Break of Day

In short, everyone wanted a piece of Anderson. And from his reputation, he evidently had a lot of pieces to go around.

Except for right now, when his entire attention seemed focused on me.

“You gonna make it, Red?” he whispered, so softly that only I could hear. His breath brushed against my earlobe as he spoke, sending shivers straight to my toes—and let's be honest, other places as well.

Oh God. Eligible, indeed.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my belly. To focus instead on the stupidity of the question. Was I going to make it? What the hell was that supposed
to mean? Was this all some kind of big joke to him?

Annoyance churned in my gut. At him, for asking. At myself, for needing to be asked. Hell, at my freaking extremities for shivering over something as stupid as warm breath against cold ears.

I knew I should have been grateful for his impromptu rescue. His demand that the show go on. The alternative—breaking up the wedding and causing a scene in front of half of my coworkers and bosses—would have been utter humiliation, and career suicide to boot. But at the same time, I was still so embarrassed, it was hard to muster up the appropriate gratitude.

“I'm fine. You can let me go now,” I muttered, even though his warm hands admittedly felt pretty good on my freezing skin. Or maybe because of that fact. Truth was, a large traitorous part of me wanted him to stay there, holding me up until the ceremony was over. Until I could retreat to higher ground.

But that would be
weird.

JUST THIS NIGHT

BREAK OF
DAY

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

BREAK OF DAY

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2016 by Marianne Mancusi Beach.

Excerpt from
At First Light
by Mari Madison copyright © 2017 by Marianne Mancusi Beach.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

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.

eBook ISBN: 9780698408791

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / August 2016

Cover photo CAUCASIAN COUPLE HUGGING ON BEACH © GS / Gallery Stock.

Cover design by Alana Colucci.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To Diana “Louise” Peterfreund,
Here's to our next adventure—and all the ones after that!
May they always include laughter, sushi, and
at least one bottle of
Nobilo.

Thank you to my awesome editor Kate Seaver who has edited and championed my books for over ten years now—we continue to make an awesome team! And to the rest of the team at Penguin Random House who work so hard to get the books onto store shelves and into the readers' hands—I couldn't do this without you! Special shout-outs to Ryanne Probst and Katherine Pelz who are both awesome and very patient!

A special shout-out to B&N romance buyer Jules Herbert who chose JUST THIS NIGHT as a March Bookseller Pick. I am SO honored to be chosen! And to all the booksellers out there who select and hand-sell my books to romance readers. You are the unsung heroes of a writer's world!

Thank you to Sarah Simpson-Weiss, my amazing assistant who keeps me organized and sane. Your tireless enthusiasm means the world to me and I'm lucky to have you in my life!

And to continue from the first book the list of amazing TV news colleagues I've had the pleasure to work with over the years—especially my fellow producers and reporters. From Ivanhoe Broadcast News: Alison Jordan, Susan Vernon-Devlin, and Elizabeth Buchanan McCarthy. (And, of course, Hector the cat, RIP.) At KFMB-TV: Pam Jessen, Jamie Nguyen, Denise Yamada, Gail Stewart, and Bob Hansen, just to name a few. And, of course, my dear WHDH-TV friends: Mary Schwager, Hank Phillippi-Ryan, Deanna Lites, Michelle Weber, Jennifer Savio Dial, Joe Abouzeid, Mike Boudo, Stacy Neale, Tiffany Middleton, Ben Thompson, Kelly Henry, Eddie Felker, Rin-rin Yu, and Kate Kahn—and so many more! And last, but not least, Better Show alums: Juli Auclair, Audra Lowe, Ashley Diamond-Hirsch, Sarah Sweeney, Rebecca Millman, Tracy Langer Chevrier, Seth Feldman, Mark Berrhill, and the rest.

Lastly, thank you to my dear husband Jacob who keeps everything running when I'm on deadline and never once complains. And to my dearest daughter Avalon for being the best little girl in the world. I love you more than anything and can't imagine life without you!

I
, Elizabeth White, take this man . . .”

Hold it together, Piper. Just hold it together.

I clutched the bouquet of roses with white-knuckled fingers, pressing my lips together so hard they hurt as my heart thumped wildly in my chest and my veins raced with ice water. I tried to focus on my roommate, Beth, standing on the beach in front of me, looking ridiculously radiant in her simple white dress with its empire waist, baby blue flowers woven into her long blond hair. Tried to focus on the look in her eyes as she gazed adoringly at her soon-to-be-husband, Jake “Mac” MacDonald. A look that was truly breathtaking.

Or would have been, anyway, had I had any breath left in my lungs.

“To be my lawfully wedded husband.”

It's almost over. It'll be over in a second.

I stole a glance at the ocean behind me, then immediately wished I hadn't. The vast blue-black waters seemed to throb and undulate menacingly, taunting me as they stretched out to meet the distant horizon.

Some people thought the ocean was beautiful. Peaceful.

Some people were fucking crazy.

“To have and to hold from this day forward . . .”

The nausea rose to my throat again and I struggled to breathe, turning back to the bride and groom, trying to focus on them—to ignore the icy horror licking at my feet. When Beth had first asked me to be her maid of honor I'd been over the moon. And I'd accepted the job before she told me the rest of her plans. That it would be a simple ceremony.

On the beach.

By the water.

“For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer.”

In other words, my worst nightmare come true.

Just keep your eyes on Beth and Mac. Pretend you're in a church.

But a church didn't have crashing waves, thundering in your ears. The sting of salt stabbing at your nose. Your skin—oh God, why had Beth insisted on bare feet?—crawling with sticky, prickly sand. The wind gusted, whipping my copper curls in my face. I reached up to swipe them away . . .

“In sickness and in health . . .”

“Shit!”

I shrieked—practically jumping out of my skin—as a sudden wave rose up and splashed me from behind, soaking the back of my dress. I staggered, nearly falling over backward as panic rioted through me.

And everyone in the audience burst out laughing.

My face burned as I desperately tried to pull myself back together. To brush it off. To not run away screaming in the other direction. To not ruin my best friend's big day.

It was just a wave
, I scolded myself.
Everything's fine. No big deal.

But then . . . Michael had probably thought that once, too.

My mother definitely had when she'd left him in my care.

Piper! Wake up!

Where's your brother?

Darkness. Black water. Desperate splashing.

Where the HELL is your brother?

“Till death do us part.”

My stomach heaved, black spots swimming before my eyes. My knees buckled out from under me, my pulse racing out of control, my heart practically bursting through my rib cage.

I had to get out of here. I had to get to higher ground.

Where it was safe.

Where I could breathe.

Where I could—

“Easy, Red.”

A deep, velvety voice jerked me back to the present, strong hands gripping my arms from behind. I whirled around, to find none other than Mac's best man, News 9 meteorologist Asher Anderson, standing behind me.

Literally the only thing, at that moment, keeping me standing.

Shit, shit, shit.

I glanced around, realizing, horrifyingly, that the beach had fallen silent. The minister had stopped the ceremony. Everyone was staring at me. I bit my lower lip, my heart still burning hot in my chest. From the corner of my eye I could see Beth turn, concern clouding her face. She took a step toward me . . .

“Hey, don't stop now, Preach. You're almost to the good part.”

What?

Asher's voice crashed over the beach, like another errant wave, and everyone laughed again, though thankfully this time at him and not me. As I stared at him, dumbfounded, he winked then turned to Beth.

“And you, runaway bride,” he added in a scolding voice, “get back over there with your man. He's not done with you yet.”

More laughter, followed by a smattering of applause. Beth shot me a doubtful look, but I managed to give her a weak smile and a shaky thumbs-up. She shook her head, as if she didn't quite believe I was okay, but thankfully returned to Mac's side.

And the wedding resumed where it had left off.

Thank God.
I nearly collapsed in relief. I probably would
have, in fact, if it hadn't meant falling like a rag doll into the arms of Asher Anderson.

Asher Anderson of all people. Ughhhh.

You gotta understand. Asher wasn't your typical local news weatherman. The guy was practically SoCal royalty. His mother's family had owned News 9—my employer—since its very first broadcast and his father was beloved legendary meteorologist Stormy Anderson, whose early prediction of the 1980 Mission Valley flooding had saved countless lives. Dad had retired three years ago after an auto accident had put him in a wheelchair and his son had taken on the Doppler 9000 in his stead, becoming the golden boy of not only News 9 but pretty much the entire San Diego community.

In other words, when Asher Anderson did something, people usually noticed. And I really didn't need them noticing me now. Not at this particular moment—far from my finest hour.

In front of half of the suits at News 9.

I stifled a groan. It was ironic, really: Here I'd been, trying to get the attention of the News 9 bosses for months now, the invisible worker bee in the giant newsroom hive. Now I'd finally managed to make an impression. Unfortunately, not that of a girl who had been working tirelessly in the trenches for more than a year, trying to prove herself worthy of a promotion. But rather a total freak who had the nerve to disrupt their star reporter's big day by flipping the fuck out over a teeny, tiny wave.

By needing Golden Boy to save the day.

Ugh. Ugh. UGH.

I realized suddenly that Asher was still standing there, still holding me, still watching me closely, those infamous emerald eyes of his still locked on my face. This close up I couldn't help but notice that the deep green of those eyes—the green that had launched a hundred fan girl Tumblrs—was actually flecked with blues and yellows, giving them the look of a storm-tossed sea. A ridiculous detail, to be sure. But at the moment something to focus on that wasn't the churning water behind me.

People around the newsroom liked to say Asher was the trifecta. As in rich, powerful, and hot as hell. He was often compared to a young Matthew McConaughey with sandy brown hair that hung slightly too long and curled up at the ends and a devilish, carefree smile always playing on his lips—as if he found life itself amusing.

And then there was his body. Even now, encased in a tux, you couldn't help but appreciate his physique—tall, well built. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. It was a body honed by hours of surfing the Baja California coastline, which, according to the Most Eligible Bachelor in San Diego issues of all the magazines, was his favorite pastime.

In short, everyone wanted a piece of Anderson. And from his reputation, he evidently had a lot of pieces to go around.

Except for right now, when his entire attention seemed focused on me.

“You gonna make it, Red?” he whispered, so softly that only I could hear. His breath brushed against my earlobe as he spoke, sending shivers straight to my toes—and let's be honest, other places as well.

Oh God. Eligible, indeed.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my belly. To focus instead on the stupidity of the question. Was I going to make it? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was this all some kind of big joke to him?

Annoyance churned in my gut. At him, for asking. At myself, for needing to be asked. Hell, at my freaking extremities for shivering over something as stupid as warm breath against cold ears.

I knew I should have been grateful for his impromptu rescue. His demand that the show go on. The alternative—breaking up the wedding and causing a scene in front of half of my coworkers and bosses—would have been utter humiliation, and career suicide to boot. But at the same time, I was still so embarrassed, it was hard to muster up the appropriate gratitude.

“I'm fine. You can let me go now,” I muttered, even though his warm hands admittedly felt pretty good on my freezing
skin. Or maybe because of that fact. Truth was, a large traitorous part of me wanted him to stay there, holding me up until the ceremony was over. Until I could retreat to higher ground.

But that would be weird. And I'd already proven myself weird enough for one afternoon.

Turned out, it didn't matter anyway because Asher didn't seem interested in letting go of my arms, despite my suggestion. And I couldn't exactly force him to do so without causing another scene. And so I stood there, his hands still snug on my arms, his breath tickling the back of my neck. Trying to keep it together as the minister droned on and on. At least now I had something else to focus on instead of the ocean. Though I wasn't entirely sure this particular focus served to make me feel any calmer. In fact my heart was beating fast as a racehorse, and I only hoped he couldn't tell.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the minister got to the so-called “good part.” Mac was instructed to kiss his bride. And I dropped my shoulders in relief.

Thank freaking God.

I stepped forward, now managing to shrug out of Asher's grip, trying to shore up my sanity so I could finish the job. I had only a few more minutes to keep it together before I could head to the stairs, up to the La Jolla mansion on the cliff where the reception was being held. Out of the reach of the ocean's icy grip.

I could do this. I could totally do this.

Beth turned from her first married kiss to look at me, grinning from ear to ear. I forced a smile to my own lips, then handed her back her bouquet. “Nice work,” I said, forcing my voice to sound light and unaffected. “And just think—you didn't trip once, despite all your worries.” Beth had been having nightmares of falling on her face during the walk down the aisle for weeks now. But in real life she looked as if she were walking on water.

“Hey! Don't jinx me!” she protested now, gesturing to the makeshift path between the guests. “I still have to walk back down the aisle, you know.”

“Don't worry, baby,” Mac interjected, slipping an arm around her waist. “I won't let you fall.”

The love in his eyes made tears spring to my own. And for a moment, I forgot to be afraid—I was too happy for them to worry about myself. It was nice to see two people who deserved each other fully get their happily ever.

Beth smiled at him, her face practically glowing with adoration. Then she turned back to me. “Are you okay?” she asked in a soft voice. “Earlier I thought—”

I waved her off, my cheeks heating all over again, both appreciating and hating her concern. At this point I just wanted to move forward. Forget it ever happened.

Not to mention get off this freaking beach, ASAP.

“I'm fine,” I assured her. “Now go! Finish this thing!”

Beth laughed and hugged me, then took Mac's arm, starting down the aisle as friends, family, and coworkers whooped and cheered. The couple stopped for only a moment, to kiss the flower girl, Mac's daughter, Ashley, who was jumping up and down wildly from her place beside his sister. The five-year-old took that as her invitation and chased after them as they continued down the aisle, prompting laughter from the other guests.

“Hey, Red. We're up.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Asher's voice, rippling across my ears again. I'd been so wrapped up in Beth and Mac I hadn't realized he'd returned to my side. As I glanced over at him now, he gave me a roguish smile, then held out his arm. As if he were some gallant knight in shining armor and I was the pathetic damsel in distress, needing rescue from the big bad waves.

Sadly it wasn't far from the truth.

Reluctantly, I took his arm, feeling my traitorous skin flush all over again at the warmth that came from our interlocking elbows. God, what was it about this guy that had me zero to sixty with just a simple touch? I sucked in a breath, pasted a smile on my face, and tried to calm my racing heart as I forced myself to focus on the job at hand, rather than on the hotness on my arm.

Easier said than done, especially given all the stares I was getting from the audience. Well, the stares Asher was getting, anyway, from all the women. I fleetingly wondered which one (or two?) he would end up bedding later that night. Hell, with his looks and money and celebrity he probably had the pick of the party. Even now the girls were slobbering like Saint Bernards as we walked by.

Must be good to be the king.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Asher stopped. I jerked my arm away from his, with a little more force than I'd meant to. He chuckled, his green eyes flashing merrily.

“That anxious to be rid of me, huh?” he teased. “Or just angling to be first in line for the buffet?”

I groaned. “More like the deep dark hole I'll be crawling into so I can die of humiliation in private, thank you very much.”

He laughed. But to my surprise it was a nice laugh. A laugh that said, “I'm laughing with you not at you.” Even though, at the moment, I was still having a hard time finding any of this funny.

“Don't worry, Red. It happens to the best of us,” he assured me. “I mean hell, if I had a buck for every wave that snuck up from behind and scared the bejesus out of me? I'd be a rich man.”