Hold on to the Nights. Karen Foley

upward, their rosy nipples tempting him. Her limbs wrapped around him, her heat gripping him, drawing him in as she urged him to thrust faster, deeper—

      Shit. Shit.

      What the hell game was she playing at? There was only one reason he could think of for her being here; she wanted out of their marriage. Memories of the two nights they’d spent together still caused his toes to curl with recalled lust. But despite what he and Lara had shared—and they’d shared plenty—she’d walked out of his life forty-eight hours after their wedding.

      But the nightmare hadn’t ended there. The day after Lara left, when Graeme had returned to his tiny apartment in London, Brent Whitfield had paid him a visit, accompanied by a lawyer and two government agents.

      Graeme had been shocked by the news that her father was the U.S. Ambassador to England. Brent Whitfield came from a long and prominent line of political servants, and if his influential lineage wasn’t enough to make Graeme feel like a peasant, the Whitfield family money would have. But Graeme had never believed that money made one person better than another. While he could appreciate that Brent wanted to protect his daughter from avaricious money-grubbers, the way he’d treated Graeme had been unforgivable.

      Graeme still saw red when he recalled the accusations that Lara’s father had hurled at him. He’d made Graeme feel like the worst kind of low-life scum, as though he was morally corrupt. He’d threatened to have Graeme arrested for statutory rape, but Graeme had known just enough about Scottish law to know that his marriage to Lara had been legitimate and would hold up in court.

      Refusing to sign those annulment papers had given him a fierce sense of satisfaction. He’d made a promise to Lara’s father that day; if Lara wanted out of the marriage, she’d have to tell him so to his face. He’d have no problem letting her go; all she needed to do was ask him herself. But she hadn’t had the guts to.

      There had been a couple of times over the past five years when he’d almost filed the papers himself so that he could move on with his life, but both times he’d chickened out.

      She’d been in college—for real, this time—and he hadn’t wanted to disrupt her studies. And if he was honest with himself, part of the reason he hadn’t pushed the divorce was because so long as she was married to him, she couldn’t get too serious about anyone else.

      Now here she was, looking like something out of his freaking dreams, but he knew the reason for her sudden reappearance in his life had nothing to do with making his fantasies come true. She wanted a divorce, probably to marry the guy she was rumored to be romantically involved with.

      It had been ridiculously easy for Graeme to keep tabs on her activities over the years. With social networking Web sites like Facebook and MySpace, combined with her prominent family name, he’d had no trouble finding information about her. Or her theater program. Or the fact that she’d been dating one of her coworkers at the theater.

      The thought of Lara with another man made his stomach tighten and his chest constrict. He’d known that eventually she’d seek him out and demand a divorce; a woman like Lara wasn’t meant to live alone. She’d want to remarry, to have children. He just wasn’t prepared for how that made him feel.

      Graeme reminded himself yet again that he was over her. Hell, he’d already planned on ending their farce of a marriage soon. He’d decided he didn’t want to risk the paparazzi unearthing the news; they’d have a field day with it, and Lara would suffer the most.

      He’d also been offered a movie that would take him to New Zealand for the next eighteen months for filming. The deal symbolized a major shift in his career, from television to the big screen. Graeme hoped the move would also mark a major shift in his personal life, as well.

      He needed to get out of Hollywood, away from the photographers and half-assed reporters who recorded his every move. Every day, he’d pick up a paper and read some bullshit story about his alleged affairs or his supposed addiction to drugs or alcohol. He couldn’t so much as go for a morning jog without the paparazzi accosting him. Even stopping somewhere for a quick bite to eat had become more trouble than it was worth, with women following him down the street, giggling and shouting obscene suggestions, and doing anything they could to attract his attention.

      Leeches, all of them.

      Only Lara, standing on the other side of the elevator and acting as if he didn’t exist, seemed unimpressed by either him or his fame.

      He looked at her, but she pointedly ignored him. Well, fine. Two could play at her game. If she wanted to be incognito, far be it from him to destroy the illusion. There was a reason he was one of Hollywood’s top actors; he could pretend with the best of them.

      He gave her a languid smile and dropped his voice an octave. “I hate to be the one to break this to ye, princess, but the Star Wars convention isn’t for another two months.”

      She turned slowly in his direction, as if she was uncertain whether he was speaking to her. Her eyes widened behind the gold mask. For just a second, Graeme was sure she was going to fold, that she’d acknowledge him, pull the mask away from her face and finally, after five goddamned long years, they’d talk about what had happened between them.

      Instead, she studied him from behind the mask, nibbling on her plump lower lip. He knew the instant she decided to continue the charade. As he watched, her entire body posture changed and softened. She leaned one shoulder against the wall and tipped her head to the side as she considered him. Her sapphire eyes traveled over every inch of him, as if measuring his worth. Graeme had to force himself to remain relaxed and keep his expression one of amused interest, while his blood thudded hard through his veins and a combination of dread and anticipation coiled in his stomach.

      “Maybe I’m not looking for the Star Wars convention,” she finally said. Her voice was breathless, but Graeme didn’t miss how she surreptitiously swiped her palms over the scarlet fabric that covered her rear. Another man might have interpreted the move as sexual, designed to thrust those amazing breasts forward, but he guessed she was nervous and that her hands were damp with perspiration. The thought gave him a little courage.

      “So then, what are ye looking for?”

      “Maybe I’m looking for a man to …master me.” Her voice was laced with naughty suggestion, and Graeme’s body responded instantly to the implicit promise in her tone, even as his brain tried to comprehend that Lara—his sweet, innocent Lara—was actually propositioning him.

      He devoured her with his eyes, noting every detail about her. The passing years had been more than generous to her. She was the same, yet different. Gone was the self-conscious, conservative girl he’d known. In her place was a curvy woman whose lush body completely blew him away.

      Five years ago, her breasts would have fitted neatly into the palms of his hands; now they threatened to spill out of the insubstantial top. The creamy skin that swelled above the gold-embossed cups mesmerized him, made him want to pull the top down and explore the perfect, rosy tips he knew were hidden beneath. Her waist was narrow, and his gaze devoured the feminine curve of her belly above the metal bikini.