Kayla didn’t give in to the urge to look back at Spencer as she walked away. Nor did she give in to the even stronger urge to get back into his car and ask him to drive them as fast and far away as possible.

It wasn’t just because she would rather face a firing squad at that moment than her mother. Something about Spencer Dumas just did it for her. Her body didn’t care that he was engaged. And sadly, neither did her heart. She could easily see herself falling for him, if she allowed it.

Which she wouldn’t.

Because he was engaged.

“But, what if I wasn’t?”

She refused to even consider those words. They were a one-way ticket to heartbreak and disappointment. Men like Spencer Dumas—rich, powerful men who wore thousand-dollar suits and drove hundred-thousand-dollar cars—didn’t willingly expose their necks to the sharp blade of bad publicity, no matter how good the sex was.

Maybe it’s about something more than sex for him, some part of her whispered. It is for you. You’ve never moped around for weeks over anyone else.

It was a nice thought, but Kayla was nothing if not a realist. Beyond providing fodder for some juicy gossip in a very small town, no one cared who she slept with. But Spencer? He had an image to maintain, a corporate empire to run, and stockholders to please. Even if he did walk away from his betrothed, he wouldn’t want someone like her. What could she give him, other than great sex? A past riddled with things she wasn’t proud of? A knowledge of where to find the best deals on airfare? A woman who would stick out like a sore thumb in his ritzy, glamorous, high-priced lifestyle?

Surely, he knew this. And yet, she could feel his eyes on her, staring at her from beside his car. At least he hadn’t followed her to the door. For that, she was grateful.

Kayla took a deep breath, steeled herself, and went inside.

Unsurprisingly, Patricia was lying in wait. Equally unsurprising, Patricia wasted no time in speaking her mind.

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing Spencer Dumas.”

“I’m not,” Kayla said wearily.

Her mother made a sound of protest. “Bullshit. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, you know.”

The turnip truck? Every now and then, her mother’s blue-collar, wrong-side-of-the-tracks origins showed through the polished veneer she had worked so many years to perfect. In any event, Kayla had no wish to discuss Spencer or whatever this bizarre connection was between them. Indulging in self-pity and kicking her own ass for being stupid was something best done alone.

“Let it go, Mom.” Hadn’t she just said those same words to Spencer only a short time ago? Maybe she should take her own advice.

“Let it go? I saw the way he looked at you.”

How exactly had he looked at her? Then she realized it didn’t matter. Her mother would see whatever she wanted to see, namely dollar signs.

“He’s engaged.”

“So?” Patricia laughed. “Do you honestly believe that means something? You of all people should know men like that don’t marry for something as trite as love. They marry to increase their wealth, power, and influence.”

And there it was, the confirmation she hadn’t really wanted to hear.

Kayla clamped her lips together and headed for the kitchen. Her mother wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, but some part of her—some tiny, stupid part—hoped that maybe sometimes love did play a part. That maybe sometimes love was just as important, if not more so, than the bottom line.

“Don’t walk away from me. This is a golden opportunity, Kayla Rose. He can give you everything you ever wanted.”

Kayla poured herself a glass of water from the tap, then used it to wash down a couple of over-the-counter migraine tablets.

No, she silently countered. Not everything.

Aloud, she said, “I’m not discussing this with you anymore. I’m going to bed. And if you even think about continuing this conversation in the morning, you can find yourself another place to stay until you and Charles work things out. Goodnight, Mom.”

Kayla left her mother gaping in disbelief, shutting the door to her bedroom behind her. She slipped her phone in the dock and tapped a few keys, letting the stream of soft classic rock fill the room. Feeling both mentally and physically exhausted, Kayla stripped off her clothes, took a quick shower, and then slid between the cool, welcoming sheets. Naturally, her mind went right back to Spencer Dumas, just as it had every other night since her return.

Why had he come back? Had it really been just to apologize? Or had he been hoping to convince her to be his dirty little secret on the side?

Despite what she had told him about drawing a line, she had thought about it. Would it be so bad, being his lover? She would get to enjoy his mad skills behind closed doors. And beyond the bedroom, she would probably want for nothing. In-between trysts, she could continue to live her life the way she wanted, alone and without apology, out of the spotlight and without commitments.

Then, why was she so willing to walk away?

There was a time when something like that would have appealed to her, but that was before Spencer Dumas and his inexplicable ability to flip every one of her switches. Before her heart got involved—totally without her permission and against her better judgment.

She blamed him. If he had just left things alone, she could have continued to believe it was nothing more than a vacation fling. Something briefly possible in a fantasyland like Sate, yet impossible and unsustainable in the real world.

But no. He just had to cross those boundaries. He had to come to her house and lick ice cream off her spoon. Meet her goddamn mother. And, if that wasn’t enough, drive to some romantic scenic overlook and do something as incredibly sweet and commonplace as buying ice cream for them to share.

He wasn’t supposed to be romantic, or sweet, or care enough to find her. He wasn’t supposed to plant seeds in her psyche that suggested she was something more than a quick hook-up.

How was she supposed to keep her heart from getting involved when he did stuff like that?

Her inner diva, tired of the pity party, had had enough. Stop kidding yourself, it said. He doesn’t care about you. His ego can’t handle that you told him no. You are what you have always been—someone to play with on the side, not to have standing beside him. Jake Callaghan knew it. So did Ian. You thought they cared, and look what happened. They showed you the door the moment someone they considered worthy came along.

I am worthy, a much smaller, quieter voice said.

Yes, you are, her inner diva agreed. Which is why you’re better off alone instead of looking to a man for your happiness. You can’t depend on anyone except yourself, you know that. Shake it off, shake him off, and move on.

Her last thought before sleep overtook her: tomorrow has to be better. Doesn’t it?