Free The Walk of Fame by Heidi Rice

tonight, to keep her with him. To be sure she was all right.
    He squeezed his eyes shut, a series of other unsettling pictures from the day intruding on his memory like unwelcome ghosts. Connor and Daisy walking down the aisle towards him, their hands clasped together. Connor’s baby son asleep in his daddy’s arms. The flicker of fear in Juno’s face when she’d caught sight of his arousal for the first time.
    He sighed. Was it any wonder he was behaving irrationally? Hadn’t he been on an emotional roller coaster the whole day?
    Coming to Connor’s wedding had been a mistake. He’d known it from the start, but he’d let his libido rule his head and come anyway—and very nearly opened up old woundsin the process. He’d taken advantage of the girl, and used the attraction between them to make sure he kept those wounds well and truly closed. And now he was paying the price.
    Guilt. Good old Catholic guilt. That was all this was. He didn’t feel responsible for her, he felt guilty about the way he’d used her. Especially once he’d found out how innocent she was.
    He inhaled the summer-meadow scent of her shampoo, listened to her breathing and a wry smile curved his lips.
    What was he beating himself up for? He’d given her a good time. More than a good time. He was pretty sure he’d given her her first orgasm. She’d even thanked him for it. So what if he’d used her—she’d enjoyed it, hadn’t she?
    Arousal pulsed in his loins at the memory of how much they’d both enjoyed it.
    Down, boy.
A repeat performance wasn’t the best idea.
    He’d be letting her go in the morning with no regrets.
    He needed to return to his life and the work he loved. To get back to the clean, uncomplicated solitude of his house in Laguna Beach. And he needed to forget all about Connor and his family, and the girl lying so trustingly in his arms.
    But as he fell into dreams she shuddered in her sleep, and his arm tightened around her shoulders instinctively.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    J UNO lurched awake to the sound of an overzealous sparrow on dawn-chorus duty, the brilliant morning sunshine blurring her vision, but none of her other senses.
    The heady scent of sex smothered the light perfume of the terrace flowers. Goosebumps prickled on her naked skin and a large, rough hand lay possessively on her hip. A low grunt sounded behind her and the hand twitched, sending shock waves rippling through her.
    She sneaked a look over her shoulder. And her vision—and all the torrid memories from the night before—came into sharp, vivid focus. Mac Brody lay spreadeagled on his stomach, his broad shoulders and long legs hogging most of the bed and the sheet riding low on his buttocks. His back rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The shadow of stubble on his jaw made him look as swarthy as a pirate, highlighting chiselled cheekbones, but his thick dark lashes were almost boyish.
    She shifted onto her back and lifted his hand to place it by his side, being careful not to wake him. She paused, noticing for the first time the nasty scar that slashed from his bicep down to his elbow. Why hadn’t she noticed that last night? The hot spot between her legs pulsed hard as she took in the red scratches on the tanned skin of his shoulder blade. Of course she hadn’t noticed the scar, she’d been too busy availing herself of his staggering skills as a lover.
    Not that she was an expert on such things, but she’d leapt into the lion’s den last night and he’d made it the most exhilarating, the most erotic experience of her life. He’d been so careful with her, so patient. Knowing who he was and what he was, she never would have expected such care or generosity.
    Edging closer to him, she pressed a light kiss to his cheekbone. He gave a soft grunt, but didn’t stir.
    ‘Thank you, Mac Brody,’ she whispered, and felt the tingle of tears.
    Horrified, she wiped her eyes. What was she doing? She mustn’t let herself get over-emotional about their night