I’ve considered myself on top of the world before. Back when I was still playing baseball, and had more money than I knew what to do with, I thought I was one lucky bastard. With my parents and grandparents gone, I didn’t think there would ever be anything in my life that could top the feeling of having everything I ever wanted—talent, money, fame, booze, and women who graced the pages of magazines.

It’s been almost two weeks since I gave Maggie the ring. Twelve days of enjoying each other’s body every night—and every morning. Of listening to her witty retorts and the dramatic roll of her eyes whenever I say something that pisses her off. I’ve gotten used to watching her smile, the way it stretches across her beautiful face as her lashes lower. That smile is what’s made me come to terms with just how wrong I was in the past.

I wasn’t on top of the world, nowhere near it—and I sure as fuck didn’t have everything. Because I hadn’t met Maggie Kinsella.

“The champagne they’re serving tonight looks familiar,” she mutters from beside me, and I cast a shit-eating grin down at her as I grab a glass from one of the server’s trays.

“You know exactly why it looks familiar.” I down it fast and lift a shoulder into a shrug as her eyebrows go up. “I figured it was fitting. After all, our relationship started over a bottle of spilled champagne.”

She twists her lips to one side and stares at me for a long time before she bursts into laughter, her slim shoulders shaking. “That’s the way it happened?”

“It’s sure as shit what we’re going to tell our kids someday, beautiful.”

Her breath catches mid-laugh, and she goes back to giving me a wide-eyed look before dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. “I—” she starts, then lets out a breath as she waves enthusiastically at someone approaching us. “Aunt Kilani, you came!”

I watch her take off toward her aunt, nodding encouragingly when she pops a look over one shoulder. I’ve got no clue where the kids bit came from, but I wouldn’t mind having a kid or two—or hell, three—with Maggie. In fact, I anticipate it. There’s no way I want her to take off once the expansion to the Elite is done.

She belongs with me because I won’t let things go back to the way they were before her.

Grinning to myself, I take off to greet more of our guests. Tonight’s beach front engagement party was all Lani’s doing. She had gotten together with Elite’s executive chef and threw everything together at the last minute. Maggie had mentioned her best friend’s plan was always to go into party-planning, and I can see why. She’s done a hell of a lot better, with only a fraction of the time, than any of the planners I’ve hired in the past.

From the decorations to the food and the music and fire-knife dancers, it’s everything Maggie talked about the night she told me about her dream wedding.

Seeing her so happy is distracting enough that I don’t give a fuck that I’ve got no clue who fifty percent of our guests are. For all I know, guests from the Elite are crashing, but there are still plenty of old faces. Just about everyone I met at her aunt’s birthday party came, except for her cousin, along with my uncle that I only see every ten years or so. Milo’s here, too, along with a handful of investors who couldn’t resist getting a peek at what I’ve been up to. Hell, even a couple of the guys she served with and several of my former teammates made the trip to O’ahu.

And of course, there’s Vivi. The reporter wouldn’t have missed this night even if she had to swim across the goddamn Pacific to get here. She’s making her way through our guests with a tiny recorder clutched in her talons, looking like she’s taken her daily dose of resting bitch face.

There are faces everywhere, but not a single one of them matters to me tonight except for one. Maggie’s. Not even two months ago, she was getting me all worked up, just to pour champagne over my head, and now I can hardly wrench my eyes from her. She’s wearing this short, frothy white sundress that all straps up top and all twirl at the bottom. Her long hair is pulled back in some intricate braid my fingers itch to untangle, and there’s a big pink flower behind her ear that brushes her cheek every few seconds. When she bounces back over to my side and beams up at me, I can’t resist doing the same thing. Reaching out. Skimming the pad of my thumb over her soft cheek.

She flushes and licks her lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispers under her breath.

“Because I’m thinking about taking you back down to that palm tree and eating your pussy until you can’t walk straight.”

She gasps, but turns a big, forced smile on whoever’s approaching us. She shivers when my hand drops to the small of her back and hisses through her teeth, “You’re filthy, Carter.”

“Maybe, but you can’t deny enjoying it.” I give her ass a small pat. Reluctantly, I drag my gaze from the side of her face. I’m unable to stop the groan from erupting when I see who’s walking across the sand and smiling like an idiot. Killian Reynolds. My old partner in my crime during my time in the league. The motherfucker had banged his way through almost every hot body in town, married or not, and had put enough drugs up his nose and in his thigh and ass to keep dealers and steroid suppliers in business for years to come.

The only difference between the two of was the drugs—I never touched that shit—and the fact he was discreet. And when you’re in the public eye, that’s what matters. While I was getting fined by the league and flayed in the media for my shit behavior, Killian was getting fat raises and praised on every news outlet for his charity—helping single moms get back on their feet by getting their kids involved in baseball.

He fucked half the moms, too, and I’m thankful he’ll never have the chance to meet Kale’s mother because he’d put the moves on her in a heartbeat.

“Goddamn, Gabe,” Killian laughs and Maggie shoots me a look when he tilts his head to the side and starts sizing her up from head to toe. If he looks at her tits one more time, he won’t ever have to worry about playing baseball again. I’ll shove the bat, and the ball, right down his throat. “When Carlos said you were getting married, I figured you’d gone and knocked someone up, but I’m guessing that’s not the case.”

Maggie sucks in a breath from beside me, so I wrap my arm around her waist and tug her close. To reassure her and let Killian know she’s off limits. “What can I say.” I smile through clenched teeth. “When it happens, it happens. Maggie, this is Killian Reynolds. He was the—”

“Outfielder for your last team,” she interrupts, surprising the hell out of me because we seldom talk about baseball. Only when we’re with Kale or talking about my time growing up on Big Island. But I’ve got to admit, it’s a turn on that she’s done enough research on my time playing with the Portland Mavericks to know who my teammates were.

Killian gives her that stupid ass smolder that usually works on anything wearing panties and a bra but Maggie meets it with a cool smile as he takes her delicate hand in his. “I love a girl who knows her baseball.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her, and I nearly roll my fucking eyes. “My last girlfriend thought I was a point guard.”

“Hope you filled her in then.” She just about snatches her hand from his just as he starts to bend over to kiss it in a king douche move. It’s clear he doesn’t get that she’s put off, because he just keeps smiling as she spins to face me. The only time his expression changes—to sheer fucking jealousy—is when she rises on her toes to plant a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “I’m going to go check on my dad, do you—”

“Go.” I give her ass another tap. “But hurry back, I hate it when you’re gone.”

Realizing the truth behind those words, my gut clenches.

Licking her lips, she nods, then hurries off, oblivious to the fact that both Killian and I are watching her go. He speaks first, letting out a low whistle. “Goddamn, you’re the luckiest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met. Where’d you find this one?”

“Next door,” I drawl. “And my face is over here, Killian, not on my fiancée’s ass.”

He has the good sense to grin sheepishly when he turns back to me. Snatching a glass of champagne from a nearby server’s tray, he downs it and makes a face. “Apparently, I need to move to Hawaii.”

“There’s a few other islands I think would be glad to have you.”

He sneers. “You’re still mad about that thing with Adrianna?”

I pause, considering my next words carefully. I’m mad about it, but not because I got caught. Jack had treated me like family and had stuck up for me, both as a coach and a friend, when the media was dragging my name through the mud. And then I’d repaid him by fucking his ex. I was drunk—hell, I was always drunk by the time I had the one night stand with Adrianna—but foggy memory or not, I’d still fucked up. And when she gloated about what she did to hurt Jack for winning custody of their boys, I was the only name she mentioned because she knew it would hurt him the most.

She hadn’t even thought to mention Killian, and he sure as fuck hadn’t volunteered the information because he swore he was in love with her.

And now, years later, she’s married to someone new—a hockey player this time from what I’ve heard—and Killian’s at my engagement party. Looking at my fiancée like wants a bite of her next.

I’ve got a bite of something for him, all right, but it sure as shit won’t get his dick hard. Only his teeth knocked down his throat. “Fuck Adrianna,” I say at last. “If you’ll excuse me, I better greet my guests and find my girl.”

I stalk away from him, leaving him with his mouth hanging open, and scan the crowd for Maggie. I see her father first. It’s the first time I’ve seen the guy laugh since I took ownership of the Elite, but he’s talking to Lani. Maggie’s mother is with him, behind his chair and leaning in to listen intently to whatever Lani’s going on about, but my girl is nowhere in sight.

When she sees me coming closer, Lani stops talking and scrunches her face into a frown. “Please don’t tell me you need me to work. Because I will if you want me to, but I’m really hoping to meet blondie.”

“Blondie?”

She bites her lip. “Big guy you were just talking to. About”—she holds her hand above her head—“this tall. Blue eyes and—”

“Jesus fu—” I cut myself off from cursing, shooting Maggie’s parents an apologetic look. Lani needs to steer clear of Killian. “No, I don’t need you to work, and trust me; Blondie’s a … piece of work. But have you seen Maggie?”

She points her finger toward the secluded area of the beach—the spot Maggie and I took off to the night we met. “She said she needed a breath so she headed that way. Want me to go get her?”

But I’m already taking off after her, shaking my head and yelling over my shoulder that I can handle it and to stay the fuck away from Killian. Maggie would kill me if I introduced her closest friend to that motherfucker. And speaking of my girl—I don’t blame her for wanting to get away from the chaos. Taking a breather with her—dragging her to me and kissing her breathless all over again—sounds like fucking paradise.

It doesn’t take me long to spot her, but I feel a fist to my chest when I see she’s not alone. Ryan is with her. I can only see their side profiles, but it’s enough. They’re cozied up to each other—his arms around her and her face tilted up to his. I stop, digging my heels into the sand as I watch her mouth move. Her head shake. His shoulders vibrate with laughter.

And then, he bends his head, and slants his fucking lips over my fiancée’s. And I lose it.