www.millsandboon.co.uk

      GINA WILKINS

      Bestselling romance author Gina Wilkins has written more than ninety books for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. A lifelong resident of Arkansas, she is a four-time winner of the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence, presented by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of RT Book Reviews, including a nomination for a Lifetime Achievement Award.

      For my husband’s aunts, who have made me part of their special family: Nadine Jaggers, Marene Austine, Edith Rose, Marcelle Wood and June Wilkins. With love.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      Frances Carson and her longtime friend, Lila Twining, were spending an exciting Friday evening together. Ignoring the boring diets their physicians had recommended, they had ordered a large pizza—with everything, of course—and were eating it from paper plates in Frances’s living room. They’d rented a video. It starred Mel Gibson, and for a good portion of the film, he appeared without a shirt. Though they were in their seventies, neither Frances nor Lila had lost appreciation for a fine male chest.

      The telephone interrupted their avid viewing. Frances sighed and pushed the pause button on the remote control. “I’ll be right back,” she promised her friend.

      Lila shrugged and helped herself to another slice of pizza. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

      The voice on the other end of the telephone line was young and slightly husky, instantly recognizable to Frances. The caller identified herself, anyway. “Granny Fran? It’s Celia.”

      Delighted as always to hear from her youngest grandchild, Frances glanced at one of the photographs lining the top of her old upright piano, a picture of a beautiful woman in her early twenties, dark-haired, blue-eyed, dimpled. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you?”

      “I’m fine. And you?”

      “Never better,” Frances answered cheerily. “Lila and I were just scarfing pizza and drooling over Mel Gibson’s bare chest.”

      Celia laughed. “Granny Fran, what are we going to do with you?”

      “Arrange a weekend with Mel?” Frances suggested hopefully.

      Celia laughed again. “You’re incorrigible. And I love you for it.”

      “I love you, too, darling. So what’s wrong?”

      “What makes you think anything is wrong?” Celia countered, the laughter leaving her voice.

      “I know you too well. Would you like to talk about it?”

      “I don’t want to interrupt your evening with Lila. I’ll call again later.”

      “Nonsense. Lila doesn’t mind if you and I talk for a few minutes. Tell me what’s bothering you, Celia.”

      “I, uh, I guess you could say I’m having a moral dilemma.”

      Frances waited patiently for her granddaughter to elaborate. She could hear Celia draw a deep breath on the other end of the line, as though working up the courage to continue.

      “Damien Alexander has asked me to be his guest for a couple of weeks at one of his exclusive resorts,” Celia finally blurted out. “He’ll pay my airfare, provide a suite, all my meals—anything I want.”

      “How very generous of him,” Frances said noncommittally.

      “He, uh, he promises to be a perfect gentleman if I want him to be, but I can tell he’s hoping I won’t want him to be. I’m sure he hopes that he and I will…you know.”

      “Become lovers,” Frances supplied.

      “Yes. Rachel is very much against this, of course. She doesn’t want me to go. She’s never trusted Damien. She tends to believe everything she reads about him in those sleazy tabloids. I’ve told her she’s just being an overprotective older sister, but she’s still opposed to it. Of course, she’s been busy with her wedding plans and everything, so we haven’t had time to really talk about it, but I know she won’t change her mind.”

      “You’re twenty-four years old, Celia. You don’t need Rachel’s permission to go on a vacation.”

      “I know,” Celia admitted with a faint sigh. “But I wish she wouldn’t be so adamant about her disapproval.”

      “Have you spoken to your mother?”

      “No. To be honest, I haven’t quite had the nerve the last few times she and I spoke on the phone. I have a feeling that she’ll feel the same way Rachel does about it. Cody’s staying out of it, but I can tell he doesn’t like it much more than Rachel does. I thought maybe you could give me a more objective opinion.”

      “What do you want to do, Celia?”

      “I’m not sure I know.”

      Celia sounded so confused that Frances’s heart twisted in sympathy with her granddaughter.

      “I’ve just been so…so bored, lately,” Celia added. “My life has become so dull, so predictable. The men here in Percy are nice, but so unexciting. Damien’s different. There’s nothing dull or predictable about him.”

      “Are you in love with him?”

      This time Celia’s hesitation was more pronounced. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I like him a lot. He’s charming and fun, but I really don’t know him all that well. We only go out when he’s in the area, and with his other businesses all over the world, that hasn’t been often. He said we could use this time together to get to know each other better.”

      “I have to ask again—what do you want to do, Celia?”

      “I think…I think I want to go.”

      Frances moistened her lips, tasting pizza and deep concern. It was difficult for her to be objective, but there was only one thing she could say. “You should follow your heart, dear. No one else can make a decision like this for you, not even those who love you and want only the best for you.”

      “You think I should go?”

      “I didn’t say that,” Frances answered quickly. “I said you should make your own decision. But, Celia—be careful.”

      “I will, Granny Fran. Thank you.”

      “I love you, Celia.”

      “I love you, too. Tell Lila I said hello, will you? I’ll let you get back to your dirty movie now.”

      “It’s not a dirty movie. It’s only rated R,” Frances countered lightly, though her levity was forced.

      She hung up the phone a few moments later and rejoined her friend. Lila looked up from a magazine she’d been leafing through. “Everything okay?”