As far as Ali knew, there were only three types of sex that could make for a truly mind-blowing experience. Sadly, the pounding she was currently getting from the heir to the Rockitt Joe's clothing empire didn't qualify as any of them.

Twap, twap, twap.

Skin slapped against skin as the only other sound besides their mutual ragged breathing, and Ali's mind began to wander.

This definitely wasn't break-up sex because much to her mother's disappointment, she and the naked guy on top of her hadn't been "a thing" since college. He might have been good looking, rich, and completely infatuated with her, but Ali didn't have time for things like random Happy Hours or whatever it was couples regularly partook in these days. Her career came first.

And at this rate, it would be the only thing coming, she thought to herself, holding back a giggle at the unintended pun.

After composing herself, Ali decided that this sure as hell wasn't make-up sex, either. No matter how much nostalgia seeing Robert again might have stirred up, she was positive that as the great Miss Taylor Swift once said, they were never ever getting back together. No offense to him, but she'd take jet-setting around the world over becoming tied to a husband even if it meant staying up until midnight every day to clear her Inbox.

That only left the 'anonymous quickie in the club bathroom' scenario, and while she'd been there and done that, the current situation still paled in comparison.

Ali felt kind of bad for thinking about such things right then, but it wasn't totally her fault. The sunlight streaming through her childhood bedroom window was glaring directly into her face.

It was fucking distracting.

The next time she returned to the Hamptons in the middle of the night, she'd really need to remember to close those damned plantation shutters. Then again, if her family had picked her up at the airport instead of going directly to out to dinner last night, she wouldn't have run into the boy—or rather man—from next door and gotten into this . . . predicament.

"This is nice, right?"

The question from the blond hunk she was straddling from below in the boring-but-perfectly-adequate missionary pose brought her back to reality. Hoping that her agreement would at least hurry things along, Ali forced a smile. "Uh-huh. Nice."

Robert grinned back before planting a quick kiss on her lips.

"You haven't changed a bit, gorgeous," he said, enthusiastically resuming thrusting again.

Ali closed her eyes and took a deep breath, if only to keep from laughing at the absurdity of that assessment.

Haven't changed, my ass, she thought.

But of course, what did she expect? For a pretty-boy trust-fund baby who still wore the same skinny jeans, three hundred dollar hoodies, and all-white sneakers that he did in the twenty-tens to recognize the girl he'd teased in the third grade as the Assistant Vice President for International Initiatives at one of the biggest investment firms in Manhattan?

Puh-lease.

Robert Rochet couldn't care less that she had closed a $200 million deal with her firm's new Chinese partners less than twenty-four hours earlier. Or that she had spent the last six months busting her butt to make that happen.

Nope. All that seemed to interest him was how her cleavage looked in the Prada v-neck she wore off the helicopter last night. Or at least that's where his ocean blue eyes focused after he'd skidded his Porsche to a stop next to her as she left the airfield.

And knowing both him and their history, it would have made perfect sense for Ali to refuse his offer for a ride. But her toes were already sore in her black patent leather Louboutins, taxis were basically non-existent and ride-shares were forbidden in the area.

She really should have agreed to let her assistant Nora schedule a pick up instead of relying on calling her family once she'd landed. But it was too late for regrets, so Ali got in the car. Once inside the Barros' waterfront Colonial, she also found the reason for her family's absence on a note written in her mother's barely legible chicken scratch taped to the fridge's stainless steel surface.

Alejandra! Went to dinner with Dad and Marco. Join us at The Water Mill on 3rd if you get in early enough. Love, Mom

In a fit of dismay, loneliness, and perhaps even rebellion, Ali rejected the request and sought escape in Robert's bed, instead. Well, technically in her bed—but only after a brief stint on the Louis XV table in the foyer where a massive bouquet of hydrangeas nearly paid the price.

"I'm so glad you came home for your parents' party," Robert said between labored breaths as he once again remembered her existence.

"Parties, you mean," she corrected, forcefully squeezing her thighs together at the mention of the multiday events celebrating her parents' wedding anniversary. The mere thought of spending the next two days in the company of relatives from near and far was painful enough. Now knowing she could have used tonight's downtime to work on her jumps at the stables in New Jersey for the upcoming competition was a kick in the gut she didn't need. "I'm guessing you're also invited?"

Ignoring the question, Robert's face lit up at her bold move and he began to moan with pleasure. "Oh, yeah. Do it, baby. That's it. I'm almost there."

Still not really into it, but taking the opportunity to bring him to a finish, Ali grabbed his ass and dug in her nails.

"Ah, yes! That's right. Is this how you like it?" she teased, putting on her best seductress act. It paid off within seconds.

"Oh, man, Alley Cat. That was amazing," Robert said, finally dropping on the mattress next to her. "You are amazing."

Ali gritted her teeth. The nickname was no funnier now than it had been when they were kids, but it was one habit that she found impossible for him to break.

"So, yeah. You probably want to run home and change before the brunch to kick-off the festivities," she said, trying to politely nudge him out of her bed before he got other ideas. Their triple hitter since last night was already more than what she had intended.

Always a little thick, Robert rested his head on his hand as he leaned on one elbow. "I was actually thinking about skipping out on that. Given how it'll be mostly family and all," he said, the sweat still glistening on his pecs. "Hey, why don't you come with me? We could go down to the riding center. You have a big meet coming up, don't you?"

It was kind of sweet of him to remember her favorite—actually her only—pastime, but this request she could easily refuse without lying. "Yeah, the qualifiers for national show jumping are next month. But I haven't stabled here for years, and my membership has lapsed."

"I can bring you as my guest. It would be fun to see what you can do," he said as he grinned impishly, revealing the faint dimple in his left cheek.

That look had always been her weakness, but Ali shook her head and forced herself to be logical. "My mare is up in Jersey—"

"C'mon, Alley Cat—um, Ali," he corrected, seeing her smirk.

She couldn't let her resolve falter. Her mother's disapproval if she dared miss anything on the schedule didn't allow her.

"Sorry. But I guess I'll see you again at dinner," Ali said, getting out of bed and motioning toward the door. "You can find your way out, right?"

* * *

After pulling on a silk top and capris, Ali ran a brush through her hair and threw on just enough makeup to cover the telltale signs of sleeplessness. Delaying the inevitable was futile, so after one last glance in the mirror to add some lip-gloss, she headed downstairs. Along the way, she passed a familiar set of framed photographs of her awkward childhood memories.

There was one of her and her brother Marco from a trip to the Gulf of Mexico standing on a fishing boat and holding a freshly caught blue marlin between them. Wearing cutoff jeans and a tank top with her straight brown hair in pigtails, she looked like any other ten-year-old on a family vacation, right down to her exaggerated pout. That was thanks to her mother's insistence on posing with the foul-smelling fish in spite of having nothing to do with catching it. But a picture was forever and the occasion had to be commemorated.

Another photo farther along the wall was even worse: a yearbook portrait from high school capturing Ali's brief experimentation with red hair dye and serving as an ironic reminder that not even an orthodontist's daughter could escape the need for braces.

Casting her eyes downward to avoid reliving further embarrassment, Ali spotted an old friend who'd managed to evade her the night before.

"Tango, baby. Where have you been hiding?" she addressed the calico cat strolling out of the dining room.

He ran up to her and demanded to be picked up, allowing Ali to scratch him between the ears while he rubbed his face against her chin.

"I missed you too, but today may be a bit hectic, so you better lie low," she said after a few more scritches, reluctantly placing him on a cushioned chair.

Moving along, Ali found her brother hunched over the kitchen island.

"Morning, jerk!" she said, tousling his wavy brown hair. "Why are you eating in here? I thought there was a catered brunch in the yard."

Marco shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth before responding.

"There is, but I'm working. Remember?" He nodded toward the photography equipment at the far end of the counter that he'd be using to document the weekend's events.

"Ooh, new camera?" Ali tried to step around him, but Marco snatched the fancy Nikon out of her reach.

"Old camera, new lens," he mumbled, placing it in his lap for safekeeping.

"Are you kidding me? You won't even let me see—"

"Am I going to have to separate you two?" Dressed in white pants, a bright yellow cardigan, and turquoise kitten heels, Grace Barros looked perfectly put together—as always—and ready for her big day.

"Good morning, Mom," Ali said with a forced smile, wishing her mother wouldn't always catch her unawares and at her most awkward.

"Morning, sweetheart." Grace kissed Ali on the cheek. Pulling away, she fingered the sleeve of her daughter's shirt. "This boat-neck isn't doing you any favors."

Ali took a deep breath before responding, willing herself to stay calm. "It's nice to see you, too."

Ignoring the sarcasm, Grace stepped to the coffeemaker and poured herself a cupful. "How have you been, darling? You don't call as often as you used to."

With her mother's back turned, Ali safely rolled her eyes. "You know how busy I am."

"Not just with work, I hope," Grace said as she spun around. "Are you making time for a social life, Alejandra?"

"Sure," she said, wishing an end to the topic before it got out of hand. "I go out all the time. And I've really racked up the frequent-flyer miles—"

Grace shook her head. "I suppose I should be happy to have raised two such successful children, but I'm afraid you're both going to drive yourselves mad with your ambitions."

"Don't tell me it didn't make you proud to see the cover I shot for last month's Vogue, Mom," Marco said, taking his empty bowl to the sink.

Grace smiled. "It was lovely, darling. You have such a great eye for composition." She patted her younger child on the cheek, while Marco threw his sister a triumphant wink.

"Good grief," Ali said, feeling all her childhood insecurities return. As she watched her brother exit through the French doors leading to the back patio, she struggled to come up with a reason to follow him. When nothing came to mind, she relented and grabbed a cup from an overhead cabinet. While her mother scanned the Travel and Leisure section of the New York Times, she poured some coffee, hoping to be able to drink it and disappear.

"Are you seeing anyone these days?" Grace looked up from the paper just as Ali took her first sip.

She coughed as the bitter liquid slipped into her windpipe. No chance of a quick exit now.

"Not really," she said as she put the cup down and opened the refrigerator. Finding the soymilk, she poured it into the coffee as she continued. "Manhattan's not ideal for the dating scene, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean," Grace said with a frown. "But what about looking closer to home?"

Ali raised a skeptical brow. "Like?"

Grace slowly folded the paper before continuing. "How about Robert Rochet? Or is he only good enough when it's convenient for you?"

"Mom, really!" Ali burst out, unable to contain her frustration. She was twenty-nine years old for god's sakes and she still had to deal with this crap every time she came back home.

"I'm just saying that we all saw him scurrying out of here not long ago. At least that explains why you didn't show up to dinner last night, which is fine—"

"Oh. My. God. It was you!" Ali pointed an accusatory finger at her mother as realization hit her. "You set me up last night to get stranded so Robert could conveniently just happen to drive by and give me a ride."

Grace narrowed her eyes in confusion. "I did no such thing."

"I don't believe you," Ali said as she crossed her arms.

"She's telling the truth." A man with salt-and-pepper hair entered the kitchen. "Your mother had nothing to do with it. It was my idea."

"Daddy!" Ali put down her mug and ran up to hug him. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I want you to be happy," he said before kissing her on the cheek.

She drew away. "And you think Robert would make me happy?"

"Of course not. You're much too good for that boy." He laughed. "But you needed to be reminded to keep looking."

"What's wrong with Robert?" her mother asked.

Ali dismissed her with an exasperated shake of her head. "Give it up, Mom."