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Her Kind of Trouble
Sarah Mayberry
It takes one to know one The moment Vivian Walker spies Seth Anderson she knows they're a match made in hedonistic pleasure. And everything that happens between them proves her right. Even better, they both agree their one night together is all they'll share.Now, years later, Seth remains one of Vivian's favorite memories. Surely the sizzling chemistry has faded, though, right? Apparently not. Because when she sees him again he's still sinfully attractive. More than that, she actually likes the man he is. When Seth suddenly becomes a full-time dad to a newborn, Vivian falls hard. Despite the changes, however, she knows Seth will never settle down. And he will definitely never commit to one woman. So she needs to strengthen her defenses before she gets into real trouble!
It takes one to know one
The moment Vivian Walker spies Seth Anderson she knows they’re a match made in hedonistic pleasure. And they both agree their one night together is all about fun, not forever.
Now, years later, Seth remains a favorite memory. Surely the sizzling chemistry has faded, though, right? Apparently not. Because he’s still sinfully attractive, and she likes the man he is. When he suddenly becomes a full-time dad to his newborn daughter, Vivian falls hard. Yet despite the responsibilities, he’s not a good bet for commitment. And she needs to guard her heart before she gets into trouble!
She’d been courting trouble!
As reluctant as she was to acknowledge it, Vivian had been dancing with the devil tonight. God help her.
She’d been toying with herself, with Seth, with the situation. Enjoying the heat of their chemistry and the spark of their banter and the sheer electric thrill of the potential that always seemed to arc between them.
Wondering what would happen if they got naked again, skin to skin, and if the payoff would be worth the risk.
And Seth had called her bluff. He’d read her signals, interpreted them to suit his own agenda—which, let’s face it, was pretty basic and predictably male and not that different from her own—and gone for it.
She could still feel the echoes of her panic, it had been that strong, that instinctive.
That revealing.
She lifted her head and stared unseeingly out the windshield. It was time to be honest with herself.
She still had a thing for Seth.
Dear Reader,
I hope you can tell I had a lot of fun writing this book. The idea for Vivian and Seth’s story came to me a couple of years ago and a part of me has been anticipating writing about them ever since.
For me, Viv and Seth are the classic case of right person, wrong time. I loved playing with their instinctive recognition of each other, as well as their fiery passionate physical connection. They’re both a bit naughty and irreverent, too, with life ambitions that sit slightly outside the norm. Throw a baby into the mix, and you’ve got a pretty crazy situation for two very independent people to try to wrangle.
Neither of these two are perfect, but they have good hearts and good intentions, and I really enjoyed helping them find their happily ever after. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did! I love to hear from readers, so stop by my website, www.sarahmayberry.com (http://www.sarahmayberry.com), to drop me a line if you feel the urge. And, if you’d like, add your name to my new-release-newsletter mailing list.
Happy reading,
Sarah Mayberry
Her Kind of Trouble
Sarah Mayberry
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SARAH MAYBERRY lives by the sea in her hometown of Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and a small black furry Cavoodle called Max. She loves to write, cook, sleep, read and shop for shoes. Not necessarily in that order. She’s about to start a new fitness regimen in the hope of becoming a little less like the Tin Man before Dorothy got busy with the oil can on his rusty joints.
Every book is a journey of discovery, frustration, elation, delusion and determination. I couldn’t get through it without Chris, Max and Wanda.
A big thanks to my lovely writing buddies Marie, Schwartzeputzer, Joan, Mel and the fabulous Melbourne Mob. It’s so nice to know I’m not alone in the madness.
Contents
Chapter One (#u402c81c7-c696-509f-b633-fc5ed6f1d32c)
Chapter Two (#u07c808b5-eb9b-586c-a94f-f08c3cab4bb1)
Chapter Three (#u6b2218af-13fb-5d98-9705-396fe6aebcb1)
Chapter Four (#u89d45a1e-2fc4-5b33-8fee-17d23d56c942)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
March 2004
“WELL. WHAT DO you think? Do I still look like an overstuffed silk sausage?”
Vivian Walker winced as her sister spun to face her, the taffeta of her wedding dress rustling. She would never live down the scathing commentary she’d given the day she’d gone dress shopping with her sister. Next time someone asked for her opinion, she needed to engage her edit function first.
“It looks gorgeous,” she said, because it was true and because the big day was tomorrow and there was no way she was critiquing the gown her sister had chosen.
Jodie smoothed a hand over her hip. She’d been dieting like crazy and the classic fit-and-flare dress clung to her curvy figure perfectly, with not a hint of overstuffing. The lace overlay was delicate, the strapless sweetheart neckline flattering, the dove-grey silk belt the perfect accent for her slender waist. She really did look beautiful.
“You don’t think I should have gone with something more modern?” Jodie asked, flicking her long, dark red hair over her shoulders.
“We can dash down to the mall now, see what the rental place has,” Vivian suggested, poker-faced.
“Ha, ha, smarty-pants. That was your cue to tell me that this is the perfect dress, that there isn’t a more perfect dress anywhere in the world, and that I look like a regal, sex-goddess-princess in it, et cetera, et cetera.”
The guilt that had been hovering since her sister unzipped the dress’s garment bag bit hard. Vivian scratched her nose to hide her reaction from her sister.
Was there anything worse in all the world than letting down someone you loved? She’d yet to find it, if there was.
“You look amazing, Jodie. Really, really stunning,” she said, meeting her sister’s eyes.
It wasn’t a lie, not by a long shot, but they both knew that if things had gone according to plan, Jodie would be wearing a dress Vivian had designed. A one-of-a-kind creation that—in theory—would have been the culmination of all the hard work Vivian had put in over the past three years studying clothing design at the Melbourne Fashion Institute.
If only she hadn’t made that stupid, impulsive offer when they’d gone shopping six months ago. If only she’d paused for a second to consider what she’d be taking on before she asked her sister to let her design something. But she’d been so disgusted by the safe, homogenized, boring dresses, and so full of herself after winning praise at a recent exhibition of student work at the institute, the offer—bold, brash, confident—had simply popped out of her mouth.
Jodie’s eyes had lit up on the spot, and she’d done a happy dance around the changing room. “Viv, that would be so fantastic. And I know that whatever you come up with will be my dream dress, because you are so amazingly talented.”
Panic had set in about thirty seconds later. This was her sister’s wedding day. Whatever Vivian came up with needed to be off-the-planet extraordinary. It needed to be the best, most creative, most sublime thing she’d ever designed.
Was it any wonder she’d choked every time she sat down with her sketch pad to try to rough out ideas in the following weeks and months? Was it any wonder she’d made no less than twenty starts on twenty wildly different designs before throwing each and every one of them out? And was it any wonder her sister had finally let her off the hook after three months of unreturned phone calls and excuses, assuring Vivian that she was more than happy to buy a dress off the rack if designing one was proving too difficult?
That Jodie had wound up selecting one of the dresses Vivian had so vehemently critiqued and rejected on their shopping expedition was the icing on the cake of her guilt and discomfort. “What do you think of the veil? I’m still on the fence about whether to wear it over my face, or to do something with it in my hair, or maybe not wear it at all.” Jodie picked up a lace-edged confection of white froth. “I tried all three options when we did the practice run on my hair and makeup, but I still can’t decide.”
Vivian pushed her feelings aside and stood. “Let’s have a bit of a play, see what we can come up with.”
She fiddled with the veil, trying different ways of pinning and draping it before slipping out to her car to retrieve her workbox. Big, black and heavy, it was actually a portable tool chest that she’d modified for her own purposes, the compartments filled with all manner of trims, haberdashery and sewing supplies she’d collected over the years. She rummaged through the sections until she found what she was looking for—delicate grey feathers that had been dusted with silver and some paste diamond jewelry she’d picked up at a yard sale. She tried a few different options before hitting on the right combination of antique brooch and feathers, pinning the veil so that it fell in delicate, sensuous folds down her sister’s back.
“Oh, wow.” Jodie inspected herself in the mirror. “Viv, I love it. Thank you,” she said, flinging her arms around Vivian.
Vivian hugged her sister, even though she knew she didn’t deserve her gratitude. “If you like, I could come up with something similar for your belt, embellish it a little. I could do it tonight, have it ready for you tomorrow morning.”
Jodie’s smile faltered and Vivian knew she was thinking about the dress-that-never-was, along with all the other things Vivian had screwed up over the years.
“We’ve got the dinner tonight. I don’t want you to feel pushed for time,” her sister said diplomatically.
“I won’t be. It’ll take me an hour, two tops. I really want to do this, Jodie.” She left the rest of her plea unspoken. They both knew that a few embellishments on a belt and veil didn’t come even close to compensating for how badly Vivian had let Jodie down, but it was something.
“Okay. Sure. Why not?” Jodie said, and it killed Vivian that she could hear her sister talking herself into trusting her again.
“I’ll draw up some sketches before dinner and run them past you.”
“You don’t need to do that. You have wonderful taste. Whatever you do, I’m sure I’ll love it.”
The bedroom door opened then and their mother and the other two bridesmaids barged in, laden with champagne and glasses, all of them talking at once.
“God, Jodie, you look gorgeous! Like a fairy-tale princess,” one of them said.
Vivian smiled to herself as she cleared her things out of the way. The princess reference was sure to meet with her sister’s approval.
She stayed for one toast, but the belt was playing on her mind—she refused to let her sister down again—so she made her excuses and retreated to her childhood bedroom to sketch some ideas.
Their mother had converted Jodie’s room into a study the moment she moved out, but she’d kept Vivian’s as it was when she’d struck out on her own a year later, “just in case” Vivian needed it. The message being that while sensible, down-to-earth Jodie couldn’t possibly fail to succeed in the adult world of rent and utility bills, flighty, unreliable Vivian was a much shakier proposition
The galling thing was her mother had been right. Vivian had had to move home twice—once when she’d lost her job working in retail fashion, the second when she’d had a falling-out with her housemates. Worse, things were looking shaky at the apartment she shared with two other students at the moment, too.
Vivian sighed. It would totally suck to crawl home a third time.
Sitting on her bed, she arranged the remaining feathers off to one side, placing a selection of antique brooches next to them. She had another rummage through her workbox and unearthed a packet of pewter-grey and white sequins, along with some seed pearls.
Perfect.
Taking up her pad and pencil, she started to sketch. She had roughed out a design and arranged the component pieces on the belt when someone rapped on her door. She looked up, only registering how long it had been since she moved when her neck objected.
Her mother entered, dressed in a bronze silk pants suit, her faded red hair sprayed into a stiff helmet, gold jewelry gleaming at her ears, throat and wrists.
“Vivian. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We leave for the restaurant in twenty minutes.” Her expression became exasperated when she saw that Vivian was still in her jeans. “You’re not wearing that, are you? This is the first time we’ll be meeting some of Jason’s extended family.”
Vivian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her idea of fashion and her mother’s had diverged a long time ago, but even she knew jeans were not acceptable for the private dining room of a swanky restaurant.
“I’ll be ready,” she said. “And I brought a dress.”
Her mother’s gaze dropped to the bed. “That’s not Jodie’s belt, is it? Does she know you have it?” Her mother started forward, clearly determined to rescue it from Vivian’s clutches.
Vivian rested a protective hand over the arrangement she’d spent hours perfecting.
“Jodie gave it to me. I’m finessing it.”
Her mother pursed her mouth. “I hope this isn’t going to be like the dress. The wedding is tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Mum, I’m well aware of that.”
“There’s no need to take that tone. I’m thinking of your sister. This isn’t the time for you to go off on one of your whims.”
“I’ll finish tonight.” Vivian ground out the words.
It was one thing to admit to yourself you were a screwup, but it was another thing entirely to have it pointed out by your nearest and dearest. Repeatedly. Ad nauseam.
“I’ll leave you to change, then.” Her mother gave the belt one last mistrustful glance before leaving.
Viv growled, then carefully unfolded her legs so as not to disturb the sequins and pearls. She didn’t have time for a shower, so she concentrated on fixing her makeup before shedding her clothes and pulling on her dress. One of her own designs, it was made from an inky-blue wool crepe and had a loose blouson top with a peekaboo central split and a fitted pencil skirt. She’d been growing her strawberry-blond hair out of a short crop for the wedding, and she pinned it up before spritzing on perfume and racing downstairs.
“Only five minutes late.” Her father made a show of checking his watch. “Got to be a new record.”
Vivian wrinkled her nose at him. “But worth every second,” she said, twirling for him.
He whistled appreciatively.
Her mother made a clucking noise. “You’re a born flirt, Vivian. Try not to give anyone a heart attack tonight, okay?” She tried to close the peekaboo slit that revealed a hint of Vivian’s décolletage.
“Relax, Mum. I know CPR.”
