Twelve years ago

Wyatt watched her, his body tightening with a combination of excitement and nerves, as she continued to unbutton the dress. The style reminded him of one of his grandmother’s old movies, with a fitted bodice, a narrow waist, and a skirt that flared.

It suited Kelsey perfectly. Sweetly feminine, but with a definite allure. But right then, what Wyatt liked most of all was how the buttons went all the way from cleavage to hem. Because, holy shit, watching her fingers move over each of the flower-shaped buttons was like watching his most anticipated Christmas present unwrap itself.

Her fingers were at her waist now, so that the bodice of the dress parted in a way that made his jeans feel too tight. She wore a plain white bra that was just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, and that included all the lacy bras—and Photoshopped models—in the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

But what really made his mouth go dry was the moment when she reached the button at the hem. Because that’s when she parted the dress, revealing her perfect dancer’s body in that unassuming bra and matching cotton panties.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, as she let the dress fall to the floor, then crossed her arms, as if trying to hide. He moved closer, and he could hear the way her breath stuttered as he gently took her wrists and drew her arms away from her body.

She made a little whimpering sound, and he leaned in, quieting her with a kiss. He was afraid she’d be too nervous, but the moment his lips touched hers, he could feel the fire in her. She opened her mouth to him, letting him explore and taste her. And when she tugged her arm free of his grip and slid her hand around to cup the back of his neck, he knew that he’d won her completely.

He kissed her, long and deep, his hands on her shoulders and back as he held her close to him, the pressure of her body against his driving him absolutely completely crazy. “Kelsey.” Her name was so sweet. He never wanted to stop saying it. “Kelsey, please.”

“I—” She cut herself off with a little swallowing sound, and for a moment he thought his heart had stopped. Then she nodded, and Wyatt knew that it wasn’t just Christmas, but also his birthday and Valentine’s Day and every other holiday all rolled up together.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, as he reached around to unfasten her bra. He felt her stiffen, but then relax as he stroked her skin, sliding the strap down her arm and then pulling the bra free.

He let it drop from his fingers as he reached up to cup her breast, thrilled by the way she moaned and pressed herself into his palm. “Wyatt,” she whispered. “I want to, really. But I’m not—”

He couldn’t bear to hear the words, and so he closed his mouth against hers again, persuading her with his touch rather than words. He wanted her to melt into him, to let him touch her and explore her. To feel the power that came with making her crazy.

And, yeah, he wanted to be her first.

“Please,” he said. “Kelsey, you know we both want to.”

She clung to him, her sweet body soft and warm against his, and he stroked her skin, hardly believing that this absolutely perfect girl was in his arms. “Okay,” she said, and he about ripped his shirt to pieces trying to get it off in a hurry.

He toed off his shoes and peeled off his jeans, then took her hand and led her to the bed. He kept his briefs on. He was so damn hard he was afraid if he took them off he’d come right then, and he really, really didn’t want that.

He slid onto the bed, then held out a hand for her to join him. She did, her breath coming fast, her skin flushed. She was spread out beside him, propped up on her elbow as he ran a fingertip over her, wanting to explore every inch of her. Wanting to take his time.

But damned if he could manage. The moment she whispered, “Kiss me,” he was lost. He closed his mouth over hers, and he cupped his hand on her breast, then slipped it lower and lower until he found the band of those panties. He slipped his fingers inside, then almost exploded when he felt how incredibly wet she was. And then almost lost it again when she moaned and spread her legs, her hips arching up as if in demand.

He broke the kiss, wanting to see her face, and she nodded at him. “Please,” she said. “I want to.”

He swallowed, suddenly nervous, then pushed his briefs down, freeing his cock. She glanced down, then bit her lip.

“I’ll try not to let it hurt.”

“It’s okay. I know it will. Do you have a condom?”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah.” He scrambled off the bed and got one, then put it on while she watched. Then he met her eyes, and she nodded. Slow, he reminded himself. And he tried. But she was so responsive. So soft. But when he couldn’t hold back anymore, she cried out, begging for him to stop, and he felt like a complete jerk.

He started to pull out, but she put her hand on his back. “No.

Oh, please, no. Just give me a second.” And so he stayed still until she told him to move, and this time, she moved with him, and then he went and blew his wad, and made it end all too soon.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t—you’re just—oh, hell. I just wanted you too much.”

“It was wonderful,” she assured him. “Can we do it again?”

He grinned, and told her they could. And since he needed a little time, he spent it kissing every inch of her, until he was hard as stone and she was so, so ready.

They did it once more after that, then she curled up in his arms and they talked for a while.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked after a few moments. “I can get us something.”

“My hero,” she said. “I could drink a gallon of soda.”

“Anything you want.” He hurried to pull on his jeans and shirt, then slipped out the door, looking back at her once before closing it behind him and heading downstairs.

Since he’d forgotten to ask what she wanted, he grabbed a Diet Coke and a Sprite Zero from the giant ice chest on the back porch. He was about to go back inside when Patrick waylaid him.

“Where’ve you been? Grace has been looking for you.”

“Then it’s good that you couldn’t find me.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “You might as well ask her out again. She’s still got it bad for you, and it’s not like you’re seeing anyone else.”

“True,” he said, because even though it seemed like he was with Kelsey constantly, they’d tried to be less than obvious so that her father wouldn’t find out. “But I don’t have it bad for her.”

Patrick cocked his head, and Wyatt felt like a bug under a microscope. “Is this about the landscape guy’s daughter?”

“What are you talking about?” Wyatt asked, but at the same time he was kicking himself because he sounded so damn guilty. Apparently, he’d make a lousy spy.

“Just a guess. Is she here? Is that why you’ve been hiding?”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“In other words, you’re just really thirsty.” Patrick grinned as he nodded toward the soda cans.

“I’d flip you off, but my hands are full.”

“Whatever, dude. Have fun hanging out in your room by yourself.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. And then, because it was worth it, he tucked the second soda under his arm to free his hand, then thrust his middle finger in the air.

“Rude,” Patrick said, then laughed.

Wyatt laughed, too, and he was still grinning as he climbed the stairs back to the guest room. He tapped on the door, and was surprised when it swung open a few inches. Well, damn, he’d probably forgotten to shut it all the way, which was a total dick move, since she was undressed and in bed.

Idiot.

“Hey, sorry it took so long,” he said, as he slid inside, and this time closed the door firmly behind him. He glanced toward the bed, expecting that she’d still be under the covers. But the bed was empty. And, he noticed, her clothes were gone.

What the hell?

The room had an attached bath, and the door was cracked open. The light was on, though, so he hurried that way, a ball of chiseled stone now rolling around in his stomach. “Kelsey?” He peeked his head in, then pushed the door the rest of the way open.

She wasn’t there, either.

Seriously. What the hell?

Panic welled inside him, and he hurried from the room, almost running over one of the guys he recognized from the club. “Did you see a girl? She was in here earlier. Do you know where she went?”

“Dark hair? Pretty? She hauled ass out of here about five minutes ago.” He whistled. “Her dress was still half unbuttoned. What? You two have a fight or something?”

“Or something,” Wyatt murmured, his panic giving way to confusion. And, yeah, to an increasingly growing anger.

Had she really run out on him? Why the hell would she have run out on him?

But she had. Less than five minutes later he was certain of it. At least four people had seen her flee the house, and two of them said her eyes were red and swollen.

He’d left her alone, and she’d started crying, probably mortified by what they’d done. She was such an innocent, and maybe he’d pushed her. Pressured her when she wanted to say no.

He’d been an ass. A bastard. A complete loser.

And because he wasn’t man enough to wait until he was certain that she was really and truly ready, he’d not only broken her, he’d lost her.

Fuck.

For days, he tried calling her, but she never answered or called back. He wanted to drive by her house, but he didn’t know where it was, and by the time he got someone at the club to look at her father’s records and give him the address, the place was vacant.

“Yeah, my dad was pretty pissed,” Patrick told him. “I guess old man Draper was lining up another gig, and didn’t bother to tell anyone. Just waited until the last minute and flew the coop.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. He already had a job lined up in LA after the summer. You told me so.”

Patrick shrugged. “Maybe they needed him early. Or maybe that was bullshit. All I know is he split.”

That sucked, but if it was the same job, at least he was in LA. And Kelsey would be with him. He could drive down and see her before he moved to Boston. He had to find her. Had to see her. Had to know what the hell had happened.

Had to apologize for pushing her.

Except try as he might, he couldn’t reach her. And when he tried calling again a couple of days later, figuring that you could never grovel too much, the message said the phone number was unassigned. Which meant she’d turned it in and gotten a new number.

It really made no sense, and he wanted to talk it over with his dad. But he and Wyatt’s mom had gone to LA for the premiere of his mom’s latest film. Even though Wyatt usually blew that stuff off, this time he was lonely for his parents. So he sat in the media room and watched the coverage of the premiere on one of the entertainment channels.

His mom looked incredible in a form-fitting sequined dress, and his father looked dashing in a tux. At the same time, though, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for his dad, who was practically getting shoved aside so they could talk to Lorelei and take pictures with her and the muscled up action star who’d just signed on to play the lead in his mom’s next movie, a family drama that the actor surely hoped would make him look like an Oscar contender, and get him off the spy-and-car-chase hamster wheel.

One asshole reporter even went so far as to ask Carlton Royce to step out of the shot, because he was just the husband. And from the angle of the camera covering the channel Wyatt was watching, he could see both fury and hurt flash across his father’s Ivy League features.

Wyatt grimaced, then clicked off the television as soon as his parents disappeared into the theater. He considered calling Jenna for advice, but his sister was eleven years older than him, busy twenty-seven hours per day, and would just tell him that if the girl wasn’t answering his messages, then he needed to take the hint and leave her the fuck alone.

Since he really didn’t need to hear that, he decided that he’d wait another day or two. After all, things could only get better.

At least, that’s what he thought.

When he went to the club the next morning to get in a few laps and burn off some of his nervous energy, he learned just how wrong he’d been.

“I always knew she was a little slut, but I never thought she’d take me seriously.” The voice belonged to Grace, and even though the last thing in the world he wanted was to get back on Grace’s radar, he couldn’t stop himself from eavesdropping.

She was perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, leaning forward as she talked animatedly with Marsha and another girl he didn’t recognize. She glanced up as he settled into a chair to eat some pancakes and try to get his mind off Kelsey by reading a mystery. As he settled in, he thought Grace smiled at him. But when she didn’t look his way again, he decided that she’d simply been looking his direction, but hadn’t actually noticed him.

“So what did you say?” Marsha asked.

“I told her it was a hundred bucks and our undying respect and devotion for any girl to bang a celebrity or celebrity spawn. Extra points if she managed it first.”

“You’re serious?” Marsha asked. “This is like a real thing?”

“Oh, please. Sleeping with the stars is the only thing. You want status anywhere in SoCal, then you either need to be a celeb or be screwing one.”

“Have you?”

Grace giggled as her hand flew to her chest, Southern Belle style. “A lady never kisses and tells. But it’s so much more fun not to be a lady. Of course, I have. My point is that I didn’t think she would.”

“How’d she even know? I mean, she cleans tables.” Marsha’s nose wrinkled.

“She overheard me and Amy talking,” Grace said, nodding to the blonde pixie.

Amy nodded. “She was wiping down a table, but I could tell she was listening to us.”

“She came up to me later,” Grace said. “She was all shy at first, just saying how nice it must be to be a member and how she hated being invisible because, you know, she was staff.”

Wyatt’s stomach clenched as he recalled his conversations with Kelsey about how she felt invisible, and how even though celebrity was a pain, at least people noticed him.

“She wanted to hang with me. Asked if I wanted to go to a movie after work or something.” Grace raised a shoulder. “I told her I really couldn’t, and she asked if there was anything she could do to change my mind.”

“What did you say?” Marsha asked.

“Well, I said I couldn’t think of a thing, but she kept pestering me, so I told her about the contest. I guess she thought it was a good idea. I mean, you heard about what happened at Patrick’s party, right?”

“No!” Marsha leaned in closer. “What happened?”

“She fucked Wyatt Segel!”

Amy and Marsha’s eyes went wide. “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Once again, Wyatt thought that she glanced his way, but he couldn’t be sure. And he looked down at his pancakes before she clued in that he was listening. “I met her on the stairs as she was leaving. Came flying down. Said that she was in now, and wanted to know if she got a trophy. Honestly, I was too shocked to answer. I just watched her race out the front door. I guess little Miss Young and Innocent was too embarrassed to stay with him after she banged him.”

“He’s sitting right there.” Amy’s low whisper was barely audible.

“Oh, shit,” Grace said, though she didn’t sound too perturbed. “Do you think he heard me?”

“He’s not looking,” Marsha said. “And there’s a book by his plate. I don’t think he heard a thing.”

“Oh.” Grace paused. “Well, that’s good, then. We should go. I reserved a court for nine.”

They stood up en masse and headed through the gate, their continuing chatter like so much noise in his head.

What the fuck?

What the horrible, awful, wretched, humiliating fuck?

He waited until he was sure they were gone, then he stood up, intending to leave. But he was too messed up to leave, so he sat back down again. Patrick saw him and started to walk toward him, but Wyatt waved him off, afraid that he’d fly into a rage if anyone came near. Or, worse, that he’d start crying like a baby.

She’d played him. She was just like all those girls his dad warned him about. The girls who only saw celebrity, but never saw him.

But no. Was she? Not Kelsey. Not really.

He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it.

And yet all the evidence pointed that way. She’d disappeared on him. And she damn sure wasn’t going out of her way to let him know where she was.

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. He was seventeen years old and he was leaving for Boston in just over a week. He was practically an adult. And yet instead of handling this like a grown-up, all he wanted to do was have his mom hold him and his father tell him it was going to be okay.

Well, fuck it, then. He was just going to have to go to LA.

“I’m so glad,” his mother said when he called to tell her he was driving down that morning. “We’re stuck down here for at least three more days, and I was afraid we wouldn’t have enough time together before you had to pack and head for Massachusetts.”

“I’m just going to grab my backpack. I’ll be there in time for a late lunch. Can we maybe go to Gladstones?” The Malibu restaurant was touristy, but he was in the mood to sit by the ocean.

“Why don’t you go with your father, and we’ll all three go somewhere tonight. I’m going to be stuck on the lot until tonight. The producers have notes.” She sounded less than thrilled, and he supposed he understood that. She loved writing, but hated revising to please the corporate know-it-alls.

“Sure,” he said, trying to sound like he didn’t care. “Dad and I will just gossip about you.”

“You do that. It’ll be good for him. He’s been in such a funk lately, and I hate that I’ve been so busy with work.”

“He knows, Mom. But I’ll entertain him. I’ll drag him out for a walk or something.”

“You’re a good kid, Wyatt. Love you, baby.”

“You, too, Mom.”

He called his dad next, but there was no answer. He left a message, knowing his dad never answered the phone if he was reading or working on a client’s spreadsheet. Then he went home, told his grandmother he was heading to LA for a couple of days, and hit the road.

He spent the drive trying not to think, and mostly managed that task by shoving a constant stream of CDs into the player. And whenever one of the songs touched on relationships or breaking up or broken hearts, he just pressed the button to pop to the next song.

By the time he reached their house in Beverly Hills, his mood had actually improved.

He left his car in the drive just past the gate, then walked to the front door. As far as Hollywood families went, the house was relatively small, but that was because his mom preferred cozy. Probably because she’d grown up in a mansion that required a map and a compass. They also didn’t have live-in staff, though his mother kept a chef on call, and a housekeeper came in every morning when the house was occupied.

He entered through the kitchen, and saw the note from Tilda on the island outlining what she’d done and when she would be in the next day. “Hey, Dad! It’s me,” he called, as he punched in the code to deactivate the now-beeping alarm. “You busy?”

No answer, but sometimes his dad wore headphones while he worked, and so Wyatt headed out of the kitchen and through the living area to the dark-paneled office that his father had claimed when his parents bought the house six years ago.

The door was shut, which was unusual, as Carlton usually kept it open when he was alone. Wyatt knocked twice, got no answer, and pushed the door open.

Or tried to. It moved about a half an inch, then stuck.

Annoyed, he shoved harder. The door gave, and he lost his footing and tumbled into the room, hitting his head on something in the process.

He broke his fall with his hands before twisting around to see what the hell had assaulted him.

His father’s feet.

Immediately, he leapt up, the sound of his own scream ringing though the room.

He’d hit his head on his father’s feet.

Carlton Royce had hanged himself.

Wyatt’s father was dead. He was really dead.

And behind him, a white note was taped to the door, the words printed large with black marker.

I’m sorry. I couldn’t take it anymore.