TWO HOURS LATER she sat beneath a hair dryer, a cup of steaming tea on her right, a glamour magazine-which might as well have been printed in Latin-on her lap. She wore nothing but a robe and some scented lotion that smelled heavenly.

There was something decadent about being so completely naked beneath the robe in a room filled with people. Summer sat at her right, happily chatting away to two other customers as she held Becca’s hand.

Becca assumed it was to hold her still, to keep her from running screaming out of the salon. But she no longer felt like screaming at all.

The salon was incredibly homey and relaxing, not at all intimidating, as some salons could be. The colors were bright and cheerful, much like Summer herself. There were all sorts of snacks available-nothing made clients happy faster than something yummy to munch on. Soft rock blared discreetly from hidden speakers overhead. The reception area had been designed to look like an expensive but approachable clothing boutique, and since one of Summer’s closest friends, Monique, designed and sold clothes right here, it actually was.

An entire wardrobe had been picked out for Becca, and it hadn’t been simple. She’d wanted easy-to-wear clothes that she could both work and play in.

Summer had insisted on two different looks, one for Becca’s work and one for the nightlife she was hoping Becca would have.

They’d settled somewhere in between, but it was the lingerie she’d purchased that still had her blushing. The silks and lace seemed decadent, especially since she didn’t get all that many opportunities to show off her underwear, but there was something almost thrillingly naughty about wearing such exotic things beneath her clothes.

She’d had a delicious massage by Pierre, who’d somehow managed to convince Becca she would love to have his hands all over her body.

He’d been right. For about one-millionth of a second, she’d agonized over lying face down and naked except for one little scrap of towel barely covering her essentials. She’d asked for a bigger towel and Pierre had laughed.

She was certain every square inch of her had furiously blushed, especially the not-so-toned inches.

But Pierre had a voice made for comforting and a touch that was out of this world. If her massage, which had been very professional and proper, had gone on for two more minutes, she was convinced she would have mortified herself and had an orgasm right there on the table. She could have said the same about her pedicure and manicure.

But some of her euphoria died when Summer led her back to her work station. Her sister insisted on styling her hair, without letting Becca face the mirror.

“I’m nervous,” Summer admitted as she finished.

“Oh God, really?” Becca braced herself for the worst. “Did you turn my hair green again?”

Summer bit her lip. “How do you feel about magenta?”

“Summer!”

“Just kidding. But gee, thanks for the confidence.”

“Just tell me,” Becca said urgently. “How bad is it?”

“It’s fab, stop it. All I meant was, it’s exciting for me to do something for you for a change.” Summer squeezed her shoulders affectionately. “Especially since you’ve done so much for me.”

Becca didn’t want to take any credit for their past. Their parents had been killed when she’d been only eighteen, and Summer just sixteen. Becca had taken care of her sister, but anyone would have done the same.

“You’re always right there,” Summer said quietly. “I’ve wanted to give you something back, anything. For so long, I’ve wanted that.” She smiled. “Thanks for letting me do this.”

Slowly she turned Becca to face the mirror.

Ooohs and aaahs filled her ears as everyone around them gave their opinion. Becca hardly heard. Her gaze was locked on the mirror, her heart suddenly thundering. Her head spun. Her eyes glowed, and thanks to the magic of makeup, seemed huge and green. And her hair…it wasn’t green or magenta. Instead, it was shiny, loose to her shoulders and the most glorious color of honey she’d ever seen.

“Well?” Summer demanded, looking at no one but Becca. “Say something. Anything.”

It was a miracle, was all she could think. “I had no idea I had such good genes.”

Summer laughed and hugged her. “You ought to take that trip to Italy after all. Reward yourself.”

She couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror. “Oh, I intend to reward myself,” she said slowly. “And you, too. But not with Italy.”

“I see the wheels turning,” Summer said cautiously. “But I don’t think-”

“Exactly. Don’t think,” Becca said, echoing her sister’s earlier words right back at her. Right out the window she could still see the parasailers. She smiled and turned back to Summer, who looked out the window and gasped when she saw someone hanging from a parachute one hundred and fifty feet above the lake’s water. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Becca said, smiling.

“Okay, look.” Summer drew a deep breath. “I understand you’re going through some sort of mid-life crisis. You’re only thirty, but you hear your clock ticking, or something equally stupid. Becca, stop laughing, I’m serious! Going out and dangling from a tiny little string a million feet in the air isn’t going to-”

“Chicken.”

Summer closed her mouth and glared at Becca. “I’m not a chicken. You take that back.”

“Double dare,” Becca said and waited, knowing full well Summer had never, in all her life, been able to refuse a dare.

“You’ll ruin your hair and nails,” Summer said with an insulted sniff, as if this was her only concern.

“Triple dare,” Becca whispered.

Summer dropped the sophisticated air and swore the air blue. Then she grabbed her purse. “Okay, you’re on. But last one there goes first.”

3

THERE WERE A DOZEN THINGS Kent should have been doing, but instead, long after everyone had gone home for the day, he stood in his office, staring blindly out the window.

Normally he could stand right in this spot, with his picture-perfect view of Lake Tahoe, dotted with sailboats and whitecaps, and be so satisfied with his life he couldn’t stand it.

He loved this place, it was his heart and soul. It was also a symbol of all he’d accomplished in his life, of how far he’d come from the young, homeless street rat he’d once been. It had taken every ounce of courage and grit he’d had to manage college, then to procure an internship. Even more to start up his own company, but he’d done it.

Though he was no longer a nobody, some of the stigma had stuck to him, and it wasn’t often he let people inside. For so much of his childhood and young adulthood he’d had no control over his life, and now as a direct result, he valued his independence above all else.

Even his friendships were treated with kid gloves and some distance.

Until Becca.

There was just something about that woman. That he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was was more than a little disturbing. It wasn’t attraction, he assured himself. Not sexual attraction, anyway.

Yeah, right.

But sleeping with her would be a very bad idea. Sex, great as it would be, would ruin everything because afterward he’d be looking for a way to escape and she’d be planning their two-point-five kids and a white picket fence.

Today, though, when she’d been talking about making a change, talking about adventure and strip clubs, he couldn’t help but take notice. She was running hot and itchy, and she intended to get that itch scratched.

Something akin to panic filled him at that thought. Platonic panic, he assured himself, but panic nonetheless. After all, anyone could see she was a baby when it came to affairs of the heart.

And she was going out looking for action.

It was simple really. He had to do something. She’d made it clear that tonight was the night.

Like a caged lion he paced his office, knowing what kind of man she’d attract at a strip club. A bad one. An unkind one. One who would take advantage of her.

Dammit!

Someone was going to have to look after her, help her, protect her.

Someone was going to have to find out what the hell she thought she was doing, and he hoped it would be someone who cared about her. Someone who understood she just wanted an adventure. Someone who wouldn’t hurt her.

Someone like him. God. Him.

He swore again and grabbed his keys, hoping he wasn’t too late. Luckily the town was small, there were only a limited number of places she could have gone.

If she even stayed in town that is. She could have gone to South Shore, where there were any number of places she could go find her trouble.

Summer. She’d know what Becca was up to.

He hoped.


BECCA DID GO FIRST. Not by choice, but when she and Summer walked up to the man in charge of the parasailing, he took one look at Becca and said, “You first.”

“Me?” she squeaked in tune to Summer’s nervous giggle. “Why me?”

“Because, and no offense here, lady, you look as if you might back out after your friend here goes.”

“She’s my sister.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “All the more reason for you to go first.”

Well it had been her idea, she told herself as she was strapped into a complicated-and hopefully very safe-contraption. Only fair that she go first.

Right?

Sounded good in theory. But she screamed when the first rush of wind lifted her from the launch pad, and she gripped the strap in front of her so tightly her fingers promptly went numb.

She screamed when Summer waved to her from the shore. Summer, who was one little tiny dot on the sand. Oh my God, Becca thought, slamming her eyes closed, screaming again.