Chapter One
Hugh
I tilt my chair back and stare up at the tiles on the ceiling of my office, wondering how I managed to cock my life up so thoroughly. I used to love my life, but now I need to hide in my office to avoid causing any further damage—not just to me, but to my family. It all started when I flew to Scotland to help my best mate, Callum MacTaggart, get through a rough patch. Then I met the woman of my dreams and promptly lost her—to my best friend. Ever since, I’ve been a bit…off my game.
My desk phone rings.
I snatch it up. “Yes, Trudy?”
“Your mother is on line one,” my executive assistant says. “Lady Sommerleigh is quite insistent. Should I tell her you’re indisposed again?”
“No. Put her through.”
After a pause, I hear my mother’s voice. “Hugh, how are you this morning?”
“Fine, Mum. Did you ring me to ask what I ate for breakfast?”
“No, dear.”
She sighs with the sort of motherly exasperation that means she’s about to order me to get my chin up and act like a viscount. However we viscounts are meant to behave. But she doesn’t chastise me. Yet.
“Listen to me, Hugh. What I’m about to say are the most important words I have ever spoken to you.” She pauses, and just when I think we’ve gotten disconnected, she speaks again. “You have made a bloody mess of your life. It’s time to get your chin up, stiffen your upper lip, and stop behaving like a chancer.”
I glance around the office, looking for a hidden camera. She must be pulling a prank on me. The Viscountess Sommerleigh never speaks to anyone the way she just spoke to me. But of course, there are no cameras. She is not joking. “Mum, what are you on about?”
“You haven’t been yourself lately. I don’t approve of your behavior, but you are a grown man who can make his own decisions about his life.”
“Thank you. Are we done now?”
“No.” She speaks the word so sharply that I instinctively snap up straight in my chair. “Ruining your own life is bad enough. But you have brought shame to the Sommerleigh title and to your family. That I cannot stand for.”
Now I’m squirming in my chair. Though I wish I could deny what she just said, I can’t. It’s all true. She had told me the same thing on more than one occasion recently, in person, but I don’t enjoy hearing it again. “I’m sorry, Mum. I never meant for any of that to happen, but there are circumstances—”
“Shut up, Hugh. I am not finished.”
I freeze. Pretty sure my jaw drops. I sit here like a statue while I wait for my mother to share the rest. Considering how she’s scolded me so far, I’m fairly certain I don’t want to hear more. But I deserve whatever she’s about to tell me.
“You need help,” Mum says. “I’m doing this for your own good. Please remember that, and remember who you are—the Viscount Sommerleigh, successor to a title that was once revered.”
“I know. I’m sorry for embarrassing you, honestly. I won’t do it again.”
“Oh, Hugh, it’s too late for apologies to matter.”
What can I say to that? Nothing. My father had been a true aristocrat, a gentleman of the first order, the sort who never said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing. I have dishonored his memory, but not on purpose.
“I’m sending you a gift,” Mum says. “Obedience is required.”
Obedience? To a gift? My behavior must have driven my mother insane because she seems to be spouting nonsense—or as the Scots would say, her bum’s oot the windae. “I don’t understand. What sort of gift is it?”
“You’ll see. Goodbye, dear.”
My mother hangs up on me.
I slump in my chair. What just happened? I’m receiving a gift. Can’t imagine why Mum would reward me for shaming the family and the Sommerleigh title.
My desk phone rings again. “What now, Trudy?”
She clears her throat. “Well, um, there’s a woman here to see you. She says your mother sent her.”
“What does she want?” I’m in no mood to talk to anyone. Maybe I should go home and sleep for a century or so, until everyone has forgotten what an arse I am.
“I’m not sure,” Trudy says. “But she insists on seeing you immediately.”
“Fine. Send her in.” I sit up straighter and take a deep breath, steeling myself against whatever might come next.
The door opens, and a beautiful brunette walks into my office. Her hips sway slightly, and the modest heels she wears show off her slender ankles. As she approaches the chair in front of my desk, I can’t stop myself from admiring the swell of her hips and the mounds of her breasts, though her businesswoman outfit doesn’t let me see much of those mounds. Her cleavage teases me with only a glimpse of their slopes.
She leans over my desk just enough to offer me her hand to shake. “Good morning, Lord Sommerleigh. I’m Avery Hahn.”
The sexy woman is American.
I rise from my chair and shake her hand. “Good morning, Miss Hahn.”
“Ms. Hahn, not Miss.” She settles her shapely arse onto the chair. Only now do I realize she holds two objects in her left hand—a small brown purse and a matching leather portfolio. “Please take a seat, Lord Sommerleigh. We have a great deal to discuss.”
“Have we?” I sit down. “What can I do for you?”
It’s more a question of what I can do to her, but I shouldn’t be thinking about sex. Mum was right. I need to change my behavior.
Avery Hahn sets her purse on the floor and lays the leather portfolio on her thigh. Then she flips the posh folder open, plucking a ballpoint pen out of it. She taps the tip of that pen on the pad of paper inside her portfolio. “Your mother hired me to fix you.”
“Fix me? I don’t understand.”
“You have made a fool of yourself and become a laughingstock. Is that how you want the world to see the Viscount Sommerleigh?”
“No, of course not. But I can manage my life on my own. Don’t need your help. No offense.”
“You can’t offend me. I’ve heard everything in my line of work.” She tips her head to the side and seems to be studying me. “Why do you call yourself Lord Steamy?”
“I didn’t invent the nickname. Some silly bird coined it.”
“But you do use the name when you’re flirting with women. Correct?”
How does she know that? Well, Mum sent her, so… Bloody hell. Did someone tell my mother about that?
“I’ll take your silence as a yes.”
While she goes on staring at me, I notice the color of her eyes. They’re so blue they seem almost purple. I’ve never seen eyes that shade before. It’s stunning. She is stunning, from her fingernails that are painted a pale shade of pink to her hip-hugging skirt and those perfect lips. She painted them a deep burgundy, which makes me want to kiss her for some reason. I want to kiss every beautiful woman I meet, so I suppose it’s no mystery why I feel that way now.
But that impulse might be part of my problem.
Avery jots something down on her notepad.
“What are you writing there?” I ask.
“Notes about you, of course.” She crosses her legs, which makes her skirt ride up a sliver, showing off more of her creamy skin. “What did Lady Sommerleigh tell you?”
“That she was sending me a gift.” I can’t help eying her with a touch of suspicion. “What exactly did Mum tell you to do with me?”
“Your reputation is in tatters. I’m here to save it.”
I notice she didn’t say she means to save me. She plans on saving “it,” as in the reputation of the sodding Viscount Sommerleigh. “Since I never had a reputation to start with, you are wasting your time.”
“Oh, no, you can’t chase me away. Your mother insisted I need to stick to you like glue until you can show your face in public again without embarrassing yourself, your family, or the Sommerleigh name.” She pulls a folded sheet of paper out of a pocket in her portfolio. “You can’t escape your mistakes, Lord Sommerleigh.”
“Please stop calling me that. I’m just Hugh.”
“Afraid I can’t use your first name. Lady Sommerleigh was explicit in her instructions to me. I will refer to you only as Lord Sommerleigh.”
“I have no say about what you call me? That’s rubbish.”
She unfolds that bloody sheet of paper, smooths it out on her lap, then holds it up for me to see.
Oh, bollocks. It’s a photocopy of a tabloid headline and the article beneath it—”Lord Steamy Cuckolds the Duke of Wackenbourne.” Perhaps I did do that, but I don’t like seeing the headline again. Why should anyone give a toss about a measly viscount accidentally sleeping with a duke’s wife? Benedict Pemberton-Rice has shagged his way through most of the bedrooms in London, sleeping with the wives of far more important men than the Duke of Wackenbourne himself.
“Why did you seduce the Duke’s wife?” Avery asks. “I’ve been led to believe you’re a smart man, but you did something very, very stupid.”
“Yes, I know. But I had no idea who she was.” I wince because I suddenly feel as if someone has put nettles in my chair. “I met Annabelle at a pub in the middle of bloody nowhere, and she never told me her last name or that she was married. I do not seduce other men’s wives.”
“But you have one-nighters with strange women and don’t bother to ask their full names.”
“No, that’s not—Honestly, this is none of your concern.” I rise and point toward the door. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Hahn, but it’s time you left. I do not need your help.”
Still not sure what exactly Mum hired her to do, but I absolutely do not need whatever it is.
Avery wags a finger at me. “Now, now, Lord Sommerleigh. That’s no way for a peer to behave.”
“Are you a psychotherapist?”
“No.”
“You must be a lawyer, then.”
“No.” She stands up and approaches my desk, then balances her lovely arse on its edge. “I’m an image consultant.”
“A what? I’ve never heard of that.” I gesture at my clothing. “And I don’t need help with dressing myself.”
She leans over the desk, planting one hand on the surface right over my calendar. “I’m here to repair your public image and make you respectable again.”
“I’m fine the way I am.”
“Maybe you don’t give a damn about what people think of you, but your behavior has harmed more than your reputation. You are the CEO of Sommerleigh Sweets, an international candy manufacturer. How do you think your dispute with the Duke of Wackenbourne has affected your company? Not in a good way, that’s how.”
I bar my arms over my chest. “Why don’t you type up a list of things you want me to do and say, and I will follow your instructions to the letter.”
“Uh-uh. That won’t do.” She slides off my desk. “I’m under strict orders to stick to you like glue, remember? You can’t scare me away. I’ve dealt with every kind of jackass in my profession, and you are nothing compared to the rest of them. Might as well give up and let me do my job. You don’t want to disappoint your mother, do you?”
Oh, that’s a dirty trick. But she’s right about my image being somewhat tarnished these days. I slump down onto my chair and resign myself to the inevitable. “All right. Tell me how this is meant to work.”
“You follow my orders. That’s how it works.”
I might like to hear a woman say that in bed, but I don’t feel excited by the prospect of letting a stranger order me around while repairing my image. I blow out a sigh. “How do we start?”
“You are going to tell me everything about yourself.” Avery smirks. “And I mean absolutely everything, including all your dirty little secrets.”
I rest an elbow on my chair’s arm, drop my face into my raised hand, and groan.
Chapter Two
Avery
Hugh Parrish is nothing like what I expected. Most of my clients are either angry or ashamed, and they always fight the process from beginning to end. Hugh is both angry and ashamed, yet he still agreed to cooperate. I also expected a viscount to be dressed just so, but his tie is slightly askew, his dark hair seems like he forgot to comb it this morning, and his eyes are faintly red. I doubt he realizes he looks that way. The man seems frazzled.
Lord Sommerleigh has several factors going for him when it comes to polishing up his image. He’s attractive and sexy, but also smart and accomplished. The man runs an international corporation. By all accounts, he does an excellent job. Though I haven’t experienced his infamous charisma yet, Lady Sommerleigh had informed me that her son does have a charming side. She also warned me that Hugh hasn’t quite been himself lately. She couldn’t explain why.
Now I need to find out the answer. Lady Sommerleigh did give me clues, though I doubt she realized that.
“How do we start?” he asks with all the enthusiasm of a man-whore about to be condemned to a life sentence in a monastery.
“You tell me every last thing I want to know.” I glance around the big office, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and designer furniture. “Would you be more comfortable doing this in a relaxed setting, away from work?”
“Not sure it matters where we do this.” He lowers his hand, leaning his head back against his chair. “Just get on with it.”
“When did you last have sex?”
“How is that any of your business?”
“Told you. I need to know everything.”
The Viscount Sommerleigh scowls at me. “My sex life is out of bounds.”
“Afraid not. You gave up your right to privacy on the night you seduced a duke’s wife.” I settle onto the chair I’d been sitting in a moment ago and grab my portfolio, pen poised above the paper. “Why were you hanging around in a backwater pub in the middle of the northern English countryside? It’s nowhere near Sommerleigh.”
He puckers his lips and narrows his gaze.
Does he honestly think I’ve never seen the Stubborn Jackass look before? I could write a book on the subject. Instead of giving him what he wants—to annoy me, or at least to provoke me into asking more questions that will annoy him—I relax in my chair and gaze at him with a neutral expression.
When I cross my legs casually, his attention flicks down to my knees. He slides his tongue over his lips. The man is attracted to me. But that won’t help him wriggle out of answering my questions.
“You’re right,” he says, his voice deeper and huskier. “We should go somewhere else to do this.”
The man-whore wants to screw me. Like I’ve never experienced that phenomenon before. Male clients can’t help it. Their libidos always get the better of them, and they wind up hitting on me. A few women have tried the same thing. But I don’t sleep with any of my clients.
Still, when Hugh spoke in that husky tone, I felt a delicious little flutter in my tummy. Yes, I’ve experienced that phenomenon too. I’m only human, so of course I’ve suffered the odd twinge of attraction. Sexy, powerful men turn me on. Hugh doesn’t seem to realize that he is powerful, in terms of his position in society and as the Viscount Sommerleigh, not to mention the fact he runs a corporation. Maybe his lack of self-awareness is part of his problem.
“Here is just fine,” I tell him. “Answer my question. Why were you in a backwater pub—”
“Because I was thirsty. Have you asked Annabelle Pemberton-Rice why she was there?”
“No, and I don’t plan to speak to her or the Duke. They are irrelevant to my job.” Since he’s clearly attracted to me, I decide to leverage that for my purposes. I uncross my legs, then cross them again, drawing his attention back to my body. “I need the truth, Lord Sommerleigh. Can’t help you unless I know everything.”
He taps a finger on his lips as he continues to admire my legs. “I was driving home from a trip to Scotland. The Highlands. A little village called Loch Fairbairn, to be precise.”
“Why were you in Scotland? Was it a vacation?”
“Didn’t Mum tell you?”
“She said you went to visit your best friend, who is Scottish. But she didn’t know anything else, except that you seemed different when you came home.”
“I am different.” His gaze lowers as if he’s staring at the floor. For a moment, he just sits there with a strangely melancholy expression. Then he straightens and aims his pale-blue eyes directly at me. “But none of that is your concern. I will not discuss my time in Scotland. Understand? It’s off limits.”
Okay, I’ve pushed him as far as I can for today. Time to move on to another subject. “Tell me about your job.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
I shrug. “Won’t know until you tell me.”
Hugh picks up his desk phone and punches buttons on it. “Trudy, would you please give Ms. Hahn our standard informational packet? Thank you.” As he hangs up the phone, he smirks. “Soon you will know everything you never wanted to know about Sommerleigh Sweets.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. A brochure—”
“Is all you’ll get from me today.” He rises, tugs his jacket down, and offers me his hand. “Good day, Ms. Hahn.”
Jeez, his mood changed in an instant. Whatever happened in Scotland is clearly the source of his problems. But since he won’t talk about it yet, I opt for a strategic and temporary withdrawal. This is war, and I’ll need to fight many battles to get the job done.
So I get up and shake his hand. “We’ll be seeing each other again very soon, Lord Sommerleigh.”
He lays a hand over his heart and adopts a look of sarcastic desire. “Oh, I can’t wait for that. You have stolen my heart, Ms. Hahn. Don’t leave me for too long.”
Though I try not to, I can’t help smiling just a little. He is likable. And sexy. And smart. I’ve always been a sucker for men like that. But I never get involved with a client.
I walk out of Hugh’s office.
Then I go back to the huge hotel suite Lady Sommerleigh had arranged for me. It’s the biggest suite in the fanciest hotel in London, which means it’s much too big for one person. But I can’t complain. I have a jacuzzi in the bathroom and a bed so soft I could practically have an orgasm just from lying on it.
Lady Sommerleigh had been explicit in her instructions to me—fix Hugh at any cost. I will succeed, despite his behavior today.
I change out of my work clothes and into my favorite satin pajamas. They’re sky blue with puffy white clouds on them. Yes, I enjoy wearing silly PJs, though nobody else knows about that since I live alone. I might be a hard-ass at work, but I like to feel girlie in my off hours. I also like to indulge in the occasional junk meal, which is my term for anything I eat that doesn’t involve vegetables or have a high fiber count. Though it’s only mid-afternoon, I order room service and request a sirloin steak, a baked potato with all the trimmings, and an extra-large slice of coconut cream pie.
Just as I’m shoving the first forkful of pie into my mouth, my cell phone rings. I check the caller ID, then answer with my mouth full. “Hello, Derek.”
“I think you said hello, but I can’t be sure. Sounds like you just got home from the dentist. Did one of your clients deck you and crack your teeth?”
“Ha-ha.” I wipe my mouth and set my plate of pie on the end table. “Why are you up so early? It’s not even noon yet in your neck of the woods.”
“Just wanted to check in on my baby sister. Don’t get to see you much anymore, what with all your traveling.” He sighs. “I wouldn’t mind if you were off having fun on a tropical beach.”
“No time for that. My services are in high demand.”
“Yeah, I know, and I’m proud of your success. But I miss you. With Mom and Dad gone, all we’ve got is each other.”
“I miss you too. Promise I’ll be home for Thanksgiving this year.”
Maybe I have missed every major holiday for the past two years, but I can’t help that my job often requires me to take off at a moment’s notice. My clients need help urgently. My brother has never understood that. When scandal strikes, the rich and powerful need someone like me.
But Hugh Parrish doesn’t seem like the rich-and-powerful type. He’s more middle-of-the-road wealthy. I know that because Lady Sommerleigh told me. She wanted me to have all the boring details about her son before I took on the task of crawling under his skin to root out the cause of his current problem—aka, the Duke of Wackenbourne scandal.
“Which asshat who has more money than God are you helping this time?” Derek asks.
“God doesn’t have money. He has no need for it.”
“Don’t get snarky with me. I’m seriously worried about my sister.”
“Sure you are.” I tuck my feet under me cross-legged and sneak another bite of pie before I speak again. “Do you think I can’t handle myself?”
“No, of course you can. That’s not the point.”
I devour a huge mouthful of pie, getting whipped cream all over my chin. “Tell me what you’ve been up to since I left for London.”
“You just left yesterday. I ate, slept, showered, and ate again. Are you going to tell me about your client?”
“You know I can’t do that. Client information is confidential.”
“Okay. I’ll get online and look up London tabloids. That oughta give me a clue.”
I laugh. “Do you have any idea how many scandals there are in this city? In this country? Rich Brits have a way of getting tangled up in sticky situations and becoming the objects of gossip.”
“Well, at least tell me if your client is a man or a woman.”
“No way. You will not use my job as a makeshift matchmaking enterprise.”
Derek laughs so loudly I swear I can hear the spittle flying from his lips. “I don’t need any help getting dates. It’s you I worry about. When was the last time you got laid, Avery?”
“We don’t talk about sex, remember? It’s too weird.”
“Not asking for a play-by-play. Just wondering if you’re so obsessed with work that you forget to make time for the good things in life. Everybody needs to cut loose now and then.” His voice drops to a sarcastic whisper. “I won’t tell anybody you eat with your mouth full. What kind of pie is it, anyway?”
I stare at my loaded fork. “How did you know…”
“Because I’m your brother. I know how much you love to stuff your face, and you answered the phone with your mouth full. Only pie ever inspires you to pig out.” He clears his throat and speaks in an imperious voice. “I grant you my permission to put your head in the pie trough and vacuum up all the coconut cream.”
“You’re mixing metaphors. And what makes you think it’s coconut cream?”
He chuckles. “Known you all your life, Avery. Coconut cream is your favorite pie.”
“I need to get back to work.”
“Of course you do.”
Why do I feel guilty about working hard? Only my brother every makes me feel that way. “I’ll talk to you later. Goodbye, Derek.”
I hang up on him. He doesn’t mind when I do that. I did say goodbye, after all.
Now that I’ve fed my cravings, I need to devise a plan. Somehow, some way, I will get under Hugh Parrish’s skin and convince him to share his secrets with me. It’s my job, and I have never given up on a client. Lady Sommerleigh gave me Hugh’s address here in London, so maybe I should go over there and try talking to him in a more relaxed setting.
Yes, that sounds like a reasonable plan.
I call Hugh’s office, but only because I know his executive assistant will answer. “Trudy, hi, it’s Avery Hahn.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Hahn?”
“Is Lord Sommerleigh still there?”
“No, he left early today, which isn’t like him at all. I do worry about him lately.”
“Relax, I’ll take care of Lord Sommerleigh. Got any idea where he went?”
“Home, he said. ‘Home as in my flat, not Sommerleigh.’ Those were his exact words.”
“Okay. Thank you, Trudy. You’re a gem.”
I hang up, then hurry into the bedroom to change clothes. No, I won’t wear a business suit this time. I want Hugh to feel relaxed, so he’ll be more open to talking, and that means I need to dress appropriately.
The Viscount Sommerleigh won’t know what hit him.
