The scene couldn’t have been more perfect had Hank designed it himself. Behind the barn was a narrow path, lit with more of the same copper lanterns they had seen when they arrived. Only instead of welcoming them to the hoe down, these flickering lights beckoned them away from the crowd toward a small pond flanked by a curtain of weeping willow trees.

“Beautiful,” Cassie said when they reached the water’s edge.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Hank said, never taking his eyes off her.

She turned to face him and that shy smile returned. Goddamn, she was the perfect combination of sexy and sweet. What he wouldn’t give to be alone with her, miles and miles from anyone else. Just the two of them, snowed in at a chalet or in a cabana on a private island. Hell, he’d even settle for a log cabin in the woods. But while stumbling across an empty cabin was about as unlikely as actually finding one owned by three porridge-eating bears, surely there was a nice patch of grass somewhere close by? Perhaps if they walked along the water’s edge.

“Shall we?” he said, gesturing toward the winding path.

She stepped forward then stopped. “Did you hear something?”

Hank cocked his head to one side, focusing on the sounds coming from the darkness, but all he heard was the distant chirp of crickets mingled with the lapping of the water against the shore. “You mean the crickets?”

“No, it sounded more like a clicking noise.” Cassie hesitated a second before joining him, but when they reached the path, she stilled. “There it was again.”

“Maybe it was my mobile.” Or Clayton, he thought. “The bloody thing has had a mind of its own since I landed.” And so did the head of his security detail. “Give me two secs to turn it off.” Hank pulled his phone out of the pocket of his trousers and fired off a quick text to the man who was supposed to be keeping his distance, not following him around a lake. They were on the outskirts of a small town and he was in the company of a lovely woman. The only danger he was in was dying from a case of blue balls. Clayton, on the other hand, was in considerably more.

PRIVACY was all Hank typed, but he knew it would be enough for him to get the message.

“At least it’s not the paparazzi,” Cassie said with a laugh.

Hank nearly dropped his phone. “Pardon?”

“Hadn’t you heard? There was a celebrity on the guest list.”

“Is that so?” As far as Hank was aware, none of the other wedding guests even knew he’d been invited. From the very beginning he’d suggested that Matthew and Emily keep his possible attendance a secret. They’d agreed, even going so far as to keep the information from their families.

“Yep. But I guess he couldn’t make it. Schedule conflict or something. Good thing, could you imagine what a circus this would have been with the press camped out all over this sweet little town?”

“Mmm.” Hank hummed his agreement, but the fact of the matter was he could absolutely imagine the level of insanity that would have ensued. For him it was the norm, but Matthew and Emily hadn’t been born into his world and the last thing Hank wanted was to thrust it upon them by mere association. The members of the so-called press who tracked his every move would have descended on this quaint town like locusts if they got even a whiff of a planned trip to the United States. Which was why he’d convinced the bride and groom to keep his invite and R.S.V.P. under wraps. Taking it a step further by going incognito for the weekend might have been all his idea, but either way, his possible attendance was top secret. So how in the world had Cassie heard that a celebrity might be there?

“Although to me that’s using the term ‘celebrity’ a bit loosely,” she said, accenting the word with air quotes. “He’s really more of a boy behaving badly, but the press seems to love him.”

Nothing like a dose of reality right between the eyes. Although to be fair, it was a pretty accurate description. At least the bad behavior part. At twenty-nine, he was far from a boy. “Moves their papers I suppose.” Did it ever. Sales of those daily rags doubled whenever Hank graced the cover. Tripled if the photo in question featured a scantily clad woman or a bottle of booze.

“Well I find the whole thing ridiculous. I mean, I get that he’s some sort of football phenom but—”

“Wait.” Hank’s head snapped up. “He’s a what?”

“Sorry, my bad. American football, not soccer,” she clarified. “Brody Dixon. Have you heard of him?”

“Indeed.” You didn’t have to follow American football to know Brody Dixon. He was one of those celebrities known as much for his activities off the field as on it. Supermodels, fast cars, and a love of blackjack. Safe to say, Hank could relate. The two men had met several times at various events and had actually become friends.

“My brother handles his investments and I guess they hang out. But like, just on the golf course and stuff,” she was quick to clarify. “Em would have a stroke if Matthew hopped on a private jet for a weekend in Monte Carlo.”

“For the life of me I can’t picture your brother doing that either way.” Which would explain why they’d never crossed paths. Separate worlds really, day and night quite literally. Hank had no idea that Matthew and Brody knew each other, let alone that Brody had been a potential wedding guest, but he breathed a sigh of relief over whatever conflict prevented him from attending. Brody would have surely recognized him, and even if he’d persuaded him to keep silent, the media attention that followed his entourage would have definitely blown Hank’s cover.

Cassie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really see what the big deal is. Everyone is good at something, why does society elevate someone to a deity just because their particular talent involves a ball?”

Or birthright , Hank thought. He picked up a rock and skipped it across the tranquil water. The moon reflected off the ripples, giving them the look of liquid silver.

“Were you the sporty sort growing up?” She flashed him a teasing grin. “Aside from golf.”

“Careful, luv, or you might end up in that pond.” He cut his eyes at her then matched her grin with one of his own. “But to answer your question, I guess so. No more or no less than the rest of my mates though. A bit of what you call soccer when I was younger, some rugby at boarding school, but mostly polo.”

“You mentioned that before. Are you any good?”

“Depends on the mood of my horse. She can be a bit temperamental.” He chuckled. “Let’s just say it’s an ongoing relationship.”

“I bet you have no problem sweet-talking her into doing your bidding.”

“Sometimes. But you know women, they often have a mind of their own.”

Cassie raised a brow. “Careful luv, or you’ll end up in that pond,” she said, mimicking his earlier threat.

“Ah, but if I go, you go.” All at once thoughts of a naked swim filled Hank’s mind. He could almost feel Cassie’s slick, wet skin sliding against his as they sank into the water, cool at first but the chill soon forgotten as she wrapped herself around him. He could almost see her with her arms clasped around his neck and her head thrown back, the moonlight reflecting off her pale skin as his teeth grazed the tender spot just below her ear. And he could almost hear the soft moans of pleasure that would escape her sweet lips when he brought them together in a slow, unhurried rhythm that perfectly matched the lapping waves. Hank couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to spend the evening. He was about to suggest they find a private spot to do just that, when she spoke again.

“I was never one for organized sports,” she said.

He’d been hoping for a change in topic but the night was young and to his surprise, Hank found talking with her nearly as enjoyable as fucking her. He knew it made him sound like a royal douchebag, but he honestly never knew a woman could be so enthralling with her clothes on. To be fair, most of the women he spent time with chattered on about ridiculously inane subjects. Fashion Week was about as far down his list of interests as The X Factor, both of which seemed to occupy an exorbitant amount of brainpower among the twentysomething females in his social circle. But Cassie was different. He didn’t feel the need to shut her up with a cocktail or drown her out with loud music. On the contrary, he actually wanted to hear what she had to say. She was engaging and intriguing and made him think about the world in ways he never had before. So instead of letting his dick control the conversation, he let her.

“No softball or field hockey for young Cassandra?” he asked, following her closer to the water’s edge.

She wrinkled her nose then laughed. “Field hockey?”

“Or lacrosse?”

“None of the above.”

“Volleyball?”

She rolled her eyes. “At my height?”

“What about soccer?” He’d never get used to calling it by that name, but when in Rome . . .

“Nope.”

“Really? I thought it was a mandatory weekend activity for every child age four to twelve?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you basing that on a Will Ferrell movie?”

He laughed. “Perhaps.”

“Well not me. I was much more of an indoor girl.”

“Not even swim team?” he asked, setting up what he hoped was the perfect segue into the topic of skinny-dipping. He might have enjoyed speaking with her, but he was, after all, a red-blooded male and at the moment the majority of that blood was all headed in one direction.

But when Cassie replied all trace of humor was gone from her voice. “No, I wasn’t a swimmer.” Her voice grew quieter as she added, “That was more my sister’s thing.”

Sister? In all the years he’d known Matthew he’d never once mentioned having more than one sister. “Forgive me, but I thought it was just the two of you. You have a sister?”

She nodded. “Clare. She was the oldest.”

The use of past tense was impossible to miss.

“She died when I was seven.” Her eyes grew glassy as she stared out across the pond. When she finally spoke it was only one, somber word. “Cancer.”

“I’m sorry, Cassie.” And truly he was. Hank was all too aware of the toll that hideous disease could take on a family, not to mention the grief felt by those left behind.

“After that my mom sort of launched into hyperdrive. She went from your average overprotective mom to a micromanager.”

“Like keeping you in sight would keep you safe?”

“Exactly,” she said. “I mean, I get it, one daughter is taken from you . . . it’s sort of logical I guess that she would latch on to me. But—”

“It can be a bit smothering.” It was a feeling Hank knew all too well. His family just used bodyguards and high-tech security measures to get the job done, but the result was still the same: a teenager who felt as though he couldn’t breathe without someone watching.

“Sometimes I would lie in bed thinking about being as far away from there as possible. Like I could sprout wings or something and just fly right through the ceiling, weightless and carefree.” She turned to look at him. “Have you ever felt that way?”

“Like I wished I could just disappear?”

She nodded.

“All the time, luv. All the time.” The fantasy of blending into another life, hell even another world, was one Hank had entertained quite often when he was younger. In his mind he would imagine he was anyone else besides a future king. Someone able to take chances, to even make mistakes, far from a nation’s watchful eye.

“Did you ever do anything about it?” she asked.

“Aside from a few benders with serious lapses in judgment?” He flashed her a teasing grin. “All of which I will unapologetically blame on your brother. No, not really.” But even as he said the words, it occurred to him that in a way, disappearing was exactly what he’d done this weekend. While it was true that his elaborate ruse was designed in part to spare the bride and groom unwanted publicity while offering him a wild weekend of anonymity, to a certain extent it was also wish fulfillment of the lifelong kind. This weekend, this night, hell, Hank’s very existence, was what Henry had longed for since he was a young boy.

“Me neither,” she said. “Unless you count going to college ninety miles from home.”

“You wild woman,” he teased.

“Yeah, I know. Hardly a radical move.”

“It’s amazing you didn’t completely rebel.”

“True.” She gave a small laugh. “Just think, if I hadn’t thrown myself into my studies you could be taking a walk with someone with pink hair, tattoos and body piercings.”

“You just described how I looked in high school,” he said with a straight face.

She eyed him skeptically. “You’re playing with me aren’t you?”

Of course he was joking. Tattoos and hair coloring were strictly forbidden by the palace, although it would have been worth incurring his grandmother’s wrath just to see the look on her face when he showed up to an event with a streak of neon green hair.

“Yes, I am.” He thought about it for a moment then added, “Although I did manage to have my ear pierced one night at a pub.” He rubbed his lobe but felt no sign of the opening. “It’s closed up now but for a few alcohol fueled hours I sported a rather wicked silver cross.”

“Channeling a little Billy Idol were you?”

“Suffice to say it was an eighties theme night gone horribly wrong.”

Their quiet laughter subsided and Cassie grew distant. She was still in the past, reliving a time that had clearly marked her forever. He wanted to keep her engaged. She’d opened the door, which in his experience meant someone needed to talk. The last thing he wanted was for her to shut it before she’d said all she needed to say.

“Was your father the same way?” Hank asked. “Overprotective, I mean.”

A frown knit her delicate brow. “No, he had sort of the opposite reaction.” Her words trailed off to nothing more than a whisper. Clearly there was a lot more to the story, and judging by the expression on her face, it wasn’t all happy. An unfamiliar instinct to protect surged through him and he found himself wanting to wrap his arms around her and kiss the bad thoughts away. But despite the crown he sometimes wore, Hank knew all too well that life didn’t dole out fairy tale endings. While there might be crown jewels and royal balls and crystal-encrusted Louboutins that could put any glass slipper to shame, there certainly weren’t any fairy godmothers or magic wands to make everything okay. Clicking your heels together didn’t do a fucking thing when fate had other plans, a fact he’d learned the hard way when he was even younger than Cassie had been when she lost her sister.

Hank took a deep breath. “My mother died when I was a baby,” he said. “Same horrible disease that claimed your sister.” His voice sounded strange even to his own ears. Then again, these weren’t words he spoke. Ever. The topic of his mother was considered off-limits among the household staff, more than likely on order of his father in some misguided attempt to ease his pain. But out of sight, or in this case, out of earshot, wasn’t out of mind, and no amount of silence could change that. His mother’s memory was everywhere in that palace, and he wasn’t merely referring to the oil paintings that hung in the Grand Hall. On the contrary, that woman, dressed in beaded satin and wearing a diamond tiara, seemed more like a mythical creature than his mum. Then again, to many that’s exactly what she was. Princess Sophia was more than just a mother and a wife, she was also a beloved ruler, fashion icon, and staunch advocate of dozens of royal charities. When she died, the loss was felt by far more than just her family.

From the very beginning, the young princess had captured the hearts of the kingdom. They’d cheered at her wedding, waving flags as the glass carriage passed by the crowd-filled streets, but even that was nothing compared to the unprecedented outpouring at her untimely death. Candlelight vigils were held for days, flowers carpeted both the north and south lawn, and nearly every step of the mourning process was documented by film crews from across the globe. Such was the price of fame. Even in death you’re not afforded privacy. His mother’s illness, death, and subsequent funeral were marked not only by Hank and his family, but by most of the world. Millions had watched her white casket as it sat atop the altar of the Abbey and the image of a small boy in a dark suit had graced nearly every publication. But while the country had lost their princess, four-year-old Henry had lost his mum. There were times when he appreciated the tributes, but in other moments he wanted to shout that she was his to grieve, not theirs.

“I’m so sorry,” Cassie whispered.

“It was a long time ago.” He shrugged, his knee-jerk reaction when the topic of his mother was raised, but then Cassie reached up and gently turned his face to hers and the walls he constructed on autopilot began to crumble. A sadness filled her eyes, but it was more than just sympathy, it was understanding. She’d sustained a loss at a young age, and while different it was no less devastating. The depth of her emotion touched him somewhere deep inside and all at once Hank knew he’d made the right choice in telling her about his mother.

“It doesn’t matter how much time has passed,” she said. “There are some wounds that never fully heal.” She grasped his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But our love for them remains. And so do they, in the memories of those of us who loved them.”

His memories of his mother were dim but there were moments, in the early break of dawn before he was even fully awake, when the sense of her was so clear, it was as if she were there with him. Sometimes he wondered if these images were real or if he’d just seen so much press footage of his early childhood that he’d somehow interjected that into his reality. But there were aspects no amount of video archive could conjure—her soothing touch stroking his hair as he drifted to sleep; her soft voice singing to him as he protested his porridge; the scent of her soap, jasmine and vanilla, that enveloped him as she snuggled him close. These memories were his alone and when they flooded his senses it was as if she’d never been taken from him. Those were the times when he wanted to speak of her with someone who really knew her, who really knew him, but that list was short and unrealistic.

His grandmother, although devoted to Henry and his father, was far from the warm and fuzzy type. And while the queen had respected her daughter-in-law and grieved her loss, she was the product of a different generation and had been raised in a time when royal obligations required an iron will. She liked to say the Brits weren’t the only ones with a stiff upper lip but still, his grandmum took stoicism to a new level.

His father was a different story, and a heartbreaking one at that. His devotion to his wife had been steadfast, as was his grief. Even after all these years, his father could barely manage to utter her name at official events and dedications. A full conversation reminiscing the small window of time their family had together was no doubt more than the man could bear. Which left Henry alone in his grief. His feelings had been his own. Until now. Because for some reason he found himself wanting to share them with the young woman standing beside him in the moonlight.

“She had breast cancer, which they tell me is quite rare for a woman her age.” He let out a sound that was half sigh and half sad laugh. “Like that’s supposed to make it better. ‘Sorry son, we know you lost your mum, but sleep better knowing that statistically it should have never happened.’”

“I can’t imagine losing my mother at all, let alone at such a young age. I mean, she drives me crazy, but still.”

“Was that her I saw you speaking with tonight?” he asked in an effort to change the subject. As happy as he was with his decision to tell Cassie about his mother, it wasn’t a path he wanted to continue, at least not at the moment.

Cassie nodded. “She was wondering who the handsome stranger was dancing with my Great Aunt Maeve. Nice move by the way, winning over the matriarch.”

In a way, placating matriarchs was part of his job description, whether it be his grandmother or the rulers of any number of foreign countries. Hank had learned from an early age that having the older members of a royal family on your side was undoubtedly a plus. Asking the oldest female in the barn to dance was almost second nature. “What can I say, I’m not above sucking up to Great Aunt Maeve if it earns me favor with her fair niece.”

Cassie cut her eyes at him and smiled. “I’d say you were doing just fine without it.” She walked up a small berm and ran her fingers through a curtain of weeping willow branches. “More than fine actually.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder. The innocent, while at the same time decidedly come-hither, expression on her face had his cock twitching in his pants. Christ, what was he, fourteen?

He joined her on the grassy hill. “Still, can’t hurt to have a bit of credit stored up in case I put my foot in my mouth.”

“Well you’ve got credit with my mom now too.” She took a seat on the soft grass and winced.

Hank frowned. “All right, luv?”

“Just a bit sore. Overdid it on a run this morning.”

“And here I thought perhaps I was to blame for your aches and pains.” He flashed her a knowing grin. “Must not have been trying hard enough.”

“Oh, you were hard enough.”

It was difficult to tell in the moonlight, but if Hank had to wager he’d bet good money the rosy blush had returned to her cheeks. His little vixen was unguarded and open with him, but a part of her was still shy and somewhat demure when it came to expressing it. The combination was devastating.

“I just had the genius idea to start running today and did about double the distance I probably should have.”

“Not your usual routine then?”

Cassie laughed. “My usually routine involves moving very slowly until my coffee has had time to kick in.”

“So why the genius idea?” he asked, quoting her. “Most people wait until after their holiday to punish themselves.”

“Let’s just say it has something to do with my honky tonk badonkadonk.”

Hank’s laugh vibrated deep within his chest.

“You know that reference?” Judging by the look on her face she’d been banking on a lack of knowledge when it came to country music.

“Indeed. You can thank the local radio station for that one. Although fair play to Trace Adkins, it’s quite a catchy tune.”

The impish grin that had lit her face faded and all at once Cassie looked to be nervous and uncomfortable. She pulled her knees to her chest and rearranged the billowing skirt of her dress. The fabric was covering everything but her ankles by the time she was done.

Hank reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I think you have the perfect amount of honky tonk in your badonkadonk,” he said in his best attempt at a Southern drawl. He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Or as we Europeans like to say, that’s a right fit arse.”

Cassie laughed out loud. It was a genuine, happy sound—nothing forced or contrived—and in that moment Hank realized he’d do just about anything to keep that smile on her face.

“Well, it’s been a struggle all my life,” she said. “Probably because I love to taste when I bake. Clare and I used to make these little cakes with our Easy Bake Oven and she was always getting after me about tasting the batter. ‘There won’t be any left to cook,’ she used to tease.” The tension in Cassie’s frame had eased and a wistful smile curved her lips. “But then we’d scrape every last drop into those tiny aluminum pans and sit in front of the little window, watching until they were done. Which, by the way, took forever. ” She rolled her eyes. “Whose bright idea was it to have kids cook a cake with a light bulb anyway?”

Hank smiled. “Probably a mum who wanted to have ten minutes of peace and quiet.”

“You might be right. All I know is I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to use the real oven.”

“So have you always wanted to be a pastry chef then?”

“Not really, although baking was something I always enjoyed. It was more of a stress release than anything, I never really considered it a career option.”

Hank picked up Cassie’s hand and fit it into the palm of his. “Then what did young Cassandra grow up to be?”

A sheepish grin formed on her lips. “An accountant.”

He groaned. “You’re killing me.”

“How so?”

“Little Vixen, you’re a walking talking wet dream.”

“Well, you’re a walking talking stereotype.” Cassie shoved him hard against his shoulder and he laughed as he fell back onto the soft grass.

“Sorry, luv, but the only thing hotter than you in nothing but heels and an apron is you in a pencil skirt and stockings.” He licked his lips. “And if you tell me you worked your way through uni as a librarian . . .”

She smiled. “No, but I do have the glasses.”

He placed his palm on his chest and sighed. “Be still my mortal heart.”

Another laugh, this one quieter but no less devastating. “Does every career choice come with a slutty scenario?”

“Mmm, you have no idea.” Hank sat up and ran his hand through his hair. “Although to be honest, I never got the chambermaid one. In all my life I’ve never seen a woman dust in a mini can-can dress, not even in Paris.”

A crease formed between Cassie’s brows. “You have servants?”

“Um, no, I mean on the telly,” he said, attempting a quick recovery. “Those women always look like my father’s cousin Sue.” That part at least wasn’t a lie. While “cousin Sue” was actually Dame Susan of Wentworth, she was still the most homely, not to mention portly, woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

“You never know, maybe cousin Sue would look great in a short ruffled skirt.”

“Sod off,” he said with a laugh. “I might be impotent for weeks after you put that image in my head. Trust me, the sight of that old bird in anything other than turn-of-the-century would be enough to kill any man’s buzz, not to mention his hard-on.”

“Is this where you tell me you’re a closet fan of Downton Abbey?”

“Hardly.” But it could be where he told her that he had a country estate that made Highclere Castle look like a cottage. Didn’t matter what country he was in, birds creamed themselves over castles and carriages and anything that made them feel like a cross between a Jane Austen novel and Princess Kate. But for some reason he didn’t feel the need try to impress Cassie. In fact, he didn’t even want to. But more than that, he didn’t need to. She seemed to quite fancy Hank the working class European, which meant Prince Henry and all his pick-up lines could take a much needed break.

“So why the change from calculators to rolling pins?” he asked, keeping the conversation and his attention focused on her.

Cassie stared out across the lake. “I guess what it really boils down to is I didn’t feel like I was living my life.”

“Then why go into accounting in the first place? I mean this in the nicest way possible, but your personality seems far from that of a number cruncher.”

She shrugged. “I was good at math so everyone said ‘you should be an accountant’ and I guess I just went along. But it wasn’t my life, not really, just some cookie-cutter path that seemed to make sense to everyone else. It’s like from the moment we’re born our whole life is planned out. Go to preschool to learn not to eat the paste, then kindergarten to learn how to play nice, then grade school to study hard so you get placed in all the top classes in high school so you can get into the right college so you can get a job at a high-profile firm.” She sighed. “There’s so many external factors. It’s like no one ever stops to ask themselves what it is they actually want. We just ride along on the conveyor belt.”

Hank was quiet for several long beats. In her own chatterbox way, Cassie had just described his life in a nutshell. The circumstances might have been different, but the result was the same: a pre-determined destiny.

She turned to look at him. “You must think that sounds sort of crazy, huh? I mean, I should be grateful for the opportunities I had, not complaining that they weren’t the ones I wanted.”

“On the contrary, I think what you’ve said is very insightful. And I find it quite remarkable that you found the fortitude to change your path. Most would simply stay the course. Far easier that way.”

“Well fortitude doesn’t pay the bills,” she said with a laugh. “I’d be seriously having to consider moving back to Wisconsin if my best friend hadn’t offered to back me in a cupcake shop.”

“Sounds like quite a friend.”

“Olivia’s one in a million. I’m not sure Cole ever saw himself adding a bakery to his portfolio,” she added with a knowing grin. “But my guess is he didn’t stand a chance in the negotiations.”

“Cole?”

“Olivia’s husband, Coleman Grant.”

“Of Grant Industries?”

Cassie nodded. “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation.”

“Dr. Douchebag,” she said matter-of-factly.

Hank chuckled. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard before.”

“It was the name Olivia gave him on the flight to Vegas. Of course that was before fate, or alcohol, turned their hate into lust.”

“I see. So I’m guessing theirs were the nuptials that took place that weekend?”

“You heard about that?”

“Matthew told me one of the lads bit the dust in Sin City.” He laughed. “Said I should consider myself lucky to have been on another continent.”

“You make it sound like the angel of death swooped down the Strip.”

“Depends on your perspective.” Hank laughed at her shocked expression. “I’m taking the piss.”

Cassie’s eyes grew the size of a tea plate.

“It means I’m teasing you,” he explained.

“Well, whatever angel was at work, my best friend came back from Vegas married to a billionaire and now I’m the co-owner of a new cupcake shop.”

“And what is the name of this fine establishment?”

“Sugar Rush.

“Catchy.”

“Why thank you. Came up with it all on my own.” Her face glowed with a childlike enthusiasm. “We open in about ten weeks in this great location in the heart of Millennium Park, right next to The Bean. No telling what strings Cole had to pull to make that happen.”

“The Bean?”

“This enormous metal sculpture by Anish Kapoor. It’s actually called Cloud Gate but it looks more like a giant—”

“Bean?”

“Exactly.” Cassie smiled. “The whole park is like tourist central. In the winter there is an ice skating rink, so we’ll probably add hot chocolate to the menu then, but when the weather is nice the rink is an enormous patio were we can have tables for outside seating. We even ordered these cute pink-and-white-striped umbrellas. Oh, and you should see the adorable little cardboard boxes that just came in for to-go orders. They’re hot pink with a little cupcake logo printed in the corner. They will look so cute tied up with a neon green bow. All recyclable,” she added. “Olivia insisted on it, right down to the compostable forks made from plant starch.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“Me either, but apparently being able to compost your plates and utensils right along with your food is the latest Earth-saving innovation.” She kicked off her shoes and curled her toes in the soft grass. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Olivia suggested he invest in that company too.”

“These cupcakes must be a bit larger than the ones you were making last night then?”

“Oh yes, definitely a size for sharing. Then again they sort of had to be to justify the five dollar price tag.”

“Five quid?”

“Yeah, at first I balked at the price but Cole assured me the location would support it. I wasn’t sold but I can sort of justify it with all the extras I have planned.” She tucked her feet under her, and Hank could have sworn she actually did a little bounce. “I’m going to make each one have either a special topping or filling. Like raspberry inside white chocolate or cookie crumbles on top of mint chocolate chip.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious and even though Hank didn’t know the first thing about cupcakes, aside from eating them, he couldn’t help but get caught up in her excitement. “It all sounds smashing.”

Cassie’s smile faded a bit as she grew more serious. “It’s a dream come true but it’s . . .” She seemed to search for the right word but in the end she just sighed and said, “It’s just a lot.”

“Rather ironic wouldn’t you say?”

“What is?”

“That your stress release is now your stress.”

“It’s a different though. This is ‘good stress,’ if there can be such a thing.”

A gentle breeze blew an auburn curl across her face. Hank reached up to tuck it behind her ear then let his fingers linger on her cheek. “Are you happy?” he asked in a quiet voice. The question surprised even him. Since when did happiness factor into life decisions? It certainly never had for him. Hank’s life was a story written long before his birth. From the moment of conception his fate was cast. His responsibilities were predetermined and non-negotiable. Aside from the pursuit of immediate gratification, happiness was irrelevant, an inconsequential emotion that he never gave much thought, not for himself and certainly not for others. But for some reason, Hank found himself hoping that the wide-eyed girl seated next to him was happy and that her new life would bring her joy.

Cassie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. A soft crease formed between her brows, but when she spoke it relaxed and a genuine smile curved her lips. “I am, actually. I didn’t even realize just how happy I was until you asked, but for the first time in my life I’m doing exactly what I want.”

Exactly what she wants. Hank couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. The realization alone wasn’t so shocking. After all, his entire weekend persona was a revolt, however temporary, against the lack of control he felt in his own life. But the jealousy Hank felt went deeper than a fleeting envy of a self-controlled destiny and at the moment that wasn’t the thought that gave him pause. To his surprise, it was the image of Cassie, sharing her happy life with another man that caused a sharp pain to twist somewhere deep inside his gut.

“I just don’t want to let my friends down,” she said.

“From what I know of Coleman Grant, he doesn’t make risky investments. And he doesn’t strike me as the type of man who would part with his money as a favor either.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” she laughed. “Depends on what Olivia offered in the bedroom.”

“Sexual incentive aside, the venture is sound. He and Olivia believe in you.” He paused then added a quiet, “And so do I.”

“You hardly know me.”

That was partly true, but he knew enough. “You’re the perfect combination,” he said.

“You have the business experience to manage the ledger, and the taste of your sweets are enough to bring a man to his knees.”

“Are we still talking about baked goods?” Her voice had gone all breathy and seductive and he knew without a doubt that she was thinking about their time in the confessional. But as he looked at her, sitting on the banks of a small-town pond, with the her bare feet and her quick smile and her eyes shining in the moonlight putting all the stars to shame, thoughts of their time in the confessional were the farthest thing from his mind.

Because while that experience had been undeniably erotic, he found himself in the mood for something more. He knew his vixen still lay in wait for him to draw her out, and while he relished the thought and fully intended to take that journey with her, in that moment he simply wanted Cassie, all soft and sweet and wide-eyed innocence. He didn’t want a quick roll in the hay or anywhere else for that matter. He wanted to take his time, to enjoy every moment. He wanted to learn her body, to discover what made her shiver and what made her moan, and when he’d traced every contour and curve, come back for seconds and thirds until she was a quivering mess beneath his fingers, lips, and tongue.

Hank dipped his head, but instead of kissing her he hovered a breath away, studying her and memorizing every detail, because in all his life he didn’t think he’d seen anyone more beautiful. When he finally brushed his lips against hers he did it slowly, gently, taking just a taste before coming back for more. This was different than the night before. They’d barely known each other then, and even though on so many levels that was still true, there was an undeniable connection building between them that was so much more than a fling.

She reached up, cupping the back of his neck to draw him closer, but it wasn’t enough. He needed her skin touching his. Lowering them to the grass he rolled her beneath him, his erection pressing hard against her soft flesh and making her gasp.

“I thought you were going to be impotent for weeks?” she teased.

He smiled against her lips. “Seems I’ve found the inspiration to heal what ails me.” As he said the words, he knew in his heart that they were true, in more ways than one.