LITMIR.BIZ

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charts in every way.

      Dylan deserved a beautiful wedding. After all these years, she deserved one.

      Reese glanced back at her bodice and tried to shift her left breast higher, hoping to fill the gap.

      “Rearranging them isn’t going to help. The girls are looking a little malnourished.”

      The male voice slid through her consciousness, triggering long-suppressed emotions that came bubbling up like an ominous ooze. Her heart set up house in her throat, making speech impossible, and Reese slowly removed her hand from her bodice. Shifting her gaze in the mirror, she took in the lean, muscular form lazing against the doorjamb. The familiar potent power and arrogance were not lost in the reflection as, arms crossed, Mason Hicks met her eyes in the mirror.

      Reese blinked, hoping the figure staring back at her was a trick of her imagination, the voice emanating from inside her head. Visual and auditory hallucinations would be most welcome in comparison. There were treatments for those, but all the medication in the world couldn’t see her through a visit from Mason. And the intensely curious look on Amber’s face was proof positive that her ex-husband was indeed...here.

      “Girls?” Reese repeated, feeling stupid.

      “Puppies,” he said. His thickly fringed, hazel eyes were lit with mischief as he crossed the room in her direction. And every footstep ratcheted her heart rate higher. “Bazookas.”

      His disturbing gaze grew closer, and, just like when they first met, elicited the same burning low in her gut. His chest looked as cut as ever beneath his military, olive green T-shirt. And pretty soon he was standing next to her, near enough to smell his musky, masculine scent. Close enough to touch.

      And her expression must have remained as blank as her brain.

      “Boobs,” he clarified.

      The word finally shattered the trance, the same sensual web the man had magically spun so many years ago. But she was older now.

      Wiser.

      She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to continue with his man-thesaurus listing of names for the female anatomy. Instead, he took the direct approach.

      “Last time I saw you, your breasts were bigger,” he said. “I think a few cream puffs are definitely in order.”

      “See, the man agrees with me,” Amber said, eyeing Mason with interest. “At least have a little ice cream, Reese.”

      Mason’s lips tipped up at one corner. “She loves crème brûlée.”

      “Topped with caramel topping,” Amber added, returning the smile.

      Mason turned his attention back to Reese, and looked at her as if she was incapable of intelligent speech. No need to wonder why.

      “Surprised to see me, Park Avenue?” The familiar, sexy rumble and the nickname added to the surreal nature of being transported back in time when she had laughingly told Mason her college roommates’ nickname for her, Park Avenue Princess. And then he’d made the name his own, dropping the princess part. Which for some strange reason had pleased her to no end.

      But she was not pleased to see Mason.

      Days away from her wedding.

      Reese gritted her teeth, struggling to retain her cool as the anger finally built high enough to surpass every other emotion—shock, doubt and dread, just to name a few. Why was he coming to see her again? After ten years, why now? Right when all of her dreams were finally about to come true.

      And since her appetite had been suffering from the stress of the planning, her chest shrinking, it only seemed fair his muscles should have gone soft, as well. Less sharply defined. Less capable of reaching out to the very core of what attracted a woman to a man.

      Strength. Power. And a raw masculinity.

      She forced her voice to remain smooth. “And the last time I saw you, you were dodging the dog tags I hurled at you.”

      “Your aim was good.”

      Quirking her lips dryly, she said, “I should have used your baseball bat.”

      “It still made a nice punctuation mark for your demand for a divorce.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Claimed irreconcilable differences, if I remember right.”

      She tipped her chin higher. “Temporary insanity was more like it.”

      “A lust-induced state of insanity.” Heat flushed through her like a flash fire, though he steadily held her gaze. His expression more reflective than affected, he murmured, “A drug, that.”

      Her chest pinched, making breathing more difficult. Bad enough he had to still look good, now the unwanted memories invaded. Memories of Mason making love to her. The incredibly intense state of happiness they’d achieved, right before it had all been blown to hell. Correction, right before Mason had blown it all to hell.

      Remember, Reese. Never again.

      Never again.

      “The sex wasn’t a drug,” she said, though, at the time, she’d thought the same thing. But God knows she’d learned her lesson the hard way. She was no longer susceptible to the whims of her hormones. “It was quicksand.”

      And just as deadly to her peace of mind. Her sanity.

      He hiked a brow and studied her a moment more. “Maybe,” he said softly, his lips curling at the edges. “But what a way to go.”

      The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, but not nearly as loud as Reese’s thumping heart. She smoothed a damp palm down her dress, and shifted her gaze back to Amber, who was looking incredibly entertained. “Can you give us a minute?”

      “Of course. I’m done here anyway,” Amber said. “I’m supposed to head back to the city to meet Parker for lunch.”

      “Then go,” Reese said. “I’ll ask Ethel to help me out of the dress.”

      She certainly wasn’t going to ask her ex to unbutton her gown.

      The redhead’s eyes lingered curiously as she passed by Mason, but Reese couldn’t blame her. Mason exuded a barely restrained energy that underscored the kind of training that meant, when bad things happened, this was the guy who could take care of the problem. But as a husband, he was guaranteed to let you down.

      Bracing herself, she turned to face her ex. “I’m sure you’re not here to discuss my bra size.”

      “Nope,” he said. “Though I do find the topic fascinating. What are you now?” He hooked a finger in her bodice, just to the left of her breast—the touch sending a sensual shock that left her briefly paralyzed—testing the fit. “B cup?”

      She refused to let him see how he affected her. “It’s none of your business.”

      “You’re absolutely right,” he said easily.

      Their gazes locked, seconds ticked by in which she felt overwhelmed, over her head. Drowning in Mason’s presence. Just like she had as a young university student. All from the smoldering hazel eyes and the simple masculine finger barely brushing against her skin. And he wasn’t even touching anything vital.

      Quicksand. He’s quicksand, Reese.

      And for some ridiculous reason she had the intense urge to explain, which made her even angrier.

      “You met me while I was a stupid college kid,” she said. “A naive junior who was still lugging around her freshman weight and her romantic ideals.”

      Turns out the romantic ideals had been easy to lose, dropped like a stone during her year of marriage.

      The disturbing finger finally pulled away, and Reese’s taut muscles relaxed a fraction. Until Mason dropped his hand to the satin at her waist, as if testing its size. “Those extra pounds looked good on you.”

      Heart

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