the two coats of paint. She couldn’t understand why the brilliant shade hadn’t been eradicated by now.

“Is everything all right?” a voice called. A man stood at the open door. He wore faded jeans and a sweatshirt with Harvard printed on the front. A scruffy beard and mustache covered the lower half of his face. Harvard Guy, she mentally tagged him.

“What do you mean?”

Toby trotted over to lean against her leg, straining at the leash. He’d already grown quite attached and affectionate and even let out a small growl of warning.

“I heard someone yelling,” said the man, “but maybe it was somebody else.”

Nicole winced. “It was me, releasing my frustration. I didn’t know anyone else was around.”

The concern faded from Harvard Guy’s face. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him at the moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing serious, but I’ve painted twice and can still see the original green.”

“Oh.” He gazed at the wall. “That’s strange. A primer usually takes care of color bleed-through.”

“Primer?”

His eyes widened and Nicole got the impression he thought she was dense. “Yeah. It’s a special first coat used as a sealant.”

“I’m using what the clerk at the store recommended.” She gestured to a stack of paint cans.

Harvard Guy went over and picked up one of the cans and studied it. “Some paint has primer included, but not this one.”

Nicole sighed. Maybe the clerk had assumed she already knew about primer. He had been busy, with a long line of customers.

“I didn’t know—I’ve never tried this before.” Painting was hard work and the remaining green glow meant she had to start all over again. Maybe that was why her parents had always hired someone to do painting at their house, which had left her completely ignorant about the process.

“Really?”

What looked like condescension showed on Harvard Guy’s face, and the sense of familiarity increased.

“The condo I used to own came freshly painted, so it never came up. Anyhow, it was nice of you to check that I was okay.”

“Happy to help, or at least try to.”

“Obviously I’m new here, but from what I’ve seen, that’s what this neighborhood is like,” Nicole said. “Lots of vintage architecture and friendly residents.” She’d met the elementary school teacher who lived next door, and he’d told her about a neighborhood barbecue coming up in a couple of months. A businesswoman two houses over had brought a casserole, and a nurse further down the street had delivered a bouquet of flowers from her own garden.

“You like old homes?”

She nodded. “The Arts and Crafts era is my favorite. This house only mimics the style, but it’s just as well. While I love American Craftsman architecture, I prefer modern kitchens and bathrooms.”

Harvard Guy’s eyebrows rose and the sensation that she knew him hit her again. Maybe if he wasn’t backlighted by the sun coming through the door and windows, it would be easier to say for certain. The “have we ever met before” or “you seem really familiar” comment felt like a cliché... Just as she decided to ask anyway, he spoke again.

“Some critics think Arts and Crafts architecture is passé.”

Nicole narrowed her eyes; he hadn’t insulted her tastes, but was treading close to it. “I’m not bound by the opinions of other people,” she returned calmly.

“Fair enough.” His cell phone rang. “Sorry, I’m expecting a family call.” He hurried outside.

After releasing Toby from his leash so he was free to use his dog door into the fenced yard, Nicole grabbed her purse and an empty can of paint, then headed out herself. Harvard Guy was on the front walkway, talking urgently on his phone. It looked as if it might be a long conversation.

She’d parked on the driveway and he looked at her as she walked to the car. She pointed at the paint can, figuring he’d realize she was going to the store.

“Thanks,” she mouthed. He seemed distracted, but made a gesture of acknowledgment.

When she glanced in the rearview mirror, Harvard Guy was still on his phone and the face above his beard was carved in tense, sharp lines. She realized she hadn’t even gotten his name. But if he lived in the area, she would probably run across him again.

Nostalgia had played a big part in her decision to purchase the house. The Seattle-area neighborhood reminded her of the one where she’d grown up in Southern California—friendly for the most part, with everyone looking out for each other. Not that her family had been home much, particularly after her modeling career had really taken off.

The thought led to remembering again how upset her mother and father had been that she’d quit modeling. You would have thought she was betraying them in some hideous, underhanded way. We handed you a fabulous career and you’re turning your back on it, her mother had wailed.

Jeez, why couldn’t they just want grandchildren like other people? She supposed they were counting on her older sister for that. As a matter of fact, Emily was already pregnant and expecting her first baby.

Patience, Nicole reminded herself. She didn’t have any reason to feel guilty and her parents were starting to come around, anyhow. They were even making recommendations for the agency, though mostly she’d thanked them and ignored their advice. They simply didn’t understand how she and her friends wanted to run Moonlight Ventures. Nicole just hoped she was doing it right. She had regular conference calls with her three partners, and they flew in to help out whenever possible—like Adam had the past few days—but implementation was mostly up to her. And that included working with a reporter over the next several weeks for some magazine articles.

Her phone rang; it was Ashley Vanders, one of the agency’s longtime clients.

“Hi, Ashley,” she said, pulling over to the side of the road. She could have talked while driving, but preferred to focus on what she was discussing. Still, she wasn’t concentrating as much as she would have liked, because Harvard Guy’s face kept intruding.

Was it the strange sense of familiarity, or the tingle of awareness he’d evoked?

* * *

JORDAN MASTERS RETURNED to his condo. It was an ironic twist that he lived relatively close to Nicole’s new home. In fact, he commonly used the nearby fitness trail. The area was popular with new residents in the Seattle area. An old high school pal had moved there, even before Jordan had.

If only he could have managed a more productive first encounter with Nicole. He’d driven over to make a casual contact, to get reacquainted...and lay the groundwork for the articles he was writing for PostModern magazine. He wasn’t sure how Nicole was going to react since Sydnie Winslow had arranged the interviews with Nicole before asking him to do them.

Jordan cursed mentally.

As editor in chief, Syd had turned PostModern into one of the trendiest publications on the market. They were old friends and she’d begged him to do the articles, saying it was ideal since he also lived in Seattle. She’d figured he would have an “in” with Nicole because they’d grown up on the same block in Southern California. Syd was wrong, but after everything they’d been through together in the early days of his career, he hadn’t tried too hard to get out of it.

But that didn’t stop him from wishing he could forget the whole thing and head down to his boat. A sail on Lake Washington would be wonderful. Having the boat was a luxury, but his columns were syndicated in over twelve hundred publications around the world, so he could afford it. Other than traveling and his condo in Hawaii, it was his only serious indulgence.

His notebook was full of subjects he wanted to write about. He commented on everything from food to politics, religion, relationships and animals. Nothing was out-of-bounds. He’d worked his way up through various newspapers and magazines to become a columnist, but he still felt fortunate to have reached the level where he had the freedom to write about what interested him.

Jordan stared at his computer as if it was the source of his problems. He didn’t care if a supermodel dropped out of the fashion scene for a while. Nicole had done it before, whether as a ploy for more money or a publicity stunt, he didn’t know. Either way, he hadn’t paid attention—in fact, he wouldn’t have been aware of her absence or reappearance at all if his mother hadn’t gone on and on about how you couldn’t expect anything better from Paula George’s daughter.

His mouth tightened.

Too bad Mom hadn’t decided she disliked the George family when he was a small kid, instead of later. Then he wouldn’t have gotten hog-tied into doing stuff for “precious” Nicole so often. Lord, everyone had been expected to pamper the little princess as if she was made of spun glass. When she was home, that is. Luckily she’d been gone half the time on modeling assignments.

Still, the past was the past.

Restless, Jordan dropped to the floor and did a dozen pushups, unable to stop thinking about Nicole now that his past was colliding with his present.

After a lazy month in Fiji he was sporting a beard, and they hadn’t seen each other since they were teens, so it wasn’t any wonder she hadn’t recognized him. Syd had suggested he refrain from shaving and see how Nicole responded to a stranger in a casual encounter—would she be pleasant or off-putting? He’d been curious as well, which had kept him from introducing himself immediately, though he hadn’t planned to take it very far.

His cell phone rang again and he pulled it out, hoping it was from his sister, Chelsea. She’d been in her boyfriend’s car when it got broadsided. Her injuries weren’t severe, but he was still concerned.

The number on the display belonged to his editor. He answered, figuring he’d get off quickly if another call came in.

“Hey, Syd,” he said in a dry tone. “What a surprise, you’re checking on my progress.”

“Don’t be a paranoid drama queen.”

Jordan chuckled. Syd was a beautiful woman who’d stormed her way to the top of the magazine publishing world. She was tough as nails and more than one man had mentioned being hot for her in one breath and wishing he “had her balls” with the next.

“All right, but don’t try to micromanage me. It won’t work,” he advised. “What do you want?”

“Have you seen Nicole George yet?”

“Yes, briefly. She was screaming, so I rushed in to see if there was an emergency.”

And practically got knocked on my ass by how gorgeous she is, he added silently. It didn’t make sense that he’d reacted to Nicole that way. She’d been a thorn in his side when they were kids, and he had rarely thought about her since, even when seeing her photo on various advertisements.

“Screaming?” Syd repeated.

Jordan shook himself. “At her living room wall. She didn’t know that primer is necessary to keep paint colors from coming through. What kind of person doesn’t know about using a primer?”

“The kind you’re talking to right now,” Syd returned crisply. “Apparently my husband doesn’t know, either, which must be why we can’t get rid of the spectral purple in our bedroom. He’s on a DIY kick that’s driving me crazy. Listen, you promised to do this with an open mind, Jordan.”

Clearly his diplomatic skills were rusty. “Of course I’ll be open-minded.”

She snorted. “Maybe I should have listened when you told me you might not be the best choice, but having you in the area was too great an opportunity. Did Nicole recognize you?”

“Uh, no. But even without the beard, it’s been almost fourteen years since the last time we met,” he said. “Until I shave, my own sisters could probably pass me on the street without realizing I’m their brother, and Nicole sure didn’t expect to see me at her front door.”

“Okay. What did Ms. George say when you explained who you are beneath the Grizzly Adams impersonation?”

“I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself,” Jordan admitted. “I got a phone call and she hurried out, presumably to get more paint. I’ll shave before my appointment with her on Monday. It was great to let it go in Fiji, but not here.”

“Actually, I think it’s an improvement. Sexy, in a beach bum sort of way. Be sure to have fun with your childhood pal.”

“Hardly a pal,” Jordan growled. “And, by the way, don’t keep calling me. It messes with my tempo.” “You don’t have a tempo. Sometimes I’m not even sure you have a pulse. But don’t worry, I’ve got better things to do than yank your chain.”

Typically, Syd hung up without a goodbye.

Jordan picked up his laptop and tried to focus on his writing. But his mind kept returning to the rush of attraction he’d felt when seeing Nicole that afternoon... something he was determined to ignore.

* * *

NICOLE’S CONVERSATION WITH Ashley Vanders finally ended. Ashley always wanted to talk longer, but Nicole was trying to wean the young woman from needing to be coddled by the agency. That had been how Kevin McClaskey had treated his clients when he’d owned Moonlight Ventures.

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