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Chapter 1
Amelia
The party was always a fun event for my sisters and me, a chance to get dressed up and take advantage of the open bar and fancy catering while Dad schmoozed and boozed high-profile clients and contacts from the San Diego real estate world.
My dad held the event each October to promote his agency, David Weaver Realty Associates. He always splashed out on the preparations, hiring a trendy DJ and contracting the best high-end caterer in town. My mom would order flowers to fill every room of the house–a Spanish-revival estate with a palatial floorplan perfect for entertaining. The party usually spilled out into the yard and the extensive estate grounds, but tonight, an autumn rainstorm kept the whole event indoors.
Every year, Dad would close several high-dollar deals while mom would get tipsy and flirt with the bartenders, and my sisters would sneak a bottle of something expensive upstairs to the game room to share with me while we laughed ourselves silly.
But now that I was twenty-one, all three of us could officially order our own drinks. So, with a cut-glass tumbler in my hand and slinky gold velvet slip dress hugging my curves, I stood with my older sisters–Melinda and Larissa–surveying the scene, sipping on a glass of smoky-sweet Bourbon.
“Amelia,” Larissa said, elbowing me playfully, “that is one hell of a dress.”
“Yeah,” Melinda added. “Your figure is perfect in that. I’d be falling out of it. No spaghetti straps for me,” she said with a chuckle. Melinda was curvy, with full breasts and a nipped-in waist, and she often joked that her bras were more expensive than her actual clothes.
“Thanks,” I beamed. “I’d say I got it on sale, but I’d be lying. This baby was full price and charged to Daddy’s credit card.” We giggled together. The dress was a late graduation gift from my dad to me, except I had gotten to pick it out myself. Dad was always spoiling us with nice things; he loved us girls more than anything. We were his whole world, along with Mom, who was nowhere to be found while Dad was happily chatting with a group of brokers by the pool.
At leastsomeoneis being a good host.
A waiter came by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres and Larissa scarfed down a blini with caviar. I opted for a halved fresh fig. Melinda waved politely, declining the waiter’s offer. She was always watching her figure.
“Sis, you should eat,” I urged Melinda. “That champagne is going to hit you hard unless you get a little snack in you.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Later.”
“No way,” Larissa replied. She hooked her arm into Melinda’s, smiling. “You and me. Buffet.” Melinda laughed and nodded, acquiescing. Larissa turned back to me. “Are you coming with us?”
“I’m right behind you,” I said, glancing at my dad as he made his way over to where I stood. “I want to thank Dad for my dress.”
My sisters headed toward the buffet, and I could hear their oohs and ahhhs as they neared the fancy spread.
Dad approached and put his hands on his hips, sighing. “My baby girl, twenty-one years old, with her very own cocktail at the annual party,” he said with a wistful look in his eye. “Feels like only yesterday you were in pigtails learning how to ride a bike.”
“Dad…” I rolled my eyes, blushing.
“You look beautiful, kiddo.” He smiled warmly through his bushy beard, all six feet of him radiating with warmth and affection.
“Thanks, Dad. I love the dress so much.”
“It looks wonderful on you. Very grown-up.” Dad nodded, then scanned the room. “Hey Amelia, have you seen your mother?”
“No, I thought she’d be with you.”
Someone cleared their throat behind my dad. “David Weaver?”
“Bill! It’s been years!” Dad exclaimed, turning around. “Amelia, sweetie, I’ve got to catch up with my old colleague here.”
“Of course,” I said. My dad ambled away, and I was left standing alone when I spotted someone from across the room.
Nathaniel Dean.
My father’s best friend.
He was a couple inches taller than Dad. A few years younger, too. His light brown hair was framed by silver streaks coming in at the temples, and his warm brown eyes had the slightest hint of crow’s feet that formed when he smiled. He was in real estate, like my dad. Suave, successful, confident–cocky, some might say–and rightfully so, since he was the most handsome, most charming, most indescribably hot man I had ever laid eyes on.
And I had laid eyes on him plenty.
I had been crushing on him for years, lusting after him every time I got the chance to see him. It was only a few times a year, but that was enough to fuel my fantasies about him, naughty and taboo as it was.
