By Invitation Only by Lori Wilde, Wendy Etherington, Jillian Burns Page A

was her fault. Every bit of it. From pretending to be Holly’s cousin, to scooping Nick. She should have taken a stand. She had not.
    To comfort herself, she fumbled for the Pulitzer medal, but instead her fingers found the hammock charm. Balance. The charm Nick had given her was supposed to represent balance. Of which she had none in her life.
    They’d been working on something and she’d gone and ruined it all by sending Ross that article. Hadn’t part of her known he was capable of using it exactly the way he had? Had her subconscious sabotaged her?
    It was a miserable thought. Was she that afraid of falling in love?
    Love.
    She took a deep breath. No matter how much she’d tried to tell herself it was just sex, she knew she was starting to fall in love with Nick Greer.
    Well, that was all over now. Anxiously she rubbed the hammock charm as if it was Aladdin’s lamp and she could conjure a genie to grant her most heartfelt wish.
    To start again with Nick.
    “Is that your touchstone?”
    At the sound of his voice, she jerked her head up.
    She turned to see him standing behind her in the terminal, his chocolate gold eyes studying her with intent. “Nick.”
    “Livvy.”
    “I sent my editor my notes,” she said. “I made him swear not to publish it before I gave him the go-ahead but—”
    “Shh,” he said and crossed the space between them. “It doesn’t matter.”
    “You forgive me?”
    “Forgive you? I should be thanking you.”
    “Thanking me for scooping you when I made a promise I wouldn’t?”
    “It’s all right.”
    “No. No, it’s not. Now you’ll have trouble getting your book contract and—”
    He shook his head. “I got another idea for a book. I called my publishers and they’ve agreed to a contract.”
    “You came up with an idea that fast?”
    “Getting punched in the ego can really kick the muse into gear.”
    “What’s your new book about?”
    “A perennial playboy and career-focused journalist go undercover at a celebrity wedding and fall madly in love.”
    “Love?” she whispered. “You love me?”
    He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him. “I love every maddening thing about you, woman. How you finger that charm bracelet when you’re feeling insecure. How you barrel fearlessly after your goals. How you’re so loyal to your friends you’re willing to make a spectacle of yourself in McGulicutty’s bar. How you’re a limbo star. That’s seriously impressive.”
    “You only want me for my moves,” she teased, her heart taking wing.
    “No, I want you for your brains and your beauty, for your sharp tongue and your sweet lips. I want you in my life, Olivia Carmichael and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
    “I’m not putting up a protest.”
    “For once,” he said, then kissed her with a passion that stole her breath. He kept kissing her until the plane arrived, until the other passengers around them had gotten on the plane, until the gate agent called for final boarding.
    Then he took her by the hand, led her onto the plane and they flew off into their future together.

PRIVATE PARTY
     
    Wendy Etherington
     
     

To my Y Girls team. Burning calories with you
is my favorite way to start the day.

1
     
    S EATED IN THE LOBBY of the posh and exclusive Rapture Island Resort, Tara Lindsey flipped through Food and Wine magazine and pretended to be engrossed in the pages she’d read at least twelve times already.
    Foolproof method for roasting chicken? Got that. Ad for a new convection oven? Saw it, too expensive. “Wine Pairings For Every Occasion” had lent some interesting tips. The article titled “You, Too, Can Perform Molecular Gastronomy!” made her roll her eyes. Ah, probably not. At least not without some serious training or a liquid nitrogen tank.
    Interview with her mother? Saw that first thing, as her celebrity chef parent had been the one to send Tara the magazine in the first place.
    Tara turned the page on her eerie, if older,