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      VICTORIA PADE is a USA TODAY bestselling author. A native of Colorado, she’s lived there her entire life. She studied art before discovering her real passion was for writing, and even after more than eighty books, she still loves it. When she isn’t writing she’s baking and worrying about how to work off the calories. She has better luck with the baking than with the calories. Readers can contact her on her Facebook page.

      MILLS & BOON

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      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Extract

       Copyright

Chapter One

      “You’re a Camden. Shall I guess which one?”

      It was late on Monday afternoon, the last day of August, when Lindie Camden went into the recreation room of the Wheatley Community Center and someone stepped up behind her to speak those words.

      The voice was male, deep and rich. The tone was slightly confrontational, slightly facetious, and so low that no one else was likely to hear despite the fact that there were a number of other adults and children all around.

      Lindie wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad that she’d been sort of recognized. She was on a mission today from her grandmother to connect with Sawyer Huffman and attempt to take the thorn out of the lion’s paw once and for all.

      She’d tried calling to request an appointment to see him. But she’d been informed that Sawyer Huffman was not interested in hearing anything a Camden might have to say.

      Undeterred, at lunch she’d gone home to change into her tightest pencil skirt, a sleeveless silk top with a cowl neck that flowed with some intriguing folds in front, and a pair of four-inch, come-and-get-it spiked heels.

      She’d left her long, espresso-brown hair to fall loosely to the middle of her back the way she would wear it to go clubbing. She’d applied shadow, liner and mascara to her cerulean-blue eyes. She’d dusted her cheeks and her thin nose with a hint more color. Then she’d added her favorite rose-hued lipstick to lips that were naturally full. All to present herself at the offices of Huffman Consulting and hopefully lure him into meeting with her, appointment or not.

      That scheme had at least gained her information from a young male intern that Sawyer Huffman had left for the day to volunteer at the community center in Wheatley, a suburb about twenty minutes outside Denver.

      The intractably determined Lindie had come straight here and told the person at the front desk only that she was looking for Sawyer Huffman. She’d been informed that he could be found in the recreation room at the chess tables.

      It was the chess tables she was looking for when the near-whisper had come from behind.

      Lindie turned to face tall, not-too-dark but very, very handsome Sawyer Huffman himself.

      The arch nemesis of Camden Superstores.

      And the son of a man who had been a victim of some underhanded actions on the part of the previous generation’s Camdens.

      As one of Camden Incorporated’s most outspoken opponents, Lindie had seen Sawyer Huffman’s picture in newspapers and magazines; she’d seen him interviewed and in news reports on television. It had been obvious that he was attractive.

      But he was a lot more impressive in person.

      Standing six-foot-three, he was a big guy all the way around. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat behind the suit pants and dress shirt he was wearing. He had a broad chest and shoulders, thick forearms showing from beneath sleeves rolled to his elbows, and massive hands that grasped muscular arms he crossed over his flat middle.

      He was kind of daunting even though she didn’t see any anger or resentment on his gorgeous face. He had light brown hair that he wore short on the sides and only a bit longer and carelessly kept on top. His finely angular features included just-high-enough cheekbones, a sharp jawline and a nose with just enough of a ridge in the bridge to give him a roguish air.

      His lower lip was fuller than his upper and there were the sexiest little parentheses at their corners, drawn there at that moment by his questioning

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