In the cosmopolitan coastal city of Adelaide in South Australia, two theater lovers create a little drama of their own . . .
Twenty-seven-year-old divorcée Vix Tremain finally has her first job—as a theater-set painter—and is ready to leave the past behind. What better way to get her confidence back than a fling with a handsome stranger? She isn’t looking for anything emotional, she’s had enough heartbreak. Rugged Jay Dee, the set construction manager, fits the bill for no strings fun perfectly. What Vix doesn’t realize is that Jay is not exactly a stranger . . .
Jay would recognize wealthy, spoiled Vix anywhere. After all, she’s the ex-wife of the man who destroyed his career. Naturally, Jay wants a little sweet revenge—at first. To his surprise, Vix is far from the ice princess he expected, and spending time with her changes everything. Soon he realizes he’s actually falling for the vulnerable beauty. But becoming entangled with her will mean revealing who he is—and opening them both up to more pain. With their dreams at stake, is their connection strong enough to weather the truth—and take center stage?
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Books by Virginia Taylor
South Landers
Starling
Ella
Charlotte
Wenna
Romance By Design
Sets Appeal
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Sets Appeal
A Romance By Design Novel
Virginia Taylor
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Virginia Taylor
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First Electronic Edition: April 2017
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0007-1
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0007-7
First Print Edition: April 2017
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0011-86
ISBN-10: 11-5161-0011-5
Printed in the United States of America
Acknowledgements
To my editor, Marci Clark, whose excellent judgment in picking Starling, my first published historical romance, gave me the chance to showcase my hometown in a series set in Adelaide, South Australia. Marci, you are the best editor in the whole world, bar none.
Chapter 1
Her shoulders almost creaking with tension, Victoria Tremain turned off her car engine. Tonight, as one of the crew, she had attended the first party she had been to in a year, a pre-production getting-to-know-you function held for the cast and crew of the stage version of High Society. Experiencing a deadly case of stage fright, she aimed the huge smile she had plastered on her face in the direction of her wildly attractive passenger. He had told her he would make her a cup of coffee if she drove him home.
Behind him, the blaring streetlight reflected on the outside of a suburban redbrick bungalow with no fence and a front garden that had been dug over but not planted—a work in progress, but not out of place in this narrow street of tidy post-war houses. Shadowy stacks of planks lay in his concrete driveway.
“So, this is where you build your theater sets?” Her voice sounded suitably low and husky, not because she was at all sophisticated, but because she was terrified.
Picking up men wasn’t as easy as… Actually, she hadn’t imagined picking up men would be easy, not for someone as naturally awkward as she. She had almost fallen over her feet in her hurry to get the hunky set-builder into her car. Or maybe she almost fell over her big yellow heels, which took some getting used to—for she was now flashy, single, champagne-drinking Vix Tremain, trying to find the life she had missed during the past seven years. Married at the age of twenty, she had divorced eleven months ago.
He shook his head. “The wood belongs in the garage, but I haven’t had time yet to shift it.” Muffled doof-doof music rocked the air as he opened the car door on his side.
She opened her side, stepped out, and caught her bag on the handbrake. Muttering under her breath, she untangled the strap and closed the door, hoping he hadn’t noticed. His coordination was as notable as his big, honed body.
She cleared her throat. “When did you finish your last set?” Scooping her hair back, she followed him along an overgrown path to the low front porch.
“A couple of weeks ago. My team does four a year.” He fumbled for his keys.
A sudden gust of wind blew a sheet of newspaper across the road and an orphaned takeaway coffee cup rattled against the fence. As she took a step back to give him space, her spiked heel caught between two slats and she stumbled.
He grabbed her, steadying her against his chest, his shaggy brown hair idly teasing across her cheek. “My woman trap.” He set her back on her own feet. Suppressed laughter deepened his voice.
She gave a careful smile, scoring herself a ten for not apologizing. The man smelled like pine chips and the fresh sea breeze blowing in from the port. He opened the door, a forest green blistered over white undercoat and slivers of ashen wood. For a moment, his arm blocked her as he reached around his doorframe for the light. The pulse in her neck thudding, she waited until he stepped back. This could be her first one-night stand if she didn’t mess up or say something dorky. Tonight, she had great expectations of herself. She had scrubbed-up quite well and now she only had to follow through.
He placed his hand on the center of her back and guided her through a bare hallway to an open space containing a sitting room at one end and a dining–slash–kitchen area at the other. Tossing his leather jacket over a chair, he stepped behind the kitchen countertop and began to pour coffee beans into a grinder sitting beside a basic espresso machine. For a moment, she experienced stark disappointment. Perhaps when he had said “coffee,” he had meant “coffee.”
“Take a seat.” Using