Not that he’d had to do all that much talking. She’d always been a sucker for that smile, and for him. But she was no longer a lonely little girl, susceptible to smooth-talking boys with wicked smiles who blew into her life each summer and made her little heart melt. “Sebastian Vaughan.”

His smile creased the corners of his eyes. “You’ve grown since the last time I saw you naked.”

With her hand clutching the front of her dress, she turned and pressed her back into the door. The cool wood touched her skin between the open zipper. She pushed a dark brown tangle of hair behind her ear and tried to smile. She had to dig down deep inside, into the part of her that had been pounded with good manners. Into the part that brought gifts to dinner parties and sent thank-you notes the second she got home. The part that had a kind word-if not thought-for everyone. “How are you?”

“Good.”

“Fabulous.” She licked her dry lips. “I suppose you’re visiting your father?” Finally.

He pushed away from the door frame and reached for one end of the towel around his neck. “We covered that last night,” he said, and dried the side of his head. As a boy, his hair had been blond like the sun. It was darker now.

Obviously they’d covered quite a few things she couldn’t remember. Things she didn’t even want to think about. “I heard about your mother. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“We covered that too.” He dropped his hand to his hip.

Oh. “What brings you to town?” The last she’d heard of Sebastian, he’d been embedded with the marines in Iraq or Afghanistan or God knew where. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been eleven or twelve.

“Ditto.” His brows lowered and he looked at her more closely. “You don’t remember last night. Do you?”

She shrugged one bare shoulder.

“I knew you were shit-faced, but I didn’t think you were so gone you wouldn’t remember anything.”

It was just like him to point that out. He obviously hadn’t developed manners along with those abs. “I’ve never really quite understood that term, but I’m sure I wasn’t ‘shit-faced.’”

“You always were too literal. It means you were drunk off your ass. And yeah, you were.”

Her smile slid into a frown that she didn’t even try to stop. “I had reasons.”

“You told me.”

She hoped she hadn’t mentioned everything.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

He made a turning motion with one finger. “Turn around so I can zip your dress.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. If my father found out I’d let you run out of here with your dress half off, he’d kill me. And if we’re going to have a conversation, I’d rather not stand here wondering if you’re going to fall the rest of the way out of that thing.”

She stared at him for several moments. Did she want him to help her out? It would probably be best if she didn’t dash from the room with her dress open in the back. Then again, she really didn’t want to stick around and converse with Sebastian Vaughan.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m only wearing a towel here. In about two seconds it’s going to be real obvious I’m hoping I get to see you naked.” He smiled, showing a perfect row of straight white teeth. “Again.”

Her cheeks caught fire as she got his meaning, and in a rustle of satin and tulle, she turned and faced the door. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him exactly what they’d done together the previous night, but she didn’t want the details. She also wondered what she’d told him about Lonny, but she supposed she didn’t want to know that either. “I guess I drank more than I intended.”

“You were entitled to tie one on. Finding your fiancé on all fours like a bronc would drive anyone to drink.” The tips of his fingers brushed her spine as he reached for the zipper. He chuckled and said, “I guess the Maytag man isn’t the loneliest guy in town after all.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Maybe not.” He brushed her hair aside and slowly slid the zipper up her back. “But you really shouldn’t take it so hard.”

She pressed her forehead into the wooden door. This could not be happening.

“It’s not like it’s your fault, Clare,” he added as if it were a comfort. “You just don’t have the right equipment.”

Yes, there were worse things than waking up in a hotel room with a stranger. One of those things was seeing the love of your life with a man. The other was zipping up her dress. She sniffed and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying.

He let go of her hair and fastened the two hooks at the top of the zipper. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

She shook her head. She did not show excessive emotion in public, or at least she tried not to. Later, after she’d confronted Lonny and was alone, she would fall apart. But, she figured, if she’d ever had an excuse to cry, this was it. She’d lost her fiancé and slept with Sebastian Vaughan. Barring a flesh-eating disease, she didn’t think her life could get any worse than it was at that moment.

“I can’t believe I slept with you,” she moaned. If her head hadn’t already been pounding, she would have beat her forehead against the door.

He dropped his hands to his sides. “There wasn’t a whole lot of sleeping going on.”

“I was drunk. I never would have had sex with you if I hadn’t been drunk.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “You took advantage of me.”

His gaze narrowed. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s obvious.”

“You didn’t complain.” He shrugged and moved toward the couch.

“I don’t remember!”

“Now, that’s a real shame. You told me I was the best sex you’d ever had in your life.” He smiled and dropped the towel. “You couldn’t get enough.”

He obviously hadn’t outgrown the habit of dropping trow, and she kept her gaze pinned to the bird painting on the wall behind his head.

He turned his back on her and reached for his jeans. “At one point you were so loud I thought sure hotel security was going to beat down the door.”

She’d never been loud during sex. Never. But she knew she wasn’t in a position to argue. She could have been yelling like a porn star and wouldn’t remember.

“I’ve been with some aggressive women…” He shook his head. “Who would have thought that little Claresta would grow up to be so wild in bed?”

She’d never been wild in bed. Sure, she wrote about hot, steamy sex, but she never actually lost control enough to have it. She’d tried a few times, but she was too inhibited to scream and moan and…

She lost the battle and her gaze slid down the smooth planes of his back and slight indent of his spine as he pulled his Levi’s over his bare butt. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she muttered, and bent to retrieve her purse from the floor.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked with his head bent over his task.

Home. Her heart squeezed and her head pounded as she straightened. What she faced at home was an even bigger nightmare than the one standing across the room from her. The one with those rock-solid abs and a really nice butt. “No. Thanks. You’ve helped enough.”

He turned and his hands paused over his buttoned fly. “Are you sure? We don’t have to check out till noon.” One corner of his mouth slid up and his wicked smile was back. “Wanna create some memories you won’t forget?”

Clare opened the door behind her. “Not a chance,” she said, and walked out of the room. She’d made it about ten feet before he called after her.

“Hey, Cinderella.”

She glanced over her shoulder as he picked up her pink sandal and tossed it to her. “Don’t forget your slipper.”

She caught the shoe in one hand and hurried down the hall without looking back. She raced down the stairs and rushed through the lobby, afraid she might run into out-of-town wedding guests staying at the hotel. How could she possibly explain her appearance to Lucy’s great-aunt and uncle from Wichita?

The hotel doors whooshed open, and with the cruel morning sun stabbing her eyes, Clare walked barefoot across the parking lot and thanked God her Lexus LS was exactly where she recalled leaving it the day before. She gathered up her dress, shoved herself into the car, and fired it up. Popping it into reverse, she caught a glimpse of her face in the rearview mirror and gasped at the sight of black mascara under bloodshot eyes, wild hair, and pale skin. She looked like death. Like road kill. And Sebastian had looked like he belonged on a billboard selling Levi’s.

As Clare backed out of the parking space, she reached into the console for her sunglasses. If she laid eyes on Sebastian again in this lifetime, she thought, it would be too soon. She supposed his offer to take her home had been nice enough, but then in typical Sebastian style, he’d ruined it by offering to create unforgettable memories. Putting the car into drive, she covered her eyes with her gold Versace’s.

She supposed he was staying with his father, just as he had as a boy when his mother used to send him to Idaho from Seattle for the summer. Since she didn’t plan to visit her own mother anytime soon, she knew there wasn’t a risk she’d see Sebastian again.

She drove out of the parking lot and headed up Chinden Boulevard toward Americana.

Sebastian’s father, Leonard Vaughan, had worked for her family for almost thirty years. For as long as Clare could remember, Leo had lived in the converted carriage house on her mother’s estate on Warm Springs Avenue. The main house had been built in 1890 and was registered with the Idaho Historical Society. The carriage house sat at the back of the property, half hidden by old willow trees and flowering dogwood.

Clare couldn’t recall if Sebastian’s mother had ever lived in the carriage house with Leo, but she didn’t think so. It seemed that Leo had always lived there alone, overseeing the house and grounds and playing chauffeur from time to time.