"More than a fast-paced erotic romance, this is a story of family, filled with memorable characters who will keep you engaged in the plot and the great sex. A good read to warm a winter’s night.”

—
Romantic Times

“Bursting with sensuality and eroticism.” —
In the Library Reviews

“The passion is intense, hot, and purely erotic . . . recommended for any reader who likes their stories realistic, hot, captivating, and very, very well written.” —
R1oad to Romance

“Not your typical romance. This one’s going to remain one of my favorites.” —
The Romance Studio

“Jasmine Haynes keeps the plot moving and the love scenes very hot.”

—
Just Erotic Romance Reviews

“A wonderful novel . . . Try this one—you won’t be sorry.”

—
The Best Reviews

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

eISBN : 978-1-436-22496-3

1. Divorced women--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.A936S56 2008
813’.6--dc22 2008004814

http://us.penguingroup.com

To my brother Michael
for looking up “persistence” in the dictionary
and seeing my name next to it

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Jenn Cummings, Terri Schaefer, and Rose Lerma, for endless hours of reading. To Kathy Coatney, for checking up on me. To Christine Zika, for giving me the jumpstart. And to my agent, Lucienne Diver, and my editor, Wendy McCurdy, without whom none of this would be possible.

TRINITY Green sagged against the closed door of her condo and sighed. She was an extrovert. She loved people,
thrived
on their company. Yet for some reason, Faith’s baby shower had totally exhausted her. She was happy for Faith, thrilled about the baby, a boy, and that Faith had fallen for Connor and he’d fallen for her. It made Trinity’s matchmaking heart implode with happiness. Honest to God. That’s why she’d planned the shower though Faith had three months to go. She wanted to make sure her best friend in all the world had plenty of time to get the baby things she absolutely must have but didn’t receive at the party.

But with all that giddiness and the way Connor (who’d insisted on being there) kept touching Faith and looking at her with such an adoring gaze . . . Trinity didn’t know why it gave her a headache, but it did. A migraine, which then gave her an upset stomach. As much as she loved,
loved
Faith, she had to get out.

Thank God Trinity had arranged for the party at a restaurant where all she had to do was pay the bill ahead of time and let the management clean up the banquet room. And Connor had said he’d make sure the truckload of presents got to their house.

Hence the reason she was home three hours earlier than she thought she’d be. Which would give her enough time to plan a perfect dinner for Harper. She’d get out Mama’s china and the silver candlesticks, order up a delicious dinner from Vatovola’s, and still have time to pamper herself with a soak in the bath. By the time Harper got home from his Sunday golf game at the country club, she’d be scented and perfect, and there was that new negligee she’d bought with him in mind.

Men liked the little gestures that made them feel they were kings of their castles. Their six-month anniversary wasn’t until next week and Valentine’s Day was almost three weeks away, so he wouldn’t be expecting it.

Therefore it was, in a word, perfect. Her migraine was starting to go away.

Trinity hung her coat in the front closet. The entry hall was too small, but the condo was a starter home. At twenty-five hundred square feet, it wasn’t conducive to entertaining, especially for Harper’s business contacts. All his working capital was tied up in a deal, and her father had fronted them the money. With three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, living room, and dining room, they could survive for a while. The kitchen was a problem, however, when the caterers got in there. Like packed sardines. Trinity hadn’t redecorated, though, and rented just the bare furniture essentials. It would only be until Harper’s deal came through in a couple of months.

Kicking off her high heels, she carried them upstairs. As she stepped into the hall at the top, she realized the shower was running. So Harper was home. No long soak. But . . . there were other possibilities.

She could join him.

Harper was a fastidious lover. He didn’t like to muss her hair. For the most part, she could keep her lipstick intact. Which was fine. Who wanted to wake up beside a woman who’d gotten all messy and sweaty with smudges of makeup all over her face? Trinity hated the “morning after” look. For her part, she always got up before Harper and made sure her hair and makeup were perfect by the time he joined her for breakfast.

Yet sometimes, she dreamed of unbridled lust and passion— when she didn’t worry how she looked or if she perspired. Or even if her lipstick got all over his dipstick. She wanted something totally intense.

Like the fire she glimpsed between Connor and Faith.

Before she got married, Trinity made the occasional joke to Faith about having a passionate affair with a sexy man—which was pretty much as far as their sex discussions went—but Trinity had to admit she was all talk and no action. She’d never had hot, sweaty sex outside her fantasies. Even with Harper, everything was . . . controlled. But really, why was she thinking about all that now?

It was Faith’s baby shower getting to her. The adoring look in Connor’s eye.

Even after six months of marriage, she’d never engendered quite that expression in Harper. He was complimentary, of course, and he loved showing her off, squiring her around, and she knew he adored her. But . . .

Maybe tonight was the night for unbridled passion. They’d never taken a shower together, let alone made love under the steamy spray. Harper was a private sort when it came to bathroom activities.

But tonight . . .

Nipples already hard and panties damp, Trinity undid the top two buttons of her baby blue suit as she entered the bedroom.

Harper’s shoes and his slacks lay in the middle of the bedroom carpet. His white polo shirt covered a corner of the flowered bedspread, and his Windbreaker listed off the side. This kind of disarray was unlike him. He must be tired.

The water pounded in the shower, and one of her black lace bras lay across the bathroom threshold. She couldn’t remember leaving it there.

Except
that
wasn’t one of her brassieres. It was too . . . big. The lace poked up proudly and . . . Trinity gulped . . . she wouldn’t have filled even a quarter of a cup.

Steam puffed out the open bathroom door, carrying with it a sound barely discernible above the water’s beat.

A moan. Or something.

Trinity’s migraine came back full force. Vapor bathed her face as she put one hand on the bathroom doorjamb, perspiration covering her upper lip. She swallowed against a dry mouth, and it ached going down.

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