Chapter One

May

Let the ass-kissing begin.

Vincent Ferguson didn’t start life with a platinum spoon in his mouth, but at least now he had a seat at the table.

The first weekend in May might be considered off season in South Beach, but most of the serious players tended to stick around until after Memorial Day. Which was why, when the chairman of his board insisted Ferguson Holdings secure the event sponsor title for Reece Rowe’s charity endeavor, Vin had agreed. This one, benefiting an organization driven to increase awareness of foster families, pretty much guaranteed his corporation would leave a lasting impression on those who mattered most to his bottom line.

Mattered most to his board of directors, anyway. And that was all that mattered to Vin. Keep his board happy, secure financial investors throughout the summer, launch the IPO in the fall. Of course, it was more complicated than that, but complicated was overrated, and he tended to leave the pesky details to the rock stars he’d hired. He knew when to get out of his own way.

Besides, as the event sponsor, he needed only to contribute a substantial check. Reece Rowe did the rest.

He had to admit, he liked this dog and pony show. All evening, he’d been the recipient of compliments and admiration for stepping up, for his interest in the community, for giving back…

And any preconceived notions he’d formed about Reece Rowe had been difficult to hold on to. He might not have been directly involved, but he’d read her status reports. The woman had a solid head on her shoulders. Smart in a way he hadn’t wanted to give her credit for. How in the world did someone like her manage to pull off something this incredible? She was a socialite, not a project manager. Which was why, seeing how this event all came together, she annoyed him just the tiniest bit.

A hand clamped on his shoulder, heavy and familiar. Fred Denison, chairman of Ferguson Holdings board of directors and a slew of other titles, leaned into him, a Scotch in the other hand.

“Quite the turnout, Vin.” Fred nodded as he eyeballed the room. “But then again, I didn’t expect Reece would deliver anything less than perfect. What’s this I hear about you being neighbors?”

About a year ago, Reece had moved into the condo next to his, and while they hadn’t exactly become friendly, they waved and smiled in passing. She might not realize he’d been intentionally keeping his distance, but she certainly hadn’t done anything to bridge the polite nods into friendlier territory, either. A fact unlikely to change, despite this evening’s projected success. Just as well. The baby of the Rowe empire was way too wholesome for his tastes.

He glanced toward the table sponsored by her family’s corporation. Close to the stage, but off to the side. Table sponsors rarely chose the limelight. And really, there was no need. At least not for The Rowes.

Because for the past fifty years, Rowe International Corporation had spread the wealth of their success through their foundation, ingeniously designed as the perfect tax benefit by Wife Number One, now controlled by Wife Number Five.

“Neighbors,” Vin confirmed and gestured toward Fred’s empty tumbler of Scotch. “Looks like we could both use a refill before the pomp and circumstance.”

“Lead the way, my boy.”

The air energized at the exact moment Reece Rowe, in her signature black cocktail dress and stilettos, entered the ballroom of The Ritz-Carlton. Even with her dark brown hair loose around her face, he could still see the flash of her diamond earrings. As her midnight gaze scanned the decorations, she smiled. Not the polite one she’d had on her face earlier in the day when discussing the proposal for the new art center, or even the cheesy grin she’d adopted for the children at the hospital.

No. This smile was 100 percent genuine Reece Rowe, one that revealed a smugness that could only be worn by a woman used to getting her own way.

He had no idea why this bothered him.

Or maybe he did. But he refused to admit he still held on to the ridiculous chip on his shoulder.

The picture-perfect, do-gooder socialite plucked a flute filled with Veuve Clicquot from the offered tray, and then, even in sky-high heels designed to make her legs look absolutely tempting, she stepped with confidence toward the committee volunteers table. Right. The volunteers.

Vin shot Fred a wink. “Duty first.”

Fred grinned and said, “Go work your magic,” then took off toward the bar.

Vin heard a light laugh and looked toward Reece as she raised a hand to her heart and beamed at a man he didn’t recognize. She bit her lip and shook her head, still grinning at the man with pure joy. Frustration hit him hard, but he didn’t have time to wonder what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that smile. Seven women with perfect posture expected him to not only spend time thanking them for their part in this elaborate event, but also remember their names when he took the microphone and gave the obligatory speech between the salad and entrée service. Although he’d learned a few tricks of the trade while clawing his way out of the gutter, remembering names wasn’t his forte.

He arrived at the table and flashed his own signature grin. “Ladies, I can’t thank you enough for the fabulous job you did tonight. The lifeboat for foster children theme is brilliant.”

A woman in a shimmery navy dress put down her champagne flute and said, “It was Reece’s idea. The nautical theme. Saving a life.”

“Nonsense. It was a group effort,” Reece said as she stepped up beside him.

Her sugary sweet aroma assaulted him. Like cotton candy, light and airy. He frowned at the tightening of his cock. Plenty of women wore perfume around him without interesting anything in his pants. But this woman? His mouth watered, and he licked his lips, wanting nothing more than to drag her somewhere private and see if she tasted as delicious as her scent. As she slipped off the light wrap from her shoulders, he—and probably the rest of the males in the room—swallowed back a healthy appreciation for the bare, smooth skin exposed under the thinnest crisscrossed straps on the planet.

She might be annoying in her perfect good girl, good deeds, good at everything…everything, but it just wasn’t fair she also had a body made in heaven and designed for sin.

Coming from the wrong side of the tracks, Vin had learned nothing in life was fair. Hence, the chip on his shoulder for spoiled, rich girls who had everything handed to them at the swipe of their platinum credit card.

This event, however, proved she could match his sharpest project managers, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman who had planned the entire spectacle.

“Hello, Reece. I was just telling the committee how pleased I am with the turnout.”

She smiled at him—this one the polite closed-mouth curve of her full lips—and slipped a piece of paper from her clutch into his hand. In a hushed tone, her warm breath close to his ear, she said, “I heard this was your first time as an event sponsor. I think this might help you.”

He did a double take. Nope. Her face still held a mild smile curving her lips. He couldn’t read her. He couldn’t tell if she tempted him on purpose or simply had no idea how hot first time sounded on her full lips. Most women flirted with him or displayed a wariness at his reputation. As far as he could guess, Reece did neither. And somehow, the benign expression bothered him all over again. The woman was gorgeous and made him feel…damn. Women did not make him feel anything.

So why did his dick twitch with appreciation at the full curve of her breasts? He snatched the index card and scanned the words. In cursive completely matching her frivolous personality, she’d written a list of names and a phrase next to each name.

Lydia Pearson, silver dress—decorations, catering, and open bar drink names.

Claudia Thurston, navy sparkles—calligraphy, signage, ticket sales.

Seven names with notes, but only six ladies sat at the table. He connected each name to a face until he reached Amelie Archer. Not yet present.

The woman had thought of everything. He did not want to admire her. And yet the way she’d discreetly passed him the note and the way his body reacted to her warmth and consideration had him aching to show her his appreciation in a very physical way.

Damn, Ferguson. Head in the game.

“Thank you”—he winked—“for making my first time so enjoyable.”

She blushed, her eyes locking on his, and for the briefest moment, he caught a glimpse of innocence. No wonder. Men probably didn’t make brash comments to her. How classless of him. They might move in some of the same circles, but there was a reason he’d kept his distance. He’d never been anything more than who he was, and he wasn’t going to change for some spoiled socialite.

Her sparkle didn’t dull as she turned her attention to the women and gushed, “Ladies, I can’t even… I mean, this is absolutely fabulous.” She waved her arms around the room. “It’s all so perfect.”

The woman in a shimmery navy dress stood and did the cheek kiss thing with Reece. “You look fabulous.” To Vin, she said, “And you, well, your sponsorship made this entire vision possible.”

If it hadn’t been him, he was sure Reece would’ve found some other CEO to milk for the money.

He cringed at his bitter thoughts. It wasn’t like it wasn’t for a worthy cause. And the exposure would pull in hundreds of thousands more in donations, not just the auction items—silent and live—and the table sponsors.

After several more moments of small talk and compliments, Reece touched Vin’s arm. “Shall we get a drink before you take the stage?”

He glanced at where her fingers rested on his sleeve, and for one heart-stopping moment, he swore she saw through his charm. Somehow, she’d known he’d wanted a drink to ease the anxiety before facing the crowd. He wasn’t used to women getting a read on him, and they were halfway to the bar before an elderly woman waved Reece to her table.

“You have it from here?” She grinned up at him, a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

He leaned into her and lowered his voice. “I think we both know I could find any bar with my eyes blindfolded.”

She pursed her lips and nodded once before walking away. The gentle sway of her hips and the length of her legs caught his attention for longer than they should have, and he shook his head and laughed at himself.

How did she do it? How did she make him smile without even trying?

…

After two hours listening to some guy brag about his portfolio investment and some woman discuss the evils of mercury while going gluten-free, Reece Rowe couldn’t keep the polite smile pasted to her face. With a weak apology, she wandered away from the table sponsored by her family’s corporation.

When did South Beach get so…boring? Really. Portfolios and gluten didn’t exactly scream Friday night fun.

She’d just made it to the ballroom doors, intent to slip out a tiny bit early, when she caught sight of him.

Vincent Ferguson.

Tall, sipping something amber, and looking a tad too amused. “Ducking out early?”

She stalled her steps and pasted the practiced smile on her lips. “Just need a moment to check on a friend of mine.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating from his throat to her lower stomach. In all honesty, she’d been shocked when Vincent’s people had contacted her regarding the sponsorship. In the year she’d been back in South Beach, she hadn’t run into him once at any events. Which made this fundraiser their first run-in where he wore his tux jacket, and she couldn’t help but admire the way the fabric stretched across his shoulders.

Maybe because he wasn’t someone from her childhood circle of friends, he caught her attention in a way that made her vibrantly aware it had been far too long since she’d been intrigued by any man. Which absolutely unsettled her. Vincent Ferguson had a reputation for being a little…wild. As far as she could tell, the self-made tech guru, millionaire playboy prioritized his life in the following order—babes, beaches, and bars. And not just any babe. No. His girls had to be up-and-comers. Models, actresses, singers, dancers…didn’t matter. If they were young and interested in the entertainment industry, they could probably find a spot on his calendar.

As for the beach. When Reece and her best friend had bought two condos next to each other, they’d knocked down the wall, and just like in college, they roomed together in unit 2S, complete with views of South Beach. That had been right around the time they’d first heard Vincent Ferguson. Not heard of, not even met, but heard, as in from their balcony. While celebrating their first evening in their new place, they’d heard him and the first of many different babes, strolling the path from the beach to their semi-private entrance.

So, while dating him wasn’t an option, she couldn’t deny his easygoing lifestyle fascinated her.

His gaze flickered down and then back up to her face, and his mouth curved into a wicked half smile. “Want some company?”

His innuendo wasn’t offered with disrespect or even a hint of a lecherous tone but still implied what he offered. With this guy, she wasn’t Landon and Christopher’s adopted baby sister, or even “one of the Rowes.” She was just another babe he might want to take home. How…intriguing. Before tonight, he hadn’t noticed her. Not in the way she was used to being seen. A friendly wave here and there had made her feel ordinary, and for some reason, her body warmed at the idea of this man wanting her… Would his sexy lips taste like whiskey or Scotch? Not that she could tell the difference anyway. She abhorred the stuff, preferring champagne or a light white wine.

Taking her time to peruse the long length of him from his polished loafers to the confident challenge in his honey-colored gaze, she tilted her head and sucked on the corner of her lip. A bad habit she’d picked up in grade school, and one sure to ruin her lipstick, but she had other lips on her mind than her own. Too bad this wouldn’t lead anywhere.

“Uh, no.” She gave a little laugh. “I’m sure I’ll manage without your company.”

He made a little noise with his mouth, sort of a half-tsking thing, before he said, “Pity. I’m really good company.”

He didn’t push the issue, but now she felt like she was missing out on the best thing since smartphones, which could be a pro or a con in her book on any given day. She didn’t deny a certain curiosity where Vin was concerned. Thick, dark hair, tall and fit physique, warm brown eyes… By anyone’s standards, the man was gorgeous. But she’d dated gorgeous before, and rich, and witty.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said and then scooted by him to exit the ballroom, but not before she caught his seductive scent. She inhaled, appreciating the dark promise of oak mixed with a lighter, citrusy aroma as she pushed through the revolving door of the hotel.

Her heels didn’t stop clicking until she reached the Beachwalk, where she slid them off and hooked one finger through the slingbacks. She knew the path to her condo by heart. In the time it would take her to walk the almost two miles, she hoped to hear back from her best friend, who’d ditched the fundraiser with a single text apologizing with the excuse of meeting a wicked hottie. Meaning, Amelie had a guy in their place and Reece should take her sweet time. Or Amelie had gone to the wicked hottie’s place, and Reece had an empty condo waiting for her.

She checked her phone again. One message from her father’s fifth wife. Probably another plea to take over The Rowe Foundation. That woman knew how to give a good guilt trip. She’d listen to the voicemail later…after she figured out where Amelie was. Reece would hate to get home and find the proverbial necktie on the knob.

Reece texted: Hope you’re having fun! I’m on my way home.

When Amelie didn’t answer, she added: Where are you?

And after no response, she typed: Are you safe?

By the time Reece stepped onto the soft sand, she’d progressed to text number eight: Just tell me you’re alive!

Even when Amelie disappeared with a guy, she returned Reece’s texts, so after text number nine, Reece morphed into full-blown panic mode, resorting to the absolute rarest of actions—she called Amelie’s number and left a message.

“Amelie! I can’t believe you ditched me! Are you alive? You better be alive! The last text I got from you was hours ago! Seven o’clock. It’s midnight. Where are you? I’m worried.” She hung up and stared out at the sparkling ocean, only half wondering if she should really be concerned about her friend.

“It’s only ten.”

At the low whisper, she whirled around, her heart pounding hard. Of course, it would be him. What had he done? Followed her from the fundraiser? As if that didn’t seem creepy at all, it was completely out of line. He couldn’t just walk out of his own fundraiser—he was the event sponsor, the main attraction. No one would really miss her. All her heavy legwork took place before the event. He was supposed to be there to accept accolades and checks.

No way in any scenario was Vincent Ferguson supposed to be standing on the beach looking recklessly sexy and challenging her time-guessing skills.

With a more clipped tone than she meant to use, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

His hands dove into his pockets, and he shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the world. A breeze from the ocean caught the top of his thick hair and tousled it. “It’s dark. You’re alone. I thought it best to make sure you got home safe.” He nodded down the beach, and Reece took in the scene. A couple beach parties, some panhandlers, and several groups of rowdy guys. She’d never felt not safe in South Beach, but then again, she usually paid closer attention to her surroundings.

It was oddly caring for a man known to blast his rock music way past her bedtime. Which reminded her of all the babes he brought home.

“Well, that was—” Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down.

Safe. Home. P.S. It’s only ten.

He sighed and said, “You’re welcome, Reece.”

Caught off guard, she glanced back up at him. “My roommate.” She held up her phone. “Amelie Archer.”

She sent a quick on way back and continued down the path.

To her delight, and confusion at feeling delight, he matched his strides to hers. “I’m aware who your roommate is. Although I wouldn’t expect an Archer to need a roommate.”

Neither did a Rowe, but he probably already thought that as well. “She doesn’t, but we’ve been roommates all through high school and college. After living separately for a couple years in grad school, we decided last year to buy a place and share.”

Living alone wasn’t the great big adventure everyone made it out to be. Living alone, especially when there wasn’t a guy in the picture, was lonely. Not that she needed to share that with the neighbor she barely knew. But shuffling through the sand in the moonlight reminded her it had been awhile since she’d shared anything with any man. Still, she wasn’t ready for another round on the dating circuit. Not after the last failed relationship.

She heard the satisfaction in his tone when he said, “It was a great time to buy.”

“You bought as an investment?” At the time, their building had been undergoing renovations and redesigning the amenities, increasing the value of the property.

From the corner of her eye, she watched his mouth curve in a knowing smile. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Her oldest brother had been the one to point Amelie and her to this particular building. Had his advice been based on investment purposes? With a small laugh, she said, “We didn’t plan it that way, but I suppose that’s what Landon had in mind when he suggested it. It was his idea for Amelie and I to get a place together. To keep an eye on each other.”

As they continued down the beach, he asked, “Ah, yes. Landon. Is big brother awfully protective of his baby sister?”

It was an innocent enough question, but one any man who’d ever tried to date Reece knew the answer to. But how would Landon react if she brought Vincent home to family dinner? With a small smile, she said, “I wouldn’t say protective.”

“No?” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, and the action had her itching to do the same. She wanted to feel his face, to touch him.

She shot him a playful grin. “No. More like overprotective.”

He chuckled. “Sounds about right for a big brother.”

“It can be exasperating, but I guess I’m used to it.” What she wasn’t used to was the confusion warring inside her. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said Landon was overprotective, but she’d left out why—it was more than the big brother gig. Her heart clenched at the sour memory of her last disastrous relationship, and still, despite all the reasons she avoided men like Vincent, she wondered what it would be like to be one of his babes for the night. She’d never had a one-night stand, though, and the neighbor thing could get tricky.

They stopped under the lamp by their shared gate. As she glanced up at him, she saw a soft—caring?—expression on his face when he said, “Looks like we’re here.”

“Well, it was…sweet. You, walking me home.” She studied his face, the way he gazed down at her in a way that was caring but also revealed his appreciation of her low-cut dress. Before she could do something stupid, like invite him inside for a drink, he glanced up and waved at someone.

Amelie leaned on the railing of their balcony, a flute of champagne in one hand, her phone in the other.

With a casual shrug, he said, “Guess this means good night for us. Unless you’d like to come in for a celebratory nightcap. You threw one hell of an event. And I could give you a tour of my place.”

His compliment surprised her, and his offer for a nightcap mirrored her own thoughts. But this man—with his babes, beaches, and bars—flashed warning signals. The truth about her oldest brother? She liked Landon’s overprotectiveness, because it kept her safe. She wouldn’t get sucked into another relationship with an emotionally unavailable man. And she knew what would happen if she took Vincent up on the offer of the drink and tour. It would end in his bedroom.

She shook her head. “I better go check on Amelie.” And then, in some weirdly ingrained polite but spontaneous parting, she reached out and gave him a quick hug. “Good night.”