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      LACEY COULD HAVE walked down and sat in one of the lounge chairs by the dark waters of the pool, she supposed. But for some reason, the big round trampoline beckoned her. She’d figured no one would be in the gymnasium. If any curious or amorous guests were wandering around J.T.’s mansion, they’d more likely take refuge in one of the richly appointed bedrooms. She had this big, quiet space to herself. All she wanted was to take a moment, to strategize, to figure out how she was going to go back into the office Monday and face her co-workers knowing they’d all feel betrayed after J.T. made his big announcement tonight.

      Of course, they were the absolute least of her worries. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. We’ll figure out how to handle this.”

      She wondered what J.T. would think if he could see her now, but couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Bracing her palms on the padded mat covering the springs, she pulled herself up and twisted her body around to sit on the metal edge of the trampoline. Careful not to snag her dress, which had set her back a week’s salary, she slid backward onto the bouncy surface.

      She giggled softly, liking the sense of freedom. Lowering herself, she stretched out until she lay completely on her back. She stared at the ceiling, again grinning at the fit J.T. would likely have if he walked into the room and caught her, in her fancy cocktail dress, lying on the trampoline.

      If his latest wife, Deirdre, were with him, she’d probably faint. It already galled the woman no end that Lacey was one of the guests of honor tonight. In Deirdre’s social circle, one simply didn’t flaunt one’s mistakes in public.

      On that point, she and Lacey were in complete agreement. But she still would have paid money to see the woman’s face if she happened to wander by.

      The thought made her snicker, and she sat up. Carefully tugging her tight dress higher, she rose to her feet and tested the trampoline with one little bounce. She’d done gymnastics as a kid, and she itched to see if she could still do some of the tricks she’d perfected.

      “Not in this dress,” she mused. Still, she tugged it higher, knowing no one could see the black ribbon covering the elastic of her thigh-high stockings. No one was around to note the lace of her panties or be shocked that they were the thong type, which left no lines in tight clothes.

      Now she was really getting into Deirdre-dropping-over-in-a-dead-faint territory. Thigh highs and a thong? On sensible Lacey, she who preached true love before marriage and emotional commitments before physical ones?

      Okay, she had a thing for sexy lingerie. “Sue me,” she muttered. So naughty underwear gave her a dangerous thrill. Big deal. She was the only one who ever saw what she wore under her suits and dresses. At the rate she was going in the romance department, that didn’t seem likely to change anytime soon!

      Lacey suddenly remembered the blond man at the bar and wondered who he was. He’d affected her, distracted her on what was proving to be a pretty lousy night. It had been a long time since Lacey had looked at a man and felt…hot. Needy. And very curious. The wickedly provocative picture that flashed into her mind really would have given those who knew her a shock.

      Rebelliously, she tugged her dress higher. Not that she lifted it all the way over her hips or anything. But as her feet moved and she bounced up and down, the dress slid up inch by inch until she could feel the cool air of the gym wisping against the lower curve of her buttocks.

      It felt naughty, wicked, free and outrageous. And Lacey Clark loved every uninhibited bounce.

      Her dress was certainly too tight to try any flips or maneuvers. So she jumped higher, and higher, spinning and twirling in the air, not caring when her hair tumbled riotously around her face and the sweat she’d worried about during the party dripped down her chin. Who cared? It felt good to be bad. And oh, thankfully, she was no longer bored, though she was completely alone.

      Or so she thought, until she heard the yell, followed by the splash.

      2

      IT WAS the thong panties that sent Nate’s chair tipping over into the pool. He was no voyeur, but, damn, a gorgeous blonde jumping on a trampoline flashing him a sweet glimpse of her curvy backside with every bounce? What red-blooded American man would be able to resist that? He sure hadn’t. So he’d leaned just a little too far and gone for an unexpected swim.

      The chilly water shocked him. If it hadn’t been for the chair hitting him in the head, he would likely have leaped right back out. But the plastic arm of the lounger caught him in the temple, and for a moment or two, he experienced severe disorientation. All he knew was he was in the pool, and a chair and a padded cushion, growing heavier by the second as it soaked up water, were blocking him from the air above.

      Before he could move to save himself, someone was yanking him by the arm, pulling him from under the obstacle. When he broke through the surface, Nate sucked in a deep, greedy breath. His rescuer threw an arm across his shoulders and towed him, on his back, to the side of the pool.

      When they reached the side, he flung his arm over the pool’s edge, as did she. She finally stopped panting long enough to look him in the face.

      The blonde. The gorgeous blonde with the peekaboo panties was treading water opposite him. She’d leaped into the pool to save him, not even stopping to consider her dress, which clung to her skin like shiny black Saran wrap. She was an absolute mess. Her sopping hair drooped against her head, sending rivulets of water running down her temples. Her smeared makeup had left black streaks under her eyes. She looked like a wet raccoon. A gorgeous wet raccoon.

      Finally noticing his stare, her eyes widened, flashing with something. Confusion? Recognition? He didn’t know, couldn’t place it, but he saw something change in her expression. She looked out of sorts, confused, perhaps even a little excited. Not surprising given what had just happened. But Nate had a feeling there was more to it than that.

      Finally she asked, “Are you okay?”

      In spite of the pounding in his head, Nate responded flirtatiously. “I think I might need mouth to mouth.”

      She frowned. “You’re talking. I suspect you’re breathing.”

      He puffed out his cheeks, holding his breath.

      She rolled her eyes. “Lame.”

      “Okay. I give up. I’m fine, thanks to you. I was getting disoriented under the water.”

      He glanced over his shoulder at the chair, which still floated nearby. As he watched, the cloth-covered cushion sank, disappearing beneath the surface, probably due to the weight of the water. It descended until it rested on the bottom of the pool—right where he might have ended up, had the blow to his head been much harder.

      Good grief, he could have drowned! The thought sobered him, sending any flirtatious thoughts out of his mind. “You really might have saved my life. Thank you very much.”

      He stared into her eyes, which were a fine pale blue that picked up the light reflected on the shimmering surface of the water. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in audible gasps, much like his as they both recovered from the adrenaline rush of his accident.

      Close up, she was every bit as enticing, though perhaps in a different way, than she’d been from a distance. Her features were softer, sweeter than he’d expected, given her killer figure. Her heart-shaped face was creamy smooth, and beneath the smeared makeup he could