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  CHAPTER ONE

  NOTHING LIKE A WEDDING to make you feel more … single.

  But Stephanie, “Stevie,” Ryan wasn’t complaining. She liked being single. She was good at it. Although at the moment, she felt about as conspicuous as a stowaway on Noah’s Ark. Everywhere she looked, there were couples. From teenagers, clinging to each other like survivors of a sinking ship, to the Swansons, whose combined age would probably make a decent SAT score. Even the grade-schoolers were paired off, for a little hair-pulling and name-calling.

  Yep, in a world of matched luggage, Stevie was a duffel bag.

  Still, she was okay with that, most of the time. It was only on days like this when she really felt the lack of a man in her life. Although the last time she’d had a man in her life, she’d ended up wishing she’d stayed single. So, what was the point, really?

  Half the town of Chandler, California, had turned out for Carla Candellano’s wedding to Jackson Wyatt. And even though the bride and groom were long gone, off to their wedding night at a luxury hotel in Monterey, the reception had kept right on rolling.

  In the open meadow at the edge of town, tiny white lights had been strung in the trees and across a makeshift dance floor in the clearing. Off to the left, the Pacific Ocean roared out a solid, steady beat as waves pounded against the shore and slammed into the rocks lining the beach. Moonlight poured down from a clear late-summer sky and the stars looked as though God had hung strings of lights through the night sky to help with the celebration.

  The party was finally winding down—there were only a few diehards left out on the meadow. And though Stevie’s fingers were tapping to the music, she was ready to make her getaway. All she wanted now was a pint of fudge brownie ice cream, an old movie, and her jammies, not necessarily in that order.

  She glanced down the length of the white-cloth-covered table. Grabbing her chance, she stood up and slunk away while most of the Candellanos were busy talking. Quickly she made her way along the tree line toward town. Music and the noise of the crowd faded into the distance, sounding almost ghostly as she moved farther away from the party. Humming along with the music, she heard twigs snap beneath her feet as a cool evening breeze drifted in off the ocean and skittered along her skin. She shivered but lifted her face into the wind, loving the feel of the sea-scented air surrounding her.

  She sighed. It had been a good day all in all. Her best friend was married to a man who clearly adored her. And Stevie had managed to escape the maid of honor’s curse of being trapped with the most boring man in attendance. Which in this case would have meant Frank Pezzini.

  “Oh, man,” she murmured. “Now that Carla’s off the market, I wonder if this means Frank will start turning his charms on me?” A sobering thought. Another shiver rippled through her, but this one had nothing to do with the wind. Ye gods, just thinking about having to sit and chat with a man who had shined up his best white patent-leather shoes for the wedding was enough to make her run for the hills.

  Stevie hurried just a bit, eager now to put Wonder Frank well behind her. An old Supremes song soared from the distance and she picked up her pace, keeping time with Diana Ross in her prime. Taking a shortcut through the trees, Stevie lifted the hem of her dress and ducked her head to avoid low-hanging twisted branches, stretched out across the path like black leafy arms. Then one of those arms snatched a handful of her hair and twisted it around a gnarly piece of bark.

  “Ow.” Stevie skidded to a stop, her feet sliding on the leaf-littered ground. “Damn it.” She grabbed at the top of her head as she twisted to try to escape. But she only managed to knot it further. “Oh, this is perfect,” she muttered, and slanted a glance toward the crowd, too far away now for her to expect any help. “This is just great. Now what do I do?” She had two choices. Stand here and become “one” with the tree … or rip her hair out at the roots.

  Neither one worked for her.

  “Come on, tree, give me a break here, okay?” She reached up and worked her fingers around the snarl, but every time she moved, she only made it tighter. So much for the “good day” theory. “Look, you seem like a nice tree, but—”

  “Would you two like to be alone?”

  A deep voice, familiar. With more than a touch of laughter in it. Turning as far as she was able, Stevie glanced to one side and spotted two long tuxedo-clad legs. Thank God. The cavalry. “Paul?”

  The legs moved closer. “Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing?”

  Dumb question. She tried to turn her head farther so she could get a look at his face. But he was too tall for that and she had to settle for a glimpse of his white shirt. “Oh,” she muttered. “Just hanging around.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry I’m not at my witty best—what with being held captive by a tree and all.”

  “I can wait.”

  She kicked at him, but since she was caught and he wasn’t, he managed to avoid the toe of her strappy little sandal. Probably just as well. The way she was going, she might have broken a toe.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she accused.

  “I shouldn’t be, should I?”

  “You’re just gonna stand there? Is that it?”

  He chuckled and she glared at his knees.

  “I’m not worried,” Paul said, his deep voice rumbling out around her. “I think your … ‘bark’ is worse than your bite.”

  “Oh, tree humor. Swell.” She tugged at her hair again and tears welled up in her eyes. “Are you gonna help me or just stand there?”

  “I’m trying to decide.” He came even closer and bent down, hands on his knees, so he could look her square in the eyes. One corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile and she gritted her teeth. “You know,” he said, “seeing you like this … it’s déjà vu.”

  She frowned at him and seriously considered ripping her hair out. It’d be a lot less infuriating. But it would hurt, too. So she forced herself to take a deep breath, bite back her aggravation, and ask, “Déjà vu?”

  “Yeah. Only the last time, your ponytail was caught in the hinge of our back door and—”

  Memories flooded her brain and she nodded, then winced at the accompanying pain. “And you left me standing there, caught, while you and Bill Wilder went to the beach.”

  “Hey, I was seventeen.”

  “And I was stuck for a half hour.”

  “How long you been here now?” he asked.

  “A couple of minutes.”

  He looked up at the branch where her hair was in a knot, then lowered his gaze to hers again. Grinning, he said, “Then for old times’ sake, I’ll be back in a half hour.”

  Stevie couldn’t believe it when he stood up and moved past her. “Paul?” She twisted her body, trying to look behind her, but it was just too hard, what with the tree having a death grip on her head and all. “Paul, if you leave me here, I’ll…”

  “You’ll what?” he challenge
d from behind her.

  “I’ll…” Think, Stevie. What could she do to get back at him? Sabotage his computer? Tell his mother? Hmm.… “Okay, fine, I can’t think of anything while my head’s caught in a tree … but once I’m loose…”

  “Oh, now there’s incentive to help you out.”

  “Paul—”

  “Kidding. Just kidding.”

  He walked back to her and stood right in front of her. Stevie’s head hit the middle of his chest and she leaned into him while he tugged at her hair. The scent of Old Spice drifted to her and she smiled to herself. An old-fashioned scent—but on Paul, it worked. He was warm and solid and comforting—now that he’d finally decided to give her a hand.

  “Why’d you have your hair all piled up on top of your head, anyway?”

  “I am maid of honor, hear me roar. Ouch.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Uh-huh,” she muttered, and winced as he pulled and tugged. “Anyway, ponytails are not the preferred hairdo for weddings.”

  “Your hair looks good down.”

  “If I have any left when you’re finished, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Everybody’s a critic.” He tugged again. “There.”

  “Free at last, et cetera,” she muttered, and moved out from under the tree before she slowly straightened up, eyeing that branch like an enemy. Lifting one hand to the top of her head, she rubbed her aching scalp and felt where her wedding “do” had fallen apart. Fingering several long stray locks of hair hanging to her shoulders, she said, “Well, I bet this looks great.”

  She shifted a glance at Paul. He folded his arms across his chest and shrugged shoulders that somehow looked a lot broader in a tux. “Wedding’s over anyway; take it down.”

  “Good idea,” she said, and reached for the remaining pins holding half of her hair up. She pulled the last few out, then shook her hair free, running her fingers through the mass until most of the bark and leaves were gone.

  “More me, now?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  He just stood there, looking at her. In the pale dappled moonlight she couldn’t really see his dark brown eyes very well. Those wire-framed glasses he wore acted something like a shield. But then, she’d always felt as though if Paul didn’t want you to know what he was feeling, you’d never be able to guess it.

  Tall, dark, and gorgeous, Paul and his twin, Nick, were as different as two men could be. Paul was thoughtful, brilliant, and mysterious. Nick was loud, athletic, and in-your-face outgoing. But it wasn’t just their personalities that made them different. Though both of them were total hunks, despite being twins, they looked nothing alike. Nick was a little taller, a little more muscle-bound, and had the once-broken nose of an athlete, while Paul’s features were cleaner, sharper, and somehow more … Kurt Russellish.

  “Oh, yeah,” Paul said, his mouth tipping up into the crooked grin she knew so well. “This is definitely the Stevie we all know and love. Tree bark in her hair and a tear in her dress.”

  “A tear?” She looked down. There it was. Right at the hem. She must have stepped on the damn thing during this trek through the “wilderness.” “Just … perfect.”

  “Close enough.”

  “What?” She looked up at him.

  Paul shook his head. “Nothing. You headed home?”

  “That’s the general idea. I’m thinking ice cream and a movie.” She started walking again and Paul fell into step beside her. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be back there helping the family celebrate?”

  He pushed the edges of his jacket back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Trust me, they don’t need my help.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, watching her step and belatedly holding the hem of her dress up a few inches. Heck, she’d only been able to make good her getaway because the Candellanos were so busy having a good time, they hadn’t noticed her leaving. “So what happened to your date?” she asked. “Weren’t you supposed to be bringing Sandy the Amazing?”

  Thank God he hadn’t, she thought. Otherwise she’d still be stuck on the tree while he danced what was left of the night away. Or, worst-case scenario, he’d have saved her while Sandy stood there watching. Oh, that would have been fun. Sandy, like most of Paul’s dates, could be intimidating. They were usually brilliant and gorgeous, with interesting careers and fascinating lives.

  But then, being the head of a computer firm that designed innovative software for everyone from Hollywood’s special effects industry to the military, Paul moved in way different circles from Stevie. Owning the Leaf and Bean, a coffee and tea shop, Stevie usually met early-morning joggers and people with hangovers looking for a cure. Oh, yeah. Different crowds entirely.

  A short, sharp laugh shot from his throat. “The Amazing Sandy. Oh, she’d like that. Yeah, she was supposed to come with me, but she had to cancel.”

  “Why? Did she get wind of what a Candellano party is really like?”

  “Nothing so terrifying. She was the backup pilot on the space shuttle—and the scheduled pilot broke his arm in a baseball game, so…” He shrugged again.

  “Bummer,” Stevie said. “I hate when that happens.”

  He shot her a look and smiled. “Happen to you a lot, does it?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she assured him, waving one hand in the air. “Just the other day, I was having coffee with this cute guy—all of a sudden, he rushes off to a phone booth, changes his clothes, and flies off to save Metropolis. Again.”

  Paul laughed and this time Stevie really listened to it. A long roll of deep thunder rising up and settling down around her. Something inside her turned over. Weird. This was Paul. Her friend. Her ex’s twin. For Pete’s sake. Get a grip, Stevie.

  “So anyway,” she said, a little louder than she’d planned, but hey, a girl had to speak up when her brain went on vacation, right? “You headed back to your house tonight?”

  “No,” he said, and pulled one hand from his pocket to grab her arm as she stumbled over a tree root that jutted up from the ground to grab her foot. Apparently she’d been a logger in her former life and now the remaining forest was out to get her.

  “Thanks.” She held up one foot and pointed at the completely useless, though very pretty, silvery sandals. “These shoes ain’t made for walkin’.”

  “I get that,” he said, letting her go and shoving his hand back into his pocket. “Anyway, I don’t want to drive back to the house. Thought I’d just stay at Mama’s tonight. Head home in the morning.”

  Stevie nodded and kept quiet for a while, her brain moving along at a slow trot. She was alone. He was alone and in no hurry to make the drive to his place. Why should they be alone separately when they could be alone together? Made sense when you thought about it like that. Besides, when it came right down to it, the thought of being in her apartment alone right now suddenly didn’t seem as appealing as it had a few minutes ago. Maybe it was the aftereffects of the wedding—all that eternal love stuff—but a little company sounded like a good thing.

  “You interested in ice cream and a movie?” she asked.

  He glanced down at her warily. “What kind of movie? A chick flick?”

  She laughed but gave him a good look up and down. “Okay, fine. You do look sort of James Bondish tonight.”

  “Double-O Suave, that’s me.”

  She held one hand up in surrender. “Well then, I promise you guns and stuff blowing up.”

  “I’m there.”

  * * *

  The minute they walked up the stairs and into her apartment, Stevie excused herself to change and told him to get the ice cream. While she was gone, Paul looked around the loft apartment Stevie kept above her shop, the Leaf and Bean. It was so like her. Warm, comfortable, cozy. Dark red walls with cream-colored trim. Books crowded and jumbled together in a few bookcases and were stacked on the floor and tables surrounding the overstuffed sofa and matching chair. An entertainment center stood on one wall, and on the opposite wall was a fireplace with more than its share of a
shes piled under the grate. The only thing missing was the dogs.

  He smiled to himself as he walked toward the small, galley-style kitchen. Stevie was the softest touch in town when it came to animals. But her heart really belonged to the stray dogs of the world. She was forever adopting one or a dozen and keeping them around until she could find them a home. And since there were no current ankle biters growling or sneering at him, it looked as though she’d been busy.

  It had been a while since he’d been in her place, but he remembered where everything was. He grabbed down two bowls from a glass-fronted cupboard, then turned to the fridge. He yanked open the freezer and stood for a long minute, deciding which of the three cartons of ice cream to choose.

  “Fudge brownie for me!” she called from the other room as if reading his mind.

  “Got it!” he yelled back. “Hot fudge, too?”

  “Is the pope Catholic?”

  “Stupid question,” he muttered. Stevie was the only woman he knew who kept fudge and whipped cream in the house at all times. Any other female would be moaning about calories and her latest diet. Stevie, though, liked to eat and didn’t mind admitting it.

  “Damn it,” she grumbled, and he just caught the frustration in her voice.

  “What’s wrong?” He took a step toward the nearly closed door separating her bedroom from the main room.

  “The stupid zipper is stuck in the stupid fabric and I can’t even tear the stupid thing off.” She wrenched the door open, marched toward him, and turned her back on him. “Can you get that before I have to chew myself free?”

  Paul stared down at her back. Smooth, lightly tanned skin looked like peach silk in the soft light. He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on the pale blue zipper caught firmly in the fragile fabric. He wouldn’t even notice the nude-colored bra back strap just beneath the edge of the dress. He didn’t notice, either, how the dress skimmed along her body like a lover’s touch—and he didn’t think about how the sky blue dress made her big blue eyes look like chips of turquoise.