LITMIR.BIZ

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morning, but she hated mornings. Getting up any time before ten required an entire pot of coffee. And when Gina, the “sick” friend Sandra had agreed to cover for tonight—she glanced at the car’s clock—make that last night, had made up with her boyfriend, she’d also miraculously recovered from her illness and could perform. Which meant Sandra was able to come early and surprise Jonas.

      Lightning illuminated a clearing ahead. Thank you, God. Must be the place. Two cars were there already: the insatiable Erik’s and that of the very enticing and wonderful Jonas Meyer.

      She didn’t entirely regret ending their sexual relationship—how many years ago now? Eight? Well, okay, sometimes she did regret it. He was hot and she was human. But it had been the right thing to do. She’d started having more than casual feelings for Jonas, had started seeing him as an easy rescue from her financial and personal struggles. The problem with that? Jonas hadn’t given up on true love yet, and as much as he adored her, she knew she was never going to be “the one.”

      Three years after she cut off their contact, they’d bumped into each other and met up shortly afterward for such a nice lunch that they’d decided to stay in touch. He was probably one of her closest friends.

      Ever since Jonas’s nasty breakup with that bitch Missy left him cynical and bruised, Sandra had been wondering if hooking up together permanently could still work out. They enjoyed each other. The sex had been great. They both liked kids. And, oh yes, his lovely money would make her life a hell of a lot easier. She was thirty-four and had just about reached the end of her tolerance for a life lived paycheck to paycheck. Not to mention she had next to nothing saved for retirement.

      They’d joked about ending up together, but she had a feeling neither of them had been totally joking. Maybe this was the weekend to have a serious talk with him if the opportunity presented itself.

      As she brought the car to a stop, the rain let up and visibility improved enough that she could see around her. Nice lake. Cute little cabin on the beach. Farther in, by the edge of the woods, the house. No, that couldn’t be it. Too small. There it was, nearly behind her. A mega-mansion, all lit up as if it was some kind of monument.

      She took a moment to breathe and tamp down the pain inside her. Ancient history, honey. This life didn’t belong to her anymore, hadn’t since she left home and then her marriage. She had no one to blame but herself for losing it all, and no one but herself to rely on if she wanted it back now. Living hand-to-mouth had been a satisfying rebellion in her twenties, but not so much in her thirties. Afterward came the forties and fifties, when her appeal to men her own age would wane. God knew she wasn’t going to get rich performing, and she didn’t have the brains or patience to go back to school. If she wanted financial security, she’d have to start nailing him down now.

      Practical, yes, but a bit sickening. She certainly hadn’t expected to end up in this situation when she’d marched defiantly out of her parents’ lives. Ah, the stupidity of pampered youth. Apparently she’d expected that money would just keep showing up, as it always had.

      The rain started coming down harder again. She cut the engine, grabbed her overnight bag from the passenger seat and bolted for the mega-mansion’s front door before it decided to pour again. Peering up, she couldn’t see any lights on in the house, not that she expected to. Most people were asleep at this hour. Performers were a different breed.

      Not wanting to wake anyone, she tried the door, even though she was sure it would be locked against the inevitable psycho with a shotgun who favored remote lake areas.

      The door wasn’t locked.

      Sweet Jesus, these Meyers were certifiable.

      Making her way inside the house, she shut the storm out behind her, locking the door as any sensible person would, and found a switch that bathed the entry in warm light. Wow. Look at this chilly museum of a place. She tried to picture Jonas as a kid, probably not allowed to bring sand or candy inside. Feeling as if you weren’t welcome or didn’t belong in your own home sucked. She should know.

      No wonder he leaned toward the conservative side. A place like this would beat the wildness out of anyone. It was a beach house, for heaven’s sake. Even her uptight parents decorated their place in the Hamptons with summery stuff. Nautical print rugs, painted buoys and model ships, seashell upholstery on the furniture, paintings of oceanscapes and sailboats on the walls. No big shock that Jonas wanted to sell. This wasn’t a house you fell in love with. He’d mentioned buying a place on Cape Cod. She could seriously get behind that concept.

      Climbing the stairs, she heard a door open and saw a man stumble out into the hallway. Not Jonas. Erik, then. Drunk? Or sleepy?

      “Hello?” She reached the landing in time to see him turn toward her voice.

      Well. Jonas’s brother was adorable. Not that she was surprised, given his success with women. Kind of a more casual, blonder version of Jonas, carrying a few more pounds that softened him and made him seem more approachable. The kind of guy you’d slap on the back instead of shake hands with.

      “I’m Sandra McKinley.”

      “Sandra.” He blinked his baby blues in confusion. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”

      She spread her hands to say whatcha-gonna-do, adopting the South Boston persona she’d created for herself so long ago that it was nearly instinctive. “Tomorrow is today now. And I’m here.”

      “What time is it?”

      “Two a.m. Where’s Jonas?”

      “Not coming until tomorrow. I mean today.”

      “No, baby, he’s here now.”

      “Hmm.” His eyes focused on her, his mouth twisted in a half grin. Cute. Definitely cute. A very boyish thirty. “Baby?”

      “You don’t like it?” She shrugged. “I’ll call you something else.”

      “Erik works.” He put his hands on his hips, looking swagger-confident in an old T-shirt and boxers. “I remember now, Jonas texted me about showing up early.”

      “Uh-huh. Where does he sleep? East wing? West wing? North? South? How many wings you got in this place?”

      He laughed easily. “The house too much for you, baby?”

      “Not for me.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Nothing’s too much for me.”

      “Well, well.” He took a step closer and pointed down the hall, fully alert now. Not drunk then, just groggy. “Jonas usually sleeps in the last room there on the right. I’m sure he’d love you to join him. If you want your own room, there’s one made up for you across the hall.”

      She was only mildly surprised that he thought they were still lovers. Erik and Jonas weren’t the closest of brothers. And Jonas wasn’t big on sharing personal information.

      “Thanks. Anything else I need to know?”

      “Bathroom’s behind me on the left. No, your right. Towels are in the closet opposite if there aren’t any in your room.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off her. “Should be a robe in your room, too.”

      Sandra stared back, expecting him to drop his gaze. He didn’t. “What’s the matter, you never seen a woman before?”

      “Thousands.” He didn’t look remotely apologetic. “But Jonas didn’t tell me.”

      “Didn’t tell you what?” She let her arms drop to her sides, sure she’d just handed him the opportunity for one of his favorite lines.

      Here it came.

      “That you were so beautiful. So exotic, like Salma Hayek. And so...” He gestured toward her body. “Beautiful.”

      “Ah, I see.” She pretended complete nonchalance, but deep down she was pleased even knowing his reputation as a flatterer. “Should he have told you?”

      “Maybe not.” Erik

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