While Rocky, Dev, Chloe and Gram laughed and fussed over last-minute decorating in the living room, Luke battled the blues and lingered over the nearby dessert buffet. He’d been lingering for a while.
“Seriously? That’s your fourth cupcake, Luke.”
Grinning, Luke glanced at his sister while licking sweet, tangy icing from his fingers. “Yes, but it’s my first—” He glanced at the card tented near this particular batch, focused on the three words and waited until the letters stopped swirling in his brain. “—Chocolate Peppermint Surprise.”
“Leave him alone, Rocky. Obviously our poor boy is eating to fill some emotional void.”
That observation was a little too keen for Luke’s comfort. He shifted his gaze to Gram—hell on wheels at the spry age of seventy-five. “Did you read that psychobabble in
Cosmo
? And don’t tell me you’re not reading that glam mag, Gram. I saw it sticking out of your ‘Make Love, Not War’ tote bag along with a copy of
Simple & Delicious
.”
“I’m trying to spice up my life,” Gram said while repositioning one of three nativity scenes on the fireplace mantle.
Luke opened his mouth as did Rocky, but Dev beat them to the punch. “You recently moved out of this grand old colonial and into a rustic log cabin with your
boyfriend
,” Dev said while climbing a step stool to straighten the crooked tree topper. “Your life is spicy enough.”
Luke was surprised that his brother left it at that. Dev had always been anal and overprotective. Although he wasn’t half as bad as he used to be since hooking up with Chloe, a bit of a free spirit who went with the flow.
“It’s not a log cabin,” Chloe said, sticking up for Gram who also happened to be her business partner. “It’s a saltbox farmhouse.”
“And Vincent is my roommate and companion,” Gram said, moving in alongside Chloe to rearrange a few ornaments. “‘Boyfriend’ sounds silly considering his mature status.”
“Silly, huh?” Luke smiled and talked around a mouthful of chocolaty goodness. “Gram, you’re wearing glitzy reindeer antlers and pointy elf slippers.” She’d also dyed her springy curls flaming red, and had swapped cat-eye specs for a pair of blingy green-tinted bifocals. Oh, and she had blinking snowmen dangling from her wrinkled lobes.
“It’s called being festive,” Gram said as she rearranged the presents under the massive Christmas tree she and Rocky had decorated to death. “It’s almost Christmas after all.”
Like Luke needed a reminder. Christmas was Rocky’s favorite holiday. Before her home and business had burned down, she used to decorate the hell out of her Victorian bed-and-breakfast. Obviously she’d invested some of her insurance money into replenishing her Christmas holiday décor and then some. There wasn’t a square foot of Gram’s, strike that,
Rocky’s
house that hadn’t been touched by an angel, snowman, snowflake, holly, garland, ice cycle, St. Nick, reindeer, candy cane, nutcracker, toy soldier, wreath … Usually Luke was all for holiday cheer, but …
Cripes. He’d almost thought:
Bah, humbug
.
Noting that nagging emptiness in the pit of his stomach, Luke eyed the desserts. Maybe one of these Oggneg … He did a double take at the printed tent card and slowed his mind. Aw, hell.
Eggnog
. Maybe an Eggnog Cupcake would inspire some Christmas joy. Just as Luke bit into the moist rich confection, a furry, big-eyed mutt bounded into the room. “Hey, Brewster.”
“Don’t feed him any people food,” Rocky said. “No matter how much he begs. It’s not good for him.”
“Gotcha,” Luke said while letting the dog lick crumbs from his fingers.
“Got the wood.” Jayce Bello, Dev’s oldest and closest friend, and Rocky’s obsession, crossed to the fireplace with a canvas tote of chopped logs. “Sorry it took so long. Brewster was wound up and I figured it was better to tire him out with a few minutes of fetch, rather than risk him going on a tear in here.” He motioned to Dev. “Can you get a fire going? I need Luke’s help whipping up Daisy’s after-dinner cocktail.”
Luke frowned. “What are we in for this time?”
“Candy Cane Cocktails,” Gram said with a fist pump. “Yes!”
“Disgusting ingredient?” Rocky asked.
“Strawberry vodka,” Jayce said while brushing a kiss over Rocky’s cheek.
Luke’s heart squeezed when his sister smiled and blushed. Must be nice to be so freaking in love and for that person to freaking love you back.
“Remember to make Chloe’s a virgin,” Dev said.
“Got it.” Luke caught a sweet look between his brother and Chloe, who palmed her barely swelling stomach, and his heart squeezed again. Well, damn. His brother had lucked out in the love department too and the woman
he
loved was pregnant with his baby. It’s not that Luke hadn’t been in love. He’d been in love thousands of times. He had a way with women. In fact, seducing women was his one and true talent. But he’d never experienced the bone-deep forever love Rocky felt for Jayce or Dev felt for Chloe. Although he’d felt a glimmer of something different, something special a couple of months back with Rachel Lacey. He thought about their one ill-fated kiss, the sizzle that had damned near singed his senses, then immediately shoved that mystifying woman from his mind. Rachel had been a mistake and she wasn’t even a possibility. The woman had skipped town and had moved on to wherever. Rachel was history.
Jayce rapped Luke on the shoulder as he strode toward the kitchen.
“Right. Candy Cane Cocktails for six—one virgin. Let’s do this. I assume I’ll need candy canes,” he said to Jayce as they sailed through the dining room. “What else?”
“Creme de menthe. Cranberry juice. Here’s the recipe Daisy gave me.” Jayce slapped a folded page from a magazine into Luke’s hand as they breached the state-of-the-art kitchen. “I located Rachel Lacey.”
Luke stopped cold. His brain zapped. His heart jerked. “I thought you gave up.”
“I only told you that so you’d stop hounding me for an update twice a day.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did.”
Jayce had years of experience in law enforcement, first as a cop with the NYPD, then as a successful private investigator. Now he ran a cyber detective agency and Luke had hired him to find Rachel Lacey. Two freaking months ago.
“The reason she was so hard to track,” Jayce said, “is because when it comes to hiring someone to create a false identity, Rachel can afford the best.”
“What are you talking about? Rachel lived on a shoestring.” She’d dressed in frumpy clothes and she’d driven a beat-up car. When she’d lost her job at the daycare center, Luke had hired her as a waitress. She was desperate for the work, desperate for money. She’d said so. “
I need the money, Luke
.” Her shy, anxious gaze haunted him … sort of like that sizzling kiss.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Jayce said.
Heart thudding, Luke dragged a hand through his shaggy hair. “Is she dead?”
“No.”
“Dying?”
“No.”
“Hurt?”
“She’s alive and well in Bel Air, California. Her name is Reagan Deveraux. She’s a trust fund baby. An heiress. As of tomorrow, her twenty-fifth birthday, she’ll be a millionaire.”
Luke blinked, then snorted. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Jayce shook his head.
Luke gawked. “That’s screwy. That’s … impossible. You’ve got the wrong girl, Jayce.”
The PI plucked his iPhone from the pocket of his leather jacket, thumbed through bells and whistles, and then showed Luke an image of Reagan Deveraux.
Holy
… It was Rachel, but it wasn’t.
Luke leaned back against the kitchen counter, willing starch into his legs and air into his lungs. “What the hell? Why the ruse?”
“I don’t know.”
“She lived in Sugar Creek for almost a year,” Luke said. “She was a member of the Cupcake Lovers. A beloved teaching assistant at Sugar Tots. She was shy and awkward and freaking mousy. That chick in the picture, that’s not mousy, that’s … that’s…”
“Hot. I know.” Jayce raised a brow, then thumbed something else on the screen. “I can’t tell you why Deveraux pretended to be someone she wasn’t, but I can fill you in on her background. I downloaded the report. Here. You can read—”
“No, you read it.” Luke pushed off the counter, nabbed a cocktail shaker from the cabinet. “I’ll make Gram’s cocktails.” Trying to read all that information … the letters would dance and swim in front of Luke’s eyes and he’d end up staring at the screen looking like an idiot while he tried to get the words right in his head. Jayce didn’t know Luke was dyslexic. No one knew. His family thought he’d beaten his reading disability when he was a kid. He’d just learned to hide it, to fake it, really, really well. Only one person—Rachel—had seen through his polished ploy and he had no idea how. It’s not something they’d ever discussed. But in his gut he knew she knew.
While Jayce recited
Reagan Deveraux
’s background, Luke nabbed ice cubes, cranberry juice, and the liquor. He mixed up the holiday cocktail without one glance at the recipe. He’d been a crack bartender for years. He could wing it. The more Jayce revealed about the
trust fund baby
, the more Luke felt like a fool. When he thought about the strife Rachel had caused between him and his cousin, Sam … When he thought about the way she’d abandoned the Cupcake Lovers in the midst of their big recipe book publishing deal … the way his sister and the other Cupcake Lovers had fretted over her disappearance … the nights Luke had wrestled with guilt and worry …
“God
damn,
” Luke exploded just as Rocky poked her head into the kitchen.
“Everything all right in here?” she asked.
“Just mixing up some Christmas cheer,” Jayce said.
“Fa-la-freaking-la,” Luke said, then passed the chilled shaker to his sister. “Fill martini glasses with this and garnish the rims with candy canes.”
“Where are you going?” Rocky asked as he stalked toward the back door.
“I’ve got a bone to pick with an heiress.”
CHAPTER TWO
Bel Air, California
December 24
Reagan Deveraux shifted from the snow-white leather club chair to the snow-white leather sofa in yet another attempt to find comfort in her mother’s luxurious Bel Air home. The furnishings were sparse and expensive. The decorative accessories tasteful, bordering on sterile. Not one area of casual clutter. Even the holiday decorations were meticulously arranged.
Classical music played softly in the background, compliments of a new programmed stereo system, hidden away somewhere—otherwise Rae would’ve dialed up a livelier playlist. Instead, she endured the stuffy music while scrolling through real estate listings on her Android. She’d only been back in California and living under this roof for three days, and it was two days too long. She glanced toward the grand stairway, wishing her mother and stepfather would dress a little faster. Rae had been ready for an hour. The sooner they got this evening’s pretentious holiday dinner over, the better.
“Bah humbug.”
There, she said it. She’d been thinking it all day. Rea had never been a big fan of Christmas. Mostly because it had never lived up to her expectations. As an only child of a celebrity socialite who preferred the limelight to home life, Rae had spent a good majority of her childhood keeping company with her very own TV. Holiday programming highlighted the importance of family and friends, the spirit of giving, and the magic of believing.
Rae had never lacked for presents, but there’d been no festive activities with family. No gathering around the piano to sing carols. No sleigh rides, no tree trimming, no baking of holiday cookies. Oh, there’d been decorations, but her mother had hired a company to trick out whichever mansion they were living in at the time. And there’d been parties, but they’d been the Hollywood kind or the business-related kind, depending on which man her mother had been married to, and certainly not the kind that welcomed kids.
Christmas Eve had always been Olivia Deveraux’s night on the town, bouncing from one glitzy party to another. Never mind that Christmas Eve was also her daughter’s birthday. Surely the fact that Rae got presents
that
day in addition to Christmas morning was celebration enough.
This year was no different. This morning Olivia had presented Rae with diamond earrings, a special gift for her twenty-fifth birthday. “
Really, sweetie
,” she had said, “
you’re independently wealthy now. A legitimate heiress. Time to start dressing and acting the part
.”
Olivia had been dressing and acting the part for years. She’d never been the real deal. Rae was the real deal. Thanks to Olivia’s first husband, the father Rae had lost at age two.
Just now Olivia was upstairs with husband number four, a man Rae despised, taking forever and a day dressing for the first of three parties on their meticulously calculated social calendar. Amazingly, Olivia had invited Rae along. Although maybe not so amazing. Rae was stinking rich now, a magnet for attention, something Olivia breathed like air.
Not wanting to insult her mother, especially since Rae was trying to forge some sort of genuine bond, she’d sucked it up, agreeing to attend the dinner party being hosted at the Beverly Wilshire. Rae had never been a social butterfly, but she could endure a formal dinner, and besides, the proceeds went to a local children’s hospital. She’d simply beg off after, leaving the wilder, drinking parties to Olivia and Geoffrey while she took advantage of their state-of-the-art kitchen.
Rae planned to spend her Christmas Eve birthday whipping up a holiday cupcake that would make the Cupcake Lovers proud, then chowing down while watching a marathon of sappy holiday movies on the Hallmark Channel. Movies celebrating friends and family, old-fashioned values, open hearts and love. Movies that celebrated the kind of Christmas Rae had always craved and—double whammy—reminded her of the down-to-earth lives she’d been surrounded by in Sugar Creek, Vermont. Being filthy rich couldn’t compare to being happy.
Rae eyed her mother’s professionally decorated, artificial tree, weathering a wave of melancholy as her mind exploded with the visions and scents of naked Vermont pine. Over the last two months Rae had done her best to forget her attempt at lying low and living incognito in the Green Mountain State under the guise of Rachel Lacey. All she’d wanted was a few months of anonymity, time to assess a dicey situation with Geoffrey, time to contemplate her future without her shallow mother breathing down her neck.