Fifty-two-year-old Jocelyn Bogart’s long-missing libido has left her depressed and dry. Enter bearded sixty-year-old Hank Hawthorne. He reawakens Joce’s senses and helps her discover erogenous zones she’s only read about.
Problem one: She lives in California. He lives in Colorado.
Problem two: He’s under investigation for professional negligence. And Joce’s been hired to prove him guilty.
Stupendous sex? Or her professional reputation? A calculated risk could help Joce keep both—or lose everything.
Denver, Colorado, July
Jocelyn Bogart leaned on the rough cement balustrade and let heartache claim her. Bitter resentment welled in her soul, all but obliterating happier thoughts.
She thought she’d jettisoned these self-destructive emotions several years ago—about the same time her daughter Stephanie, then eighteen, had defied her controlling father and moved from Sacramento to Denver. But with her only child married, and largely without Joce’s help, melancholy had taken hold as she watched the happy couple enjoy their first dance as man and wife.
Music and laughter from Stephie’s wedding reception drifted outside, reminding Joce again how little her participation in the event planning had mattered. Stepmama held the checkbook—and therefore all the persuasion. Which, Joce reluctantly thought, was no doubt fortunate for Stephie and her big day. When Joce and Steph’s dad were married, money issues had been just one of her problems with her ex.
Inhaling a deep breath then expelling a hard huff, Joce might have laughed at her foolishness if self-pity hadn’t caught her up again, making her feel as if she were just another invited guest at her daughter’s wedding.
She blinked back unwanted tears and focused on two black swans floating in a swath of moonlight on the manmade lake. When the wind had risen a few hours ago, groundskeepers had set out with nets and cages to move the swans to safety. Hotel staff had rescued the five-tiered wedding cake, the top layer sliding slightly in the strengthening breeze. Her daughter’s soft crying over the unexpected stress had broken Joce’s heart. Steph’s new mother-in-law had settled the matter with the wedding planner and succeeded in having the reception moved inside—hotel contract be damned.
Stepmama had been forced to take a backseat. But then, so had Joce—once again the outsider.
With that thought, the dam broke and Joce’s tears flooded her cheeks. A sob escaped as she rubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to stop crying.
“Here,” a gruff male voice said as a large hand pressed a handkerchief into hers.
Her face heating with embarrassment, she flicked her gaze toward the man while managing a sodden “Thanks.”
Her rescuer, who she’d briefly met while standing in the receiving line, moved a few steps away then leaned his forearms on the balustrade. He’d removed his tux jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves to expose a light dusting of hair. For some reason, Joce found his casualness comforting.
The man was tall, and his salt-and-pepper hair—still mostly pepper, she noted—suggested he was about her age, maybe a little older. More importantly at the moment, however, was the fact he’d obviously had experience with weepy females.
“I’ll have this laundered and sent to your room,” she said, dabbing away the last of her tears. “I assume you’re staying at the hotel?”
“I am. But keep it.” He nodded toward the wad of cotton in her hands.
“Thanks,” she murmured, at a loss to say anything more.
“I’m Hank.” He held out one large hand.
“I remember. Jocelyn.” Warmth flowed into her as they shook hands. “The bride’s mother.”
“I remember,” he echoed, his deep voice teasing. “I’m the groom’s ex-uncle. I was married to Alex’s aunt, his mom’s sister, for a brief time.”
“Sounds like my marriage to Steph’s dad,” Joce said, trying to inject a hint of humor into her voice. “Went to divorce court on our second anniversary.” She looked at Hank, taking in his even white teeth and full lips surrounded by a beard and mustache.
Realizing she was staring, Joce rushed to fill the lengthening silence. “Are you going to the barbecue tomorrow at Mary’s—at your former sister-in-law’s?” she asked, only to realize she might have spoken out of turn. Maybe Mary hadn’t invited him.
“I wasn’t, but now I think I will.”
His expression suggested he’d changed his mind because of her. The kindness was a perfect stroke for her battered ego.
Ignoring an uncommon rush of pleasure, Joce quirked her eyebrows at the now-cloudless sky. “Hopefully the weather will cooperate.”
“Don’t like the weather here? Wait five minutes.” With that, Hank smiled and offered his arm to escort her back to the reception—a courtly knight in evening wear and silver-toed cowboy boots.
They parted inside, Hank heading toward the reception, Joce to the restroom. Before releasing her arm, he turned and Joce discovered something more to like about him—lovely eyes as blue as the sky. The fact that they were looking at her intently set her heart racing and her skin heating.
She thought she’d lost interest in the opposite sex a long time ago. Not that anything would come of the attraction. Still, knowing he was interested cheered her a lot and made her fifty-two-year-old body tingle.
Smiling, she went to wash away any remaining tracks from her tears.
