“I can’t,” I said quietly. “I have to go home.”

He smiled against my mouth. It felt wonderful. “Bring me home with you. I promise to behave myself.” He kissed me softly, long and lingering before slowly, achingly, pulling away. “Actually, I promise to misbehave,” he said huskily. “But I know you’ll like it.”

I took the moment to put an inch of distance between our faces. “You don’t understand. I have to pay the babysitter. She’ll want to leave soon.”

I didn’t expect him to freeze like he did, only because I had assumed he knew I had a child. But from the way his brows came together, I could tell this was news to him.

“Babysitter?” he said, clearing his throat. “You have a kid?”

I nodded, feeling my defenses go up bit by bit like I was rebuilding a wall that had momentarily come down. “Ava. She’s five.”

“I didn’t know that about you,” he said, blinking a few times. Why did men always have to freak out when they found out I was a single mom? You’d think in this so-called progressive day and age men would at least be a little more open-minded about, if not exposed to the situation more often. Besides, I was thirty-one, not a teenager.

I couldn’t help but flash him an acidic smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” When I thought about it, I guess I had only met him a couple of times before and they were usually in social situations where the most I got was a handshake or a nod and that was it. I don’t think I had talked to him alone until tonight.

He looked at the watch on his wrist, something I had noticed for the first time. It gleamed silver in the outdoor lights. “Well, I guess you better be on your way then, Cinderella.”

“Is it almost midnight?” I asked, feeling awkward now about everything. I slowly got to my feet and they screamed in pain from the Ross Atwood sandals that Steph had gifted me for the wedding. Sexy they were, comfortable they weren’t.

He stood up beside me and even in my heels, which added four inches to my five-foot-seven body, he was still a lot taller than I was. I tried not to take in how devilishly handsome he looked in his tux, how close I was to feeling what I knew had to be the very hard lines of his body. All the things I tried to ignore about him earlier were now all I could see, flashing like a neon sign that screamed, “Hot fuck, one night only.”

“Aye,” he said in his brogue. “Can I call you a cab?”

I shook my head. “I’m going to Uber it.”

He stared at me for a moment as if thinking then he nodded. “Too bad I can’t convince you to let your hair down, if just for the night.”

I gave him a look, my fingers clenching the empty wine glass. “Letting your hair down isn’t always an option for a single mom.”

“Right,” he said. “Let me at least take you back to the party.” He held out his arm for me, and after a moment’s hesitation, I took it. I have to say it felt nice as he led me out of the garden and into the reception area as if he were my date for the night.

But as soon as we got close to people, he dropped his arm and gave me a quick smile. “Get home safe, sweetheart.”

So, that was it.

I watched as he slid into the crowd of lingering people and headed for the bar. The party was still going, though he was right that Stephanie and Linden must have left because I didn’t see them anywhere. I did see the fathers and mothers of both bride and groom, as well as Aaron, Kayla, Penny, James and a few other of our mutual friends. Most were dancing and having a fun time, drunk as hell, while in the background the boats in the marina swayed lightly with the waves.

Sometimes being Cinderella really sucked.

Sighing, I fished out my phone and ordered an Uber cab. It was a busy Saturday night, so the driver was fifteen minutes away. I headed toward the gates to the yacht club and sat on an iron bench beside a marble anchor, giving my feet another rest. I tried to keep watching the road to see if my Uber was pulling up, but when I heard a loud giggle, I had to turn my head back to the reception.

There, in the distance, was Bram with his arm around some skinny blonde chick I’d seen earlier. I think one of Steph’s distant cousins. She looked way young, way drunk and way into Bram.

Unfortunately, he looked to be the same way about her. While her heel caught in the grass and she nearly went stumbling, he caught her and brought her to him. She laughed and kissed him and he eagerly kissed her back, pressing her lithe body and slinky dress to him. Her hand slipped down to his crotch and pressed it against what must have been quite the erection.

He grinned at her, that stupid, wicked grin, and took her toward the garden area we had just come from, disappearing behind the rose bushes. Her giggles floated through the air and I couldn’t help but picture him stripping her naked, bending her over the bench, and unzipping his pants.

I watched the bushes for a moment, seeing them rustle, feeling both sick and strangely turned-on.

That could have been me.

But it wasn’t. And when I started hearing her breathy moans, I snapped out of it. Jesus, he was fast to move on after he figured out he wasn’t going to get lucky with me.

By the time the car pulled up for me, all my feelings had swirled into a cauldron of shame and anger. What a fucking pig! I was lucky as hell I didn’t end up throwing caution – or my panties – to the wind and sleeping with that slimy Scottish jackass. I had been right all along. He was trouble, danger, and I needed to stay away from men like him. Only now I wished I hadn’t even kissed him back, let alone exchanged words with him at all.

While I stewed in the back of the Uber car as we crossed over the Golden Gate Bridge, I thought back to my motto. Live with no regrets? I was definitely regretting that I let him even think he could have slept with me that night.

I also had another motto: Fool me once, shame on me. You won’t fool me twice. My pride will never, ever let me fall for something again.

If Bram McGregor wasn’t on my hit list before, he definitely was now.

CHAPTER ONE

Nicola

“Nicola Price, you’re fired,” my boss says to me in his most Donald Trump-like expression. Only he’s not smiling like it’s a joke and his coif is so shellacked with hair goop that it would put Mr. Trump to shame.

Also, I’m pretty sure he actually said, “Nicola, we’re so sorry to tell you this, but we’re going to have to let you go.” But what’s the difference when they pretty much mean the same thing? In one damn second I’ve lost my job. My income. My stability.

My future.

It’s a wonder I don’t have a meltdown like the ones Ava throws when she can’t find her favorite plush toy, Snuffy. Or even leak a single tear. Instead, I just sit there like an idiot, a frozen, slack-jawed failure, while my boss, Ross (ex-boss now, I guess), prattles on about how sorry he is and how he wished they could have kept me but the company is downsizing and they’re removing one of the stores and yadda, yadda, yadda.

But none of that matters whatsoever since I know I’m one week shy of having worked for them for three months. In one week, I would have finished my probationary period and my health insurance would have rolled in. I would have gotten a raise. I would have gotten piece of mind and a career in the field I’ve been striving for.

And now I’m angry because I realize these assholes knew they’d never offer me a permanent position, they just wanted the cheap fucking labor. This had been their plan all along, to string me along under false pretences and then kick me to the curb before it became serious.

Sounds a lot like my love life, come to think about it.