Best of Temptation Bundle
Constant Craving
by Tori Carrington
Private Lessons
by Julie Elizabeth Leto
Nobody Does it Better
by Julie Kenner
Night Whispers
Constant Craving
Private Lessons
Nobody Does it Better
Night Whispers
by Tori Carrington
GOD, THAT WOMAN has a great pair of legs. The sort of legs that could bring a man to his knees just imagining them wrapped around his waist.
Adam Grayson shifted the telephone receiver from his ear and leaned forward to stare through the crack in his door. Eva Burgess, the only person visible in the hall of Sheffert, Logan and Brace, Certified Public Accountants, was pouring hot water from the coffee machine into a hefty mug. Her dark hair was pulled back in an ever-present twist. The clean lines of her pale green business suit tried but failed to hide her tantalizing curves. But it was her legs—shapely and long and drop-dead sexy, despite her low-heeled shoes—that were the stuff of which fantasies were made. Adam tugged at his collar. Had the air-conditioning buckled under the unusual September heat, or had his own cooling system gone on the fritz?
Eva briefly met his gaze, little more than a flash of her eyes, before she quickly turned away.
“Grayson, you still there?” Weckworth gruffly muttered as Adam pressed the receiver back to his ear.
“Yeah, I’m here.” Which was a damn shame. He’d much rather be drifting somewhere off the coast of Jamaica on his thirty-five-foot sailboat, Eva Burgess stretched out on deck, the hot, exotic sun melting away her truckload of inhibitions and tingeing her skin with color.
Adam swiveled his chair around, away from the door and junior partner Eva Burgess. He rubbed his forehead, censuring himself for lusting after a woman who was supposed to be one of his superiors. Especially since a few days before she’d turned down his dinner invitation. Though his come-on had little to do with Eva’s legs, and more to do with what she knew about her wily boss, her rejection had bothered Adam in a way that wasn’t in the least professional.
John Weckworth cursed in his ear. “You’ve been at that place too long. You’re starting to act like an accountant. Did you even hear a word I said?”
“I am an accountant,” Adam reminded John.
“You may be a CPA, but you’re no ordinary accountant, Grayson. You’re one of the best field agents in the FBI Financial Crimes Unit. Big difference.”
Maybe. Adam stared at a boring sketch he’d inherited three weeks earlier from Oliver Pinney, his office’s previous occupant. He lowered his voice to prevent anyone from overhearing. “Anyway, yes, I got what you said. You told me you can’t justify keeping me on the job any longer.”
“Nada, nothing, zip. That’s what three weeks of trying to nail Sheffert for tax evasion has gotten us. You’re losing it, Grayson. Two years ago, you would have had Sheffert strung up by the shorts in a week.”
“Yeah, and two years ago I was infiltrating militia groups trying to figure out who was actually financing their adventures. Not some nickel-and-dime accounting firm whose senior partner happens to have a couple of criminal friends and knows how to hide his dirty laundry.”
“Don’t forget, he also knows how to hide a body or two—that is, if Pinney’s ever shows up,” John said. “Now, you got anything on this guy, or should I pull you out?”
Adam straightened his blue-and-red-striped tie, half of him wanting to tell Weckworth to shut down the entire operation. He’d had it with playing Adam Gardner, the socially challenged CPA. And he was especially tired of hiding behind a pair of geeky glasses and cheesy, off-the-rack business suits. Besides, the day marked the beginning of Labor Day weekend and Norman Sheffert was off to the Cape until Tuesday. Adam had already tapped out his sources at Dun & Bradstreet Corp. in New York, finding no trace of the usual a.k.a.’s for any of Sheffert’s clients, or hidden assets. And his use of the program NetMap on Sheffert’s main computer had also failed to turn up any evidence of collusion and fraud.
Still…
Adam’s muscles bunched and he rolled his shoulders, admitting that despite the drawbacks of the assignment, the blasted competitive side of him refused to admit defeat. And there was the fact that he’d yet to gain exclusive access to two key accounts: Honeycutt and Rockwood. Not that he expected to find anything useful in them. The rest of the accounts he’d reviewed had been so remarkably clean, he’d been surprised they hadn’t reeked of virtual detergent.
He scratched his chin. There was that one little avenue left unexplored by way of Eva Burgess, Sheffert’s right-hand gal. Besides, if he left, he couldn’t enjoy ogling her legs anymore.
He bit back a curse. John was right. He was losing it.
“Look, John—”
Someone rapped lightly on the door frame. He swung around to find Eva standing there, smiling anxiously.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize you were on the phone.”
Adam snapped up in his chair and waved her in. He didn’t try to check his surprise. Eva hadn’t come to his office once in the past three weeks. “No problem, I’m almost done here. Come in and have a seat.”
“Grayson? Damn it, what’s going on? Are we still having a conversation or what?” Weckworth’s voice echoed from the receiver.
Adam ignored John’s baiting question and concentrated instead on Eva.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was nervous about something. But nothing rattled Eva Burgess. He watched her smooth down the side of her suit jacket several times before finally stepping toward the cafeteria-like chair in front of his desk. She put her steaming mug on his desk, then shifted the mountain of files on top of the chair to the floor. Adam fought not to eye the way she tugged on the hem of her skirt to keep it from riding up as she crossed those marvelous legs.
“Grayson?” Weckworth barked.
Adam budged his gaze to stare into Eva’s face. He honestly didn’t know what intrigued him about the woman. She wasn’t his type. Sure, she had a lot going for her in the looks department, but he met enough challenges in his career. For that reason alone he preferred flirty types who knew the power of their femininity. The sort of women who were undemanding when he moved on, as he always did, for reasons he told himself were professional…though even he admitted to questioning those arguments lately.
Still, he’d never dated a dynamic ice queen of Eva’s caliber. He didn’t plan to, either. Life was too short.
He grimaced. Then why did he want to jump in a cold shower every time he saw her?
Eva must have taken his silence to mean she should speak, for she quietly cleared her throat.
“I need a favor, Adam. A big favor. Will you…I mean, can you…” She drew a deep breath, then blurted, “Marry me…tonight?”
Adam nearly dropped the telephone. Every last thought in his head rushed out, leaving him uncommonly speechless. His gaze brushed Eva from head to toe. He searched for a sign that this was some sort of bad joke, a candid-camera prank that would leave him looking the fool.
Eva Burgess appeared dead serious.
Coughing, Adam dragged the receiver back to his mouth, purposely keeping his words ambiguous. “Uh…I’ll call you back.”
The tinny sound of Weckworth’s voice echoed through the otherwise silent room as Adam missed the cradle once before finally hanging up the receiver.
He sat forcefully back in his chair, causing the springs to give a punctuating squeak. Had Eva Burgess said what he thought she’d said? He narrowed his eyes. He’d come across many a bold proposal in his time, but this outranked them all.
He couldn’t resist a hesitant grin. “Don’t you think we should try dinner first?”
She blinked at him, eyeing the relaxed, unperturbed way he sprawled in the chair. Instantly, Adam sat straight. For a moment the baffling woman had made him forget his role. Big mistake.
“Uh, sorry, it’s just that what you said…well, I must have been hearing things, because I could swear you just asked me to marry you and…” Adam let his sentence drift off into a hesitant never-never land. Atactic that worked well even for a geek. It placed the other person in the position of finishing.
A warm blush colored Eva’s cheeks.
“That didn’t quite come out the way I planned. I…” She gestured with her hands. Hands that usually stayed clasped before her, whether on her desk, or at the conference table. Adam found her gesturing more natural. “I don’t mean that I literally want you to marry me. That would be—”
“Ludicrous,” he supplied.
Awary shadow darkened her eyes. “Yes. It would be ludicrous. I mean, we haven’t even known each other three weeks, and then only at work.”
She suddenly stopped and Adam stomped down the urge to apply the silent treatment to get her to spill more. He used his index finger to push the bridge of his glasses up on his nose. “Then what is it you are asking me…exactly?”
Her throat contracted as she swallowed. “I need someone to be my husband this weekend. I mean, someone to play the part of my husband.”
Adam eyed her. “I see. And, naturally, I’m the first person you thought of for the role.”
She frowned and smoothed back her already smooth hair. “The fourth, actually. If it helps any, you are the first I’ve asked.” Her cheeks burned a bright scarlet. “I’ve been putting together a speech all day, and for the life of me, I can’t remember a single word of it.” She smiled, obviously frazzled. Not at all like the woman he’d come to know. “You see, my mother called this morning. My father’s ill…how ill, I’m not sure. But it must be serious for my mother to summon me home. Anyway, I promised to come tomorrow. My mother ended the conversation saying she looked forward to seeing me and…well, my husband.”
Adam carefully listened to her words. What did any of this have to do with him? In all honesty, he hadn’t known Eva Burgess was married. She didn’t wear a ring, and still wasn’t, a quick glance verified. No one around the firm knew much about her private life. Not that that surprised him. When he’d asked her out, her refusal had been about as warm as an Arctic wind. And any attempts at forming a casual friendship with her around the coffee machine had earned him little more than one-sided polite chitchat. On his side.
She had to be in dire straits indeed to have shared that much of herself with him.
Adam pulled on the tail of his tie and tried to work his way around his surprise.
“Then I’d say it would be a good idea to take your husband,” he said carefully. She dropped her gaze. “You do have a husband, don’t you?”
“Yes. I mean no.” She reached for her mug on the desktop, nearly spilling the contents of what he guessed was tea as she lifted the cup to her lips. She appeared to have difficulty swallowing. “At least I did. We…our divorce was recently finalized.”
Adam felt an instant twinge of relief. She was divorced. Good. No possessive husband to worry about when they sailed off into the wild blue yonder for a weekend of hot sex. He picked up a pencil and tapped it against the desk, feigning a fumble that sent the pencil flying to the floor in front of Eva. She put her cup down and bent to retrieve the pencil. The crisp V neck of her white blouse under her jacket bowed open, giving the briefest, tiniest flash of creamy lace. Adam stifled a groan.
She handed the pencil back to him.
“I see. Your parents don’t know about your recent difficulties?” he murmured.
His gaze must have lingered a little longer than he intended for she tugged at the lapels of her jacket, pulling them tightly together over her blouse. “No. No, they don’t. My parents live in Louisiana. A place some seventy miles southwest of New Orleans. The town’s little more than a bayou village called Belle Rivage. Not exactly nearby.”
Louisiana? Adam arched an eyebrow. He was usually pretty good with accents, but hadn’t pegged hers. She must have moved to Jersey some time ago and made a conscious effort to train the accent out of her throaty voice.
“My family has never met Bill—that’s my ex-husband—in case you’re wondering how I could pull this off.”
Adam committed the name to memory.
Eva leaned forward earnestly. “Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but if you agree to play the role of my husband, I promise you won’t have to stay longer than a day. I’ll explain you have to get back to work, and keep you away from the family as much as possible. I’ll foot all the expenses, of course, and even include a side trip to New Orleans if you’d like. Abonus, of sorts, for doing this for me.”
Adam toyed with his tie, hoping she would buy the nervous gesture. He considered the opportunity she just handed him. At a virtual dead end in his attempts to get any damning evidence against Norman Sheffert, Eva was opening a door he was loath to close. She was his last hope in this investigation. Being in close contact with her for twenty-four hours meant he would have access not only to her personal effects, but to her and whatever knowledge she had of her employer’s illegal dealings.
Besides, taking her up on her offer meant spending more time near the woman herself.
Adam hesitated. Accepting the offer too hastily would not only put his undercover status at risk. He had little doubt it would make him suspect in Eva’s eyes as well, despite her urgent behavior.
“I…don’t quite know how to respond to this,” he said, pretending an interest in straightening the business cards in a holder on his desk. “In the words of Spock, this request of yours is highly illogical.”
The beginnings of a smile softened her harried expression. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you quote Spock?”
Adam feigned a wounded expression.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Anyway, I know how…illogical my proposal is. And I don’t think I’ve gone about this in a very direct way, either. But I hadn’t anticipated this situation and, well, I’m not very good at putting plans together so fast.”
He looked up from his business cards. “Well, if I say yes, this is one way of getting my date with you, isn’t it?”
Eva’s gaze flicked over his face and for a moment he thought she could see right through him. “Actually, if you do agree to do this favor for me, Adam, I must insist you not try anything…personal. I’m—” she cleared her throat “—I’m not looking for a relationship with any man. I think it’s better we get that straight right now.”
Adam watched the way she thumbed the base of her bare ring finger. “Until now, I had everything perfectly straight. But I am a bit thrown, what with your proposal of marriage and all. Even if it is only for a day.”
Abit thrown? Hell, she’d floored him, despite his eleven years as an agent. And despite his two-month relationship—or as close as he came to a relationship, anyway—with off-Broadway tap dancer Julia Springer, whose mission in life was apparently to shock him and everybody else she came across. It hadn’t surprised him at all when she up and broke things off two days after he started dressing like a geeky accountant. Her moving on had come as more of a relief than a bother, proving to him once again that eventually all women leave.
Eva fidgeted in her chair. “So, will you do it?”
Adam stared at her. Not only wasn’t Eva Burgess backing down from her peculiar request, she was determined to see it through. He was hard-pressed not to instantly accept the assignment within an assignment.
“Just like that?” he asked, tugging at his tie. “Don’t I even get some time to think about it?”
Eva pushed up from her chair and lifted her still-full mug of tea. “I don’t have much time to give you. I’m on my way to Louisiana in two hours.” She started for the door, then stopped. “I’d really appreciate it if you could do this for me, Adam. I know I haven’t been exactly…warm toward you since you hired on, but I’m desperate. I wouldn’t ask such a tremendous favor otherwise.”
All at once the image of Eva Burgess stretched out on his sailboat became so clear it was almost a wet memory.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll be in my office getting the Honeycutt account ready to take with me. Let me know what you decide.”
Adam went on instant alert. The Honeycutt account…
EVA CLOSED ADAM’S office door, then leaned against it. She couldn’t bring herself to believe what she had just done. For Pete’s sake, she’d just asked a complete stranger to be her husband for the weekend. She swallowed hard. Sure, she and Adam worked at the same accounting firm. And aside from the awkward moment when he’d fumbled through a dinner invitation, he was polite, humble and attractive in a nerdy kind of way. But none of that changed that he was still a stranger.
She pushed away from the door and groaned. Not that his being a stranger mattered. There wasn’t a chance in a thousand that Adam Gardner would agree to her plan. His horrified expression when she blurted out her proposal told her that.
She moved down the hall toward her own office. She had been stupid even to consider carrying out such a ruse. But when her mother had urged her to come, Eva had immediately agreed. If her mother thought she should be there, then her father’s health must be at serious risk. Eva quickened her step, fear for her father’s well-being spreading through her anew. The thought that she might never get the chance to put things right between them, to repair the rift that had always gaped between them, worried her all the more. Especially now. When the link between generations meant more to her than it ever had before.
Eva pressed her fingertips against her forehead. If only her mother hadn’t insisted she bring her husband along. And if only she hadn’t caved under Katina Mavros’s loving but resourceful persuasiveness and agreed to that impossible request. Eva suspected that her mother’s insistence grew as much out of concern for her and Bill’s marriage as it did from her desire that son-and father-in-law finally meet. Ever since last week when Eva had inadvertently spilled some of the problems she and Bill were having, she’d regretted saying anything. If her mother only knew how very serious, and very final, those problems were.
The solution, of course, would have been to tell her mother the truth. But she hadn’t had the guts then, and certainly not now, given her father’s present state. And not when that truth was so new she had yet to completely accept it herself. After all, only a day had passed since she’d received her final divorce papers. She stumbled on the carpeting. How, exactly, did she explain to her father—sick or otherwise—that she was divorced when neither of her parents had ever met her husband?
A dull ache pounded a threatening rhythm at her temples. Crossing to her office, Eva put her cup on her desk then searched through the right-hand drawer for a couple of aspirin. She took a deep breath and halted her hands midway through working open the childproof cap. Considering her own condition, she wasn’t sure if she should be casually taking even aspirin. With a sigh she dropped the unopened bottle back into the drawer and slammed it shut, the rest of the reason she couldn’t tell her father why she was divorced making her headache double in severity.
God, could things get much worse?
She dropped into her chair, reminding herself that yes, circumstances could be much worse.
Number one, she might be faced with going to Belle Rivage with her ex-husband. A man who had walked out on her without so much as a backward glance, taking with him the furniture and belongings they had accumulated during their one-year marriage. Then she’d have to deal with the prospect of concealing all the pain that still pulsed through her. Pain caused by his callous, piercing betrayal.
She rested her forehead in her hand, her thoughts making her hurt all over again.
She forced herself to concentrate on number two: Adam Gardner could agree to her outlandish proposal.
She lifted her head from her hand, envisioning the scenario. If Adam did accept her offer, she’d be faced with trying to fool her family into believing a man who was alternately awkward and inexplicably provocative whenever he was around her was her husband. She rested her fingers against her neck. No matter how attractive Adam might be if he lost the out-of-style glasses, and stopped putting gel on his hair, the idea of spending so much time around him somehow made her uneasy. She guessed it might be because of the way he’d looked in his office just now. Both shocked and appealing. Shocked, she had expected. Appealing was a different matter entirely.
She pushed the unwelcome thought away.
Whatever the outcome of this weekend, one thing rang perfectly clear. She might never bridge the gap between her and her father if she told him the truth now. Her father’s Greek background and his passionate belief in traditional values would never allow him to see past her divorce. No matter that the friction between them had only been aggravated by her having married without his consent a year ago. Her latest failure would only reinforce his conviction that she’d been wrong to marry a man he had never met. And, given her current state, she wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to marry her off to the first available, appropriate male. Appropriate in his eyes. A prison term in hers.
And that was the reason she chose Adam Gardner to play the role of her husband.
Eva smoothed a shaking hand over her hair. For a full hour after her mother’s call she had mulled over what to do. And she’d decided that making her parents dislike her husband—or Adam in the role of her husband—before she shared the news, would make it much easier for them…and her.
She only wished she didn’t feel so guilty. Not only for deceiving her family, but because if Adam accepted, she would be thrusting him into a situation where he would be placed so fully, so unflatteringly, on display.
Glancing at her wristwatch, Eva hauled her heavy attaché case onto her desktop. She opened it and stared at the envelope from her husband’s lawyer sitting on top of a stack of files. Correction, her ex-husband’s lawyer. She’d have to get used to saying that. Ex-husband. She winced. It was disheartening how two little letters of the alphabet could change a family with promise into a past relationship with failure written all over it.
Slipping the envelope off to the side, she pulled two accordion files from her drawer and laid them inside the attaché. She halted. She’d forgotten she wanted to take the diskettes on the Honeycutt account. She sighed, already having wished Norman Sheffert a happy Labor Day when the next few days would likely prove a virtual hell for her. Norman kept all the accounting diskettes in his office safe, for security reasons he said. Eva called it an inconvenience. Especially since Norman was the only one who had access to the safe. Not even the two senior partners, Gerry Logan or Evan Brace, could get in without Norman’s approval. Though the fact didn’t seem to bother either of them. They were perfectly content to let Norman run the entire operation.
Eva got up from her chair and hurried down the hall to where she hoped Norman’s secretary, Alice Turley, was still working. The humming computer and covered desk told her the peacock-like woman was around somewhere.
Sighing, she stepped partway down the hall. “Alice?”
A sound from Norman’s office caught her attention. Eva stepped nearer. She knocked once, then opened the door. Light from multiple sources illuminated the interior but the office was empty. She stared at the mahogany desk in the corner and stepped farther into the room. That’s odd…what’s the safe doing open?
“Alice?” a male voice called out.
Eva jumped and turned to face Adam who stood in the open doorway. “You startled me.”
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I was going to ask Alice if she’d seen you anywhere.”
“I think the applicable question is have I seen Alice anywhere. To which I’d have to say no.”
He glanced around the room. “I thought Sheffert left.”
“He did.” Eva shivered, then wrapped her arms around her waist.
A dark eyebrow lifted above the rim of Adam’s glasses. An eyebrow that was silky and soft and perfectly shaped. “He left his office and safe open?”
Eva tugged her gaze away from his face, wondering why she always had the baffling urge to study him whenever he was near. “It’s odd, considering how security-conscious Norman is. Not like him at all.”
“I’ll say.”
Eva frowned. How would he know about Norman’s behavior? He’d only been here three weeks.
Adam’s eyebrow dropped and his intense expression melted away. Eva felt slightly relieved. For a moment there, she’d questioned bashful Adam Gardner’s behavior.
“Maybe he was in such a hurry he forgot to lock up, that’s all,” he said, offering a shy smile and pushing up his glasses.
“Yes, that’s probably it.” The way his lips turned up at the sides gave him a wry appeal. Her gaze lingered on his mouth. “Anyway, what are the odds that on the same day Norman overlooks locking his safe, someone would be in here to steal the contents?”
“Good point.”
The reason Adam might be looking for her suddenly dawned on Eva. A knot pulled tight in her stomach. Both at the thought that she might have to live up to her ruse, and that if she did, for the next day she would have to act as this man’s wife. Aman she felt both emotionally safe and unsafe around. Safe because his appearance made him seem like nothing more than geeky, brother material. Unsafe because the way he sometimes looked at her, like now, with that inexplicable gleam in his eyes, made her want to rub a hand over his nerdy exterior to learn what truly dwelled within.
“So, are you here to answer my proposal?” she said carefully, her palms growing damp.
“Yes, you could say that.” He ran long and lean fingers down the length of his hideous tie then cleared his throat.
“And?” Oh please, don’t let him say no. No! Please don’t let him say yes.
His eyes locked with hers. She could swear by the subtle quirk of his eyebrows that he was teasing her. As if he knew exactly what he was doing by dragging out his answer. His gaze raked over her face and she battled the urge to pull her suit jacket closer as protection against…protection against what?
Finally, he said, “And…despite whatever misgivings I may have, I’ve decided it’s in my best interest to help you out in your time of crisis.”
A mixture of relief and uneasiness saturated her tense muscles. He’s doing it.
“Best interest?” she repeated.
“You are my superior. I figure it couldn’t hurt to have you owing me one come review time.” He pushed up his glasses. “Besides, I’ve never been to New Orleans. Is it nice?”
Review time. Yes, she supposed she could put in a good word or two for him then. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. He’d already proved himself a competent accountant, so it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship. He fingered his tie, apparently uncomfortable with her assessing gaze. She fought a small smile. Adam wasn’t to blame if his social skills were a bit lacking. She wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t tell the difference between Chinese food and the northern version of Creole fare. But he would learn.
“Yes, New Orleans is very nice,” she said, thinking the word didn’t come near describing the sultry city. The image of Adam Gardner standing in the middle of decadent Bourbon Street held a certain appeal. She straightened slightly, finding that the thought more than attracted her, it stirred something fundamental within her. A mixture of curiosity and disquiet that left her wanting to expose him to the naughtier side of life, yet at the same time protect him from it. A reaction she didn’t welcome even in passing. In fact, maybe this whole thing wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“I guess we have a deal then,” Adam said, extending his hand, nervously retracting it, then thrusting it out again.
She stared at his large hand, noticing the blunt ends of his fingers, the dark hair that dusted the back of his hand. She hesitantly gave it a brief shake. Her own palm was slick where his was remarkably warm and dry. The brief friction as skin met skin sent a trail of awareness up her arm. She quickly withdrew her hand.
“Good,” she said, accepting that the ruse she had concocted was actually going to happen.
Adam wiped his palm on his slacks.
“I can’t believe I almost forgot why I came in here.” Eva turned away from him, then stepped to the open safe and crouched down. She searched for the needed diskettes, disappointed to find her hands trembling.
“What are you two doing in here?”
Eva started and watched two cases tip forward, spilling three-and-half-inch disks all over the carpet around her knees.
Alice-the-Hun, wearing one of her psychedelic skirts with a fuchsia blazer, hurried into the room and fairly swooped down on Eva.
“Norman asked me to take over the Honeycutt account from Oliver. You know, to prepare for their review,” Eva said to Sheffert’s secretary, reaching down to collect the scattered disks. She shoved half of them back into the safe and nearly yelped when Alice snapped the safe door closed.
“I’ll see to the rest,” she said curtly.
Eva rose with hesitant help from Adam.
Alice turned. “All requests for disks come through me, you know that. And from what I know about Honeycutt’s schedule, there’s no reason for you to need those diskettes now. Their FTC review isn’t for three months.”
Eva faced her. “I thought I’d take a look at them this weekend—”
“No harm done, Alice,” Adam said smoothly. “Why not just let Eva go ahead and get what she needs.” He turned on a smile that made Eva blink. “Certainly there isn’t a problem with that?”
“Problem?” Alice’s hand fluttered to the costume-jewel pin at her throat. She looked at a spot behind them before her gaze hastened back to their faces. “Yes, there is a problem. While Eva may have been given the go-ahead on the Honeycutt account, I haven’t yet been told.”
Eva stared at her. Was Sheffert’s fiftyish secretary attracted to Adam? She shifted her attention to the tall man next to her. She hadn’t noticed exactly how tall Adam was until that moment. Usually when she saw him, he was sitting behind a desk or at a conference table. Now she noted that he towered over her five-feet-five-inch height in heels by more than half a foot.
She glanced behind her to see what had caught Alice’s eye.
“There they are.” On Sheffert’s desk sat a small pile of diskettes Eva identified by their labels as belonging to the Honeycutt account. She crossed the room to pick them up. “Norman must have taken them out for me before he left.”
She turned from the desk to find Alice standing obstinately in front of her. “To the contrary, Norman left the safe open so I could put the disks away.”
“Look, Alice,” Eva said, wondering what was with the woman, “Norman won’t mind my checking the disks out. Now that Oliver is…no longer with the company, the account is mine and I’d like to familiarize myself with it. If it bothers you so much, why don’t you check with Norman yourself?”
Alice’s gaze again flicked to a spot over Eva’s shoulder. “I think I’ll do that.”
“Good,” Adam said. “Since we’ve reached an agreement of sorts, we’ll be on our way then.” His smile held a hint of charm, drawing Eva’s gaze to the cleft in his chin. Little more than a dimple she had once thought added to his nerdiness, she now found it incredibly appealing. “Have a nice weekend, won’t you, Alice?”
Adam wrapped his fingers around Eva’s arm, helped her from between Alice and the desk, then steered her toward the door and out into the hall. His grip was oddly commanding. Eva was thankful for the slight change in his personality, if only for the fact that it got her out from under Alice’s scrutiny.
He let her go the instant they stood in her office. Eva released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.
“Thanks,” she said, brushing a strand of hair back from her face, unsure how she felt about Adam’s casual, though self-assured touch.
“For what?”
She looked at him, searching for some sign that he’d noticed her reaction. He hadn’t. Good. “For helping me out. I didn’t know anyone could handle Alice.”
Adam grimaced. “I wouldn’t say I exactly handled her. I…I happen to like her, that’s all.”
Eva twisted her lips. If he was telling the truth, then he was the sole person in the place who did like the stern, flashy woman. “She obviously likes you, too, Adam.”
She rounded her desk.
“Eva, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
She glanced at him. “Go ahead.”
“How much of you asking me to play the role of your husband has to do with my being, well, a friend of mine says I’m a geek?”
Eva gave him a once-over, choosing her words carefully. Especially considering the curious thoughts she’d had about him just a short time ago. But now that there was a desk between them, and he no longer towered over her, she found it much easier to resist such thoughts. “Geek? Why, Adam, I don’t think you’re a geek.”
Boy, she was going to pay for that whopper. She shrugged off any odd, lingering attraction to him, questioning her own faculties. God didn’t make them any nerdier than Adam Gardner. Sure, he might be a little over six feet tall, and she guessed his hair was golden blond under all that gel he used. And she supposed his eyes were well-lashed and nicely shaped, and his grin the type that might attract attention with that yummy dimple. But Adam Gardner used none of these qualities to his advantage. Instead, they were lost behind his thick glasses, hidden under the hair gel and diminished by his nerdy, sometimes awkward movements and unpolished smiles.
He was the type of man her father would hate on sight.
She tugged her gaze away from him, reminding herself that was exactly the reason she’d chosen him. Still, it wouldn’t do to insult the very person she needed to help her out of this jam.
“What would make you ask such a question?”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “I don’t know. I can’t help wondering why you would ask me to do this for you.” He pushed his glasses up so high Eva was certain his lashes brushed against the lenses when he blinked. Which was often. “Wait a minute. Does this situation require we sleep in the same room?”
Eva nearly choked. The concern was one she’d addressed immediately upon concocting her outlandish plan. “Um, yes, it does, Adam. But don’t worry,” she said quickly, resting her palms against the desk, afraid the prospect of sharing a room would scare him off. “My room at my parents’ house has twin beds. Besides, our charade will only be for public purposes. I wouldn’t expect you to, well, you know….”
“Perform in private?” he asked.
She stiffened and slowly lifted her hands from the desk. Where had that come from? She tensed from head to feet, acutely aware that within the next few hours she would be sharing a room with the man across from her. A man who was awkward and nerdy, yet still a man. A very tall man. With large hands. And the capacity to say things that surprised her…causing a peculiar twinge in her stomach and an inexplicable awareness to hum through her at the most unexpected, inconvenient times.
She pushed her words past her tight throat. “That’s certainly one way to put it.” She looked at her watch, disappointed to find her hand trembling again. “I have to get going so I can pack. What’s your address? I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
WHATEVER HAPPENED this weekend, the assignment ended here.
Adam stood at the curb in front of his West Edison condo, his carryall and briefcase resting at his wing-tip-clad feet. Five minutes ago, he’d had a heated discussion with John Weckworth, who thought it a bad idea for him to go through with Eva Burgess’s bizarre request.
“What if she’s in cahoots with Sheffert?” Weckworth had asked. “What if she’s working with him and they’ve discovered you’re not who you’re supposed to be?”
What if, indeed.
Adam glanced at his watch, then rubbed his freshly shaven chin. It would be wise to keep Weckworth’s words in mind. Especially given the peculiar circumstances surrounding Oliver Pinney’s disappearance.
Weckworth’s questioning of Pinney a month ago had been nothing but an ordinary inquiry. The firm had been in the middle of an open FBI audit and Pinney was in charge of those clients with shady connections to organized crime.
But there had been nothing ordinary about Oliver Pinney’s behavior during the meeting. A weakness a pro like Weckworth knew exactly how to exploit. Two hours after the interview began, Pinney had cracked.
“Sheffert will have me filed away permanently,” the high-strung junior accountant had told Weckworth. “He didn’t think I knew what he was doing. What he was having me do.” Beads of sweat had popped from every pore of Pinney’s pinched face. “He has one of the most sophisticated tax evasion and money laundering operations on the East Coast. It doesn’t matter where the money comes from, give it to him and he’ll have it squeaky clean and tucked neatly away in no time.”
Then Oliver Pinney, the sole witness they had—the only evidence they had—had disappeared. The open audit was immediately closed without prejudice and Adam was sent in undercover.
And now he was embarking on a weekend foray with a woman he barely knew. A woman he hoped held the key to breaking this investigation wide open.
This little stint should be a piece of cake, nothing like other roles he’d played as a midwestern mercenary with a third-grade education and membership in every subversive group this side of the Mississippi. Still, the prospect of playing a paranoid revolutionary was preferable to acting as though he were a member of someone’s family. He’d be the first to admit that having no family of his own had made him a prime candidate for the FBI. He had no weak spots, no vulnerable wife, children, parents or siblings to put at risk.
That fact also ill equipped him for the job ahead.
Adam rolled his bunched shoulders. He’d go along with Eva’s plan, while working on his own agenda. His purpose—to get her to reveal, directly or indirectly, what her boss was up to. And if she was involved in Sheffert’s scheme? The thought bothered him. Well, if she was involved, it wouldn’t be the first time a woman had disappointed him.
“Adam?” a familiar voice said. If only it were the familiar voice he expected. He bit back a curse.
So much for his background not interfering with his job. He was going to have to be more careful from here on out.
Stiffly, he turned to face his last indulgence. “What are you doing here, Julia?” he asked, glancing up the street. It was empty, though he doubted it would be for long. “I didn’t expect you. You should have called.” It wouldn’t do for Eva to see him talking to the red-haired, self-proclaimed bombshell. Especially since Julia had decked herself out for the occasion. He cringed at her red leggings and gold lamé top.
She shrugged off his suggestion. “I really didn’t think a phone call was necessary.” She clutched an empty paper bag in her hands. “I’m just stopping by to pick up my things.”
Adam was almost relieved. Almost. At least Julia didn’t harbor any illusions about them picking up where they’d left off.
In any case, he didn’t have the time to deal with her now. Especially since he’d accidentally washed a couple items of clothing she’d left behind with his. A few pieces clearly marked Dry-Clean Only that now sat in a faded, shrunken mess in a small box in the bedroom closet.
Julia gave him the once-over. “You remind me of a nerd I went to high school with.” She grinned and swung her hair over a freckled shoulder. “I hope I didn’t do that to you.”
Adam nearly chuckled. “I really wish I could help you out, Julia, but I’m just about to leave on a business trip.”
“That’s okay. Just give me the key. I’ll lock up when I’m done.” She waggled her fingers.
Adam weighed his options: either deny Julia and risk having Eva see her and blow his cover, or hand over his keys and hope Julia would understand when she found her ruined clothes.
Damn.
A block up, a black Mercedes turned onto the street. He had no doubt it was Eva. Not the way his luck was running. In fact, he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the gray clouds in the dark sky opened up and drenched him.
He handed over his apartment key.
“Just leave the place the way you found it, okay? And give the key to my next-door neighbor when you’re done,” he grumbled, watching Julia sashay toward the apartment door.
Just let me get out of here without incident.
Eva pulled up to the curb. Aloud click told him she had unlocked the doors. He stowed his things in the back seat. A seat burdened with her attaché, a small tote and a pair of sandals, while clothes hung from a clip above a door window.
Almost there.
He opened the passenger’s door just as he heard the unmistakable sound of an apartment window sliding open. An object whizzed past his ear then landed with a thud behind him.
“What did you do to my things?” Julia cried from the second-story window. “Do you know how much those clothes cost? You’re going to reimburse me every stinking penny, you rat!”
Dodging what looked like one of his best Italian shoes, Adam cursed. He’d hoped he’d have more time before Julia found the box. Wishful thinking.
It began to sprinkle.
He quickly got into the car.
“Don’t you dare go anywhere, you bastard!” Julia cried, sending a handful of clothing sailing through the air.
Adam said hello to Eva then slammed the door. On second thought, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to give Julia free rein over his apartment. Lord knew what he’d find when he got back from Louisiana.
He pushed his glasses up, watching a pair of red silk boxers float down to land on the windshield…directly in front of Eva’s shocked face.
Adam opened the window and snatched the boxers from view. He stuffed the scrap of material into his pocket. Definitely not something a repressed accountant was sure to own.
Eva leaned toward the windshield, flinching when another handful of clothes sailed through the air. “Who’s that?”
“Who’s who?” Adam asked.
Eva stared at him.
“Oh, her. That’s my…neighbor.” Neighbor. Yeah, right. Where had he come up with that one? “She’s upset because her husband stayed at my place last night after an argument.”
“Then those aren’t your things?”
“What? The clothes? No, they’re her husband’s.”
Eva’s gaze dropped to the silk spilling from his pocket.
“He’s going to be surprised when he gets home, huh?” He shoved the boxers farther into his pants pocket. “Nice car. Do they pay you that well at the firm?” The question was meant to distract. He knew her yearly salary down to the last dollar. And she could easily afford the car.
She didn’t rise to the bait.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to show,” he said, trying again.
Finally, Eva’s gaze moved from his pocket to his face. “I was afraid I wasn’t going to show, either,” she said slowly, then shifted the car into Drive. “You changed.”
It took a moment for Adam to realize she meant he’d changed his clothes. She slowly zigzagged through the garments littering the street, then made a turn at the first corner. Adam relaxed slightly. He glanced down at the plain brown slacks and short-sleeved white shirt he had on, nearly not recognizing himself.
“Yes, I thought it would be more comfortable for the drive.”
The farther away from the condo and the vengeful Julia they moved, the more in control Adam felt.
“Drive?” Eva blinked at him. “We’re not driving. We’re flying. Didn’t I tell you?”
He stared at her light green suit. She hadn’t changed, but somehow managed to look as fresh as she had that morning. A sharp contrast to the skintight, racy clothes Julia always wore.
Adam pushed up his glasses, hiding his frown. He’d already worked out that an airplane was out of the question. Not a good idea to let Eva see him checking his pistol at the airport. “No, you didn’t tell me. If you had, I would have told you I can’t fly.”
The suspicion in her eyes deepened. “I don’t understand.”
“I suffer from a severe case of acrophobia.” Adam cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I guess I should have told you, you know, earlier when you asked me to go.”
Eva touched her fingertips to her forehead. “Yes, you should have.”
Adam examined the situation carefully. Better to act contrite. “If it’s too much of an inconvenience, you could take me back home.”
Her worried expression told him she was considering it. Which didn’t work into his plans at all.
“I’ll share responsibility for the driving, if you want,” he said. “We could reach Louisiana by early tomorrow afternoon.”
Eva flicked on her turn signal and pulled into a gas station. He feared she was going to turn around, until she parked next to a pump. She told the attendant to fill the tank.
Adam watched her grimace. “I guess we’re driving then, aren’t we?”
He tried his best to look chagrined.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “We need to brief you on what my parents know about my husband, anyway. This will just give us a little more time to do it.”
“Ex-husband.”
He watched her wince. “Somehow I don’t think I should get used to using that term. At least not this weekend, if you know what I mean. It could cause some problems should I accidentally introduce you as my ex.” She toyed with the clip holding her hair firmly in place. “It also would negate the entire reason I’m taking you with me.”
He nodded and, as an afterthought, secured his seat belt. That’s what geek Adam would have done the instant he got into the car. He suppressed the urge to sink into the soft leather seat. No matter how much he wished he and Eva Burgess were heading for a weekend rendezvous that included little more than that naughty bikini he kept seeing her in, he was still on assignment. And that meant staying in character.
He cursed silently. Figures. He was with the first woman who had looks and an attractive mind and he had to act like the dork from hell. He lay his head against the headrest. How was he ever going to get close enough to break through her icy reserve this way?
Silence reigned after she paid the attendant then drove toward Interstate 95. Rain pelted the windshield and she switched on the wipers, the rhythmic sound enticingly intimate as he breathed in the sophisticated scent radiating from her skin.
He leaned closer to her, stopping a couple inches away from her neck. “What’s the perfume you’re wearing?”
“What?”
Adam slowly lifted his gaze from the alluring curve of her neck. “Your perfume. What’s the name of it?”
She turned to stare at him. Her eyes widened fractionally, apparently in response to finding him so close. “I…I, uh, really don’t see where that’s any concern of yours, Adam. I thought I made it clear that…that I—”
“That you have no interest in getting involved with anyone,” he finished for her. “I know.” He forced himself to draw back. It was enough for now to know he affected her with his nearness. “I’m not asking for personal reasons. Isn’t the name of your perfume something your husband would know?”
“Oh.”
Adam wished it were lighter so he could make out the blush that almost surely colored her creamy skin.
“Normally, yes, I suppose it is something a husband would know,” she said carefully. “It’s Poison.”
He fastened his gaze on the rain-drenched road before them. Poison. Her choice of perfumes was both fitting and frustrating. Fitting in the way that if someone got too close, she wouldn’t hesitate to use the verbal equivalent of venom to get rid of them. Frustrating because the scent was provocative and sensual, two descriptions he would have thought junior partner Eva Burgess would have avoided at all costs.
He cleared his throat. “You said that as though your husband wasn’t exactly…normal.”
With one hand, Eva tried to take off her right earring, softly cursing when she dropped a portion of it. “About my ex…well, he wasn’t institution material, if that’s what you mean. Then again, since I don’t have anyone to compare him with, I can’t exactly say whether Bill was a normal husband or not.”
Adam scrambled to help her find the piece of her earring, figuring it was just the thing Adam-the-geek would do. His hand brushed the back of hers. She instantly pulled away.
“Sorry,” he said quietly.
Her skin was as he had imagined it would be: soft. Almost wickedly so. That didn’t surprise him. What did surprise him was its warmth. He’d imagined Eva’s chilly disposition would stretch to her skin. The contrast intrigued him, as well as made him wary. Who would have guessed nippy, professional Eva Burgess’s skin would be hot to the touch? Until now, he had imagined the many ways he could thaw her. He swallowed hard, realizing it might not be a matter of thawing her at all, but instead finding the perfect way to coax out her inner fire. To let it burn out of control and consume them both.
Eva Burgess’s husband was institution material for leaving her.
Adam shifted, suddenly uneasy in the comfortable seat. He reminded himself he knew next to nothing about the woman sitting beside him. And despite his brief forays into a fantasy world that made his assignment a little less dull, this was an assignment. He’d be better off if he kept that clearly in mind. A mutual…coming together with Eva was agreeable, but beyond that he had no room in his plans—personal or professional—for a serious relationship. Certainly not one where the word spouse was included.
“So is that to be my name for the weekend? Bill?” he asked, clearing his throat. He sought and found the small gold backing in the carpet. He picked it up. “Here.”
Without looking at him, she held out her hand, palm up. “Yes. My husband’s…ex-husband’s name is William Burgess. Bill to his friends.”
Adam couldn’t resist brushing his fingertips against the sensitive skin of her palm. He could have sworn she shivered as she closed her fingers around the backing and drew her hand away.
“Does he have many?” he asked. “Friends, I mean?”
The headlights of an oncoming car illuminated her strained features. “I once thought I was one. His best, if you want the truth. Now, well, I guess I was wrong.” Eva said the last sentence so quietly, Adam wondered if he’d heard it at all.
She tightened her hands on the steering wheel. “Anyway, yes, Bill has many friends. Comes with the job, he told me.” She glanced in Adam’s direction. “He’s a broker.”
“A stockbroker?” He’d focused his investigative skills on a few brokers in the past. At least he’d know how to emulate one.
“Yes. He commuted from Edison to New York.”
The rain started coming down in thick sheets and Eva switched on the brights. Adam stared out at the soggy onslaught. So his identity was to be Bill Burgess, stockbroker from New York, husband to Eva Burgess, who wore Poison. What was it like to be married to Eva? Not the junior partner of an accounting firm, but the woman? Adam found her face pale and tight as she concentrated on driving in the late-summer storm.
“Do you want me to take over?” he asked as she slowed.
She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. But I don’t think I’m going to be very good company for a while. At least not until we get out of this storm.” She gestured toward his door. “The seat tilts back. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? We’ll trade spots sometime around three.”
Three. As in 3:00 a.m. Adam frowned. It had been a long time since he’d taken a road trip. He toyed with the buttons on his door panel until he got his chair where he wanted it. Then he lay back at a stiff angle, in a way consistent with his role. He noticed Eva’s small, secret smile as she stole a glance at him.
Adam bit back a curse. Somehow this wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined their first date.
FOUR AND A HALF HOURS later, the car slowed. Through narrowed lids, Adam watched Eva pull onto the shoulder of the Virginia highway. She flicked on the hazards and shoved open her door, racing through the steady rain toward the weeds at the side of the road. Adam sat up and watched her double over, her silhouette little more than a blur through the torrential downpour. Frowning, he snapped open the glove compartment. He took out a box of tissues, then sifted through the rest of the items. A brush, a couple of toll stubs and parking permits.
Eva climbed back into the car. Adam shut the compartment then handed her a wad of tissues.
“Looks like you and cars get along about as well as me and planes,” he murmured.
If she’d been pale earlier, now she was downright white. The rain had loosened strands of hair from her French twist and they hung in wet silken threads around her damp face. She pushed them back. It was something Adam found himself wanting to do.
Her gaze darted to the rearview mirror as she slammed her door shut. “I guess the stress of all that’s happened today just caught up with me.”
He began to hand her fresh tissues, then changed his mind and gently eased the box into her shaking hands. Why did he have the unsettling feeling stress wasn’t behind Eva’s quick trip to the side of the road?
“I saw a sign indicating a rest area coming up,” he said. “Why don’t you let me drive there and we’ll get something to settle your stomach?”
She blinked at him. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“No. I can’t sleep around strangers. I’m too afraid I’ll do something embarrassing, like get caught drooling or something.” He reached for the door handle, relieved when she didn’t try to stop him. By the time he rounded the driver’s side, he was soaked. He cleaned off his rain-speckled glasses, then adjusted the seat and started off again.
Within minutes, he was waiting in the atrium outside the ladies’ room for Eva to come out. It was 1:00 a.m. and the restaurants the rest area boasted were closed. Plateglass windows faced the parking area and he stared through the rain at where another car pulled up.
“Sorry I took so long,” Eva said, rejoining him. “Let’s go.”
“Whoa.” Adam lay a hand against her arm. “I think your body could do with a little rest. Why don’t we get some coffee or something?” he said, gesturing at a row of vending machines.
“Coffee?”
Adam’s gaze swept her face, finding the color had returned to her cheeks, a reassuring sign even if her eyes were a little too bright. She’d released her hair from its usual restraints. It surprised him with its silken length, stretching down her back in dark, thick tangles. He’d pegged her as the conservative type who wouldn’t let her hair grow past her shoulders.
First the heat of her skin…now the length of her hair.
So far he was zero for two on the assumptions he’d made about Eva Burgess. Zero for three if you counted her bizarre request that he play her husband for the weekend.
“I suppose I could do with a little decaf,” she said softly.
She dug in her purse for change, but he slid his own coins into the metal slot and gestured for her to make her selection.
“Thanks.” She poked the buttons for decaf, no cream, no sugar.
Her cup landed sideways in the slot, the coffee streaming off the side in a wide arc that nearly hit her green skirt.
“Figures,” Eva murmured.
“Here, let me try,” Adam said, pushing up his glasses. “Machines and I speak the same language.”
Moments later, he handed her a fresh, intact cup, and she thanked him again.
He made his selection. Extra strong with plenty of sugar and cream. The cup slid down…sideways. The coffee sprayed the knees of his brown slacks. Eva laughed.
“Looks like a breakdown in communication,” she said. “Here, why don’t we just share mine? I can’t drink it all, anyway. I mean, if you don’t mind it without sugar and cream.”
He glanced at her, the prospect of sharing something as innocuous as a cup of coffee with Eva striking him as somehow intimate. He finished mopping his pants with paper towels and motioned to a wood-backed bench near the doors. For long moments they sat there staring at the rain. She took a sip of the coffee, then handed it to him.
He purposely hesitated. Would a nerd so easily drink from the same cup as a stranger? “Are you sure whatever you got isn’t contagious?”
She smiled softly. “Believe me, what I have, you can’t catch.” She flicked a damp strand of hair over her shoulder. “Sorry about that. I usually don’t get carsick.”
He eyed her carefully, finding her nearly as nervous as she’d been in his office that afternoon. She smoothed out her skirt repeatedly and kept crossing and uncrossing those marvelous legs of hers.
“Has it been a while since you’ve visited your parents?” he asked.
“A little over a year.” Her gaze fastened on his mouth, then skittered away. “I usually get back more often, but this year’s been rough.” Her expression darkened, then she looked up. “I mean, it’s been especially hectic at the office.”
“Oh?” Adam doubted work was what had been on her mind. But work was exactly what he wanted to talk about. “It’s been busy?”
“Not so much busy,” she said, taking the cup back. “It’s been more or less problems with personnel.” She gestured toward him. “Take the guy you replaced.”
“Oliver Pinney?”
A frown drew her feathery eyebrows together. “Yes. About a month ago during an audit, he just…disappeared.” She looked away. “Well, not exactly disappeared without a trace, really. He left a typed resignation that was effective immediately.” She looked down at her wet shoes. “I don’t know, maybe it wouldn’t strike me as being so odd, except shortly before he left, he’d been acting…I guess anxious is the word I’m looking for.”
“How so?”
Whatever lipstick she’d had on earlier was gone. Adam found the natural color almost unbearably appealing. The two, tiny peaks at the top of her upper lip were perfectly defined, her lower lip a little fuller, her teeth white and smooth.
She took a small sip of coffee, apparently aware of his attention as she offered a shaky smile.
“I don’t know, really. Whenever I talked to him, it was as though he really didn’t hear me. I can’t count the times I had to repeat myself.” She skimmed her manicured, clear-polished nails against the length of the paper cup. “Word has it he and Norman had a falling-out last February, so maybe that was the cause of his anxiety.”
Adam had caught wind of the rumor himself. But aside from raised voices coming from inside Norman Sheffert’s office, no one had any idea what the disagreement was about. Given Pinney’s subsequent questioning by Weckworth, Adam didn’t have to wonder about the cause. He knew. Pinney had caught on to Sheffert’s illegal dealings and must have confronted his boss with them.
“How long have you been at the firm?” Adam asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Six years.” Eva raked her thick, glossy hair back from her face. “I came in as an intern after graduating from Rutgers and have been there ever since.”
He was right. She had been away from Louisiana for a while.
“You and Sheffert get along well?”
Her eyes narrowed. Adam warned himself against sounding too un-geeklike. Especially so soon after the Julia episode. He pushed up his glasses for good measure. It seemed to do the trick.
“Yes, I suppose you could say Norman and I get along okay.”
He cleared his throat and held out his hand for the cup. She gave it to him. “What about Norman and Oliver? Did they have a good work relationship? I mean, before the argument?”
She shrugged her slender shoulders and unbuttoned her blazer. “I guess. I never paid much attention.” She opened her jacket. “Why all the questions?”
Adam managed a shrug. “Just curious.”
Silently, he cursed. The sight of her white blouse plastered against what appeared to be a very lacy bra threatened to wipe all thought from his mind. All thought, that is, except how he’d like to explore the supple curve of her breasts. To draw the tips into his mouth and watch her melt with pleasure.
He caught the curious shadow in her eyes and decided now wasn’t the time to pursue any more questions…or the other thoughts he had in mind. He’d have to earn her trust first. He sipped the coffee, looking out the window. Why did he have the sinking feeling that getting Eva to trust him wasn’t going to be easy?
“Who’s that?”
Adam jerked to find her staring out the window. “Who’s who?”
“That man looking in my car.”
Adam thrust the cup at her and leaped from the seat. Through the pouring rain, he vaguely made out a figure bending near the driver’s side of the Mercedes.
“Did you lock the car?”
He had his answer when the man opened the door.
Adam cursed under his breath and rushed toward the double glass doors. He snatched off his glasses and bolted into the rain, Eva on his heels, as he thundered toward the car and the guy rummaging around inside. Damn, what did he think he was doing? He couldn’t act the renegade when the most exercise Eva would expect from him were trips between his desk and the coffee machine. If he yanked the man out by the collar and interrogated him, it would surely make Eva more suspicious than ever.
The would-be thief spotted him, climbed from the car and ran in the opposite direction. While Adam could probably catch him, doing so was not a good idea.
Thinking fast, Adam feigned a stumble on the slick pavement. Eva slammed into his backside. He instantly turned to steady her, and she grabbed on to his arms to balance him. The quick movements put her lush body flat against the length of his. Her full, firm breasts pressed against his chest, her hips rested flush against his. She gave a small gasp that induced a similar arousing reaction in him. The fantasies he’d been entertaining about her all day surged back tenfold. Eva Burgess firmly crowded against him and the ineffectual way she tried to free herself did unwelcome, interesting things to his libido.
Adam’s gaze dropped to her damp, berry-colored lips to find them slightly, enticingly parted. He groaned, filled with an incredible urge to kiss her. To sample the taste of that generous mouth. To see how her own unique flavor mingled with the wetness of the rain. He slowly inched his lips nearer to hers…then drew to a stop. Where were his glasses?
Eva went completely still, staring at him. Shock colored her appealing features as her gaze probed him from forehead to chin, lingering on his mouth mere inches away from hers. Her fingers tightened on his upper arms, as if exploring the muscles concealed beneath his shapeless shirt.
Oh, hell, I should have just gone for the guy and taken my chances, Adam thought. Better than having Eva figure out he wasn’t the man he pretended because he’d kissed her. Even if it meant missing out on the taste of her lips.
“I’m so sorry,” he said in a tight, geeklike manner, thrusting her away from him. “I’ve never been so embarrassed.”
The move wiped the alert expression right off her face.
The thief was running toward the other side of the lot, a bright yellow rain slicker with a hood concealing his features. He looked about as experienced as a ten-year-old. Adam grimaced. He’d nearly blown his cover over some moron probably looking for change for the coffee machine.
“Are you all right?” Eva asked, straightening her jacket.
Adam kept his face averted.
“Fine…I’m fine,” he said, watching a late-model Ford race from the far end of the lot and onto the interstate. Damn.
“You broke your glasses.”
Adam looked to where he had dropped his eyeglasses. He picked them up to find an earpiece had snapped away cleanly.
“What did you think you were doing, running after him like that?” Eva asked, the beam of a streetlight bathing her in yellow.
Adam wanted to grin. What a picture they made. The two of them, drenched to the skin, Eva lecturing him.
She blinked at him, a frown on her alluring face. “You do have an extra pair of glasses, don’t you?”
“No…I didn’t think to bring them with me.”
He followed her to the Mercedes.
“Did he take anything?” he asked, glancing around the dark interior.
Eva flicked on the dome light and shifted to look in the back seat.
“I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so.”
Her attaché sat cockeyed on the seat, but was still closed, and his overnight bag had been opened, but was otherwise still intact.
That was no traveler looking for small change.
Adam stared in the direction the dark-colored Ford had gone. He’d like to have had a little one-on-one with the driver about what he’d been after. Adam’s gut instincts told him the guy had been more than a simple thief.
“I think we should report it to the highway patrol,” he said quietly.
She thought about it, looking first at the digital clock on the dash then out into the rain. “What’s the point? It doesn’t look like anything’s missing. Besides, since we’re driving, we’re already way behind the schedule I gave my mother.”
She switched off the overhead light and he squinted at her. In his goal to get her to trust him, he would have to demonstrate his trust in her and her judgment. That meant letting the Ford get away.
Eva seemed nervous. Which seemed right, considering she’d just had her car broken into. But somehow Adam didn’t think that’s what caused the wrinkle between her dark, soft eyebrows. Was it the prospect of talking to her mother? If so, why? Because her father was ill? Or did Eva Burgess know how to deal with everyone except her parents?
Interesting thought.
Not that he had firsthand experience with child-parent relationships. Raised by a foster family—who’d had their hands full with eight other parentless children—Adam had more or less charted his own, solitary course. What did it feel like to have family obligations? He didn’t know, but judging by Eva’s anxiety, he guessed it wasn’t all peaches and cream.
He grimaced.
“What’s the matter?” Eva asked quietly.
“Matter? Why would anything be the matter?”
“You frowned just now. Are you sure not going to the highway patrol is all right with you?”
“I’m positive. I’ve caused enough trouble by making us drive down, Eva. I don’t want to be responsible for any more.”
She reached out and laid her hand on his forearm, sparking all sorts of emotions that had nothing to do with naughty string bikinis or boats. “You haven’t caused any trouble, Adam.” She increased the pressure of her fingers against his skin. Again he was struck by the heat she radiated. “Everything considered, I think you’re doing wonderfully.” Her smile was sweet, reminding him he hadn’t even noticed that the coffee they’d shared in the rest shelter had been black. “You’re in a situation you didn’t ask to be stuck in.”
God, he was really coming to hate this geek stuff. “I’d offer to drive, but…”
“Oh, God, your glasses,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Why? You didn’t break them. I did.”
“Yes, but if I had locked the car that guy wouldn’t have gotten inside, and you would never have run after him.” She frowned. “Why did you run after him, anyway?”
There it was. The suspicion he’d dreaded. Good thing he hadn’t turned the thief into a hood ornament. He was pretty sure that little move would have put him on the first bus home. “Instinct, I guess. I don’t have any idea what I would have done if I’d caught up with him.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then smiled. “Thanks for the gesture, anyway. It’s been a long time since someone did something brave on my behalf. I’d forgotten what it felt like.”
He raked his hair into place and squinted, pretending he was lost without his glasses, though his vision was twenty-twenty. His accuracy at the firing range proved that. “Yes, I’d say almost falling flat on my butt qualifies me for hero status.”
Her laugh rang low and enchanting as she backed the car out of the parking spot. “At least you tried. Alot of men I know wouldn’t have done more than yell out, ‘Hey you!’ and expect the guy to freeze in his tracks.”
His gaze roamed over her smiling face, then fastened on her wistful green eyes. “Are we talking about your husband again?”
Her smile vanished and everything about her tensed.
“Ex-husband,” she said as she pulled back into the light highway traffic. “Maybe we can stop at one of those one-hour glasses places in the morning.”
The pain in her eyes at the mention of her ex struck him in a way he was unprepared for. She looked abandoned. Alone. A long-buried part of Adam responded. He couldn’t resist touching her hand where it lay against the steering wheel, no matter how unaccountably bold the action was.
“I shouldn’t have brought him up,” he said quietly.
She stared at where his hand lay against hers. Her throat contracted as she swallowed and he felt an answering twinge low in his stomach. Surprisingly, she didn’t try to shake off his hand. In fact, she almost seemed to welcome the gesture.
“No problem,” she said softly. “That’s the reason you’re on this trip anyway, right?”
He reluctantly removed his hand from hers. “Right.”
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Eva rushed around the rest-area ladies’ room, a few minutes and a couple miles separating her from a family reunion that included her husband. Correction, a reunion that included the man acting as her husband.
Groaning, she gathered her cosmetics from where she had scattered them across the counter and shoved them into her overnight bag. A woman stepped next to her. Eva stared at her wristwatch. God, was it really four-thirty in the afternoon already? She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her mouth, trying not to notice the exhausted circles under her eyes from having been on the road for the past twenty hours straight.
She drew in a deep breath and prayed she could pull this off.
She emerged from the exterior door and a thick wave of heat crashed over her. She always forgot how swelteringly hot it got down here. She glanced toward the car to find Adam leaning against the front grille. The day was overcast and hazy, but there was no evidence of the deluge that had plagued them almost the entire trip down. Adam’s face was drawn into stern lines as he watched the cars driving in and out of the parking area.
“Adam?” Eva asked.
He snapped instantly to attention. “Hi. Are you ready?”
Eva felt a pang of amusement. Somewhere in Tennessee he’d emerged from a service station with his glasses taped back together with gray duct tape. Gray duct tape, for God’s sake. Did every nerd on earth know where to get a supply? Her anxiety momentarily forgotten, she watched him wipe the spot on the car he’d leaned against and told herself this ruse was going to work. Actually, it was going to go better than she hoped. There wasn’t a chance her brash, hard-as-nails father would get along with the unassertive man before her. She could see it now: her father demanding she get rid of him, her refusing, then telling him after she returned to Jersey that she was getting divorced.
Eva worried her bottom lip. That’s if she had the time to pull off such a plan. It depended on how sick her father was.
She rounded the car and popped open the trunk, stuffing her things inside.
“Eva, I…I like your dress.”
She swiveled to find Adam standing directly behind her. She was struck again by how very tall he was and how very…wide. He smiled and the dimple in his chin winked at her. She was filled with a momentary desire to slip the tip of her finger into that cleft, then run that fingertip along the edge of his jawline, tracing a path down to his smooth-skinned neck….
Instead she cleared her throat and glanced down at the peasant-style dress she wore.
“Yes, well, it’s not exactly office attire, but it’s what my parents would expect me to wear.” What her father would want her to wear. She slammed the trunk closed along with her runaway thoughts. “Speaking of my parents, we’re late.”
Adam wrapped his fingers around hers, the burst of heat his touch caused making the day seem cool in comparison. “Here, why don’t you let me drive the rest of the way.”
He pried the keys from her fingers. “All right.”
She stared at him a moment. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something about Adam that didn’t add up. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he did something that threw her, something that didn’t seem in character with the nerdy, shy guy she was coming to like. Something that set off warning bells in her head and caused awareness to curl through her.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’m so nervous that if we don’t do this quick, I’ll be tempted to call off the whole deal and go back to New Jersey.”
She grinned. She was being ridiculous, of course. Her occasional reactions to Adam as a man were little more than hormones run amok. Adam was exactly what he appeared to be: a nice guy who posed no emotional threat to her whatsoever. More brother than lover material.
“You’re right. Let’s get this over with,” she said, heading for the driver’s side.
Adam caught her wrist. “You’re over there.”
“Oh. That’s right.”
They climbed into the car and Adam started the engine.
“Should we stop somewhere for a quick bite first?” Adam backed the car up.
“Bite?” Eva shuddered, the mere mention of food sending her stomach hurtling into her throat. She’d had a difficult time forcing down plain toast and tea earlier that morning.
“Aren’t you hungry? I haven’t seen you eat a whole heck of a lot since we got under way last night.”
“No, I’m not.” She shoved her hair back from her face, wishing she’d had time to do something with it. “Anyway, I’m sure Yaya—that’s my grandmother—will have something for us at the house. Whether we’re hungry or not.”
Adam slid a glance her way. “Ah, I see. You and the car still aren’t getting along very well.”
“The car and I are getting along just fine, thank you. Besides, I don’t think car sickness is exactly what I suffered from last night. I might have a twenty-four-hour stomach flu or something.”
Liar. Eva shrugged off the uneasiness clinging to her.
“I like your hair down.”
She jerked to stare at him. “What?”
“I said I like your hair down. You always wear it up at work. It looks nice down, loose.”
His gaze seemed oddly provocative.
“Thanks.” She threaded her fingers through the soft strands. “Now, this is the last chance we have to get the details about my ex down for my family.”
“Right.”
“Tell me what you’ve got so far.”
Adam tugged at his collar. “You mean aside from the fact that he’s an idiot for having left you?”
Eva was unsure how to take his comment. “We’re talking about the time before he left.”
“Right,” he said again. “Well, then, my name is William Burgess, Bill to my friends. I’m a stockbroker who commutes from my home in Edison, New Jersey, to New York.” He glanced at her. “Do I take the bus or drive?”
“Drive.”
“Isn’t that expensive?” he asked.
Yes, it was expensive, considering the parking costs in Manhattan. Bill’s insistence on driving his new BMW to work had been the source of plenty of arguments. Though she realized it wasn’t the car but the man and his values she objected to.
“That doesn’t matter. Actually, the question is moot, because my parents wouldn’t know whether he drove or not.”
His frown was apparent. “What do they know about him?”
“Not much, other than I worked on one of Bill’s accounts, we became friends, then were married last year by a judge.”
“You were friends first?”
Eva waved, uneasy with her slip. She didn’t like admitting that she’d made the grave error of thinking that since she and Bill had gotten along so well, theirs would be a worry-free union. A comfortable one. A stable one. An easy-to-walk-away-from one.
“Yes, but just tell them we dated. They only spoke once for a few minutes on the phone, but I doubt they’d remember the sound of Bill’s voice. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about emulating Bill exactly. I have something else in mind.”
He was looking in the rearview mirror. “What about your family? Shouldn’t I know something about them?”
“Turn here,” she said quickly, realizing they were near her family home. She searched for signs of change in the tall, pale-wooded cypresses and Spanish moss-nblanketed live oaks that pressed in on the narrow two-lane road. There was none. It wasn’t the lush green landscape that had changed. She had.
“About my father…he’s, uh, from Greece. Immigrated here when he was a teenager. He’ll lapse into Greek sometimes, but don’t worry about it. He doesn’t do it to be rude.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but Adam didn’t have to know that.
He quirked an eyebrow, raising it above the rim of his glasses. “Your mother?”
“She’s Greek-American, born here. Yaya is her mother.”
“I see.”
“My father has a seafood company, Mavros Seafood. Oysters, mostly, but he does harvest some crabs and crawfish. I have a brother, Pete, and a horde of other relatives. Don’t worry, you probably won’t see them. Not if my father is as sick as I think he is.”
She directed him to turn again. “It’s the last house on the lane,” she said, drawing a deep breath.
“One more thing, Eva,” Adam said. “Is there any special way you want me to act? What I mean is, did Bill do anything like…” His gaze shifted away. “Like hold your hand, or something, when you were around people….”
Eva managed a smile. “No. I just want you to act like yourself, Adam. That should work out fine.”
ADAM CLIMBED from the car, looking at the road they had turned off of. Ever since the incident at the rest area, he’d been keeping an eye out for the Ford, unable to shake the feeling that something more than petty theft had been going on back there. He frowned. Unfortunately, it appeared half the population owned dark-colored Fords.
He turned toward the sprawling villa-like structure before him. His gaze shifted from the red-tiled roof, the cool, white stucco walls, curved window arches and the sweeping front porch complete with columns. The lush yard was dotted with cypress trees and a huge, dripping willow with a swing hanging from one of the branches. Adam found his surroundings an interesting mix of the Mediterranean and the tropics smack-dab in the middle of the bayous of Louisiana. He closed the car door, shifting his gaze to Eva who stood smoothing the skirt of her dress.
“Are you okay?” he asked, rounding the car. He touched her forearm, his fingers fitting nicely around the slender limb.
Her eyes held a faraway look. “I’m fine. Just a little nervous, is all.”
Hell, if he was just about to enter his family’s house with a complete stranger pretending to be his significant other, he’d be a little nervous, too.
“Should we go inside?” he suggested.
“Yes, right. Inside.” She glanced down at where his hand still rested on her arm. He started to withdraw it when she grabbed his fingers. “Oh, God, the rings.”
She opened her purse and took out a small velvet pouch. Emptying the contents into her palm, she slipped a plain silver band on, then took his left hand in hers. She tried to ease the other, larger band onto his ring finger. The feel of her touching him, even for this innocuous purpose, ignited awareness wherever her fingers brushed his. She pushed the ring up to the second knuckle, but it refused to budge farther. He felt marginally relieved. Wearing a wedding ring for any reason didn’t sit well with him.
“I don’t understand. It fit Bill and you two are about the same height,” she said half to herself.
“This is the real deal?” he asked, staring at the simple piece of jewelry. The guy had given up his wedding ring? He was coming to like Bill Burgess less and less.
Eva nodded and stared at his hand for a moment longer, then tugged the ring back off. “Never mind. I think I told my mother about the rings when we…when Bill and I got married, but if anyone asks, we’ll just say you lost yours.”
She swiftly moved her hands away from his. Adam couldn’t help wondering if she felt the same hot thrill he did whenever they touched.
“We could always say I gained weight and we haven’t had a chance to get the ring enlarged yet.”
Eva lifted her gaze to his and smiled softly. “Yes. I like that idea better.”
She turned away from him and started for the door.
Adam joined her on the porch. He pushed up his glasses and tugged on the tight collar of his shirt. Was it him, or had the already sweltering temperature nudged up a couple degrees? How was it that he felt more nervous facing a family than he’d ever felt infiltrating armed-to-the-teeth militia groups? “You know, I’m still not exactly clear on how you want me to act—”
The door opened inward before Eva could touch the handle. Adam stared at a short, round woman who smiled warmly.
“Eva!”
Adam frowned. She’d said the name with a short E instead of the long E he and everyone else used. He turned the new pronunciation over in his mind, liking the sound of it.
“Mama.” Eva hugged the woman tightly, then drew slightly away. “How’s Papa?”
“Come in, come in, and see for yourself.”
Eva hesitated. “Mama, I’d like to introduce my…husband.”
Adam squared his shoulders and looked at Eva. He questioned the wisdom of something he’d had in mind ever since she told him to be himself. At any rate, there was nothing much she could do about it now, was there?
He stepped forward and thrust a hand forward. “Hello, Mrs. Mavros. I’m Adam.”
‘’ADAM?” Eva’s mother repeated, an I’m-sure-I-misheard-you expression creasing her face.
Eva wanted to die. Right then. Right there. Everything would be perfect if she could keel over now and never have to explain what she had done…what she was doing.
“Actually, it’s William Adam,” Adam said, digging a deeper hole, Eva was sure. A gigantic hole. A hole that would open up and swallow them whole any second. “Most people call me Bill, but I personally prefer Adam.”
Eva stared at him, wondering if he’d broken more than his glasses back at that rest area in Virginia. She took in her mother’s curious expression. Not much got past Katina Mavros.
That was it. The plan was foiled even before it got off the ground.
“Adam,” her mother repeated, trying out the name and visually taking in the man on her front porch. “Yes, yes, Adam.” Her dark eyes sparkled at Eva. “I prefer it, too.”
Adam and Eve. Eva rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to hear her mother say it aloud. The smile on her face said it all.
“Come in, come in.” Katina Mavros warmly hugged him, then kissed him on both cheeks. “Welcome to the family, Adam.”
She grasped his arm and practically dragged him inside the foyer, giving Eva a second to gather her scattered wits. Now she knew why she’d taken accounting in college rather than acting: she couldn’t play a role to save her life. Obviously, neither could Adam even if he had fooled her mother.
This was all one huge, misguided mistake.
Dragging in a deep breath, Eva lay a hand against her stomach. She reminded herself that what she was doing wasn’t entirely selfish. Besides, if she was right and her father was as ill as her mother had told her, this might be the last chance she had to try to make things right between them.
She closed the door behind herself, then moved toward the living room, where she was sure her mother had taken Adam. She froze at the sound of a familiar voice. A familiar, very robust voice that was saying something to her mother.
Eva entered the room to find Apostole Mavros looking much the same as the last time she’d seen him. Maybe even a little better, a weather-roughened cross between Marlon Brando and Anthony Quinn. His gaze met hers and his green eyes softened briefly. It was a moment Eva wished she could multiply and fill their entire strained relationship with. If not for her sake, for—
“Tolly,” her mother reprimanded. “Is that any way to greet your son-in-law? Where are your manners?”
Recovering her own manners, Eva kissed her father’s left cheek, then his right, then offered him her right cheek. She feared he was going to refuse returning the traditional greeting, then his dry lips brushed her cheek like a bayou breeze. She relaxed slightly.
“Hello, Papa.” Eva moved back a couple steps. “How are you feeling?”
“Feeling?” he repeated, his ruggedly handsome face lined with a frown. “How should I be feeling?” He turned and slowly paced away, then returned, looking as surprised and confused as she felt. “My daughter comes home after not having visited for over a year, with no warning, telling me…” He gestured toward Adam who stood near the doorway. “Telling me this is the husband she married a year ago. A man we don’t even know.” He looked oddly sad, despite the small tinge of anger to his words. “How should I be feeling, Eva?”
With no warning? Eva sought her mother’s gaze. Katina looked altogether too guilty.
Eva went still, a sick feeling settling into her stomach. She realized her own attempt at deception had placed her in the middle of another.
“You’re not sick?” Eva turned back to her father.
“Sick?” her father said, repeating her words. “Why? Is this something you wish?”
“Of course he’s not sick.” Her mother rushed to Eva’s side and whispered, “We’ll talk about it later,” before offering a louder, “What would make you think such a thing?” Katina Mavros stared at Eva meaningfully and took her arm. “You must be tired after your long trip. Why don’t you and…Adam wash up before dinner?”
“Adam?” Her father repeated, eyeing the man standing in his living room.
Eva darted a glance in her “husband’s” direction. She nearly groaned when Adam stepped awkwardly forward. She wanted to tell him no, not to offer his hand, but she was too late. Adam already had his arm out.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mavros. Eva has told me a lot about you.”
Her father was silent, staring at the proffered hand Eva knew he would refuse to shake. Tolly Mavros was a man whose passions ran deep. Eva had seen him laugh more heartily than any person she’d ever known. She also knew he could be equally brusque when he was upset about something. And he was definitely upset.
Her father scratched his chin, looking Adam up and down. “What do you have in your hair that it looks so…sticky?”
“Sticky?” Adam repeated. “Oh, you must mean the gel. It’s something I use to style my hair.”
Tolly Mavros’s stare was unwavering as he nodded his head.
Eva was glad her father didn’t say anything more. Like make some fish-oil comparison or something else equally mortifying.
Funny, she’d never thought of Adam as genuine husband material, but now she couldn’t help wanting to defend him as a wife should. That was good considering her short-term plan. Bad because her long-term one didn’t include ever marrying again.
Adam dropped his hand and her father started from the room. He stopped halfway to the door, glanced at Eva, then at Adam, hmmphed and left.
Eva frowned. Patching things up with her father wouldn’t be as easy as she had hoped. She supposed part of the reason was that their problems went back farther than her marriage. Much farther. Back to when she’d returned from college to find her accounting degree meant nothing to him. He had fully expected her to marry and bear him a dozen grandchildren. She shivered. After one month, she’d turned tail and run back to Jersey, where a few years later she had married someone she’d thought respected her for her mind, not for the birthing size of her hips.
Eva’s mother waved her hand in the direction of the door. “Leave him be. He’s not in a good mood today.”
“He’s never in a good mood.”
Her mother raised her eyebrows and Eva tried to look a little repentant.
Unlike the strained relationship she shared with her father, she and her mother had kept close. In fact, it was likely as a result of that close relationship that Eva found herself in the middle of the bizarre situation she was in right now. She wanted to groan. She knew the instant she let it slip to her mother that she and Bill were having problems, she’d live to regret it.
Eva cringed to think what else her mother had planned.
“Mama, tell me right now what’s going on,” she said.
True to form, her mother ignored her first appeal. “Come now, and wash up. Everyone is waiting to see you and your husband.”
“I’m not moving an inch until you do some explaining, Mama.”
Her mother looked exasperated. She glanced at Adam before returning her attention to Eva. “Okay, okay, so I told a little white lie to get you down here. Is that so bad? You’re here now, aren’t you? And your father’s not sick. Of that you should at least be glad.”
“I am, Mama, but that’s not the point.”
“No, it isn’t, is it?” Katina Mavros’s sly smile made Eva even more uncomfortable with the game she was playing. “Now go on. I’m sure your husband would like to clean up after that long drive.” Eva didn’t budge. “Go on, go on. We’ll talk later.”
Katina smiled at Adam and he returned the gesture. Eva’s gaze riveted on his mouth. Wide and generous and altogether too appealing. She’d caught a glimpse of that same smile when he’d turned it on Alice at work. But she’d been sure she was imagining things. Nerds weren’t nerds only when they wanted to be. Still, that thought didn’t stop her from finding him somehow rakishly handsome when he smiled.
He turned to her and Eva felt something warm burst through her. Then the smile disappeared and he pushed up his glasses. The ones with the duct tape still holding the earpiece in place.
Suddenly, her mother’s words finally registered. “Everyone? What do you mean everyone?”
Katina ushered her toward the steps. “You go upstairs. Adam can wash up downstairs.”
“Mama,” Eva warned.
“Well, go on. I swear, sometimes you can be as stubborn as your father.”
Eva met Adam’s gaze and he nodded toward the stairs, indicating she should go. She experienced a major attack of guilt for getting him into this mess. For Pete’s sake, she was beginning to regret getting herself into it. But Adam appeared to be anything but a flailing fish out of water. She pushed her hair back from her face. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she’d think her parents’ actions had amused him.
She gave herself a mental shake. That’s ridiculous. He’s probably just in shock, that’s all. At her mother’s urging, she turned toward the stairs. That’s it. Adam Gardner is so surprised he doesn’t know how to react. But even as she hurried upstairs, she couldn’t help thinking Adam had looked too calm. Too in control. He hadn’t even blinked when her father had refused to shake his hand. He’d merely dropped his arm, his smile in place.
Few people could do that with style.
In the upstairs bathroom, Eva splashed her face with cold water. Just being in the large, five-bedroom, two-story home filled to the brim with Greek keepsakes and fishing memorabilia made her wish she lived nearby. She missed everyone terribly. An emotion all too easy to push aside in Jersey, but impossible to deny here. Despite everything, her roots were firmly planted in the damp, rich Louisiana soil. She’d even missed the sultry air that added a touch of thick expectation…suspense. As if there was no way something exciting couldn’t happen in its own sweet time. That all she had to do was sit back and patiently wait for it. The way it felt in Jersey when a thunderstorm was brewing.
Curiously the comparison made her think of Adam. She vividly remembered how he’d looked in Virginia at the rest area, without his glasses, his hair mussed and sexy, his body hard and lean under her hands. The combination had caused a deep rumble within her—a rumble she could easily compare to distant thunder.
Abruptly, she pushed away the curiously provocative thought. Instead, she considered her options now that she knew her mother had tricked her into coming home.
She could leave. Since her father wasn’t ill, she could grab Adam by the front of his geeky shirt, make some excuse about having a work emergency in Jersey and offer her farewells. She grimaced. What emergency could possibly exist in the life of an accountant? If one of her clients found themselves in any kind of trouble before or on Labor Day, they would call their lawyers, not her.
She was stuck. At least for tonight. Besides, she didn’t think she could survive another twenty-hour drive without some major sleep first anyway. Tomorrow, however, offered all sorts of opportunities to come up with an excuse to get back on the road. Besides, she’d promised Adam that they would spend no more than a day here. Surely he would balk if they stayed longer.
She gave her dark hair a final check, then smoothed her dress, making sure there wasn’t a single thing out of place. She hadn’t come to face her father’s scrutiny. No. She was here to put Adam—her “husband”—in that particular spotlight.
She stepped into the hall and hesitated at the top of the stairs. The sound of gregarious voices and laughter drifted up to her. The “everyone” her mother mentioned earlier must mean the entire Mavros family. And dinner wasn’t going to be a quiet affair, but a celebration of sorts to welcome back the prodigal daughter and her husband.
Husband.
Oh God, she’d left Adam to fend for himself. At this point, he was probably ready to rush for the door. Eva started down the steps, wishing she didn’t feel as if she wanted to lead the way.
“STEEN EYIA SAS. That means to your and Eva’s health.” Eva’s cousin offered the Greek toast, sweeping up his flat-bottomed wineglass. Adam briefly met Eva’s gaze, then followed suit. She watched him toss back the inch-deep liquid with barely a grimace. She, on the other hand, had never gotten used to the piney essence of retsina. Her dislike of the wine was the perfect excuse to refuse more than an obligatory glass.
Her gaze drifted to where her father sat as always at the head of the heavy oak table in the dining room. He was slightly angled away from her, his food untouched, his meaty fingers tight around his wineglass though he had yet to drink any.
“Eat, eat,” her grandmother said, nudging Eva’s arm where she sat next to her.
Eva stared at her own barely touched food, knowing that she should try to eat. She took a nibble, then ignored the food on her plate, and the vast array of Greek and Creole food alike covering every inch of the tabletop.
This was not going the way she’d planned.
Across the people-packed table Adam sat between her cousin and her uncle. And there had yet to be one prolonged, uncomfortable silence. Unless, of course, you were paying attention to her side of the table—that included her, her grandmother, her aunt and her unusually quiet brother, Pete—which no one was. Aside from some genuine interest in playing catch-up with her family, Eva found her gaze drawn time and again to the man across the table from her. The gel in Adam’s hair had dried somewhat and a lock the color of a golden marsh reed fell across his forehead, covering the gray duct tape. While the glasses were bulky and ghastly, behind them she started to notice things she wasn’t particularly sure she wanted to. Like the way his brown eyes sometimes held her gaze, a glimmer of unspoken challenge and wry humor giving him an aura of, well, sexuality.
Tilting her head, she rubbed her neck, suddenly hotter than she could blame on the high temperature and even higher humidity. Neither of which the whirling ceiling fan could ease. Her mother made another trip in from the kitchen, plunking down a large plate of steaming tiropitas—feta cheese pastries—directly in front of her.
“Eat, ayapee mou. I made them just the way you always like them,” she said, stopping to squeeze Eva’s shoulder, then passing to take her seat next to Tolly.
Distantly, Eva heard her father make that low-pitched hmmph. But she was too busy staring in horror at the mini-mountain of tiropitas to give his disapproval much notice. She was desperately trying to find a way to keep from seeing the Greek pastries she had always loved as a mound of raw dough that would sit like lead in her stomach. Her muscles clenched and her mouth gushed with saliva. Correction: the raw dough wouldn’t sit like lead in her stomach…it would be the catalyst to chasing everything else out.
Oh, God.
“Excuse me.” Eva pushed her chair back, nearly knocking it over as she rushed for the downstairs bathroom.
Long minutes later, she leaned against the sink, pressing a cool, damp washcloth against her burning face.
Asoft knock sounded against the wood. Eva sighed. All she needed was her mother asking probing questions.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she called with false cheer.
Fussing with her dress, she took a deep breath, then yanked the door open, a smile fixed on her face. Only it wasn’t her mother she faced.
“Adam.”
His small, concerned smile inexplicably irritated her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Suddenly the hall seemed somehow darker than she remembered, and far more quiet. She heard herself swallowing. Her mother really should put in a hall light.
“I thought you were my mother.” She tried to examine him more closely. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I thought going after you would be, you know, the husbandly thing to do.”
“Not if you were anything like my ex.” She took another deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I…” She hesitated, directing her gaze everywhere but at his face. Which was difficult, seeing as the shaft of light from the bathroom dimly illuminated only him.
Why was he so tall? And why, suddenly, did she feel so…breathless near him?
“What happened back there?” he asked quietly, seeming far too close and smelling far too male. “Did you and something you ate do battle?”
Her gaze was drawn to his features. The indirect light deepened the shadows there, drawing out his cheekbones. Making the cleft in his chin seem even more attractive then ever. Something her grandmother used to say came rushing back. Dimple in the chin, the devil within.
She shifted her weight and dropped her gaze to his chest.
“I didn’t eat anything,” she said, stiffening.
“I noticed.”
Eva frowned and eyed the man before her. The sound of the voices in the other room reminded her that neither of them were there to discuss her appetite, or lack thereof.
“Actually, Adam,” she said, suddenly clear on what she needed to do. “Everything is not fine. You—” she jabbed her finger against his chest, surprised to find an enticing wall of muscle met her poke “—you are not fine. I’m not fine. In fact, no one here is fine.”
She stared at the way his hair fell over his forehead.
“I…I don’t understand,” he said, pushing up his glasses.
“That’s it! Why didn’t you do more of that in there?” She pointed to his glasses. “Why didn’t you act more like…like…”
She ran out of steam as she remembered a piece of their conversation in her office only yesterday.
“What, Eva?” His voice was way too low, almost seductive. “Like a geek?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. She turned her head, her pulse doing double duty. “Is that what you were about to say?”
Footsteps sounded in the adjacent hall and Eva’s gaze fastened on Adam.
“Listen to me as I map this out for you, Adam. We’re going to go back into that room, sit down, and in about five minutes I’m going to say I’m tired. That’s when you’re going to say you’re tired, too. Then,” she said, moving her head within inches of his. A bad idea when she felt his hot, wine-sweetened breath fan her cheeks. “Then we’re going to go up to my room where we need to have a long talk.”
“Talk? In your room?” His gaze dropped to her mouth.
“Uh-huh. Do you think you can remember that or do you want me to repeat it?”
Eva swallowed, wondering why Adam looked about ready to kiss her…and why she found the thought so very appealing.
AN HOUR LATER, exhausted and exasperated, Eva led the way upstairs, Adam following her. At least a dozen times she’d risen from the dinner table and announced she was tired. And a dozen more times, her plan had been thwarted—if not by Adam who had looked at her blankly, then by her family, who expected her to spend the whole night celebrating with them.
In fact, they would likely continue without her and Adam. All except for her father who had been noticeably absent when they returned to the table earlier.
“I’m sorry,” Adam said behind her for the fourth time since she’d practically hauled him from the dining room.
“It’s okay,” she answered again.
It must be the wine, Eva reasoned. The wine had short-circuited Adam Gardner’s geek system. Turned him temporarily into a cohort in crime, conspiring against her every time she tried to get him to leave the table. Of course, it didn’t take much to fall victim to the good-natured persuasiveness of her cousins. Eva allowed a fond smile. Still, for all the wine Adam had drunk, she’d think he’d at least be staggering. He wasn’t.
Was Adam-the-nerd really Adam-the-lush?
She tossed a glance over her shoulder. No. Adam Gardner didn’t strike her as the type to overly indulge in anything. Her gaze dropped to where he had undone the top two buttons of his shirt a little while ago. Her stomach muscles tightened as she remembered the way she had gaped at him. Recalled how he had captured her gaze and his lean fingers had frozen on the second button. As if her watching him unbutton his shirt was an intimacy he allowed few.
“We’re in my old bedroom at the far end of the hall,” she said softly. Given the direction her thoughts had been taking, the topic of bedrooms of any sort was a dangerous one. “It has its own bathroom that connects with the guest bedroom next door. But just in case, this is the other bathroom.” She gestured toward the door to her right.
“Shouldn’t we turn on the light or something? In case I need to find it in the middle of the, uh, night?” He reached in through the open doorway and flicked the light on.
Eva reached in and shut it back off. “I don’t think you’ll need it. I don’t plan to sleep in the adjoining bathroom.”
“Yeah, but maybe I should let you have that one. You know, in case you need it in a hurry.” He turned the light on again.
Eva’s cheeks burned, finding him much too close to her backside for comfort. Despite the moist Louisiana heat, or maybe because of it, she could feel Adam’s own brand of warmth emanating off him in waves. It penetrated the thin material of her dress, making more than her stomach tighten.
“Don’t worry,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “If you should happen to be in the bathroom when I need it, I can find this one. Unless, of course, you think you’ll need it fast?” She shut the light off again.
“Me? Why would I…oh.”
Eva slowly maneuvered to put herself at a safe distance, and with one well-directed glance, caught him up short.
“I’ve never gotten sick after drinking. I’m much too careful,” he told her, but turned the light on again anyway.
“Yes, but I’d bet you’ve never had so much to drink before either.”
“Actually…” His expression slowly shifted. “Yes, I guess you’re right. I’m not much of a…partying person.”
Partying person? Slowly, Eva switched the light back off. “Come on, before I forget what it is I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Yes. Talk. I almost forgot.”
Just like you forgot you were supposed to back me up when I wanted to leave the dining room, she thought. And just like being around you, for some inexplicable reason, makes me forget that I don’t need a man.
At the end of the hall, Eva opened the door and threw on the light switch. She stopped dead in the doorway. Adam bumped into her from behind. The heat she’d felt coming from him before was nothing compared to the tangible touch of his body now.
A fiery jolt spread outward from the spots where he touched her; his rock-hard thighs against the backs of her legs, his wide chest against her back; the clear outline of his manhood grazing her bottom. She shivered, the searing sensation staying even when he moved slowly away.
Then her gaze riveted to the double bed in the middle of the room. An antique, wrought-iron canopy bed with double thick mattresses she feared she’d need a stepladder to reach.
One bed.
“We’re in the wrong room,” she whispered. Where were the two twin beds she’d always had? The extra bed she’d used when friends or cousins slept over? When Yaya gave up her room to visitors and slept in hers?
“Wrong room?” Adam skirted past her and went to stand in front of a bulletin board crammed with keepsakes. He fingered a faded pom-pom, an eyebrow rising above his glasses as he looked at her.
“Uh, Eva?”
Distantly, she noticed Adam was using the Greek pronunciation of her name. Her attention slowly shifted to him.
“I thought there was supposed to be twin beds,” he said.
For the life of her, Eva couldn’t help laughing. She forgot she didn’t want him to pronounce her name that way. Gone was the tension she felt downstairs. Pushed even farther back was the memory of her mother practically hovering over her, catering to her every whim after she’d gotten sick. All she could concentrate on was the way Adam’s forehead creased, and how he pulled at his open collar as if it were choking him.
“There used to be two twin beds,” she said carefully.
“Then why does that,” he said, pointing to the ornate bed that looked as if it belonged in one of the bordellos of New Orleans, “look like one bed?”
“Probably because it is, Adam.” Eva peeked out the open door, then quietly closed it. For good measure, she switched on the ceiling fan, though she doubted it would do much for either the sweltering temperature in the room, or the restless heat building in her. Why couldn’t her father budge from his old ways and get central air? She glanced back at Adam. Here she had been nervous when she first spotted the bed. Her reaction was nothing compared to the horrified expression on Adam’s face.
She shrugged, wishing she could hold on to those light feelings, but the truth was, she was as concerned about sharing a bed as he was. Especially that bed. “I, uh, guess you’re just going to have to sleep on the floor, Adam. I know that wasn’t part of the bargain, but…”
Eva crossed the room to where someone had brought their luggage in. She evaded his gaze. Why was the tamest, safest man she knew turning out to be not so safe after all?
“I can’t.”
Frowning, she turned toward him. “You can’t?”
“I can’t.”
“What can’t you do, Adam?”
He pushed up his glasses. “Uh, sleep on the floor. I have…I have a bad back. While my chiropractor told me I need firm support, he nixed the idea of me sleeping on the floor.”
The flicker of something in his dark eyes distracted Eva. Something that wasn’t fear…wasn’t quite regret…. She sighed, telling herself she was imagining things.
“Oh,” she said absently. For reasons of her own, her sleeping on the floor was out of the question, as well. She looked from Adam to the bed, then back at Adam again.
“We could share the bed,” he said quietly.
Eva stared at him. It was out of the question. Completely unacceptable. Insane, even. “Yes, I suppose we could try,” she found herself saying instead. “We’re both adults, right? And we’re not in the least bit attracted to each other.”
“Not in the least,” Adam agreed with a wry smile.
“Right,” she said, drawing the word out as if trying to convince herself.
She urged her attention back to her suitcase. Why had she thought one thing and said the other? And why did Adam look flatteringly pleased by her agreement?
She opened her suitcase to find it empty. “Yaya must have unpacked for us,” she said, saying something, anything to break the charged, expectant silence in the room.
She opened the top dresser drawer. Her clothes were neatly folded inside. She sensed Adam’s presence next to her before she saw him. He grasped her arms and roughly turned her toward him. She gasped. But instead of the passion she secretly hoped for, his expression was one of dark scrutiny.
“Somebody went through my stuff?”
DAMN, DID SHE FIND my gun?
Adam’s gaze bolted to his open duffel bag on the floor next to her carryall, then down to where he still held Eva’s upper arms. She blinked those green eyes of hers.
“Yaya didn’t go through your things, Adam. She merely unpacked them, that’s all.”
He spotted his closed briefcase nearby and nearly groaned in relief. It would take a safecracker to get past the deceptively simple locks there. A vision of Eva’s grandmother with a butter knife zipped through his mind, then vanished as he reminded himself he wasn’t in the presence of hostile company. No matter how ill at ease he had felt when Eva’s mother had hugged him when they first arrived. They were a normal, flesh-and-blood family. At least insofar as he believed such a thing existed. In fact, he found that the Mavros family were some of the nicest people he’d ever met, if you excluded Eva’s crusty father. His own tension when he was around them, well, he’d just have to deal with it.
“Adam? Will you let go of me now?”
Eva’s voice sounded strangely raspy and he looked down at her again. From this vantage point, he had a clear view of the deep V that formed the neck of her dress. Like him, she wasn’t immune to the muggy climate. A dewy sheen covered her skin, a thin line of perspiration disappearing into the sweet valley between her breasts. Definitely not a view he got of her at work. He dragged his gaze up past her slightly open, tempting mouth to her eyes. The surprise, the touch of fear and the struggle for control he saw there were enough to make him bite back a curse.
Dumb move, Grayson. He berated himself for his brusque actions as he released her. First you accuse the woman’s grandmother of something just this side of stealing. Now you’re making no secret you’d like to push her onto the fantasy bed across the room and ravish her, starting with those luscious breasts. Not very geeklike behavior.
Eva leaned against the dresser for support, her flushed skin telling him she wasn’t invulnerable to the sensations their touching had caused, either. Not very ice queen-nlike behavior. The image of her in that naughty bikini flooded back to him.
“Sorry,” he said. Along distance separated Belle Rivage, Louisiana, and his boat docked in Delaware Bay off the coast of New Jersey. Not to mention the huge stretch between how he’d act as himself and as Adam the geek. “I just don’t like anybody touching my things, that’s all. Excuse me.”
“What?”
He gestured toward the dresser to indicate he wanted access, and she slowly moved away. Which was a good thing, because if she hadn’t, he would have touched her again. And this time, he wouldn’t have stopped.
He opened the drawers, expending some of the sudden energy coiling in his muscles. Damn. How in the hell was he supposed to maintain his cover if this maddening woman could almost undo him with one unguarded glance?
He needed to get back into character. Now. Regardless of his personal fantasies, he had to stay focused on the fact that his presence here was strictly professional. He was here to find out what Eva knew about her boss’s illegal activities. And to determine what she knew about Oliver Pinney’s disappearance. While he didn’t make it a rule to separate business from pleasure, he got the distinct impression that pleasure with Eva might obliterate his business intentions. And for him, that would be a first.
In the dresser he ignored the red boxers stacked on top and took out his usual underwear before shoving the drawer shut again. He wanted to check his briefcase, but didn’t dare add suspicion to the emotions plainly visible on Eva’s flushed face.
She cleared her throat. “Do you suffer from one of those phobias where you’re afraid of picking up diseases from everything you touch…or that touches you?”
“What?”
Eva gestured toward his clothes. “You said you don’t like people touching your things.”
She seemed genuinely concerned, but he noticed the way her back was a little too straight, her chin a little too jutted forward.
Get a grip, Grayson. Think geek.
“I like my things a certain way, that’s all,” he said a little too roughly.
Eva rested her right hand against the elegant curve of her neck, then turned toward the window that overlooked the front yard. “Oh.”
“Do you want the bathroom first, or should I go?” He shoved his fake glasses up more out of frustration than the need to keep in character. The truth was, he wanted to take the damn things off and give Eva an undiluted view of the man he really was. The man who was on the verge of blowing his cover—and the whole damn assignment—just for a taste of her lips.
No, he couldn’t show her that man. If he did, she would likely throw him out. Then, not only his assignment would be shot to hell, but his ego would take a hell of a dent as well.
Still, he thought, eyeing how her pretty, yet innocuous dress clung to her figure, just because circumstances weren’t the way he would have preferred, it didn’t stop him from wanting to seduce her…even as Nerd Adam. The idea lingered in his mind, growing more appealing. He bit back a curse. Sure, up until now the challenges he allowed himself had been connected only to his job. Maybe he was missing out on a whole different ball game by resisting personal challenges. But seducing Eva was out of the question. No matter how much he wished differently.
“Mm, you go first,” she said finally, turning from the window and dropping her hand to her side.
The suggestion that they could shower together drifted through Adam’s mind, but since that idea fell under the heading “unsuitable,” he moved toward the bathroom door.
“Adam?”
He glanced over his shoulder as he gripped the handle. “Yes?”
She gestured toward the door as he opened it. “That’s the closet.”
Adam stared at the plastic-covered garments hanging from a pole and bit back another curse. Not a shower in sight. He closed the door, wondering if impersonating a geek for too long could actually turn him into one.
THE LOCK on the connecting bathroom door slid home and Eva resisted the urge to lean against the white-enameled wood. She flushed anew. What did Adam think? She would walk in on him while he was taking a shower? Then again, this was the same guy who blew a gasket because her grandmother put his clothes away. She rested her hand against her burning cheek. She might even have smiled, if only the thought of walking in on him didn’t appeal to her in a never-explored corner of her psyche. A corner she didn’t want to explore.
She moved away from the door. What was it with her tonight? First she had reacted to his touching her in a way that completely baffled her, and now she was entertaining thoughts of voyeurism. It must be the hormones, she rationalized. Still, she couldn’t help wondering what the broad-shouldered, rock-hard-thighed Adam would look like without clothes.
Closely monitoring the sound of the shower, she took her silk kimono-like robe out of the closet, then slipped out of her dress and put it on. Pulling the sash tight, she turned toward the bed. It’s only for one night, she told herself. Besides, she was so exhausted, Mel Gibson could be lying beside her and she wouldn’t know the difference.
Even as she tried to convince herself that she had nothing to fear from Adam, her attempts fell far short of the mark. Then she realized it wasn’t Adam she was worried about at all—it was herself. Suddenly, she was overcome by odd feelings that gave spark to some interesting ideas she would never have considered twenty-four hours ago. The most shocking of which was the temptation to introduce the inexperienced Adam to the wonderful world of sensual sensation. To take off those glasses of his, muss the perfect part in his hair and guide his lean hands down her sweat-slick body. Show him exactly how a woman—how she—liked to be touched. Then there was the matter of touching him….
She climbed on top of the bed, and flopped across the firm mattress, fighting off the flash of yearning that accompanied her erotic thoughts. Of course, none of this made any sense whatsoever. She wasn’t a seductress. She’d never given thought to doing anything near what was going through her mind. She’d worked with Adam for the past three weeks and had never thought of him as a…man.
She clamped her eyes shut. That wasn’t entirely true. The quiet moment she’d first spotted Adam Gardner in the hall of Sheffert, Logan and Brace, when no one else was around, something unaccountable had stirred in her. Then he’d seen her, pushed up his glasses, his posture had slumped, and he’d smiled in a sheepish way that had wiped all interest from her mind.
Until now.
The shower switched off in the other room. Eva slid off the bed and smoothed the white coverlet. Rushing across the room, she hauled her briefcase to the desktop where she’d spent many a teenage night studying. Behind her, the door opened.
“I hope I didn’t take too long.”
Eva waved her hand. “No, no, you’re fine. I was just going over some work things anyway.”
“It’s all yours,” he said.
Not daring to look at him, she turned away, collected her nightgown, then practically dived into the bathroom without so much as a glance at him. She pulled the door closed so quickly that a puff of humid air blew her hair from her face. But that slight breeze did little to cool her overheated body.
ADAM UNDERSTOOD Eva’s refusal to get involved again—with anyone. It was a natural defense mechanism considering she was recently divorced. And her lunge for the bathroom without a glance in his direction verified his assessment.
In hindsight, he wished he had done the same, and kept his gaze away from her. Instead, he presently stood in the middle of her childhood bedroom, an erection painfully pressing against the fabric of his briefs, and wondered at the exact cause of his reaction to her. Both earlier and now.
Oh yeah, he had admired, even mildly fantasized about, Eva Burgess’s legs. But that had been at work, with her wearing panty hose, shoes and knee-length skirts. Seeing those same legs bare, silky smooth, tanned and seeming to go on forever, he had been sorely tempted to cross that line between business and pleasure, attraction and undercover flirtation, to find out exactly how high up those legs went. Satisfy a sudden hunger to explore the soft, warm flesh that lay where her legs ended.
His response to Eva was unexpected not because she managed to get him so worked up, and certainly not because of his job-imposed abstinence. It was because his reaction wasn’t the kind that just any woman could satisfy. No. He strongly suspected his response was uniquely tailored to Eva Burgess. And it would be only Eva Burgess who could satisfy it.
He stepped to the window and stared out at the dark night, trying to make out the road. He tried harder still to sort out the tension that filled him. Ever since that guy broke into Eva’s car, he’d been on edge. And the feeling had only increased throughout the evening.
Crossing purposefully to the closet, he yanked open the door.
“I’d better find something to put on,” he muttered to himself, cursing the short time between Eva’s bizarre request at work, and her picking him up at his apartment, leaving him no opportunity to buy pajamas. Hell, normally he didn’t even wear briefs to bed. But Eva didn’t know that. And she wouldn’t unless he wanted to spend the night on the floor.
Jerking through the plastic-protected clothes hanging in the closet, he told himself Eva would expect him to wear something—anything—to bed. But in truth, he didn’t want to be vulnerable to the unfamiliar emotions significantly attached to his attraction to the woman in the other room.
He drew in a deep breath then released it with a low hiss. Nothing. Not one single thing that was long enough to stretch over his six-foot height, much less wide enough for him to get into. He touched what looked like a quilted winter robe he guessed—he hoped—belonged to Eva’s grandmother, then closed the closet door.
His gaze settled on the desk in the corner and the laptop that sat on it.
His mind slowly shifted gears. Glancing at the closed bathroom door, he stepped toward the desk and flicked up the laptop’s LCD screen. A brief search for the Honeycutt diskettes came up short. Holding down the button to switch on the computer, he clicked his way out of the menu driver and started a global search of the hard drive.
He glanced at the bathroom door again. Still closed, shower still running.
There were many of what appeared to be business-related files, but Eva’s file names were ambiguous, a bunch of letters and consecutive numbers. When he tried to view them, the computer’s operating system told him they were password-protected.
“Adam, what are you doing?” Eva said quietly.
He didn’t move. Didn’t bat an eye. Experience had taught him never to start at a surprise. To offer no outward sign that he’d been caught doing anything suspicious. Especially when he could easily explain away his actions. That training worked perfectly as Adam covertly touched the keys that would put him back into the main menu driver, then looked in Eva’s direction.
She stood in the bathroom doorway, her dark hair even darker wet, the sound of the shower coming from the open doorway.
Damn. He offered a sheepish smile and pushed up his glasses. “This is some laptop. I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t resist seeing what power that baby…er, it has.”
For long moments she stood there, looking at him, glancing at the computer, looking as if she didn’t know whether to believe him.
“I’ve been shopping for one for myself. I mean, I have a PC at home, of course….”
“Of course.”
He was going to have to come up with more than that. “Well, since I got this job, I can finally afford a new one. But there are so many of them. I can’t seem to decide which one to get.”
Adam noticed she’d changed from the skimpy, all-too-sexy robe and now wore what he could only describe as the nightgown from hell. An opaque white-and-rose print material, tentlike and stitched up the whazoo with pink piping and virginal lace that covered every piece of her tantalizing flesh.
“Damn” was what he wanted to say.
“I…I hope you don’t mind my taking a look.” He motioned toward the laptop that was still on. He frowned and pushed up his glasses again. “I mean, I’m sorry if you thought I was invading your privacy or anything, because I wasn’t.”
What would she say if she knew at that moment, even with her wearing that…that thing she had on, he wanted to invade far more than her privacy?
She crossed the room and closed the screen of the laptop. “I’d have appreciated it if you’d asked first.”
The tantalizing smell of perfumed soap and clean female flesh teased his nose.
“Would it be too forward to ask if I might use it this weekend? For work purposes, of course.” He offered a grin he hoped would push her right past the wariness painted all over her face. “And to see if it can handle me, you know, if I decide I want to buy a similar one.”
A reluctant smile turned up the side of her magnificent little mouth. “Sure, go ahead. You can probably communicate with it better than I can anyway. Maybe you can explain a few things to me about what it can do.”
Good. He’d have free access to her laptop. That would certainly make his investigation easier. If there was anything in that computer about Sheffert’s dirty dealings, he’d find it. He only wished that finding such proof wouldn’t mean she was in on it.
“Uh, Eva, didn’t you forget something?” he asked, pointing toward the bathroom. Why had she left the shower on, anyway?
“Oh.” She passed him again and he nearly groaned at her enticing scent as she hung the dress she’d been wearing earlier on a hanger, put it in the bathroom, then closed the door. “I want to steam the wrinkles out,” she explained.
Leave it in here and in a few minutes I’ll generate enough heat to iron the wrinkles out of a sharpei.
Finally her expression shifted as she eyed him. And Adam suddenly realized he’d completely forgotten about putting something on.
FROZEN, yet, strangely, feeling as if she was suffering from heat exposure, Eva’s gaze began at Adam’s feet, then worked its way up. Past lean, golden hair-ncovered calves. Over delectable thighs. Dragging in a breath, she skipped up farther to a hard, well-toned stomach she could do laundry on. Over pecs as defined as any weight lifter’s. Past arms that could protect a woman from storms and muggers alike.
Then, unable to resist, her gaze slid back down. Her breath choked off altogether. He wore the athletic type of Jockeys that stretched down to his hard thighs, the top band firmly around his waist. But that they covered more than others didn’t much matter; what did was the snug way they fit around his…manhood. And the thin cotton did little to conceal the long, solid ridge of an erection.
Eva turned away, her cheeks burning. A surprising, hot need erupted deep in her stomach.
She swallowed…hard.
“I, uh, forgot to bring my pajamas.”
Eva jerked her gaze up to Adam’s face, where she vowed to keep it. “Pajamas. Right.”
Putting pajamas on this man would be a definite crime to society, she thought as her scrutiny dipped back to his gorgeous torso.
“I usually wear my royal-blue ones on the weekend,” he said. “They’re cotton so they don’t itch, and have these stripes down the front….”
Eva didn’t understand what he was saying. Royal blue? Stripes? Oh, pajamas. She forced her errant gaze back up to his face and found him pushing up his taped-together glasses. Then her gaze dipped down a second time. Her thoughts threatened to veer out of control all over again.
She cleared her throat. “Work out, do you, Adam?”
“Excuse me?”
Giving him a long, obvious look, Eva smiled. “I asked if you work out.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I do, a little. Does it show?” He glanced down at himself.
Oh, God. Yes, it definitely showed.
“Here, let me see if I can’t find something for you to wear.” Like a suit of armor, she thought as she opened the closet door. After a long search, she came up with nothing. It appeared the only thing that would fit him was what he had on…or his polyester slacks and one of his button-down shirts. And he certainly wouldn’t be comfortable wearing his clothes all night. Even if his wearing clothes to bed would certainly make her feel more comfortable.
“Well,” she said, resigning herself to the fact that she was just going to have to control her raging hormones. “I can’t find anything, so your, um, underwear is going to have to do.” She looked away. “Anyway, I think it covers enough of you to be considered decent.”
Decent? Now, that was laughable.
“If you’re sure.”
She wasn’t sure. “I’m sure.”
For long minutes, Eva busied herself. She turned off the shower. Folded down the coverlet on the bed. Then crossed to go to her desk, past where he still stood in the middle of her very feminine room looking very masculine despite his geeky glasses.
She could handle this. She had to handle this.
“Before we call it a night, Adam, I think it’s a good idea to have that talk I mentioned.” She scanned the room. Not even her old desk chair was here to sit on.
Instead, she crossed to the bed and started to pat the spot next to her. She changed her mind and motioned to the other side of the mattress. No sense testing herself unnecessarily.
The mattress moved under his weight and Eva fought the urge to see how his underwear fit now.
She cleared her throat. “I guess I didn’t make myself clear on the trip down,” she said awkwardly, running her finger along the hand-stitched design on the coverlet. “My entire reason for bringing you here was to make my family not like you.”
There was a heartbeat of a pause. Then he said, “I don’t get it. Not like me?”
She glanced at him, wondering if he intended to sleep in those glasses. “Yes.”
He frowned. “We’re back to that geek thing again, aren’t we?”
Yes. “No, no, this has nothing to do with my thinking you’re a…geek, Adam. Because I don’t. Think you’re a geek, I mean.” She realized she was babbling, but she couldn’t help herself. He shifted, bringing his body closer than she was comfortable with. She swore she could feel the heat of his skin just inches away from hers. Her pulse leaped. “I thought by not telling you much about the situation here, or what I expected of you that…” She drifted off for a moment, then, “Basically, most people wouldn’t have reacted as well as you did to my family…my father in particular.”
“I see.”
Eva could see that he didn’t.
“I was afraid of this,” he said, staring at his fingernails. Nails that were manicured and neat, attached to fingers that were long and lean, in line with the rest of his body. “I should have insisted you be more specific in what you expected of me.”
“You did. Insist, I mean,” she said, tugging her hands away from the coverlet when she nearly touched his knee. “I was the one who should have listened.”
He shifted, obviously uncomfortable again, putting him nearly in the middle of the suddenly too-narrow double bed. Eva almost jumped.
“Look, Adam,” she said, trying to gather her scattered wits, “my mother said my father is going to work tomorrow. It’s the perfect opportunity for us to leave.” Ultimately, Eva had to face facts. And the facts were that this plan was a complete and utter failure. She would have to find another way to try to bridge the gap between her and her father.
“You want to leave without saying goodbye to him?”
Eva closed her eyes, realizing how crass that sounded. “No. No, I guess I don’t. But there’s no reason we can’t leave after he comes back. I mean, he’s not sick as I was led to believe, thank God….” She moved closer to the edge of the mattress, his nearness seeming to give off some sort of electrical signal that threatened to short-circuit her thought processes. “I guess what I’m trying to say, Adam, is that I want you to be clear on how to act when you do say goodbye to him.”
She met his gaze and found the desire to slip those hideous glasses down his straight nose almost irresistible. She resisted. Because it was the right thing to do. Because the feelings swirling through her body were all too new, too unfamiliar, and had developed too rapidly for her to trust.
“I never meant to imply that you were a geek, but I’m hoping that maybe you could…” He shifted even closer. “That you could act like one. You know, for his benefit.”
“I see.”
This time she saw that he did. In fact, she saw far more than that. She saw that he looked about ready to kiss her.
“Tell me, Eva,” he said in a voice that wasn’t Adam-like at all. A voice that slid over her hot, hypersensitive skin like a hand, urging to life emotions she had vowed to keep at bay. “If we should ever be placed in a position where we should have to kiss—”
“We won’t,” she whispered, her throat unbearably tight. “It’s not Christmas, and there’s no, um, mistletoe or anything.”
She shivered as his gaze homed in on her mouth.
His own lips turned up at the corners. “Just the same, assume for the sake of argument there is a time when kissing is…expected from us…” His mouth moved ever closer, nearer to hers, riveting Eva’s gaze to the well-defined line of his lips. “How, exactly, should we do it?”
Eva knew she should move away from him, turn her head, do something, anything to prevent what was about to happen. But the simple truth of it was that she wanted this kiss. She wanted it to happen as much as Adam seemed awkwardly determined to make it happen. And she wanted it now.
Wresting the initiative from him, she stopped the slowly seductive way his head tilted toward hers by pressing her lips tentatively against his. Then she gave in fully to the part of her that made her kiss him in the first place.
He tasted of toothpaste, a bit of wine, and hot, hot desire. With the tip of her tongue, she brazenly sought a more intimate taste, aroused by the way he opened his mouth slightly and invited her tongue in.
Need rushed over Eva in swells, carrying pleasure signals to her limbs. She reached out and braced her hands against his solid shoulders, but the touch evolved into a caress, the caress a bold exploration of the marvelous muscles that made this man oh so much more than an inexperienced nerd.
He had yet to touch her, and Eva found she yearned for that more than anything. Wanted to feel his hand against her heated flesh, needed him to touch her in a way she suspected he hadn’t touched another woman.
She rested her hand against his clean-shaven cheek, placing the tip of her thumb in the dimple in his chin. Then she deepened the kiss, plunging her tongue deep into his mouth, urging his into hers. Her breathing became a rapid, urgent search for the air she couldn’t seem to get enough of.
She stroked her fingers down his incredibly muscled arms and reached for his hands. Tugging on his hand, she met opposition.
“Eva, I, um, don’t think—”
“Shh.” She compensated for his slight resistance and led his fingers to the top of her nightgown. She pressed her breast into his palm. The heat of his skin penetrated the thin cotton and shock waves of pleasure shot through her, pushing aside any doubt about what she was doing, infusing her with an ever-growing need for more.
His palm stayed, unmoving, on her breast. She strained against it, her nipple hard and aching, the increasingly demanding cadence of her kiss telling him she wanted more, much more.
Dragging her lips to his jaw, she flicked the tip of her tongue in and around the delicious dimple in his chin. Then down to trace the clean line of his collarbone. She moved lower still to catch a nipple between her teeth, teasing it with her tongue. Her fingers sought the waistband of his briefs. She tugged at them impatiently, slipping her fingers in until they touched the silky, hot, hard length of him. She curled her fingers around his arousal and ran her thumb over the sensitive tip. Finding a bead of moisture there, she rubbed it down the length of him. Adam bucked against her. His reaction prodded her on. She began a slow, concentrated stroke designed to push him beyond his limits in a way she guessed no one ever had.
“Eva—”
“Adam…just be quiet and touch me.”
Eva removed her hand from his Jockeys and plied his mouth with her tongue, coaxing him to return the kiss, pleading with him to finish what she had started. All she knew was the incredible need within her to be satisfied…to obtain the release he promised her with his kiss, his nearness.
Something seemed to give within Adam and the fingers at her breast slid to her waist. Eva groaned in protest, thinking she had scared him away with words that shocked even her, until he glided his hand back up to cup her breast and rubbed a teasing thumb over her nipple. She shuddered.
Acting on every instinct that at any other time would set off warning alarms for her to run the other way, Eva urgently bunched her nightgown up to the tops of her thighs and straddled him. She hated when the movement interrupted their kiss, but was gratified when their mouths met again.
Adam pushed her away slightly and did away with his glasses. Eva was too filled with need to concentrate on anything more than the ball of heat spiraling within her. Adam’s fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs and hauled her forward until she rested against his erection. The action forced a gasp from Eva’s throat. The knowledge that there was nothing more than his Jockeys and her panties separating them further fed the fire within her…until a rush of awareness made her take another look at the fact that nothing more than his Jockeys and her panties separated them.
Adam’s fingers moved from her breasts and inched lower and lower still, until he’d slid his fingers into the top of her panties, finding the tangle of hair beyond.
Eva dragged her mouth from his and quickly trapped his fingers with her hand. She rested her forehead against his cheek, suddenly staggered by what she was doing, what she had done.
“Oh, God. This is…this is insane.” Eva gasped for breath, grasped harder still for a handle on a situation that had reeled so completely out of control.
Not daring to meet his gaze, she twisted away from where she straddled his hips. She tried not to look at the way his erection still pressed against the thin material of his briefs, but was unable to help herself.
“I…” She pushed her hair from her burning face. She what?
Eva lifted her gaze to find he’d put his glasses back on. His hair was tousled and sexy from where she’d run her fingers through it, and very blond without the gel he usually applied. The contrast between the nerd she had thought she was safe with, and the man who had awakened a frightening, insatiable need within her, was dizzying. She clutched at the buttoned neck of her nightgown, making sure it was tightly closed.
“I gotta tell you, Eva, if that’s what’s going to happen if we ever have to kiss in front of your family, I think we should avoid it at all costs.” Adam’s voice was low and husky, and he looked very un-geeklike with his intense, passion-filled expression.
Eva flushed anew, her body still yearning for the man a foot away from her.
She looked down and found her nightgown had roamed up and was bunched around her waist. She pulled it down to cover her overheated, bare skin.
He ran his hands over his head several times, smoothing his hair back, making him look more like the man she could deal with. Or at least the man she had thought she could deal with. At any rate, his looking more like the nerd she had enlisted would make it easier to deal with him in the way she had to. Which was to keep him and the situation as impersonal as possible. And that didn’t include wrapping her fingers around his straining…
“Tell me something, Eva. Why did you start that if you had no intention of finishing it?”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “You were the one who started talking about kisses….”
“Yes. And you were the one who kissed me.” He cleared his throat and some of the roughness left his voice, but not much. “Not that I mind, you see. But a man isn’t a faucet you can just turn on and off at will.”
Faucet? Man? Eva’s gaze slipped over his toned physique then she forced herself to focus on his face and his big, bulky glasses. No, Adam didn’t look a bit like a faucet. He did, however, seem very much a man.
Lifting a hand to her neck, she said, “I’m sorry. That should never have happened.”
He was silent for a long moment. “Why?”
She swallowed hard. “Because I’m pregnant.”
EVERYTHING ABOUT this was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Despite what Adam’s body was telling him.
Lord, he had only meant to tease her as Adam the geek, a desire that had proved unwise. But there had been no way to foresee what had just happened between them.
And what had happened?
You lost control, that’s what. And you never lose control. You can’t afford to lose control. You’re on assignment.
Still not trusting himself, but needing to see that she had actually said what he thought she’d said, he shifted his gaze to Eva’s expressive face. Her words finally registered.
She was pregnant.
“What?” he asked.
“I said, I’m pregnant.”
He sat back, scanning her from head to foot. No way, no how did she look pregnant. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to be bloated, their bellies swollen, their skin splotchy…and weren’t they supposed to be married? He rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at the stupid last thought. Well, at the very least, she should have to wear some sort of letter, the equivalent of Hester Prynne’s own A, to let everyone know her condition. At least until it showed on its own. Let the man know before they were just seconds away from lovemaking that she was about to become a mother.
Adam groaned. That thought was even more bizarre than the other. He glanced at Eva. While she was still obviously shaken by what had happened between them, she was also looking at him closely. Too closely.
Deflect and redirect. Isn’t that what he’d been taught during his first weeks as a field agent? In an uncomfortable situation, deflect any suspicion and redirect it toward your opponent. And sure, while he probably should draw on the inexperience expected by the Adam persona he had created, his mind had ceased functioning somewhere between her pressing his palm against her breast, and her hand slipping inside the waistband of his skivvies. Damn but he had dangerously miscalculated the depth of passion of which this woman was capable. More than that, he had severely underestimated the ferocity of his own response to her.
But she’s pregnant, he reminded himself.
God, but this whole situation was weird. And while his instincts told him he should stay in character, awkwardly laugh the whole thing off in some nerdlike way, the real Adam wanted some answers, and he wasn’t going to stop until he got them.
“Wait a minute. Didn’t you say you were divorced?”
“What?” Eva’s well-kissed mouth finally worked around the one-word reply. “Of course I’m divorced.”
She looked for all the world as baffled as he felt.
“Look, the last thing I wanted to happen, expected to happen, was this,” she said. And he believed her. She carefully stretched the material of her nightgown to cover her toes. “I meant it when I said I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone. Now you know why.”
Pregnant. In hindsight, Adam supposed he should have had her condition pretty much pegged when she pulled over on the drive down and killed the weeds at the side of the road. Then a couple other facts came together. Like her avoidance of caffeine. Her odd request that he impersonate her husband.
Still, given the facts she’d laid out for him the day before, the last thing he’d have expected was that Eva Burgess was pregnant.
He eyed her, trying to make some sort of sense out of the situation. “Your parents don’t know yet, do they? Not just about the divorce, but about your pregnancy?”
Why not tell her parents she had divorced a man they had never met? Because that man is the father of the child she carries.
While the fact that she was pregnant at all should have barred any thought of physical intimacy from Adam’s mind, oddly he still found himself drawn to her. Having had a taste of her sweet, hot mouth, having touched her, he wanted more.
“No, I haven’t told my family about the baby. Not yet,” Eva said quietly.
He searched her face. “Why?”
“Because…” She clamped her eyes shut and Adam used the opportunity to take in everything that was her. The thick dark hair that curled around her face and shoulders like a dark storm cloud. That…that mouth that had the power to undo him with a single, electrifying kiss. Those hands that she gestured passionately with and those same hands’ ability to seek out his most fundamental passions. Drawing them to the surface, bringing him to within moments of nirvana.
“God, everything seemed to make so much sense yesterday,” she said, opening her eyes. Sexy, olive green eyes that said a lot but left out more. “I wanted to set the groundwork for inevitable divorce before I dropped the bomb that I was pregnant with a child whose father would never be a part of my baby’s life.”
Adam narrowed his eyes, his gut tightening. “Your choice or his?”
Her expression was wary, yet was still shadowed with the passion they had shared mere moments before. She pushed off the bed, making sure that hideous nightgown of hers covered every inch of her delectable skin.
“I don’t want to discuss it.” She turned away from him. “Look, I never intended to tell you as much as I have. Trust me, you don’t want to know my story of woe.”
But he did. Adam got off the bed, too, not ready to explore the reasons for that one. In his job, it was dangerous to grow personally attached to anyone involved in a case. While he always asked the questions necessary to keep his undercover roles safe, none included “Tell me, why doesn’t your ex-husband want to be a father?” And the rancor he felt that an innocent would suffer from the selfishness of its own parents had nothing to do with his assignment.
He paced across the room, trying to regain control over a situation that was a first for him.
He glanced over to find Eva going through her attaché case. The fact was that while Eva’s name was the equivalent to the Biblical Adam’s Eve, she was in no way, shape or form his Eve. For one, she had already taken a hefty bite out of the forbidden apple. Two, he had figured out long ago that, for him, there was no Eve, or Eva, or a life mate by any other name, because there was no such thing as happily-ever-after. Not in his life. Not in the lives of anyone he knew. His commitment was to his job. And it was going to stay that way.
No matter what happened, he wouldn’t allow Eva and her passionate ways to tempt him away from that decision.
“Look, this whole plan is one, huge mistake,” Eva said. Giving up her attempt at normalcy, she faced him. “I’m going to go to the guest room next door and make up the bed for you. If anybody finds out, so be it. I’ll just tell them the truth.”
Adam warily eyed her. “The truth is good.”
“If only I knew what the truth was anymore.”
Eva murmured the thought just as a similar one wandered through Adam’s mind. He surveyed her, but she was already moving toward the bathroom, presumably to gain access to the room next door. The moment she was out of view, he slowly shook his head. He must have imagined her words.
EVA TRIED the door handle a second time. Locked. She pressed her forehead against the cool wood, struggling with the desire to curse her mother and grandmother. After all their manipulations, she held out little hope that the hall door to the guest room would be unlocked. If only she hadn’t told her mother about the problems she and Bill were having…As it stood, she didn’t doubt her mother and grandmother were trying to reconcile her marriage. If only they knew it was already beyond reconciliation. And that the man in the other room was not only not her husband or the father of the baby she carried, but he was almost a complete stranger.
She stood there shivering though it was unbearably hot. She touched her fingers to her swollen lips. The tiny action sent warm emotion curling through her. If asked to explain what had happened in the other room, she would be hard-pressed to offer anything that would make any sense, except that she’d wanted Adam Gardner’s kiss more than she’d wanted anything in a long, long time.
The new sensations clung to her like the humid air. They clamored for a satisfaction she could only fantasize about. A fulfillment of a need she had sworn she’d deny.
Certainly Bill Burgess hadn’t touched what Adam had awakened in a few sweet minutes. She thought he had, once. But not anymore. And that, more than anything, should have scared her.
Her hand slid down over her stomach, resting over the slightly rounded area that would soon swell with the growth of the baby within. A baby whose father had sworn he’d have nothing to do with his offspring when Eva had told him she was pregnant.
Oddly enough, not even her maternal feelings for her baby, or her vow to protect him or her from the pain of rejection, were enough to quell the almost savage desire still running through her. It was as if some deep, fundamental part of her she had yet to identify was acting on a primal need to find a mate who would protect her. Love her. Provide her with everything she would ever need for the rest of her life. And care for her child as she would. A hunger based not on financial requirements, but on the basic, human need to be loved. The need to explore all the fascinating facets of being a woman, of being alive, of learning exactly what life itself was all about.
And as incongruous as it seemed, the socially inexperienced man in the other room had been the one to set off those feelings. Feelings she had to tamp down and bury if she held out any hope of staying true to her vow never to allow another man to hurt her or her baby again. Loving any man posed that risk. Including the man in the other room.
Eva closed her eyes and released a ragged breath. The guest-room door was locked. Where did she go from there?
Simple, her ever-practical side told her. You just give Adam a pillow and tell him to camp out on one of the sofas downstairs until you can figure all this out.
Oh yes, that would be very generous of her. Drag the guy all the way to Louisiana, then tell him he and his bad back had to fit themselves onto a sofa long enough to hold half his height. All because she had wanted a kiss that had turned into so much more.
She swallowed hard. She could always sleep on the sofa.
A vision of her father shaking her awake and asking questions she would be hard-fought to answer when she was lucid loomed in her mind.
Besides, judging by the occasional scrape of a chair leg against the floor downstairs, the family celebration had indeed gone on without her and Adam. And it likely wouldn’t end until well into the early-morning hours. What would she do until then?
“Eva?”
She started and swung around to face Adam where he stood just inside the bathroom.
“Your mother’s at the bedroom door.”
“Good.” Careful not to make any type of physical contact with Adam, Eva strode from the too-small bathroom. This was the perfect opportunity to explain to her mother what was and was not going on and demand the key to the room next door.
“Mama, you and I have to talk.” She hauled the door open.
Her mother furtively glanced into the room, apparently trying to see if things between her daughter and son-in-law were going well. A tug of regret pulled at Eva’s heart.
“Eva, honey? Are you going to be long?” Adam said from behind her.
Eva slowly turned to find Adam lying in the decadent wrought-iron bed, the crisp white top sheet draped over his hips in a way that hinted he wore nothing, but was covered enough to be decent.
Decent. There was that word again.
Her mother took in the scene. When her gaze slipped back to Eva’s face, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Good, you two have settled in. I just wanted to stop in to say good-night.”
Eva’s cheeks burned as her mother kissed them. Somehow, she managed to return the warm gesture, the tug on her heart growing more pronounced.
It’s going to break her heart when she learns I’m divorced.
Eva said good-night and her mother quietly closed the door.
EVA WOKE SLOWLY, aware of Adam’s absence even before a glance verified it. The hazy morning sun warming her face told her the day was going to be hotter than the previous one. She pushed her damp hair from her cheeks and glanced at the twisted, empty sheets next to her. While the day itself might get hotter, she resolved that matters between her and Adam needed some definite cooling off.
She propped herself up on her elbows. The only sound was the gentle humming of the ceiling fan. She wasn’t sure what time she finally drifted off to sleep. The world had been shadowy and still, and the last car had long since driven away. And she hadn’t dozed off until long after she’d come to terms with the fact that she’d made her bed with her impulsive little plan, and now would have to literally lie in it.
She simply wished that lying next to Adam in this bed, feeling his heat, listening to his even breathing, wasn’t part of the bargain.
She picked up the pillow he had used and crowded it against her breasts, inhaling the smell of him. The subtle odor of soap, and the tangy essence that was his, and his alone.
Groaning, she plunked the pillow down then peeled the sheet away from her traitorous body. The sheet was the sole thing that had come between her and Adam the night before. And that was merely because he had thought it a good idea that he slept on top of it, while she slept underneath. At the closet, Eva reached for a sundress, thinking the sheet hadn’t been the only thing that had kept them apart. Aside from her own need to get a grasp on what had passed between them last night, Adam appeared to grapple with a struggle of his own.
She had little doubt that her pregnancy was the cause. That detail should have kept her away from him. But it hadn’t. The resulting emotions left her feeling hurt, upset, and longing to understand both herself and his reaction to her news.
She took the dress with her into the bathroom, then turned on the shower and slipped out of the damp nightgown. She needed to distance herself from these unfamiliar sensations that lingered. Escape the heat clinging to her, inside and out. She lathered the soap and switched her analyzing skills on Adam. She stumbled across more than a few interesting questions.
Why had he kissed her? No matter the excuse he had offered, Eva believed he had kissed her for pleasure’s sake alone. And despite his mild protests at her venturing to take things further, he had been inching toward just that when she stopped him. If she hadn’t emerged from the longing-induced stupor she’d been in, would he have made love to her? Would he have done so if he’d known she was pregnant with another man’s child?
Eva stepped under the shower spray, welcoming the momentary thought-robbing cold spray of water.
No, she determined. No man could have gone ahead after hearing that bit of news. No man could desire her enough not only to accept her condition, but to embrace it. Not even Adam.
Besides, she couldn’t see Adam making love to her after only twenty-four hours of getting to really know each other. She lethargically washed, rinsed then turned off the shower. But what, exactly, did she know about Adam?
She searched for something, anything he had offered about his own family. His past, his friends, a pet, anything. And came up with little more than he had a neighbor who threw clothes out of apartment windows, and that he had a crush on her laptop.
Thinking about it, the whole situation seemed more than strange…it was abnormal. Sure, maybe Adam felt awkward discussing personal matters, but so did she. Especially given how very personal hers were. Yet he now knew about her pregnancy, and had managed to coax information from her about her ex-husband and her family.
There was a knock at the outer door. Slipping into her dress, Eva entered the bedroom to find her mother walking in.
“Good, you’re up,” she said. “I was afraid I was going to have to send your grandmother in to wake you for breakfast.”
Eva’s stomach lurched. “Where’s Adam, Mama?”
Her mother glanced at her. “Adam? You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Her mother pulled back the sheet to make the bed and Eva urged her away.
“Know what, Mama?” she said more firmly. Given what her mother and grandmother had done so far, Eva tensed, preparing for the worst.
“Your father took Adam oystering with him this morning.”
What? “What?”
Katina Mavros could have said anything else. That Adam had left. That he had spilled the truth to her family about their fake marriage and everybody was waiting for her corroboration. But this bothered her more than all the other possible answers combined. Except for his employees, her father never took anyone oystering with him.
“Yes, isn’t that nice?”
“Nice?” No, it was awful. Eva felt a twinge of something she could only liken to jealousy. Which was childish at best. But somehow that’s the way she always felt around her father.
Tolly Mavros had never taken her oystering.
She curled her fingers around a bedpost and rested her forehead against the cool iron.
Her mother quietly watched her. “Come now, let’s have breakfast. I cooked up a little something for you.”
Eva’s stomach gave another squeeze. She imagined what her mother’s little something was. Plausibly a table full of food, fried and heavy.
“I’m not hungry, Mama. How long have they been gone?”
“Since about four-thirty. And of course you’re hungry….”
Her mother’s monologue went on, but Eva tuned out, not objecting when her mother started making the bed again. Her gaze flew to the bedside clock. It was after nine already. Her father and Adam had been gone for almost five hours. Five hours.
Eva briefly closed her eyes. Good Lord, five hours with Tolly Mavros could get a serial killer to admit where he’d hidden the bodies.
“They should be back in time for dinner at one,” her mother said. “Come on, Eva, Yaya is probably wondering what’s taking you so long.”
Eva glimpsed a peek of something colorful in her mother’s dress pocket. When Katina passed to make up the other side of the bed, Eva reached out and tugged on the piece of material.
A gentle swell of emotion swept through her—it was half of a crocheted baby bootie.
AN HOUR LATER, Eva felt ready to jump out of her skin. Not just because of the unbearable Louisiana heat. She had little choice but to deal with that. And forget that breakfast included her mother and grandmother and one of her aunts in the kitchen—where she slowly managed to put away a quarter of the meal Katina had prepared for her. And while no one remarked on their suspicions that she was pregnant, neither did they make a secret of the baby items all of them were knitting. And finally forget that she wanted to moan every time she got one of those smiles from her mother that said she was humoring her at the same time she made another loop with her crocheting needle, having graduated from booties to a receiving blanket.
Forget all that. That she could endure. The fact that Adam and her father had yet to come back, however, was another matter.
It wasn’t so much what Adam might or might not do that concerned her. Since he didn’t know anything about oystering, there was no possible way he could please her father. A factor that worked agreeably into her original plan. The problem was that her plans had altered since last night and Adam’s absence threw a two-hundred-pound wrench into them. The plan now was to leave a.s.a.p. But she couldn’t do that until he returned.
What information Adam might have spilled under her father’s probing was something else she chose not to think about.
Needing to escape the kitchen and the conspiracy buzzing among the three well-meaning members of her family, Eva excused herself. She went upstairs, got her laptop and stole out the back door. The squeak of the springs then the gentle slap of the wooden screen door as it closed brought back memories that were both familiar and reassuring. She tightened her grip on the handle of the laptop, then stepped down the porch stairs, peering through the thick stand of Spanish moss-ncloaked oaks and cypresses some fifty yards away. The hardwoods bordered the backyard and separated the house from her father’s oystering dock and warehouse. She couldn’t make out a thing past the lush vines twisted around the gnarled bark barrier.
She started in the direction of the hidden path that led to the dock, stopping restlessly, then starting again.
She couldn’t sit here all day. But she couldn’t very well pack yet, either. She suspected if she did, she’d discover Yaya had unpacked again the minute her back was turned.
Eva pushed a slender, mossy oak branch out of the way and started along the path that stretched some twenty yards before she emerged on the other side and saw the bayou. Named Bayou Old Faithful, the slow-moving stream that, at this point, was as wide as a river, was one of many that snaked off Bayou Lafourche just off to her left where the dock was, and emptied into Timbalier Bay some six miles downstream.
What was Adam doing now? Did he take to heart what she had said last night about acting like a geek? Was he making her father dislike him? Or was her father seeing what she had glimpsed last night? That Adam was a good-natured man, with good genes, who would make a great son-in-law?
Eva stepped out from the stand of hardwoods. For a moment she stared at the large metal structure that served as both a warehouse and an office for her father’s oystering business. It had been painted a soft blue since she’d been here last. She moved toward the gaping loading doors.
“Hey, Jimmy,” she said, greeting the gangly young Cajun just inside. He was scrubbing down crude wooden tables and the concrete floor in preparation for the oysters her father would bring back.
“Hey, yourself, Eva.” He leaned against the soapy, large-brushed broom and grinned at her from beneath a baseball cap that read Mavros Seafood. He shoved the hat back and drew his hand across his forehead. “Your father said something about the guy with him this morning being his son-in-law. I gathered you must be here, too. Welcome home.”
Home. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Did it look like Papa was going to give Adam a hard time?”
Jimmy’s grin widened and his accent thickened. “The guy’ll be lucky if Tolly doesn’t throw him in the middle of a mud lump and just up and leave him there.”
Eva imagined Adam standing in the middle of the equivalent of a northern sandbar. A mud lump was the sediment that swept down through the Mississippi, the rivers and bayous, then lumped near the mouth of the Gulf.
“Good.” Eva glanced toward the closed office door, taking little notice of Jimmy’s puzzled expression. “I thought I’d just go in and work on some of the accounts I brought with me. Do you mind?”
“Naw, go on ahead.”
Eva did, stopping to skim an order on the clipboard hanging on the wall near the glass door. She quietly went into the office and flicked on the light.
“Nothing ever changes,” she murmured.
She put her laptop down on a metal desk, then cleared a pile of receipts, work orders and a few uncashed checks off a ledger. She shook her head at her father’s nearly illegible scrawls that stopped at a date weeks ago.
Eva swept her hair back from her face, then sank into the cracked leather chair she remembered from childhood. She put the receipts back down, then reached for her laptop and opened it up. She considered herself a good accountant, but not even she would attempt to make any sense out of her father’s mess. Besides, she would need a lot longer than a couple of hours to do it.
Slipping the Honeycutt diskettes out of her dress pocket, she slid one into the disk drive and accessed the directory. Without delay, the file names popped up. She frowned, leaned closer and adjusted the brightness on the LCD screen. Most of the files bore sequential numbers…all except one. She selected the file then accessed the menu to open it.
The screen went instantly dark and a loud noise issued from the laptop’s tiny speaker. She jumped, afraid she had crashed the drive. Reaching to reboot the system, she stopped when yellow graphic stars arced across the screen and a tinny, haunted type of music started playing.
That’s odd.
Triumph of the Gladiators printed across the screen.
It’s a game.
Eva accessed the menu system again and scanned the other files on the diskette, finding them all plainly related to the Honeycutt account. That’s strange. Why would Oliver put a personal game on a working disk? She smiled, recalling that Oliver had always done curious little things like that.
Lifting her damp hair from her neck with one hand, she popped the diskette from the drive and slipped in the next one. She found the files she needed, tucked her hair into a loose twist, then got down to work.
A while later, her back started aching from spending so much time in the same position. She got up and stretched listlessly. Through the door window she saw Jimmy was readying the machine that would divide the oysters into netted bags that held fifty pounds each and tag them. Eva turned back toward the desk, catching a glimpse of a picture frame peeking out from a pile of papers. She carefully slipped it out. Her heart gave a tender squeeze as she noticed it was a copy of her high-school graduation photo.
There was a tap at the door, then Jimmy opened it. “Eva, they’re back.”
Her misgivings—lost in the concentration of her chosen chore—returned. Especially because she knew Jimmy meant his words as a warning. Tolly Mavros didn’t think his business was the place for any woman. Not even his daughter. Especially his daughter. No matter that she was a CPA and could help him with the mess he had created.
She slid her diskettes into her dress pocket, shut off her laptop and the light, then slipped through the door.
Out of the confines of the office, Eva heard the steady put-put of the boat engine on the river. She emerged from the warehouse and shaded her eyes from the powerful, hazy midday sun. In the cool dimness of the office, she hadn’t noticed how hot and humid it had become. Now it hit her like a wet, sultry wave. She glanced at where her damp dress clung to her rear and legs from where she’d been sitting. Peeling the material away from her slick skin, she watched the boat pull up, Eva II stenciled in black across the bow, her father expertly maneuvering it through the dark green water into the slip. His flat, short-billed black cap prevented her from seeing much of his face as he concentrated on where he was going.
She sought Adam on the deck of the boat. He was nowhere to be found. Remembering Jimmy’s earlier comment, she idly wondered if her father had left him on a mud lump.
Then she spotted him and the heat of the day was nothing compared to the heat that seared through her body.
Adam’s sculpted, glistening upper torso was stripped bare, his brown polyester slacks riding low on his slim hips, giving her a tantalizing peek at the dark blond hair that trailed a line below his navel, then disappeared into his sweat-soaked pants. His feet were bare, and he’d rolled up the legs of his slacks to midcalf. Eva’s mouth watered as she watched the muscles of his back work as he secured the back of the boat while her father saw to the front.
She swallowed hard. If Adam Gardner had intended to act like a nerd for her father’s benefit, he had failed miserably.
Then he turned around. Even from that distance she could see his glasses were smudged and dirty, his face covered with soot from God only knew where. When he saw her standing with her arms crossed over her stomach, he started waving to her as if he were an overgrown kid returning from his first camping trip.
The grin that eased across her tense face was caused by relief and gratitude. There was no way her father could have taken to him.
Adam Gardner might be just the type of man the female Mavroses approved of, but Tolly would expect something far different than what Adam offered. There were to be no wimpy sons-in-law for this man. His definition of a true man would run somewhere along the lines of a gruff, foulmouthed oysterman like himself. Someone who would stand up for himself, stand up to him, take a stance that showed he had an ounce of passion in him.
Eva rested a hand against her damp neck, heated memories of the previous evening surging back to her. Oh, Adam had passion all right. Just not the type her father could appreciate.
“Hi, Eva,” Adam called to her, stepping off the boat onto the wooden dock.
“Hi, Adam,” she called back softly.
A warm gulf breeze carried her father’s murmured Greek curses to her ears and Eva wanted to smile. Urged on by more than gratitude, she strolled to the dock and to Adam’s side, slipping her arm around his waist. A jolt of awareness spread over her from head to foot as her skin met his hot, hard body. She tried to pull away, but Adam’s strong arm around her shoulders didn’t allow her to.
She quietly cleared her throat. “Did you have fun?”
He grinned down at her, his gaze roving over her face. “Let’s say this morning was very…enlightening.”
Warmth pulsed through her and she pressed her lips to his neck, ceasing the instant she did so.
The movement came so naturally, so easily, she questioned her own sanity. He finally released his hold on her. She gently pulled away, licking the salty taste of him from her lips, her senses overwhelmed with emotions as foreign to her as the spark of spontaneity that had moved her to kiss him in the first place.
“Hi, Papa,” she said as her father moved toward the dock side of the boat.
He murmured a greeting she couldn’t quite make out, then asked what she was doing out there.
“Waiting for you and Adam, of course,” she said, giving herself points for not asking him where he expected her to be. She didn’t need to ask. She already knew. In Tolly’s eyes, Eva’s place was back at the house, helping her mother prepare the afternoon meal.
Her father hmmphed his response, and every remarkable, wonderful emotion within Eva wilted.
She told herself she was being childish. That her need for her father’s affection was something that she should have gotten over years ago…back when she finally figured out she might never get it. Still, she wished just once he would express himself in a way that didn’t make her feel she was one huge disappointment. While a competent cook, she shied away from it, mainly because it was expected of her. She had, however, always yearned to go oystering. It had long proven a sore spot that while her name might be on the boat, she wasn’t welcome on it.
“The morning’s not done yet, Adam,” her father said, rocking a pulley toward him.
“Yes, right, of course.”
Looking all the world like a man ready to please, Adam reboarded the boat and awkwardly offered his help. The relief Eva felt earlier melted into something else entirely. It took her a second to realize it was envy. Not of her father’s brusque treatment of Adam. But that Tolly Mavros would even take the time to tell him how to do something the right way. It’s something he’d never done with her.
Eva slowly walked back along the dock. For the first time, she noticed her brother, Pete, leaning against the warehouse. Given the sober expression on his face, she wasn’t the only one who felt left out. Which was odd, because she had always been envious of Pete’s relationship with her father. She didn’t like to admit that she’d ever been jealous of her brother. In some ways he’d had it harder than she had, having to be at Papa’s beck and call since he was old enough to walk. When he had matured, he had developed his own dreams, his own interests. Discovered he had a passion for building boats rather than using them to fish. But Tolly Mavros wouldn’t hear of Pete veering away from family tradition. Every Mavros male had been a fisherman and his son would continue the legacy. End of discussion.
Pete glanced at Eva. Their gazes locked for a long moment. She started in his direction, to tell him she knew what he was feeling, that she’d felt the same way when Papa had lavished all his attention on him. But he turned from her and drifted into the warehouse where he would presumably help with the bagging.
ADAM GLANCED at Eva where she stood off to the side of the hulking warehouse. The hem of her flowered dress skimmed the middle of her toned, tanned thighs. Her hair was a dark, wild mass that somehow made her eyes look bigger, making her whole presence that much more distracting.
Back there, when Tolly was bringing the boat in, he had spotted Eva, and a soft humming had drifted through his body. A humming whose origin came not from the vibration of the boat engine, but instead as a reaction to the captivating woman waiting for him. In that one moment, it was easy to imagine her one of Odysseus’s sirens and that it was her silent, haunted song that hummed through him. That it was for her song alone that he was returning to shore.
Now Adam dragged the back of his hand across his wet forehead and followed Pete’s lead by spreading the oysters out on the table. He needed to get out of there, out of Louisiana and back to some semblance of reality, quick. He fully intended to make Eva stick to her promise that they’d stay for only one day.
The woman offered a fathomless wealth of contradictions. Hell, his own emotions were a bit on the contradictory side when it came to Eva Mavros Burgess. After she’d shared her condition the night before, the last thing he should be thinking about was how sexy she looked, and how hard it had been to lie next to her all night and not follow through with what had started with that kiss. But when she had slipped her slender arm around his waist on the dock, then pressed her mouth against his neck, he had battled against the need to claim those provocative lips in a kiss that would surpass a friendly greeting. What stopped him was the shadow in Eva’s eyes when she spoke to her father.
Looking at the older man now, Adam decided that Tolly Mavros had to be one of the most direct people he had ever met. When he’d awakened to a rough squeeze on the shoulder early that morning, he had started, thinking it was Eva, having changed her mind about his sleeping in the bed. Instead, he’d made out the outline of Tolly’s uniquely carved face inches away from his and couldn’t for the life of him think what Eva’s father wanted. He didn’t find out until after hastily dressing and meeting him in the hall where Tolly had said they were going oystering.
Oystering, for God’s sake.
Until that point, the only things Adam knew about oysters were that they were supposed to be an aphrodisiac, they were expensive and you didn’t prepare them at home unless you knew where they came from. Of course, he had never stopped to think about how they were actually dredged up. But Tolly apparently had been dead set on showing him. Something that caught Adam off guard because aside from commenting on his hair, Eva’s father hadn’t spoken a word to him.
And two hours into the already sweltering day, when the sun had finally started to rise over the river and countless bayous like a fiery orange, Adam had been convinced Tolly might never utter another word to him again.
The first half of the trip was spent in silence—aside from terse orders from his temporary father-in-law. Awkward silences that stopped being so awkward when Adam figured out Tolly wasn’t much of a talker. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested. He just honestly didn’t have anything to say. Adam mopped the sweat from his forehead again. But when Tolly Mavros did have something to say, he could be as jovial as a comic, or as tenacious as a pit bull with a rabbit clenched in his jaws. It depended on what his mind was on.
Of course, Adam hadn’t forgotten Eva’s request from the night before: he was to do everything he could to make her father not like him. And he had. From jamming the controls for the dredger so it got stuck in the upright position, to “accidentally” dumping a couple dozen or so oysters back into the water. He had gone out of his way to come off, if not as a complete imbecile, then as a top contender. He’d earned more than a few tirades of guttural words he hadn’t understood. But there had been one word he did understand. It came after he had maneuvered the dredger and dumped its contents directly in the spot Eva’s father had indicated. Tolly had slapped him on the back hard enough to dislodge half a digested steak then heartily said, “Bravo.”
Adam rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he hadn’t purposely smudged his fake glasses, then went back to helping bag the last of the oysters. It was funny, but that one word coming from Tolly Mavros had made him grin.
Finally, Tolly announced the morning’s work done and Adam stepped up next to where Eva watched nearby. She looked more fresh and appealing than any one woman had the right to look. And made Adam feel that much grimier. Lord, but he felt as if he’d just returned from a month-long tour of hard labor.
“Here, let me clean those for you,” she said, reaching up to take the glasses from his face.
Adam caught her wrist before she could slip them all the way off, feeling the leap of her pulse beneath his thumb, then slid that same thumb up and down the underside of her wrist.
“Thanks, but I can get them,” he said, his exhaustion chased away by a rush of desire for the woman in front of him. A woman as earthy as the rich soil that banked the bayous, and more alluring than an enchantress in an erotic novel. A woman he needed to stay well away from.
The expression on her face mirrored the one she wore after talking to Tolly. Disappointment. It bothered Adam more than he cared to admit. So much so, he released her hand then took off his glasses himself, offering them to her. Surely, he could let her clean his glasses without succumbing to the overwhelming urge to take her to bed.
“Be careful,” he said, dropping his gaze when she looked at him closely…too closely. “They scratch easy.”
He caught her brief smile. “I’ll be careful.”
She walked toward the back of the warehouse. He watched her go, glad for once that he didn’t have to do it through the thick lenses. God, but that woman had a walk on her. And the way her summery dress drifted around her thighs made him want to groan.
He had to get out of there.
“Come.” Tolly hit him on the back so hard he nearly choked. “We wash up outside. You’re hungry, no?”
“Yes,” Adam said, allowing the shorter, stockier man to lead him out of the dim warehouse. “Hungry.”
He didn’t think Tolly would be happy to learn what exactly he was hungry for. Especially since he wasn’t the man Tolly thought him to be.
“NO, MAMA, we have to go,” Eva said across the dinner table. She gently waved her grandmother away from where she tried to hand her a slice of fresh bread. “It’s a long drive, and we both have to be back at work Tuesday morning.”
“But that’s ridiculous. We haven’t seen you for over a year, Eva. And we’ve only just met Adam. Certainly, you can stay at least through tomorrow and spend Labor Day with us.” Katina reached out to place her hand on Adam’s arm where he sat next to her. “Tell her, Adam. Tell my stubborn daughter that you must stay.”
Eva’s gaze shifted to Adam’s face. She hoped that Adam would back her up this time. She really needed him to.
Eva’s brother, Pete, dropped his fork to his plate. “Leave them be, Mama. If Eva says they have to go, then they have to go. God, does everything have to be a battle around here?”
An uncomfortable silence punctuated by the whirl of the ceiling fan followed Pete’s statement. Eva watched her brother in quiet sympathy. He feels threatened by Adam’s presence, she realized. Did he think his position as the only son was in jeopardy now that another man had shown up? Or was he thinking about all he, himself, had given up without a fight?
This made Eva feel even guiltier about her deception. Bill would have never made Pete feel insecure, because Bill would never have come down here.
She dropped her gaze, wishing the heat didn’t make her feel so listless.
“Sorry, Mrs. Mavros,” Adam said quietly. “But Eva’s right.” He met her gaze meaningfully. “We really do have to get back.”
Those at the table remained silent. Eva tamped down a comment about how none of her objections were taken seriously, while Adam said one sentence and it was accepted as a fact.
Sluggishly stabbing a piece of fried zucchini, she sensed her father’s gaze on her.
“Your mother is right. You should stay,” he said. Then more quietly, he added, “I’d like you to stay.”
Eva shifted her gaze to his face, but he had gone back to eating. She wondered if she had heard his last comment at all.
The tension at the table for the remainder of the midday meal settled into Eva’s stomach like a tight knot. She was relieved when she could finally excuse herself, the key to the guest bedroom tucked safely in her dress pocket. Earlier, during a rare moment alone, she’d sneaked into the pantry and went through a metal box that held copies of all the house’s keys. She intended to make up the guest bedroom for Adam and let him lie down there while she rested in her old room before making the drive to Jersey.
Collecting her laptop from where she’d left it in the kitchen, she climbed the stairs, wondering if Adam would still want to stop in New Orleans on the way back up. At this point, she wasn’t sure if she was up to showing him the sights she had promised. All she wanted to do was crawl into her wicker bed at home with the remote, a jar of chunky peanut putter, a bowl of celery sticks, set the air-conditioner to full blast and forget this whole weekend ever happened. Maybe then she could concentrate on her life—and the life of her baby—again, without having to worry about her strained relationship with her father. And she’d be able to forget about her lustful thoughts for Adam.
Eva paused at the top of the steps and leaned briefly against the hall wall. Her reason for coming back hadn’t been solely to prepare her father for her divorce. She had wanted to mend the damaged relationship. Repair it before the truth about her most recent failure caused the rift between them to grow wider. She needed to strengthen a generation of weak family ties for the sake of the baby growing within her.
Pushing off the wall, she picked up her step, telling herself it didn’t matter now. In a couple of hours she and Adam would be on the road, and everything would be back to the way it was before they’d come.
Intending to unlock the guest room through the connecting bathroom, she opened her bedroom door and slipped in. She took three steps then came to a complete stop. She stood in the middle of a circle of clothes she recognized as a combination of hers and Adam’s.
It took a second to sink in that what she was seeing wasn’t normal. That the dresser drawers tilting out at odd angles, the uneven mattresses, and the contents of the closet covering the floor weren’t a result of spring-cleaning—or another of her grandmother’s attempts to get them to stay. The room had been trashed.
DOWNSTAIRS, the alarm in Eva’s voice as she called for him sent a tidal wave of panic through Adam’s veins. Pushing away from the dinner table, he met the gazes of her brother and father, then rushed from the room. He didn’t stop until he found Eva, safe, in her bedroom.
“Are you all right?” He gently grasped her arms and pulled her to him.
“I’m—I’m fine,” she said.
Her face was a little too pale, her skin too cool beneath his fingers.
Beyond the relief upon seeing she was okay came the disturbing awareness that somebody had rifled through the room. And had done a fine job of it, too. When Tolly caught up with him, Adam stepped aside to let him enter the room.
“Are you okay?” Tolly asked gruffly.
Eva nodded, her hand shaking as she pushed her hair back from her face. “The room was like this when I came in.”
“There’s been a break-in,” Adam said tightly.
Stepping past Eva, he checked the bathroom and the closet. Then he moved into the hall, doing a quick search of the other rooms to make sure the intruder wasn’t still lurking somewhere inside the house. He wasn’t surprised that the only room that had been touched was Eva’s.
Damn. Between his baffling feelings for Eva, and balancing the dual roles he was playing as an undercover agent and as Eva’s husband, he’d let himself get sucked into a false sense of security. Allowed himself to believe that the thirteen hundred miles between Belle Rivage and Edison, New Jersey, was enough to erase any potential danger.
The Ford. The guy who had broken into Eva’s car. Adam had suspected all along it had been more than a random act. Now he knew. He and Eva had been followed.
He walked back into Eva’s bedroom. She and her father were talking in hushed tones, and she had her arms squeezed protectively around her stomach. Tolly had moved farther into the room and had a bunched towel clenched in his right hand. He picked something up off the dresser with his other hand, then put it slowly back down.
Eva’s face paled and she glanced to Adam. He nodded, indicating the rest of the rooms were untouched.
“What is going on here?” Tolly demanded of Adam.
“I don’t know beyond what we all see.” Which was accurate if you relied on the surface truth. And right now, Adam decided that’s all that mattered. At least as far as Eva’s family was concerned.
“You don’t know.” Tolly’s response was tense as he eyed the things around him with disdain. His thick fingers clenched around the towel he held.
Adam cleared his throat. “Did anybody see anything suspicious? Anyone strange hanging around?”
He looked at Eva’s mother, grandmother and brother where they now stood in the hall.
“Mama and I were in the kitchen all morning,” Katina said quietly.
Adam looked to Pete. “I left early and didn’t return until about an hour ago. I didn’t see anything,” Pete answered.
Swearing silently, Adam turned back to Eva and Tolly, but neither paid much attention to him.
“Somebody should call the police,” Adam said.
Pete quietly left, apparently to do as he’d requested.
Adam thrust his hand through his hair. He needed to call Weckworth and tell him what was going on. To see if there had been any other developments in the case his boss had neglected to tell him about.
But right now, he needed to make sure Eva was all right. She turned from where she leaned against one of the wrought-iron bedposts and her face went even paler. Frowning, Adam followed her gaze to her father’s feet. He moved closer and understood Eva’s fear. Tolly stood on her divorce papers.
Eva’s gaze fastened on Adam’s face, her expression alarmed, her eyes pleading with him to do something, anything, to keep her father from seeing the documents.
“Tolly, you’re upset,” Adam said, slapping his back as Tolly had done to him that morning. “Why don’t you go wait downstairs for the police? There’s nothing you can do in here now.”
Tolly looked at the items littering the floor. Eva rushed forward.
“Adam’s right, Papa,” she said, stepping close enough to force his attention to her rather than the papers he stood on. A light sheen of perspiration glistened on her tanned skin. “Go now and let me and Adam check to see if anything’s missing.”
Muttering what Adam guessed were Greek curses, Tolly let Adam guide him toward the door. Eva’s mother and grandmother took over from there.
As soon as the trio was halfway down the hall, Adam quietly closed the door and faced Eva. She was plucking the papers from the carpet, smoothing them out with trembling hands.
“Planning to get married again, Eva? Or do you always carry your divorce papers with you? You know, in case you need them for identification purposes?” he asked dryly, seeking out his briefcase in the mess surrounding them.
“After I found I was pregnant…and I agreed to let Bill out of our marriage…” Eva faltered, apparently trying to slow her words. “Everything happened so fast. I mean, I knew it was going to happen, I just didn’t expect his attorneys to be so successful in the expedition of the process….” She closed her eyes and drew a deep, shaky breath. “I’m rambling. What it comes down to is I got the final papers Thursday and, well, I didn’t have a chance to take them out of my attaché case.”
Adam hadn’t realized her divorce from Bill Burgess had been that recent. But it didn’t take a genius to do the math. While two months was an extraordinarily short amount of time to obtain a divorce decree, with the right connections and without contest it wasn’t impossible. He shoved his fingers through his hair again, cursing the heat, and damning the twist in circumstances. He bent to rummage around the clothes piled outside the closet door. It was there he found his briefcase…open.
Empty.
His pulse rate vaulted. He tore through the plastic-protected clothes on the floor. He stopped after he’d combed them a second time. There was no mistake about it. The intruder may or may not have found what he was looking for. But he had walked away with one, important thing: Adam’s 9 mm pistol.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered, stepping to the window. A police car pulled into the driveway. Yes, the officers would expect a complete report on what was missing. No, Adam wouldn’t mention a word about his gun. Not now. Not when this case had taken such a sharp turn.
Another thing Adam knew was that he and Eva weren’t going anywhere, whether they liked it or not. Since the danger had started in Belle Rivage, it must end here, as well.
His biggest problem lay in how he was going to continue to act like a nerd and still manage to get answers to some very important questions.
Number one being whether or not Eva Mavros Burgess was involved in the illegal scheme with her boss, Norman Sheffert.
EVA COULDN’T REMEMBER a time when she felt more spent, more violated, more out of sorts than she did at that moment. That included the day two months ago when she returned home from work to an empty house. Bill had taken every piece of furniture, each plate and glass, all the linens, even the CD collection, leaving only those items she had brought into their marriage. She remembered thinking he must have had two trucks and ten movers to have accomplished the feat in so short a time. She had also been struck with the numbing sensation that it was truly over between them. He had destroyed everything they had ever shared with that one, heartless act.
Now, sitting at her family’s dining-room table in Belle Rivage—a half hour after the local police had taken their statements—Eva rested the fingers of her right hand against her stiff, clammy neck and stared at the Greek coffee in a tiny cup near her left wrist. The late-afternoon sun slanted in through the lacy curtains, making odd, shifting patterns on the surface of the table and increasing the almost unbearable heat of the room.
“You must stay now,” her father said from the end of the table.
Stay? As in forever? Eva sought out his gaze, but could read nothing in his expression except a challenge for her to object.
“He’s right,” Adam said where he sat next to her. “We should stay.”
Eva fastened her gaze on him.
“At least until tomorrow morning, when things have had a chance to settle down.” He pushed up his glasses, but Eva found the would-be nervous action somehow incongruous with his firm words.
“Adam, sweetheart,” she said, her throat thick, her muscles taut. “You know we have to get back to Jersey. We’re both behind in our work—”
“We can always see to our work from here. At least for a short time.”
She blinked slowly several times, not quite buying his innocent expression. Not when there was a tension around his provocative mouth that warranted further examination.
“We can always download the files we need from Alice first thing Tuesday morning,” he said.
Tuesday? How did they get from leaving a.s.a.p. to getting their files via modem from Sheffert, Logan and Brace Tuesday morning?
Eva pressed her fingertips against her forehead.
“Good, then it’s settled,” her father stated, rising from the table.
He didn’t say anything else, merely left the room. Eva didn’t need to ask where he was going. Greek custom included taking a siesta in the afternoons right after dinner.
“Your room’s all straightened.” Eva looked up to where her grandmother had rejoined them. Eva had assumed she had gone up for her own siesta. Obviously, she’d assumed wrong.
Eva sighed. “Yaya, you shouldn’t have done that.” Didn’t anyone think she could take care of herself? She’d lived in New Jersey for years on her own. Who did they think made her bed there? Cleaned up after her? Told her when and what to eat?
She knew her vexation was due more to frustration, and that her grandmother was just trying to be helpful, but her irrational emotions refused to go away. Emotionally and physically spent, she pushed away from the table and headed upstairs where she hoped everything would look a lot better after some rest.
“YOUR COVER is blown, Grayson. It’s as simple as that,” FBI Deputy Chief John Weckworth said.
Adam tightened his fingers against the wallet-size cellular phone that had gone untouched in a narrow false bottom of his briefcase. He bit back a curse, telling himself that nothing was simple. Not anymore. Not since somebody had gone through Eva’s room and his gun had come up missing.
After making sure Eva was sleeping, Adam had ducked into the guest room next door where he had placed the call to his superior. He’d brought Eva’s laptop computer with him and it sat on a nearby dresser. He glanced at the closed door to the bathroom, envisioning Eva lying in that sinfully sumptuous bed just a few yards and two walls away.
“My gut tells me you’re wrong, John.” He crossed to the computer. “What happened today has nothing to do with me or my cover.”
There was a brief silence as he opened the laptop.
“Then that means Eva Burgess was the target,” Weckworth said, putting into words his own thoughts.
“Maybe.”
Weckworth cursed. “Tell me, Grayson, if you and Burgess aren’t the targets, who is? The fisherman? Oh, wait, let me guess. It’s the little old lady.”
Adam gave a wry smile at the reference to Eva’s grandmother. “Actually, I’m thinking that someone isn’t the target at all, but something is.”
There was another silence, then Weckworth muttered something and put him on hold.
Adam hadn’t told his superior about his missing gun, and was relieved he hadn’t. He could imagine what sarcasm he would have suffered through had he given Weckworth that piece of ammunition.
He had told him about the guy who broke into Eva’s car, and gave a detailed description of the Ford he’d been driving. Adam hadn’t spotted the car or the guy since, but that meant little other than the man had let his guard down. He knew instinctively that the two incidents were connected and that led to his theory that the intruder was after something….
Adam stared down at the open laptop to find folded sheets of paper lying across the keyboard. He picked them up. They were Eva’s divorce papers. She must have stuck them in there after the close call with her father.
“I’m back,” Weckworth said.
“Good thing. I was just about to hang up on you.” Adam glanced at the still-closed door. “To return to what I was saying, I don’t think what the intruder was after is so much the question here as the identity of the culprit himself. Or herself.” He frowned. Until he had proof one way or the other, he couldn’t completely rule out Eva as a suspect.
“Any theories?” Weckworth asked.
“A couple. But they’re not at the sharing stage yet. What about you?”
“The same.”
Adam dragged in a breath of the hot, humid air, then looked back down at the divorce papers in his right hand. With a flick of a finger, he turned to the second page of the stamped document. Past the official recognition of the filer and respondent—the filer being one pond scum William B. Burgess.
“Get somebody from the New Orleans office out here,” he muttered to Weckworth. “I don’t care who. I can’t stay in character and insist on staying around the house twenty-four hours a day.”
“Two guys are already on their way,” Weckworth said, giving him another cell phone number. “You’re not the only one with gut instincts, you know. Call me later to let me know if you find anything on that laptop.”
Adam broke the connection then called the number of the agents en route and arranged a brief meeting with them in an hour, near the warehouse. Afterward he dropped the cell phone to the dresser and turned to the next page of the divorce papers. A dark expression spread over his face.
Bill Burgess had signed away all parental rights to his child.
The baby Eva carried.
And all indications were that he’d not only done it voluntarily, he’d insisted on it.
Cursing, Adam tossed the papers to the dresser, then sat in front of the laptop computer, determined to break this case one way or another. And even more resolved to put his growing feelings for the woman in the next room out of his mind. Both for her safety…and his own.
EVA AWAKENED from her nap to the sound of a car horn. Pushing upright on the still-made bed, she saw her room was nearly pitch-black but for a purplish haze. Bewildered, she climbed from the bed and peeked through the window where she saw her aunt and uncle getting out of their Honda. The warm greeting from her father downstairs baffled her further as she turned to look at the bedside clock. It read eight-thirty.
She had slept for five straight hours.
Adam.
A glance told her he had not slept on the other side of the bed. She moved toward the bathroom and the door to the guest room. He wasn’t there and hadn’t slept on that bed, either. She returned to her own bedroom and noticed her laptop was gone. Adam must have taken it downstairs.
Pushing her tangled hair back from her face, she switched on the lights and lethargically got herself together.
Minutes later, she walked into the dining room to find it empty. She followed the sound of the voices through the living room and halted at the doors to the screened-in side porch that offered a captivating view of the sunset. She had stepped right into another family gathering. But this time, a thorough, lingering glance told her that her father was actually smiling. Well, he was doing the Tolly Mavros equivalent to smiling, anyway, which was a wry, sardonic slight upturn to his full mouth as he filled a wineglass for her uncle. Tolly’s upbeat mood was better displayed by his gregarious bursts of conversation and his frequent prompting of his guests to eat or drink, or both.
“You’re up,” her mother greeted Eva, spotting her.
Eva frowned when she saw that Adam held the prominent position next to her father. He sat in a chair usually reserved for her brother, Pete, who was noticeably absent. Adam smiled at her in a modest way that came off as somehow too innocent, too vague, and all too provocative. Her grandmother pulled out the chair between her and Adam. Eva hesitantly went to it. She should have given herself more time to wake up, to gather her thoughts together.
She sat down and noticed that Yaya was slipping something into a white plastic bag. Eva captured the scrap of material, finding it to be a continuation of the pink, blue and white blanket her grandmother had been working on earlier in the day.
“Yaya—”
“Eat, Eva, eat,” her grandmother urged, pushing a full plate in front of her.
Eva clutched the bag and the blanket in it, then stuffed both under her chair, out of her grandmother’s reach. The white-haired woman merely smiled and filled a glass with milk for her.
Eva turned toward Adam and he winked at her. An ardent flush swept across her skin and she shifted her gaze to her plate. It was piled high with seafood.
“You’re going to have to tell them soon, Eva,” Adam murmured, his breath stirring the hair over her left ear.
She shivered, not sure what bothered her more. The way he insisted on using the Greek pronunciation of her name, or the electric way she reacted to him.
“Did you do this?” she whispered, gesturing toward her plate.
His smile told her he had.
She picked up the plate and used her fork to carefully transfer the oysters, shrimp and lobster on top of his already generous helpings.
“I’m allergic to shellfish,” she said quietly, hoping her father wouldn’t overhear.
Adam’s eyebrows lifted above the rim of his glasses, his gaze probing and intimate.
Eva wasn’t sure she was comfortable with the perusal. Adam Gardner was coming to know more about her than anyone else ever had. Including Bill. She grimaced. Especially Bill.
“Here,” her grandmother said on the other side of her. “Have some fish.”
Eva raised her hand to protest the healthy helping, then she slumped back in her chair. Just because the scaly thing was on her plate didn’t mean she had to eat it.
The atmosphere around the table was much different from the night before. Eva guessed it might be because they were outside but suspected it had more to do with her father’s open participation tonight. She glanced at him, noticing his cheeks were flushed with color, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief in the light from the three gas lanterns on the table. Apparently his appetite had returned to normal as well, evidenced by the way he lifted another oyster on a half shell to his mouth.
“Is everything all right?” Adam murmured.
Eva realized she had sighed. She glanced at him. “Sure, I’m fine.”
“So, Adam,” Eva’s Uncle Theo asked from across the table. “You haven’t told us yet how you met our Eva.”
Eva’s gaze still resting on his face, she lifted an eyebrow, hoping he remembered what she had told him. But when she saw a devilish gleam in his brown eyes, her heart surged into her throat. She anchored her hand to his thigh under the table and squeezed to let him know she would handle this.
“At work. We met at work,” she said quickly, nearly knocking over her glass of milk as she reached for it with her other hand. “I was working on his business accounts. Two years ago this January, in fact.”
Her uncle grinned. “Two years, huh? You must be a fast worker to have gotten Eva to marry you so quickly.”
Eva’s father hmmphed, but everyone seemed to ignore him. Everyone but Eva.
“You know how true love goes,” Adam said smoothly. Too smoothly. Eva studied him, trying to ignore the way he had trapped her hand against his thigh…ignoring the way his thumb scraped against her palm. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on her that she would be the woman I’d spend the rest of my life with.”
Something within Eva went soft. Adam turned toward her, his eyes holding a curious shadow she couldn’t quite define. An honesty that made her heartbeat speed up, her stomach flutter and her knees squeeze tightly together.
She urged her gaze away, telling herself she was being ridiculous. Adam had made that part up to convince her family that their fake courtship had been natural. But the way she felt now was far from natural. Not considering that the man sitting next to her was not her husband, and they had never gone out on a date, much less courted each other.
He tried to release her hand. She found herself preventing the move, clasping his fingers tighter as she forked her red snapper.
“And the wedding?” Eva’s mother asked from the other end of the table.
Eva swallowed. Why was her mother doing this? She’d told her everything the day after the ceremony. “Bill and I went to the county courthouse. A judge performed the ceremony.”
Her father stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. It wasn’t until then that Eva realized she’d said “Bill.”
Adam cleared his throat and tightened his hold on her hand. “Eva often calls me Bill since that’s how most of my friends refer to me.”
There were several nods, and quiet exchanges as the meal continued.
“Then you’re not married in the eyes of the Church.”
Eva wasn’t surprised by her father’s blunt statement. Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny.
“And if you’re not married in the eyes of the Church, you’re not married in the eyes of God.” He pointed a finger toward the darkening sky.
Eva rested her head against her other hand, not up to an argument. Not tonight. Not after all that had happened in the past two days. Lingering in her mind was the question of what her father would do if he knew she and Adam were sharing a room in his house, but weren’t married in anybody’s eyes, much less God’s.
“Actually, we’ve talked about that,” Adam said, picking up the conversation. Eva jerked involuntarily, pulling his hand from his thigh to hers under the table. The back of his fingers caused tremors of sensation as they rasped against her knee. Eva nearly jumped, the warmth in her belly seeping lower. “We were thinking about arranging a church ceremony.”
Eva focused on his face, battling between the erotic awareness caused by the innocent touch of his hand, and the baffling comments coming from his all-too-tempting mouth.
“Not now, but at some point soon,” Adam clarified.
Inexplicably hungry for more than the food on her plate, she released her grip and urged his palm down against her bare knee. The forbidden heat of his skin chased the breath from her lungs, seeming to manipulate strings attached to her heart. She’d had a scare this afternoon, slept far longer than she had intended, and was facing her father’s disapproval. Despite all that, Adam’s command of the conversation brought her a measure of comfort…while her command of his hand under the table caused a restlessness that had more to do with sensual need than difficult questions.
“Oh, how wonderful,” Katina said. “You must have the ceremony down here. You know, so family can attend.”
Adam glanced at Eva, his expression telling her he knew exactly what she was doing as she slowly urged his fingers higher on her fevered skin. The contrast between his awkwardly reluctant participation in their kiss the night before, and his hesitant yet willing participation as he touched her now threatened to make her head spin. But she refused to continue to seek answers to questions that might not have any answers. She was tired of trying to figure out the enigmatic man next to her. In that one moment, she resolved to give herself over to the wonderfully feminine and desirable way he made her feel instead.
Lured by the safety of their under-table play, Eva uncrossed her legs and scooted a little closer to the table, making sure the long, white tablecloth concealed her secret activities. She was pleased by the surprise that marked Adam’s handsome face.
“Uh, yes,” she said softly to her mother’s suggestion that they have the church ceremony in Louisiana. “We might consider doing it—down here.”
Eva had only the faintest notion of what she had agreed to. All she could concentrate on was the hand that had stopped maddeningly on her thigh. Adam stabbed an oyster with his other hand and lifted it to his mouth. She watched the action with rapt attention, opening her mouth as if she were going to take in the salty morsel. She wished for the first time in her life she didn’t break out in hives just smelling the shellfish. Most people believed the oyster an aphrodisiac. Raised in Louisiana, Eva knew the rumor to be a fact. Eating the molluscan shellfish increased the blood’s level of zinc, thus elevating testosterone levels in men. So every time Adam slipped one more oyster into his mouth, he was promising that the next time they were alone together, it would be harder for him—and her—to pull away.
Forcing herself to pretend at least a passing interest in the meal, Eva tried to concentrate on her own plate…and nearly choked when Adam’s hidden hand drifted farther up between her legs and grazed the thin, damp material of her panties. Liquid fire erupted throughout her limbs. He took in her surprise and began moving his hand away. She just barely stopped herself from yelling no and trapped his hand where it was, shamelessly pressing her hips against the thumb that rested against her exquisite pressure point.
Her cheeks ablaze, she glanced around the table, smiling at her aunt when she caught her gaze. She turned back to Adam, drinking in the curiously wicked gleam in his eyes. Embarrassment swept through Eva. But mingling with it was a provocative allure that no one knew exactly where Adam’s hand was. They had no idea that even now the pad of his thumb outlined the edge of her panties, guided by her own hand. They’d never guess that he was slipping that same thumb in—
“Tell us a little about yourself, Adam,” her aunt said.
The air rushed from Eva’s lungs as the tip of his finger brushed maddeningly against her pubic hair. Her knee jerked against the table and the contents tottered. She shuddered in near climax and quickly thrust his hand back to the safety of his own thigh.
Adam’s hoarse chuckle swept over her. Eva quietly groaned, both in longing and in horror at her own brazen behavior.
“Oh, I don’t think you’d be interested in hearing about me,” he responded. “My life is one long boring story.”
“Are you from New Jersey?” Eva’s cousin asked, ignoring his evasion.
Still, Adam’s hand remained under the table and the temptation to guide those strong, long fingers back…Eva swallowed hard and searched his profile. She tried to quash the sensations clamoring for release, but was slowly coming to understand that ever since their not-so-innocent kiss the night before, she might never get rid of the hunger growing inside her, her craving for a man who was an awkward, charming nerd one minute, then a rakishly handsome, almost seductive rogue the next. The longing to know as much about the man as he was coming to know about her. She cleared her throat and trailed her hand down the cold side of her milk glass, restraining herself from acting on needs better ignored.
She couldn’t exactly ask Adam about his past. Not in present company. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t listen.
“No, I’m not from Jersey. I’m from a small town in Ohio outside Toledo,” he said quietly, his gaze trained on his food. He used the hand that had intimately touched her moments before to push up his glasses.
“How did you end up on the coast then?” her mother asked.
“I…relocated for career reasons.”
Eva’s eyebrows drew together. She watched the lean-fingered hand he rested on top of the table with fascination. Business reasons? One didn’t decide to move halfway across the country to get an entry-level job at an accounting firm.
“Yes, I suppose you can’t do much stock trading in Ohio,” Eva’s uncle said.
Bill was the stockbroker. Of course, Eva thought, Adam was playing the role they’d agreed on.
Adam laughed and nodded, but Eva saw the tension in his jaw.
“What about your family?”
“My family?” Adam repeated.
Eva’s cousin smiled. “Certainly you have one.”
Adam put down his fork and stiffened in his chair. “Actually, no, I don’t,” he said quietly. “My mother…my birth mother gave me up to the state when I was three. I never knew who my father was.”
Eva reached out and lay her hand against his thigh. Not to restrain him. Not to incite passion. But for reasons that had nothing to do with either. She wanted to comfort him, let him know she felt more than sympathy, that she cared.
Adam glanced at her. Eva saw that telling her family just this little bit had cost him a lot. She also suspected he hadn’t said it solely for their sakes. The intense look in his eyes told her the open, casual format of the conversation had allowed him a way to open up to her. And he now watched her for her response.
She gave it to him by way of a squeeze of his thigh and surprised even herself when she leaned over and spontaneously pressed her lips against his clean-shaven cheek.
When she slowly pulled back, Adam laughed and pushed up his glasses again. “I told you it was a long, boring story.”
The awkward statement brought caring protests from those around the table, but thankfully, the moment proved to be the impetus to urge the conversation back to lighter territory. Under her hand, Eva felt Adam’s hard muscles relax.
Much later, the informal get-together broke up and the women began clearing the table. As Eva slowly stacked plates and gathered glasses, she realized her movements were jerky and nervous, the need to be alone with Adam her primary focus.
“Leave them,” her grandmother said, touching her arm. “We can take care of the dishes.”
Eva nudged her hand away. “I can help, Yaya.”
“Better you should show your sweet Adam your moon down on the bayou, no?”
My moon. Eva gave a little smile. In her early teens, she used to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and steal down to the dock, spending long hours telling her dreams to the moon. Once, her grandmother had secretly followed her, obviously out of concern, but said nothing when Eva had sneaked back into the house just minutes before her father would rise to go oystering. Yaya had been sitting in the kitchen, giving her a conspiratorial smile as Eva hurried past her to make her way back upstairs.
Funny how she forgot things like that in the harsh, rational light of adulthood. Funny how merely remembering it brought back a swell of nostalgia. And a desire to show Adam her moon.
Giving her grandmother a kiss on the cheek, Eva threaded her fingers through Adam’s and tugged him to his feet.
“Go, go,” Yaya said when he hesitated.
Eva gave him a glance that told him to come.
THE DEWY GRASS was soft under their feet as they walked, the fragrance of nearby jasmine intoxicating. Adam glanced toward the trees and underbrush that bordered the property. On his order, the two agents he’d met up with outside the warehouse should be constantly skirting the place, on the lookout for anything suspicious. He knew that the evening’s visitors would make it difficult for the agents, but he’d had no control over that. What he could do was make sure that if the house was being watched, the watcher would be spotted. His first concern was keeping Eva and her family safe. Coming in a very close second was solving this case, no matter the consequences.
And the urgency of both objectives grew with each moment that ticked by.
He’d broken Eva’s password code on her laptop and found nothing of use on the hard drive. Nothing but legitimate accounts and postings. Neither had a search of her purse turned up any sign of the Honeycutt diskettes. And there were no unusual deposits listed in her checkbook register. No suspicious names in her address book. Nothing that tied her to anything that was happening. Which was the source of tremendous relief…and worry. If she wasn’t involved, what did she have that someone wanted? And could he find it before that someone did?
Adam shifted his gaze to where his fingers were still laced with Eva’s. He wondered at the feeling that pulsed beneath the wary tension that filled him. The undefined emotion had less to do with sex and more with the woman who walked next to him. He had never said to anyone what he had told Eva’s family earlier that evening. And while it wasn’t the entire reason he turned love and commitment away, what he had experienced at revealing the little he had was oddly cathartic. A relief and a reassurance that what had happened to him all those years ago had little impact on the man he had become…the man he was this minute. The man holding Eva’s hand, needing little else, yet burning for so very much more.
“I want to thank you for what you did back there,” Eva said quietly, the pale moonlight illuminating her features.
“And here I thought you might object.”
He felt rather than saw her gaze. “Why would you think that?”
He shrugged and tightened his grip on her hand. “Maybe what I said wasn’t what you wanted me to tell your parents.”
Maybe because I hadn’t acted like the nerd you said you wanted me to be. A role he didn’t want to play. Not now. Not tonight.
He heard her laugh, a soft sound that vied with the chirp of cicadas, and the hushed trembling of cyprus leaves in the light, humid breeze. “I have to say, I don’t know what to make of your saying we were thinking about a church wedding.” Apparently something occurred to her and she tried to remove her hand from his. He didn’t allow her the escape.
“What?”
“I just realized that I should have told them long ago that Bill and I were considering a church wedding.”
He tried to penetrate the darkness to see her eyes. “And had you?”
“What? Considered a church wedding? No. Bill refused to even talk about it.” She brushed her free hand through her hair, then rested it against her neck. A place Adam would have liked to put his mouth. “I suggested we get married down here. But Bill, well, he wasn’t interested in a full-blown family get-together.” It was her turn to shrug and she dropped her hand from her neck. “That’s how we ended up at the county courthouse.”
She glanced at something unseen in the distance. Adam followed her gaze, hoping she hadn’t spotted one of the agents. He had left a standing order that if he was anywhere in the vicinity, they were to move on to cover another area. He’d issued the request with the intention of keeping the entire property protected. Now he realized it also gave him a measure of privacy.
Eva sighed softly. “Anyway, what you said back there, the story you made up about how we met, it’s better than reality. It almost makes me wish….”
Wish what, Eva? he silently demanded. Say it.
The silence stretched and he gently tugged on her hand to halt their steps. “Wish that it was the truth?” he murmured.
She tilted her chin toward the ground. “Yes.”
She said the word so quietly it was almost lost in the untamed sounds of the bayou. But Adam heard it. And the sensations that expanded within him were coming to surpass what he felt for this woman sexually.
“Me, too,” he murmured.
They stood like that for a long moment, their gazes locked, their clasped hands still. Adam swore he could hear the unsteady beat of his own heart.
Then Eva gave a quiet, nervous laugh and started walking again, pulling him gently along.
After a few feet, she looked in his direction. “What you said about your family. That was the truth, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
They walked in silence until they reached the path in the trees. Adam reached out and parted the branches for her and Eva ducked inside.
“Do you regret it?” he asked.
She turned to wait as he slipped onto the path. “Regret what?”
“Your divorce.”
She was quiet for a moment as she led them in the direction of the bayou. “No. I don’t regret the marriage, either. They’re both things I needed at the time.”
The thick growth of trees lent a lush, almost cool quality to the air. “And the baby? Do you regret—”
“Never,” she whispered.
A warm, bottomless admiration opened up in Adam for the remarkable woman next to him. That she should suffer through all she had and yet still have enough love—more love than anyone could touch—for the child growing within her, amazed him.
“What about now, Eva? What do you need now?”
She slowed again, then stopped altogether. Adam found himself wishing for at least the silvery light of the moon so he might see her.
“Now? Now I need much more.”
More. That one word summed up precisely what Adam was coming to feel with each moment he spent near her. He was growing to want more. More out of the life he had forsaken for his career. More of the feelings he was just coming to know burgeoning inside him. Feelings Eva had shown him. Feelings he wanted to explore, both thrilled and awed that there might be no end to them.
Eva seemed to radiate a decisive energy as she gestured with her other hand. “I want to bridge this gap, this canyon, that’s always existed between my father and me. I want a satisfying career with stress I can deal with. I want a…” She hesitated slightly, peering up at him. “I want a man who can be my partner, my best friend in every aspect of life, as well as in bed. I, um, want…no, I demand that he stick around for the bad times as well as the good. Not turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble.” She stilled her hand on her lower stomach and stared at him, suddenly quiet. “And I want him to love this baby I’m going to have. I want him to be there for our child. And always be there for me, too.”
Adam slid his gaze over her face, finding her more beautiful than any woman he’d ever known. “Basically, you want—”
“Everything,” she murmured.
Everything.
Adam was just about to crush her to him and taste deeply of that mouth that offered strength and conviction as well as carnal pleasures, when she tugged on his hand.
“Come on. I want to show you my moon.”
Her moon. A smile lit up his heart as she led him the remainder of the way down the path. He wanted to make fiery love to her in the golden light of “her moon.” He wanted her cries of need to mingle with the sounds around them. To have her offer herself to him completely. To take as much as she gave. Then maybe he would feel more a part of this foreign, passionate, unique world she was raised in. They moved past the hulking warehouse, then stood on the dock, where the gentle waters of the river rippled against the shore.
Eva tried to lead him to the end of the dock, when he tugged on her hand. “No. Let’s board the boat.”
She stood there for a long moment, tension stiffening her shoulders.
“You’ve never been on it, have you?”
“No.” Once again illuminated by the moon, he saw her look toward the bayou that branched off the river a mere few yards away. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, Eva, I can see it does,” he murmured. “Let’s board.”
Without waiting for her response, he ushered her in the direction of the narrow plank that bridged the gap between the dock and the boat. Anchoring his hands against her oh-so-lush hips, he helped her across it, then jumped down after her onto the deck.
After unloading the cargo of oysters earlier in the day, Adam had helped Tolly scrub down the white-painted wood. While the faint odor of shellfish remained, so too did the scent of oil soap and a subtle fragrance of magnolias.
Eva freed herself from his grasp and crossed her arms tightly around her upper body.
“Have you ever told your father you’d like to go out on the boat with him?”
Eva slowly turned to face him. “What?”
He remained silent, watching her.
“Yes. I did once. When I was about ten. He told me this was men’s work and I was to go play with my dolls or something.”
“Sounds like Tolly.” Adam chuckled softly. “And it sounds exactly like you.”
“What sounds like me?”
“Oh, the fact that you only asked once.”
She moved toward the stern of the boat and sat down on the padded seat, her knees tight, her hands loosely clasped in front of her. “I think you’re coming to know far more about me than I’m comfortable with.”
Adam took the seat next to her. “What would make you more comfortable?”
She didn’t answer right away. He stretched his arm along the side of the boat, running his fingers over and down her bare shoulder. He reveled in the shiver that followed in its wake.
“It might help if you told me more about yourself,” she said quietly.
He stilled his hand against her hot skin, feeling her intent gaze on him. It would be all too easy to give her the pat, easy answers he offered everyone else. But he sensed that, at this moment, he’d tell Eva anything she wanted to know. “Yes. Maybe it would.” He tensed slightly. “What do you want me to tell you?”
She leaned back, snuggling into the crook of his arm. Instinctively, he curled that arm more tightly around her. “Oh, no. What you tell me I want you to offer.”
That was a new one. Rubbing his chin against the top of her silky, fragrant hair, Adam thought about what he could tell her. Which was just about anything. Except his true reasons for being here.
She rested her hand against his thigh and the tension he felt shifted.
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I could tell you that you drive me crazy when you touch me.”
She squeezed his leg. “That’s not what I meant.”
He glanced down at her. “I know.”
He settled more comfortably against the back of the boat. “Well, I suppose I could start by telling you I looked for my mother once.”
Eva searched his face. “Did you find her?”
He nodded. Adam was amazed that he had not only said that, but that he was anxious for her response, her understanding. “I found her six years ago in a small town in Arizona, thirty miles or so southwest of Fort Defiance. She was living in a battered trailer, working at a truck stop.”
Eva didn’t say anything, but he could tell by her posture she was listening intently.
“She seemed to recognize me immediately. Surprising since she hadn’t seen me in thirty years. But when I explained who I was, it was obvious I wasn’t who she thought I was. This…this look of pain crossed her face, making her look twenty years older.”
“Did she tell you why she gave you up?” Eva whispered.
At the memory, Adam grew rigid. “Yes. She took me inside, and over a cup of coffee she explained that she’d had to. That keeping me hurt too much.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It didn’t make much sense to me at the time either.” He skimmed his thumb down the back of her arm, then slipped his hand under it, flattening his hand against her rib cage. “I guess it does now, though. Some. My father was a drifter of sorts. He left her almost as soon as he hooked up with her. She hadn’t even known she was pregnant when he’d walked out. What she did know was that once I was born, I looked more like him than she could ever accept.” He gazed out at the bayou. “I guess that explained the expression on her face when she first saw me.”
He took a deep breath of the thick air. “I send her cards, you know, on Christmas and Mother’s Day. One year I sent her a piece I found in a New York antique shop because it reminded me of her. She never writes back, though. But I’m okay with that.”
There was a long silence. But not an uncomfortable one. Adam concentrated on the slow cadence of Eva’s heartbeat under his hand. She made lazy circles on his leg with her index finger that stirred more than his libido.
“Did you ever think about looking for your father?”
“No.”
Eva rubbed her cheek against his chest. Adam lifted his other hand to hold her there, scraping a thumb against her cheek.
“Who raised you?” she murmured. “Were you adopted?”
“I was raised in foster homes.” He watched a mosquito land on his arm and pretended an interest in swatting at it.
Eva laughed quietly and scolded him for scratching.
He was raised in foster homes. That’s the part that still bothered Adam. The ceaseless moving from home to home because his mother had held on to her parental rights to him until he was five, and by then he was unattractive adoption material. He’d been in good homes, and he’d been in bad. But what remained with him even now was the memory of countless other foster kids he’d been placed with over the years. The sounds of their quiet sobs in the dark of night when they thought no one was listening. Or perhaps they cried because they feared no one was listening. And often they were right. The majority of the foster parents, no matter how hard they tried, were emotionally unequipped to cater to a child whose heart was years in the breaking.
So at ten, Adam had reinforced his own lonely heart with imagined steel and convinced himself that family didn’t exist in the form everyone dreamed about. And the cold statistics bore out his beliefs. A fifty percent divorce rate. A staggering number of children being raised by single parents. That’s when he decided to devote his time to something that would permeate every aspect of his life, leaving little for him to give. Little for him to risk.
Sure, when he was thirteen, social services placed him in a home he stayed in for the remainder of his teenage years. But no matter how exceptional his final foster parents, Dan and Carol Richmond were, and how devoted they were to him and the other eight children they had taken in, it had been too late for Adam. He’d already made his decision about life. His life. And after a couple of semesters at college on scholarship, he found the FBI, and made the bureau and his career his family.
Eva gave a soft sigh. “I wonder if my son or daughter is going to want to know about Bill. And what I’m going to say when the time comes.”
“The truth is always good,” he murmured.
“Normally, yes.” She paused for a long moment. “Tell me, Adam, what would you do if you found out your father left because he didn’t want you?”
Adam remembered the divorce papers he had looked through earlier. And once again he was overcome by that same piercing anger he’d felt when he realized her ex had signed away his rights to their unborn baby. He didn’t know what to say now. How to explain to Eva what he felt. Or how he might convince her that somehow her baby would be happy with the tremendous love she felt for it and the love her family would feel as well.
“I can tell you something else about myself that you might find surprising,” he said, dreading that she might lead the conversation back to his upbringing if he didn’t take command of the conversation.
“What?” she whispered, disappointment that he hadn’t responded to her earlier question obvious in her response.
“That I envy you.”
She tried to draw away as he knew she would, but he held her in place. “You envy me?”
“Uh-huh.” He smoothed her hair away from her face. “I envy you your family. I envy you your roots. I even envy your casual way of taking it all for granted.” He kissed the top of her sweet-smelling head. “I envy the way you and your father butt heads. Too stubborn to see how much you love each other. Too proud to admit that you’re very much alike.”
He stroked her lips with his thumb, holding her silenced.
“I envy that in a few months you’re going to add to this family. And no matter how bad things look to you now, in the future you’ll forget about this time. Forget how much you worried. And you’ll only see the wonderful things created in this difficult time.”
He hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “I envy that you let a man into your heart, and hate that he hurt you because of your generous nature.”
He held her gaze, the silvery moonlight reflecting off an unnatural shine to her eyes. “I envy you…you, Eva,” he whispered roughly.
He lay his glasses on the seat, then brought his mouth down on hers. Silently telling her with the caress of his tongue that what he’d said was true. And her equivalent response told him she accepted and even hungrily welcomed it.
He skimmed her warm skin to rest his palm against her throat. Her low whimper told him she had some things of her own to say. Things he so longed to hear. But the time for words had passed. And now, it was time to let the conflicting emotions building within them take full life.
Unlike the flurried, hurried fumbling the night before, this kiss went deeper than mere physical need, an unexplainable attraction that could easily rage out of control. Just as Adam’s need for her was growing to include so much more than her body.
The boat rocked gently and he drank in the subtle taste of salt from the gulf on her lips. He hauled her onto his lap. He guessed one could argue they didn’t know each other well enough to consider taking their relationship to the intimate level he knew they would. Especially since the special woman in his arms was pregnant. And especially when he wasn’t even sure he knew himself that well anymore.
He cradled her head in his hands, deepening the kiss, reveling in the feeling of her arms encircling him, her fingers entwining in the hair at the back of his neck. All he knew was that he liked the person he was when he was around Eva. Liked how she made him feel. Liked the way she made him take another, fresh look at the world. Making him believe, for the first time, that emotions weren’t fickle, fleeting passions that would burn out as quickly as they fired up, with little regard for the pain they left behind. Because though he might have been wrong on a lot of points since initially accepting this assignment, he was sure of one thing: Eva would be the one woman he would never forget. His time with her would not be a fling to be filed along with the others. She had reached in and touched something elemental within him so effortlessly, so unknowingly, that he couldn’t help feeling she was special.
Eva slid one leg to the deck of the boat, never breaking their kiss as she straddled him.
This time, she didn’t need to coax him to touch her breasts. He did so on his own. Dropping his hands to her silky, slick shoulders, he slowly pushed the thin straps of her dress aside, revealing her glistening skin in the moonlight. Her dress fell away and bunched around her waist like a whisper. Her breasts strained against the strapless bra she wore, nearly spilling out of the top. She dropped her head back, letting him take his fill as he slid his hands under the fullness of her breasts, rasping the pads of his thumbs across the nipples that made dark circles under the thin white lace of her bra. With a groan, he dipped his thumbs under the material, urging both peaks out. He caught the rigid tip of the right one between his thumb and index finger, then lowered his mouth to capture the other, thinking nothing had ever tasted sweeter.
Eva shuddered and scooted closer so the only things separating them were his slacks and her panties. Suckling more deeply, he slid his other hand down the length of her slender waist, past her dress, to her thigh, following the soft flesh inward until the tip of his index finger rested on the elastic of her panties. Eva rotated her hips, the movement nearly forcing his finger inside her underwear, encouraging the contact he sought. Then she tensed. He stopped his ascent, then realized she hadn’t frozen in fear, but in anticipation.
He slid his finger inside, finding her slick and hot. A low groan escaped her mouth and she grabbed at his shirt, undoing the buttons, tugging the material aside and pressing her palms against his chest. Adam abandoned his laving of her breasts and pulled her flush against him, reveling in the brush of her satiny softness against his hair-covered skin. He brought his mouth down on hers with hot intent, lost in her response.
Lord, how he was coming to want this woman. Every part of her. He yearned to possess her mind, body and soul. He longed to brand her with his passion, as she was branding him. Most of all, he wanted her to know that she meant so much more to him than just rapid breathing and searching hands. He wanted to tell her in every way he knew how that she was special. That the way she made him feel was special. That what they were experiencing, no matter how fleeting, was special.
Holding her head against his with one hand, he pushed the crotch of her panties aside with the other. He found her silky nub and drew tiny circles around and around before pressing intently, urgently, against it. He swallowed her soft cry, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, welcoming the answering thrust of hers. He slipped the tip of his index finger into her wetness even as he kept up the slow circling of his thumb, finding her tight, sleek, needy. He dipped his finger in a little more deeply then withdrew, finding a natural rhythm that would heighten her passion, but not draw her too near the edge. No. He wanted to be with her, feel with her, share with her the wondrous moment when she came apart.
She dragged her mouth slightly away from his. “Please,” she said, her fingers moving wildly through his hair, pulling him away, drawing him near.
He withdrew his finger, put together two, then thrust them in deeply at once, readying her for him, trying to make the moment when he entered her pleasurable.
She thrust her hips forward, against his hand, wanting more, increasing his need to give her what she craved. But not yet. He didn’t want to end it yet. He wanted to savor these incredible sensations with Eva. Draw them out, build them up, then finally, urge them to climb to their ultimate climax.
She fumbled with the button of his slacks, and within moments her slender hand grazed the length of his erection. She pulled him out and her fingers wrapped around his width. Then she slid her hand slowly up and down, up and down, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside her, driving him wild, out of his mind with need.
She worked her way to his ear, laving the outer shell, then searing a path down his neck and back up to his mouth. Adam was filled with the need to be inside her, to feel her slick muscles around him, to watch her mirror the movements of her hand with her body. Then he realized the one thing that would make the fantasy reality was missing. He didn’t have a condom.
The revelation came on the brink of climax. Thrusting his fingers more deeply inside her, his thumb working madly, he didn’t allow himself the release until he heard her sharp intake of breath, her echoing cry…then he followed right after her, reveling in the tightness of her hand around him even as he bucked against it, keeping up the rhythm of his fingers, even as she melted around him. The sultry heat of the night moved in him and around him. Fusing him with the woman on his lap. Joining their harsh breaths as they sought air. Intensifying their kiss as she pressed her open mouth against his.
For several long moments they stayed like that, rocking with the aftershocks, and clinging to each other like the Spanish moss that covered the nearby live oaks. Feeling the contractions of her muscles ease, he slowly slipped his fingers out and grasped either side of her head, ending their kiss.
“More,” she murmured ardently, her eyes dark with passion, her body even now seeking him, rubbing against the length of him.
“No, Eva. No more. Not now.”
Maybe not ever. He closed his eyes and languidly claimed her lips one last time. God, if her mere touch could do so much to him, he couldn’t fathom what might happen if they made love.
He pulled her away again and slowly began straightening her dress. “We have to go back now, Eva.”
“Back…yes.”
He captured her gaze, reading the passionate hope in her eyes. He shook his head. “I’m not going to sleep with you tonight.”
She started to say something then caught her bottom lip between her straight white teeth. She blinked back what he guessed might be tears of frustration. It struck him with fierce intensity that she might think he didn’t want her because she was pregnant. Pregnant with another man’s child. Even though that couldn’t be further from the truth—or maybe nearer than he thought—Adam wouldn’t allow himself to soothe her pain. He couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to make love to Eva, he couldn’t allow himself the ultimate mind-blowing pleasure. Could never claim her as completely as he was coming to want to. Because what lay at the bottom was his knowledge that Eva was not his for the taking. And she never would be. Not because of his assignment. Not even because she was unwilling to give herself to him. But because he would never, could never, let her.
Deep down in the dark shadows of his soul, Adam knew he could never be the everything Eva Mavros Burgess wanted. The everything she—and her child—deserved.
EVA WAS TORN. Between life as she knew it…and the reality that Adam had a large part in changing.
Reality.
Sitting on the wooden seat of the swing that hung from the old willow tree in the front yard, the early-morning sun dappling the grass around her feet, Eva questioned the meaning of the word. Especially within the framework of her present situation. She tightened her hands on the swing’s ropes, wondering where Adam had slept last night. Wondering further why it hurt so that he had refused her, rejected her in the light of her moon.
She had awakened a half hour earlier, hot and bothered, and very alone. She had taken a cool shower, but the water did little to alleviate the sultry heat pressing in and around her. Rather than going to the kitchen where her mother and grandmother were, she’d slipped out the front door and sat in the swing. Above her, warblers and mourning doves called to each other.
If anyone had told her the week before that she had the capacity to love again, Eva would have shot the messenger for being insane. She smoothed her hands over her slightly rounded stomach, then rested them there, reminding herself of the reason she hadn’t intended to date another man, much less find herself falling in love with one. At least until the child she carried had graduated from college sometime far into the future.
Then again, if somebody had told her three months ago that she would be divorced and pregnant, she would have shot that person as well.
She rested her cheek against one of the ropes and tried to make sense out of the emotions ebbing and flowing through her.
Bill. Nothing. Closing her eyes and breathing in the heady scent of jasmine, she tried to summon some sort of remorse for having little feeling for her ex-husband. As it was, she was finding it difficult to imagine what he looked like. Not the specifics. Those, of course, she saw clearly. But she couldn’t seem to isolate the individual expressions that defined their relationship. She was having a harder time, still, reinforcing any of her own distant emotions for him, except for the dull pain she felt at his betrayal.
Had their relationship been so shallow that she could forget him so easily? Or was her growing affection for Adam—and the lack of feeling for Bill—not to be trusted? If Adam had allowed their so very tentative relationship to advance the way she had wanted the night before, would she have awakened this morning filled with regret? Or would that have come somewhere down the road when the newness faded?
An ache the size of Louisiana filled her chest. At that moment, she couldn’t imagine any of the many wonderful sensations she felt for Adam fading. When he touched her, something elemental responded, something so elusive, she suspected it flowed from a source greater than her.
But the very fact that the explanation was elusive made her warier of that source. How could she fall for another man when just a few scant weeks ago, she’d thought herself in love with Bill?
No, that wasn’t true. She had never really been “in” love with Bill. She knew that the minute she’d accepted his cool marriage proposal a year before. Instead her reaction had been similar to the feeling she experienced when adding up long columns of debits and credits, and finding they reconciled. It had nothing to do with love, but rather a calm acceptance that she would never find that one person who would sweep her off her feet.
Then there was Adam.
Idly pushing a foot against the soft earth, Eva brought the swing to a lazy rock. Her body tingled and a liquid yearning pooled in her belly at the mere thought of Adam and what he had done to her the night before. Her feelings for him, and his apparent attraction for her, refused to be neatly tucked into columns of any sort.
And it was the very nature of those feelings that caused her to doubt them.
Pushing herself off the swing, Eva smoothed her dress, then stepped toward the house that shone almost pink in the hazy morning sun. She longed to turn to her mother for advice, but that was out of the question, given her little ruse.
She swept through the house and entered the kitchen where she listlessly greeted her mother and grandmother where they sat in their usual chairs. She made herself a cup of herb tea, then sat down at the table.
“Did Papa and Adam go oystering again?” Her question was more of a comment, an acceptance that of course her father would take Adam oystering with him, than a need for an answer.
Her grandmother eyed her over the rim of her reading glasses. “Yes, they did. They said they’d be back early this morning.”
Eva blew on the steaming surface of her tea, then took a sip, gazing at the one-foot-long, two-feet-wide blanket draped across her grandmother’s lap. A blanket that grew stitch by wondrous stitch as she worked. Eva reached out and lovingly fingered the soft, colorful creation.
“It’s pretty,” she murmured, running her fingertips over the perfect loops.
Her mother’s chair creaked as she shifted, working on what looked like a tiny sweater. “I think the baby will like it. It’s heavy enough for winter in New Jersey.”
Winter. As in next March. Her due date.
Eva smiled. She hadn’t officially told her mother or grandmother about the baby yet. But somehow both of them knew.
In the weeks since she’d found out she was pregnant, Eva had had a hard time accepting it in the midst of everything else that had happened. Now she reveled in the surge of warmth and expectation that spread across her chest.
Tears pricked the corner of her eyes and she moved her hand back to hold her teacup. She was not going to cry.
“You and Adam must be very excited,” her mother said.
She and Adam? Added on top of the contradictory emotions already vying for attention in her heart, Eva didn’t feel up to dealing with how much she would like it if Adam was excited about the baby. Or the feeling that she would give everything that was her, everything Adam said he envied, if only the child was his.
A fat, hot tear rolled down her cheek and she rubbed it away. The harsh truth was that this child wasn’t Adam’s. He wasn’t even her husband.
And the fact that the two precious women next to her knew nothing about that truth suddenly overwhelmed her.
Unable to blink them back, tears popped over her lower lashes. Eva tightened her fingers around her cup.
“Oh, Mama, what have I done?”
ADAM READJUSTED the dredge lever, the hazy sun hot on his shoulders, the thick, salty smell of the gulf filling his nose.
“Bring it up that way,” Tolly shouted from the other side of the boat.
Adam did, then released the lever, his present chore done.
Sitting in the seat where he and Eva had nearly made love the night before, he reached for the thermos of coffee Tolly gave him earlier. He poured out the last of the still-warm liquid.
“My daughter, she locked you out of the bedroom last night, no?” Tolly overturned a bucket then sat in front of Adam.
Adam took his time sipping the coffee from the plastic cup, weighing his response. He couldn’t very well deny that he and Eva had slept apart. Tolly had shaken him awake at four that morning where he lay on the front-porch swing, hours after he’d forced Eva to go upstairs…alone.
“Actually, no. It was too hot and I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk. Falling asleep on the swing was an accident.”
Adam dragged the back of his hand across his damp forehead, hating to continue this charade. Playing roles was part of his job, and he’d never had a problem keeping in character…until now. Lying to Eva’s family was becoming harder and harder.
Tolly hmmphed and Adam eyed him warily. Lying to Tolly was especially difficult because Adam had the distinct feeling the weathered Greek didn’t believe a word he said. Briefly, he was thankful Tolly Mavros was an honest man, because he would be deadly if he were a criminal.
“An accident,” Tolly repeated, pushing the bill of his fisherman’s cap back on his head.
“Certainly, over the years you and Katina have slept apart every now and again.”
“Never.” Tolly passionately waved his meaty hand. “Not one night in almost thirty-five years of marriage.”
Adam raised an eyebrow, believing him. “Not once?”
Tolly gave his graying bushy eyebrows a quick raise and brought his head up once with a terse tsk that Adam had come to see was his way of answering in the negative.
He grinned. “You have a good marriage, then.”
“The best,” Tolly gruffly agreed. “But it is not my marriage I’m worried about.”
Adam stared down into his empty cup, giving vent to a series of silent curses. He’d stepped right into that one.
For what seemed to be the millionth time, he vehemently questioned Eva’s motives for setting up this scheme. While he recognized that even she couldn’t have known things would spin so out of control, how could she continue with a plan that had lost its viability after the first night?
He watched Tolly take his cap off. He rubbed the wrist of his long-sleeved shirt across his forehead then plunked the fisherman’s cap back down on top of his salt-and-pepper hair. Adam could certainly sympathize with Eva’s motives. Tolly was a rough man who lived by traditional rules that were hard and fast. And the breaking of those rules likely exacted a response few people could live with. The past two mornings had made Adam wish he’d had a father who cared about his family the way Tolly obviously cared about his own. But he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that living with his overbearing ways would have been easy. He could even see how feelings of animosity and detachment could develop, being under the constant thumb of the well-meaning but brusque man. But didn’t Eva understand that she was only making matters worse?
Damn, but he had gotten himself into a mess with this case. Forget that he’d mucked things up terribly by losing focus on the case itself, rendering him completely unprepared for the break-in yesterday. He couldn’t fight the feeling that he’d gotten himself in way over his head personally as well as professionally. And that was what scared him more than anything else.
“Do you love my Eva?” Tolly asked abruptly.
Shocked out of his uncomfortable reverie, Adam shifted his gaze to the older man’s face.
“Love her?” Remembering his role, he pushed up his glasses. “Of course I love her. I wouldn’t have married her otherwise.”
Tolly stared at him unblinkingly.
Adam shifted. He was going to have to do better than that. “I love her insofar as my definition of love goes,” he said. “She…satisfies something inside of me.”
Tolly made a fist out of one hand and tapped it against his own head. “Here?” He moved the fist to his chest. “Here?” Then he dropped it to his groin. “Or here?”
Adam could have said all three and suspected he was coming to mean it. Which was a revelation in itself. Instead he fisted his own right hand. “Sure, I feel it in those places. But mostly I feel it here.” He nestled his fist against his solar plexus, thinking the imagery of the fist accurately portrayed the knotted emotions lodged directly in the area he indicated. Emotions he didn’t have to pretend. Feelings that were there whether he wanted them to be or not. Tight sensations he feared he’d never rid himself of…not with one passionate, steamy night with Eva, or a thousand.
Tolly’s grin was brighter than any Adam had seen him give. He reached out and slapped Adam’s shoulder. “Good.”
Tolly got up and began whistling as he returned to work. Adam couldn’t help thinking he’d just been outsmarted by a man who was wiser than he had given him credit for.
Grinning wryly, he surmised he hadn’t been the only one outwitted. Eva had been, too. Because Tolly Mavros’s questioning told Adam that he must have seen those divorce papers on the floor of Eva’s bedroom yesterday. Tolly’s behavior also told him that despite his traditional values, it didn’t much matter to him. Not so long as everything would be right from there on out.
Adam swiped at a dragonfly as it zoomed past his ear in the humid air. Making everything right was a promise he couldn’t make. Not to Tolly. Not to Eva either.
“Funny you should mention love, Tolly,” he said quietly. “Because I get the impression that your daughter questions your love for her.”
Tolly’s whistling stopped abruptly, but he continued working, his back to Adam. He mumbled something in Greek. “Nonsense. My daughter questions no such thing.”
Adam got up from the bench, grabbing on to a rope hanging from the dredger and lazily leaning his weight against it. “No?”
“No.” Tolly’s movements were jerky and impatient.
“She thinks everything she does makes you unhappy.”
“Nonsense,” he said again.
Adam squinted in the hazy sunlight. “You know, it might be a good idea to let her know your feelings every now and again.”
“She knows my feelings.” He gestured around the deck. “I named my boat for her, no?”
“A boat she’s never been on,” Adam said, neglecting to mention their interlude last night. He drew a long breath. “You’ve never told her you love her, have you?”
Tolly finally stopped working and stared at him. Long moments slid by with nothing but the sound of buzzing flies, the lap of the water against the boat and the call of a bird nearby. “Love, you show. Not tell.”
Adam gave the old salt a sad smile. “Then maybe you should brush up on your showing, Tolly. Because there’s been a breakdown in communications and Eva’s getting the wrong messages.”
Tolly made his usual hmmph and Adam pushed away from the rope. But as he bent to pick up the coffee thermos, he saw Tolly staring out thoughtfully across one of his privately owned beds. Maybe, just maybe, he had reached the crusty Greek. The way Adam figured it, if he couldn’t make things right between himself and Eva, at least he could try to repair the ties between father and daughter. Ties he had never had with either of his parents. Ties he now saw were more precious than gold.
He twisted the cap back onto the thermos. If everything was all right between Eva and Tolly, it would make his own leaving that much easier. But was it easier for them…or himself?
EVA HAD TRIED to get Adam alone to explain what happened that morning. But between her mother’s insistence that she needed help with dinner, and her grandmother’s trying to teach her how to crochet, Eva hadn’t a moment to herself. She stood in the kitchen doorway, trying to get Adam’s attention where he sat at the dining-room table. But her father was talking to him in hushed tones so that all Eva could do was drop her hand back to her side and give herself over to the inevitable fact that Adam would have to deal with this one on his own.
“Here, take this in,” her mother said, pushing a platter of grilled pork chops into her hands.
Eva stared at the meat, waiting for her stomach to churn, relieved when nothing but a growl materialized. Thank God. Her doctor had told her that her second trimester would be much easier than her first. She swallowed. She’d also told her that her sex drive would return tenfold. Eva eyed Adam and the way his shower-damp hair curled over his shirt collar, thinking that on both counts, she couldn’t find cause for argument.
Stepping into the dining room, she placed the platter in the middle of the table. Adam’s gaze lingered on the many buttons up the front of her dress, then he looked up to her. She nodded her head in the direction of the living room, attempting to communicate that she needed to talk to him. Tolly slapped his hand on his arm to regain Adam’s attention.
Eva wilted under the pressure as she glanced toward her father. Oh, God, what had she done?
Within minutes everyone was settled around the table and, as Eva feared, her mother clanked her fork against her wineglass.
“Everyone, I have an announcement to make,” Katina said.
Eva cringed. Seeing as everyone but her father and brother already knew the news, this was hardly Herald material. She fastened a smile onto her face.
“Adam and Eva are expecting their first child.”
“Hear, hear,” her grandmother said next to her.
Across the table her brother, Pete, looked briefly as if he’d lost his best friend, then sat back in his chair, a surprised smile on his handsome face.
And Tolly was heartily slapping Adam on the back as if he’d just shot some prized deer.
But all of that disappeared as Adam’s shocked gaze met with Eva’s across the table.
I’m sorry, she tried to convey.
Why didn’t you tell me they knew, his expression answered.
Then something unexpected happened. Alight so affectionate, so wonderful, warmed the depths of Adam’s eyes. Eva’s heart did a funny little turn, a surreal cloud rushing to envelope her so that for one precious moment, she believed she was married to Adam. That the baby she carried was theirs. Her chest filled with hope, her cheeks flushed in shared intimacy, her body called out its need for the man across from her.
Her father’s rough but gentle hand on her arm tugged her attention to his familiar, craggy face. “You have brought this family much happiness, Eva.”
As rapidly as it gathered, the cloud vanished. Eva stared at the harsh truth even as she looked into her father’s proud face. It’s all a lie, Papa, she wanted to say. All of it. Adam’s not my husband. The child I carry was fathered by a man you don’t even know. And you never will because he wants nothing to do with the baby. She felt light-headed and leaned her head against her hand, wondering if she would go from morning sickness to fainting dead away.
“Eva, are you all right?” She heard Adam’s voice above all others as her father moved his hand to her back to steady her.
Taking the glass of water her grandmother offered, Eva lifted it to her lips. She took a long sip, then drew the cool glass across her hot forehead. The dizziness passed and she managed a small, shaky smile to everyone but her father. Him, she couldn’t face. She might never be able to face him again.
“I’m fine. It must be the heat.”
“And the excitement,” her mother added.
How Eva managed to get through the remainder of the long meal she didn’t know. Talk was full of childhood milestones, Eva’s own misdeeds, and of course all the things that needed to be done before welcoming the latest addition to the family.
In a small way, Eva was glad that some of her news was out. Sure, the priorities had switched—she had planned to tell them about her divorce first, then the baby. But she hadn’t reckoned on her mother and grandmother’s uncanny perception. And she certainly hadn’t foreseen the wild turn her once-safe relationship with Adam would take.
Finally, everybody had eaten their fill. Her father and grandmother went upstairs for their naps, her brother left the house, and Eva and Adam helped clear the table, the unspoken tension between them nearly visible. Her mother shooed her out of the kitchen and told her to take a siesta with Adam. Eva turned around to see that he had overheard the command, an unspoken question in his eyes. Eva flushed, telling herself she was being ridiculous. Despite the heat that had flared between them the night before, ultimately he had pushed her away.
Then why did he look as if he’d like nothing better than to peel her dress away from her hot skin and spend the rest of the afternoon making up for lost time? And why did she want him to do that more than anything?
“Uh, I think I’d rather go for a walk,” Eva said quietly, tearing her gaze from Adam’s. “You know, to burn off some of those calories I put away.”
“I’ll go with you,” Adam said.
Eva held the screen door for him as he stepped out. Then she carefully closed the door so it didn’t give its usual slap against the frame. She crossed her arms over her chest and led the way across the grass. Only in passing did she realize this was the same path they’d taken the night before. But this time, her moon was nowhere to be seen. And hopefully she wouldn’t make the same mistakes she’d made last night.
“You told them,” Adam said quietly, his presence a powerful one next to her.
Eva nodded. “I thought maybe it would be best after what, you know, you said on the boat last night.”
She looked at him to find his gaze heady and curious.
“You know, about this baby not just belonging to me, but to them too. You were right.”
He was silent for a long moment. The thick air magnified the vivid colors of the Spanish moss and magnolias, lending a magical quality to the day. Above them, clouds writhed and wrinkled and swirled continually, driven by the gentle gulf breezes. The atmosphere of calm was like that of Eden where time seemed to stop. But the calm was as deceptive as the serenity Eva tried to affect. At any moment, a wild storm could break loose. Just like the storm swirling in her.
“I don’t suppose I have to ask if you told them about me.”
“No,” she said, averting her gaze. “I couldn’t do that. Not…not yet.”
His strong grip on her shoulders startled her into stopping. He pulled her to face him.
“Eva, there’s nothing I’d like more than to be the father of that child you’re carrying. To claim him or her as mine. You as mine. But the facts are that neither of you are mine. You deserve to know that, too. I deserve that.”
Eva’s gaze roamed from his dark gold eyebrows, down to the delectable dimple in his chin, finding a pained honesty on his face that twisted her gut. She hesitantly reached out to touch his cheek, but he pulled away.
“Damn it, somewhere over these past couple of days, the line between what’s real and what’s not has disappeared. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I’ve even begun to wonder what it would be like if I was your husband. Imagining what the future would hold for us as a couple. Picturing what it would be like to be a father, a part of this family…a part of our family.” He took her hand. “I see myself waking up with you every morning, Eva, and it causes something I don’t know how to describe to grow in my chest. Something wonderful, magical, passionate. I dream of burying myself between your legs for long hours on end, making all your secret fantasies come true…indulging in my own.”
He released her, restlessly paced away, then stalked back to her. “You know the fantasy I had when I first spotted you at the firm? In my mind, I saw you wearing nothing but a little bikini, stretched out on the deck of a boat I have moored in Delaware Bay, your skin glistening in the sun. A boat I bought three years ago and have never even taken out because buying it seemed like a good idea at the time, but it’s not important enough for me to make time for. And my image of you lying across the deck in that bikini was nothing but a stupid, adolescent fantasy.”
Eva flinched. “Adam, I—”
“Facts are facts, and the fact we have to face here is that there’s no ‘our’ anywhere in this equation. I’m playing a role for you, nothing more, nothing less. No matter how much I wish differently. There’s no going back now, Eva. We’ve charted this damn course for ourselves, and we’re just going to have to play it out on the calmest waters possible.”
As abruptly as his tirade began, it ended. Eva didn’t know what to say. So she didn’t say anything. Instead, she did something she’d been doing a lot lately in the past two days: acted on impulse. And the one now clamoring for attention was that she desperately needed to kiss Adam.
Clamping her hand around the back of his neck, she hauled his head down and roughly brought his mouth against hers. With wild, hungry, deep flicks of her tongue, she drank in the passion left by his words. Tasting the bittersweet remnants of wine. Telling him with her kiss that she felt as confused and needy and achy as he did…and telling him that right now, right this moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Not as long as they could share their hunger. Not as long as she could feel the heat of his body, leaving her wistful and feminine and yearning. Not as long as he felt the same way she did.
The sun on her hair was hot and penetrating as Eva stepped closer to him, welcoming his hands on her hips, gasping when he dragged her against his hard length, pressing his erection against the soft flesh of her stomach. Spontaneously, Eva rocked against him, relishing his almost inaudible groan.
The slap of the screen door some fifty yards away was like a gunshot. Eva broke away from the kiss, her heart pounding erratically in her chest, her blood flowing thickly through her veins. A furtive glance toward the house found no one in sight, leaving her to think someone had just gone in. And had likely stood witness to her and Adam’s passionate display.
When she turned back around, she found Adam striding purposefully toward the path in the trees.
The urge to rush after him swept through her limbs. But instead she stood frozen, knowing deep down that he needed time to himself. Time to make sense out of what was happening to him, if there was any sense to be made.
She pressed her fingertips to her temples. Could it work out between them? Was she willing to let him into her life all the way? Was he even willing to give her, or the two of them as a couple, a chance? Or did he feel as overwhelmed as she did, not knowing which way to go, and unclearer still about the emotions that might lead to the most exquisite love either of them had ever shared, or the most ripping heartbreak?
By the time Eva made her way through the path and emerged from the trees, Adam was nowhere to be seen. She looked first to the boat, rocking slightly, but otherwise empty, then the open doors to the warehouse. Nothing.
Pushing damp tendrils of hair back and holding them at her nape, she slowly made her way toward the warehouse.
Once in the musty confines of the office, she pounded on her laptop keyboard, immersing herself in numbers and the way they neatly added up, reconciled. She divided them into separate spreadsheets, other accounting sheets, but still the result was the same: they added up. No emotions involved here, only a keen sense of ultimate simplicity. And she managed to do the work it normally would have taken her half a day to complete in one hour. But rather than the relief she usually felt, the sense of accomplishment, Eva felt drained, unsatisfied, unchallenged. The accounting was done. There were no other numbers to add. No other chores to perform. And the amounts that had so captured her attention transformed into nothing but sheets full of numbers, dull, lifeless and unattractive.
For one numbing second, Eva caught a glimpse of what the rest of her life might hold.
The clang of something metallic outside the office sounded. She glanced absently in the direction of the door window. Is that what her life had been? An emotionless void in which she functioned in no more an important manner than a machine? Afraid to explore other horizons? Scared she might find out she’d made a mistake so many years ago when she left Belle Rivage and the overbearing presence of her father? Trading it instead for a life without emotion, without love?
Getting up from the chair, she opened the office door. She could see nothing in the shadowy darkness of the warehouse. The sound must have come from outside. Moving toward the open doors—the wide portal made unusually bright by the hazy afternoon sunshine—she wondered if Adam had come to seek her out. The anticipation that coursed through her as she stepped outside only proved even more how empty her life had become.
Eva caught a glimpse of Adam near the boat, but he wasn’t alone. She recognized the slightly bowed posture of her brother standing awkwardly next to Adam. Her heart gave a gentle squeeze. In all her planning, Eva hadn’t taken a moment to consider the effect her return with Adam would have on Pete. That he might feel threatened by the presence of another man in their father’s life. A man who could challenge him for his already tenuous position of being the next head of the household. Someone who could definitely rival him for the affections of their father, a man who gave his love so sparingly already.
Or maybe she was way off and that’s not what had been bothering her brother. While she and Pete were close, she had always suspected there were some things he couldn’t share with her. Was he sharing those thoughts with Adam now?
Eva leaned against the warm metal of the warehouse and watched the two men on the dock. They made a striking contrast against the backdrop of the bayou, both of them in their dinner clothes, Adam a tall, solid and yes, athletic figure, Pete slightly shorter, stockier, a younger version of Tolly. In the three days they’d been there, Eva couldn’t recall Adam talking to her brother at all, aside from obligatory, friendly exchanges. But he did so now with a quiet urgency she could sense even from there. And when Adam put his hand on Pete’s shoulder and pulled him to his side, Eva realized that he must be telling her brother he had nothing to fear from his presence. That his addition—no matter how temporary Eva knew it to be—wouldn’t affect Pete’s relationship with their father.
For the second time that day, Eva blinked back hot tears.
Another metallic sound echoed through the warehouse and she jumped. Had Jimmy been inside without her knowing? She turned back toward the doors, but could see little in the inky blackness. The slam of the door against the metal wall in the office clattered through the warehouse, then a figure raced past her, nearly knocking her down. Eva stood speechless as a man wearing a beige fishing hat and hunting vest cut a path through the gravel leading to the road, then disappeared into a thicket of trees…her laptop computer tucked under one arm.
“Adam.” His name caught in her throat.
ADAM HAD SEEN the unfamiliar figure dash across the warehouse lot clutching Eva’s laptop computer but had been too far away to have any hope of catching him. This time his image as a nerd had nothing to do with his decision. The gig was up. It was simple as that. If his mind had been working correctly, he would have realized the whole operation was compromised the day before with the ransacking of Eva’s bedroom.
On the way back to the house, he’d spotted the two backup agents standing near the path and waved them off. Evidently they hadn’t caught the thief either. And what Adam had to do now, he had to do alone. This went far deeper than the simple theft of Eva’s laptop.
In the house, he ushered Eva up to her bedroom, where he carefully explained to her his true identity as a forensic accountant for the FBI’s Financial Crimes Unit. And his motivations for accepting her bizarre request that he play the role of her husband. He wasn’t sure what her reaction would be. A part of him hoped it would be anger at having been betrayed by another male…the same way her ex-husband had betrayed her. And when he wound his explanation down, purposely leaving out all the acute, personal revelations being with her had forced on him, he searched her impassive face. Trying to read her thoughts. Wanting her to hate him so it would make everything that happened from there on easier for them both.
“So ultimately I didn’t agree to be your husband because you might give me a good recommendation on my next job review. Because I’m not going to be at Sheffert, Logan and Brace long enough to make that date. I’m here because I needed to see if you knew anything about Sheffert’s dirty dealings. And to determine if you are involved.” He dragged in a breath. “That’s about the brunt of it,” he said with deliberate harshness, striving to achieve the objectivity he so needed to see this case through to its conclusion.
Eva said nothing for a long minute. Instead, she just stood staring at him silently, maddeningly calm, and altogether too appealing.
“I know,” was all she said.
Adam eyed her, wondering if she had heard a single word he’d said. Hadn’t he just coldly told her she was nothing more than a means to an end in his investigation of Norman Sheffert? Hadn’t he implied with his pokerfaced expression that whatever had happened between them had occurred within the confines of his case, and therefore didn’t matter?
Yes. So then why was she looking at him as if she wanted him, yearned for him, all the more?
“What?” he asked, the word coming out more of a murmur.
“I said I know.” She finally tugged that poignant gaze from his and stepped over to the dresser. “At least about your not being who you pretended to be. After our first kiss, well, I suspected you couldn’t be the man I thought I knew. At least not the geek I met. And after the night at the table when you…and on the boat afterward…” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you were an FBI field agent, but I knew you had to be something other than what you were pretending to be.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There were too many pieces that didn’t fit. Too many inconsistencies in your behavior…in your sharing of your background.”
“But I betrayed you,” he said, not quite believing that she could be so accepting, so understanding.
She slowly shook her head. “No, you didn’t betray me, Adam. You were doing your job. You couldn’t have known what would happen between us. I didn’t know.” She leaned against an iron bedpost and dropped her gaze. “What matters is that you told me the truth now, when it matters.”
A profound relief enveloped Adam. He was hard-pressed not to haul her into his arms. Bury his nose in her sweet-smelling hair, crush her all-too-lush body to his. But he couldn’t give himself over to such forgetfulness. He had a job to do. Something he had somehow forgotten over the past three days. Something he needed to concentrate on now. No matter how much he’d like to push all that aside and devote the next few hours to Eva and Eva alone.
“So,” she said quietly. “What conclusion did you come to about me and my possible involvement with Sheffert?”
“That you’re not. Involved, I mean.” He took off his glasses, finally glad to be rid of them. Wishing he could rid himself of his need for the woman in front of him as easily.
She gazed at him long and hard. Then she gave him a soft, sexy smile. “All along I knew there was much more behind those glasses than an inexperienced nerd.”
“It doesn’t bother you? To find out I lied about my true identity? That for a time, anyway, I considered you a suspect?”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, then released it.
She gazed down at where she worried her hands in front of her. “Yes, it does. But there’s more involved here than phantom ledgers and tax evasion, isn’t there?”
He scanned her body from head to foot, hesitating at her waist. A waist that was still narrow and fit, but would soon be swollen with the child she carried. But his feelings for her went oh so much deeper than physical desire. Despite Eva Burgess’s pregnancy, he wanted her, longed for her, needed her in a way that scared him to death.
Yes, there was far more at work here than his assignment.
“My gun.”
Eva blinked and Adam knew that she didn’t have any knowledge of its whereabouts.
“It came up missing after the break-in.”
“I…I didn’t know you had a gun.”
Adam stepped nearer to her and gently grasped her arms. “Eva, now that I don’t have to pussyfoot around, is there anything odd you’ve come across in the time you’ve worked for Sheffert? Any accounts that didn’t make sense? Anything that struck you as unusual?”
She started to shake her head, apparently searching her memory, even as she swallowed hard. The skin of her arms was silky and hot under his fingers. He realized he’d abandoned his urgent grip and was now caressing her, drawing goose bumps he wanted to smooth.
“Wait,” she said, her gaze fastening on his. A gaze jam-packed with conflicting emotions. “Yesterday when I tried to access one of the Honeycutt diskettes I took from Sheffert’s office, I found some sort of game.”
“A game?” Adam repeated, forcing himself to release her for fear that he wouldn’t be able to stop touching her no matter how important the conversation.
“Yes.” She shrugged and crossed her arms, giving a shiver. “I found it odd, but when I realized the disk didn’t have what I needed on it, I put it aside.”
“Do you have it?”
She went to her attaché case and slipped a black three-and-a-half-inch disk out of an inside pocket. “My brother has a PC in his room. You can check it out there.”
Adam flipped the disk over in his fingers.
“Eva, I’m sorry.”
She blinked at him several times, apparently trying to discern the meaning of his words.
Finally, she smiled in a way that was sad and provocative all at the same time. She tucked her hair behind her ear and lifted her chin. “Yes, so am I.”
Adam wrenched his gaze from her alluring face and strode toward the door.
“What are we going to tell my family?” she asked, catching him before he walked out.
He took in the view of her standing next to that bed, wanting to tell her to say nothing. To let him have just one more day as their son-in-law. More important, he longed to ask her for one more night as her husband. To allow him to indulge himself just a little longer. Instead he said, “Tell them whatever you need to. But know this. Everyone here is safe. So you don’t have anything to worry about there.”
Somewhere deep down, he knew he was putting the ball in her court. The case might be over, but that didn’t mean they had to be, did it?
EVA DIDN’T TELL her parents.
That awareness crowded everything else from Adam’s head as he slipped the Honeycutt diskette into Pete’s PC, then slid a glance at the woman in the chair next to him.
Over the course of the past hour, he’d locked himself up in Tolly’s warehouse office making calls. Weckworth had been less than overjoyed to hear from him.
“Where in the hell have you been, Grayson? Damn it, I was expecting you to call me back after you reported that break-in yesterday.”
Adam had reminded Weckworth that he wasn’t in the midst of the Aryans in Search of Domination group where his life had been in danger every moment of every day. But being filled in on the theft of Eva’s laptop, Weckworth swore graphically.
“I’m pulling you out now. You’ve screwed this one up, Grayson. All because of a woman.”
All because of a woman.
Now Adam glanced at the way Eva crossed her legs, the material of her skirt sliding off to the side, giving him a tantalizing view of her knees. It was also because of that woman, he’d explained to Weckworth, that he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until he had this case wrapped up and he was sure she’d be safe.
“There,” Eva said, leaning forward to point at the screen. “See how it did that?”
Yes, Adam did. The moment he opened the file, the computer loaded what appeared to be an intergalactic game of some sort. Yellow stars crisscrossed the screen around the 3-D title Triumph of the Gladiators. He pressed the needed buttons to enter. Nothing but a game. And an unsophisticated one at that. A colorful take on one of those video tennis-ntype games. Except instead of two cursors batting a ball back and forth, a gladiator and an alien tossed fireballs at each other, then deflected them.
He spent the next half hour trying to find a back door to the program, then exited. Nothing. Nothing but a game.
He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, scanning the title page. Given the simplicity of the game, it couldn’t have taken much space on the high-density disk. He exited again and listed the directory. The file of interest took far too much memory for the simple game he’d just played.
He snapped upright.
“What is it?” Eva asked, leaning closer, her breasts brushing his arm.
Adam nearly groaned. His body yearned to forget all this in exchange for losing himself in the intoxicating woman next to him.
“I don’t know yet,” he said, going back to the title screen.
He sat back and looked long and hard, trying several key combinations that might give him access to what he was convinced was a secret passageway into the program. Nothing.
Next he resorted to clicking the mouse on different areas of the program. He positioned the pointer arrow on the helmet of the gladiator and the game screen vanished.
“Now we’re onto something.”
He spent the next five minutes urgently entering different key combinations. It wasn’t until he had the arrow in the far right-hand corner of the screen, and pressed the control and escape keys simultaneously, that a menu system blipped up that had nothing to do with games, and everything to do with hidden accounting activities.
“Got you, Sheffert,” Adam muttered with Eva looking on.
EVA DIDN’T KNOW much about undercover operations, but she knew enough about accounting and the law to spot a phantom ledger. And that’s exactly what Adam had pulled up on the Honeycutt account. All the secret transactions made to look clean on her accounts. All the sly little ways to shuffle money around and keep it out of the tax man’s hands. And all the crafty distribution of monies and assets to make it appear that Honeycutt owned far less than they actually did. They were all mapped out in front of her like a white-collar criminal’s guide to tax evasion.
She rubbed her temples, realizing that the FTC audit on Honeycutt’s account she had been preparing for had more to do with this than the simple clerical errors she had been led to believe by Norman Sheffert himself.
“You’ve got him,” she said quietly, slipping her hand to lay against Adam’s arm.
His grin was a thousand percent pure Adam Grayson. An alpha male who knew where he stood in the world and knew exactly how to manipulate it for his own purposes. And, Eva realized, he could use those same charming skills on women. While his grin affected her in a more profound way than any of Adam-the-geek’s smiles had, she also recognized that Adam-the-alpha would never have broken through the charm-proof barriers she had erected after Bill had walked out on her. No, it had taken nerdy Adam to slip past those. But it was definitely a combination of the two Adams that had made her fall in love with the man next to her.
And she did love him. More profoundly than she’d ever loved any man before him. And, she feared, more acutely than she would love anyone else again.
“Yes, I’d say I definitely have Sheffert by the shorts.”
Her hand grew hot where she still touched him, but she didn’t remove it. “So, I did end up having what you needed.”
The grin faded from Adam’s handsome face. Replaced by an intense expression that seemed to say so much more. “Yes. You did end up having what I needed.”
With his other hand, he lifted hers from where it rested on his arm and brought it to his mouth. His brown eyes darkened as he pressed her palm against his lips, then nipped at the flesh there. Eva gasped softly, her body humming to life even as he abruptly released her and shut down the computer, slipping the diskette into his front shirt pocket.
“Where are the troops?” he asked.
“Gone. They went to my aunt and uncle’s for dinner to celebrate Labor Day. They wanted…” She trailed off, her heartbeat growing heavier with each breath. “They wanted us to go, too, but I bowed out, telling them I wasn’t feeling well.”
As they stood, the fact that they weren’t touching had little effect on the heady currents running between them.
“And are you feeling well?”
“I’m feeling just fine.”
ADAM DIDN’T KNOW what it was about this incredible woman that had touched him so. But as he led her to the bedroom, then closed the door and crushed her against him, he knew that she’d touched a place he hadn’t allowed anyone even to glimpse before.
Up until now, his life had been a series of undercover assignments, where he switched from identity to identity with the ease of an actor. He had seen the undercover demands as part of his job, his disguises a requirement. Now he questioned whether he required the concealment the job provided. He suspected he hadn’t been merely doing his job. He had been hiding. Hiding from love. From true commitment. From anyone and everyone who could ever touch his heart and open him up to pain.
Then there was this weekend and Eva. Sultry, earthy, Eva Mavros Burgess. In turns, a competent, independent professional. A caring, dedicated daughter. A promising, loving mother. Then there was the woman he held against his hard length now. The passionate siren who knew what she wanted and knew how to make him want it too. It was her presence, her wit and her uncommon desire that had proved to him that without pain there also could be no true joy.
Odd that he should feel both so acutely now. Pain because he knew he’d soon be losing her. Joy because he had these next few hours to indulge in the wonderful fantasies that had changed during their time together. Dreams that would never be realized to their full extent.
Eva drew slightly away and switched on a small lamp in the corner, filling the room with soft, yellow light.
“I want to see you,” she murmured.
Adam smoothed the dark cloud of hair back from her face, then rested a hand against her cheek, drinking in the expression she wore just for him. He slowly brushed his lips over hers, reveling in the way she allowed him to take charge for this one instant. Content to hand him the reins, her lips parted, her sensuous olive green eyes watching him through the fringe of her dark lashes, her body still. Her surrendering of control touched off an overwhelming sense of power to know he had caused this wondrously independent woman to trust him. To give herself to him completely, with no promises.
He drew slightly back, holding her gaze captive, reading in her expression what he knew to be the truth. That there could be no promises. She wasn’t ready to commit to him. And he couldn’t commit to her. Not in the way she needed him to. No matter how strongly he wished he could. Four days ago he didn’t think he’d ever commit to a woman. Now he was faced with a woman carrying another man’s child. And living with the aching knowledge that he had nothing to offer either one of them beyond now.
With a low groan, he slid his hand to the back of her head, entwining his fingers in her thick dark hair, tugging on the wavy strands so her neck arched, her mouth tilted upward, her impossibly sexy lips inviting him to take them.
And take them he did. He claimed her mouth with such hunger that he could bury himself within her that moment and explode with the ferocious intensity born of long-denied need. He’d always been the one to take control in a relationship, but though Eva’s stillness represented surrender, Adam realized that she was the one in charge of them both. With a word, she could stop his seduction. With a touch, she could take them both further.
His tongue plunged in and out of her mouth, probing the soft flesh of her inner cheek, the smoothness of her teeth, tangling with her tongue, challenging it to come out. He wasn’t going any further until she openly invited him to, encouraged him to touch her. Until she let him know with her actions that she wanted him as desperately as he needed her.
The moment she did proved to be one of the sweetest, most defining moments of Adam’s life. Eva melted against him, slipping her arms around his waist, opening her mouth to take him in and using her tongue to let him know she needed him as much as he needed her.
He slid his arms over her lush body, running his fingers slowly, intently, down from her shoulders. Pressing a path over the hollow of her back, then grasping the firm flesh of her bottom before crowding her to his erection.
A groan ripped from his throat. He leaned his head back, marveling in the feel of her softness against his hard length. Streaks of fire blasted through his groin and abdomen, stoking a blaze of a different kind already burning in his chest. It was then he knew what he suspected all along. That what was to happen between them now would be much more than sex…it would be the sweet uniqueness of making love. It would be magic.
Dragging his hands back up to her face, he held her still, exploring and claiming her mouth with increased need. A man incapable of probing deeply enough, tasting nearly enough to satisfy.
Eva shoved the material of his shirt up and out of the waist of his slacks until her fingertips touched his overly aware flesh. She drew long lines up and down his back, not quite scratching his skin, but not quite caressing it either. Then she plunged her hands into the waist of his pants and circled her fingers around the band to the front. Adam sucked in a breath when she brushed her knuckles against his stomach, persuaded to loosen his grip on her as she fumbled with his zipper.
Within moments her hot fingers curled around his erection. Holding tight. Making him feel that everything that was him resided there and was hers for the taking. He surged against her grasp and she began a slow up-and-down movement that stoked his fires even higher.
“Eva, I want you…need you,” he whispered fiercely against her mouth. “More than I’ve ever needed anyone else before.”
Her eyelids fluttered open. “I’m here, Adam. I’m here.”
And that she was. Every delicious inch of her.
Moving his hands from her rear, he ripped at the shoulders of her dress, too impatient to slide out the buttons he had fantasized about undoing with his teeth earlier. Satisfied, he watched the tiny buttons pop out of the stretched buttonholes. Finally her breasts were bare but for a scrap of satin and lace. She reached around and hastily removed her bra, so even that barrier was taken away.
He lowered his head to smother and lave her dark nipples. One, then the other and back again. His hands teasing, squeezing. His mouth suckling, licking and tasting until he heard her breath come in rapid, ragged gasps. He fastened his lips around her right nipple and suckled deeply, then opened his mouth and took in more of her breast even as he dropped his hands back to her waist. Yanking up the hem of her skirt, he sought the panties clinging to her perfectly curved bottom, then eased his fingers inside the elastic. He slowly drew the tip of his index finger along the swollen folds of flesh that protected her until it rested against the tiny, puckered aperture just beyond.
Eva whimpered. She lifted one long leg and wrapped it around him, catching her knee on his hip. She pressed hard against his erection while Adam teased her from the other side, shifting his fingertip and gently parting her silken folds, then dipping his finger into her sweet, hot wetness.
There was pure power in knowing he could make her come apart with his hand. But Adam reminded himself he had already done that. Now he wanted her fully, wanted to bury himself deep inside her, feel her sleek muscles contract around him, pulling him deeper, pleading with him to stay.
Eva eased her hold on his arousal and tunneled her hands into his hair. She coaxed his mouth up to hers, her hunger a palpable thing.
Slipping his fingers from her dripping sweetness, he yanked at her panties. Eva tugged at the front of his pants until she freed him, the scraps of silk and lace and white cotton dropping to the floor. Scraping his callused palms up her legs until they rested against the backs of her thighs, he boosted her up.
She grasped for his shoulders to steady herself, groaning when her damp fissure rested against his painfully hard erection.
For one long moment their breathing stopped. Their gazes locked as they teetered on the edge of a precipice that, once passed, would mean no going back.
“Are you sure?” he murmured. “Are you sure I won’t hurt—”
She pressed her fingers against his lips. “The baby will be fine.” Her gaze shifted to his mouth. “And I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”
Her whispered words were Adam’s unraveling.
She leaned away from him until her fingers barely touched behind his neck, giving him a clear view of her luscious body where it was bared down to the dress bunched around her waist. Her breasts were tight and round, her nipples puckered and damp from his attentions. Then she shifted her hips and all coherent thought scattered to the four winds.
Cupping her bottom in his hands, Adam gently, slowly lifted her, then brought her down on his arousal inch by torturous inch, pausing to give her time to accommodate him, plunging ahead once her gasps stopped. Then, finally, he was completely surrounded by everything that was Eva, the sensations ripping through him the closest he had come to heaven.
Slowly, he moved them toward the bed a few feet away and lay her down on the sheets. He thrust deeply inside her and she threw her head back and moaned, a sound that wove around him, beckoned to him in a way he was unable to resist.
Grasping her hips, he thrust into her again, then again, and yet again, each plunge heightening the emotions pulsing though him. Pushing them up, further and further, taking him to the brink of climax, then slowly, bringing them back down as he evened the rhythm of their lovemaking.
Releasing his hold on the pliant flesh of her hips, he flattened his hands across her abdomen, then brought his thumbs together at her navel. She stilled, her breathing ragged, her stomach muscles contracting beneath his touch. She watched him through the dark fringe of her lashes as he slid his thumbs downward. He halted at the spot between belly button and the dark dusky triangle below. He reminded himself of the special meaning of what lay beneath her silky, slightly rounded flesh. How he yearned at that moment that the life growing within her was a result of their lovemaking, hers and his.
Eva shifted restlessly and he continued his downward path until his thumbs rested against her slick, tangled hair.
She gasped and stopped moving. Adam shifted his hips slightly to the right, then to the left, parting her soft folds until she was exposed to him, pink and engorged. He pressed a thumb purposefully down on the silky nub, slowly rubbing it in small circles.
Eva arched her back and dissolved with a series of shudders and gasps, her climax rippling through her. Her spasms traveled from her to him, where Adam had stilled, but kept up the caress of his thumb, drawing her moment out, carrying her along. But instead of the orchestrating role he expected to play, her slick, sleek muscles tightened around him. And the pleasure at having brought her to orgasm swept through him. He surged into her, deeper, and yet deeper again, following on the heels of her climax. Energy quaked through him, robbing him of breath, of movement, for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Eva dropped back to the sheets, her rosy skin glistening with perspiration, the muted light from the lamp in the corner imprinting her abdomen with the shadow of an iron post. Adam eased his body from the taut, straight position that had allowed the wondrous sensations to rip through him.
For long moments, he stayed motionless, wanting to put into words what he felt, yet fearing no words could do his emotions justice. Instead, he watched Eva, waiting for her to catch her breath, anticipating the moment when she would come back to him for more. And she did. The ceiling fan stirred her dark, damp hair as she looked at him, need burning deep in her eyes.
Adam groaned as he hardened all over again, urged on by the tightening of her muscles.
This time there was no controlled manipulation, no conscious effort to please. Instead, when Adam thrust into her, his movements growing faster and harder, Eva’s moans coming louder and sweeter, it was in a selfish quest for fulfillment only complete surrender to his emotions could give. And when the white light that had filled him at the onset of their lovemaking began showing shoots of wild, vivid reds, Adam knew it would be unlike anything he had ever experienced before…or would likely experience again.
His muscles grew rigid, the thunder of climax clutching his entire body. Adam gripped her hips, holding her still, absorbing her pleasure, communicating his own to her.
Slowly, the shock waves ebbed. Adam slid his hands up her glistening body, extending her arms, then joined his fingers with hers above her head.
“I love you,” he murmured. He thought his saying the words should surprise him, but he was helpless to do anything but let the truth show. Wonder at the freedom with which it filled him. No matter how vain the words.
Releasing one of her hands, he smoothed the tangled hair from her face. It was impossible to believe there was a greater sight than her serene, ethereal smile, something sweeter than the emotion-filled kiss she gave him.
“I love you more,” she murmured.
Her eyes were too bright, too luminous. Adam followed the trail of a tear as it slid down her cheek. A profound, answering sadness tore through his chest. He rested his palm against her face and wiped the dampness away, wishing he could say something to ease her pain…to ease his own. But nothing could reverse the knowledge that despite all they had shared, all that bound them together, they might never be together like this again.
ADAM LAY AWAKE into the wee hours of the morning, unable to give himself over to the forgetfulness sleep might offer. Eva was curled against him, her warmth welcome despite the sultry, heavy heat of the night. He caressed her bare arm, amazed that he wanted to wake her yet again and indulge in her sweet, hot body. Marvel in the emotions he now knew she felt for him as strongly as he felt them for her. But after endless hours of passionate exploration, he suspected she needed rest, evidenced by her soft snores.
Turning his head to look at her in the dim light of her moon, he pushed the hair back from her damp face, then pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Oh but she tasted good. He kept his lips against her skin for long moments, then closed his eyes, thinking that a life filled with nights like this were a very tempting proposition indeed.
An hour or so before, he’d heard a car pull up, and listened as Eva’s parents, grandmother and brother made their way into the house, their voices quiet, spurts of laughter floating to him on the thick night air.
Now the house was silent but for the ticking of a large grandfather clock in the main foyer and the hushed whirl of the ceiling fan. Adam shifted Eva slightly to remove his arm where it had begun to fall asleep. Her soft, unconscious objection surprised him, as did her sigh when he cuddled her close again.
Adam had never been needed before. Not in this way. Not by a woman who seemed to need no one. And for a man who had never needed anyone himself, he found it all too easy to need Eva and everything she offered. Everything he’d never had. Love. Family. Commitment.
With his free hand, he rubbed his forehead. He wasn’t surprised by how easily he had become a part of Eva and her family’s lives in just a few days. It was part and parcel of his job. But it was amazing that they had become so much a part of his.
Still, he seriously had to question the solidity of such a statement. The past four days were unlike any he’d ever experienced in many ways. Both wonderful and daunting. But could he trust the peace he found here when everything about the time loomed surreal and isolated? As if part of a disjointed dream that couldn’t possibly be real?
He supposed the source for his doubts sprouted from the deception on which so much of what he felt now was built. His accepting Eva’s offer when he was already playing the role of Adam the socially challenged accountant. His attraction to her when he should have kept her at arm’s length. The ingenuous way members of her family had welcomed him, leaving him feeling a part of them no matter how much he resisted.
And most puzzling, the longing deep within him to protect and love the child Eva carried even though it wasn’t his. Lord, but he recognized that his yearning might even be because the child wasn’t his, due in part to his own parentless upbringing. And due even more to his all-encompassing love for Eva.
Movement in the hall caught his attention. Adam picked up the clock from the bedside table and squinted at it. Four-thirty. He knew Tolly wasn’t going in to work today because a storm was due to roll in later that morning. Still, the man could have his own internal alarm that made him get up at the same hour every morning. Adam put the clock back down and gently repositioned Eva so he could get up, this time ignoring her soft protests. After the ransacking of Eva’s room, then the theft of her laptop, Adam couldn’t allow himself to trust that the early-morning sounds came from Tolly or anyone else in the house.
Slipping into the itchy polyester slacks that had marked his time here, he stood up and zipped them, then silently headed in the direction of the door.
The sharp report of what he immediately identified as a gunshot ripped through the night.
“Damn.”
Throwing open the door, Adam distantly registered Eva’s calling out to him even as he tore down the hall, then the steps, emerging onto the front porch to make out two dark silhouettes standing some ten feet apart in the yard.
“Don’t you move, you stinkin’ thief!” Adam recognized Tolly’s heavily accented voice. Adam discerned him as the figure closer to him. He descended the stairs, the grass cool and damp beneath his bare feet.
Tolly Mavros was holding a gun.
“What in the hell are you doing,” Adam asked, reaching out and snatching the firearm from Tolly’s hands. A quick look verified that it was indeed his own gun, missing from Eva’s room the day before. “This is mine. How did you get it?”
Tolly waved at him impatiently. “When I saw it on the floor of Eva’s room after the break-in, I thought maybe the intruder left it behind.” He shrugged irritably. “So I took it.”
Adam grimaced. It seemed Tolly had seen far more than Eva’s divorce papers. He remembered how the wily Greek had clutched a bunched up towel in his hands throughout the aftermath of the break-in. Only, the towel hadn’t been all he’d been holding.
“You stick with oysters and I’ll take care of any shooting that needs to be done, okay?” Adam said. It rankled that Tolly had taken the gun right out from under his own nose. The reminder of just how far he’d let his guard down bothered him.
The figure ten feet away started to move. Adam aimed the weapon at him, refocusing on the matter at hand.
“Oh no you don’t, buddy,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. Maybe Tolly here couldn’t hit you, but rest assured, I’ve got very good aim.”
He stepped closer to the dark figure, the light from the full moon reflecting off the fishing lures hooked above the rim of the hat the person wore. As on the two other occasions he’d seen the suspect—first at the rest area, then at the warehouse the day before—he had never gotten a good look at his face.
Adam stopped and waved the gun. “Take the hat off.”
“Shoot him,” Tolly said, appearing at his side. He jostled Adam’s arm with his elbow. “Shoot the son of a bitch.”
Adam fought a smile. Good thing he’d taken the pistol away from the hotheaded man.
The suspect slipped off the hat, crumpling it in his shaking hands.
“Oliver!” Eva gasped from somewhere behind him.
“Pinney.” Adam sighed.
Now that the hat was off, it wasn’t difficult to recognize the wiry-haired accountant who had launched Adam’s entire investigation when the high-strung man had spilled more than he’d intended in John Weckworth’s office four weeks ago.
“Now that you know who I am, who are you?” Pinney whimpered.
“Field Agent Grayson of the FBI.” Adam grimaced, then dropped his gun to his side. “Well, I suppose I should be relieved your body isn’t polluting a river somewhere, Pinney,” he said. “But right now I can’t help feeling disappointed that we can’t get Sheffert for conspiracy to murder.”
“That’s not funny, Mr…. Agent Grayson,” Pinney said in his whiny little voice.
“Agent Grayson? FBI?” Tolly repeated. He looked over his shoulder at where Adam guessed Eva was. “What the hell is going on here? What is he talking about?”
Adam shook his head, keeping his focus on Pinney. How had this real geek ever summoned the guts to do what he’d done over the past four days?
“Then change my mind, Pinney,” Adam said. “And you can start with why you staged your own disappearance.”
“I…I had to go underground. I told you Sheffert would have me filed away permanently.”
Adam narrowed his eyes. “We told you we’d protect you.”
“Protect me? You call making me stay on that job until I got evidence, protecting me?”
“Yes, I do. Because once you produced the evidence, Sheffert would never be a worry to you again.”
Eva finally moved into view on the other side of Adam, her arms wrapped around her upper body. “That’s why you were so nervous around the office. It wasn’t just the audit….”
Pinney’s finger shook as he pointed it at her. “You would be, too, if you knew your life was in danger.”
Two figures rushed from the trees bordering the yard. Adam reached out to prevent Tolly from charging them. “They’re with me,” he said.
The two agents grabbed Pinney’s arms and cuffed him despite his high-pitched protests.
“Where in the hell were you guys?” Adam asked, sliding the pistol barrel first into the back waistband of his slacks. “Looks like I had better backup in Tolly here than you two.”
Eva’s father hmmphed.
“Get a grip, Grayson,” one of the agents said. “We were keeping an eye on the situation. The suspect didn’t get any closer than he is now before this old man shot out of the house and started firing. We were assessing the situation before deciding how to proceed.”
Eva slipped her hand into the crook of Adam’s arm. He wondered at the warmth that filled him even in the midst of the present situation.
“Yes, well, Pinney had better thank somebody that Tolly isn’t a good shot.”
“You need me,” Pinney whined.
“Uh-uh. Not anymore I don’t. Last night we found the files you were after.” Adam rubbed his chin. “Of course, the case would be stronger if we had you to testify that you set up the accounts for Sheffert. If, indeed, that is the case.”
Eva squeezed his arm. “What are you saying?”
Adam glanced at her, loving the way the light of her moon played on her enchanting face. “Oh, just that after thinking about the files we reviewed last night, I suspect Sheffert might not be the only one involved in this. Pinney might not be the innocent victim he pretends, but a coconspirator. And if he hadn’t cracked when the FBI questioned him during the open audit, he would never have needed to cover the tracks he’d laid out leading to Sheffert and to others in the office that were involved.” He watched Pinney’s chin drop to his chest. “That’s why he disappeared. That’s why we also found the safe in Sheffert’s office open long after he’d already left for the weekend. He hadn’t left it open for Alice to put disks away, but rather to give her and Pinney access to the safe and the disks so they could clean them up.
“But when you got to the disks before they did, Pinney knew he needed to get them back before anyone got a look at them.”
Eva pulled her hair away from her face with her free hand. “Alice? You think she’s in on this, too? But how can you be so sure Pinney’s involved, and not a victim, like he said?”
“I’m not, but all accountants have their own little ways of doing things,” Adam told her, “leaving the equivalent of fingerprints all over the ledgers they create by the way they enter the data, manipulate it. Having been stuck in Pinney’s office for the past three weeks, I got all too familiar with the way our friend here does business. And after seeing the ghost ledgers and the way he hid them in a computer game, I knew he was actively, earnestly involved. A partner, not a victim.
“At any rate, if I’m wrong about my assumptions, we’ll find out soon enough. Pinney cracks wide open under pressure, so I’m sure he’ll tell us all what we need to know.”
He looked at her meaningfully, longingly. “What matters now is that it’s over.”
“Oh.” Eva whispered the one-word response, then slowly took her hand from his arm as if realizing it didn’t belong there.
Suddenly, she looked all too vulnerable, and all too hurt. It’s over. Adam realized that his comment could easily apply to their own tentative relationship. He had to use every shred of control he had, not to reach out to reassure her. Because the simple fact was, the statement did apply to their unconventional relationship as well.
“I thought Adam was a stockbroker,” Eva’s mother said, breaking the awkward silence.
THE PERVASIVE RESIGNATION that claimed every one of Eva’s muscles helped her deal with the barrage of questions with feigned calm. In truth, she wanted to be with Adam, who had stayed out front with the two other agents, while she ushered her baffled family into the house to face the tedious task of explaining everything to them.
“Here, have some tea,” her mother said, placing a generous cup in front of her. Eva leaned her head against her hand and smiled. Why was it that even at the worst of times, her mother always somehow managed to put something on the table?
“You knew this Adam, he was an undercover agent?” her father asked, sipping on his own Greek coffee in a tiny porcelain cup.
“No. Yes. I found out yesterday afternoon.”
“And he’s not your husband.”
Eva dropped her gaze to her lap. “No, Papa, he’s not.”
For long moments no one said anything. Eva couldn’t bring herself to care about anything but the fact that Adam would be leaving now. He would disappear from her life as quickly as he had entered it.
Is that what he had intended all along? Eva didn’t believe it. Not after what they shared together last night, not after he’d said he loved her.
And she knew he did. As surely as she knew the deep pain at the thought of losing him grew out of her love for him, too.
“Your Bill…is he dead?” her grandmother asked.
That brought a watery smile to Eva’s face. She reached out and patted her grandmother’s pale hand. “No, Yaya, Bill is still alive. We’re just…divorced.”
Her father hmmphed and leaned back in his chair. But instead of avoiding his gaze, Eva looked directly at him.
“And the baby? It is his…Bill’s?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “My pregnancy is the reason Bill asked for a divorce. You see, we agreed when we married that we wouldn’t have children.”
“Not have—”
Eva’s mother entered the room carrying a tray of toast. “Tolly, stop it right now. Let the child speak, for God’s sake.”
Eva cleared her tight throat. “When Mama called to tell me you were ill—” her mother shrugged innocently when her father glared at her “—I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you I was divorced from a man you hadn’t even met. I knew it hurt you all that I married away from home and without your blessing. And, well, since I didn’t know how ill you were, I didn’t want to lay that in your lap as well.”
“And Adam?” her grandmother asked. “You are…involved with him?”
“No.” Eva’s cheeks burned with the lie, but she couldn’t bear to share with them how…close she and Adam had become over the past few days. And anyway, before she brought him to Louisiana, they had been little more than associates.
Her father sat forward. “For three nights you sleep with him in the same room in my house, you call him husband, and yet you say you’re not involved with him?” He paused. “Okay, two nights. One night he slept on the porch.”
Eva smiled sadly. “We’re not involved in the way I suspect you hope we are.” She wrapped her cold fingers around her cup. “I am not going to marry Adam, Papa.”
“Why not?” he asked. “He is a good man. He would be a good protector, a good father to your son.”
“Or daughter,” her mother said.
Eva tightly closed her eyes. “I’m not going to marry Adam,” she said more loudly. “So just drop it, okay?”
“Drop it? What is this, drop it?” Tolly said.
Her mother quickly explained the meaning of the words in Greek, then her father nodded and went silent.
“Do you love him, ayapee mou?” Her grandmother broke the silence. All gazes shifted to Eva’s face.
She briefly closed her eyes. “Yes, I do.”
Her father slapped his hand on the table. “And he loves you, so it’s settled. You’ll be married tomorrow by Pappa Kostas in Morgan City.”
Eva put her teacup on the table with a dull thud. “Papa, this is not the Middle Ages. And this is not Greece where you can just order me around as if I’m a mindless child whose only duty is to obey you. I don’t need to be married to have a baby.” She pleaded for him to understand, but suddenly recognized that it was enough for her to say the words. “Why can’t you just accept my decision? Respect me as I do you?”
“Respect? This is what you call respect?”
Eva started to rise from the table. “You’re determined to chase me away again, aren’t you? If I can’t abide by your rules, then you’d just as soon I wasn’t in your sight, isn’t that right? Let me go back to New Jersey and live my life in some sort of archaic exile to return only for vacations where you can remind me all over again why I’m undeserving of your love.”
She drew herself up. “Well, I’m telling you right now. I’ve decided I’m not going anywhere. Even though Adam won’t be a part of my life…our lives, he’s made me realize some very important things. And one of them is that I love my family and I want to be near them. Near Mama, Yaya, Pete, and yes, even you, Papa. No matter how difficult you make it.” She smoothed her hands over her slightly rounded stomach through her nightgown. “I’m going to be staying on in Belle Rivage to raise my child.”
The room was awkwardly silent after her small speech. But Eva felt better than she had in a long, long time, despite the sadness clinging to her like the humid air. Her grandmother was smiling, but her mother watched her father’s angry face, her own full of hope that he would say something to make everything right. Deep down, Eva wished for the same. But she finally realized that even if her father said nothing, it wouldn’t matter. She was who she was, and he was the same.
“Good,” he said gruffly moments later.
“Good?” Eva’s chest tightened.
He waved his hand as if shooing her away. “Yes, good. I never liked that you left here, Eva. And I’m sorry you felt I’m the one who forced you away.”
Through her tears, her father was a gruff, lovable blur.
“But you should still marry Adam.”
Eva’s throat was thick with emotion. “I can’t, Papa. He’s not the father of this child. I can’t ask him to take on the responsibility. No matter what may have happened between us this past weekend.” She started from the room. “I won’t.”
With her words she left out one important truth. Adam hadn’t offered to take on the responsibility of her…or her baby.
ADAM HAD NO IDEA leaving Eva would be so difficult. In the past four days he’d seen her transform from the ice queen he had once thought her, into a dedicated daughter in a tight-knit Greek-American family. And finally into a sensual, loving woman who could make everything in the world all right with just one of her heartwarming smiles, one passionate touch.
As Adam packed his things, he found it odd that nowhere in his thoughts of her was the image of Eva wearing that string bikini. No. Now looming far sexier in his mind was Eva and her floral dresses, her olive green eyes full of passion as she looked at him while they made love.
Damn, he’d gotten himself in deep this time. But would the feelings burgeoning in his chest for Eva Mavros Burgess last after a week away from her? A bothersome voice shouted yes, they would. But things had happened too quickly for him to trust that voice. To trust himself not to hurt Eva, her family and her child if he woke up one day and realized his love for her was little more than an overdose of lust, or an almost obsessive thirst for the forbidden.
Anyway, he had to leave. He was scheduled on the next flight out to Jersey to pull in Norman Sheffert and Alice Turley for questioning. Combined with Pinney’s forthcoming confession he had no doubt everything would be sewn up by the day’s end.
Would he come back?
He knew the answer even before he thought it. No. It wouldn’t be fair to her or her family to drag out the inevitable. And the inevitable was that he didn’t belong here.
Besides, he thought as he closed his duffel bag, she hadn’t asked him to stay. Chances were, she didn’t think they had what it took to make it beyond tomorrow any more than he did. As accountants, both of them knew half of new business ventures failed within the first year. Even with the best of guidance and everything on their side when they started out. It wasn’t any different in marriage, if the current divorce rates were anything to go by. He’d never done anything impulsive in his life. And he’d hazard a guess that Eva hadn’t either. But their making love fell solidly in the impulse category. They had come together knowing full well there would be no promises when the sun rose.
He glanced up and through the window, finding the hot September sun doing exactly that. And he was completely convinced he was doing the right thing. Well, almost convinced. Okay, he had a strong feeling his walking away was right.
Damn, why couldn’t he be sure?
At any rate, his future was already decided. An hour earlier, he’d called Deputy Chief John Weckworth to fill him in on the peculiar circumstances surrounding the case and to have him put a tail on Sheffert and his secretary. At the end of their conversation, Weckworth had told him of another assignment. Adam had taken it. After he wrapped this case up, he was going to close up his apartment in New Jersey, then catch a flight to Little Rock, Arkansas, where his next case waited.
“Adam?”
Every muscle in his body tensed at the sound of Eva’s voice from the open door. Picking up his briefcase and duffel, he turned toward her.
She released her bottom lip where she had caught it between her teeth. Adam wanted to groan. The urge to pull her to him and kiss away her pain—and his own—was overwhelming. But her stance well across the room clearly stated that such a move would be unwise.
“Are you ready?” she asked quietly.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
She gestured toward the hall with those wonderfully long, slender hands. “I already told my parents you wouldn’t be saying goodbye. I, uh, thought it would be better for them that way.” She scanned his face. “And you.”
He nodded, a part of him regretting that he wouldn’t be offering any explanation to her family, telling them how much he had enjoyed the past few days with them, but he knew it was for the best. No sense acting as if they might see each other again. Because they wouldn’t.
“Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
Being so close to Eva, and not being able to touch her, to tell her how very much last night meant to him, or to promise her everything if she’d only let him stay was the most difficult thing Adam had ever done. He followed her down the hall, then the stairs. He ordered himself not to watch the way her dress swung around her legs, or eye the enticing curve of her neck as they stepped out onto the porch. But he did both, needing to capture at least that image of her before he left.
She turned to him, her dark eyebrows drawn together. “How are you going to get back to Jersey?”
“Are you offering to drive me?” he asked, smiling, and wishing he hadn’t said anything when a ray of hope flashed in her eyes. He forced himself to look away. “I’ll be flying from New Orleans.”
“But I thought…oh.” Her hand shook as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Your not being able to fly was just part of the assignment.”
“Yes.”
She gave him a small smile.
He eyed her drawn face, wishing for all the world that he didn’t have to hurt her. That he didn’t have to hurt himself. But knowing it was better now than later. “And you? When will you be going back?”
“I won’t,” she said softly. “At least not to stay. Of course, I’ll have to sell my house and settle everything in New Jersey first, but I’m going to come back here.” She gestured toward the house. “A lot of what you said to me on the boat the other night made sense. I’ve decided I’ve done enough running and that I should just stick things out here. For my sake—” she ran her fingers down her abdomen “—and for my baby’s.”
He nodded. “Good.”
She stared at him in a way that made him feel uneasy. “That’s exactly what my father said.”
“A smart man, your father.”
Her answering laugh was a little stronger than her previous one. “You would say that.”
They shared a moment jam-packed with awkwardness and tension. Caught up in the emotion of the moment, swept away by passion, neither of them quite knew what to say now.
A car pulled up into the circular driveway and parked behind Eva’s Mercedes.
She flicked it a quick glance. “Well, I guess I should say goodbye and let you get on your way. You have work to do.” She lifted her eyes to him, peering at him from beneath the thick fringe of her dark lashes. Adam felt like groaning all over again. “Goodbye, Adam,” she whispered.
Hesitantly stepping toward him, she dropped her gaze, intent on kissing him on the cheek. But Adam wasn’t having any of that. Dropping his bags, he cradled her face in his hands and met her lips head-on.
Her eyes blinked up to gaze into his as he slanted his mouth against hers, prying her lips apart to dip his tongue inside for one last, torturous taste of her mouth, her essence, the very things that made Eva so special. Instead of pulling away, she plunged her tongue against his, forcing it back into his mouth, her eyes fluttering closed as she pressed her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, tempting him with the feel of her luscious body against his.
Then it was over and she stepped back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes overly bright, her fingers lightly touching her lips.
“Goodbye, Eva.”
She nodded. He turned to walk down the steps and out of her life.
EVA MOVED to the top of the steps, wanting to call out to Adam, to beg him to come back, but she could do nothing more than hold back her tears as the car drove out of sight. Slowly, she sat down on the top step, smoothing her dress over her knees and giving vent to the sobs clogging her throat.
He was gone. Although Adam Grayson had only graced her life for such a short time—first as the endearing, sexy geek Adam Gardner with the taped-together glasses, then as the megawatt charmer who touched her in all the right places, including her heart—Eva felt nothing would ever be the same again.
Behind her the hinges on the screen door squeaked. Eva quickly swiped at her tears and lifted her chin, thinking her mother had followed her out. She flattened her hands on the porch and sat forward, waiting for the questions that would inevitably follow Adam’s departure. Instead, she was met with silence. Shifting her glance to the spot next to her, she found that her father was slowly sitting down.
“Adam, he’s going to arrest this other man, your boss, no?”
She nodded numbly. “Yes.”
Left unsaid was the question of his possible return.
A fresh bout of tears blurred her vision. She sat stiffly, waiting for her father to say he told her so, or tell her it wasn’t too late to go after Adam. But he did neither. He merely sat there with her, staring in the direction Adam’s car had gone. Then he reached out and covered her hand with his big, callused one. Showing her, in the only way he knew how, that he was there for her. And always would be.
“Tomorrow we go out on the boat,” he said quietly.
Eva instinctively leaned into him and wept.
FOUR MONTHS LATER, Adam stared out the window of a downtown Chicago skyscraper, watching the blinding white snowflakes snake around the building and drift to the ground far below. Upon leaving Louisiana and wrapping up the Sheffert case like a Christmas gift, he’d closed his apartment in Edison, New Jersey, and gone on to Little Rock, Arkansas, where he completed his next assignment. After that, he had asked that he not be given any undercover work for a while. Weckworth had honored his request and sent him out on two intense open criminal audits, as part of a team Weckworth labeled his Forensic Accounting Combat Unit. They were the elite of the elite, taking apart the books of megamillion-dollar companies and following long, tedious trails that left other accountants cold.
Lord, but that’s exactly how Adam felt. Cold. Not even Weckworth’s offer last week of an assignment in Hawaii had done anything to warm him.
What did offer a new dimension to his life was that he’d called the foster parents he’d left behind so long ago, inspired mostly by the look at his life Eva had made him take that night on her father’s boat. And the need to right the wrongs of his past. Wrongs made blamelessly, but made nonetheless.
It had surprised him that Carol Richmond had immediately recognized his voice, though ten years had passed since he’d last spoken to her. And the memory of her and Dan’s warm reaction to him when he’d visited them in Luckey, Ohio, for Thanksgiving, touched him still. What had begun as an overnight visit stretched into three days during which he’d caught up on all the happenings since he’d joined the FBI. Not the least of which was that he had six nieces and nephews. Six nieces and nephews. He hadn’t even been aware that others had thought of him as a brother. Now he was an uncle.
What he wouldn’t have given to be able to tell them another addition to the untraditional family was on the way.
He owed Eva for providing the thread that had mended that gaping hole in his life. And he might have offered to honor that debt. If only another, greater, aching hole hadn’t stopped him.
Last month he’d called the accounting firm renamed Logan and Brace after Sheffert’s indictment and asked for Eva, only to be told she had resigned. He knew she would be moving back to Louisiana. He just hadn’t realized it would be so quickly. And until he knew exactly what he wanted, he didn’t dare contact her at her family’s house. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
What he would have said had she been in New Jersey, he didn’t know. He still wasn’t sure what had happened between them in Louisiana. What he did know was that by now she would be heavy with the child she would bear in a couple of months. And that he missed her. Missed sharing what was a first in her life.
More than likely, he would have asked to see her. To see with his own eyes that she was okay. To examine the emotions untouched since he’d left her behind in Belle Rivage to see if they indeed had stood the test of time.
Only he already knew that they had. Not a morning went by that he didn’t wake up, yearning to reach out and touch her. Not a meal was served that he didn’t remember the sight of her sitting across from him, staring in horror at whatever her grandmother had put on her plate. And not a river, lake or even a rain puddle failed to remind him of the night on the boat when he’d stoked the passion within her, then completely unleashed it so they came together in a way that filled his nights with dreams, his heart with yearning.
“Grayson, you coming to lunch or not?” fellow agent O’Brien asked him from the door.
Adam slowly turned, wondering if Eva missed him half as much as he missed her. Wondering if he’d ever be able to repair the hole that gaped even wider with each moment that passed.
EVA LET the screen door slap closed behind her, then stopped to rub the small of her back. Eight months and some three weeks pregnant and she felt as if somebody had strapped a fifty-pound cement bag around her waist. She moved her fingers slowly from her back to her front, marveling at her girth, wondering how her stomach could be so rock-hard. In awe that the baby that moved around incessantly would soon join her and her family.
She pulled her sweater closer. While February temperatures in the bayous of Louisiana didn’t get near the freezing temperatures in the north, they hovered between fifty and sixty degrees. The thick humidity made it feel warmer, but Eva wasn’t taking any chances. She usually wore a thick pair of leggings, a long jersey shirt and bulky sweater whenever she went to the warehouse. Which was at least once a day to use up some of the restless energy she felt. To ease the pain that even now pierced her heart.
Every day she walked the path from house to warehouse. And every day she thought about Adam. Wondered how he was doing. Imagined him on assignment somewhere buried up to his ears in accounting ledgers.
And she remembered those few sultry days last summer when they had fallen in love.
For days after he left, she’d cried at the drop of a hat. Now…Well, now she struggled to channel those special feelings Adam had awakened in her toward her baby. She missed Adam. Terribly. But it was difficult to focus on what she couldn’t have, when what she could have demanded her attention nearly every moment of every day.
Eva emerged from the moss-covered oaks and stared at the warehouse, her restlessness more acute than ever. Mavros Seafood had closed for the season two months ago. But now her father, her brother, Pete, and the employees that were more friends than co-workers, milled around, readying the equipment for the start of a new season. Eva smiled as they uncovered the boat. Then the smile eased from her face as she saw a larger boat next to it.
That’s odd. She stepped closer, eyeing the long, narrow sailboat moored to the other side of the dock nearer the bayou.
Jimmy hurried out of the warehouse, newly oiled chain hanging from his shoulder.
“What is that?” Eva called out to him, gesturing toward the handsome schooner.
Jimmy shrugged and kept moving. “Don’t know.”
She frowned, watching him take the chain to the fishing boat and hand it to her father.
“Eva?” Pete called to her from the door of the warehouse. “Something came for you this morning. It’s in the office.”
Her gaze lingered on her brother. Her return to live permanently in Belle Rivage had brought on more than the obvious changes in the Mavros family. Papa seemed to have mellowed in a way she never would have thought possible. She guessed it might be because his first grandchild was due any day now. But she sensed it went deeper than that and occasionally she even felt it was her return home that had inspired the change in him.
Then there was Pete. Eva smiled, wondering at the shift in his demeanor. No longer the shadow looming behind Papa, he had finally stood up to Tolly Mavros and even now was building two boats by special request on a piece of family land nearby. He’d agreed to help Papa out from time to time, but he’d made it clear he was going to follow no one’s dream but his own. And Papa had not only accepted—however grudgingly—Pete’s decision, but Eva secretly believed he was proud of his son.
She shivered. Pete had said something had come for her. What could it be? Why hadn’t it been delivered to the house?
As she ducked inside the brightly lit interior of the warehouse, she knew that the something waiting for her couldn’t have anything to do with her old job. She’d resigned from Sheffert, Logan and Brace last autumn, with the sale of her house coming soon after. She’d heard from the gossip mill at the firm that Oliver Pinney, Norman Sheffert and Alice Turley were indeed the ones behind the elaborate money-laundering scheme Adam had uncovered, and they were due to stand trial in the spring. Certainly the FBI wasn’t contacting her to appear in court?
Leaving the office door open, she stepped to her desk. A desk her father had ordered for her and had had delivered a couple of weeks earlier. Though Eva intended to pursue her accounting career—and had tested the waters in nearby towns, already receiving two offers—after the baby was born, her father was adamant that she also play a role in the business.
“Family,” he told her, patting her stomach with his callused hand.
Family, Eva thought now, eyeing a small, rectangular package on her desk.
Her fingers trembling for a reason she couldn’t understand, she picked up the plain box, searching it for a return address. There was none. Also evident was that there was no postmark. No indication it had been mailed at all, but likely hand-delivered.
She slipped the top open.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Nestled in some sort of slinky green material were eyeglasses. She took them out to find they weren’t just any glasses, but Adam’s taped-together glasses. Her throat closed painfully and she slid out the two scraps of material. They were part of a two-piece, very skimpy, very naughty bathing suit.
“Hello, Eva.”
The low, achingly familiar sound of the voice hummed through her. For long moments she stood, her back to the door, her eyes tightly closed, unable to believe it could possibly be Adam.
But she needed to know.
She slowly turned toward the voice, clutching the items in her hands as if they could protect her from some unnamed threat. But when she saw his tall, engaging body filling the doorway, she burst into tears. And he turned into one big, endearing blur.
Instantly, he was in front of her and gathering her in his arms. Arms she had longed to feel around her for so long. Arms that were strong, yet gentle, and oh so wonderful to be held by.
“Shh,” he whispered, his breath stirring the hair over her ear. “It’s all right now.” She felt his deep swallow. “At least I hope it will be.”
He smelled of soap and a subtle woodsy cologne, the texture of his flannel shirt soft under her cheek. “Adam—”
“Shh,” he said again, rubbing his hands over her arms as if she needed warming. If only he knew just being near him again, just touching him, made her warmer than she could almost bear.
His hands hesitated, then slipped to her sides. Eva took a deep, steadying breath and moved slightly away, her gaze fastening to his. But he wasn’t looking at her face. He was looking at her swollen belly.
“May I?” he asked with a rough whisper.
She slowly nodded.
As his hands spanned her stomach, feeling the baby within, she drew in a sharp breath as suppressed emotion started swirling in her chest, growing until she almost felt pain. The awe on his handsomely chiseled face touched her so deeply she feared the tears scalding her cheeks might never stop.
“Is he…she, okay?”
She offered a watery smile. “She’s fine.”
He lifted his eyebrows and she nodded again. Yes. An ultrasound revealed months ago that her baby was a girl.
“Adam—”
He lifted a finger and pressed it against her mouth. “Shh,” he repeated.
Eva grew impatient with longing. She needed to know why he had returned. Why he looked better than any man had a right to. And if…if he was going to stay.
“Eva, I have some things to tell you,” he murmured, his brown eyes holding hers. “And I don’t want you to say anything until I’m done.” He scanned her from hair to chin. “Okay?”
She nodded, suddenly incapable of words.
“I need you to know I never meant to hurt you.” He dragged in a breath that told her he was struggling for control. “I can hurt myself to hell and back. I don’t care. But the thought that I hurt you…it’s something I’ll never forgive myself for.”
She opened her mouth to speak. To tell him it didn’t matter. They’d hurt each other—
“I’m not done yet.”
She swallowed back all the words crowding her throat, all the emotion mending her broken heart.
His gaze was penetrating. “Five months ago, when I left you, I did so with honorable intentions.” His fingers closed over her upper arms, accelerating her heartbeat. He made a bitter sound of self-loathing. “I thought…I knew I didn’t have anything to offer you. I couldn’t be the man you needed—the father your daughter needed.”
Eva bit her bottom lip hard thinking Adam Grayson would never know how very much he had to offer.
“But my intentions weren’t honorable at all. They were driven by cowardice. Everything had happened so fast. I couldn’t trust how I felt about you, Eva. I couldn’t trust that you could love me. Not the way I loved—love—you, because I couldn’t trust myself.”
His gaze slipped to her mouth. For a moment he appeared to consider kissing her. He groaned.
“There hasn’t been a day over the past five months that I haven’t called myself a fool. Told myself I deserved to hurt the way I did.” His voice caught. “Until I realized I wasn’t only hurting myself. I was hurting you. And that’s one thing I can never forgive myself for.”
Eva snuggled into the cradle of his arms, yearning for him to stop talking and just hold her, yet needing to hear what he had to say. “Adam—”
“I’m not done.”
Smiling despite her tears, she rubbed her cheek against his shirt, her hands pressed tightly against his back. Each of his words were like a salve to her battered soul.
“What I’m trying to say, Eva, is…if you can forgive me…if you’ll have me…I want to adopt that precious baby you’re carrying…I want you to…I need you to marry me. Now. Tonight. Next week.” He dropped to one knee and urgently coaxed her to meet his gaze. “I don’t care when. Name the date. Any date. I’ve taken a supervisory position in the New Orleans office, so I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” He searched her face. “Say anything, but please, don’t say it’s too late. Don’t tell me I’ve ruined my chances by leaving you.”
The air froze in Eva’s lungs. Her body refused to move. All she could do was wonder at the pain and uncertainty and hope that darkened Adam’s passionate brown eyes. And marvel at the fact that even now, as huge as she was, as uncomfortable, all she wanted to do was lead him up to her room where they could continue where they’d left off. To make love to him in all the ways she had fantasized about for the past months.
She cleared her throat, fighting the need to pull him to his feet. “Is that your boat outside?”
His puzzled expression nearly made her smile.
“Yes, it is.”
She held up the naughty bathing suit. “And this?”
A slow, devilish grin spread across his face. “The last thing that’s needed to make my fantasy complete until the baby’s born.” He laid his head against her protruding stomach. “You, the boat and that bathing suit.”
A laugh bubbled up from her chest. “I don’t think the designers had me in mind when they invented this skimpy thing.”
His gaze warmed her all over. “It’s exactly what I have in mind.” He rose from where he kneeled, his hands skimming her wide girth. “I can’t imagine anything sexier, more appealing, than you in that bathing suit. Now. Exactly the way you are.”
His gaze captured hers as he kissed her. Eva melted against him. Had she ever felt so special in her life? So sexy? So needed? So loved? Adam’s tongue explored her mouth, and she reacquainted herself with the intoxicating taste of him, knowing the answer was no.
“Yes,” she whispered between kisses. She might not be able to consummate their marriage until after the baby was born, but she reveled in knowing that there were so many other ways she could satisfy him. “Oh, yes, I’ll marry you, Adam Grayson. Now. Tonight. And this time it will be for more than one day. The way I see it, you have a lot to prove to me. And you’re going to need a lifetime to do it.” Her lips lingered on his. “It’s a good thing I have that lifetime to give you.”
Somewhere during his endearing proposal, Eva realized the restlessness she’d felt all day wasn’t due to inactivity, but was rather the beginning of labor. “And Adam?” she asked as what was clearly a contraction surged down through her abdomen. “I, uh, I think you’d better get started right away. Because I think our daughter is anxious to join us.”
Twenty months later
Birth Announcement
Caroline Mavros Grayson is tickled to announce—along with proud parents Adam and Eva—the birth of her little brother, Daniel Christos. Weighing in at a hefty nine pounds, five ounces, Daniel came screaming into the world at 8:05 p.m., on Thursday, December 24, during holiday festivities at the Mavros household. Proud grandparents Tolly—who helped harried second-time daddy Adam deliver the determined infant—and Katina agree that Daniel is the best Christmas gift they have ever received.
You are cordially invited to a post-New Year’s Bash to help celebrate the newest addition to the Mavros and Grayson family….
ADAM PUT the extra birth announcement down on the pine dining-room table. Caroline fidgeted on his knee while he ran a callused finger along his month-old son’s peach-soft cheek where he lay in the bassinet next to the table. Pure emotion surged through Adam at the thought that these two children bore his parents’ first names—a Greek tradition—and his last and were a product of his and Eva’s love, regardless of their genetic makeup. He tightened his arm around Caroline and nuzzled her neck, his day-end stubble eliciting a shrill giggle from the toddler.
To his right, Eva read the most recent of the RSVP’s for the party next week, then closed an envelope. The quick, provocative flick of her tongue swept away Adam’s paternal thoughts in exchange for far more erotic ones. She’d abandoned her heavy, red cardigan to the back of the chair, revealing the new clingy flower-print dress she wore. Her breasts, full and heavy, pressed against the material and her bare legs teased him from the generous slit in the skirt.
Adam swallowed hard. God, would the woman ever figure out how profoundly she affected him?
“Eva?”
Her green eyes shifted from the cards she had stacked on top of the laptop computer where she conducted most of the accounting associated with her home-based company. “Hmm?”
He said nothing. He didn’t have to. The warm blush of color to her cheeks and her sexy little smile told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. His physical and emotional need for her skyrocketed to almost aching proportions. After nearly two years of marriage, and two children, it was amazing that he could still make his wife blush.
“Come on, Caroline,” Eva said, sweeping the toddler from Adam’s knee and plopping her into her playpen. “Why don’t you play with your new toy for a while? Mommy and Daddy need to privately…talk about something.”
Before the little girl could protest, Eva checked on the napping Daniel, then tugged Adam down the hall to their bedroom. They had built their four-bedroom ranch house on a corner of Tolly Mavros’s generous land, the large bay windows of their bedroom overlooking the sleepy bayou.
Adam passionately kissed his wife, groaning when she pushed him toward the wrought-iron bed they’d filched from her old room. He fell against the mattress and Eva climbed on top of him, her womanhood cradling his painful erection as she unbuttoned the top of her dress. Adam’s gaze followed the torturously slow movement, tempted to rip the fabric…. The dress finally fell away, revealing her wondrously swollen breasts.
Eva pulled the clip from her hair, and the tangled curls tumbled around her creamy shoulders. “My parents are going to be here in ten minutes, you know.”
“I know,” Adam grumbled, gently testing the weight of her breasts with both hands. He felt her shudder and he groaned again. Two long agonizing months had passed since he’d last made love to his wife. Sure, they had generously pursued other avenues of sexual gratification, but nothing short of a hurricane could prevent him from completely claiming her now.
“Adam?”
“Hm?” His gaze flicked up to her enchanting face.
“Are you still determined to prove your love for me?”
His throat tightened so completely he couldn’t push the words through. He nodded instead.
“Then make love to me. Now.”
Adam couldn’t think of anything he needed to do more. And when he was finally surrounded by everything that was Eva, felt the blood pounding through his veins like a runaway locomotive, he knew that everything that had happened in his life had led to this one moment in time. He had been meant to love Eva. And Eva had been meant to love him. He caught her face in his hands, locking his gaze with hers. It was there in her eyes that he saw glistening everything he ever needed: the past, the present, the glorious future that stretched before them…and the raw proof of their love no words could ever express.
by Julie Elizabeth Leto
”HEY, LADY, YOU dishin’ out more than fifty bucks, or what?”
The cabdriver’s question snapped Hailey Roberts’s thoughts away from the imposing mansion behind the gate. Her chest constricted at the mention of money. Once she parted with the crumpled Ben Franklin in her pocket, she wouldn’t have a penny to her name. Until the end of the evening. When she got paid for taking off her clothes.
Her stomach roiled.
“Fifty is all I have. You said it would be enough.”
Why was he in such a hurry? She glanced from her watch to the rotating meter. She still had ten dollars and eighty…no, seventy…cents’ worth of time to muster the courage she needed to leave the cab. Suddenly sweltering in her sturdy trench coat, she scooted nearer the open window, but found no relief from the sultry Florida heat.
Even so, she shivered.
“How ‘bout leavin’ some of your dough for a tip, huh?” the cabby begged. “This wasn’t no quick drive downtown. It’ll take me half an hour to get back to the strip.”
As her body temperature rose, Hailey’s heart thudded against her ribs, sending pulses of pain straight to the back of her eyelids. She hated causing trouble, even for grumpy, New-York-transplanted cabdrivers trying to rush her into the most humiliating situation she’d ever faced. Not that she was a stranger to humiliation. She’d spent the better part of her life swallowing her pride and delaying her dreams. Aunt Gracie needed constant proof that Hailey and her baby brother, Sammy—only one year old when their parents died—were more than just cramps in her life-style and extra mouths to feed. Hailey’d finally found the courage to break away and start a better life for herself and Sammy. No matter what the cost.
It’s now or never, Hailey, love. You’ve got tonight or the streets. Then where will Sammy be?
Her grim predicament fueled her ire. Who did this guy think he was, making her feel guilty just because she wasn’t eager to rush her degradation? Hadn’t Aunt Gracie used similar tactics over the past fifteen years to ensure Hailey’s adherence to her rules? Hailey grabbed the back of the driver’s seat like a lifeline. “You want a tip, lose the meter.”
Oh, Lord. Hailey snapped her mouth closed with an audible pop, horrified by how much she’d sounded, at that moment, exactly like the aunt she wanted so desperately to escape. Constant exposure to the woman’s verbal spite manifested into sharp words whenever Hailey found herself backed into a corner. She’d come out swinging before she could stop herself.
Hailey pushed Gracie’s voice out of her head and found her own. “If I had more than fifty, I swear, I’d give you a great tip for making the long drive. But I’m broke. Please, I just need another minute, okay?”
The cabby, blessed with a baby face and kind eyes to offset his coarse voice, shoved his cap back on his forehead. He readjusted the rearview mirror to watch her more closely, then sighed and flipped off the meter.
“Two minutes. Not three. I gotta living to earn and I ain’t gonna pick up no fares in a swank neighborhood like this.”
She exhaled, though the reflex failed to relax her. “Two minutes. Thank you.”
Peering out the rear window, she nodded in agreement with the cabdriver’s assessment of Wellesley Manor. The subdivision in Citrus Hill, Florida, definitely rated as “swank”, if not “posh” and “exclusive” as well. The homes, constructed of brick in myriad shades from red to amber and designed with more columns than the Coliseum, sat back from the roadways on well-tended, tree-draped lawns. She’d trek quite a distance to the front door of 724 Wellesley Lane, the address her cousin had scribbled on the napkin now clutched in her palm.
Perspiration muted the ink, but Hailey could still read the address well enough to compare it to the gleaming brass numbers on the gate. She’d always wanted to see the inside of a mansion in an exclusive neighborhood like Citrus Hill.
But like this?
Cradling her head in her hands, she inhaled deeply, mindless of the stale stench permeating the cab’s floor. With any luck, the resident of 724 Wellesley Lane didn’t routinely hire strippers. Aregular would spot her inexperience in a flash. Mary Jo might believe Hailey would be a natural, but Hailey couldn’t fathom how she’d reached such a dire situation in so short a time.
How could she possibly disrobe in front of strange men?
Her cousin had tried to reassure her. “You’re a professional dancer. You take your clothes off in dressing rooms all the time,” Mary Jo rationalized. “Half the costumes you wear don’t amount to much more than a bikini. Besides, this guy’s nice. He’s really not as raunchy as he likes everyone to think. The whole thing’s just a joke on his uptight brother, anyway. Hailey, love, you can do this. You have to unless you want my mother raising Sammy without you around to undo the damage.”
Hailey had shivered. “It’s a wonder he’s turned out so special this far.” Staring out the window of Mary Jo’s apartment, she had focused on the spot where her car should have been—but wasn’t.
Her cousin laid a loving hand on her shoulder. “Sammy’s okay because you’ve spent your entire life running interference. You made sure he had lots of love and confidence. Friends and interests.”
“I hated leaving him.”
“You won’t be apart for long. Look, if I had the cash on hand, I swear it’d be yours. Buck says he’s about to score big. Maybe I could convince him to…”
Hailey stiffened. “I won’t take his money.”
Mary Jo stepped away, dropping her hand to her side. “Then this is all you’ve got. One night can save your entire future.”
Unfortunately, Mary Jo had been right. Hailey had no choice. Two days ago, she’d made the final break from her manipulative aunt, taking the last of her life’s savings—the fifteen hundred Grace had yet to steal from their joint account—and headed toward a new life. A day later, she’d been carjacked. Gun-wielding teenagers stole her car, her cash, her costumes and worst of all, her precarious sense of safety, leaving her with nothing but the clothes she’d worn and the fifty dollars she’d tucked in her bra. For emergencies.
She couldn’t even laugh at the irony.
In those horrifying seconds, her lifelong dream of independence and normality for herself and her brother abruptly ended. Or, at least, hit an abyss even the bus from Speed couldn’t jump. She’d walked away with her life, but what kind of life would that be?
If she didn’t earn at least five hundred dollars by Monday, she’d lose the four thousand she’d deposited a month before as a down payment on her studio. Her career as a dance therapist would go bankrupt before she printed her first business card.
Most importantly, she would have no way of supporting her brother once he left their aunt’s house. He’d given her less than a month to get on her feet before he swore he’d run away from Gracie to join her. Sixteen and sensitive, Sammy wasn’t the type of kid who’d thrive on the streets. He was an academic whiz kid who needed to worry about school and his future—not about their next meal.
That was Hailey’s job. Always had been.
Now, Hailey needed help and Mary Jo offered in the only way she knew. Having run away from Grace herself at eighteen, Mary Jo knew despair firsthand. She’d survived by taking any job she could. When stripping rescued Mary Jo from homelessness, Hailey pushed her preconceived notions aside.
Women in desperate situations did desperate things—just as Hailey would to save her future.
Though separated from Hailey for the past decade, Mary Jo picked Hailey up off her doorstep, offered her a private stripping job and gave her a place to live while she left town with Buck. She’d even negotiated a higher price than usual because they’d tailored the act to the customer’s specifications. She may not have had a dollar to her name, but Mary Jo had a big heart.
And a big price. Charging five hundred dollars for each job, plus fifty extra to travel outside Tampa, Mary Jo should have had a stash of savings surpassing the dance contest winnings Aunt Gracie swindled from Hailey. After meeting her boyfriend Buck, however, Hailey suspected Mary Jo’s earnings probably paid for more than just his imitation suede jacket and pungent musk cologne.
She also knew he wouldn’t put up with Hailey as a third roommate much longer.
Even if she had to prance around in her panties, Hailey wouldn’t end up like Mary Jo in one respect—dependent on a man to make her feel important. She’d learned the futility of that from Paul. She’d been so young when they met. Barely sixteen. He’d become her dance partner, her confidant, her protection from Aunt Gracie’s constant criticism.
On her eighteenth birthday, he’d become her lover. He showered her with intimate attention, filling her with a sense of power that, with her past, acted almost like a drug. She’d never been with anyone but him and he used her inexperience to keep her under his control. More subtle in his domination than Gracie, Paul managed to direct nearly every aspect of her life without her really taking notice.
Until he left. He abandoned her just months before the most important competition of her career—one whose payout would have financed the education she so desperately wanted to complete.
Since then, every decision she’d made, from finding another partner and finishing college, to leaving Miami and leasing the studio in Tampa, was a bold step toward sweet freedom for her and Sammy.
And sometimes, to find the honeyed center, you have to chew through the bitter edges.
“Two minutes are up, lady,” the cabdriver announced. “I gotta get goin’.”
Hailey tossed the fifty-dollar bill into the front seat and closed her coat tighter. “So do I. God help me, but so do I.”
When the cab’s taillights faded, the early fall of evening cloaked Hailey as she slipped through the unlocked gate and down the palm-lined drive. Mary Jo’s customer asked that her arrival be a surprise, not for the groom, oddly enough, but for the owner of the house who reportedly didn’t know this gathering was a bachelor party.
Hailey’s hopes brightened. Maybe she’d get thrown out before she took off her overcoat. She could demand full payment for her trouble and escape with her self-respect and costume fully intact.
Yet when she crossed in front of the living room picture window, her optimism deflated. Four men in their early thirties congregated around a large screen television, tossing catcalls at a porno film like prison inmates on conjugal visiting day.
Five hundred dollars, she reminded herself. Without the cash, you’re either on the street or slinking back to Aunt Gracie with your tail between your legs. And what about Sammy? He’s a lost lamb in a wolf’s den without you.
She raised her hand to the doorbell, but held back when she heard a male voice echo from the side of the house. Deep-throated and controlled, the sound piqued her curiosity.
“I apologize, Mr. Phipps. You were saying?”
Stepping quietly across the portico, she peeked through the branches of a tall rhododendron, spying movement near a set of French doors. High-voltage brass lamps bathed the marble deck in bright light, casting the man, whose voice she’d heard, in shadow. When he stepped out of the glare, her breath caught, not because he might see her, but because he was the most gorgeous—and the most intense-looking—man she’d ever encountered.
Dressed in khaki pants and a golf shirt, he jammed one hand into his pocket. The other clutched the portable phone so tightly, she thought he might crack the casing. His light-brown hair, cropped short and wavy, curved around a face singularly attractive despite his deep-set scowl.
This was a man to be reckoned with, a man of great power. Whoever had wrenched an apology from him just a moment ago must be very, very important.
Hailey’d never really known any men of consequence, but she’d seen them. On television. In the business section of the Miami Herald. Featured on the covers of Money or Forbes. Of course, none had been as devastatingly handsome.
His eyes, dark and intense, reflected utter exasperation. His nose, slanted to bring attention to full grimacing lips, flared at the nostrils, reminding her of a lion disturbed from his nap. His evening was obviously going as swimmingly as hers.
Yet he still managed to look like a god.
And not a minor deity like Theseus or Adonis. An Olympian. A son of Zeus himself.
Hailey shook herself, noting this was the worst possible time for her to find herself in the throes of lust. Lust led to men and men led to trouble. Paul had been a prime example.
This man, however, lacked Paul’s spurious sparkle and spit-shine. When he stalked silently from one end of the deck to the other, she warmed at the raw earthiness beneath the casual clothes. Holding his anger in check obviously took every ounce of his concentration, but the strain only enhanced his allure. He looked neither kind nor caring nor loving.
Still, her mouth watered.
He took a step toward the railing. She flattened herself against the outer wall.
“Mr. Phipps, I am not having a ‘wild party.’”
Not yet, you’re not. Hailey stepped back, finally realizing she couldn’t go through with her plan. Alternatives flew through her brain like an Irishman’s footwork in a fast-paced jig. Maybe she could work something out with the studio’s landlord. After all, she’d already given the man four thousand in cash. She’d get a job—doing anything but stripping—until she could afford the rent. The studio had lots of windows. She could do without air-conditioning for a while. Lettuce was cheap. She’d live on salads—kick that junk-food habit she’d been trying to break. That ought to save a few bucks. In a short time, she’d arrange for patients and start her career.
Then there was Sammy. Hailey drew her thumbnail into her mouth and bit down hard. She couldn’t leave him with Grace any longer than she’d planned, but she also couldn’t bring him to Tampa until her cash flow improved. Sammy thrived at school with his techno-nerd friends and science courses.
Science course. Hailey remembered Mr. Finch, Sammy’s favorite teacher, who’d shown such compassion when she’d gone to the high school to discuss leaving Sammy behind. Knowing Grace’s crazy priorities for her niece and nephew, Mr. Finch volunteered to take Sammy in if things with Grace got too crazy. At the time, Hailey had been too proud to accept. The separation was supposed to be temporary and only one month remained until Sammy finished eleventh grade.
Yet things had definitely changed. Finch’s sincere offer probably still stood. She’d call him tonight—as soon as she got out of this mess without ruining her or Mary Jo’s reputation.
She’d simply ring the doorbell, tell them “Moana,” Mary Jo’s stage persona, had to go out of town due to an emergency and couldn’t perform.
Why was she there? Moana took her commitments seriously, she’d explain. Moana just wanted to make sure they knew she canceled and couldn’t find a replacement.
Why didn’t she just phone? Lost the number.
Yeah, that’ll do it.
Then she’d ask them to call her a cab. Nix that. No cash. She’d walk. She’d run. She’d get the hell out of here pronto.
Apollo on the porch would never even know she’d been there.
“RIORDAN, ARE YOU listening?”
On the terrace, Grant Riordan tucked the portable phone under his chin and peered through the French doors. His brother, Gus, and best friend, Mac, sat on the couch inside, glued to a video of the 1983 Superbowl that lit up the large screen. On the floor in front of the TV, Steve, Mike and Tom let out a whoop and a few catcalls.
Must have been a good play.
“Riordan?”
“I apologize, Mr. Phipps. You were saying?”
Reluctantly, he moved from the doors toward the white iron railing. How much trouble could his friends cause in ten unsupervised minutes?
The Chairman of the Board’s gruff rasp jerked Grant’s focus back to the phone. “Mrs. Langley across the street from you called, during my dinner, and said that an inordinate number of cars are parked in your driveway. She suspects a wild party, just the kind of ripe fodder that woman lines her newspaper column with. Would you care to explain?”
Langley. The battle-ax probably had her binoculars trained on him right now. Grant faced her house across the street and waved.
“Mr. Phipps, I am not having a ‘wild party.’”
He considered objecting to Mrs. Langley’s nosiness, but held his tongue. The gossip columnist for the Citrus Hill Weekly would just claim her First Amendment rights—with a sly wink and a Mae West pat to her silvery hair. The woman thrived on threatening Howell Phipps with another column at his company’s expense. Grant suspected Phipps had bought the corporate mansion directly across the street from his nemesis solely for the purpose of baiting her.
Reluctantly, Grant had agreed to the Board of Directors’ insistence that he live in the corporate mansion for the first year of his tenure—under the watchful eyes of Wilhelmina Langley and her poison word processor. Since he never did anything scandalous anyway, he hadn’t complained. However, he made a mental note to leave his front floodlights on all night. It drove Langley bonkers.
The delightfully juvenile plan vanished when Howell Phipps’s bark increased in volume. “Then how would you characterize this ‘get-together,’ Riordan?”
Grant heard the doorbell and stepped back toward the French doors. Hadn’t everyone already arrived? He hadn’t seen headlights in the driveway. Maybe the chime he’d heard was a TV commercial.
“Mr. Phipps, you know Steve Ellis, our junior broker who is getting married this weekend?”
“Of course. My wife and I are attending the ceremony.”
Oh, great.
“As best man, I’ve invited the groomsmen over to discuss last-minute preparations.”
The silence on the other end of the phone intensified as the music from the house grew louder.
George Thorogood’s “Bad To The Bone.”
Grant backed from the door. “Mr. Phipps?”
“Good God, Riordan, you’re not hosting a bachelor party?”
“Of course not,” Grant insisted, annoyed. Didn’t the man know that Grant Riordan never had fun? Wasn’t that why Phipps hired him—along with his moneymaking expertise?
A bachelor party? He hadn’t even gone to his own eight years ago. Camille had dragged him out of town at the last minute to avoid his own prewedding celebration. Even after his divorce, he’d avoided such parties. They reminded him too much of what his life lacked.
“A bachelor party is not my style, Mr. Phipps.”
Phipps coughed uncomfortably. “Well, we at First Investment can’t be too careful. Your predecessor…”
Grant held the receiver away from his ear. He didn’t need to listen, again, as Phipps outlined the sins of CEOs past. The Chairman had already engraved the sordid history into Grant’s memory. The most recent Chief Executive Officer had paid off a local madam with investors’ funds. The one before him was caught on security videotape having sex with his secretary. In the boardroom. On the table. At lunchtime. Both stories broke in Wilhelmina Langley’s weekly column.
Phipps wrapped up his lecture just as Grant spied movement inside the house. Suspicious movement.
“Mr. Phipps, it’s eight-thirty on a Thursday night. I’m serving Cabernet Sauvignon, 1986, and the caviar canapés my housekeeper is famous for. My brother brought a tape of his favorite football game in an attempt to liven things up.”
“Then you won’t object to my stopping by in an hour or so to drop off the papers you’ll need for the Board meeting tomorrow?”
Grant’s stomach churned. For the umpteenth time, he reminded himself that he needed this job. His income paid for the contractors refurbishing his grandmother’s home—a sprawling Victorian he’d grown to love as much as the eighty-two-year-old, newly wheelchair-bound woman who still lived there. Only he and a hefty salary, as well as his weekly visits, guaranteed she’d spend her final days in the only home she’d ever known. Two years ago, he could have financed a complete restoration without feeling the slightest pinch.
Then came Camille and her high-powered divorce attorney.
Just six more months—a year, tops.
Grant’s plan was foolproof. His ample paychecks paid the contractors. The location allowed him to visit Nanna Lil regularly. His stock options, coupled with his own undeniable talent for making money, would soon reduce his Camille-induced poverty to nothing but a bitter memory.
He need only stay employed.
“You’re more than welcome to stop by, Mr. Phipps. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“What could possibly go wrong?” Grant muttered once he’d broken the connection.
Opening the doors, Grant choked on his words.
He didn’t follow the game, but Grant knew the contact sport on the screen wasn’t football. That type of huddle didn’t happen in the NFL—at least, not on the field. The term “redskins” took on a whole new meaning.
The porno tape was the least of his worries. No longer interested in the video, his buddies congregated near the CD player. Raucous guitar licks and pounding bass from the surround-sound speakers rattled the crystal chandelier. Rowdy whoops from his cohorts added to the clamor. Grant slammed the door behind him, crossed the threshold into the living room, and dropped the phone. Then his jaw.
His friends weren’t whooping at the CD player, but at a petite brunette, dressed in a trench coat, who looked like a deer caught in a hunter’s headlights.
Grant’s mouth lost all moisture. Her wide eyes, the shade of sparkling blue topaz, sought his with an unspoken plea for help. Only the fact that he’d never seen her before, and he knew his friends to be harmless, kept him from immediately rushing to her aid.
“Moana couldn’t work tonight. She sent me to tell you.” She spoke the words directly to him, as if she hoped he’d react since the others preferred ogling to listening.
“Aw, come on, honey.” Steve slurred, a half-empty beer in one hand, his other pawing at her belt. She stepped back and clutched her coat by the lapels, but not before he managed to slip the canvas tie from its loops. “We gotta have some entertainment.”
Entertainment? Suddenly, the trench coat made sense. A sickening sensation coiled in his stomach. The gorgeous female fantasy on the other side of his living room was a stripper. And a terrified one at that.
When Steve latched on to the hem of her coat and began reeling her forward, Grant bolted across the room. If Langley caught wind of this, or worse, if Phipps showed up early…if Steve touched her again… he pushed the thought away and jumped over Mac, aiming for her discarded belt. Gus grabbed Grant’s ankle, knocking him off balance. As he stumbled, he avoided an open cooler of beer partially shoved under his Queen Anne coffee table.
The fall sent him rolling toward the stripper, who jerked from his path. Her shoulders crashed into the CD player, teetering the tall, glass bookshelf.
Men shouted. The woman screamed. Knickknacks tumbled down like porcelain rain. In a clumsy attempt to help Grant up, Mac fell on top of him. Steve and Tom erupted in laughter. Gus belched.
Amid the chaos, a polyurethane-sealed book hidden on the top shelf pummeled down. Right on the stripper’s head.
And knocked her out cold.
”OH, GREAT,” GUS lamented. “She hadn’t even taken off her coat.”
Grant squirmed from under Mac and crawled to the stripper. She was definitely unconscious, and despite the snug leather pants and jacket peeking through her coat, bold makeup and blue-black hair, she looked peaceful. Innocent.
Carefully, Grant touched the back of her head and felt a lump. Damn. “She’s hurt. Help me get her to the couch.”
“I’ll call 9-1-1,” Mac said, suddenly serious and sober.
“Now you decide to act like a cop?” Grant snapped. “Where was your blue sense when you let this woman in?” Lord, he could just imagine Langley’s take on police cars and paramedics.
“Just hold on. Don’t move her till I look at her. Get my bag, Tom,” Gus ordered, suddenly authoritative as his Hippocratic oath overpowered his hormones. “In the front seat of my car.”
“No,” Grant amended, shifting so his thighs cushioned the stripper’s head. “Mac, you get the bag. Tom, you and Mike get Steve out of here.”
His inebriated friend, although deserving of a little fun on the eve of his wedding, suddenly angered Grant just by being there. He didn’t want the junior broker in his living room when Phipps arrived. Drunk and obnoxious, Steve could ruin his own career—and Grant’s.
The boiling he felt in his blood undoubtedly stemmed from that possibility. His anger had nothing to do with the way Steve had pawed the stripper. Nothing at all.
Mac led the others out while Gus checked the stripper’s bump and then her pulse. Her raven hair, cut in a stylish shag, brushed Grant’s hand with a lacy texture. He untangled an errant strand from her long eyelashes.
“She’s all twisted in this coat and jacket. She’s probably burning up,” Gus said. “I’ll lean her forward. Slip her arms out.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” After the glimpse Grant had of the clothing she wore beneath her modest London Fog knock-off, he knew his libido couldn’t endure a fuller view.
Gus unfastened her buttons and unzipped the jacket underneath. “Who’s the doctor here, you or me?”
“At this point, it’s debatable.” Reluctantly, Grant did as Gus asked. Try as he did not to look when his brother removed her coat and jacket, his gaze traveled over her leather-encased body with aching slowness. She was small, no more than five foot four, but feminine curves and softly toned muscles filled all the right places in all the right ways. Her low-cut bustier and spray-painted pants revealed more about this woman than a stranger had a right to see.
Taking the coat off was bad enough. Taking the jacket off was a big mistake. Oh, yeah. A whopper.
Mac returned with the bag, stumbling when he caught sight of the increasingly undressed stripper. “Hot damn.”
Grant shoved him away. “You’re married, remember?”
Mac jammed his hands deep into his pockets. “Marriage doesn’t kill every man’s lust.”
“Camille didn’t kill my lust. It died from neglect,” Grant answered.
“Okay, boys, step aside.” Gus rolled up his sleeves. “Give the doctor room.”
“Some doctor. You’re a podiatrist,” Grant said.
“Med school is med school,” Gus asserted. “Grab a pillow from the couch.”
Grant followed Gus’s instructions as he examined the beautiful young scandal crumpled on the living room floor. Grant mentally kicked himself, glancing furtively out of the front window and checking his watch. What could possibly go wrong? Sure, Mr. Phipps, come on over. Join the party. The overzealous moans from the videotape nearly drove him mad. He found the remote amid a stack of dog-eared, contraband Hustler magazines and switched the television off.
“Grant, I need an ice pack. She’s coming around.”
He returned just in time to see her sit up and grab the back of her head in pain.
“Ow,” she groaned.
Gus took the pack from Grant and pressed the cold blue gel against the swelling bump.
“Hold this,” Gus said. “I need to check your pupils.”
When the ice pack slipped out of her shaking hand, Grant slid behind her and held it himself. The warm scent of mulled spice nearly sent him reeling.
Her eyes glazed with fear. “Who are you? What happened?”
“You might have a slight concussion,” Gus informed her.
She blinked away from his penlight. “Concussion? From what? Where am I?” Jerking from Gus’s touch, she slammed into Grant’s chest, which sent her scrambling in the other direction. Terror marred her lovely face, glossing her blue eyes with tell-tale moisture. “Who are you people?”
She tried to stand, but her knees wobbled and she fell into Grant’s arms. He braced her against his chest, caught another whiff of her rich cinnamon perfume, and nearly lost his balance.
“Let go of me.” She pushed weakly against his chest, until her protests were quickly spent. “My head.”
“Bring her to the couch,” Gus instructed.
Stepping over the litter of leather and beer cans, Grant led her to the couch farthest from the drapeless picture window. He tried not to inhale the scent wafting from her skin, tried not to feast on the generous swell of her breasts pressed against tight black leather.
He couldn’t help himself.
Gus gathered his bag and spoke calmly to his patient. “Miss, can you tell me your name?”
She answered him with a blank stare. Shock, mingled with near-panic, defied her makeup and turned her skin an ashy white.
Gus slipped his penlight back into his bag. “Oh, boy.”
Grant’s ulcer burned. He’d thought the ailment had disappeared forever the day he’d left Wall Street. And Camille. But no. He had a captivating stripper on his couch who couldn’t remember her name, a semidrunk podiatrist treating her head injury, and a nosy pseudojournalist across the street who could destroy his career with one phone call. Stomach acid churned like an active volcano.
“’Oh, boy?’ What does that mean, Gus?” Grant’s voice deepened as he lost hold of his calm. He gulped in air to steady his increasing rage.
Gus shot his brother a frustrated “not now” look and returned to his interrogation. “Do you know where you are?”
Anxiety shone in her eyes until they gleamed like faceted sapphires. She glanced about furtively, as if not wanting them to see how thirstily she drank in the details of her surroundings. She studied her palms as she spoke. “I’m here, with you. Do you know where we are?”
“We’re at my brother’s house,” Gus answered calmly. “Do you know why we’re here?”
The woman sat up, looked at her clothing, then again at the overturned furnishings, the cooler of beer, her discarded coat.
“Looks like a party. Was I invited?”
“No,” Grant snapped.
Gus socked him on the arm like when they were kids.
“Yes,” Gus corrected. “You were the entertainment.”
She stared blankly at him again. “And I do…”
Waiting for them to fill in the blanks, she looked expectantly at all three of them. Mac turned away, probably wondering how he’d explain his involvement with a stripper to his lieutenant. Gus ran his meaty hands through his prematurely thinning hair. Grant folded his arms over his chest and scrutinized her. She truly had no idea what she did for a living.
Oh, Lord.
“You’re a stripper,” he provided matter-of-factly.
Her eyebrows shot up beneath her bangs. “That explains the draft.”
Mac handed her jacket to Grant, who draped the thin leather across her shoulders. She pulled the sleeves quickly out of his hands, then yanked the ice pack away.
“Would someone please tell me why I can’t remember anything?”
“You were bumped on the head.” Gus leaned around her to check the swelling. “The concussion isn’t too serious, but you seem to have amnesia. It’s probably temporary. Can you recall your name yet?”
“Who hired me?”
“I did,” Gus admitted.
“Then why don’t you tell me my name and we can quit the twenty questions?”
Grant fought the impulse to smile. Even at her most vulnerable, this woman proved tough. Not like the women he’d been attracted to before—no siree. There’d be no inane small talk or veiled innuendoes with this woman. Once she regained her strength, she’d probably tell him to shove his warped country-club morality and high-society values where the sun didn’t shine.
Straightening from his crouched position beside the couch, Gus dug his hands into his pockets. “I can’t tell you your name. That’s not how amnesia works.”
“There are rules?” she asked.
Gus glanced up evasively, then away from Grant’s scowl. “It’s better if you remember naturally. Besides,” he admitted sheepishly, “I don’t know who you are.”
“What?”
The woman and Grant stared at each other, amazed as their question rang out in unison.
“What do you mean you don’t know who she is? Gus, you hired her,” Grant pointed out.
“No, I hired someone else.”
“Who?”
This time, the stripper beat him to the question.
Grant watched as, with effort, his brother forced his brain to work through a beer-enhanced haze. “Um…Moana, yeah, Moana was the name she danced under.”
The woman’s eyebrows creased together. “Moana? Moana.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t recognize the name.” Grabbing her cheeks with quivering hands, she shook her head, wincing. “I don’t recognize anything.”
Mac stepped forward, knelt on one knee and patted her arm. “Just stay calm, okay? We’re going to help you.”
The woman didn’t seem to hear Mac’s assurance. Grant’s heart lurched, the sensation quickly followed by a sickening wave of foreboding. He couldn’t allow himself to imagine the confusion swimming in her mind, to feel the loss so evident in her eyes. He couldn’t let himself be a sucker for a pretty face in a desperate situation. That’s what irresponsible, impulsive men with a “knight in shining armor” complex did. Not Grant Riordan, Mr. Responsible Extraordinaire.
He turned his attention to Gus. “Where did you meet Moana? If we can find her…”
“I’ve known Moana off and on for years. Last time I saw her she worked at the Cat House in Orlando, I think. Or was it Pretty Maids in Tampa, or Deceptions down on the strip?”
Grant threw up his hands and retreated, busying himself with searching for undamaged figurines on the plush carpet while trying to ignore his brother as he recited the names of numerous strip clubs, none of which seemed familiar to the woman on the couch. Gus frequented so many clubs, the chances of him remembering exactly where he’d seen Moana last were as slim as Grant keeping his job past midnight.
“Do you still have her number?” Grant asked, frustrated by their slow progress as much as by his inability to stop staring at the stripper’s seductive blue eyes or trembling bottom lip.
Shaking his head, Gus answered, “Maybe at the office. I confirmed with Moana a week ago, and then she called me day before yesterday to jack up her price.”
The stripper turned away, obviously trying to hide the glisten of moisture in her eyes. Unfortunately, Grant hadn’t missed a single sparkle. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t succumbed to tears yet—either out of the desperation of her situation or to gain the upper hand.
Not that she needed tears for that. This little incident had “lawsuit” written all over it in bold, red letters. First Investment would have its next sex scandal—and Grant faced financial ruin.
But instead of crying or threatening legal action, she took a deep, steadying breath, braced herself on the couch and stood. “Where’s the little stripper’s room? Maybe a splash of water will clear my head.”
Mac led her toward the hallway, pointing out the door beneath the staircase.
Grant gazed at her, speechless—as much from her outward calm as from the sensual way her hips swayed when she walked. After she disappeared, he grabbed Gus by the shirt.
“Now what are you going to do, Mr. ‘Med-School-is-Med-School?’ Phipps’ll be here any minute.”
Gus pulled back, nearly tripping over the coffee table.
“Hey, back off, brother. You want to knock out my memory too?”
Grant didn’t stop. “What memory? How could you possibly forget where you knew this Moana person from? If we knew where she came from, we could take little Lady Lawsuit there and drop her off before she sues me.”
“She didn’t say anything about a lawsuit,” Gus reassured him.
“Not yet, she hasn’t.”
Mac patted Grant on the shoulder. “It was an accident, Grant. You even had the police here to witness the sordid event. She won’t file criminal charges.”
Grant’s cynicism didn’t falter. “She could still file a civil suit.”
“She’d have to know her name to do that,” Gus added.
“Of course, maybe she’s faking the amnesia,” Mac wondered aloud. He paced once across the living room. “This could be a setup to extort money from Grant.”
“Extortion?” Grant, surprised he hadn’t considered that scenario himself, clenched Gus’s shirt tighter. The stripper didn’t seem that cruel or conniving. Then again, neither had Camille until they divorced. “Extortion.”
Gus pulled his shirt from Grant’s clutch. “Get real, Mac. Haven’t you ever heard about not taking your job home with you? And you,” Gus addressed his brother, “you’ve been watching too many reruns of Murder, She Wrote. I don’t think she’s faking.”
“Is this the professional opinion of a small-town podiatrist?” Grant spat out. “I suppose I can stop worrying now.”
“We can still have her checked out at the hospital.” Mac snatched the cordless phone from the floor and twirled it by its antenna.
“No, that’s too public.” Grant knew he was blowing this whole situation out of proportion, but he needed a solution. Fast. He was too close to ending his financial problems and starting fresh to have a farcical twist of fate ruin his carefully laid plans. Besides, having her in such close proximity awakened needs he’d worked a long time to suppress.
“Take her home with you, Gus.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re the doctor,” Grant reasoned. “You can help her recover.”
Gus threw himself on the couch and popped open another beer. “Yeah, yeah, I can see it now.” He raised the pitch of his voice to mimic a carefree lilt, “Lisa, honey, I’d like you to meet…well, I don’t know who she is, but she’s a stripper and she’s staying with us for a few days. Why us? Well, you see, I’ve been frequenting the strip clubs, even though you told me you’d rip my throat out if I did it again, and she—”
“Enough.” Grant fell onto the cushions beside his brother and fought the temptation to join him in a brew. He needed a clear head. “Lisa will leave you in a heartbeat if she finds out.”
He looked up at Mac.
“Don’t even think about it, guys. Even if I had the space in my loft apartment, I don’t think Jenna would understand. What about a hotel?”
Grant shook his head. “Where? The Fairway Inn is the only decent place in town and Wilhelmina Langley has a direct line to their front desk. And I doubt if our guest would agree to a room in Tampa or Orlando.”
She’d be stupid to agree. In the few short minutes he’d known her, he recognized that this woman was anything but dumb. By taking her to a hotel, especially one in another city, he could wash his hands of her and the whole situation—claim never to have seen her before.
To someone else, the plan might have been perfect. But Grant Riordan practically had “responsibility” tattooed on his forehead.
The facts lay like a diving red arrow on a profits graph. Mac and Gus couldn’t help. Grant had nowhere to keep the mystery woman except with him. At least, until she recovered her memory.
“Oh!” The distinctly feminine moan beckoned the three men to the kitchen like an alarm.
They stopped dead in the doorway. Bent at the waist as she explored the contents of the refrigerator, the stripper offered a tantalizing view of her leather-clad backside. Grant felt a stirring in his groin. A man in his position couldn’t possibly be attracted to her, could he?
Sure, he could. His American red blood ran as hot as any other man’s—maybe hotter since he’d kept his needs bottled up since his disastrous divorce. Hell, he’d kept his needs imprisoned since he’d headed down the aisle. Maybe before. And now, practically gift-wrapped in black leather and needing his help, his perfect fantasy lover stood in his kitchen, eyeing his near-empty refrigerator as if it were a smorgasbord.
Before he delved further into the details of his fantasy, he strode forward and pulled her away from the door. Only then did he notice how she clutched the back of her head.
“Aren’t you cold, staring into the refrigerator?”
Startled by his presence, she crossed her arms defiantly, her wrists cradling the lower swell of her breasts.
“My head hurts. I thought a little food would help and I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
He released her, struck once again by her transparent honesty. If this woman was orchestrating a scam, he was a twenty-year veteran of the Hell’s Angels.
“I should have offered. Let me fix you something.”
Her smile lit her eyes like bursting stars. “I’ll take some wine and caviar. You’ve got quite a selection.”
Grant smirked at her disguised gibe, knowing his refrigerator held only a few staples in addition to the “entertaining” food he had purchased for tonight. Yet before he could respond to her sarcasm, Gus escorted her to the kitchen dinette.
“No wine for you, missy. You need rest. Your memory could return at any time. Most amnesia cases from a minor bump to the head are temporary.”
“What about the fish eggs?”
Grant huffed quietly, then retrieved the caviar.
“Fish eggs are fine if you’re not feeling nauseous,” Gus said, “but what if Grant whips them into one of his famous omelets? We’ll wash it down with some healthy orange juice.”
Now this is a turn of events. First, he’s practically forced into playing host to the woman. Now he’s her short-order cook? He tried to be annoyed, but the feeling wouldn’t take root—until he glanced at his watch. Phipps would arrive in less than thirty minutes.
“Would you like bacon with that?” he asked.
“No pork flesh, thank you.” She kicked her high-heeled, calf-hugging, lace-up boots onto the chair across from her.
As Gus politely asked her questions, none of which she could answer, Grant banged around the kitchen in search of pots and pans. She couldn’t remember how she arrived. A cab? A friend? The buses didn’t run in Grant’s neighborhood after six o’clock. Mac listened from the doorway until his beeper went off and he retreated to the other room to call his precinct.
Grant cracked eggs into a metal bowl. “So, what should we call you, since you can’t remember your name?”
When she didn’t answer, he glanced over his shoulder.
She stared at her open palms. When she looked up at him, her azure eyes gleamed with disappointment. “You think I’m lying, don’t you?”
He’d met many a conniving woman in his life, one in particular that he’d married, but the hurt in this woman’s voice was genuine. He immediately wished he’d softened his accusatory tone. “You’ve fallen into a pretty great setup.”
“Yeah, right. Before I got here, I knew I’d get hit on the head by a…” Her voice trailed off. “What, or who—” she glanced dubiously at Grant “—hit me anyway?”
Just as she asked the question, Mac entered the kitchen with the offending sealed book in hand and a Cheshire-cat grin on his face. “You were assaulted by the illustrated Kama Sutra. An unopened copy.”
Grant dashed for the book, tearing the thick tome out of Mac’s hands before he and Gus completely lost themselves to snickers. The stripper didn’t say a word.
“A parting gift from Camille,” he explained loudly as he marched back into the living room and replaced the book on the top shelf. When he returned, he took relish in beating the eggs to a golden froth. “She always had a sick sense of humor.”
“No, she didn’t.” Gus swigged from the beer he still held. “If she did, I would have liked her. She was just trying to psych you out.”
“Who’s Camille?” The stripper sipped her juice, but eyed Gus’s beer longingly.
“His ex,” Gus answered. “She left for Europe two years ago, and since then, the colonies have been a happier place.”
The room grew quiet until Mac blurted out, “Harley.”
“What?” Grant asked. The stripper stared at her glass as if she hadn’t heard.
“Yeah, that’s it!” Gus agreed, elated. He stood and raised his hand to Mac in a high-five, sitting abashedly when his friend failed to join in.
Grant and the woman stared at each other, both missing the significance.
“Mac, what are you talking about?” Grant asked.
“I didn’t remember till now, but when she first came in, she said her name was Harley. It just popped back into my head because of my phone call. One of my informants has a tip on a carjacking motorcycle gang I’ve been trailing. I’m meeting him in an hour.”
The men looked at her expectantly, but she shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose that could be my name. ‘Harley.’ Sounds strippy enough. Hey, did I have any identification? A purse or a wallet?”
Mac retrieved her coat from the living room. “Nothing in here.”
She stood and checked her costume for pockets while Grant kept his attention on the sizzling omelet. He succeeded for about thirty seconds. He couldn’t resist watching Harley frisk herself. She patted her breasts and hips in quick motions—exactly the opposite of how he’d proceed if he were conducting her full body search. He’d move slowly, careful to investigate every curve, curious to discover the origin of each and every swell.
When she lifted her foot onto her chair to explore the insides of her zippered boot, she paused, as if she’d spied him watching in her peripheral vision. A faint pink blush bloomed above her breasts.
Grant snapped his attention back to the pan just as the eggs turned a golden brown, a shade darker than he preferred. So the omelet would be a little overdone. It was her own damn fault.
Harley sat and blew out a pent-up breath. “Nothing.”
Mac glanced at his watch. “When I get back to the precinct, I’ll check the computer’s missing persons network and take a look at Vice priors for anyone named Harley or using it as an alias.”
“Can that be done quietly?” Grant slid the cooked omelet onto a plate.
“No one has to know,” Mac reassured. “The file is updated regularly. Someone’s bound to report her missing.”
“Oh, wait.” Harley jumped from her seat with her juice. She dumped the orange liquid into the sink and extended the glass to Mac. “Can’t you take my fingerprints from this glass? I think I saw it on TV once.”
“Another Murder, She Wrote fan,” Gus quipped. “Don’t you people know anything about viewer demographics?”
Setting the plate at Harley’s empty place, Grant felt a jabbing pang of guilt. Her pride was unmistakable. If this were a scam, would she have been so eager to provide something as surefire as fingerprints?
Mac placed the glass in a plastic bag he pulled from the pantry. “I have a friend in the lab. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime,” he addressed Grant, “call the local cab company and see if anyone drove out here tonight. If she came from Tampa or Orlando, tracking her point of origin could be tough. Both cities have over a dozen cab companies. I’ll call you at the office tomorrow.”
“No.” Grant needed to keep any mention of Harley out of the office. “Leave a message on my home machine.”
After seeing Mac out and reinforcing the importance of total confidentiality, Grant returned to the kitchen to find Gus and Harley sharing the omelet. Laughing quietly with his brother, she didn’t look the least bit like a stripper. Sure, her clothes were provocative and she wore her makeup in daring streaks, but the lack of guile in her blue eyes and the sweetness of her smile seemed too natural and unsophisticated for a woman in her profession.
Then again, what did he know about strippers? He hadn’t been in a strip club since college, and since he’d usually gone with his younger brother, he’d never allowed himself to enjoy the experience. He was the older brother. The responsible one. The boring one.
Or did he mean “bored”?
“You staying the night, Gus?” Grant asked, only half hopeful his brother would accept. “I have guest rooms in this house I haven’t even seen yet.”
Gus pushed away from the table. “Thanks, bro, but my night isn’t over yet. I’m going to stop by the office and look around for that number. You, my dear,” he addressed Harley in a surprisingly fatherly tone, “need rest. Except for a nasty bump and your amnesia, you don’t have any serious symptoms. You’ll probably remember everything by morning.”
His smile was reassuring. Grant prayed his brother was right.
“Thanks, Doc,” Harley said. “I’m sorry I’ve caused so much trouble.”
Gus shook her proffered hand. “No trouble.”
Grant coughed.
“Okay, maybe a little trouble. But this is the most fun I’ve had in months. Just the look on Grant’s face…”
A glance at Grant’s unamused expression stopped Gus’s explanation dead cold.
“Call me if your headache gets worse,” he instructed, and then to Grant said, “Keep an eye on her. If she becomes dizzy or her pupils dilate, call 9-1-1 or take her to the emergency room.”
Grant nodded, then escorted Gus to the front door.
“You okay to drive?” Grant asked once they reached the foyer.
Gus patted his pants until he found his keys. “Actually, I’ve never felt more sober.”
“Having your brother on the verge of killing you can do that to a man,” Grant quipped.
Gus slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Grant. You have a beautiful young babe staying with you tonight. A great scenario in my book.”
Grant preferred not to consider that “scenario,” though he did wonder how she’d look first thing in the morning, with the makeup scrubbed off and her hair in dreamy disarray. He shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. “I’ll expect a phone call as soon as possible.”
“Sure thing, bro.” Gus shuffled over to a desk in the foyer and pulled out a slip of stationery, scribbled, then folded the note as he spoke. “Wake her up once or twice tonight.”
Grant raised his eyebrows. Several delightful ways of waking a beautiful woman like Harley flashed in his mind. One corner of his mouth tilted to a grin.
Gus slapped his hand over his heart. “Excuse me, but did my celibate brother just entertain a sexual thought?”
Grant stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and frowned. “I did not. And I’m not celibate. I just…”
“Yeah, yeah, must have been gas. It’s okay for her to sleep, but wake her up a couple of times and ask if she remembers who and where she is. It’s just a precaution. Here’s a list of things to do if you have any minor problems.”
Grant nodded and stuffed the tightly folded paper into his shirt pocket.
Retrieving his bag, Gus stopped at the threshold. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Grant pushed his brother through the open front door. “Just exactly what does that not include?”
Without waiting for an answer, Grant slammed the door and surveyed the damage in the living room. He picked up the remnants of two shattered Lladro porcelains, then quickly shoved the empty beer cans and porno magazines into the garbage, hung Harley’s trench coat in the back of the hall closet and returned the throw pillows to their places. On his way back to the kitchen, he glanced out the picture window, turned on the front floodlights and smiled.
Take that, Langley.
Grant checked his watch once more. Luckily for him, Phipps was probably too much of a gentleman to arrive early. He hastened to the kitchen to escort his unexpected houseguest upstairs.
She stood at the sink, washing the omelet pan. She’d discarded the leather jacket and bustier, leaving only the thin-strapped bikini top and tight pants. Steam rose from the faucet. When she turned to retrieve the plate from the table, her skin shimmered with moisture.
He couldn’t prevent taking a few steps closer. The circular motions of her soapy hands seemed oddly sensual. When she slipped her fingers inside a wineglass, he cleared his throat.
She glanced over her shoulder.
“So, banker-boy. When do we go to bed?”
”PARDON ME?”
Harley regretted her words the minute she witnessed the darkening of his eyes. The rich shade of milk chocolate, his gaze melted down the length of her body. She squirmed and leaned away until her back, bare since she’d discarded her jacket and bustier in the heat of the kitchen, met with the water she’d dripped on the edge of the sink.
Once again, anxiety held her speechless.
When she’d retreated to the bathroom earlier to splash water on her face, she’d succumbed to a similar frenzy of fear. Who was she? Why did she strip for a living? Was she desperate for cash? On drugs? A mother with hungry children to feed? She had no answers, and wouldn’t get any as long as terror tangled her brain. So instead, she concentrated on what she did know.
Her host would help her, however reluctantly. Her presence alone was a trump card, one she’d play until she regained her memory. He wouldn’t hurt her. Amid his blatant desire, empathy warmed his cocoa-tinted eyes.
“You heard the doc.” Regaining her composure, she swallowed deeply and walked toward him. Heat rose from his flushed skin. In response, every bared inch of her crested with an unfamiliar, yet pleasant warmth. She stopped. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know herself. Yet, she gravitated toward him like a falling satellite. “I need rest. You look like you could use some sleep yourself.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed above the V-necked collar of his shirt. “What I need, Miss Harley, is to lead you upstairs before my boss arrives to drop off some important paperwork.”
Okay, so they told her Harley was her name, but it didn’t sound familiar, especially not with a prim-sounding “Miss” attached.
“Look, banker-boy, the name’s Harley. Just Harley. At least until I learn otherwise.”
“Fine, Just Harley. And since we’re on the topic, my name is Grant Riordan, not ‘banker-boy.’ I’m not even a banker, for Pete’s sake.”
Nor was he a boy. When he retrieved a dish towel from a drawer and extended it to her, she noticed the thick, curled brown hair dusting his muscular forearms. He wore a slate-blue golf shirt with short sleeves that accentuated his biceps and showed off his tan.
“Grant, huh?” She grabbed the towel by the loose end, careful not to make contact with his skin—fearing the effect would burn her with an electric shock. “Your name even sounds wealthy. You know, as in ‘loan.’” She dried her hands and tossed the towel onto the table.
He retrieved the towel and folded it neatly. “You’re not the first person to notice, but my name came from a more…historical source.” With surprising ease, he took her into his confidence. “My father is an American history professor.”
Harley found his admission, accompanied by a sheepish, half-tilted grin, more beguiling than uppity. He gestured to the door, then waited while she picked up the leather jacket and bustier. The tone of his voice had softened, and the harsh lines of tension faded from his face like midmorning fog. At the same time, Harley’s taut nerves eased. She hadn’t realized how her shoulders and stomach had cramped from anxiety. She felt, if only momentarily, safe from the unknown.
Safe with a perfect stranger.
“Don’t tell me.” She followed him into the living room. “You were named for the great Union general.”
“The one and only. But I’d appreciate your keeping that under wraps.” He stopped midway into the room, peered out the picture window, then leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Many of my investors are Southern retirees.”
She chuckled again, then watched as her amusement transferred to him, lighting his face with a slight, yet powerful grin. Though she’d known him for less than an hour, she decided this man should laugh more often.
“My lips are sealed.” She twisted her fingers over her mouth as if locking her lips with a key.
For the briefest moment, his gaze lingered longingly on her mouth. When she blinked, he’d turned away. If not for the steady ache at the back of her scalp, she would have shaken some sense into herself. Every gesture, every expression, every nuance of this man’s body language garnered her undivided attention. With her own mind blank, did she seek to fill the void with knowledge of him?
The possibility made her quiver.
They passed through the living room, prompting her to consider asking him more about the party. Just how wild had the celebration gotten before the Hindu sex guide clunked her on the head? She glanced around. All remnants of the party had vanished. She had awakened fully dressed. Except for the headache and the apprehension she fought with every step, she felt pretty darn good.
But why was she a stripper? Where did she come from? She stopped and took a deep breath. There was no sense in badgering herself. If she could just relax, her brain might kick into gear on its own. Maybe she’d regain her memories by morning, like the doc said.
Grant motioned upstairs, waiting for her to pass before he followed. She grabbed the handrail and climbed carefully. After reaching the midway point, she realized Grant was several steps below her—undoubtedly at eye level with her backside. A volcanic blush spread over her cheeks, neck and chest.
Some stripper she was, she thought.
“What about the doc?” Harley filled the silence with nervous chatter, hoping he wouldn’t notice the reddening of her skin. “I don’t remember any valiant generals named Gus.”
She stopped when he snickered, and her quick backward glance caught a flash of amusement in his eyes. Deep brown eyes. Sexy eyes. Maybe he’d think her flush came from the exertion of climbing the stairs.
“Father chose my name, since I was born first. However, my brother fell victim to Mother’s whim.”
“’Gus’ is a whim?”
“His real name is Gustave. Mother is a professor of European literature.”
“Oh,” she said knowingly, “and a student of scandal.”
“Pardon me?”
She paused and faced him. “You meant Flaubert, right? Gustave Flaubert? Author of Madame Bovary, among others?” Words popped into her head as if she read them from an internal page. “The scintillating story of an underappreciated wife who steps into the sordid world of illicit extramarital affairs.”
He nodded, obviously as surprised by her knowledge as she.
“Hey, what do you know?” she said proudly, turning to take the last few steps to the top. “I’m an educated stripper.”
The minute she finished the rotation, she knew she’d spun too quickly. Bright light shot from inside her eyelids, and her foot missed the next step.
Grant caught her behind the elbows, his hands big and strong and steady. “Whoa. One injury a night is enough, don’t you think?”
His tone was neither disapproving nor accusatory, yet Harley felt compelled to apologize. “Sorry. I guess I’m still a little dizzy.”
“That’s understandable.” He steadied her all the way to the second door from the top of the stairs and didn’t release her until she eyed his palms cupping her elbows. He coughed uncomfortably.
He opened the door, leaned in and flicked on the light, then backed away to let her enter. When she passed, he looked aside and shoved his hands in his pockets, unwilling or unable to make eye contact. Suddenly chilled, she crossed her arms and rubbed her elbows precisely where his hands had caught her, missing their warmth.
The room was tasteful, although austere in decor. The limited spectrum of creams and taupes decorated the traditional, whitewashed maple furniture—bed, bureau, nightstand, wardrobe, chaise lounge—and met every need except a creative one.
She summoned the most appropriate description she could muster. “It’s, um, nice.”
He looked around, his interest indicating he hadn’t been in the room before. Or if he had, he hardly remembered. “This guest room hasn’t been used since I moved in, but my housekeeper sees that the linens are changed regularly, just in case.” He pointed. “The bathroom is through that door. The closet is there.”
She held up her jacket and bustier. “These shouldn’t take up too much room.”
His gaze dropped to the floor, then returned to her face, stabbing her with sharp disapproval. Or was his expression only mirroring his unease? “I’ll find you something to sleep in and I’ll arrange for more…casual clothes tomorrow. If we have to.”
If we have to. She could regain her memory and be out of his world in just a matter of hours. Why did that bother her? Returning to her own life and anyone who might worry about her, miss her, or need her should fill her with elation. In wanting to stay, she was just clinging to the familiar. The recently familiar.
Better a devil she knew. A devil who’d taken her in before she’d even asked.
He left momentarily, returning with a clean T-shirt, a new toothbrush, and a warning to stay in her room when his boss dropped by. As he moved to leave, she shifted her weight from right to left, then willed herself to remain still.
“Grant, wait.” She clutched the T-shirt to her chest, somewhat disappointed that she smelled only fabric softener in the smooth white cotton. “I want to thank you. You didn’t have to take me in like this.”
His eyebrow arched skeptically and his smile tilted only one side of his mouth. “I didn’t? What would you have done if I’d tried to throw you out?”
An iced shiver snaked across her midsection, despite how his tone told her he would never have stooped so low as to refuse to help someone who’d lost everything to one bump on the head. Honestly, she didn’t know what she would have done. She didn’t think she was the cry-’til-you-get-your-way type, nor would she threaten a frivolous lawsuit like the one she’d overheard him mention.
“I suppose I would just have had to appeal to your chivalrous side,” she decided.
His smile hinted at a wickedness that sent shock waves throughout her body. “What if I didn’t have a chivalrous side?”
She moved to toss her jacket on the bed, then, remembering the dish towel, hung it up instead. “You do. So for that, I’m grateful.”
He acknowledged her thanks with a stilted nod, the smile wiped from his lips. He had a chivalrous side, but wasn’t the least bit comfortable with it. For a few minutes, she mused over why he’d regret being gallant and gentlemanly, then abruptly stopped. She had her own past to worry about. More than likely, she wouldn’t know this man beyond tomorrow morning. Something deep in her gut told her that obsessing over Grant Riordan could lead to nothing but trouble.
She took a quick shower then climbed into bed. Though she adjusted the pillows and indulged in several yawns, sleep remained elusive. The room was too big. Too quiet. The bed too cold and empty.
Fighting the dull throb from her injury, she tried to remember something—anything—about who she was. After the exchange on the stairs, she knew she had probably gone to college, yet she remembered nothing about school.
As for her “career,” nothing came to mind. Grant and Gus told her she was a stripper, and she’d certainly dressed like one, but the idea seemed ludicrous. She pulled up the comforter and settled in, trying to picture herself prancing around to some seductive instrumental and peeling her clothes off in front of catcalling, salivating men. She didn’t believe she could do such a thing—until that picture focused solely on Grant Riordan.
She imagined shedding her leather in front of him alone. The image darkened as if in a room lit only by colored gels, the music slow and sexy. She fantasized about shimmying out of her snug leather jeans, shrugging out of the jacket and bustier, then leaning over to let him untie the bow of her bikini top.
Then she visualized Grant’s face. The fantasy ended. His disapproving frown doused her imagination with stinging cold. Even in her dreams, the man needed to lighten up.
She might not remember anything specific about herself, but Harley decided she was a good and decent person, in spite of her profession. He’d be damned lucky to have her.
With a derisive “humph,” Harley snuggled into the pillows. Someplace, somewhere, somebody waited for her. Worried about her. Considered themselves lucky and honored to be her friend. She repeated the mantra in her mind a thousand times, but her heart remained unconvinced. Deep down, and with no proof to present to her malfunctioning mind, Harley feared the dawn. What if she woke up with her memory intact, and learned she was alone in the world?
Or worse, what if she woke up still trapped by amnesia?
Harley finally drifted to sleep, thinking of how she had no one to count on, no one to help her but herself…and the gorgeous stranger in the bedroom down the hall.
GRANT SIMPLY HAD to find somewhere else for her to go. He tossed onto his left shoulder, pounded the pillow with a grunt, and tried to think of some secret place he could stash Harley until her memory returned and he sent her on her merry way. That was, after all, the right thing to do. First Investment couldn’t withstand another scandal. Not even a hint of one. The Board members and stockholders were good people who’d put their trust in him. Even though he loathed the pressure, he needed his job long enough to fix Nanna’s antiquated house and ensure his own future wealth—wealth some conniving woman couldn’t win away by court order.
Harley could ruin his plans with one bump and grind.
Just after Phipps left, Mac had called with the news that no one matching Harley’s description had been reported missing, nor did he find her in his computer. Gus still couldn’t find Moana’s number, though he promised to keep looking. The local taxi service hadn’t made any drop-offs in his neighborhood and the two largest Tampa companies Grant called both refused to help until the manager returned in the morning.
Reserving her a room in the local hotel was out of the question and Harley probably wouldn’t agree to lodgings as far away as Tampa or Orlando. At least, not yet. He thought about hiding her with his grandmother, but how would he explain Harley to Nanna Lil?
Grant was stuck with her.
Shifting onto his right shoulder, Grant tried to force away the attendant pleasure that fact brought him. He shouldn’t be enjoying this predicament. He had no right to call up her image, either slick in black leather or sweet in an oversized T-shirt, with such sensual ease. But he couldn’t help himself.
Gus hadn’t helped matters any with the note he’d so carefully folded and shoved at Grant before he’d left. Grant had unwrapped the note just before he’d checked Harley the first time. He’d hoped his physician brother had written down what warning signs or symptoms he should look for when he woke Harley.
Instead, he’d found a foil-wrapped condom and the phrase, “You only live once” penned in bold, block letters.
Since then, he could think of little else but making love to the woman who could so easily ruin his life.
He glanced at the clock. An hour had passed since he’d last checked on her. By 3 a.m., he’d been to her room four times, each time dreading waking her from her fitful sleep, each time anticipating her dreamy yawn, sleepy azure eyes, and groggy, “I’m fine. Go to sleep.”
He threw back the covers. He’d check once more. That’s all. Then he’d let her sleep. If she hadn’t suffered any adverse symptoms by now, she must be well on the road to recovery.
First, he shoved the condom deep into the bottom drawer of his bedside table.
Leaving the light off in his room, he crossed through the hallway, dark except for the glow of the floodlights shining through the oculus window at the front of the house. He grabbed the doorknob to the guest room, intending to enter quietly as he had before. He’d wake her by calling her name from a safe distance, then retreat. Instead, he nearly fell forward when she yanked the door open.
“I’m not getting a lick of sleep with you waking me every hour,” she complained, pushing past him, pillow tucked beneath her arm and his T-shirt reaching just below her wonderfully rounded bottom. “Last time I couldn’t fall back to sleep. My brain’s too busy anticipating your next ‘How are you feeling?’”
Her voice mocked him, but he barely noticed. His attention focused on the sexy way she walked. Gracefully, but with her toes pointed slightly out.
“Where are you going?” The question, purely instinctual since she was obviously headed to his room, sounded much more gruff than he’d intended. Still, he wasn’t ready to invite her into his bed.
His groin tightened. Okay, so he was ready. He just couldn’t. Not and wake up with a clear conscience. Here was a woman who appealed to his every hidden desire, even if he didn’t approve of her profession. He suspected she wouldn’t shy from him as Camille had. Harley probably had a few delights of her own to share.
Still, he’d never made love to a woman who didn’t know who she was. How could Harley be sure about who or what she wanted when she couldn’t be sure of herself?
She stopped just before she crossed the threshold into his room. Her eyelids, weighted by something more than sleepiness, hooded her bright blue irises. Though she thrust one fist onto her hip and leaned cockily sideways, her expression betrayed a deeper emotion than anger—something more akin to desperation.
“Why couldn’t you just let me sleep?”
He matched her aggressive stance with one of his own, folding his arms over his chest and trying to ignore that he wore only a pair of boxers.
“Gus said I should check on you intermittently,” he defended, trying to remain distant when his instinct goaded him to take her into his arms and erase the lost look from her eyes.
“He also said I should get some rest. This way, we can both be happy.”
She disappeared into his darkened bedroom, reminding him of how Gus used to find excuses to sneak into his room after they’d broken their parents’ ban on creepy horror flicks. From the hall, he heard the muffled squish of her negligible weight sliding onto his motionless waterbed, the soft rustle of her legs delving into the depths of his smooth cotton sheets, the appreciative feminine sigh signaling the end of all movement.
He’d definitely gone too long without a woman. With a shrug, he followed her into the room.
She’d snuggled to the right side of the king-sized bed, the comforter pulled just beneath her breasts, her midnight-tinted hair fanning into a semicircle on the pillow. She’d closed her eyes, but hadn’t had time to fall asleep.
“Harley, I think—”
“Don’t think. No one’s going to know but you, me and the bedbugs. This way, you can see I’m okay from just across the pillows.”
She wiggled, wedging deeper into the fluffy bedclothes.
He could do this. She was tired. He was tired. They’d fall immediately to sleep. He’d have no time to really think about the sexiest woman he’d met in years lying prone and vulnerable in his bed. A woman who catered to men’s fantasies for a living.
No problem.
Sure.
He shook his head in defeat. Even with her eyes closed, she had a determined set to her shoulders. Besides, he needed sleep. In less than three hours, he had to haul himself to work and act as if nothing unusual had occurred.
He climbed into bed, turned away from her, shut his eyes and thought about his agenda for the next day—a surefire sleep aid if ever there was one. The Board members met promptly at eight o’clock. He had a nine o’clock appointment with his biggest investor. By ten….
Before he reached the third entry in his mental appointment book, Harley’s perfume, or at least the haunting remnants of her distinctive cinnamon scent, teased his nostrils like freshly baked Christmas cookies—delicious, but forbidden—meant to be saved for someone else. The additional heat of her skin warmed him beneath the sheets. She turned. Her foot brushed his leg, sparking a thrill through him that brought his senses to full attention.
“This isn’t working,” Harley announced quietly, voicing the very thought screaming through his brain.
“Go to sleep, Harley.”
“I can’t.”
She turned again, and this time her smooth kneecaps connected with the sensitive skin just behind his calves. She scooted away to avoid further contact, but the damage was done.
“Gus said you needed rest.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
For a moment, silence reigned. She didn’t move. Neither did he. Neither muscle nor sheet rustled until her whisper drifted into his ear with the force of a bullhorn.
“I feel so alone.”
He remained still as a statue, though his heart hammered. Four little words triggered the timing mechanism of a powerful bomb. She had no idea how her admission touched him, right in the place he hid so well. He knew all too well what it felt like to lie in bed with someone and still feel completely and utterly isolated. Again, the instinct to take her into his arms made his muscles tighten. He couldn’t afford even the most simple gesture of compassion. Touching her could lead to so much more.
Kissing. Stroking. Making love.
Grant turned over to find her lying on her side, as if she’d been staring intently at the back of his head. “I’m right here.”
“I know. It’s just…I still feel as if I’m by myself.”
He remained quiet for a long moment, unsure of what to say. “I’d offer to hold you, but…”
He should have stayed silent longer. Her body tensed so completely he practically felt an Arctic wind blow from her side of the bed. She pulled so far from him, he imagined she might fall off the side of the bed.
“Do you really find me so appalling?”
Grant’s insides curdled. Nothing could be farther from the truth. “Not at all. Just the opposite. I’m not accustomed to having such a beautiful woman in my bed.”
His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and by the dim blue light of the alarm clock, he could see the forlorn look in her sleepy eyes. Though she rewarded his compliment with a tiny smile, she tucked one hand beneath her pillow, and twined the other in the sheet. Judging from the tautness of the bed linen, she clutched the covers like a shield.
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry for imposing on you. I guess you didn’t really plan to have a houseguest like me, did you?”
“Sometimes the most interesting moments in life are the unplanned ones.”
Her eyes widened. “Who said that? Not Grant ‘banker-boy’ Riordan. I haven’t known you that long, but that doesn’t sound like you.”
He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling fan as it silently stirred the cool air. “Then you already know me pretty damn well.”
The comment hung between them for a moment, and Harley’s sorrow for him distracted her from her own condition. The fear, confusion, and loneliness that had brought her to his bedroom sifted away. She released her death grip on the sheet and slid her fingers onto his arm.
He didn’t flinch as she expected. His skin, pliant and muscled, softened beneath her touch.
“Don’t.” Deep and thick with unchained possibilities, his voice shook her.
She nearly removed her hand, but couldn’t bear to break even this tentative connection. “There’s no harm in a simple touch.”
“You don’t know me.”
“You don’t know me, either. Come to think of it…” She smoothed her hand over his shoulder, filling herself with his heat. “I don’t know me. You don’t know how strange that feels, and Grant…I’m scared.”
After the briefest hesitation, he scooped her into his arms and pulled her close. At first, she nearly pulled away. The feel of him, so warm and powerful, overwhelmed her like a high tide’s crashing waves. But she quickly grew accustomed to the sensation of his strength surrounding her. She couldn’t fight the urge to snuggle against him—this stranger who took her into his home and into his bed, however reluctantly, and now sought to drive her fears away. His bare chest, sprinkled with tawny hair and smelling of sandalwood soap, anchored her while her emotions churned and swelled.
She’d admitted more than she wanted to, more than she’d planned, more than she’d acknowledged even to herself. Without memories, she had nothing but the here and now. Yet the present overflowed with uncertainty, guilt, and loneliness. If he threw her out, where would she go? What would she do?
“It’s normal to be frightened, Harley. But Gus thinks you’ll be better soon.”
“What if I’m not?”
She could hear his heart pound, feel his spine stiffen.
“I’ll see you have the help you need.”
She believed him. Grant Riordan, handsome financial impresario, would arrange everything. She’d known him for less than a day, yet she recognized a power-wielder when she saw one. He probably controlled millions of other people’s dollars, and they trusted him to handle their futures. Why shouldn’t she then trust him to handle hers, if only for a few days? A few hours? A few moments?
“Go to sleep, Harley. You need rest.”
She closed her eyes, but knew she wouldn’t sleep. Though he held her protectively, she still felt alone. She had no thoughts, no memories, no one she belonged to or who belonged to her to dream about as she drifted into slumber. She needed something—someone—to fill the expanding emptiness welling inside her.
More than ever, desire for Grant surged through her. His warmth enveloped her. His heartbeat thrummed in her ears. She’d never wanted anyone more—had she? It didn’t matter that she could regain her memory in the morning, or that she might have a life and a lover somewhere else.
She just wanted a kiss. Nothing more.
“Grant?” She snuggled closer.
“Don’t, Harley.” Desperation clung to his voice like a drowning swimmer to driftwood. “I won’t take advantage of your amnesia. You don’t know who you are, or what you’re suggesting.”
How wrong he was! Lonely and frightened, she needed more than just the warmth of his arms and the feel of his chest against her face.
“Do you always do the right thing?”
“Always.”
Finite and simple, his answer defined him with poignant accuracy. She might not know much about herself, but she’d already learned that Grant Riordan did what was proper and responsible—even when he didn’t want to.
“Do you enjoy being so perfect?”
“Go to sleep, Harley. You already know too much about me.”
“Do I? Well, at least I know something about someone. I don’t know a damn thing about me.” A sob caught in her throat, and she gulped air to regain her voice. “Can you imagine what that feels like?”
He could. As unlikely as it sounded, Grant knew that same hollowness. Unwittingly, Harley had jarred open a door in his heart long ago nailed shut—long ago abandoned when he decided the void simply couldn’t be filled.
He kissed her then, because he wanted to, because he knew she wanted him to.
Because kissing her was the wrong thing to do.
HARLEY RETURNED GRANT’S KISS, holding his cheeks with her hands. The salted moisture of her tears seeped into his mouth and reluctantly, he pulled away.
“I’m sorry, Harley. I’m out of line.”
She swiped the wetness from her face. “Don’t be sorry. Please. I can’t stand this empty feeling.” Balling her fists, she crushed them between her breasts. “It’s like there’s nothing in here.”
Grant brushed away a tear with his thumb pad, then kissed the stain from her cheek. He took her hand in his and massaged the tight knuckles until her fingers flattened and relaxed. “You may seem empty now, but you may not in the morning. What seems right now might not appeal to you so much in the light of day.”
She swallowed deeply. “I can’t worry about right or wrong while I feel so lost. I can only think about what I know.”
Lightly touching his cheek again with tentative fingers, Harley traced a sensuous, swirling design from the top of his temple to the tip of his chin. Auburn stubble shaded his rugged jaw. The roughness bit at her, making him real, making her gasp. This man was a stranger, yet she wanted him to soothe away an ache so deep, her soul echoed like a voice calling down a bottomless well.
“Taking me in was a big risk for you. I don’t remember any specifics, but I know I’ve never had any man be so generous to me before. Not without wanting something in return.”
He smoothed his hand down her side, heating the soft material of her T-shirt, flushing the sensitive skin beneath. “Who says I don’t want something from you? It’s just I don’t have the right to ask.”
With visible restraint, he rested his hand on her hip, stopping his descent. A muscle in his jaw twitched, as if he clenched his teeth to keep from devouring her. His thighs flexed against hers. His sex grew rigid beneath the flimsy boxers. He hadn’t denied wanting her, only denied acting on his desire in deference to her condition. With just a bit more coaxing, he’d make love to her, filling her with erotic memories she could cling to when her past eluded her.
She closed her eyes, briefly, not wanting to face the night’s darkness alone. Not with him so close—this man she didn’t know but already cherished. “What if I offered? I trust you, Grant.”
He pushed her bangs away from her eyes, curling a long strand behind her ear. Her heartbeat stammered from his simple caress. “Should you?” He placed a feathery kiss on her temple. “Don’t misunderstand. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.” His voice, already deep and throaty, grew raspier as he spoke. “But you don’t owe me this.”
She twisted sideways so her body pressed against his full length. “I know. It’s not that. After tomorrow, I may never see you again.”
“That bothers you?”
He sounded surprised. She wished she could explain, but without her memory, she could only rely on an indistinct impression that no man—ever—had treated her with such consideration and respect.
“Yes. Does it bother you?”
A long moment passed before he spoke. “You’ll see me again.”
By the sapphire glow from his clock, she searched his eyes for any sign of deception, knowing full well that seeing him once her amnesia healed would be as wise as seeking comfort for her loneliness in his bed. Still, she read nothing but honesty in his gaze—and determination—as if not keeping his promise would betray him as much as her.
“You don’t have much choice, do you?” she asked. “I’ll be here in the morning whether you like it or not.”
His grin, followed by a yawn, dried her tears completely. “I’ll like it. Now, let’s get some sleep, okay? I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this gallant and responsible act.”
An act. Aptly described, she decided as his eyes drifted closed and his heartbeat, still near enough for her to hear, slowed to a normal pace. Grant Riordan worked to be responsible and upright. Despite what she guessed to be many years of practice, an untamed, hungry wolf lurked beneath his sheepish exterior. In her desperation to fill the vacancies caused by her memory loss, she’d nearly sheared his carefully woven veneer.
And she didn’t regret it one bit.
She waited for him to release her and claim more space for himself on the king-sized mattress, but he didn’t. She was feeling better and didn’t necessarily need to cling to him all night long. Her mind didn’t seem so empty, her memories so remote. For the first time since she’d awakened on his living room floor, she felt neither fearful nor alone.
She did have someone who cared about her—at least for tonight—right here in her arms.
A THICK MIST MATERIALIZED the moment Harley realized she was dreaming. The faces, sounds, memories, all disappeared beneath an impenetrable white haze. The harder she struggled to break through, the denser the fog became until she woke with a start.
Harley rubbed her eyes free of sleep, blinking against the morning light pouring through the window. Once her pupils adjusted, she checked the clock. Eight-thirty. She slipped her hand beneath her hair, relieved that the swelling at the back of her head had lessened and the pain was now just a dull ache.
From the bedside, she snatched up a note addressed to her. It read:
Harley,
Found some of Camille’s old clothes. Something should fit. There are bagels in the fridge for breakfast, and I left the coffeemaker on in case you drink the stuff. Take the keys to my truck and go shopping. If anyone asks, you’re my cousin from Ohio. I’ll be home early.
Grant
Paired with a hand-drawn map from his house to the nearest shopping center, car keys and four crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, the note contained nothing in the least reminiscent of the tender night they’d shared. Still, Harley’s heart did a little flip-flop. He wasn’t turning her out at morning’s light. He wanted her to stay—at least for today. And he trusted her—enough to give her free rein in his house, the keys to his truck, and a heck of a lot more money than she’d need to buy a decent pair of jeans, T-shirt and tennis shoes.
Flipping off the covers, Harley vaguely remembered Grant waking her at dawn. He’d asked her if she remembered anything, and didn’t seem disappointed when she answered “no.” In fact, when he busied himself showering and dressing, all the while whistling a vaguely familiar tune, she’d tried as hard as her sleepy mind would let her to recall one thing—one fact—that might clue her into her real identity.
Until sleep had mercifully reclaimed her, she could remember nothing else but Grant holding her all night long. The remnant sensations lingered on her skin, filling her with a deceptively contented warmth. She couldn’t ignore the reality that she and Grant Riordan were strangers—two people with little in common except the predicament caused by her amnesia.
Today she’d destroy even that small connection by finding out who she was. As tempting as imposing on Grant Riordan for a long, luxurious time was, she felt sure someone somewhere was looking for her. She needed to help the process along.
Harley grabbed a cup of coffee before rummaging in the dusty box marked “charitable donations.” Harley decided Grant’s former wife’s castaways were more appropriate to wear shopping than her leather pants and bikini top. With a less conspicuous wardrobe, she’d cruise down to “the strip” the doc had mentioned the night before. Perhaps someone there knew her or could tell her how to find Moana, who must be a friend. Once she attained that knowledge, she’d piece together the life she’d so freakishly lost.
Not surprisingly, the clothes were in exquisite condition. She found a sarong-style sundress made for a taller woman, though Harley devised a way to tie it so the shape still flattered her petite body. She also found a pair of slip-on sandals only a half size bigger than her own lace-up boots. Like the dress, the sandals appeared new, as if worn only once, and maybe not even outside the house.
Once dressed, Harley grabbed the car keys and headed to the garage. Grant’s “truck” was actually a luxury sport utility vehicle, painted a shade of red just dark enough to be respectable. After a moment studying the controls, she breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t forgotten how to drive. She eased the vehicle down Grant’s long driveway, stopping once to marvel at the magnificent structure where she’d spent the night.
Harley couldn’t remember anything concrete about her upbringing, but she felt entirely certain her childhood never included three-story mansions, top-of-the-line vehicles and four-hundred-dollar shopping sprees. The broad columns on the house and the butter-soft leather seats in the truck magnified the differences between her and Grant. His world was a foreign planet and she was the alien.
And probably an illegal one at that.
The sooner she found her way home, the better for them both.
At the gate, she shifted the truck into park and looked unsuccessfully for a mechanism to open the eight-foot wrought iron structure. After activating the windshield wipers, the cruise control and the CD player, she stopped messing with the factory-installed gadgetry and tried the second button on the garage door opener. With a whoop to celebrate her success, she eased the car onto the road and pulled to the curb until the gate closed behind her.
That was when she noticed someone watching her.
The curtain fluttered closed almost the instant Harley caught the movement from the house across the street. Bending forward, she pretended to fiddle with the radio when the drapery pulled back again. She couldn’t see much except a distinctly feminine hand and a head of white hair.
Harley shook her head. She’d hardly been out of Grant’s house for two minutes before the woman had spotted her. From the length of time the hand and head remained at the window, Harley figured Grant’s neighborhood must have a foolproof crime watch program. She doubted anyone or anything could cruise this exclusive lane without being noticed and duly noted by the lady across the street.
Especially not something as conspicuous as a taxi.
Harley’s heartbeat accelerated and her hands shook until she grabbed the steering wheel tighter. Biting her bottom lip, she mustered the courage to put the truck in reverse and back up a few feet to the neighbor’s ungated drive. If she had any luck at all, Grant’s curious neighbor might just hold the first clue Harley needed to find out who she was.
GRANT STARED AT his computer screen, nearly hypnotized by NASDAQ’s scrolling blue numbers. On his desk, several stacks of carefully organized customer files waited for his attention. The tiny red light on the corner of his phone blinked rapidly, as if impatient for him to return the twenty or so voice-mail messages he’d received while at lunch. The market was hot today, ripe for his financial wizardry. Clients stood to make a lot of money once he got into his groove.
All he could think about was Harley.
He had to be nuts.
With his brain still reeling from Mr. Phipps’s noontime interrogation, a poorly disguised version of small talk sandwiched between bites of grilled salmon, Grant was in no shape to judge his mental soundness. He’d finally convinced his boss nothing “irregular” had happened the night before. Not that Grant hadn’t yearned for someone as “irregular” as Harley to enter his life. A devilish mix of sexiness and innocence, she’d robbed him of sleep while he imagined just how a woman like her should be touched. Stroked. Kissed.
In his insanity, he relived the vision of her eyes, droopy with exhaustion, liquid with loneliness. In them, he’d witnessed a rare and honest desire—the kind that could steal a man’s reason in a matter of moments. With just one glance into her sapphire irises, he’d actually believed he could renounce his entire life-style long enough to find some freedom in Harley’s welcoming arms.
Definitely cuckoo as his grandmother’s favorite clock.
After instructing his secretary to bar everyone from his office, Grant took a deep breath and dialed his phone number. As he punched in the numbers, his own voice echoed in his brain. You’ll see me again. Throughout the night and all morning long, the promise haunted him like the steady beat of ticker tape. With Harley’s lusciously warm body and sparkling eyes to influence him, he ached to keep his promise. He couldn’t fathom letting this dream woman slip away without knowing her better. Much better.
But with his logic returning and the realities of his high-stress, low-fun life surrounding him from every angle, he knew that keeping Harley in his life past this afternoon could never happen.
At the fourth ring of the phone, his answering machine engaged. Perhaps she couldn’t find the phone. She could be in the shower. With the machine tucked into his private study, he didn’t bother leaving a message she couldn’t possibly hear. He waited fifteen minutes, then tried again.
No answer.
He dialed the cellular phone in his truck, but when the call transferred to his personal voice mail, he hung up and checked his watch. With two-thirty just a few minutes away, Grant couldn’t imagine why Harley hadn’t answered. How long did she take to shop? Camille often shopped for days, literally, when she had a clear line of credit and the use of her father’s Learjet.
Of course, Harley was nothing like Camille. She actually liked being touched. Welcomed it. Invited it.
Pulling at his collar, Grant loosened his tie and tried his home number one more time. Without prompting, a dozen possibilities for her absence flew through his mind. Maybe she’d decided to take advantage of the warm weather to relax by the pool. Maybe her memory had returned and she’d left to find Moana. Maybe she’d taken the four hundred dollars and his truck and cut out without a backward glance.
“Damn it, Harley, answer the phone!”
“Hard to do since I’m right here.”
He jumped at the sound of Harley’s sultry voice and slammed down the phone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Riordan.” His secretary slipped in behind Harley, clutching her wedding planner to her chest like a shield. “She said you expected her.”
Not like this. His gaze fell first to her shoes—which in itself, surprised him. But then Grant had a thing for spiky black pumps. The kind with a strap encircling the ankle. The kind a woman could use to walk all over a man like him. From her heels, his perusal traveled up her legs—lean, toned legs—legs specifically made to wrap around a man’s waist. Tight.
Her sheer black hose, lined in back with a naughty seam, disappeared beneath a sinfully short skirt. If her suit hadn’t been a brilliant red, he might not have noticed it at all. Accessorized with black wrist gloves and a large-brimmed scarlet hat, Harley’s ensemble probably looked benign to a casual observer. One who didn’t know what she did for a living. One who hadn’t spent the better part of the day fantasizing about her.
“Did I need an appointment?” Her grin, just shy of being shrewd, curved her dark lips. She slid her sunglasses down her nose and winked as if her appearance was simply a little private joke. Private, maybe. A joke? Grant wasn’t laughing.
He was barely breathing.
“It’s all right, Mandy,” he said to his secretary after a generous gulp of the cold coffee he’d left in his mug. “I have been expecting to hear from Harley this morning.” He threw a slightly admonishing and completely counterfeit look at Harley. “Though I did expect it to be via telephone.”
“I decided to do a little…research…and I couldn’t wait to meet you back at your house.”
“At your house?” Mandy’s blond eyebrows rose so high they vanished beneath her carefully coifed bangs.
Harley removed her sunglasses completely and extended a gloved hand. “I apologize. I was in such a hurry to talk to Grant, I didn’t properly introduce myself. I’m—”
“My cousin.” Grant came around his desk, fighting the urge to pull Harley away from Mandy as if a touch would reveal their sham. “From Ohio. Amanda Drexler, may I introduce my cousin, Harley. Monroe. My mother’s side. She’s staying with me a few days.”
Relief washed the paleness from Mandy’s face and she shook Harley’s hand enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you, Miss Monroe. I didn’t know Grant—Mr. Riordan—had any cousins. Are you first cousins? Second?”
Harley answered for him. “Third, actually. Twice removed.”
The addition, so offhanded, added credence to Grant’s lie in a way that made him marvel. Her head injury hadn’t slowed her mental reflexes in the least. He wondered why someone so quick-witted and resourceful would choose stripping as a profession.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Drexler. I didn’t know Grant had such a lovely secretary.”
Harley’s backward glance seemed to ask, “No scandals, right?” but her grin at Mandy proved convincing and his secretary’s smile calmed the rapid beating in his chest. Though well-meaning and loyal, Mandy had been distracted for the last few weeks preceding her wedding. Tomorrow she would marry Steve, Grant’s guest of honor at last night’s gathering. The wrong innocent remark could initiate a tidal wave of trouble. Steve and Grant had been friends since childhood. Steve knew damned well Grant didn’t have any cousins in the whole United States, much less in Ohio.
Of course, Steve also knew Harley was a stripper—if he didn’t have his own case of memory loss from the amount of beer he’d consumed the night before. Grant doubted this blushing bride-to-be would be so gracious if she’d seen her intended pawing Harley last night. In her ignorance, Mandy beamed as if she’d discovered some delicious secret.
“Please, call me Mandy. How long are you here for?”
Harley stepped toward Grant. A scent, vaguely familiar and clearly erotic, drifted from her skin. Only after inhaling deeply did he recognize the fragrance. His cologne. Mixed with Harley. The result sent him stalking back to his desk. He tore open the first envelope in a stack of mail and pretended to return to his work.
Harley followed him across the room at an unhurried pace. “Never can tell. This trip wasn’t, to say the least, planned very well.” When she leaned on his desk, her suit jacket folded open just enough for him to glimpse a scrap of black lace.
Madness stirred.
“Thank you, Mandy,” Grant interrupted, tossing the unread letter aside. “I can manage for the rest of the afternoon.” He glanced at his watch. “You should have been out of here two hours ago.”
“I didn’t want to leave until Mr. Phipps left your office. I haven’t been with the firm that long,” she explained to Harley. “With our honeymoon and everything…”
“You’re the one getting married tomorrow?” Harley asked.
Mandy’s toothy smile stretched even farther across her face. “I can hardly believe it myself.” Mandy backed toward the door. “Mother’s expecting me at the salon in an hour. We’ll see you at six, Grant?”
“St. Bartholemew’s. Six sharp.”
“The rehearsal dinner will be right after, at Don Gianni’s. Oh, Miss Monroe, Steve and I would just love for you to come. You could meet Grant’s friends and keep him company. I’ve been trying for months to convince him to bring a date for the wedding. You are third cousins, right? Hardly related at all.”
Grant’s lungs stopped pumping air. No, they weren’t related, but that wasn’t the reason he had to keep his distance. Harley drove him crazy. Her eyes quickened his pulse. Her voice turned his insides to hot lava. Even now, standing in his office with his secretary only a few feet away, he could feel the pressure of his swelling sex against his zipper. If he were another man, he’d order Mandy to go to her appointment immediately so he could lock the door and make love to Harley on his imported leather couch.
But Grant wasn’t another man. He had a reputation to protect. Responsibilities to his firm. To his grandmother. Harley, on the other hand, was a dream—a tangible illusion he could never maintain in his world. Strippers, even classy ones, didn’t easily blend into the conservative enclave he currently called home. At least, not for long. People like Wilhelmina Langley and Howell Phipps had ways to root out a stranger’s deepest, darkest secrets.
He desperately sought some foolproof excuse to deny Mandy’s invitation, but he came up blank. He couldn’t afford another foray into fantasy. Neither could she. How could they spend an entire evening lying to his friends, especially when the guys all knew the truth?
He nearly choked when he saw how Mandy’s invitation lit Harley’s face.
“How could someone say no to an offer like that?”
”REALLY,” HARLEY CONTINUED, oblivious to the gagging sound that erupted from the back of Grant’s throat. “It’s so sweet of you to think about someone else right before your big day.” Harley took Mandy’s hand again and patted it with a warmth that seemed older than the both of them combined. “I have plans tonight with an old friend who lives nearby. Your invitation’s so considerate, I hate declining.”
Mandy frowned in disappointment. “I understand.”
Last night in his kitchen, Grant would have bet his entire lost fortune that Harley hadn’t the capacity to be dishonest. Yet in potentially explosive situations, she made a convincing actress.
Mandy had already opened the door to exit when she turned. “But Grant, I’m sure you’d like your cousin to meet your friends some other time.”
“Of course. Next time she visits.”
“Why wait that long? What about tomorrow at the wedding? It’s only a couple of hours in the evening and you can leave the reception any time you like. You want her to come with you, don’t you, Grant? To keep you company?”
Grant wasn’t as adept at acting as Harley. He couldn’t see Harley’s face, but he knew from the passing seconds of silence that she had no intention of fielding this question for him. The truth was, if Steve hadn’t asked him to be the best man and Mandy hadn’t been the finest secretary he’d ever had, he would have found an ironclad excuse not to attend the ceremony. Weddings reminded him of Camille and Camille reminded him of his ulcer. Of course, with Harley to distract him, the whole ordeal just might be tolerable.
What the hell, he thought. If she’s going to drive me crazy, I might as well enjoy the ride.
“Mandy, I’ve learned it’s not wise to argue with a nervous bride. I’d love Harley to come with me.”
Mandy clapped her hands together triumphantly. “It’s settled then. I’ll make a few quick changes to the seating arrangements and we’re all set. I’m so glad Grant won’t be alone on what promises to be the most romantic night of the year!”
Before he could remind his matchmaking secretary that Harley was his cousin, supposedly anyway, she’d bounded from the room and closed the door behind her. Harley extracted a pin from her hair and removed her hat, sailing it across his desk like a Frisbee.
“I’d bet big money Mandy used to be a cheerleader.”
Grant lifted the broad-brimmed hat from its landing spot on the day’s stock reports. “University of Florida. All four years.”
“I like her.” Harley tugged at her gloved index finger. “She obviously thinks a lot of you, to care about your personal life like she does.”
With undivided attention, Grant watched Harley struggle with the glove. When she used her teeth to loosen the snug material, his mouth dried. She had such perfect lips. Curved. Silken. Beneath her lipstick lived a soft blush color that would likely darken to a rich shade of pink when he kissed her.
He cleared his throat. “Mandy’s a good person.”
Harley slid the glove from her hand, revealing nails sleek with a crimson coat of glossy color. The women he knew would never dare wear such a shade. Not unless they meant to draw attention to some new bauble they’d recently acquired. But Harley didn’t need jewelry to attract his attention to her hands. The memory of her soft palms cupping his stubble-rough cheeks still lingered, along with the tortuous warmth of her fingers curled against his chest.
He was a goner.
She’d pinned her hair away from her face, but her layered style left wisps fringing her face, drawing attention to her liquid sapphire eyes. And though she’d probably meant the suit to be conservative, more than just the color made the outfit nearly as sexy as her leather pants and jacket. The cut emphasized her firm breasts, tapered waist and God help him, her magnificent legs. Harley wasn’t tall—her legs weren’t long—but with curses to the madman who invented pantyhose, Grant couldn’t resist fantasizing about guiding those legs around his hips while he took her on the ride of her life.
“Regretting it already?”
He snapped from his revelry with an unattractive snort.
“Excuse me?”
“That expression on your face.” She removed the other glove and tucked them in her tiny purse. “I’m assuming you’re regretting giving in to Mandy. It’s okay if you want me to back out. My going to the wedding is a big risk. What if someone recognizes me?”
Leaning sideways, Harley propped her hip on his desk and looked at him expectantly. “Grant?”
He wanted to tell her how beautiful, how utterly sexy she was, but he couldn’t afford the luxury. Despite his own desires, he and Harley needed to concentrate on her amnesia. On finding her friend Moana. On unlocking her past.
On keeping him from ravishing her on his desk.
He slid his letter opener into a manila envelope and sliced sideways with a vengeance. “Mandy wasn’t about to take no for an answer. We’ll just have to play it by ear.”
Harley glanced away. “Sounds like a plan.”
The brief glimpse of disappointment he thought he saw disappeared when she snapped open her purse and pulled out a scrap of paper.
“Here.”
Grant looked down at the company name, Sunshine Cab, and the Tampa address. “What’s this?”
“Our first clue. I coerced the dispatcher into telling me that a driver named Hank dropped me off last night.”
“So you did more this morning than blow my money on that outfit?”
“A heck of a lot more.” She slipped her hand back in her purse and tossed over two hundred and fifty dollars and change onto his desk.
He quickly tallied the damage. “You got that get-up for less than two hundred bucks?” Her clothes might have been sexy, but they didn’t look cheap.
“I wouldn’t have if I’d shopped where you sent me. Mrs. Langley told me about this consignment shop on Grove Street. I bought this outfit, a pair of jeans, several pairs of shorts and tops, three pairs of shoes, some makeup and an adorable mini dress. I thought the clothes would last a few days, but I didn’t count on being invited to a wedding…”
Harley’s explanation had died away in his mind the minute the name “Mrs. Langley” registered in his brain. Actually, he’d heard her speak, but the words failed to make sense.
“Who?”
Her eyes widened. “Mandy, your secretary. Remember, she invited me to the wedding tomorrow? I’ll need something to wear. She’s already seen this and I…”
“No, I mean, who sent you to the consignment shop?”
Harley’s perplexed look made his heart stammer. Hadn’t he mentioned that she should stay clear of his neighbor? Hadn’t he warned her that of all people in the entire town of Citrus Hill, Mrs. Wilhelmina Langley was the last person who should learn that Grant had a beautiful woman staying in the First Investment corporate mansion?
Hadn’t he written DO NOT TALK TO THE TERMINATOR ACROSS THE STREET in bold black letters across the top of the note he’d left?
“Mrs. Langley. That sweet woman that lives across the street from you.”
Obviously not.
“Oh, Lord.”
As if falling from the top of a high-rise, Grant let a downward pull plop him into his chair. Not only was Wilhelmina Langley hell-bent on finding another First Investment sex scandal to break in her column, the woman could detect a lie with accuracy well beyond current technology. Even Harley’s impressively casual style of twisting the truth wouldn’t fool her.
The jig was up.
“Grant? You look pale. Do you want some water?”
“Only if it has a fifth of Scotch in it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Wilhelmina Langley knows you’re staying with me?”
“Of course. I think that’s why she seemed so anxious to help me. The minute she found out I was staying with you, she invited me in for lemonade and we had a nice little chat.”
A burst of pain exploded in Grant’s stomach. “A little chat.”
“What are you so uptight about? I told her the cousin story and she bought it hook, line and sinker. She’s the one I got the cab company name from. She saw the cab parked in front of your gate last night.”
“And she saw you get out in your trench coat, despite the fact that the temperature was nearly eighty degrees?”
Harley’s lips twisted as if he’d asked the most inane question ever conceived. “If she did, she didn’t mention it.”
Of course not. She’ll keep that tiny detail as food for conjecture in her next column.
“I’m as good as fired.”
Harley stood. “What are you talking about? Mrs. Langley said nothing but good things about you. And she couldn’t wait to help me. I told her I left a bag in the cab that dropped me off, but I couldn’t remember the name of the company. She gave me the name and directions to a reasonably priced store where I could shop until I found my luggage. Would she have done all that if she wanted to hurt you?”
“Just a means to an end.”
Harley rolled her eyes. “You’re paranoid. Without my memory, I’m very in tune with other people. Mrs. Langley sincerely wanted to help me.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Her column doesn’t hit the paper until Sunday. That gives us two days to find out who you are and find me another line of work.”
“Well, Mr. Gloom and Doom, I suggest you try detective work.”
“Detective work?”
“You can learn from me. So far, I’m pretty darned good.” She snatched the slip of paper with the cab company’s name and address from his hand. “I spoke to Hank, the driver, after leaving Mrs. Langley’s house, which is why I was so excited I came straight here. After shopping, of course.”
“Of course. This Hank remembered you?”
“Seems I’m unforgettable.”
Grant couldn’t argue the point.
“He picked me up at a restaurant called the Village Inn on Dale Mabry Highway. He said there are several strip clubs in the neighborhood. It’s not much, but it’s a place to start. I could check out some of these clubs while you go to your rehearsal and dinner.”
Ordinarily, Grant would never contemplate setting foot in an exotic dance club. If a client, or worse, a Board member, caught wind of Grant’s attendance, he’d be canned in a heartbeat. Thanks to Harley’s innocent tête-à-tête with Mrs. Langley, that outcome was just as good as written in stone anyway.
He had nothing to lose. Besides, the idea of retreating into a forbidden world of sex and sin with Harley as his guide tempted the hungriest part of him more than he could resist.
“I don’t want you to go alone. I’ll take you after the dinner.”
Last night, he’d held back from Harley because of her condition. His conscience, although weakened by his overpowering attraction, held him fast to the conviction that he couldn’t explore his passion with her until she knew who she was. Tonight, that could change.
Harley’s smile reinforced his decision to throw caution to the wind. “You’d do that for me? You’ve already done so much.”
And once she regained her memory, he intended to do much, much more.
“Yeah, well, I’m just one heck of a guy. A heck of an unemployed guy, but that’s a moot point.”
Harley clucked her tongue as she replaced her hat with a jaunty tilt. “If you’re so worried, I’ll stop by Mrs. Langley’s on the way back and make sure—”
“No.” The word exploded from his lips so loudly, Harley stabbed herself with her hat pin. She impaled him just as sharply with a threatening squint.
“Sorry.” He adjusted his position in his chair. “Just stay away from that woman from this minute on. Far away.”
Harley crossed her arms beneath her breasts, emphasizing the perfect shape of her cleavage. “Why does she spook you so much? She seems like a charming, although lonely, lady who lives on a street where she cares about her neighbors.”
“Cares enough to ruin their careers.”
She leaned against his desk again, this time careful to push aside his reports. “I don’t think I like you very much when you’re maligning sweet elderly women.”
“Ha!” Her comment gave him reason to scoot his chair back, away from that tempting scent lingering on her skin. “That battle-ax is as sweet as a rancid peanut. Just ask my two predecessors.”
Harley pulled the keys to his truck from her tiny purse, suddenly anxious to put some distance between her and Grant. “She told me about that.”
“Did she show you the skulls and crossbones she’s carved into her computer?”
“She showed me the articles. I read them.” Wilhelmina Langley had a particular talent for description that no doubt filled the citizens of conservative Citrus Hill with self-righteous rage. Without being graphic, the carefully crafted words suggested the details of sordid sexual escapades with the power of a porno flick. “Seems both those perverts got what they deserved.”
Grant pursed his lips, and Harley stifled a grin. Making Grant Riordan concede a point, even the smallest one, seemed a Herculean task—though she wasn’t quite sure why. So far, he’d been more than gracious, accommodating even, to her, despite her potential danger to his career. She’d read the venom Wilhelmina Langley could spit in her column, and Grant was smart to steer clear of trouble with this woman watching his every move. But speaking with his neighbor, sharing a homemade glass of lemonade in the comfort of her parlor, clued Harley that Mrs. Langley didn’t wield her weapon haphazardly. She hunted shysters and scam artists, not hardworking, kindhearted executives like Grant.
Of course, Grant was harboring a stripper in the corporate mansion and pretending she was his long-lost cousin from Ohio. To a curious eye, especially one attuned to scandal, the situation wouldn’t appear very innocent.
Boy, have I screwed up.
Grant shoved some files into his top desk drawer. “Those perverts might have deserved to lose their jobs, but the exposure of the articles ruined them. There are ways to deal with irresponsible managers without subjecting their families and friends to humiliation.”
This time, Harley had to surrender. “I see your point. I’ll keep a wide berth from Mrs. Langley on the way back. I don’t want to cause you trouble.”
Her teasing grin cracked the stoic expression Grant wore. “As Gus said last night, no trouble at all. How are you feeling anyway?” His tone softened, along with the rigid lines around his eyes and mouth. “You look…healthy.”
Suddenly, her suit seemed a tad stifling. “My headache disappeared the minute I got the cab company name. Maybe my memory will return by tonight and you won’t have to worry about me blowing your reputation with Mrs. Langley.”
Grant stood, inching toward her as he reached for a stack of files behind her. “You are pretty…convincing. Maybe ole Wilhelmina did buy your story.”
She shrugged, trying to ignore the increased tempo her heart beat when Grant leaned even closer. The scent of his cologne, so much richer and muskier than the aroma she’d spritzed on herself this morning, permeated the air around her like an intoxicating cloud.
She couldn’t resist inhaling deeply before she spoke. “I won’t take any more chances.”
“That’s a good girl.” The whisper, spoken so close to her ear, singed the tiny hairs that had fallen loose from her French twist and sent a sensation like melted chocolate oozing through her veins. The warmth snaked around her nape, nearly choking her with unhampered desire.
She sure didn’t feel much like a good girl with Grant so near. Her mind jumbled with images of desk tops and sweaty bodies. Flying clothes. Scattering papers. Groping hands and long, sensual kisses.
Had to be Langley’s article. Reading about illicit sex undoubtedly primed her for such aberrant thoughts.
Aberrant, but delicious.
She took two steps toward the door, fighting the urge to gasp. “I’m sure you have work to do.”
He only nodded, but his hesitant movement and intense stare implied much more. Had a similarly indiscreet image popped into his head as well? Was that why he’d stood so near his hot breath had practically made love to her neck?
Three more steps and she’d nearly reached the door. The hot haze clouding her mind drifted away, allowing her to remember the message she’d meant to give him.
“Oh, by the way, your grandmother called.”
“Nanna Lil?” His hand was already on his phone’s receiver, his finger pressing the speed-dial before Harley had a chance to respond. “Did you speak to her? Is she okay?”
“I heard her over your machine. She just said to call when you get home, but since you’ll be late…”
Grant held his hand up and spoke into the phone. “Mrs. Blake? Grant, here. Could I speak to Lil?”
He covered the mouthpiece with his hand while he waited. “She fell last year. Has trouble getting around. Mrs. Blake’s her private nurse.”
That explained the pile of contractor’s bills stacked on Grant’s desk in his home office. Wheelchair ramps, handrails and adjusted countertops didn’t come cheap. She hadn’t meant to snoop, but she’d been looking for a phone book and the number to the cab company. He was obviously bankrolling the entire renovation to his grandmother’s home, noted on one bill as “1920’s Victorian-styled.”
“Hey, Nanna. It’s Grant.” His grin bloomed so bright, she nearly pulled out her sunglasses. She’d never seen anyone so completely and openly happy. His little-boy expression prompted a smile of her own. “No, I’m still at the office. I just checked my messages.”
She raised her eyebrows at his white lie. He shrugged in response. His grin never faltered.
“Yes, I’ll be there Sunday. You tell Mr. Ross not to adjust those rails until I inspect the work myself. I’d come sooner, but—”
His grandmother obviously cut him off as he fell deferentially silent. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell Mandy and Steve you said so. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Another pause. “Okay, I’ll see you Sunday then.”
He hung up the phone, but the youthful joy in his expression lasted for the few silent moments hanging between them.
“Are you doing construction?” Harley asked, afraid her lack of curiosity might alert him to her spying.
His smile disappeared. “Lil’s lived in that house all her life. She was born there only a year after my great-grandfather finished it. But it’s old and not wheelchair-friendly. I’m trying to fix that.”
“All alone? Doesn’t Gus help?”
“When he can. He’s got a lot of debt from medical school he’s still paying off.”
Harley nodded and dropped the subject, not wanting to prolong the melancholy suddenly shading his features. “She’s lucky to have you.”
A semblance of a smile returned. “I’m the lucky one. I only see my parents once a year, maybe twice if they’re not traveling during Christmas break. Gus and Lil are really the only family I have. Lil’s a grand old dame, too. Southern, proud, educated. You’d like her. She’d like you.”
“Not if she found out what I do for a living.”
His gaze once again darkened with the shadow she recognized as desire. “Harley, you are a very alluring and charming woman.”
The momentary break from his magnetism ceased. His voice deepened. His grin turned hypnotic. The considerable space between them suddenly resembled mere inches.
Clearing her throat, Harley clutched the doorknob. “Are you coming back to the house before your dinner?”
Grant tugged at his tie. “I don’t think so. I have a ton of work to finish. I should be home around nine or so. Then we’ll head for Tampa.”
She left with a tiny wave. The minute she shut the door behind her, the atmosphere around her lightened as if imbued with pure helium. She scurried through Grant’s reception area, thankful for Mandy’s absence and the powerful air-conditioning on the second floor.
As she opened the glass door to the lobby, she kept her gaze to the floor. She didn’t need a mirror to know how feverish and uncousinly her face looked after just a few minutes alone with Grant. Or how much she was in desperate need of a frigid shower.
A warm blast of humid air hit her as she exited the building. Smack in the center of Citrus Hill’s small but bustling downtown, the First Investment building loomed like a monarch over the antique shops, boutiques and jewelry stores that took up retail space on either side. City Hall, just a half block down, seemed small in comparison to Grant’s company’s imposing Colonial.
The effect was more than symbolic.
After reading Mrs. Langley’s articles and visiting Grant’s office, Harley knew just how important Grant’s job was to the community. And to him. Amid the invoices for the renovations, she’d also found a letter from Grant’s ex-wife’s attorney. Grant commanded millions, but he had huge bills. If he lost his job because of her, she’d never forgive herself.
On the way to where she’d parked, she crossed in front of a golf shop and caught her reflection in the plate glass window. Who was she trying to fool most, herself? She didn’t belong in designer clothes. She didn’t belong in a luxury vehicle. Mostly, she didn’t belong in Grant’s house where her presence alone threatened his livelihood.
She hurried to the truck, got in and pulled away from the curb with her gaze trained on the road. No matter what she and Grant did or didn’t find out tonight, she couldn’t risk staying at his house past tomorrow morning. Grant didn’t need a woman like her in his life. He needed someone classy—reserved, appropriate—someone who could visit him at his office without entertaining fantasies of making love to him on his desk. Someone who’d only taken her clothes off for a man she loved.
HESITANTLY, GRANT SLID his key into the side door lock. Through the sheers on the door’s half window, he could see Harley at the kitchen table, absently flipping through a magazine, her bare feet propped on the chair across from her.
With careless interest, she perused the articles, pausing to read a line or two, frowning in obvious disagreement, nodding when something suited her. When she leaned forward, her breasts pressed against the slick tile tabletop, making her appear rounder and fuller in her tight, striped T-shirt. While she read, she balanced the tip of her left pinkie nail on the edge of her bottom teeth—never biting down, but drawing his complete interest to those incredibly luscious lips of hers.
She’s sexy just turning pages.
He’d never met anyone like her. Not really. Women with Harley’s freedom of spirit couldn’t exist in his world—at least, not for long. Rigid rules of decorum and expectations of perfection killed all spontaneity and daring. When he’d met his ex-wife in college, he’d caught a glimpse of such independence in Camille. But after the wedding and his acceptance of a position in her father’s firm, Camille molded herself into the perfect executive’s wife. By the time he’d made his first million, their marriage had become a passionless sham. His attempts to rekindle what he now admitted was a lackluster love life only hastened and embittered their separation.
He’d quickly realized that the kind of woman he needed and the kind he wanted were worlds apart. His fantasy lover could silence a trading floor just by smiling. Could reinvigorate him after a losing day with a sultry glance. Unfortunately, women like that didn’t come along often. He’d given up looking and settled for thrills of the financial sort, especially after Camille milked him dry in the divorce. He hadn’t regretted his choice—until Harley.
She renewed his abandoned desires. Made him ache in places he’d forgotten existed.
And it felt great.
He had no idea how he’d survive visiting strip clubs with her. She made his kitchen erotic. He suddenly had a very naughty thought involving a spatula and orange blossom honey. With her blatant sexuality, enhanced by such iniquitous surroundings as nude dance joints, he’d undoubtedly fall even farther toward utter dereliction of his long-held standards of behavior.
He couldn’t wait to go.
With an enthusiastic twist, he opened the door. “Honey, I’m home.”
Harley flipped the copy of Money magazine closed and crossed her feet at the ankles. “I bet you say that to all the amnesiac strippers who stay at your mansion.”
“It’s a regular catch phrase.” He froze just inside the threshold as she slid her slim legs off the chair and tucked them beneath her, causing her black mini skirt to ride up high on her smooth, tanned thighs. Before she caught him staring, he headed toward her with a Styrofoam box filled with manicotti from Don Gianni’s. “I brought you dinner. My cupboards are usually pretty bare.”
Harley opened the container and inhaled. Closing her eyes, she shimmied her shoulders and smiled when the scent proved aromatically enticing. “Mmm. Smells delicious. But I’ll have to save it for later.” She refolded the top reluctantly. “I told you I’d make a great detective. I managed to hunt out a meal from your measly pantry. Who does your grocery shopping, Kate Moss?”
Grant had to stop and think. He knew Kate Moss wasn’t the answer, but he truly had no real idea how staple items such as milk, bread, pastas and chips reached the bare confines of his refrigerator and pantry. Since he’d moved into the corporate mansion, the food appeared on a seemingly regular basis—enough to keep him satisfied during a rare case of the munchies. He didn’t eat at home often, opting instead for restaurant dinners with Gus or clients or home-cooked meals at Nanna Lil’s. “I suppose the housekeeper sees to the food. I’m not home much. It’s probably part of her job description.”
“Didn’t you hire her?”
“She came with the house. I don’t spend a great deal of time here.”
Harley swiveled toward him, her black hair brushing against her shoulders and caressing her cheek. Her serious frown didn’t keep her from looking thoroughly kissable. “I don’t see why you would. Is any of this furniture actually yours? This room isn’t so bad, I guess, but the rest seems so…corporate.”
The word spilled from her lips with utter distaste. He slid his keys onto the butcher block island in the center of the room and shrugged out of his jacket. “Corporate? I don’t remember seeing that style profiled in the last issue of Architectural Digest.”
“You know what I mean. Well decorated, down to the fine porcelain and corded throw pillows. But there’s nothing personal anywhere. No pictures of your brother, memorabilia from college, no silly gift some well-meaning client gave you that doesn’t really match anything, but you don’t have the heart to throw away.”
So, she’d searched the house before settling in the kitchen in her minuscule skirt and adorable shoeless feet. But she hadn’t looked for valuables. Those were in plain sight, on careful display for clients or competitors he might have over for drinks before a high-powered dinner.
Harley looked for him in the furnishings. She’d embarked on a quest for treasures of the insightful kind. Not surprisingly, she found nothing of use.
“I have trinkets and memorabilia.” He carefully folded his jacket over a chair back. “Just not here. They don’t really belong. The house is owned by the corporation, not by me.”
Standing, Harley slid her hands into the front pockets of her skirt and stretched her ankles, extending her height an inch or so. She cocked her head slightly and stared at him with her remarkably blue eyes. “And you don’t want to be just like the house. Owned by the corporation, I mean.”
He shook his head and laughed quietly. “Are you sure you are a stripper?” He backed away and busied himself by filling a glass with ice and water. “I’d invest big money you’re actually a psychiatrist. Maybe doing some unorthodox research project exploring male sexual fantasies. You masquerade as a stripper for a few nights—” he took a sip of the cold liquid before setting his glass on the counter “—for firsthand experience.”
She rocked back on her heels. “I don’t think so. But I have been meaning to ask you about that.”
He mirrored her stance, digging his hands into his own pockets, hoping to hide the hardening he suffered from so regularly with Harley around. “About male sexual fantasies?”
She paused to consider her answer, and Grant felt the stir quickening in his groin.
“No.”
She was probably better off. Definitely better off. At that moment, Grant could create a picture of male sexual fantasies that would send the most staid psychoanalyst sprinting toward an industrial-strength freezer.
She slid her fingers into her hair, hooking the ebony strands behind her ear. A delectable ear. An ear he could spend the next few hours nibbling.
“Did I say anything before you pummeled me with that book?”
He drained the rest of his glass in one gulp. “I didn’t pummel you with the book.” He slipped past her, grabbed the manicotti and put it in the refrigerator. “You backed up to avoid Steve’s groping and bumped into the bookshelf.”
“Steve was groping me?”
“Attempting to. He was drunk and his aim was off.”
“Where were you?”
In a bright flash, Harley saw Grant rushing toward her, panic and passion darkening his eyes. He was leaping, airborne, with such determination, she’d stepped back to avoid being consumed. Yet like her dream this morning, the image sped away the moment she realized what it was.
A memory.
“Harley?”
Grant placed his hand beneath her elbow, and she realized she’d nearly fallen backward.
“I just saw you,” she said.
“I’m right here.”
“Last night. Before the accident.”
His grip tightened. “You remembered something?”
I remembered you wanted me. Brief but powerful, the recollection revealed an intense sensation of passion and need. Mutual need. When he’d shot toward her, she’d retreated, not out of fear of him, but of herself. She’d wanted him too.
“You’re sure we didn’t know each other before last night?” she asked, desperate to make sense of the disturbing impression. If they’d been strangers, how could she have had such an overwhelming desire for him? A desire that remained even when her memory did not.
“Positive. Harley, what did you remember?”
She couldn’t tell him. Such a revelation would bring them no closer to learning her identity. She’d only embarrass herself more than she had already. She was a stripper, for goodness’ sake. A romantic relationship with her, even a brief one, could devastate his career.
“I remembered the book. Falling. Hitting me. For an instant, I saw you running toward me. Nothing that helps.”
Grant placed his other hand on her shoulder, and for a moment, she hoped he might take her into his arms. Instead, the muscles and joints in his arms locked, keeping her at a safe distance.
Right where she should be.
“I spoke to Gus at the rehearsal. He did some research and thinks the amnesia wasn’t caused by the bump on the head exactly, but is your brain’s way of protecting you from some traumatic event. In cases such as yours, the memory returns in bits and pieces. This is a start.” He didn’t try to disguise the excitement in his voice. “If we find Moana tonight, maybe she’ll trigger something else. You could regain your memory before the night is over.”
She nodded and forced herself to smile, acting as if she shared his enthusiasm. She should have. She knew she should. She’d already decided she had to leave Grant’s house as soon as possible. Leaving, after all, was the right thing to do.
So why couldn’t she bring herself to do it?
HARLEY TOOK A DEEP BREATH when Grant turned away from the burly man at the club door and walked back toward her. They’d visited three nude dance establishments in the last hour, and after encountering a rowdy group of college boys in the parking lot of the first, Grant insisted she wait in the car. If anyone at the club knew Moana, or a stripper named Harley, he’d signal.
Like a coward, she’d agreed. Grant’s forceful use of cool logic and blatant intimidation proved impossible to fight, particularly when she still reeled from his sudden enthusiasm for finding out her real identity. He’d probably rethought his decision to escort her to such a public event as tomorrow’s wedding, particularly after her bumbling with his nosy neighbor. Although she’d already decided her leaving would be best, his eager attitude stuck in her craw.
So what if they hailed from different ends of the universe. So what if they had nothing in common except a phenomenally strong physical attraction. So what if she’d been the one to climb, uninvited, into his bed and practically beg him to kiss away her loneliness. She didn’t want to be just a brief encounter he’d laugh about later. She wanted to know him better, discover more about the untamed man he hid beneath his staid facade. The promise of such intense loving intrigued her, tempted her to the point of near obsession.
Yet from the triumphant look in Grant’s eyes as he tapped on the passenger door window, she doubted she’d be around long enough to learn his favorite color.
And that was probably best.
She pressed the button that rolled down the window.
“The bouncer knows Moana, but hasn’t seen her for over a month. Supposedly, she took a job at a club on the causeway, but he heard she’s not there anymore either.”
“Does he know me?”
“No, but there’s another dancer inside named Joy who keeps in touch with Moana. She’s about to go on, so we need to hurry. I slipped him a fifty to let us in the back entrance.”
Harley rolled up the window without a word and allowed Grant to open the door.
“You don’t have to go in. I can ask Joy about Moana for you. If you’re uncomfortable.”
Harley snatched her tiny red purse—the four-dollar bargain from the consignment shop—and swung it over her shoulder, nearly knocking Grant in the face. She slammed the door and stalked silently down the side alley, not waiting for Grant to set the alarm.
“Why should I be uncomfortable?” she said once she heard him fall in step behind her. “I’ve probably worked in worse places than this.”
In truth, an icy shiver hovered just below Harley’s spine, ready to shimmy straight up the minute she stepped through the black steel door at the end of the alley. Flashing with neon and packed with cars, this club wasn’t the worst they’d visited tonight. And far from the best. The air surrounding the single-storied concrete block structure reeked of tobacco. Though no alcohol was allowed inside, the dizzying smells of stale beer, pungent whiskey and raw vomit assailed her as she scurried alongside the moldy wall. She nearly gagged when her shoes made a sucking noise as she climbed the single step.
“Harley, slow down.”
Grant grabbed her arm as she reached for the doorknob. She tried to ignore the strength of his grip, the warmth of his palm against her bare skin, the soothing command in his deep voice. This man didn’t want her around. Didn’t need her around. She could destroy him just by being in his presence. She couldn’t afford to let herself fantasize any longer.
“Slow down? You should be anxious to get rid of me.”
Calmly, he turned her to face him. “I’m anxious for you to regain your memory. Aren’t you?”
She’d been asking herself the same question all afternoon. After Grant dispelled the overwhelming fear of the unknown she’d experienced the night before, she’d felt safe enough to begin exploring what might be a disturbing past.
Yet the eagerness with which she’d pursued the cabdriver this afternoon vanished the minute Grant seemed excited to see her go. Her net of security dropped away. She no longer wanted to know how often she’d been employed at rat holes like this one, or what downward turn her life had taken to lead her to stripping in the first place. If not for the nagging suspicion that someone waited for her somewhere, she might have given in to the temptation to start her life over again with a fresh slate.
Maybe with Grant.
Except he didn’t want her.
She glanced aside, avoiding his assessing gaze. “I want to know if anyone misses me. If I belong anywhere or with anyone.”
He caressed her elbow with gentle friction. “Then here’s the best place to start.”
Again, Harley wondered why she clung so tightly to this reluctant man she barely knew. She glanced over her shoulder at the massive rusting door and found her answer. Grant was everything her life more than likely was not—ordered, respectable, controlled. Perhaps her mind did choose to shut off the minute she’d seen him hurdling across the room toward her, as if intending to rescue her from some horrid fate.
She dug her heel into the ground and swung around with renewed vigor. She could damn well rescue herself, thank you.
“Let’s do it.”
AS PROMISED, the bouncer’s partner, Carl, admitted Grant and Harley after two solid knocks on the door. The entire backstage area pounded with bone-jarring bass and reverberated with the whoops and hollers of the male patrons out front. Behind the scenes, the dancers, clad in satiny costumes of various sizes and degrees of suggestiveness, shouted to each other over the din, checked their hair in lighted mirrors, puffed on cigarettes and sipped bottled water. Only after Carl directed them into a neat, contemporary-style office could Grant bring his attention back to the matter at hand.
He directed Harley toward a sleek leather chair and positioned himself behind her. Moments later, the door reopened and a dancer entered wearing a classically tailored gold-sequined dress. Long-sleeved and high-necked, the costume looked nothing like what Grant had imagined. She seemed dressed for an evening at the opera rather than stripping. Only when she turned around to close the door behind her and he saw the low-slung, backless design did he know this was the woman they sought.
She cut to the chase as soon as she braced her hands on the chair behind the cluttered desk. Her dark hair, pulled up into a loose tumble atop her head, hung around her face and eyes like black fringe. “Sal said you were asking questions about Moana.”
“Do you know her?” Harley asked, her tone both determined and nonthreatening. She’d acted pensive and moody since he’d returned from the rehearsal dinner. He didn’t know what to expect from her now. Then again, he never knew what to expect from Harley.
Which, of course, made him desire her all the more.
“The answer is going to depend.” Joy swung the chair around and settled herself in with grace—the same grace Harley displayed—the grace of a dancer. Fair-skinned and brunette, she nearly mirrored Harley. Same look, same age, yet taller and definitely more jaded. Joy’s eyes, dark and wary, possessed none of the naive wonder Grant often caught in Harley’s baby blues.
Joy knew the score. And she probably had a price.
He pulled out his wallet and offered her a crisp fifty. “Will this do?”
Joy waved the cash away. “Save your money for my next set. I want to know exactly why you’re looking for Moana before I say another word. Don’t even think about strong-arming me, big boy. Carl is waiting just outside the door.”
Harley slipped her hand over her mouth, undoubtedly amused anyone would think Grant capable of strong-arming anyone. Not that he didn’t have the bulk or the skill. He just preferred more civilized forms of persuasion.
In this case, however, the truth would serve just fine.
He swung around Harley’s chair and took the seat beside her. “Moana was hired to perform at a bachelor party at my home last night. She didn’t show.”
“Did you pay her in advance and come here trying to collect?”
“I went in her place,” Harley provided, her voice suddenly small.
“You strip?” Joy’s assessing stare tallied Harley from head to toe. “I’ve never seen you before.”
Harley straightened her shoulders and leaned forward. “Do you know Moana well?”
Joy eased back into the chair. “About as well as we ladies can. We met at a tanning salon about two years ago and danced at the same clubs for a while. If you filled in for her, you must have been close. Moana took pride in her work. She wouldn’t trust her reputation with just anyone.”
Harley nodded. “I figured we were friends.”
“Don’t you know?”
Harley twisted her hands in her lap. “I don’t remember anything before last night. I had an accident. When I woke up, I was in this man’s house dressed in a skimpy biker-chick costume.”
Joy smirked. “Biker chick? That’s not like Moana. This bachelor party must have been special order.”
Grant shifted uncomfortably. Steve may have been the groom and man-of-honor at the get-together, but Harley’s act had been shaped from Grant’s most secret fantasies. Even the music she would have danced to hailed from his college days, when he used to wait for Gus to leave for class, then crank up the volume and sing the lyrics at the top of his lungs.
“You can’t remember anything?”
Joy’s question broke his revelry. Thankfully. Another few seconds and he’d be dragging Harley out to the truck without finding out a single fact about Moana—and not caring.
“The doctor said amnesia,” Harley answered. “That’s why I’m so anxious to find Moana. She’s my only link to my life before last night.”
Joy stood, crossed to the front of the desk, then folded her arms beneath her breasts. She pursed her bottom lip and looked Harley dead in the eye. Harley sat back and met her stare for stare, without an ounce of the apprehension Grant had seen in her just minutes ago in the truck. Her fears seemed to manifest only when they were alone.
He didn’t have time to wonder why.
“Okay, I buy your story. Besides, neither one of you looks anything like the goons who’ve been asking around for Moana.”
“Goons?” Harley’s cheeks paled so discreetly, Grant assumed even Joy’s appraising gaze would miss the subtle change.
“Probably pals of her boyfriend, Buck. He’s a real scum-bucket, you know? Anyway, they’ve been hitting all the local joints looking for Moana. They came here night before last. I was off, but Carl warned me. Moana’s my friend. I don’t want to cause her trouble.”
“If she’s your friend and I’m her friend, why don’t you know me?”
Joy shrugged, slipped a nail file out of the pen holder on the desk and tended to her long, gold-tipped fingers. “No clue. Moana never mentioned anyone I didn’t know.”
“What about family?” Grant remained silent long enough. The pulsating rhythms of the music in the club, coupled with his renewed memories of his college musings made staying in this place painful, in a distinctly male fashion.
Leaning back on the desk, Joy shook her head. “She never talked much about family. Left home at sixteen. Something about her mother. She had a couple of cousins she missed a lot, but she only talked about that stuff when she drank. Which wasn’t often.”
“Do you know where she lives? Where we can find her?”
Joy hesitated, again scrutinizing Harley with a narrowed gaze. Fiercely protective, Joy was a friend Moana was lucky to have. Grant hoped she’d offer the same consideration to Harley.
Twisting around, Joy snatched a slip of paper and pen from the desk and scribbled. She handed the note to Harley. “Here’s her phone number and address. She lives on Davis Island, just past downtown. She’s supposedly out of town until next week, but you can leave her a message. If she knows you like I think she does, she’ll call you back.”
Harley reached out to shake Joy’s hand. “I appreciate your trust. We won’t abuse it, I promise.”
Grant watched a smile bloom on Joy’s sophisticated lips and wondered how on earth he’d ever thought he could steel himself against Harley’s charm. In just one day, she’d enchanted both his secretary and this less-than-trusting exotic dancer. Of course, he’d been enraptured in just a matter of seconds the night before. And the spell hadn’t lessened in the least. If anything, it had strengthened.
Grant took another piece of paper from the desk and wrote his unlisted phone number. “If you hear from Moana, or see her, tell her to call right away. I live in Citrus Hill. Harley’s very anxious to hear from her.”
Standing, he tugged on his pants to keep his renewed craving for Harley his little secret. Joy smirked, then tucked the folded paper in her palm. “I can handle that.”
He still held the fifty-dollar bill in his hand, but didn’t offer it for fear of insulting her. “Are you sure I can’t offer you anything in exchange for your help?”
Joy’s smile continued as she strode to the door. “Stay for the show and put that cash to good use. Couples come in this place all the time. The act before mine is a killer—the Diablo Sisters, Dina and Denise. They’ll knock your socks off.” Her appraising gaze traveled from Harley to Grant and back to Harley. Her grin turned sly. “Or other articles of clothing. Never know. You might just learn something.”
With that, she exited. Grant cleared his throat and tried not to let his imagination run wild. Only a few feet away existed a window into his erotic dreams. His mouth dried at the thought of slipping into some darkened corner table with Harley and watching the Diablo Sisters weave their carnal magic. The education they might receive would be worth the price of a hefty tip.
Or better yet, he and Harley could spin some carnal magic of their own. Conduct private lessons.
“Do you want to stay?” Harley asked, startling Grant with the hint of curiosity clear in her voice.
“I’m male, Harley. The question is, do you want to stay?”
Part of her did. Perhaps she wanted to see firsthand what kind of dancer she’d been. More than likely, she wanted to see how the act affected Grant. His sexuality fascinated her. Ensnared her. Piqued her curiosity about her own needs and desires. Just watching his suppressed reactions to the lust so blatantly displayed around them renewed the spiraling tendrils of heat coursing through her.
But she wanted him to respond to her with more than just lust—more than just instinctive male desire. Perhaps she’d had too much of that in her former life. Perhaps she hadn’t deserved anything more from the men she danced for. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted more. Now, she did. Suddenly, watching the dancers on stage lost all appeal.
“We should go by Moana’s place.” She held the folded address toward him, noticing the paper had wilted in her moistened grip.
“At this hour? Even a phone call should wait ‘til morning.”
Harley slipped the paper into her purse, thankful the action could cover her tiny grin. If Grant was so anxious to get rid of her, wouldn’t he pound on Moana’s door no matter the hour? At least insist they place the call before they left the club?
She could have been wrong about his motives. Maybe he really only wanted to help find out who she was—not because of his circumstances, but because of hers. She needed her past and her memories before she could regain her life.
But at this moment, she only needed Grant. “Then I’d like to go back to your place.”
As he nodded and grabbed the doorknob, a hint of disappointment flitted across his features like a shadow. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. The evidence was as clear as the bulge in his slacks. But she couldn’t see either one of them admitting to their desire aloud. He had his career to protect—and his conscience. So long as she remained unsure of herself, Grant Riordan would keep his distance.
And so long as she remained unsure of herself, she couldn’t allow him to take any more risks than he already had. She had enough trouble justifying his sacrifices, excusing his risks.
She crossed in front of him and headed straight for the side door exit. Odds were that by morning, she’d be on her way home and out of his life forever—with or without her memory intact. If Moana turned out to be a friend like Harley suspected, she’d have no need to rely on Grant’s hospitality further.
And yet, the thought of never knowing the depth of Grant’s desire gnawed at her more than the possibility of never rediscovering who, or even if, anyone missed her.
HARLEY DECLINED GRANT’S invitation to join him in a late-night swim. She already felt herself on the verge of drowning. What she needed was a relentless workout. Her muscles screamed to be stretched out and pumped up. The monumental tension building in every fiber of her body had to be burned away. She must have been a regular fitness freak.
If only she had the nerve to initiate a workout that would satisfy her need for Grant.
Last night, she’d gone to Grant’s room, not for seduction, but for comfort. The passion she’d experienced in his bed came in a wave of surprise and desperation. Tonight was different. She now knew the kind of man he was. Powerful yet kind. Driven yet selfless. Controlled yet secretly wild.
And it was his wild side she longed to see in a more natural habitat.
She’d dialed Moana’s number from the kitchen phone as soon as they returned home. When an answering machine with a standard, mechanical voice answered, she hung up. Why disturb this woman in the middle of the night, if she was home at all? Harley wanted Moana to help her, not hate her. She resolved to try again in the morning, when her own attention was better focused.
After slipping into a knit tank top and shorts she’d purchased this afternoon, she grabbed a towel from the bathroom and headed to the home gym she’d found during her exploration of his house. Fully equipped with free weights, a padded floor, full-length wall mirrors and various Nautilus machines whose every purpose she knew, the work-out room would provide a total exercise experience.
In the living room, she perused the CD storage unit, searching for something upbeat. She recognized the artists and titles—even some obscure ones—and for the briefest instant, she wondered why she couldn’t remember something as simple as her real last name. She stopped and closed her eyes tightly, trying to burst through the brick wall erected between her and her memory.
It was no use. Though she’d cracked a chink or two, the barrier remained intact. Pushing herself did nothing but give her a headache.
But the pain in her temples disappeared when she caught sight of the perfect music for her workout. In the morning, she’d worry about her real name and her real life. Tonight would be about fantasy. About things you want, but know you can’t have. About opening a window when Fate slams the door.
She grabbed the CD and headed to the back of the house.
GRANT DOVE BENEATH the water and swam the full length of the pool. When he reached the shallow end, he flipped and pushed off in the opposite direction, deciding not to surface until he had his emotions under control. By the time he reached the other end, he reconsidered. He couldn’t hold his breath that long.
Instead he came up for air beneath the diving board. Grasping the fiberglass, he lifted himself up and down several times, wishing the cool water that dripped down and completely surrounded his body would ease the incessant ache constricting his groin.
No such luck. Nothing could ease his pain except Harley.
If she hadn’t regained her memory, he couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t be responsible for taking advantage of a woman who might be married, engaged or the mother of four kids who still cried for her. No matter his personal discomfort, he had to keep his hands to himself—at least until he found out whether or not he had the right to claim her.
Once again he submerged, this time spanning the pool leisurely, trying to think only of the wetness surrounding him instead of how wet he would make her when the time came. He’d secretly hoped she’d reconsider his offer to join him in the pool. He’d even stuffed the condom Gus had left him in the small pocket of his swimming trunks before his conscience berated him for such a presumptuous action. Maybe it was better she’d said no. Floating beside her amid the sensual lapping waves, he never would have been able to control himself.
Reaching the pool’s stairs, he swung himself around as he emerged, balancing on the edge and facing away from the house. He’d been in the water for nearly half an hour and the chlorine he’d recently added stung his eyes. When he twisted around and grabbed his towel, he noticed the lights in his home gym were on and the stereo pounded at full capacity, rattling the wall of glass doors.
He dried the water off his face and nearly choked.
Dressed in tiny gray shorts and a snug tank top tied below braless breasts, Harley relentlessly worked his Stair-master. Her demanding pace, in double time against the steady, pounding beat of the music, spoke to the passion he’d already witnessed in her so many times. Her body glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. A triangle of perspiration soaked the back of her shorts. Her thighs and calves, bare and tan, constricted with each downward step, accentuating her sculpted muscles and smooth, tight skin.
Grant tossed the towel aside and submerged himself once again. His own muscles cramped as if he worked out alongside her. His lungs burned for air just as his hands burned to touch her, his lips to kiss her, his sex to bury deep inside her. Still, he forced himself to rise slowly, bracing his feet firmly on the pool’s tiled floor.
He shook his hair, surprised at the new sensitivity of his flesh. Each and every droplet of water tickled as it glided down his back and chest. He only wished the sensation came from Harley’s fingertips instead of from cold pool water.
He didn’t need a genie to make that wish come true. Just make the first move. She wants you as much as you want her. Every signal, every sign revealed her mutual desire—her incredible hunger.
Yet he held back. Not just because of his job or his overwhelming sense of correctness.
He feared Harley. She embodied his most secret desires, his most delicious fantasies. With as little as a glance, she picked at him like a master locksmith. Once the door to his needs opened, how could he ever contain the passion he’d shut away?
And once he let her in, would he ever manage to release her?
Just at that moment, Harley looked over. With the lights glaring inside and the pool area darkened, he knew she couldn’t see him. Still, she knew he was there.
Watching her.
Wanting her.
The reflection of that knowledge shaded her hooded gaze. She adjusted the tension gage on the control panel until her steps on the Stairmaster slowed, but didn’t stop. Her actions became more deliberate, wrenching the maximum tension from her straining muscles. Her breathing slowed. Her breasts rose to a tantalizing peak as she inhaled long and deep. She tilted her head back and arched her spine, practically inviting him to ponder the roundness of her breasts, the generosity of her cleavage.
He braced himself at the edge of the pool and pulled himself out in one swift movement. Without a second thought to the towel or the water or his fears, he took long strides to the sliding glass door. Only then did he register the song blaring over his stereo system.
George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.”
HE OPENED THE DOOR. Her timed steps on the exerciser faltered, but she recovered before he slipped over the threshold. A breath of warm night air pushed through the air-conditioning, embraced her, and left her panting. Yet the heat and the strain and the sweat didn’t matter.
Grant wanted her. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have come inside the gym. He could have easily slipped out of the pool and gone upstairs without disturbing her workout.
But he didn’t. He wanted her—hopefully as much as she wanted him.
He stalked slowly, accelerating her heartbeat with his every step. She watched his progress in the mirrors across from her. Pool water darkened the carpet where he stepped. His hair, slicked back and dripping, curled around the corded muscles of his neck. His chest and abs bore the clear signs of a devotion to exercise—something she’d guessed at when snuggled against him the night before, but never could have verified until he’d shed his conservative career clothing. Nearly naked, eerily silent and obviously aroused, this approaching man showed little resemblance to the Grant she’d met at his office, or who’d accompanied her to the strip clubs. His eyes were darker. His nostrils flared. His mouth curved with hunger.
His wild side had emerged.
When he stood directly behind her like a shadow, the mingled scents of chlorine and natural musk overrode her senses. He shook his head, sprinkling her with cool droplets, showering her with lusty rain.
Music pounded in her ears. She slowed her stair climbing to a steady crawl.
“I’d forgotten this CD,” he said, his voice low and rumbling, yet clear over the braying beat.
“It’s perfect for a workout.”
“You’ve been pushing yourself. Aren’t you worn out?”
She stopped and stepped off the machine. Her shoulders touched his chest and chilled her with dripping pool water.
“I’m just getting started.”
Without facing him, she slid away from the Stairmaster to a hulking Nautilus gleaming with polished chrome. She grasped the elongated handle above her head and pulled down, testing the stack of weights attached to the other end. She adjusted the tension level by resetting the pin, and then took the bar again. Wrapped in black foam rubber and suspended from a silver pulley, the bar was thick in her small hands—forcing her to assess the outline of Grant’s wet swim trunks as he joined her.
“You could hurt yourself if you don’t know what you’re doing,” he warned, again advancing at a lazy pace.
“I know what I’m doing.”
She pulled the bar down halfway, sucking in air at the burning tautness in her arms.
“Care to share the knowledge?” He spoke from directly behind her, his breath coiling around her neck and shoulders, sending a tingle skittering across her skin. “I’m eager to learn.”
With a muffled grunt, she eased the bar completely down and held it steady at her waist. Her arms shook, her heartbeat pounded. The strain reddened her face. “So am I.”
She released the weight quickly, sending the stack of steel weights clanking down. Spinning to face him, she jumped, not just because of the metallic clatter of falling weights. His brown eyes, so comforting the night before, were nearly black with raw need.
“This could be a dangerous lesson to learn.” The muscles in his neck, shoulders and arms tightened. His stone-written rules of responsibility and duty could easily destroy the tenuous cord of desire binding them together.
If she let them.
“Tell me what you want. Honestly.” She hid her shaking hands behind her back, twining her fingers into a tight knot. “Forget about my amnesia. Forget about your job. Forget about everything except how you feel right now. This moment.”
His darkly lashed lids lowered until his eyes were nearly closed. His breath came in a ragged shudder. “At this moment, I want to make love to you.”
Tentatively, she laid her flattened palms on his pecs, savoring his rapid heartbeat. “I want to make love with you. Now. Tonight. Who I am or who I’m not doesn’t matter. I’m making a choice. I choose to be with you.”
With amazing gentleness, he wrapped his large hands around her trembling fingers. “Harley, we don’t know the fire we’re playing with. We could both get very burned.”
She adored his talent for being the voice of reason, even when reason didn’t apply. “Burn me, Grant. I want the heat. Don’t you?”
With a growl that stopped her heart, Grant grabbed Harley’s buttocks, her hands still twined with his, and thrust her against him. His lips and tongue attacked hers like a starved beast—stealing the air from her lungs. Full and hard, his erection jammed against her belly. He lifted her and pressed her even closer, forcing her body’s throbbing rhythm to match his own.
Liquid heat frothed inside her. Her nipples bit through her sopping tank top, aching for the moisture only he could give. When he tore his mouth away from hers and greedily kissed and bit and soothed her neck and shoulders, she gasped. Her eyes flew open. The room spun in a Technicolor whirl.
Trapping her arms behind her, he maneuvered both her hands into one of his, freeing his other to slip beneath her shorts and knead her backside. When he found the flimsy strip of lace panties, he twisted his fingers around the side strap and tugged until they ripped apart. Though he sucked the exposed skin just above her nipples with furious urgency, he removed the torn underwear slowly, pulling from behind so the sandpaper texture of the lace scraped through her sensitive flesh like a thousand tiny fingertips.
“Oh, Grant.”
He tugged her panties free from her shorts and tossed them aside, then kissed his way back to her mouth. With gentle teeth, he nipped at her lips, licked her, withholding his mouth from hers until she fought his grip.
His chuckle resonated through her. “You wanted to burn. Let me show you my version of fire.” He raised her arms above her head and hooked them over the suspended bar. “Are you game?”
In his eyes, she witnessed a promise of true pleasure, a vow to cast away every bond, every wall that might keep them from achieving complete intimacy. He sought to open himself to her—and to do so by bringing her over the edge of her own desires. By the end of the night, she would know him better than anyone. Perhaps, she’d even know herself.
“I told you last night, Grant. I trust you.”
His smile touched every inch of his rugged face—except his eyes. They remained serious. Focused. Intense. “Then, hang on, honey.” He wrapped her fingers around the foam rubber bar, then kissed her knuckles. “Don’t let go. No matter what. Think you can do that?”
She could only nod and tighten her grip. Wicked intentions now danced in his eyes, and the anticipation of his loving made her skin prickle with gooseflesh.
His hot tongue burned a trail down the stretched muscles of her left arm, then dipped into the side of her tank top, laving the outer swell of her breast. His hands spanned her bare midriff, his palms scorching her belly, his fingertips teasing her rib cage under her shirt. Kissing across the thin material of her shirt, he surrounded one nipple with his mouth and sucked until the nub puckered and strained. Warm moisture seeped through the cotton, promising an even deeper pleasure once she was topless.
She squirmed, her body throbbing. He made no move to undress her and she considered letting go of the bar and removing her shirt. Yet his look of clear warning made her grip the bar even tighter.
“You have the most perfect body.” He formed his words against her skin, complimenting and arousing her at the same time. He pressed her breasts together and alternately attended one nipple, then the other. “I want to see you. Up close.”
“Mmm. Please.”
He slipped his hands out of her shirt and snapped the thin shoulder straps. “How much did you pay for this shirt again?”
She shook her head. She couldn’t remember. She didn’t care. She just wanted his wet mouth on her aching nipples. She wanted him to taste her, knead her, drive her to complete mindlessness. “A dollar. Two maybe.”
“I can afford another.” He kissed her neck. “Hold on.”
He tore at the stretchy cotton. When the material didn’t immediately give way, he dug in with his fingers and pulled until she heard a welcomed rip. Again, he slid the material away slowly, like the shedding of skin. Under the weight of his hungry gaze, her breasts seemed fuller, rounder.
He stepped back. “Absolutely perfect.” He perused her nakedness leisurely, appreciatively, making her feel more beautiful than she’d thought possible. Moisture pooled between her legs and her thighs quivered. “But I want to see all of you. All at once.”
If he looked to her for approval, she missed it. Her eyes drifted closed in heightened expectation. Her knuckles ached as she clung to the bar. A long moment passed before she felt his hands on her again, grasping the waistband of her shorts.
He tugged slowly, kissing her bared hip, her inset navel, the top of one thigh, the inside of her knee. The material dropped to the floor. He lifted one ankle and then the other, seducing her instep while he slipped her shorts away.
Instinctively, she drew her legs together, fighting the building pressure at the apex of her thighs. He chuckled and slid her ankles apart just enough to allow the cool breeze from the vent above to mingle with her warm feminine moisture.
“I said I wanted to see all of you, sweetheart.” He knelt before her, his murmur sending a hot burst of air skittering through her curls. “Exquisite.”
Without warning, he took her in his mouth, bracing his hands on her buttocks and pressing her to him fully. She gasped and held her breath while bolts of lightning crisscrossed her inner eyelids and then traveled down each and every nerve. Weakened, she fought to hold the bar. If she let go, she’d break the magic spell he wove with his mouth.
His tongue swirled within her while his hands smoothed up her legs. She whimpered, her eyelids flying open when he pinched her buttocks, lightly, but enough to bring her full attention to the needs of her lower body. The contrast between the pain of his tweaks and the sweet gentleness of his tongue made her cry out his name.
He hummed his approval inside her, then lifted her right knee and slung it over his shoulder, tilting her to a perfect angle for his loving. “Scream out, honey. Tell me what you like. Tell me if you want more.”
She could hardly think while his tongue plundered and his fingers plucked. She’d never imagined such delight.
“More. Yes, more.”
He pinched her harder and slipped his tongue deeper, discovering the pinpoint of her need. Her cry reverberated over the music of the forgotten CD. She gasped for air when he slipped one hand between her legs to aid his mouth in pleasuring her. One finger and then two slid inside until she could no longer contain the pressure.
In moments, she was lost. Her arms went limp, but her hands held fast. She shook and shuddered and cried with the explosion. His mouth never abandoned her—not even after the convulsions ceased. Then, gently, he kissed his way up to her mouth, pried her hands free from the bar and lifted her into his arms.
She forced her eyes open, her eyelids fluttering against the suddenly harsh light. “Where are we going?”
He placed a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose. “Not far.”
A few feet away, he released her, sliding her down the rigid length of his body. Still wobbly, her legs barely supported her weight. He sat on the edge of the low cushioned bench beside his free weights and leaned back against the tilted padding.
He held his hand out to her, but she hesitated, enjoying the view of his long, lean torso. Toned and glistening with a mixture of perspiration and pool water, his body was large and hard and perfect. Though spent, she ached to see him naked, to feel him deep inside.
He folded his hands behind his head, his grin cocksure. “Second thoughts?”
She shook her head, licking her lips like he had just minutes—or was it hours?—before. Spotting the switch on the mirror, she lowered the lights to a warm amber glow.
“You’re overdressed.”
He laughed, and the sound compelled her more than the rhythmic beat still blaring from the stereo. Unbound, Grant laughed and smiled and took and gave with such abandon, her heart swelled. And her body craved him even more.
Now would be her turn to give.
He discarded his shorts quickly, pulled something from the pocket, then reclined on the workout bench and laced his hands behind his head once more. He waited for her to make the next move, as if he relished relinquishing control.
She bit her bottom lip, suddenly shy and unsure. She hadn’t planned this seduction, but she’d done everything she could to encourage him. He hadn’t disappointed her. She felt alive. Powerful. Her incredible climax still reverberated through her tingling skin. How could she ever reciprocate with equal skill?
“Harley, come here.”
She obeyed, nearly floating on the intimate wave of his voice. He pulled up on his elbows, and his eyes narrowed just enough for her to sense his scrutiny. Without a word, he held out his hand, captured her, and reeled her in.
Of her own volition, she kneeled beside him and closed her eyes, drowning in the warm tide of his closeness. He lazily ran a finger up the outside of her arm, then across her collarbone and down to her breast.
“I love touching you.”
She took his hint. Starting at his ankle, she smoothed her palm up his calf and over his knee, burying her fingers in the dark hair shadowing his powerful thighs. She glanced up when he reclined, his face a mask of rapture, but then concentrated again on exploring him with complete fascination.
He groaned when she surrounded his sacs with a gentle caress. When she traced his shaft from hilt to tip, he gasped aloud and breathed her name. Emboldened, she wrapped her entire hand around him.
He’d stopped touching her, and yet she yearned for him. Her mouth watered, her breasts ached, her body quivered at the realization she’d soon have him inside her. Deep inside. Touching her where she felt sure she’d never been touched—connecting with her on a plane far beyond her comprehension.
But first, she’d know every inch of him, just as he now knew her. Without a second thought, she took him in her mouth. His moans became a music more sensual and suggestive than any she’d ever heard. She spanned his chest with her hands, plucked at his peaked nipples, measured his pounding heart beneath her moistened palms.
“Harley, I need you. Now.”
He positioned her to straddle him, balancing her on his thighs. Tearing open the condom he’d snatched from his shorts, Grant sheathed himself quickly then grasped her hips and slid her forward until his tip teased her.
“Tell me you want this, sweetheart. Tell me now or…”
She placed two fingers over his mouth, braced her other hand on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She wanted Grant so fiercely, with such concentrated longing, she knew she’d never experienced such desire. A need so intimate and yet so extreme could never be forgotten. Never.
Grant was her chivalrous rescuer, saving her from the evil nothingness—a fantasy lover with whom reality could never exist, but a dream could be nirvana. She had one chance, one night to scorch the essence of his power into her hungry soul.
She scooted back, guiding him inside her. “Make me never forget.”
“Either that, or I’ll die trying.”
Grabbing her by the hips, he entered swiftly. She cried out again, startled by his thick length—and by her own tightness. Her body encircled his with the snugness of a woman whose last lover was in the distant past.
But she couldn’t spare the brainpower to decipher the contradiction between her profession and her inexperience. She could think of nothing else but going with Grant to the height of ecstasy.
“Oh, Grant.”
He forced his eyes open. Wonder flushed her skin from her cheeks to her breasts, darkening her nipples and widening her eyes. Grant knew being inside her would be beyond his wildest dreams—but reality left him breathless. He cupped her supple buttocks and pressed her down, hissing choked air through clenched teeth as she descended his length.
She was tight. Not virgin tight, but her inner muscles clamped around him, milking him with the sweet spasms of a woman who hadn’t been made love to nearly enough, but who relished the sensations now. His heart swelled as fully as his shaft. Harley didn’t fear the self-surrender real lovemaking demanded. She embraced the experience. Challenged it. Pushed their desires past all limits and expectations.
He’d never known such ecstasy.
He drove deeper until he could go no further, then braced his feet on the ground, pulled in his knees and sat up completely. She screamed again and tossed her head back, groaning as he ground his sex into hers. Cupping her buttocks, he suckled her breasts as the new angle increased their pleasure. Raging heat surged inside him. They’d reached the precipice. He wouldn’t last much longer.
Using her thighs to match his movements, Harley plunged with her own power, stroking him with her body, loving him straight to his soul. She discovered a stirring rhythm, then played, faster and faster until Grant felt the room rock.
“Harley, I, oh,” he muttered before seizing her mouth with his and lifting his body off the bench, fusing them to the core.
“Yes, Grant, yes.” Her shouts urged him, begged him to come with her into the insanity of fruition.
Easing her backward, he cradled her spine, laid her on the weight bench and drove one final time. Liquid heat poured out of him, accompanied by a liberating bellow that burned his lungs and throat. His eyes sprang open, but he could see nothing but a dizzying halo of prismed light.
In the center of the rainbow, Harley smiled.
He remained inside her, panting, unable and unwilling to speak. She curled her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his damp hair, splaying light kisses along his collarbone and neck. Slowly, the tension eased and Grant’s legs and back cramped. Still, he didn’t move. For the briefest of moments, he considered staying inside her forever.
“Ow.”
Her tiny protest, spoken as she attempted to shift her position on the bench, spurred him to see to her comfort. He disentangled her legs from around his hips and scooted back, straddling the bench. “Sorry, honey.”
She frowned when he pulled away, a sweet little pucker of lips that reminded him of a spoiled child. He couldn’t help grinning.
“What are you smirking at?” she asked.
He braced his hands on her waist and helped her sit up. “At you. At that face.”
Coiling her arms around his neck, she shifted her legs back around his waist and pulled herself forward. Her nipples, still peaked and hard, rubbed his chest. A fragrant steam seemed to waft from her skin. Still warm and wet from their lovemaking, she pressed against him boldly. Amazingly, he stiffened in response.
“I only had one condom, Harley.”
She sighed and kissed him on the jawbone. “What a shame.”
Snuggling her soft cheek against his chest, Grant closed his eyes and cursed his conservative life-style. Guys like his brother, Gus, or best friend, Mac, probably kept dozens of prophylactics on hand for just this kind of emergency. But not Grant. Oh, no. He’d thrown out his supply along with his wedding photos. Like the pictures, they only reminded him of his meager sex life.
He kissed the top of her head. “A crying shame, sweetheart. And unfortunately, Wellesley Manor residents voted down the proposed all-night convenience store. Attracts too much riffraff.”
Her deep-throated chuckle warmed him, contrasting with the gooseflesh prickling her skin. He rubbed her back vigorously, inhaling a sensual scent he’d forever associate with the best night of his life—and with the amazing woman who radiated the sweet, musky fragrance. Despite the spent condom still covering him, the chilly atmosphere of the air-conditioning, and the solid knowledge that they couldn’t make love again tonight—at least not with some semblance of safety—a rush of renewed passion surged through him.
He’d started calculating time and distance to the nearest twenty-four hour drugstore outside his neighborhood when Harley traced the shell of his ear with a tongue-moistened finger and then whispered to him, “Other things don’t necessarily need a condom.”
Two seconds, maybe three, passed before he thought of several delicious possibilities. “I like the way you think.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s not waste another minute.”
THE KAMA SUTRA came in handy. Resigned to save the chapters on sexual positions for another time, Grant ended his night of fantasy with Harley by practicing several different forms of sensual touching. By candlelight, she’d recited arousing passages in her deep sultry voice while he massaged every inch of her with a sweet-smelling oil he’d found in his downstairs guest bathroom. He discovered her ticklish spot behind her knee and a star-shaped birthmark on her pert rear end.
He also learned how much he adored her breasts. Round and creamy white. Dark areolas. Rock hard nipples. And sensitive. With only the palm-warmed oil and his hungry hands and mouth, he’d caressed and pinched and laved her to a slow but searing climax.
Then she’d returned the favor. She’d found erogenous spots on his body he never knew existed. Her hands made him delirious; her mouth drove him over the edge. If not for the unfairness to Harley, he would have ignored his principles regarding safe sex and made love to her without the half-dozen condoms he would have needed to satisfy his appetite.
Instead, their private lessons taught them all the exotic ways of loving. By sunrise when he’d tucked her in his bed and stroked her until she fell asleep, Grant knew and worshipped every inch of Harley’s body—every pulse point—every erotic zone. The knowledge would stay with him forever, no matter what he discovered about her identity when he took her to Moana’s apartment after the wedding.
Too keyed up to nap more than an hour, Grant sneaked out of bed early, showering and dressing without rousing Harley from her fitful sleep. Once, she’d struggled with a disturbing dream, but by the time he reached her side, she’d settled down. His heart had stopped in that quiet moment. Had she remembered something distressing, something ugly from her past? Was Gus right that her conscious mind kept dark memories silent behind a blank wall? Whatever the situation, Grant swore he wouldn’t allow Harley to return to any life not worthy of her special magic. After the rapture she’d brought to him, he’d move the sun and the moon to ensure her happiness.
Unwilling to wake her so early, he scribbled another quick note and left it on her pillow, grabbed his keys and headed to Tampa to pick up his tuxedo for the wedding.
Of course, he stopped at the drugstore first.
The drive to Tampa was short, just under half an hour. Westbound traffic on I-4 moved quickly, while the eastbound side chugged along with tourists heading toward Orlando’s numerous attractions. Grant set the cruise control at 65 miles per hour and watched the road while orange groves and strawberry fields rolled by on either side.
Having made this drive more times than he could count, his mind replayed the last forty-eight hours—and anticipated the next. Though he’d found Moana’s phone number on the kitchen table before he left, he resisted the urge to call. As much as he wanted Harley to regain her memory and start piecing together her past, he couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving. Surely, he could use his Phi Beta Kappa intellect to figure out how to keep Harley in his life and prevent him from losing his job if someone discovered her past.
But the solution couldn’t involve lies. Lies always unraveled. Always. His review of his time with Harley was a prime example. He’d convinced himself and the world that he was a serious, dedicated professional who’d do nothing to jeopardize his career, no matter the cost to his personal life or happiness. Yet in less than two days, he’d exposed his truest longings and acted out his favorite fantasies with a woman he hadn’t known long enough to trust, but did.
He’d never done anything so wonderfully irresponsible. And he had no one in particular to blame for the sameness of his life but himself. His parents never made him the responsible child to offset Gus’s foibles. They were loving, freethinking intellectuals who found silver linings in the darkest clouds. Grant chose to be the reliable, steady son, basking in the shine of his parent’s pride and his importance in the family.
In school, Grant had done the same—picking the role of model student instead of falling in with the slightly less savory and definitely more interesting guys who drove fast cars and celebrated D’s with the same thrill as he did A’s. He’d played tennis and golf instead of football. Studied economics rather than shop. Dated debutantes instead of cheerleaders.
Even his marriage had been more of a logical next step than a reflection of love or lasting passion. Camille had been beautiful, of course, but in a cool, refined way. Their pairing was mutually beneficial rather than exciting or passionate or impulsive. Despite his secret fantasies, even his lovemaking with Camille never strayed from the predictable. When it had once, in his attempt to avoid an inevitable divorce, Camille had called him a pervert.
Considering the source, the insult was more a reflection of her hang-ups than his, and solidified his decision to end his counterfeit marriage before he lost his sanity. But instead of using the split as impetus to a sorely needed life change, he fell back into the same old reputable rut.
Until last night. Until Harley.
She possessed no more knowledge than any other woman he’d known, but her open abandon and sexual curiosity spurred him to shed all inhibitions and ignore every possible consequence. Nothing had mattered but pleasing her. Learning her. Learning about himself.
In the morning’s light, he recognized the risk he’d taken. Though Harley would never intentionally hurt him or his career, her presence alone could set enough tongues wagging to bring his prosperity to a complete stop. Disclosing her presence to his neighbor, even innocently, could have already started his downward momentum. Yet she had done her best to allay Mrs. Langley’s suspicions with logical explanations that sounded nothing like the lies they were. He admired her inventiveness. Hell, after last night, he practically worshipped it. He could get used to having Harley around on a long-term, daily basis.
The thought startled him. He tapped his brake unnecessarily, causing the driver behind him to sound his horn and pull around him, flashing the universal sign of displeasure.
How could he ask Harley to stay in his world—one that would eventually drain her of the very qualities he coveted?
The answer was—he couldn’t.
Grant shook himself, pressed the gas pedal and resumed his normal speed. If only he could resume his normal life as easily. Never mind that he didn’t want his old life or his old ways back. Never mind how the lies exhausted him, ate at him with more fury than any ulcer.
Even if he wanted to abandon his controlled and conservative life, he couldn’t. Not yet. Nanna Lil needed him. So did Gus. What little he had in the way of family roots were grown in Citrus Hill. He couldn’t deny that just because of his hormones. Of course, he wouldn’t be trapped here forever. Circumstances would change. But by then, Harley would be long gone.
He clicked on the CD player. On a whim, he’d grabbed the George Michael disc from the gym before he’d left. The sound of reverent organ music, the prelude to the title track, filled the car. As the British rocker started to sing about “faith,” a plan formed. Maybe he and Harley couldn’t have a future, but the here and now—at least for today—was wide open. With a little finesse, he could plant himself more firmly in Harley’s present, and let the past and the future fend for themselves.
A DREAM. A MEMORY. This time, however, she didn’t wake up. Too tired to struggle, too comfortable to fight, Harley let her mind drift deeper into the subconscious flash of pictures. A tiny bungalow, painted bright pink and sporting a seashell driveway, emerged in her mind’s eye. Home. But not home. A place where she’d lived.
Suddenly inside the house, an uneasy tension crept through her. A fine antique lamp sat incongruously beside a plastic-covered couch. A magnificent Oriental carpet covered an unfinished terrazzo floor. Signs of tasteful opulence dotted a structure dominated by garage sale grabbers and questionable collectibles. Harley cringed at the final result.
Then she saw a face. A boy. Sixteen or so, with a shiny metal smile reflecting a computer screen’s bright blue backdrop. Too young to be a lover, too old to be a son, this young man meant the world to her.
And she to him.
He missed her.
Harley struggled to stay within the dream, fought for a clearer picture of the boy whose name she couldn’t summon. Instead, she found herself opening a closet. Her closet. Filled with costumes bedecked with spangles and feathers and translucent silks. She reached out, but the textures eluded her. She recognized the dresses as hers—but not hers. They belonged to someone else, or maybe, someone she used to be.
Tossing in Grant’s bed, Harley felt the softness of his sheets against her bare skin. Yet the dream remained. Caught between two worlds, she struggled to see more—learn more—even if the knowledge meant losing Grant.
The thought brought her bolt upright. Sunlight stung her dry eyes. She rubbed the sleep away, but held fast to the images fresh in her mind. Once she settled back into the cushioned pillows and fluffy down comforter, she tried to piece the pictures together and form a memory or two.
She couldn’t.
She gave up trying once she glanced at the alarm clock, which read eleven-fifteen. Though she and Grant hadn’t gone to sleep until somewhere around dawn, she didn’t expect to have slept so late. She’d wanted to call Moana’s number early, before she had a chance to leave for the day—if she was in town at all. She also had to figure out what to wear to the wedding this afternoon.
If Grant still wanted her to go. Despite last night, she wouldn’t blame him for being uneasy about her appearing with him in public, forcing them to lie to so many people important to Grant’s life and career. They’d shared a private freedom she’d always treasure, but that didn’t mean they should announce their relationship to the uptight residents of Citrus Hill. Especially if she was who she suspected she was. A woman who stripped.
The venomous words of Wilhelmina Langley’s column reverberated in her brain. Would the woman be any kinder to an exotic dancer than she had been to the paid-off prostitute? Harley dashed into the bathroom before she started composing provocative headlines in her head.
WHEN SHE EMERGED from the shower a half hour later, she found a private invitation to the wedding draped across the bed. She lifted the royal blue silk shift tentatively, allowing the soft lightness of the fabric to slide over her fingers. With matching shoes, bag and short jacket, the outfit would highlight both her eyes and her petite figure.
In a tissue-filled box beside the dress, Grant left her a cache of underthings that nearly made her blush. The clingy dress would barely hide the satiny thong panties, sleek demi-bra, smooth garter belt and stockings.
Just thinking of how sensual she’d feel in such decadent clothing, she let out a low, breathy whistle.
“My sentiments exactly.”
Her body tingled from the raspy sound of Grant’s voice. She turned to find him standing in the threshold, leaning his broad bare shoulder against the doorjamb and grinning wolfishly, as if she wore the lingerie instead of just a towel.
“You’ve been a busy shopper this morning.”
She dropped the garter belt back into the box and held her towel tighter. His gaze raked over her with brazen need. Wearing only his tuxedo pants, unbuckled and swung low on his hips, his desire was more than evident. She wet her lips in anticipation. Had he stopped and bought condoms as he’d promised last night? Did they have time for a quick interlude? A glance at the clock told her noon had just passed. Her stomach rumbled, but an entirely different hunger filled her from head to toe.
“There was a full service dress shop adjacent to the tuxedo place. I hope you like my taste.”
She smiled shyly, her blood cooling to a steady simmer. “The dress is perfect. You didn’t have to go to such expense. I could have found something suitable in that box.”
She glanced at the corner, surprised to see the carton of his ex-wife’s hand-me-downs had disappeared.
“You deserve better than Camille’s throwaways.”
She threw you away, Harley thought ruefully. The woman had to be an utter fool.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I took the box to a donation drop-off on my way out.”
Harley nodded, then ran her hand through her damp hair. She hadn’t applied any makeup except her base and blush, and could only imagine how horrendous she must look. Judging from the expression in Grant’s warm brown eyes, however, she couldn’t look that bad. “Still want me to go to the wedding with you?”
To the wedding. To bed. To the ends of the Earth. Grant wondered if admitting that would wipe away the uncertainty that marred her vibrant blue eyes. How could a woman so alluring be so unsure of her charisma? He’d already given up trying to fight her charm. One flash of those baby blues and he was gone, gone, gone.
“I’d be honored to escort you to the wedding.”
“What about our story about my being your cousin? Won’t your friends spill the beans?”
“Not if they value their lives. They’re all coming here to meet the limo. I’ll make the rules perfectly clear then. Don’t worry about me, Harley. I can take whatever comes.”
“We shouldn’t invite trouble.”
“Too late.”
She carefully refolded the lingerie, replaced the box lid and hugged the package to her chest. “I guess I’d better dress. You don’t want the guys to get the wrong idea.”
Grant pushed away from the jamb and kicked the door closed with his heel. “I wouldn’t worry about their wrong ideas. Just mine.”
Her smile glittered like a shooting star, burning away the doubtfulness he despised. When they made love, when he openly displayed his physical need for her, she blossomed like a flame in dry air. He wanted her to experience that power all the time, but knew she wouldn’t until she rediscovered her past.
“I need to dry my hair.” Her words stopped him at arm’s length. He wouldn’t force the issue. Maybe after last night, she needed a break.
She stepped into the master bathroom and tossed a coy glance over her shoulder.
“Want to watch?”
She didn’t need to ask twice. In front of the wall-wide mirror, Grant pulled out the cushioned stool shoved beneath the vanity. He draped a towel over his forearm and invited her to sit.
“You don’t have to help.”
He began massaging her scalp with the soft terrycloth. “I’m not helping because I have to.”
“I don’t just mean now.”
Glancing into the mirror, he wrapped the towel in his hands and rubbed it through her dark hair. “I’m not helping because I have to,” he repeated, finding her gaze and locking it with his as he spoke.
She smiled, picked up a palette of eyeshadow and applied a skin-tone color while he rubbed the dampness from her hair. He pulled out the blow-dryer while she contoured her eyes with a darker shade of shadow and then applied mascara and lipstick. He watched her, fascinated. She did so little, but the result was startling. Her eyes appeared larger, her lips fuller. Her cheeks blossomed with the same hue as when they made love.
He plugged the dryer into the socket and zipped up his pants. His friends would arrive any minute. He couldn’t surrender to the driving need stiffening his sex and fuddling his brain.
“I don’t really know what to do with this.”
She pulled a brush out of the drawer. “Just turn it on. I’ll show you.”
He chose a medium setting. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, allowing the warm stream of air to flow freely through her hair. He couldn’t resist combing his fingers through the strands.
When she picked up the brush, he followed her lead, focusing the air on the bristles, watching the haphazard array straighten into the style she favored. Her bangs softly framed her face, the sides kissed her cheeks alluringly, the back fanned her shoulders. As she laid the brush on the countertop, he clicked the dryer off.
“You make it look so easy.”
“Years of practice.” She spritzed her hair with a sweet-smelling spray and scooted back the stool.
“Hand me the box, won’t you?”
He removed the top of the box and dug into the tissue. He knew she meant for him to leave while she dressed, but he didn’t. Instead, he removed the thong panties and held them between two fingers. “I’d like to keep helping.”
She stood, her hand locked on the knot of her towel. “Oh, you would, would you?”
“Well, these underthings cost nearly as much as my tuxedo. I’d like to see the entire ensemble. Piece by piece.”
“In my line of work, don’t men use their money to watch me undress?”
“I’m different.”
She undid the knot and let the towel pool at her feet. “I can’t argue with that.”
He leaned against the vanity as she plucked the panties from his grip. Sitting again, she slipped her feet into the strips of satin and shimmied them up her shapely calves, over her knees, across her thighs. She stood, turned her back to him and completed the job, placing the thong securely between her cheeks.
“Which piece next?”
He snatched the bra from the box, tossed it over his shoulder and stepped behind her, turning her to the mirror. Cupping her breasts with his hands, he watched her nipples harden, watched her eyelids close and her lips slightly part. She felt so full and warm in his hands, he envied the lingerie.
“Is this what a bra feels like?” he asked, pressing her breasts upward, increasing her cleavage.
“Hardly,” she rasped, cooing when he plucked her nipples playfully.
“Good.” He slid the bra from his shoulder and guided her arms into the devilish contraption. “Then when you wear this—” he pulled the straps over her shoulders and hooked the clasps “—I want you to think about how much better my hands would feel.”
He slipped his forefingers into the cups and adjusted them to cover her completely. Grazing her nipples again, he smiled when she moaned in delight.
“Can you imagine my hands all over you all night long?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “With the right incentive.”
He traced the satin panties with a tentative touch, then placed his palm over her mons, applying just enough pressure to gauge how she heated beneath his hand.
Reaching back, she slid her hands around his neck, arched her back and pressed her buttocks against his erection. Despite his intention only to tease her, he dipped a finger into the tiny triangle of material, sliding through her curls to find her simmering center.
“Is this the incentive you mean?”
Grinding her backside against his sex, she lifted one leg atop the chair, easing his access.
“You’re on the right track.”
The doorbell sounded downstairs, breaking his rhythm and shattering the mood.
“Damn.” He straightened Harley’s panties as he nuzzled her neck. “They would be on time.”
She twisted around in his arms and kissed him gently on the jaw. “Seems their timing is just right. The object was to get dressed, not undressed, remember?”
“I have a problem with that concept when you’re around.”
Slipping away, she pulled the stockings and garter belt out of the box and returned to the bedroom. “You have a lot of problems with me around.”
The comment came matter-of-factly, but the words still punched him like a left hook to the gut. He’d been trying like hell to make Harley comfortable in his life, moving her things to his room, buying her a spectacular dress to wear to the wedding, not reminding her to call Moana again. From the bathroom, he watched her sit on his bed among a tangle of rumpled sheets and stretch the hose over her shapely legs. She snapped the garters in place with little fanfare and then stepped into the dress and strappy heels.
As incongruous and illogical as it sounded, she fit in his world more easily than he did. She adapted. She melded. Though he knew she felt the outsider as much as he, she hid her insecurities better—mainly because she didn’t seem to mind closeting her true nature. At least not for the short term.
Yet he knew firsthand the agony of penning away one’s real self. She’d shown him—first in the gym and then again in the bathroom. He’d seen how he’d been suppressing his needs—not really for sex as much as for intimacy. He’d tasted delights of utter abandon. With Harley he bared his soul—good and bad—and she neither labeled nor judged. Not like Camille. Not like his friends. Despite their respect for him, they expected Grant to behave one way and one way only. For him to test the waters beyond perfect respectability would throw them into complete shock.
The doorbell rang again. In a few minutes, he’d tell them he was taking the stripper to the wedding—Citrus Hill’s high society event of the week. He could only imagine the reactions.
Dressed except for the coordinating jacket, Harley snapped him from his thoughts when she asked, “You want me to get that?”
“No. No. Take your time.” He opened the bedroom door reluctantly, wanting more than anything to return to the timeless moment in the bathroom when nothing stood between them except the flimsy silk of her panties and bra. “I picked up lunch. It’s in the kitchen. But don’t take too long. The guys are known to wolf down large quantities of munchies in record time.”
When he left, Harley plopped down on the bed, closed her eyes and exhaled. Her body still thrummed from his short-lived seduction in the bathroom—her heart’s pounding drowned out the muted voices downstairs. Her presence undoubtedly caused Grant innumerable problems, but he wasn’t so innocent either.
Whenever he so much as looked at her with the slightest longing, she transformed into a sex-starved hussy. Caught in a confused tangle between desire and the truth, Harley knotted herself deeper with every moment she spent with him.
She was falling in love with Grant Riordan.
Correction—she’d already hit bottom.
She hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t planned to. The idea had never crossed her mind. How could she fall in love with someone she’d known for only two days? And yet, how could she not? Despite the long list of reasons why he shouldn’t have gotten involved with her, he had—from letting her stay in his home to making love to her. Now he even insisted on parading her in front of his major investors and his boss. What if she screwed up? What if one of those holier-than-thou socialites had once seen her act and recognized her? Without saying a word, she could ruin Grant forever.
Grant didn’t know about her dream—her glimpse into her former life. The unrefined house and closet full of skimpy costumes gave her strong evidence that she’d never truly blend into Grant’s world. While she might survive the wedding without harming his reputation, sooner or later, someone would discover her past and use her to hurt Grant.
Grant knew the risks and surprisingly, chose to take them. Maybe because he resented interference in his private life—maybe because he was tired of pretending to be someone he wasn’t. But he couldn’t just pick up and leave Citrus Hill. His family and responsibilities tied him here. Willingly. She’d seen the exorbitant bills from the renovation of his grandmother’s house in his study and heard his Nanna’s messages as they came over his answering machine.
Yet despite the overwhelming obligations, Grant spoke of his family, particularly Nanna Lil and Gus, with indisputable affection. She couldn’t do anything to cause him to have to leave them. She just couldn’t.
Sitting up, she slipped on her jacket, filled the tiny handbag with her compact and lipstick and headed down the back staircase to the kitchen. Pausing on the lowest step, she heard Grant’s muffled voice in the living room, undoubtedly reading his friends the riot act. She couldn’t decipher the words, but his tone made his seriousness clear. Her cheeks reddened.
She went into the kitchen unnoticed, snatched Moana’s number from the counter and headed back upstairs. She dialed the number and again heard the answering machine that greeted her the night before. This time, she left a message.
“Moana, this is Harley. If you can, please be home this evening. I’m coming over. Around nine o’clock. I really, really need to see you.”
The desperation in her voice surprised her. But her wonderful night with Grant proved one undeniable fact. If she wanted a future with him, however unlikely that might be, she had to stop running from her past. Remembering wasn’t a distant possibility anymore. Her dream this morning proved her amnesia was slowly losing its grip. Confusing but clear, the images confirmed that her brain still kept her memories stored in some hard-to-reach place.
More than likely, she only needed one more gentle shove—one Moana might provide—to restore her murky past. Then, and only then, could she make decisions about her future.
AT THE RECEPTION HALL, the ceiling, archways and a forest of floral topiaries blinked and sparkled with a thousand tiny lights. Silver candelabras flickered from the center of each linen-covered table. Soft strains of a classical harp floated over the rose-scented air and champagne flowed as freely as an afternoon rainshower. The antebellum clubhouse of the Citrus Hill Golf and Country Club radiated warmth and romance, despite the sea of eyes that assessed Harley from head to toe the minute she and Grant appeared in the entranceway.
Grant, who slipped her hand onto his arm before they entered, laid his palm over her knuckles. “Pay attention to the introductions. There will be a quiz at the end of the night.”
His mock seriousness wrought a tentative smile from her tightly drawn lips. “I hope it’s multiple choice. I always do better with multiple choice.”
Grant chuckled, then suddenly stiffened. Harley followed the line of his gaze to a straight-postured, silver-haired man handing a glass of champagne to an equally stunning woman dressed in pale green sequins and wearing a diamond cocktail ring so large, Harley saw the sparkle from across the room.
“Mr. Phipps?” she guessed.
Grant nodded. “Howell and his wife, Amelia. They’re talking with Bailey Ford, the founding partner of Ford, Rienholt and Long. Attorneys. Very well connected. Very conservative. One of our largest investors.”
From a distance, the men appeared more impressive than intimidating. Both men undoubtedly wielded great power over many people, yet when Harley compared them to the man beside her, she had no doubt Grant would someday make the older men’s combined success pale in comparison. She only had to ensure that she—and the power players at the other end of the dining hall—didn’t keep him from getting his shot.
Smiling at a waiter, Harley was immediately offered a tray of champagne flutes. She tugged Grant’s sleeve to snatch his attention away from his boss. “Here’s our fortification.” She handed him a glass, then took one for herself, clinking her rim to his. “I suggest the direct approach.”
“You would.”
“Hasn’t failed me yet. So far, I’ve enjoyed innumerable results from simply going after what I want.” Her mind drifted back to his seduction last night, and from the darkening of his irises, she knew his did as well.
He took a sip of the bubbling, pale liquid. “I can’t argue with results like yours.” Before she drew her glass to her lips, he stopped her hand and led her a few steps to the left, away from the doorway and out of earshot of those standing nearby. He raised his glass an inch or so in a toast. “Here’s to getting what we want.”
Thick with the promise of passion, his whispered wish foreshadowed an evening of loving to match and surpass what they’d shared the night before. Maybe he’d forgotten his promise to take her to Moana’s apartment after the wedding, but Harley hadn’t. She suspected after that visit, she might never find herself the object of Grant’s desires again. “What if what we want isn’t what’s best?”
He touched the base of her glass with one finger, then lifted until she took another sip. “I’m tired of playing ‘what if.’ I’d much rather play ‘why not.’”
Her sip turned into a generous swallow, and in moments, she’d drained the champagne from her glass. Almost immediately, her skin warmed and her eyelids fluttered. Grant laughed and threw back his drink as well.
Taking her glass, he set the empty flutes on a passing waiter’s tray and then hooked her hand in his arm once again. Wordlessly, he led her straight toward Mr. Phipps, whose party now included Grant’s friend Mac and a stunning redhead who nervously nursed a club soda with lime.
“Ah, Grant. You look handsome, my boy. Very dapper.” Howell Phipps grabbed Grant’s hand nearly before he had a chance to offer it. “A great representative for First Investment, don’t you agree, Amelia?”
Mrs. Phipps tore her appraising gaze away from Harley long enough to bestow Grant with a smile. “I’d trust you with my money.”
Grant shook the woman’s hand politely. “You already do, Mrs. Phipps. May I introduce Ms. Harley Monroe? Harley, this is Amelia and Howell Phipps.”
Harley shook both their hands in turn, making sure to intensify her grip when Mrs. Phipps accepted her gesture. Something about the woman’s cold gray stare made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She sought to unnerve Harley, put her on the defensive—and the feeling was eerily familiar.
“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you,” Harley said. “Grant speaks so highly of you both.”
Mr. Phipps grinned and waved over a waiter with another silver platter of champagne. From the gregariousness of his manner and the nearly imperceptible slur to his words, Harley knew he’d already had his share of bubbly. “And we of him. He’s a fine CEO. An instinct for making money like I’ve never seen.”
“And for choosing lovely women.” Amelia took a glass from the platter, but made no move to drink. “Tell me, Ms. Monroe, where did you and Grant meet? You’re not from Citrus Hill.”
Harley swallowed deeply, allowing Grant to beat her to the explanation. “Harley’s family. Distantly related. She’s visiting the area for a few days.”
Mrs. Phipps nodded and grinned, but Harley didn’t buy her easy acceptance one iota. Yet before the older woman could form more probing questions, Grant began introducing her to the others in the party.
“You already know Mac. This is Mac’s better half, Jenna Malone.”
Finally, a truly friendly face. Jenna’s green eyes, a perfect accompaniment to her flaming red hair, were large and round and welcoming. The anxiety Harley noted in her moments before seemed to disperse the minute Harley stepped closer to her and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here. More than you know.”
Jenna glanced at Mrs. Phipps and Mrs. Ford furtively, leaving no question about her discomfort in such upper-crust company. “Your dress is stunning. Mac said the cab company that brought you to Grant’s lost your luggage. I figured that’s why you didn’t come to the rehearsal.”
She didn’t know where Jenna had heard the story, but the reference gave Harley a chance to chat confidently about the recent past, thus avoiding the blanks in her memory and the lies she’d have to tell if Mrs. Phipps questioned her further.
“Grant picked this up for me in Tampa this morning. I wasn’t prepared to attend something so formal.”
Jenna sipped her soda and glanced sidelong at the crowd around them. “Well, I for one am glad you came. I didn’t want to be the only stranger here.”
Her words were a whisper, but Harley could hear her loud and clear. She said “stranger,” but meant “outsider.” Though Jenna dazzled with a beauty well beyond most of the glitterati around them, Harley sensed the woman’s strong distaste for overdone wealth and pretentiousness. Her roots undoubtedly stemmed from a field more like Harley’s—wide open, richly soiled, but a bit overgrown—and not the least like Grant’s neatly rowed, carefully trimmed tillage of wealth and privilege.
Harley slipped her hand on Jenna’s arm. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Jenna’s eyes darted to her husband and Grant, who discussed an upcoming golf date with Phipps and Bailey Ford. Their wives spoke in hushed tones, marveling at the expense and obvious taste in the floral arrangements and bridesmaids’ dresses. While Harley agreed with the women’s generous assessment, she felt neither qualified nor welcomed to comment.
“So,” Jenna remarked, a wry twist to her voice, “how ‘bout those Cleveland Indians?”
Harley laughed, uncertain why the offbeat comment amused her, but certain she liked Jenna Malone. The tension tightening her stomach muscles eased. If she stuck close to Mac’s wife, she’d make it through the evening just fine.
Unfortunately, her confidence was short-lived. When the wedding coordinator bounced over to shoo them to their respective tables, Harley caught a glimpse of a blue-haired matron in a smart, satin-trimmed, silver-gray suit.
Wilhelmina Langley.
“We’re sitting at one of the head tables,” Grant informed Harley as he cupped her elbow and led her through the shifting crowd. Mac and Jenna followed close behind.
“In front of everyone?” She gulped audibly.
“It’ll be fun,” Grant promised. “This crowd isn’t used to seeing me with a date. Everyone will wonder who you are.”
“Not everyone.”
She tilted her head sideways, enough for Grant to catch her hint and follow her gaze as it darted from him to Langley. Within moments, the seasoned columnist had them in her sight. She instantly detached herself from the people she spoke to and headed straight toward them.
“Well, Mr. Riordan, it’s nice to see you’ve ended your self-imposed ban on bringing an escort to one of our events,” she noted, sounding as if she owned the Citrus Hill social scene personally. Which in a way, she did.
“I thought I’d end the speculation.”
Grant’s words were cryptic, but Mrs. Langley seemed to interpret them with ease.
“End it? Dear boy, having such a lovely young lady on your arm will only fuel it. Luckily for you, I already know all about her. I should be able to quell any wild rumors before they cause any trouble.”
“Quell the rumors? That will be a change for you.”
Harley winced, but Mrs. Langley laughed out loud. “I suppose it will. We all need a change. Keeps us young. Harley, you look radiant.”
Harley didn’t quite know how to respond. She sensed shrewdness in Mrs. Langley’s interaction with Grant, as if she owned a powerful secret about him—as if she knew the truth about Harley. Would Mrs. Langley’s column tomorrow morning contain some scandalous hint of impropriety, or had the older woman dug straight through to the sordid facts?
“Thank you, Mrs. Langley. Do you know the Malones?”
Mrs. Langley greeted Jenna with a graciousness that belied her dominant position in the Citrus Hill social hierarchy. She asked Mac a few pointed questions regarding a recent police scandal in his jurisdiction, then returned her attention to Harley and Grant.
“I hope the two of you have a lovely evening.”
Innocuous though the comment seemed, Harley couldn’t help hearing the unsaid portion. I hope the two of you have a lovely evening. Tomorrow might not be so enjoyable.
Grant tugged on Harley’s arm, reeling her even closer. “I can’t see how I couldn’t, considering the company I’m keeping.”
Mrs. Langley’s eyebrows rose just a fraction, then her smile deepened. But before Harley could determine the meaning of her abstract grin, Grant escorted her away.
Harley glanced over her shoulder as they wove through linen-covered tables bedecked with sparkling crystal and fine china. “Do you think that was wise, baiting her like that?”
Grant shrugged and slid out Harley’s chair. “What have we got to lose? She may just think we’re kissing cousins.”
“You say that as if it’s a good thing.”
He eased into the seat beside her. “Depends on the cousin.”
Mac and Jenna sat beside them on Harley’s side, joined not too long after by Gus, his live-in, Lisa, and Grant’s other friend, Mike and his date. Minutes later, the band leader announced the arrival of the bride and groom. They made their way through the crowd, danced their first dance to a Whitney Houston tune, then followed the wedding coordinator to a private table set upon a dais at the front of the hall.
“Mandy looks downright smitten,” Harley commented. “Steve’s one lucky man.”
“I know how he feels,” Grant said.
Harley leaned in closer, hoping her voice wouldn’t carry. “You’re awfully optimistic tonight. Yesterday, you were convinced Mrs. Langley knew everything and meant to expose you in tomorrow’s edition.”
With a confident snap, Grant flattened his swan-shaped napkin and laid it across his lap. Yesterday, the world had looked considerably bleaker. Darker. Colder. Like the life he’d grown so accustomed to. Since his night with Harley, the situation didn’t seem so dire. Even if Langley did destroy his career, he’d survive. So would Nanna Lil. He was too busy enjoying his newfound freedom to concern himself with social politics.
And with Harley, creativity became second nature.
“Maybe she will. But let’s not worry about that tonight.” A waiter brought them cool glasses of white wine and served the salad of assorted bitter greens. “Eat your gourmet rabbit food and enjoy the atmosphere. I intend to burn a lot of calories later.”
Harley speared an artichoke heart with her fork. “You dance?”
Grant dusted fresh pepper over the salad dressing. “Dance? I guess that burns calories too, doesn’t it?”
His counterfeit attempt at innocence nearly caused Harley to choke on her endive. She swallowed a generous mouthful of wine, then smiled at Jenna, who eyed Harley and Grant suspiciously, then threw a surprised look at her husband. Mac nodded sagely. Harley’s skin flushed.
The dinner conversation livened as the courses passed, with occasional breaks as guests tapped the crystal stemware, demanding the bride and groom kiss. Following the show of affection, the hall rang with surprisingly rowdy applause. The twelve-piece band slowly picked up the tempo of their music, and couple after couple left their chateaubriand to take a whirl on the parquet dance floor.
Slowly, the mood shifted from snobbish pretense to genuine glee. Though Harley suspected the change stemmed from the open bar and free-flowing wine, she appreciated the transformation. In such an atmosphere, she didn’t care who saw Grant lay his hand protectively on her arm during dessert or lift his napkin to wipe away a dollop of whipped cream clinging to her lips just before cordials arrived at the table.
Harley eyed her snifter longingly, but felt sure she couldn’t force another morsel of food or drink into her mouth.
“Don’t you like brandy?” Grant raised his glass to her in a tiny toast.
“I don’t have room to find out. I think I overindulged.” She pushed the remnants of her raspberry chocolate torte further away.
Grant’s smirk revealed the artful naughtiness he’d practiced on her all night long. “There are good things to be said for overindulgence.”
Harley slipped her napkin off her lap. “Not if I don’t want this dress to rip at the seams.”
“There are good things to be said for that, too.”
She rolled her eyes for effect, but secretly, her insides curled and constricted. Grant’s flirtation since his return from the tuxedo shop this morning had been nearly nonstop. She wanted nothing more than to go home and make love with him after the wedding, which as Mandy promised, invoked romance and spirited expectation in every candelabra, every musical selection, every wisp of soft bridal satin.
Instead, she asked Jenna for the time.
“Nearly seven. It’s early yet. Ask Grant to dance. I bet I can coerce Mac onto the floor if Grant goes first.”
The band’s blithe rhythms had enticed Harley all night. She’d worked to keep her shoulders still and her hips firmly planted in her chair, especially after the band abandoned the subtle dinner music in favor of more lively tunes. When the percussionist began beating a Latin tempo, Harley could resist no longer.
“Can you tango?”
Grant’s brown eyes bulged. “Not since my last cotillion. I was all of fourteen and not very coordinated.”
She grabbed his hand. “Trust me, your coordination has improved. Let’s dance.”
Half expecting Grant to pull her back into her chair, Harley stood and turned to the dance floor. Surprisingly, Grant followed close behind. Couples ranging in age from midtwenties to late seventies filled in the spaces around them, forcing Grant and Harley to stand close.
Lights muted by red-and-purple gels cast a risqué glow, enhancing the music’s hypnotic rhythm. Some dancers continued to waltz stiffly. Others paced the length of the floor crouched low with clenched hands extended, practically begging for someone to toss them a rose to clamp between their teeth.
Harley, on the other hand, felt compelled to rise on the balls of her feet and swing her arm carelessly over Grant’s shoulder. She hooked one ankle around his calf. Their noses touched. His breath flushed her lips with heat. When he smoothed his hand down her side, his palm hot against the cool silk, she arched her back. Grant braced her with a hand firmly between her shoulder blades, dipping her backward then easing her up until they again stood face to face.
She knew this dance. Without thought, her feet moved. Without planning, her body swayed and spun. Grant held her close, his eyes cast down as he followed her lead. The rhythm they’d found in lovemaking matched the cadence of the dance. In moments, they rediscovered the scorching tempo.
Harley pulled her breath from deep within, burning a path to her lungs. Lightheadedness battled with her balance. Only mildly aware of the sea of eyes assessing them, the dance elicited a freedom of movement that unburdened her steps. Grant’s steadying hand and locked gaze kept her anchored. If he released her, she felt sure she’d float away.
When she lunged away from him, he yanked her back, slamming her against his rock-hard chest. His heart pounded like a steel drum. They stilled, then swayed, then spun madly until an intrinsic burst of joy bubbled from within her into a devilish laugh.
The music ended and the crowd’s applause slowly brought her back from the dream the tango wove. Grant, still clutching her close, neither smiled nor frowned. His expression reflected utter fascination.
“You’re amazing.”
She lowered her lashes, attempting to hide the scarlet flush tinting her face. “I don’t know where that came from. I don’t remember ever…”
And yet she did. While the band struck up a cover of a popular disco tune, Harley remembered dancing the tango in a room full of people, remembered being the center of attention, remembered despising the man who led her in the dance—a man whose face remained vague and insubstantial.
The memory bore little resemblance to her tango with Grant. In her past, she sensed dancing had been a chore—a job with counted-out steps and carefully timed pivots and dips. With Grant, music and emotions guided her, filling her with a pulse equal to her most sensuous desires.
Grant took her hand and led her from the dance floor. “You’re an amazing dancer. I just can’t believe…”
He stopped midsentence, causing Harley to set her memory aside. “Can’t believe what?” Her chest constricted with mild indignation. “That my dancing doesn’t always entail the removal of my clothes?”
He pulled her closer and whispered into her ear. “Honey, if you dance that way when we’re alone, I can guarantee there won’t be a stitch left on you.”
She pushed away lightly, slightly chagrined. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“Embarrassed me?” Grant’s bright-eyed gaze testified to his disbelief. Just as quickly, his irises darkened to their richest shade of brown. He wrapped his hands around her waist, allowing his fingers to dip just low enough to remain innocent, while reminding her of how he adored her bottom. “There wasn’t a woman in this room who didn’t want to be you just then. Or a man who didn’t want to be your partner.”
Grabbing his hands and placing them firmly on her waist alone, she squirmed away a few inches, clipped a lock of hair behind her ear and darted her gaze over her shoulder. “Someone might see. It’s bad enough I did the Dance of the Seven Veils out there.”
Grant licked his lips and wished Harley hadn’t chosen that particular metaphor. The image of her dancing and shedding translucent scarves until she stood naked and glorious before him came all too easily. He knew for a fact he didn’t have anything remotely resembling a veil at the house, and couldn’t think of a single place to buy any on their way home.
Except they wouldn’t be going straight home. She’d told him on the way to the wedding about her plan to go to Moana’s apartment at nine o’clock. He checked his watch. Ten after seven.
The night was still young.
He crooked his finger beneath her chin and fought the urge to kiss her silly. “If that tango was any indication, I’m taking a rain check on a real veil dance, sweetheart. But now, I think I’d better see how the wedding is progressing. We can’t leave until they throw the bouquet and we’ll need at least a half hour to make it to Tampa. Why don’t I go see if I can hurry things along?”
Harley nodded and he led her back to the table without another word. Jenna, who sat alone nursing her coffee, immediately brightened when Harley approached. He left them chatting about Harley’s dance talent and went in search of the groom.
He found Mac instead.
“Where’ve you been?”
Mac shoved his cell phone back in his pocket. “Checking with the precinct. I don’t have to ask you that question. A few minutes ago, a gang of juvies could have lifted every purse and wallet in the place and no one would’ve noticed. Is there something between you and our mystery woman that you aren’t telling me?”
Grant combed his fingers through his hair. “Yes.”
Mac waited expectantly, then chuckled when Grant’s lips remained closed. “I get the hint. In case you’re interested, she’s still not listed as missing. And that address you got for the other stripper—very ritzy. I know exotic dancers make good money, but to afford Davis Island, I think they’d have to have some…more lucrative…business on the side.”
Grant ground his teeth at Mac’s implication. “I don’t think Harley…”
Mac held his hands up in instant surrender. “I didn’t say a thing about Harley. She seems, I don’t know, classy. Besides, a girl doesn’t learn to move like that on street corners or strip joints.”
Admittedly, neither man knew much about dancing, but Grant had attended enough cotillions, balls and benefits to know a trained dancer when he saw one. Or better yet, danced with one. And while parents of all financial backgrounds enrolled their daughters in ballet, not too many other than the wealthy or socially ambitious opted for ballroom instruction.
Another clue to add to the mystery that was Harley.
Yet for now, her safety was his prime concern. “You think Moana is into something illegal to afford her high-class address?”
Mac shrugged. “Either her or her boyfriend. Or both. What was his name? Maybe I know him.”
Grant searched his memory for the name, knowing Joy had mentioned it at the strip club. “I didn’t listen closely to that part. Chuck or something. She said he was a real sleaze. Had some goons after him.”
Searching through the crowd, Mac waved at Jenna and Harley. “Look, let me take Jenna home and then I’ll go with you to Moana’s place. Maybe Harley will stay with her and we can…”
Grant shook his head. Keenly aware of how little attention Mac paid to his lovely new wife, he wouldn’t be the cause of more strife between them. Besides, he’d gotten to know Harley incredibly well in the last two days. He couldn’t imagine her willingly staying behind. “Harley’s got quite an independent streak. You stay here and dance with your wife. I’ll take care of Harley.”
Mac nodded, somewhat repentantly, slapped Grant on the shoulder and headed back to the table.
Grant scanned the crowd for Steve and Mandy, then checked his watch again and wondered if he’d made the right choice to decline Mac’s offer. An odd rumble trembled in his gut—a cross between an ulcer and a warning of danger. He couldn’t fathom exposing Harley to a perilous situation, even if the outcome might cure her amnesia.
He wondered, though, if he’d have any choice—if he’d ever had any choice—or if he ever would again. Harley managed him with the same skill he used on his client’s investments. And, sometimes, he was sure she wasn’t even trying. Still, he surrendered to her voluntarily, with eager anticipation and total trust, completely contrary to how he’d behaved in his recent past as a world-class control freak.
And yet, even she couldn’t derail his vow to protect her from anyone or anything aiming to hinder her invigorating spirit—Moana’s seedy troubles, Mrs. Langley’s poison pen, her uncertain past, or Howell Phipps.
Grant groaned when he spotted his boss making a determined beeline toward him. Straightening his jacket, he steeled himself for the chastising he was undoubtedly about to receive. Grim lines marred the older man’s already wrinkled face. A frown made his jowls seem as large as a hound dog’s.
“I hope you’re pleased with that little performance.”
Not a bad opening. Relatively benign in comparison to Phipps’ usual rants.
Grant cracked an irreverent grin. “I am. I always thought I had two left feet.”
Phipps grabbed Grant’s arm and led him from earshot of other guests. “Now isn’t the time for becoming a smartass, Riordan. Your display on the dance floor bordered on shameful. You may enjoy the wagging tongues, but I find it tiresome. And don’t for one minute think I believe Miss Monroe is related to you. I don’t know who she is, but if she’s anything short of saintly, I’ll…”
Grant tugged his arm away and shoved his hands in his pockets. The temptation to punch Phipps squarely in his arrogant face nearly overrode his self-control. “You’ll what? You’ll fire me? Since I’ve taken over First Investment, your profits have soared. Investors by the dozens have joined the firm. You can’t afford to lose me.”
Phipps’s eyes narrowed as a red flush spread from neck to cheeks to forehead. “No, I can’t. But you can’t afford to lose your position, either. I know your situation. If I have a mind to, I can ensure that no investor in the entire southeast will give you one red cent to work with. I value your contribution to the firm, Riordan, but I’ll not have another spectacle on my hands. I won’t let another horny CEO bring my firm down.”
Though the threat was real, Grant wouldn’t allow himself to be bullied. “I’m the best thing that’s happened to this company in a long time.” He pressed a pointed finger into Phipps’s chest. “If you plan to force me out, you’d better have something on me a lot stronger than a sensual dance with a beautiful woman. A woman, by the way, whom I respect immensely.”
Phipps backed up a step and straightened the front of his shirt. “If she’s not worthy of that respect in the least little way, I’ll have all I need. Maybe you don’t give a damn about yourself, but what about her? Do you think she’d enjoy being the object of very public scrutiny? Think about that.”
Howell Phipps turned brusquely away and headed back into the reception. If not for the crowd, Grant would have put a fist through the richly papered wall. Phipps didn’t make threats he didn’t intend to follow through on, and Grant knew that first thing Monday morning, a private investigator would begin sorting through Harley’s past. Notwithstanding the danger to his own career, the embarrassment to Harley could be devastating. She didn’t deserve public ridicule or scorn like the greedy madam or indiscreet secretary involved in the previous First Investment scandals.
He had no credentials to make a professional call, but Grant acknowledged Harley’s fragile psyche. Her inner confidence waned whenever she confronted the fact that she was a stripper. How would a front-page splash announcing her profession play in a mind already so damaged by some terrible event that she couldn’t remember her true identity?
Grant raked his hands through his hair, tugging at his scalp as he imagined the potential devastation. No matter the cost to his personal life, he couldn’t let Howell Phipps or anyone else hurt Harley. He stepped back into the hall, for a minute unable to find Harley at the table. Soon, the crowd parted enough for him to catch a glimpse of her ebony hair, bent near Jenna’s upswept coif of burnished red. Chatting with his friends, she remained blissfully unaware of how he—the man she’d invested her entire trust in—could soon become the cause of her ultimate destruction.
“I’M GOING WITH YOU.” Harley plucked the car door lock open manually, despite Grant’s refusal to automatically unlock the door until she agreed to stay in the car.
“We don’t know what to expect. You should wait until I check things out.”
Harley’s gaze impaled him with sharp anger. “This is my life. My memory. You’ve been a real prince up to now, Grant. Don’t start playing tyrant.”
He grabbed her hand before she slipped completely off the leather seat into the well-lit parking lot. Her fingers seemed small and delicate in his large palm, her eyes innocent, despite the intestinal fortitude she’d shown from the moment they met.
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
Her lips twisted into something he couldn’t quite identify—not a smile, definitely, but not a grimace either. Something in between.
“Me neither. But we’re so close. I won’t turn back—or skulk in the shadows.” She took one last glance at the address Joy had written. “Three-D. Come on. For all we know, Moana didn’t get my message and isn’t even back in town.”
Grant released her, slid out of the Mercedes and engaged the alarm. Not that he suspected he’d need the extra security in this condominium complex. Despite Mac’s warnings of possible criminal activity, tall, well-spaced palm trees and trimmed azalea bushes gave the high-rise the air of a vacation resort rather than a residence. Bright pink lamps, reminiscent of antique fixtures, lit the spacious parking lot. Smaller lights plugged into the thick green lawn bathed the sidewalks in sharp amber. The condominium’s entrance, with double sliding glass doors and a manned security window, further convinced Grant that he’d let his imagination run rampant.
He pulled Harley aside as a large group of people, a diverse crowd judging from the ages and manners of dress, came up from behind. He and Harley turned down no less than three invitations to the party on the eighth floor.
“Why don’t you talk to the guard?” Grant suggested. “He might recognize you.”
Harley eyed him doubtfully.
“You never know.”
She shrugged, put on her best smile, and knocked lightly on the window with her knuckle.
“Ms. Roberts! Haven’t seen you around for a couple of days. I thought maybe you and your cousin’d gone back to Miami.”
Harley glanced nervously at Grant, but kept her smile fixed. “I just went to Citrus Hill for a few days. Is Moa…my cousin…home? I called and told her I was coming in tonight.”
The guard’s rounded face twisted in thought. “I haven’t seen her since Thursday. She left a key for you.” He dug around beneath the counter, grinning ear-to-ear when he produced the silver key dangling from a heart-shaped ring. He slid it through a slot between the glass and the countertop.
Harley looked at the key briefly, then clutched it in her palm. “But she’s not back?”
The disappointment in her voice was impossible to hide.
“She could’ve come here earlier. I just started my shift and I’ve had crowds coming in nonstop for the party in 8-A. Let me call up.”
When he turned around to dial his house phone, Harley mouthed the word “cousin” to Grant with a hopeful smile. He patted her softly on the shoulder. So she was the family Joy said Moana regretted leaving behind in Miami. He understood the sentiment perfectly.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll buzz her in.” The guard pressed a button somewhere below the window. “Go on up. She sounds sleepy.” He hung up the phone and winced. “I think I woke her up.”
“I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”
Harley slipped the key into her purse and moved to the door quickly. Grant watched her hand shake as she set it on the latch and pulled forward. Once out of earshot of the guard, she whispered gleefully to Grant, “I’m from Miami. My last name is Roberts.”
Grant fought the urge to take her hand in his and keep her from pressing the elevator button. Suddenly, the notion of discovering her past didn’t seem so cut and dried.
“I heard.”
Her gaze assessed him sharply, and he was careful to sustain his supportive grin until the elevator dinged and distracted her attention.
“Harley Roberts. Harley Roberts.” She pressed the button for the third floor and closed her eyes, repeating the name with conviction, then trying to hide her disappointment when the name remained hollow and empty. “Maybe seeing Moana will help.”
“Maybe.”
Grant leaned back against the polished brass elevator wall and dug his hands deep into his tuxedo pockets. Words swam in a jumble of mixed thoughts and wishes. He wanted to tell her that her past didn’t matter to him—even if she did make a living taking her clothes off for other men. He wanted to assure her that neither her job nor her life-style could interfere with his professional needs and personal goals. He wanted to promise he’d never let his close-minded boss put her up to public scorn.
Yet the words wouldn’t come. He contemplated his shoes instead of sharing in Harley’s expectant impatience. So close now to filling in the blanks left by her accident, he wasn’t sure which, if any, of those assertions were true.
The elevator slowed, then stilled. The doors swished open and Harley bit her lip. “Well, this is it. Harley Roberts,” she spoke into the empty hallway, “this is your life.”
She stepped off the elevator confidently. Grant hesitated. He didn’t want to know who Harley’d been before she tumbled into his life. He knew that now. She barreled forward as if world peace hinged on her discoveries. He lingered behind.
The elevator doors started sliding back together. Grant shot forward, trying to block the mechanism from closing, but a meaty fist, attached to an equally beefy face and body, caught his hand like an underhanded pitch and threw him backward.
“You’re going down, asshole.”
Harley screamed, spurring Grant to regain his balance. He braced both hands between the closing doors and pressed outward. His reward was a kick to the abdomen that sent him flying into the back wall.
His attacker, his hair a matted blond and his eyes redrimmed and glossy, stepped onto the elevator and grinned. “Now, we’re gonna have some fun.”
ONE CALLUSED HAND clamped over her mouth, stopping her midscream, while a second bit into her bare wrists, clenching her arms together like handcuffs in one thick paw. Her eyes watered in pain and fear. Who was this man? What did he want with her? Had he or his ally hurt Grant? She struggled against the bruising agony, trying to recapture her balance, fighting to yell for help. Without loosening his hold, he shoved her forward.
“Quit fighting and keep quiet. Just gotta ask you a question. Nothing to be afraid of.”
His tone contained a hint of laughter. Her skin rippled with gooseflesh. His breath, humid against her neck, reeked of raw tobacco—the type men chomped on for hours, then spit out wherever and whenever it suited them. Her stomach roiled and she fought the urge to gag. Then again, maybe if she vomited, he’d let her go and she could escape.
But to where? Nothing down this hall but four doors generously spread apart and marked for condominiums A through D.
The door to Moana’s condo, the last in the hall, stood ajar. He pushed her inside, pausing until his companion entered, closed and bolted the door behind him. He released her arms, but kept his hand firmly over her mouth.
“Sit. One peep and I’ll get mad. You won’t like me if I’m mad. Understand?”
Harley hesitated, trying to remember what the self-defense experts said about screaming. Should she obey his order or defy him? She remembered she wasn’t supposed to get in a car with a kidnapper. Never get in the car. Right. But if she screamed? Even if someone heard her, what would they do? Ignore her? Call security? Call the police? The door was dead-bolted. Endless, painful minutes could pass before anyone could come to her aid.
She nodded compliantly.
“Good girl.” He released her by propelling her onto a sage-green leather couch. “Stay put till I’m ready for you.”
She braced her fall with her hands, but still landed face down and skirt up. Though she twisted quickly to cover herself, she heard the spine-curdling sound of the other man’s lecherous whistle.
Grant, where are you?
GRANT SLAMMED HIS FIST into his attacker’s face with the full force of a power driver. The first four punches were for Harley. The fifth and sixth repaid the scum for Grant’s aching gut. By the time the street tough lay unconscious on the elevator floor, Grant had made the man pay for every single instance when he had held back or remained calm, professional and detached. The thug had picked the wrong night to mess with Grant Riordan. Pain shot through his arm. His fist was bloodied and sore. His lungs burned with each ragged breath.
He’d never felt better in his life.
When the elevator finally stopped, he squeezed between the spreading doors into the lobby, dragging the unconscious criminal by the collar. He tossed him against the glass partition and banged twice to alert the security guard.
“Call the police. There’s trouble on the third floor.”
The friendly guard’s face turned ashen white. He hesitated, then fumbled for his standard issue revolver. “Who’s that?”
Grant was already halfway across the lobby. He didn’t need this well-meaning, but reluctant cop-wannabe putting Harley’s life in danger. He’d done that well enough on his own.
“He jumped me. Keep him there until the cops come.”
“I should go!” The portly guard struggled, but finally managed to open the door from his station.
“No. Guard the perp. I’m a cop.”
The lie rolled off his tongue with the same speed as his feet up the stairs. After passing the second floor landing, he slowed to quiet his steps. All he had on his side was the element of surprise.
The hall outside the stairs echoed with eerie silence. His back to the wall, he inched down the corridor. He had no doubt they’d taken Harley into Moana’s condo. More than likely, Harley’s kidnappers were the same thugs Joy told them were looking for Moana and her creep of a boyfriend. They must have gotten into the building with the crowds attending the party upstairs, broken into the apartment, heard Harley’s message announcing the time of her arrival and been lying in wait.
When and if he ever found Moana’s boyfriend, he was going to kill him. But first, he could only concern himself with formulating a plan. He’d have a better chance of snatching Harley away if he could draw the kidnappers out of the condo. Best scenario would be leading them downstairs to the police—or at least, the armed guard.
Since First Financial also housed a full service bank, all employees had been trained how to react in a robbery situation. Give them what they want had been the mantra of security experts and police alike. No amount of cash could be worth the price of someone’s life.
But these people hadn’t taken something as unimportant or as easily replaceable as cash. They’d taken the woman who’d made him feel alive for the first time in his life—the woman he was falling in love with. And when he leaned his ear to the door of apartment 3-D and heard nothing but muffled voices—none of which sounded like Harley—another thought occurred to him. These goons didn’t want Harley either. They wanted Moana’s boyfriend.
So he’d just have to give them what they wanted.
KEEPING HER EYES downcast, Harley listened as her captor rifled through the drawers and closets of the adjacent room, speaking in quiet tones to someone she couldn’t see. The whistler stayed near the door. Furtively, Harley glanced around, testing her recognition of Moana’s apartment while remaining careful not to look up. Maybe if they thought she couldn’t identify them, they’d find no reason to hurt her.
The furnishings and floor plan were as foreign as the man who dragged her inside. She steadied her breathing, focusing solely on connecting some object to her own past. If these men wanted to ask her questions, the queries wouldn’t deal with the last two days in Citrus Hill. They’d want to know about Moana, about her boyfriend, about the part of Harley’s life she couldn’t recall—the part Grant’s boss threatened to expose if he didn’t watch his step.
At the wedding, she hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop. Telling herself she’d only search for the bathroom, she’d followed Grant the minute she saw Howell Phipps grab his arm and lead him from the reception. Just as she’d feared, her presence and disreputable behavior had caused Grant undeserved trouble with his boss.
And now, she could have cost him his health, maybe even his life.
You’re going down. She’d barely heard the threat under her own captured scream, but she’d known the instant the elevator doors whooshed shut that she couldn’t help Grant any more than he could help her. For all she knew, a third man, maybe a fourth, jumped into the elevator before it descended, specifically to ensure Grant didn’t interfere with her interrogation.
And what about Moana? Was she here? Was she hurt?
A pair of high-heeled, ankle-length boots stepped in front of her. Moana?
“Give it up, Tower. Ain’t nothing in there. Check the back closet again.”
The woman’s lazy drawl and guttural delivery rang no bell of recognition.
“You can look at me, angel-face. We want you to tell that double-crossin’ creep Buck exactly who’s looking for ‘im.”
Harley’s gaze panned up, taking in the woman’s stick-thin legs ensconced in black mesh stockings, cut-off black denim hip-hugging shorts and frazzled halter top. Her makeup, boldly applied, favored black in everything from lipstick to eyeliner—straight to the roots of her frosted blond hair. She appeared better suited for Halloween or a biker bar than breaking and entering. Especially if she didn’t want to be noticed.
This definitely wasn’t Moana, though she’d obviously impersonated her when the guard had called. Joy’s comment at the strip club about “biker-chick” regalia not being Moana’s style lingered in Harley’s brain.
“I don’t know Buck,” Harley said, thrusting her chin up in a manner she hoped would denote courage, but not defiance. She braced both feet firmly on the carpeted floor, preparing to bolt at her first opportunity.
The woman smoothed her hands over her nearly nonexistent hips and lifted her booted foot onto the lacquered coffee table. “I’m surprised. He’s just the type to salivate over a sweet little thing like you.” She leaned her elbow on her knee, and slipped a short-handled knife out of her boot.
Harley ignored the unsheathed blade. “He sounds like a real winner.”
The woman’s laugh was raspy, but genuine. Her ample breasts jiggled, revealing the absence of a bra. “Buck couldn’t win a one-man boxing match. Not after what he’s pulled.”
Harley kept her stare steady, letting the woman know she couldn’t care less about what happened to the cretin they searched for. She felt nothing for this Buck person, except a lingering dislike that could have stemmed either from her past or from the fact that he was the reason these hoodlums had attacked Grant and detained her. “Look, I don’t know Buck and I don’t know where he is. I can’t help you, so why don’t you just let me leave and we’ll forget all about this?”
Judiciously, she made no move to depart.
“I wish it was so easy, angel-face. See, my old man wants to ‘talk’ to Buck. Real bad. Seems some money’s missing from his last shipment. And I ain’t talkin’ pennies. Me and my pals been hanging out in Tampa a week trying to find the snake. I’m sick of this town, but I can’t go back empty-handed.”
Harley heard the subtle threat, but bit the inside of her bottom lip to stop herself from reacting in any way that might appear threatening or antagonistic. The woman still kept the blade folded into the ivory handle. Harley didn’t want that to change.
“I’m not worth your time,” Harley noted.
“Ah, but you know Buck’s girlfriend, Moana.” The woman grabbed an acrylic-framed picture from the coffee table and turned it so Harley could see the snapshot. Three smiling faces, two teenage girls and a toddler, flashed goofy grins at the camera. “You’re the brunette. And yours is the voice on her answering machine.”
Harley yearned to examine the photo more closely, but preferred to remain at arm’s distance. Still, she could see herself clearly in the dark-haired girl’s fresh face. The teen she assumed was Moana, red-haired and a little older, displayed a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. With a mouth rimmed by the ice cream he held between two pudgy hands, the child fairly bubbled with carefree mirth.
And in the background, Harley clearly saw the outline of a pink stucco house. The same one from her dream.
“I’ve been looking for Moana for three days. I left the message hoping she’d retrieve it from wherever she was and meet me tonight.”
“Three days is a long time. Why’d you only leave a message this morning?”
“I got desperate. I need to talk to her, but for entirely different reasons than yours.”
Her captor’s eye’s narrowed. “What kind of reasons?”
Harley’s attention returned to the photograph. “Family matters. Nothing you’d care about.”
The woman nodded slowly and slapped the blade’s handle in her palm, as if mulling over Harley’s explanation. When one of her companions, the medium-built grease-head with the wolfish whistle, slid back to lean his ear against the front door, the woman’s sharp gaze darted away.
“Tower, come out here,” she called, her voice a hissing whisper.
The giant who’d snared Harley in the hallway emerged from the other room. A jagged scar, still puffed and red as if newly attained, ran the length of his face from forehead to chin, splitting his face into two halves, one as frightening as the other. “Yeah, Riva?”
Riva crooked her head toward the door. The tall, bulky man slid his hand into his jacket. Harley froze. When his hand emerged, he’d slid a four-fingered metal ring over his knuckles. No gun. Harley blew out a breath, then scooted forward, prepared to either run or hide as necessary.
“Hang tight, angel-face,” Riva commented, unfolding her knife. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Harley held her hands up in surrender. “No problem.”
From the other side of the door, Harley heard a man’s voice. “Dammit. Where the hell are my keys?”
Wolf-whistle pulled out his own knife and motioned for the thug called Tower to give him space. He complied after Riva nodded her agreement.
“Moana, get your ass in gear! I can’t find my damn keys.”
Riva’s ebony lips stretched into a satisfied smile. She undoubtedly expected the voice on the other side of the door to belong to the elusive Buck.
Harley knew differently. She’d know Grant’s voice anywhere. Despite his attempt to sound like a street tough, the distinct rhythm of refinement clung to the edge of his tone.
Her heart soared for an instant, then halted midflight. What did he think he was doing? These criminals wanted Buck for nefarious reasons. Grant had levied himself in the middle of an ugly situation, at best. As intimidating as he was in the world of high finance, Riva and her boys didn’t look like they’d give a flip about that kind of power. Harley’s mind flashed pictures of Tower’s brass-enhanced fists turning Grant’s gorgeous face into bloody pulp. She imagined the shorter guy whistling an upbeat tune while he carved into Grant’s muscled chest.
All because of her and her questionable past.
“What do you mean you left your purse in the car?”
Grant let loose a string of curses that would make any back-alley resident prouder than punch. When Harley heard his voice recede down the hall, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or distressed.
He was leaving.
She swallowed deeply, then watched Wolf-whistle grasp the doorknob.
“Damn.” Riva seemed to forget Harley in her rush to the door. “Don’t let that bastard slip away. Go after him.”
Grant was drawing them away.
“Bring him back here?”
Riva glanced around at the rifled condo, ignoring Harley altogether. “What the hell for? Let’s jump the jerk and blow this joint.”
Without another word, all three left, leaving the door open behind them. Harley sat perfectly still, fearing her movement would cause them to return and take her hostage again. She heard them swear when they reached the corridor near the elevator.
Grant had escaped.
The door to the stairwell banged open just as the second elevator dinged its arrival.
Moments later, silence began to calm Harley’s pounding heart. Grant had bought her an opportunity to flee. After a quick look around the apartment, she grabbed the picture from the coffee table and barreled to the door.
Straight into Grant’s waiting arms.
He covered her mouth with his hand, quelling her startled scream.
“Hush, honey, it’s me.”
Despite his tight embrace and soothing tone, her entire frame shook. Tears of relief pooled at the edge of her lashes. He removed his palm from her lips, smoothing his warm touch beneath her chin.
“How did you…?” Each word left her mouth in a stilted squeak. “Your hand…”
“Shh. I’m fine. I rang for the elevator and hid in the stairwell until they went down. They’re going to find the police downstairs, not Buck. Are you all right? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
Harley heard the tortured anxiety in his voice and knew she couldn’t tell him about her sore wrists or aching jaw. Or the brandished knives. She didn’t need him rushing to confront her captors, unleashing that wild part of him. She needed the untamed Grant here and now. Holding her. Driving her fears away.
“I’m fine. But the police? That’ll get your name in the paper. Your boss…”
“We don’t have to talk to the police. They’ll detain Moana’s friends long enough for us to slip out. Now, let’s get going. They could come back if they sense trouble. We’ll take the stairs to that party on the eighth floor and wait until the coast is clear.”
Grant wrapped his arm around her, checked the hall, then led her up the stairwell. She slipped her shoes off to move more freely and quietly. Grant took her spiky heels in one hand, grasping the thin straps between his strong fingers. The gesture, so obviously meaningless, made her want to cry.
Disco music and shouted conversations blared from apartment 8-A, and they blended in without drawing a single suspicious glance. Grant brought Harley a drink, but she waved it away, preferring to sit in a dimly lit corner and examine the photograph from Moana’s apartment. She traced the round face of the toddler with a gentle finger. She knew those eyes. Big and blue and full of laughter. Suddenly, she caught the image of that same azure stare, only older, and not so brimming with happiness.
Instead, they were dark with worry. Disappointment.
Don’t worry, Sammy. It won’t be long. I’ll be back for you before the end of the school year. I promise.
She remembered the pledge, but not the time or place or circumstances of her saying the words. She knew the child, now a teenager if her dream proved accurate, but she couldn’t pinpoint their relationship. Was he a cousin like Moana? A brother? A friend?
Whoever he was, she’d spent her entire life caring for and protecting him. Somewhere, this boy waited for her—counted on her—to make good on her vow.
And she had no idea how to do that.
Her mind reeled. Hugging the picture tightly to her chest, she cursed her malfunctioning brain. Gus had told Grant that her amnesia probably stemmed from some trauma or group of traumas her conscious mind simply couldn’t deal with. Was she still so weak that she couldn’t face her troubles head on? She shook more violently in impotent frustration.
“Hey, we’re safe.” Grant spoke directly into her ear, rubbing her arms and back with gentle reassurance, completely unaware that her quaking stemmed from deeper fears. “No one’s going to hurt you again. I promise.”
His eyes, dark and determined, bored straight into her heart, touching her in a place that yearned to be touched, soothing her the way she needed to be soothed. He’d proven time and again that he’d endanger his career for her. And tonight, he’d risked both his professional position and his life.
She’d find a way to thank him before she left. To find Sammy. To find herself.
“I believe you, Grant. I always have.”
After twenty minutes, they slipped out with a crowd heading to another celebration in a nearby building. With blue-and-red lights strobing the front entrance, Grant led Harley out the back and then around to his car. As they drove off, Harley saw her kidnappers leaning against a patrol car, being questioned by uniformed officers.
Grant left the radio off for the first part of their drive back to Citrus Hill. The silence soothed her frazzled nerves and allowed her to focus on devising a means to cure her amnesia. Tomorrow, she’d ask Gus about seeing a doctor who specialized in memory dysfunction. On the brink of regaining her past, Harley couldn’t imagine continuing like this—remembering snippets and pieces of her life, but never the whole story, never the entire truth. She had no means to pay for the therapy, but she’d go back to stripping if she had to. No matter the price, she had to find the young boy who waited for her to come home.
Tonight, she’d say her goodbyes. Since the moment she’d first opened her eyes in Grant’s living room, she knew she didn’t belong there. She’d stayed out of desperation. Then out of desire. Now, no matter how much she loved Grant for jeopardizing his life and career for her, she had to clear out. Never mind Howell Phipps’s not-so-subtle threats. So long as she remained protected in Grant’s house and his embrace, her brain might never confront whatever tragedy kept her trapped in the amnesia.
Leaning forward, she clicked on the radio and tuned to a classical station that played jazz after hours. Grant reached out and captured her hand before she released the knob on the volume.
“You’re still shaking.” He threaded his fingers with hers, balancing their hands on the gearshift as they sped down the darkened interstate highway.
She fought to pull away, but she didn’t want to let go. That was her problem. “I’ll be fine.”
He squeezed a little tighter. “You handled yourself damn well.” Raising her knuckles to his mouth, he placed a soft kiss there, then clutched her hand to his heart.
The gesture nearly tore a sob from deep within her. The prospect of leaving him, of never seeing him again, shattered her from the inside out. One moment more, one caress more and she’d surely go insane. Carefully, she extracted her fingers from his.
“I just did what I had to.”
Just as she had when she’d insinuated herself into Grant’s life. And when she’d surrendered to him in his home gym. And when she fell in love with him. She’d had little choice in any of those actions, as much as she tried to believe otherwise.
Staying with Grant that first night kept her off the streets. Making love with him fed a ravenous hunger that threatened to consume her. Falling in love with him happened before she’d even realized.
But now, she had choices. She could ask Grant to further risk his career by helping her arrange her therapy. She could enlist his assistance in tracking down Sammy and Moana, even though doing so might endanger his life again.
Or she could leave in the morning. Venture out on her own. She knew her name now. Had a family tie. A hometown. Maybe later, after she’d reconstructed her memory and reestablished her life, she’d return and explore her feelings for Grant.
The realization ripped through her heart like a drill. In such a short time, she’d come to rely on his presence, come to lean on his strength. Yet she couldn’t take the easy road any longer. To do so would put the man she loved at even further risk than she already had. No matter what trauma she’d experienced before this, nothing could compare to her being the cause of Grant’s destruction. Nothing.
With her decision made, she leaned back into the car seat and watched the lighted billboards flash by until a sickening dizziness lured her to sleep.
“HARLEY, HON, WE’RE HOME.”
Her lids fluttered opened and she glanced around, confused by the yawning iron gate and manicured lawn. Where was the gravel drive? The pink stucco? The flapping flag with the preening flamingo?
Reality dawned slowly. It wasn’t her home he’d brought her to, but his. A place of taste and class and beauty, traits completely foreign to where she’d grown up. Her dream in the car was the same as the last. Of the house. The costumes. Sammy’s metallic smile.
Grant pulled into the garage and turned off the engine.
“Are you all right?”
She straightened from her slumped position in the seat and unhooked her seat belt, stretching her arms and shoulders as freely as possible in Grant’s compact luxury car. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck.”
Grant’s grin nearly lightened her mood. “I have just the remedy.”
The prospect of receiving another of Grant’s massages perked her right up. She eagerly accepted his hand as he helped her from the car, then followed him inside wordlessly. He’d already told her about the box of condoms he’d purchased that morning, and since she feared this would be their last night together, she hoped to put each and every one to good use.
She slipped her jacket over a kitchen chair, then did the same with his. Kicking off her spiky heels, she leaned against the table while Grant perused the contents of his refrigerator.
“You too keyed up for wine?” he asked.
She rolled her neck in a semicircle, humming her approval at the liberating cracks and crunches. “Can you be too keyed up for wine?”
He grinned, pulled out a bottle of blush, shoved a corkscrew in his pocket, found two glasses in the cabinet, and with his hands full, extended his arm for Harley to tuck into as they left the dark kitchen.
She thought they’d go upstairs for their private interlude, but Grant led her to the pool area. He set the wine on the tiled table and disappeared into a shadowy corner while he fiddled with the light switches. In minutes, the entire patio, pool and bubbling hot tub rippled with soft blue light.
To Harley, the temperature on this sultry April night climbed a notch or two. “This is awfully romantic for a corporate mansion. Did one of the previous Don Juan-CEOs live here before you?”
He uncorked the bottle with little effort and poured her a generous portion. The glass immediately fogged with condensation. “I’m the first.”
She accepted the wine with a skeptical smirk. “I find it hard to believe you had this lighting put in.”
Taking a sip from his own glass, he sidled up to her, the heat from his body seeping instantaneously through the thin silk of her dress. “I did it…the real estate agent did it…what’s the difference? The fact is you look beautiful in blue light. You look beautiful in any light.”
She sensed the kiss before she felt it—his lips warm and sweet and tender. His mouth caressed hers softly, demanding nothing and promising everything. Both held tight to their wineglasses, not touching beyond the kiss, yet Harley’s knees weakened. Grant countered her tiny wobble by bracing her with a hand on her arm.
He ended the kiss with a nibble. First on her lips, then across her cheek. Down her chin. Harley offered her throat and neck. He readily accepted, sampling her pulse points with delicate bites. Her skin purled like the surface of the Jacuzzi.
“So sweet. So soft.”
She hardly noticed when he took away her wineglass, setting the full goblet beside his. He then clutched her hips firmly with both his hands and eased her forward. An inch of space remained between them, not quite near enough for touch, but more than adequate for his musky-scented body heat to make her dizzy.
In the turquoise glow, his eyes, two onyx stones, sparkled with iced fire. His cheekbones and chin, rugged and shadowed with stubble, seemed sharper. Edgier. More dangerous than a man like Grant had a right or the capacity to be. Yet Grant posed no risks to her well-being. Only her heart, and with it, her body and soul.
“I don’t know if I like you in blue light.” She traced down his cheek with her thumb, lightly indenting his shadowy skin. “You look almost…criminal.”
“It’s not the light.” Husky and deep, his voice snared her, held her with the tenacity of a taut steel cord. “It’s you. The thoughts you make me think are definitely illegal.”
She flicked a fingernail over his lips, still wet and warm from their kiss. “Illegal, or just naughty?”
Pulling her close, he ground the rigid length of him against her belly. Instinctively, she rose on her tiptoes, pressing herself closer. Even the scanty barrier of her dress and lingerie seemed overwhelming. Extreme.
He smoothed his hands over her bare shoulders and down her arms. “Depends.”
“On?”
He glanced at the gurgling hot tub. Steam wafted from the water, blanketing the tiled Jacuzzi with a misty haze. When his gaze returned to her, she witnessed the dusky smoldering of passion she’d come to crave. “Why don’t we just start with naughty and see where we go from there?”
A tendril of air tickled her spine as he drew down the zipper on her dress.
“Aren’t you afraid the neighbors might see?” she asked, nearly losing her balance as he slid his hands up her back and unhooked her bra.
His chuckle matched the baritone rumblings from the spa. “I have twelve-foot hedges on either side of the yard and no neighbor in back. Unless old Willie Langley has binoculars that cut through solid brick, you’re shielded from all prying eyes. Except mine.”
He slipped the thin straps over her shoulders, then tugged until her dress and bra lay in a billowing blue mound at her feet. He stepped around her, perusing her from all angles, touching her here or there as it suited him, seducing her with an admiring stare.
She crossed her arms, somewhat intimidated by his scrutiny, but he immediately clucked his tongue and worked her protective stance loose.
“Don’t get shy with me now, sweetheart. I’m just looking. Admiring.” He traced a single finger across the small of her back. “Worshipping. I’d never get tired of looking at you. Never.”
She hooked her fingers in the sides of her garter belt, wanting to put her hands somewhere, preferably on him, yet he remained about a foot away as he circled.
“I wouldn’t mind something interesting to look at,” she challenged, hoping he’d remove at least his shirt and tie so she wouldn’t feel so vulnerable.
“All you had to do was ask.”
One tug divested him of his bow tie. Ditto for the belt. Like a stalking cougar, he continued to circle her, popping one button, then another, until she could see the dark hair curling on his toned chest. Her breath abandoned her. Her breasts tingled. Her mouth sought a moisture only he could serve.
He unhooked his pants, leaving them lazily open on his hips as he had this afternoon. “I do believe I’m stripping for you. How’m I doing?”
“If you want my professional opinion, I don’t remember.”
“I don’t care about your profession, Harley Roberts. I want your personal observations.” He untucked his shirt and undid his cuff links. In a fluid motion, his shirt slid down his torso and then floated like a cloud as he tossed it onto a patio chair.
“I’d pay money to see you strip.”
“Sorry, I don’t take cash.”
She turned with him, licking her lips as his pants dropped to the ground. “Credit cards? Checks?”
He shook his head, took her hands and led her to the water. “Nothing but trade, darling, nothing but trade.”
HE STEPPED INTO the hot tub first, ditching his boxer shorts at the last moment and then submerging himself to his waist in the churning water. She moved to unsnap her nylons, but he stopped her. “Whoa, whoa. What’s the rush?” He kissed her hands, licking the crevices between her fingers with a hot, moist tongue. “Let me find a better vantage point.”
Easing away, he settled in one of the Jacuzzi’s curved seats, his line of sight level with her knees. Looking up, he’d have an unhindered view of her every curve and crevice. “We don’t have any veils,” he commented, reminding her of his teasing at the wedding, “but this is good. Real good.”
His flaming gaze amid the toasty steam heated Harley to the boiling point. Her breathing grew shallow. Her palms moistened. Grant waited, his eyes large with expectation, for her to peel away the last few bits of her clothing with all the finesse and bewitchery of an accomplished exotic dancer. She’d probably disrobed hundreds of times before, but never for such a special audience. She wanted to give Grant this fantasy more than anything—one she’d certainly given so many men before—men she didn’t love.
Yet a chill lingered, just behind her, in the shadow of her past. She froze.
“Harley?”
Immediately, Grant recognized the cold shimmer of anxiety glazing her eyes and keeping her still. He’d touched a raw spot—her stripping—reminding her of a part of her past she clearly didn’t want to recall. He cursed himself for forgetting how truly tentative their relationship remained—and would remain until she recalled her former life.
Until then, he could only affect her present. Show her how much he cared. Sloshing across the tub, he took her quaking hand and flashed her what he hoped was his most seductive grin.
“On second thought, why don’t you leave the stripping to the experts? Think the Chippendales would hire me?”
When the tiniest hint of a smile flexed her lips and she nodded, Grant kissed her palm and knelt on the step into the spa. Eye-level to her panties, he unhooked her garter belt, splaying one wet hand over the small of her back while the other held the lingerie tentatively in place.
“I suppose I should do this one leg at a time.” He kissed her upper thigh, just below the garter, and traced the curve of her leg with his tongue. “But I’m not feeling patient. I don’t think I can go that slowly.” But he’d sure as hell try. He pressed his mouth against her panties, exhaling his hot breath, inhaling her feminine scent.
A soft groan and the combing of her fingers roughly through his hair urged him to release the garter belt and draw the hose down her smooth legs and over her wobbly feet. She continued to moan as he slid his hands beneath her panties and kneaded her firm buttocks. The fear, the hesitation he’d witnessed moments before, drifted away amidst the Jacuzzi steam.
With a stiff tongue, he stroked her, opened her, tasted her through the material, darkening the satiny blue with a mingling of his moisture and hers. Nipping, he caught flesh and silk between his teeth, intensifying her faint cries. She tugged his hair. Her head fell forward.
He snagged the edge of her underwear with his teeth and tugged them down and then off. She braced her hands on his shoulders, impaling him with her fingernails. He buried his face in the soft downy hair at the apex of her thighs, laving her gently while he lifted her into the water.
In slow inches, he loosened his grip, sliding her down his body while he kissed the line from mons to navel to cleavage. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, stopping her descent when they were nearly sex to sex, her nipples dark and pouting and pointed at his mouth.
She groaned when he bit her, cooed when he suckled, cried out when he flicked her pebbled nipples in rapid succession. She squirmed until her sweet folds captured the tip of his erection, urging him to enter her body here and now.
“Oh, Grant. I want you inside me.”
Growling, he cupped her buttocks and lifted her higher, breaking their tentative connection. He unwrapped her legs and lowered her thigh high into the water. “Not just yet, sweetheart.”
He kissed her until he knew she wouldn’t protest, then reached over the side of the Jacuzzi to his pants. He took two packaged condoms from his pocket, tore one from the other, threw the first on the edge of the hot tub and tossed the second into the adjacent pool.
Her eyes lit with mischievous curiosity.
“Are we going diving for condoms?”
He pushed her back gently until she fell into the curved seat. Bending over her, he captured her lips and thrust his tongue against hers, tasting the sweet mingling of wine and steam while he eased her legs apart. “Soon. But first, I have some more dangerous diving to do. For a particular pearl.”
Grant eased down until only his face remained above the waves. Water rumbled in his ears. Harley shifted in the popping bubbles and hazy steam, her breasts alternately slipping from sight, her arms outstretched on the tiled ledge, her eyes half open and locked with his.
Once she settled in, he joined the churning water in kissing her parted thighs, savoring the combined flavors of chlorine and honeyed flesh. He buoyed his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her high. With the pumping jets pounding him from all sides and his lungs holding tight to his breath, he took her sweet center in his mouth. The sultry water made her warm and pliant. He eased her knees over his shoulders. She stiffened, then squirmed.
He came up for a quick breath, then dove into her again. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, even over the growling of the jets. When her bud hardened between his teeth and tongue, he knew she had reached the edge. The sound of her pleasured cries lured him to the surface.
He gasped when he rose, but Harley allowed him no time to breathe. Her lips boldly captured his. Her hands clasped his cheeks and held him immobile. She fed him air and love and passion—all in a single unyielding kiss. This was the woman he’d almost lost when those low-life creeps abducted her, and then again when he’d suggested she strip for him.
But now, the bold, fearless woman he’d grown to adore returned.
He slipped his mouth away from hers in a desperate rush to ease the torching of his deprived lungs. Gasping, he touched her as the water touched her, furiously and haphazardly, and with ever-escalating heat. She suckled his neck and shoulders, panting between bites, stroking his sex with her hands. Desire raged through him like a flash flood.
He was hard. Rock hard. Harder than he’d ever, ever been. If he drove into her now, he’d surely break her in two. His body, so close to shutting out his voice of reason, demanded immediate release.
With his last tentative grasp on sanity, he scooped Harley into his arms, took the single step to the ledge, then plunged them both into the icy water of the swimming pool.
When they broke the surface, Harley screamed. “It’s freezing!”
Grant continued to hold her as she splashed and spluttered, enjoying the feel of her prickly gooseflesh and stony nipples against his chest. His muscles shuddered and protested at the instantaneous change in temperature, but the thought of rekindling her heat kept him hard and ready. “Mmm. I’ll warm you, honey.”
Her smile grew dark and daring as she calmed and ran her fingers through his dripping hair. “You’ve done quite enough. When is it my turn?”
“When I’m finished with you.”
“And that will be?”
Never, he hoped, but he bit back the reply. She wasn’t any more prepared for a commitment than he, especially not one destined to end badly. If Howell Phipps, the town gossips, her cousin Moana, that scum-bucket Buck and Harley’s memory loss unwittingly combined forces, Harley and he didn’t stand a chance. For the present, they could share only what they had now—intense passion—with mutual caring and respect on the side.
“I’ll be finished when I make you as crazy as you make me.”
He released his hold on her and dove deep beneath the surface, his eyes honed on the red, square package dotting the bottom of the pool. Snagging the condom, he propelled to the surface with a powerful thrust, grabbing Harley along the way. He locked her legs around his waist then half swam, half kicked them to the shallow end.
Settling on the middle step, he positioned her atop him. In defiance of his quest for control, she shimmied until her feminine lips enveloped his shaft, cloaking him in warmth, yet denying him entrance.
She kissed the sluicing water from his face and ran her hands down his torso. “I am crazy. Crazy for you.”
He buried his face between her breasts. “Trust me, honey, you don’t know crazy like I do.”
With a limber tongue, he lapped at the droplets clinging to her skin, swirling thick circles around her areolas, avoiding her rigid nipples to enhance her burning need. She exhaled rhythmic gasps that sometimes sounded like his name, urging him to pleasure her deeper, to return her to the orgasmic rush he’d brought her to before.
Her hips undulated, easing him closer inside her. With a groan, he stretched out of reach. If he remained pressed against her, he’d come before she did. He throbbed for release so acutely, his blood pounded in his ears. His eyes couldn’t focus. He lost the power of speech. She whimpered, but acquiesced when he filled the empty space with his hand. One finger, then two, probed her hidden recesses, taunting her with reserved half thrusts.
But he wasn’t ready for climax. Not yet. Not until he taught her how no other man, no other lover could ever satisfy her completely—heart, body and soul—as he did. Once certain of that, how could she ever leave him?
Yet Harley had no such agenda. With her toes, she tickled his thick sacs, then drew her foot up and down, stroking him beneath the water. He took her nipple then, punishing her with his teeth.
Her cry embodied the sweetest rapture he’d ever heard. She grabbed his cheeks and held him to her breast, kissing his forehead and whispering a jumble of words, some unintelligible, others that fired his soul. He suckled her thoroughly, until a slickness met his fingers where he caressed her.
He could wait no longer.
He flipped over and dragged his pulsing body to the uppermost step, leaving only his rear end in the water. Before he could tear open the red packet, Harley’s mouth encircled him, teasing and plying and sucking. He nearly dropped the condom back into the pool’s cool depths, but she stole the latex from his grasp, sheathed him and sat atop him, sliding his sex inside with a feminine, yet guttural gasp.
The tile bit into his back, but Grant didn’t care. The warm night air swirled in bursts—breezy, then gusty, mirroring the thrusts he pumped into her white-hot center. She sat up straight, slicked back her wet hair and arched her back with feline elegance.
He heard himself uttering words resembling a sacred litany, but couldn’t form a coherent thought. He clutched Harley’s buttocks, bolstering and guiding her deliberate rhythm. When she scooped handfuls of water to trickle over her pointed nipples, the first wave of molten fire drained from him to her.
A blur of motion followed. Raw. Demanding. He took her breast in his mouth, slid his hand between them, inciting her instantaneous climax. She screamed. His accompanying explosion echoed like deep bass to her piercing aria. He crashed into her with a ferocity she not only matched, but exceeded. With his final thrust, he lifted them off the step and splashed their joined bodies into the dark blue water.
HARLEY KNEW NOW what drowning felt like. Not the terror or the agony, but the helplessness. Locked to Grant, she merely held on while he spun them beneath the surface, bringing them up for breath then plunging them under the water in an undulating ritual that cleansed her like a pagan baptism.
He finally pulled her out of the water near the steps to the Jacuzzi, settling her on the cradle of his lap, his touch tentative, his kisses soft. A few minutes passed before she’d gathered enough air in her lungs to speak.
“Was that crazy enough for you?” she asked.
Nuzzling her neck, he hummed his denial against her skin. “It’s a start. We have all night to find true insanity.”
“Is once ever enough for you?”
“Is it for you?”
She pulled herself out of his arms to the pool deck, her muscles weak and shaky, but pleasantly so. Smiling wickedly, she eluded his grasp and sauntered to the table, watching him watch her. She swiveled her naked hips just a bit more than she would normally, enjoying the play of refreshed need on his features. She retrieved her wineglass and relieved her cottony mouth with a generous swallow. The sweet blush slid like ice down her parched throat, yet his gaze, even from a few feet away, sent a heated torrent spiraling through her.
She refilled both glasses and returned to the Jacuzzi. “I didn’t thank you for rescuing me.”
He lifted himself to the edge, swung his feet into the Jacuzzi, took his glass then guided her to sit beside him.
“Those people didn’t want to hurt you, or they would have.”
She took another sip of wine, hoping the alcohol would dispel a sudden chill. “But they want to hurt Buck. And maybe Moana. If she is my cousin, I can’t let that happen.”
“We won’t let that happen. I’ll call Mac in the morning. We’ll work something out.” He turned his goblet between both hands, his eyes cast down, his lips pursed, as if he contemplated some great irony in the rose-tinted liquid. “It wasn’t a very exciting rescue. If I were Mac, I’d have rushed in, guns and badge blazing.”
Harley covered her amusement with another sip of wine. She wasn’t accustomed to Grant acting so boyish, so unsure of himself, so…normal. And yet, she had to clear up his misconception without delay. She may have just met Mac’s wife, but the memory of Jenna’s sad eyes boiled her blood. “If you were Mac, you would have spent the evening ignoring me.”
Grant shrugged then swallowed a quarter of his glass. “Mac loves Jenna. He’s just a little…obsessed. With his job. With what other people think about the way he does his job. He’ll come to his senses.”
Harley didn’t answer. Who was she to judge someone else’s relationship when theirs was based on fantasy and half-known truths? At least Mac and Jenna had time to fix whatever was so obviously wrong with their marriage. She and Grant wouldn’t have that luxury.
Grant put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Coupled with the slightly rough tile grazing her bare backside, his touch reminded her that only moments would pass before she’d need him inside her again. Before she surrendered, a few things needed saying.
She took another sip to steel herself for her confession. “I overheard Mr. Phipps talking to you at the wedding. After we danced.”
His shoulders stiffened, but he continued to sip his wine as if her revelation meant nothing. “Don’t mind him. He’d had too much champagne.”
She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, breathing in his scent, a mixed aroma of sex and chlorine and musk. “That’s not true and you know it.”
After draining his glass, he climbed back into the hot tub, easing her down with him. “You want me to tell you what’s true, Harley? Howell Phipps can’t run the firm without me. He lost his instinct for the market years ago. Up until a few days ago, I’d forgotten that fact. Let him make his threats. When push comes to shove, he can’t touch me.”
“He could replace you.”
Grant wrapped his arms around her and pulled her full to him, hard and ready again. “He won’t.”
“You don’t really know that. If he finds something really horrible in my past, he could destroy your reputation.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Stop worrying about me. I’m more concerned about what he’d do to you.”
She believed him, though she couldn’t muster any real fear of Howell Phipps. Not for herself anyway. Grant’s capacity to place her needs above his embodied the main reason she loved him so deeply. And why she didn’t dare stay in his house past tomorrow morning.
“I don’t belong in his world…or yours. In my world, whatever that man says or does won’t mean a thing.”
Grant growled low and took her cheeks between his palms, tilting her head so her gaze met his, blue irises to brown. “Harley Roberts, you are my world.”
Her breath caught in her throat and a band of iron seemed to wrap around her heart, squeezing until she gasped. Grant didn’t know what he was saying. The sensational sex had clouded his usually razor-sharp brain. “Please, Grant. You know that can’t be true.”
“Why can’t it? Because you haven’t regained your full memory? Because you might be a stripper? Because your cousin might have a criminal connection?”
Harley knew she’d never find the will to leave tomorrow if he continued down this road. He was wrong. Dead wrong. She accepted responsibility for his delusional thinking. She’d led him into a series of fantasies where anything and everything was possible—where two people from different dimensions of the universe connected and thrived.
Yet tonight, she’d learned just how reality would squash those dreams like a meaty fist on an ant. Despite his reassurances, she’d heard the power in Howell Phipps’s threats. The venom in his tone. But mostly, she recalled how Grant had had to rescue her. How she’d had to cling to him to find relief from her fear. Grant’s caring bolstered her like a crutch. Without doubt, she’d never cajole her mind into recovering her lost memories so long as she had Grant to keep her pain at bay.
“I don’t want to talk anymore.” She kissed his chin and smoothed her naked breasts against the soft hair on his chest. “I want to know more about insanity.”
His groan was resigned, but his smile ignited a thrill that burned all rational thought from her head. “Then just look to me, sweetheart. These last few days with you, I’ve become an expert.”
HARLEY DECIDED GRANT’S parents must never have let him sleep late. Despite his desire for her to join him at his grandmother’s for breakfast, he’d accepted her sleepy “maybe later” without a smidgen of argument. He’d simply kissed her nose, drawn the sheet over her and promised to call her at noon.
She jumped when the phone rang at nine-thirty, only twenty minutes after she’d heard Grant’s sport utility vehicle roll over the driveway and she’d begun to dress. She almost didn’t answer, afraid he’d phoned her from the car. Not wanting to alert him to her plan to leave long before his twelve o’clock call, she picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
Silence answered, though Harley thought she heard the rumble of traffic in the background.
She tried again. “Hello?”
This time, she heard a distinctly feminine, though shaky voice. “Hailey?”
“Excuse me? Who are you calling for?”
“God, please let this be the number. I’m looking for my cousin, Hailey Roberts. I got this number from my friend, Joy. She said some rich guy gave it to her, and that I could find…”
“Moana?”
“Hailey? Lord, girl, you never call me by my stage name. Is something wrong?”
Hailey? Stage name? Harley bent her knees slowly, letting the mattress catch her before she fell into a swirling dizziness.
“A lot is wrong. More than I should discuss over the phone. Where are you? There are people after you, do you know that? You shouldn’t go back to your condo.”
Moana’s snort overrode the background noise. “I already made that mistake, but I booked before anyone saw me. I’m at a rest stop outside of Plant City. Joy said you were staying in Citrus Hill. Isn’t that where that guy from the bachelor party lived? Is it him? I mean, I knew you could pull off the gig, but I didn’t think you’d move in.”
“I haven’t. Well, I have, but only temporarily. Until I found you. Can you meet me?”
“Give me the address. I’ll ask for directions when I hit the exit.”
Harley bit her bottom lip, reluctant to bring more scandal on Grant if someone discovered not one, but two strippers holed up in his house.
“No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. I know which rest stop you’re at—I saw it on my way to Tampa. Hang tight. I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes, okay?”
The hesitation in Moana’s voice clutched Harley’s lungs. This woman was Harley’s only link to her past, and to the boy whose sweet face haunted her dreams.
“Yeah, sure. But don’t piss around, okay? After the wreck those punks did to my place, I don’t think I should stay in one place too long.”
Harley agreed to hurry and gently hung up the phone. Without allowing time for regrets or what-ifs, she threw her measly collection of clothes and makeup into a tote bag she found in Grant’s closet and headed downstairs. She didn’t have much choice but to take Grant’s Mercedes, rationalizing that she’d find a way to return the car soon after reuniting with Moana. Telling herself she had no time for notes, she grabbed Gus’s phone number and Grant’s extra set of car keys from his study and left.
The drive to the Plant City rest area took fifteen minutes—just long enough for Harley to realize how impossible leaving Grant forever would be. Emotional crutch or not, the man had seared himself into her soul. She loved him. Respected him. Needed him. Maybe once she’d regained her memory and fell back into the regular patterns of her life, she’d manage to see the last few days for the innocuous diversion they were.
Or maybe she’d find a way back into his life.
When she caught sight of Moana leaning against the rusted door of a Chevy Impala probably older than she was, Harley thought twice.
She pulled the Mercedes alongside and studied the woman’s face, positive her features matched those of the young girl in the photo she’d shoved in her tote bag. When Harley rolled down the Mercedes’ tinted glass window, Moana’s smile of recognition matched the grin in the picture—full over the lips and teeth, but just failing to reach the eyes. Apparently, happiness didn’t come easily to women in her family.
Moana whistled long and appreciatively, running her hand lightly over the shiny black paint job. “Buck would freak if he saw you behind the wheel of this. Where’s your banker?”
Harley bristled at the sound of Buck’s name, but shook her fear away and stepped out of the car. “Grant doesn’t know I’m here.”
Moana hissed out a curse. “Now you’re a car thief? This is big trouble you don’t know about.”
“Trouble and me have become well acquainted in the past few days.”
Harley noticed then that Moana kept her gaze focused on the entrance to the rest area, only glancing her way when she spoke. A half-dozen cigarette butts lay flattened by Moana’s feet. Her fingernails, still sporting spots of bright vermilion coating, had been chewed to the quick.
With her hand as a sun shield, Harley joined Moana in scoping out the line of semitrucks and recreational vehicles parked on the other side of the rest area, across from a pavilion with public washrooms and vending machines. After a few seconds, she realized she had no idea for whom she searched. “Were you followed?”
Moana shook her head, but with her bottom lip clutched between her teeth, she didn’t look one hundred percent certain.
“I’ve been on the run for two days straight, then I get back to the condo and find it trashed. By the time I reached Joy, I was pretty freaked. She told me Riva was looking for me. For me! They think I can lead them to Buck.”
“Can’t you?”
Moana leaned her jean-clad hips on the side panel of her rusted car and slid a cigarette from the pocket of her vest, a sweet daisy print worn in contrast over a tight, ribbed tank top. “I left that jerk in Valdosta the minute I realized his guys did your carjacking.”
“Carjacking?”
Moana tore a match from a wilted book and lit her cigarette. “Damn. Joy wasn’t kidding, was she?” Moana cupped her hand beneath Harley’s chin and gazed deep into her eyes. “You don’t remember me.”
Harley leaned back on the door of the Mercedes and shook her head. “I can’t remember anything before Thursday night.”
“Then how did you know who I was when you drove up?”
Harley reached into the car and pulled out the acrylic frame. She handed the photo to Moana, suddenly wishing she smoked so she’d have something to do with her hands other than fidget or thrust them into her pockets.
Moana chuckled at the picture. “I noticed this was missing from my place. Thought Riva’d snatched it to show around, since it’s the only picture I had with me in it. It’s old, but I guess we kind of look the same. ‘Cept for Sammy.”
Harley took the photo back when Moana offered it. She traced the chubby face of the chocolate-covered toddler. “Sammy. He’s my…”
She looked up at Moana, her inflection posing the question.
“Your baby brother. Your parents died when he was only one. You were twelve. You came to live with me and Momma. Life went downhill from there.”
Nodding, Harley clutched the photo tight to her chest as she’d done the night before while hiding from Riva and her henchmen. Her heart ached to find Sammy, but the pain diminished now that she knew she could.
“You can’t even remember Sammy? Have you seen a doctor?”
“No, but I will. As soon as I find out where I live.”
Moana took a long drag of her cigarette, then blew the smoke away from them. “Girl, as of today, you and me are homeless. You left Momma’s about a week ago. You swore not to go back, except to get Sammy when you had a place.”
A week ago? That didn’t make sense. Yet it did. Now she knew why Joy and the others from the local strip clubs didn’t know who she was. She was a stranger to the area.
“You had a studio hooked up, but then one of Buck’s gang jacked your car and your cash. You came to stay with me at the condo. And we can’t go back there.”
“A studio? For what?”
Shaking her head, Moana watched as another line of cars pulled off the interstate into the rest area. “You’re a physical therapist. You use dance to help people recover from accidents or diseases.”
“I’m not a stripper?”
Even the air horn from a nearby semi couldn’t cover Moana’s raucous laughter. “A stripper? Honey, this job for the banker would have been your first and your last. You did it because you needed the cash or you’d lose your studio. Which you probably have.” Moana flicked a line of ash to the ground.
Harley’s legs nearly buckled. “A therapist? But the costumes? I remembered a closet full of really skimpy costumes.”
Moana shook her head. “Momma had you ballroom dancing from the minute you showed a lick of talent. You won a ton of championships, made a good load of cash and scholarships. Unfortunately, you let Momma talk you into a joint account. What Buck’s creeps stole was all you had left.” She dropped her cigarette, pressed it flat beneath her boot and gazed at Harley through squinting eyes. “You really don’t remember me?”
Her mind swimming with the new information, Harley concentrated hard in order to answer. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what your real name is.”
Moana chuckled and coughed at the same time. “Baby, half the time, I don’t remember that either. You’ve been the only one to call me Mary Jo in a long, long time.”
Mary Jo. Hailey. So close to their “stage” names and yet worlds apart. Mary Jo and Hailey matched the girls in the faded photograph, but not the women they were now. The names oozed innocence. Simplicity.
Suddenly, Moana muttered a venomous string of curses that caused Harley’s nerves to stand on end and shiver.
“I know that truck. Damn, damn, damn.” Grabbing her purse from the Impala, Moana ran around to the passenger side of the Mercedes and popped open the door. Her skin paled. Her eyes widened in fear. “Don’t just stand there! Get us the hell out of here.”
GRANT PULLED PAST the tall brick gates of Wellesley Manor with only one thing on his mind—buying Harley a beeper. For the second time in just under four days, his phone calls to her went unanswered. He’d called three times since arriving at his grandmother’s house, but only reached his answering machine. When concern turned to worry, then to anger and back to worry, he decided to return home. She had been hit on the head a few days ago, he rationalized. She’d been kidnapped the night before. Who knew if she needed him, or if she was just basking poolside and couldn’t hear the phone?
Gus encouraged Grant to leave, not bothering to cover an omniscient smile. His grandmother, only half-informed regarding who Harley was and why she was staying at Grant’s house, merely patted his arm and told him to follow his heart.
For once, Grant would. His entire life, he’d chosen the path dictated by his logic or by his sense of responsibility. In the eighteen years of his adulthood, he rarely let his emotions rule his actions. Except for the one time he’d tried to save his marriage. He’d failed, mostly because listening to his heart instead of his brain would have kept him from marrying Camille in the first place.
He wouldn’t make the same mistakes with Harley. They’d made love several times last night. In the pool. The hot tub. The pool deck. The stairs. His bed. Not once had he admitted how deep his feelings went for her—how completely he loved her—how he couldn’t imagine living another minute without her permanently in his life. He’d already asked Gus for the name and number of a specialist to help her overcome her amnesia, and he didn’t care who found out. She could never completely accept love and commitment from him until she remembered her past. If he lost his job for being in love, so be it.
He turned onto his street, invigorated by his choice, fortified by his unbound love. He hardly noticed the bright blue pickup parked askew on his curb and driveway until he spotted his Mercedes blocked behind it.
Then he saw Harley standing on the lawn, her right arm extended to protect a screaming redhead standing behind her. Harley swung her left arm fruitlessly at a thin man stalking them head-on. Grant threw his vehicle into park without hitting the brake, jerking himself forward and causing his seat belt to nearly choke him.
Harley kicked the man, connecting with his kneecap, but not slowing his attack.
“Buck! Don’t hurt her,” shouted the redhead, whom Grant guessed was Harley’s cousin, Moana. “She’s got nothing to do with us!”
Buck grabbed Harley by the neck and yanked her forward, ignoring Moana’s plea. Mercilessly, Buck slapped Harley with the back of his hand, tossed her aside and clutched Moana around the neck.
“Harley!” In seconds, Grant released his seat belt and maneuvered around the cars and through his security gate. He attacked without pause, striking Buck full force in the neck joint.
Harley remained motionless on the grass. Moana screamed. Buck cursed, releasing Moana as he went sprawling onto Grant’s manicured lawn.
Buck charged like an enraged bull, his head aimed at Grant’s midsection. Shifting, Grant shot a left hook to Buck’s jaw. Still standing, Buck roared, his black eyes slants of rage. Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.
“This ain’t your fight, rich boy. I just want what’s mine, then I’m gone.”
Moana, who’d slid to the ground beside Harley, met Buck’s stare with equal fury. “I ain’t yours no more. You’re nothing but a low-life thief! And a dead one, too. That guy in Miami’s gonna slice your throat. And I’m gonna ask if I can watch.”
Buck lunged toward Moana, who screamed and covered Harley with her body. Grant kicked Buck in the gut, sending him spinning like a top until he landed on the grass with a thud.
Sirens wailed in the background. Grant glanced quickly over his shoulder, catching sight of Wilhelmina Langley shooting from her front door, her portable phone clutched to her ear.
When Buck started crawling back toward the women, Grant stopped him by pressing his foot to the back of his neck. Buck growled as Grant increased the pressure.
Grant suddenly gained a strong affection for his steel-toed work boots. “Looks like you made it my fight. Spread your arms out so I can see them.”
A swarm of Citrus Hill police officers spilled onto the lawn, guns drawn and shouting orders. Only when a uniformed policewoman pressed the barrel of her gun to the back of Buck’s neck did Grant retreat.
Moana helped her cousin sit up. Harley’s enlarged pupils turned her blue eyes a frightening shade of black. A dark red mark shadowed the entire left side of her face. Grant knelt in front of her and took her hands, not certain which of them shook more violently.
“Harley. Are you all right? Say something, honey.”
She blinked. Once. Twice. The quick flutter of lashes seemed to finally clear the stupor from her eyes.
“Grant?” She turned to the woman beside her. “Mary Jo?” She let go of one of Grant’s hands and grasped the redhead at the elbow. “Mary Jo! I remember. Good Lord—” her eyes, now glossy and beaming, sought Grant “—I remember!”
The cops, directed by Mrs. Langley, descended on the trio like a ravenous horde. One policeman radioed for the ETA on the ambulance, another verified the location as the First Financial corporate mansion. Another officer pushed Grant aside, insisting Harley remain still until the paramedics arrived.
Grant opened his mouth to argue when a rookie officer approached, his youthful eyes darting from Grant’s clenched fists to Buck, who still lay handcuffed on the grass. “We need a statement to make the arrest and get this creep off your lawn, Mr. Riordan.”
Harley’s eyes, at first wondrously round, suddenly clouded, as if something terrible—perhaps that traumatic event Gus warned of—flashed into her mind.
A few feet away, Moana—no, Mary Jo—Harley’s cousin, judging by her resemblance to the teenager in the photograph Harley had taken from the condominium, relayed her version of the incident to a policewoman. She seemed to be providing all the facts they needed to remand the cretin straight to the local jailhouse.
“Not now,” Grant warned.
The cop lightly placed his hand on Grant’s shoulder. “It’ll just take a few minutes. Mrs. Langley will take care of the young woman, won’t you, ma’am?”
His nemesis already had Harley on her feet and her arm around her shoulder. With a careless wave, she bypassed the officer who insisted they wait for the ambulance. Mrs. Langley appeared genuinely concerned and, Grant had to admit, she did have law enforcement falling into step.
“Go on, son. She just needs a minute or two to settle down. And that man’s presence,” Mrs. Langley said as she indicated Buck with a disdainful tilt of her head, “won’t help matters.”
Harley’s gaze locked on Buck. A dark horror spread over her face, pursing her lips and squinting her eyes. Grant wasn’t sure if Harley was about to attack the man or run screaming in the opposite direction, but he wouldn’t wait to find out. He nodded his agreement to Mrs. Langley, who led Harley away.
“Three minutes. That’s the limit.” Grant followed the officer to his cruiser. The sooner he got that jerk off his lawn, the sooner he could rescue Harley from Mrs. Langley’s dubious good intentions.
Three minutes turned into fifteen as the officer embellished their interview with information about Buck’s criminal past. Law enforcement officials all over South Central Florida knew and had been looking for Mary Jo’s boyfriend—including Mac’s team at the Tampa Police Department. As the officer completed the report, Grant put in a quick call to Mac from his cell phone, then waited impatiently to sign the complaint.
“We’ll contact you if we need anything else, Mr. Riordan, but I doubt we will. This guy dug a deep grave even before he attacked Ms. Roberts and her cousin.” The officer handed Grant a copy of the report and returned his driver’s license. “He’s a dangerous character. It’s a good thing you came along.”
Yeah, he was a real hero. He may have saved Harley once again from physical harm, but he’d abandoned her to the control and influence of Wilhelmina Langley for the past twenty minutes. With the news story of the year playing out just across the street from her, Langley had to be foaming at the mouth.
Grant walked past the open driveway gate as a dark sedan with the license plate “PHIPP-1” maneuvered around the three police cars, ambulance and fire truck blocking most of Wellesley Lane. Moments later, Howell Phipps emerged from the sedan wearing pastel-colored golf duds and the most horrified expression Grant had seen since the market dropped over two hundred points in a single hour.
“What the hell is going on here?” the old man barked.
Grant pulled in a deep breath and released the air with deliberate slowness. He wondered if today was Friday the thirteenth. Maybe April Fool’s Day. He couldn’t imagine the situation getting worse.
“Nothing you need to be concerned with, Mr. Phipps. The fun’s over and everything is under control.” Except me. “Why don’t you return to the country club? We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
Grant started up the drive when Phipps, surprisingly spry for a man his age, caught up to him. “Now, see here, Riordan. The police chief summoned me off the course with the report of a disturbance at my CEO’s home. A home my company owns, I should remind you.”
“You don’t need to remind me. Every slick surface and piece of sterile furniture reminds me.”
His boss halted, his eyes round and red with rage. “My wife decorated that house herself. How dare you insult her. What’s gotten into you lately?”
Grant slung his hands into his pockets and faced his employer, not entirely contrite. Suddenly, Grant hated every square foot of the grand house behind them, mostly because the structure mirrored him so accurately—pretentious, impersonal, soulless—at least, until Harley had stepped through the doorway. “I didn’t intend any disrespect to your wife. But I really don’t have the time or the inclination to deal with you right now. Two women were just attacked on my front lawn. I’d like to go make sure they are both all right.”
Phipps’s cheeks puffed, making him look like an outraged blowfish. “Deal with me? You seem to have forgotten quite a bit in your tangle with that miscreant. I am your superior.”
Grant continued toward the house as he spoke. “You are my employer, Mr. Phipps, not my superior. And under the circumstances, you’ll have to settle for my undivided attention during work hours.”
Phipps stopped Grant’s forward motion by clamping him firmly on the shoulder. With adrenaline still surging through his veins, Grant’s will alone kept him from meeting Phipps’s interference with the same rage he’d unleashed on Buck.
“What’s gotten into you, Grant? That woman is nothing to you. My sources haven’t positively identified her, but I know she’s no relation. And this incident illustrates her unsuitability. This fiasco will make grand fodder for Langley’s column. Thankfully, it’s Sunday and this week’s edition is already delivered. We have an entire week to exert some damage control before the next issue.”
Grant chose to ignore Phipps’s “nothing to you” assessment. This wasn’t the time to open a dialogue on his personal life. In fact, there had never been a time. Disgust filled him as he realized how much of his pride he’d swallowed in the name of professionalism and success. How much he’d nearly sacrificed in his attempt to hide the magnitude of Harley’s presence in his life—both from his boss and from himself.
Well, not anymore.
“You do that, Mr. Phipps. Exert away.”
“Of course, that won’t take care of the local editions of the Tampa Tribune or Orlando Sentinel. This is, after all, a criminal matter now. Perhaps if I speak to the police chief…”
While Phipps mused, Grant stalked away. He couldn’t care less if the fight on his lawn made front-page headlines, as long as Harley wasn’t hurt. She’d said something about regaining her memory before the police officer dragged him away. Just how much did she remember? Enough to at last feel confident about their relationship? Or would the truth about her past end the glorious four days he’d discovered in her company?
Harley sat alone on the front steps, her knees drawn up to her chest, cradling her forehead. Something about her position alerted him to exercise caution. He balanced one foot on the bottom step and clutched the inner lining of his pockets to fight his impulse to touch her.
“Harley? Honey, are you okay?”
She rocked her head on her knees, her face hidden beneath a curtain of tangled hair. “I’m not sure.”
He bit the inside of his cheek. “Are you hurt?”
When she looked up, her eyes, determined and stoic, glistened with moisture. “I’ll be okay. I may have a shiner by morning, but…”
“That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“It’s not your fault.” She slapped her thighs for emphasis. “None of this is. If you only knew who I was, what I’ve been through, you wouldn’t say that. You’d know not to ever, ever say that!”
The time for caution elapsed. A single teardrop slipped down her cheek, still mottled red from Buck’s handprint. Unwanted and unbidden, he pulled her into his arms.
She struggled against him, beating his chest. “No. You can’t fix this for me!”
“I don’t want to fix it,” Grant lied. “I just want to help. Tell me what you remembered.”
He loosened his grasp. She calmed. After a moment, she slipped from his embrace and resumed her seat on the brick steps. She toyed with her shoelaces, taking deep, cleansing breaths. Mrs. Langley emerged from a side door with a glass of water in one hand and the iced gel pack in the other. After catching sight of Grant, she placed both items on an outer windowsill and silently retreated into the house, closing the door behind her.
“My parents died when I was twelve.” Harley’s admission arrested Grant’s attention from Mrs. Langley’s oddly compassionate behavior. “My brother, Sammy, and I went to live with my Aunt Gracie in Miami.”
Grant hesitated, then decided to sit beside her. He allowed a safe distance between them, leaning his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together to keep from reaching out to her while his touch remained unwelcome. “Sammy’s the child in the photo?”
A tiny smile curved her lips, reassuring Grant of her strength. “He’s sixteen now. A real computer whiz.” The grin disappeared, leaving Grant to wonder if he’d seen it at all. “Anyway, Gracie wasn’t too thrilled to have two more mouths to feed. She was raising Mary Jo alone as it was.”
“But she kept you with her.”
Harley smoothed her hands on her shorts, as if she itched to touch him, but fought the impulse. “She liked playing the martyr, vying for everyone’s sympathy. Mary Jo wasn’t a cooperative child and I was eager to please, to make sure Sammy and I didn’t go to foster care or get separated. When she found out I could dance, she decided to turn my talent to her advantage.”
Harley briefly recounted her childhood of daily dance classes, weekend recitals and grueling contests. When she turned fourteen, Grace set her sights on ballroom dancing, where the atmosphere proved classy and winning competitions became financially lucrative. When Harley turned fifteen, Gracie had paired Harley with a dancer named Paul, the eighteen-year-old boy who would later become her fiancé.
“He bailed for a job in New York just before the biggest contest of our career. The prize was a ten-thousand-dollar scholarship. I was already in graduate school and I needed the money to finish my internship, which was the only way for me to earn my certification as a dance therapist. But Paul didn’t care about that, or our engagement. He conveniently forgot how I helped him land that job in New York—the agent who placed him saw us dance on television. I found out later the agent was interested in me too, but Paul convinced him I wouldn’t be willing to relocate.”
“Would you have?”
Harley paused, then shook her head. “No, but that wasn’t the point. He knew firsthand how manipulative Grace was—and how badly I wanted to get Sammy away from her. He promised to take care of us, and I loved him for that. Then he betrayed me. He almost wrecked my future. And I almost let him.”
“But you didn’t.”
Harley waved his comment away. “I decided then and there that I wouldn’t let myself rely on anyone else ever again. I found another dance partner and won that contest. And several others. I finished school and signed a contract for a studio in Tampa, away from Gracie and her manipulations. I even contacted hospitals and clinics that were interested in dance therapy for their patients. I had everything under control. Planned out. Then Grace drained our joint checking account in a snit over my newfound independence.”
“She stole from you?”
“She said I owed her for all the years she’d clothed and fed us. Paid for my dance lessons and Sammy’s computer equipment.” The lines around Harley’s eyes hardened at the memory. “But my parents didn’t leave us destitute. Their life insurance policy paid for nearly all of our expenses. Except the dancing, which was Grace’s idea anyway. And Sammy’s an industrious kid. He’s mowed lawns and washed cars to pay for whatever computer gadgets he’s wanted. But no matter what we did, we were always a burden. Trouble. That’s why I can’t let him stay with her.”
Grant shook his head. He inched his hand nearer to her, hoping she’d accept the gesture. “She took so much from you. Not just money.”
Harley folded her arms across her chest. “But she didn’t get everything. She forgot the fifteen-hundred-dollar CD I’d won a few years before. I cashed it in and planned to use five hundred for the first month’s rent on the studio and the remaining thousand on furniture, equipment and expenses until business picked up. I figured I could send for Sammy as soon as school let out for the summer. We’d be on our own. We might struggle, but we’d be happy.”
Harley exhaled as her eyes drifted closed. Despite the defeated expression weighing her features, Grant saw only the clever, inventive woman he’d fallen head-over-heels in love with. She faced adversity with the same passion and fire she’d exhibited on the dance floor—and when making love to him. The same passion and fire he coveted, even emulated, solely because of her influence.
Yet she found little comfort in her accomplishments and even less pride in her past. Whatever traumatic incident triggered her amnesia seemed to obstruct her confidence like a thick stone wall.
“We don’t have to talk about this now, Harley. Why don’t we just go inside, pour some wine…”
“Grant, please.” Her voice brimmed with barely checked irritation. “I don’t want wine. I don’t want to calm down. I want to tell you this so you’ll understand. So I’ll understand.”
Grant’s chest constricted. He didn’t want to understand. Understanding meant accepting the distance Harley had already placed between them. He’d heard more than enough already to know where this tale would lead.
Yet she took his silence for agreement and continued. “I hated leaving Sammy, but I planned to send for him as soon as he’d finished the school year and I had a decent place for us to live. On my way to the studio to pay the last part of my deposit, I decided to visit Mary Jo. She’d run away from Grace years before, but we’d always kept in touch. I went to the club where she worked, but she wasn’t there. I headed to her apartment. Not ten minutes later—” Harley rammed her fingers through her hair, then clung to the ends with brutal tension. “—I was carjacked. At gunpoint. About half a block from her place. They took everything.”
Grant swallowed hard, pressing down the multitude of soothing words he wanted to croon to her, and the angry words he wanted to spit at no one in particular. In a red haze, he pictured a gun barrel shoved in Harley’s face. He imagined her terror. Her vulnerability. Her life could have been snuffed out by a street thug’s bullet—her body left in the street. He’d heard stories about carjackers who murdered their victims without a second thought—even those who cooperated.
“That was probably what you didn’t want to remember.”
She shook her head. “Only partly. The last straw was coming here. I needed quick cash. The landlord had another offer on my studio and I needed the five hundred to keep him to our deal. Mary Jo offered Steve’s bachelor party. Taking off my clothes for money horrified me, but I was desperate. I had to send for Sammy. Save my career. It was one night. I could do it.” Tenacity clung to her words as if she meant to convince herself all over again. Suddenly, her tone changed to a small whisper. “Then I saw you.”
“Me?”
A smile fluttered across her lips, then disappeared like a naughty sprite. “You were on the phone on the patio. I caught one glimpse of you and knew I couldn’t go through with the act. You were too powerful, too magnetic. In control. Just the type of man a woman like me should give a wide, wide berth to.”
Now he really didn’t like where this conversation headed. He accepted no praise from her compliment. “I don’t want to control you, Harley.”
“My real name is Hailey. Cute, huh? Hailey-Harley. At the time, Mary Jo and I thought we were so clever.”
“Is that what you want me to call you?” He waited while she mulled his question over, hoping she’d answer “no.” As much as he wanted to learn everything he could about this woman, he already loved the part of her that would forever remain “Harley.” At least, to him.
“You can call me whatever you like. They’re both me.”
“I sure as hell hope so.” His tone contained more force than he’d planned and he witnessed her subtle flinch. He concentrated on softening his voice before he spoke again. “Listen to me, Harley. I’m not Paul. I’m not your aunt. I want to love you, not control you.”
Again, she combed her hands through her hair roughly. “Don’t you see, you already control me!” Her voice crackled with despair. “From the moment I woke up in your arms, I’ve depended on you to take care of me. Hell, I insisted on it. I haven’t made a single move without considering how it would affect you and your career.”
“That only shows how selfless you are.”
“I don’t want to be selfless, Grant. I want to be selfish. Make my own way. Put my needs first. I’ve never done that.”
Grant stood, and stepped back, fighting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. “And what about Sammy?”
“That’s different. He’s a kid. He needs me.”
“Then leaving me won’t make a difference. You’ll still be putting someone else’s needs above your own.” He leaned down, allowing himself to touch her hand. He bit back a growl when she stiffened. “Stay with me. You and Sammy are more than welcome here. Mary Jo, too, if she needs a place.”
“I’m sure Mr. Phipps would have a field day with that scenario.”
“I don’t give a damn about him. Just you. Only you.”
“Lord, Grant. Don’t you see? You’re willing to put me first over everything in your life. Your family. Your career. I can’t do that. I may have my memory back, but I still don’t know who I am. What I’m made of. Until I do…”
He held his hand up, cutting her off, silencing her painful truths. As much as he wanted to fight her, her reasoning remained firmly rooted. He wouldn’t change her mind.
Not today anyway.
From the corner of his eye, he watched her swipe moisture from her face. “I don’t know how to repay you for all you’ve done, for all you’ve risked.”
His bittersweet smile felt foreign on his face. He stood, straightened his trousers, then glanced around at the meaningless representations of wealth and power all around him. His Mercedes and his Explorer gleamed from the street. His mansion loomed behind him. The entire Citrus Hill police force scrambled carefully over his lawn to ensure quick and certain justice for the man who probably directed at least some portion of their personal assets.
And still, he had nothing of value so long as Harley wouldn’t have him in her life.
“You don’t have to repay anything. Not now. You get your life how you want it, then look me up.” He spared her a sidelong glance, then turned his back to make sure she didn’t see the pain in his eyes. “We’ll discuss reimbursement then.”
GRANT STUFFED THE wrinkled napkin into the pocket of his slacks. The address scribbled in Mary Jo’s hurried hand matched the numbers on the converted warehouse, leaving no doubt that the brass key would unlock the building’s private side entrance. In a matter of minutes, he could end the nearly month-long separation Harley had imposed after leaving his home in Citrus Hill. Allowing her to maintain her privacy hadn’t been easy, but he’d reverted to throwing himself into his work.
But when Mary Jo stopped by his office this afternoon on her way to pick up Sammy in Miami, he coerced her into allowing him to take her to lunch. She skillfully avoided telling him too much about how Harley was, saying he should find out for himself. Only gentle badgering and a strong dose of charm garnered a report that Harley had reclaimed her studio lease and had successfully started her therapy practice, thanks in part to the publicity generated by Mrs. Langley’s newspaper articles.
Both Harley and Mary Jo had been careful to keep Grant’s name out of reports regarding Buck’s attack and subsequent arrest. With the long list of felony charges pending against Mary Jo’s ex-boyfriend, Harley’s assault complaint was hardly news of note for the big city papers. But the truest test came a week after Harley’s departure, when Wilhelmina Langley’s exposé dominated the front-page section of the Citrus Hill Weekly.
He’d received an advance copy, left mysteriously on his doorstep the night before. In words Grant found surprisingly poetic, Mrs. Langley told Harley’s tale with compelling clarity and compassion. His neighbor slanted the piece into the story of a woman’s quest for independence—and made the article a three-part essay that had concluded just the Sunday before. Buoyed by Mary Jo and Joy’s more tragic stories, Harley came across as the most fortunate. She’d at least found a benevolent knight in shining armor in the financial impresario who risked his standing in a conservative community to help her rediscover her path.
The Board of Directors couldn’t have been more pleased. Their CEO was a regular hero. The percentage of female investors surged—especially among those who’d previously left in protest over the libidinous activities of the former management. Howell Phipps protested the Board’s dismissive attitude, and suffered a forced early retirement as a result. A unanimous vote promoted Grant to Chairman and CEO before he knew what was happening.
But Grant didn’t give a damn about the good press, the firm’s growth or his new position. He only wanted Harley back.
And now, after nearly a month of isolation, Harley wanted to see him. After she finished her burger and fries, Mary Jo slipped him the address and the key, told him to arrive at the studio at eight o’clock sharp, and left the restaurant.
Grant glanced at his watch. Seven fifty-two. Sunset neared, casting the old brick buildings with a magenta glow. Mingled sounds of pounding bass from the blues club two doors down and the Latin cantina across the street surged in the air, lending a breath of life to the red brick streets and cracked sidewalks. In the fifteen minutes since Grant arrived in Ybor City, Tampa’s historic section nearly doubled in population. An hour more and the number would double again. Dressed in clothes ranging from power suits to spikes and leather, people of all ages swarmed the sidewalks. They pressed into Grant’s personal space, urging him to open the door leading to Harley’s second floor studio—or at least, move out of the way.
Now, he had to admit, if only to himself, how he both dreaded and anticipated this reunion. He replayed their last conversation at least ten times daily, feeling her conviction to make her own way—alone—like a knife in the heart. He’d read and reread Harley’s interview with Mrs. Langley where she’d announced her commitment to complete autonomy from all outside influences. Now that she’d started down the road to her dream, how could she backtrack for him? How could he let her? More than likely, she planned tonight’s rendezvous as a bittersweet, but definite goodbye.
Over his dead body.
Grant had the door unlocked then relocked in what seemed like a split second. He took the stairs three at a time, surprisingly unwinded when he burst through the entrance to her studio.
He didn’t know what to expect in a dance therapist’s studio, but he hadn’t expected this.
With shades drawn, the polished wood floor caught and echoed the soft glow of violet-and-blue lights suspended from the ceiling. Sound equipment sat, silent, behind a mirrored privacy panel in one corner and large speakers dominated the other three. Four mirrored walls reflected his image and that of a simple wooden chair placed dead center in the room, directly across from a gleaming brass pole that stretched from the floor to the top of a sixteen-foot ceiling. A single red beam of light focused straight down on the seat.
In the muted darkness, he missed the spiral, wrought iron staircase at the far end of the room—until Harley emerged through the sliding door on the landing and called his name.
He took another step into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Am I late?” he asked.
The metal landing rattled when Harley stepped closer to the edge. “If you are, it’s my fault. I should have invited you long before now.”
Grant blinked, wishing his eyes would adjust to the light so he could see her more clearly. Her silhouette hovered above him like a dark angel—mysterious, fascinating. Sad. Like someone about to say goodbye. “I understand.”
“I don’t think you do.”
She pulled something from her pocket and a moment later the speakers awoke. The sensuous sound of a sultry saxophone masked the noise from the nightlife outside. The brass instrument wailed in perfect stereo, slowly, soulfully, a steady bass beat the only accompaniment. Then violins. Sweet. Innocent. Classic. The contrast of sound met and mingled with the lights and the mood. Grant closed his eyes and allowed the music to penetrate and dispel his reluctance and his fears, leaving nothing inside him but love and desire for Harley.
“Have a seat,” she directed, though she made no move to descend to the studio’s lower level.
Grant complied, not knowing what she had in mind. The red lamp heated the seat of the chair. Feeling warmer with each second that passed, Grant slid open the top button of his shirt and unknotted his tie.
“Comfortable?” Her voice, cast from a distance, reached his ear like an intimate whisper.
“I’m getting more and more uncomfortable by the minute.”
He imagined that tiny, knowing smile of hers and his discomfort increased.
He heard her take a step down the staircase, but could barely see her with the bright red light beaming into his eyes. Scooting the chair forward an inch allowed him to break through the scarlet haze.
“That makes two of us.”
She wore her trench coat, which she shed halfway down, folding it neatly over the handrail. He couldn’t determine the exact style of her clothes beneath, but he prayed for something sexy, something she’d chosen just for him…something he’d rip off the moment she came close enough.
When she took a few more steps downward, he caught the distinct gloss of black leather.
His frustrated groan sounded distinctly like a feral growl.
“Harley, if you’d learned anything about me, you wouldn’t be wearing that. Not unless you’re prepared for the consequences.”
She pulled the leather jacket’s collar up stiffly. “I’m counting on those consequences, Mr. Riordan.”
Spoken in the silkiest tone, her assertion quickened his pulse, diverting his blood flow exclusively to his lower body. His lungs tightened. His palms moistened. Her spiked heels clicked on the wood floor, a devilish cadence against the cool jazz on the stereo.
“Speaking of learning about people—” She remained just outside his line of sight. “I’ve found out a lot about myself in the last month.”
She circled behind him. The spiced cinnamon scent she’d worn the first night they’d met teased his nostrils, spurring him to inhale despite the cramping in his chest.
“Like how sexy you are? How irresistible?”
“More like how stubborn.”
Grant stifled a laugh, recalling that first night when she’d insisted on sleeping in his bed. And when she’d burst into his office. When she’d seduced him in the pool. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants. There’s no crime in that.”
“There is when it stands in the way of love.”
His heart skipped one beat, then a second when she stepped around him. Leaning seductively against the brass pole directly in front of him, but painfully out of his reach, she slid one foot up the sturdy shaft and balanced her spiked heel on the golden metal. Her leather pants hugged her calves and thighs like slick enamel.
“After regaining my memory, I couldn’t see how I could get my life back on track if I stuck around your place. I thought I’d fall into my old habits, defer to you like I had to Aunt Gracie, and then to Paul, not make decisions for myself.”
“Now you know differently?” Grant didn’t want to let his hopes soar, but neither could he let this conversation draw out any longer than a few more minutes. Watching her stand there, her body undulating almost imperceptibly to the music, made him rock-hard. At the first confirmation that she wanted him back, he planned to divest her of her seductive clothes and make love to her right there on the chair.
Or against the pole.
Probably both.
Then, they’d move to the stairs. And beyond.
Her eyelashes fanned her cheeks as she glanced demurely downward. “Making decisions for myself has its merits, but it’s lonely. Especially when I know there’s someone out there who might want to share the process with me.”
His throat constricted, momentarily abating his vivid fantasies.
“I spend all day dealing with people who aren’t sure about what they want.” He leaned forward on his elbows, the red light heating the back of his neck. “Who want my approval sometimes more than my advice. Who want me to make their choices so they don’t have to blame themselves when they make a mistake. I tire of that responsibility. I want a woman who knows what she wants, but who needs me to make the getting more…enjoyable.”
“I may need more than that sometimes.”
“Sweetheart, you know I’ll give you everything I have. Just don’t make me wait any longer.”
A half smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she managed, visibly, to keep her grin at bay. Instead, she lowered her foot and balanced her weight, as if preparing for action.
“Isn’t that chair hard?”
The curved wooden back did bite into his shoulders, but it was the ache troubling his groin he needed Harley to alleviate. “I’d much prefer a soft bed.”
She pulled down the gleaming silver zipper on her jacket, exposing the pale bare skin of her throat. “You sure? The bedroom upstairs is tiny. Hardly enough room for what I have planned.”
She spun around to the other side of the pole, undulating right and left as the music’s tempo increased. “I couldn’t strip for you that night by the pool. I kept thinking that I’d done that for other men.”
Grant fought to take a swallow. “But you never have.”
“Now, I want to.” She turned around, leaning her back against the pole, sliding down a few inches so the thick gold post slipped between the crease of her buttocks. “For you.”
Sitting back, Grant gripped the edge of the chair, hardly believing how Harley, the woman he loved—the woman he intended to marry—was about to play out his most secret fantasy. “You know what you want. Don’t let me stand in your way.”
She flipped the cropped jacket down her arms and coyly glanced over her bared shoulder. “I don’t intend to let you stand. House rules. No touching the dancers.”
He licked parched lips. “Not at all? Ever?”
The leather jacket hit the floor. Harley kicked it away.
“Not until I say so.”
Facing him again, she stood, legs parted, so the pole fit into her cleavage. She reached both hands above her head, grasping the brass and swaying her hips—two counts right, three to the left. Slowly, she inched her hands downward, stroking the post sensually, leaving Grant to imagine how she’d touch him when the time came.
Leaning her head back, Harley surrendered to the music. The deliberate beat guided her hands as she released the pole and unzipped her pants. She dipped a finger into the crotch, teasingly, tantalizingly, showing Grant how she adored her body, how she wanted him to adore her body. Soon. Very soon.
Two quick tugs with her other hand and the Velcro seams released. The pants flew across the room. In only a leather bikini and ankle-high boots, Harley grasped the pole again, spinning and jumping at the same time until she swung around with practiced grace.
She landed crouched close to the floor. Bracing the pole against her back, she stood, languidly, again positioning the brass between her legs, rolling her hips forward and back, simulating sex, feigning rapture on her face.
Sweat trickled down Grant’s forehead and collected at his collar, but the heat didn’t stop there. Every inch of him flamed with intense need. His breathing labored, he parted his lips, pulling in deep breaths, panting openly, and not caring. Without any prodding from him, she knew exactly what he craved. She plunged into the role of seductress with verve, invigorating herself with the power of her control, vitalizing him with the novelty of complete surrender.
She left the pole and stood not a half foot from where he sat. Starting at her neck, she smoothed her hands down the side of her body, rolling her hips in rhythmic circles. Thrusting forward, she bent her knees so her breasts bounced just inches from his lips.
She pulled at a snap on the top of the triangular bikini cup, revealing a sliver of skin on her right breast, then her left. Two more tugs, and the top would become nothing more than black straps surrounding pale, ample breasts.
Anticipation left him speechless.
“Enjoying the show?”
He managed to nod.
“You look hot.”
Stepping between his legs, she removed his tie and tugged his shirt from his pants, working the buttons until the material fell aside.
“I want you comfortable.”
She rubbed his shirt against her face and inhaled his scent before she tossed the garment aside.
“Then let me touch you.”
“Not yet.”
She undid his belt next, then the button and zipper of his pants. Her fingers momentarily brushed over his stiffness. He groaned.
She backed away. “Ever had a lap dance?”
“Ever done one?”
She grinned at his evasion, obviously confident the Grant Riordan she knew would never have the nerve to purchase something so forbidden in a public place.
“This’ll be my first.” With deft fingers, she removed the triangles of material covering her breasts. Her nipples, bathed in the red heated light, peaked high, announcing her arousal.
She turned around, braced her hands on her knees and crouched, balancing her backside a breath away from his lap.
“Marry me and it won’t be your last,” he promised.
She grinned wickedly over her shoulder, dipping to briefly allow contact between her bottom and his groin. “Intend to hire me out?”
He gripped the side of the chair tighter. “Not on your life. I’ll keep you as my own private dancer.”
Facing him, she climbed over his lap, not sitting and still moving to the music. Her eyes now misted with something deeper than seduction—something more akin to fearful hope.
“You really want to marry me?”
He saw the last vestiges of uncertainty in her eyes, and vowed to devote himself to proving how unwarranted her apprehension was. In all his life, he’d never met a woman who embodied the exact combination of intelligence, sensuality and daring he craved. He was helpless to resist her, powerless to let her go. He grasped her waist, pulling her full against him, showing her how much he needed her at that moment while he told her how he needed her for the rest of his life.
“Right now, I want to make love to you. But tomorrow I want to marry you. This last month’s been hell. It’s been my old life. You’re the key to my new life. I love you, Harley. Be my wife. Be my lover and my confidant. My partner.”
“Your private dancer?”
Just weeks ago, the idea that she removed her clothes for a man’s pleasure terrified her—even when the man was Grant. But since she’d left his house, she’d learned how deeply he’d imbued himself into her soul. How the mere thought of him set her mind racing with delicious decadence and her heart with rapid need. She’d fully recovered her memory, but still couldn’t believe a time existed when Grant wasn’t a crucial part of her. Seducing Grant back into her life had been her way to promise she’d never let his life get boring or predictable ever again.
Amid her fears that he’d sap her independence, she’d missed how his presence fortified her, how his desire emboldened her. Even beyond the bedroom, their love gave her an equilibrium she’d never known. And once she dropped all pretense of humility, she realized she provided the same symmetry to him.
They were opposite sides of a scale. Their love would keep them in perfect balance.
He grinned as he leaned forward and took a nipple between his lips. “Yeah, my private dancer.”
She moaned, then cooed when he suckled gently. “On one condition.”
Looking up from where he now laved between her breasts, Grant’s eyes promised her the world. “Name your price.”
She divested him of his pants, then unsnapped the side of her bikini bottoms and slid the material away.
Naked and unbound, Grant grasped her hips, posing her directly over him. His eyes reflected such intense love, she feared speaking and breaking the spell.
But she had to ask this. She had to know that she’d never lose the man fate gave her and the ecstasy his loving promised.
“Don’t ever let me forget how much I love you.”
Grant slipped his hand between her legs. In a split second, a warm, slick heat pooled and bubbled. He eased her down, entering her with such exquisite laziness, she knew she’d climax before the first thrust.
“Harley, honey, I’m going to love you so thoroughly, tonight, tomorrow, and every day after, you’ll forget everything but me. Think you can handle that?”
She could only murmur her consent before the room began to spin.
by Julie Kenner
”YOU NEED A MAN.”
“Rachel!” Paris Sommers choked on her wine and scrunched lower into the booth. She would have preferred a quiet slide into oblivion, but since that wasn’t possible, poor posture would have to suffice.
“I’m serious,” Rachel continued. “All we need to do is find you an able-bodied male. You use him for one night. Bingo. Problem solved. Just pick one, already.”
Paris scanned the dimly lit Irish pub nestled in the heart of Manhattan. Thankfully, most of the patrons seemed uninterested, studying their pints instead. Some looked up, but then laconically turned away. Only a nearby waiter seemed even the slightest bit intrigued, and Paris caught his eye before he turned back to gathering dirty glasses from an adjacent table.
Pulling herself up, Paris leaned over the polished tabletop until she was nose to nose with Rachel. “Let’s lay off the men talk, okay?” She cast a meaningful glance toward the waiter. “People might misunderstand.”
“Afraid he’ll think you’re looking to get laid?”
“Stop it,” hissed Paris, knowing he must have overheard. Sure enough, his head tilted just a little so he could watch them. Despite the shadows, Paris swore she saw the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he moved away to wipe down another table.
The muted lighting prevented her from getting a good look at him, but what she could see, she liked. Strong features, a nice smile and just a hint of charisma. Well, that figured. A gorgeous guy looks her way and she’s having a ridiculous conversation about getting laid.
She frowned. Rachel Dean might have been her best friend since kindergarten, and her literary agent for the past six years, but she could still be a royal pain.
“Come on, Paris. Half your characters parade around in tiny bikinis on the arms of virile government agents. You’d think I could say ‘laid’ without you blushing.”
“That’s why they call it fiction.”
“Yet another reason you really do need a man.”
“Unlike some people, I have standards.”
Rachel pointed to herself and raised her eyebrows. “Moi? I have standards. Male. That’s a standard.”
Paris rolled her eyes. Rachel might not be a saint, but she was still a far cry from the sophisticated, experienced vixen she tried so hard to appear to be. “Maybe so, but the mere existence of a Y-chromosome doesn’t do it for me.” She wanted more. A lot more.
“No. You want Alexander. What would you do if he walked through that door? You’d jump him and have your wicked way with him right in front of us law-abiding bar patrons.”
Paris felt the telltale warmth of a blush creep up the back of her neck. Rachel knew her far too well.
“Au contraire, my friend,” she said, trying to cover. “I’m much too refined.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled sweetly. “The floor’s way too hard.”
Rachel downed the last of her beer. “Got news for you, kiddo. It ain’t gonna happen. And meantime, your diaphragm’s collecting cobwebs.”
“Of course it’s not happening, because I am not waiting for Alexander,” Paris insisted, adding a little extra emphasis, more for herself than for Rachel. Hadn’t she told herself over and over to let go of the fantasy that someone as delicious as Alexander would suddenly sweep her off her feet?
Trouble was, Alexander was a rare breed, a hard man to give up. Sophisticated, yet witty. Cold as steel to his enemies. Hot as molten lava with his lover. Fiercely loyal, utterly sexy. A man with the poise of a prince and the coolness of an assassin, Alexander could melt a woman’s heart with a well-placed look.
Paris closed her eyes and sighed. No matter how much she wanted him next to her, Alexander was not going to miraculously appear. Not in person. Not in the flesh.
Hadn’t she dated enough men to know that?
She took another sip of wine, then studied the deep red liquid. It was just as well, really. She knew exactly what she wanted out of life, had it all mapped out, in fact. Alexander was too suave, too cool, too dangerous to be part of the respectable suburban life she’d get around to eventually.
She twirled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. True, there was a part of her—a tiny but persistent part—that prodded her to cut loose, to take a walk on the wild side. To get out there and squeeze the Charmin at least once.
She’d struggled hard to keep that part under control, and she didn’t intend to blow it. A man like Alexander would throw a real kink into her carefully thought out plans. So it was for the best that he’d never appeared on her doorstep.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
Rachel leaned back in the booth and snorted. “Well, if you’re not waiting for an Alexander to sweep you off your feet, then what the devil are you waiting for?”
“Nothing. I date. I date nice men, the right kind of men.” Men who did absolutely nothing for her. No heart pounding. No toes curling. No…anything.
“The kind Daddy would approve of? Let me give you a clue, my friend. You date boring men. And you don’t even do that very often. Actually, considering the men I’ve seen you go out with, it’s just as well your diaphragm’s a little dusty.”
She glared at Rachel. “For your information, I don’t even own one.”
“Maybe you should. You need a little adventure in your life.”
Paris wasn’t about to confess that she’d been thinking almost that very thing. “I have adventure. I’m practically drowning in adventure.” What she really wanted was passion. Just one taste of the stomach-churning, knees-wobbling, lose-all-control kind of passion she imagined with Alexander. One moment of reality to fuel her imagination and tide her over for the rest of her life.
“You’ve got adventure, sure. But it’s in your head. I’m talking reality.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” Paris said, more harshly than she intended. “Could we get back on track? I didn’t force myself onto a plane, leave my goldfish with a neighbor, and come all the way from Texas for Introduction to Dating 101.” She took the last gulp of wine and leaned back, then saw the cute waiter out of the corner of her eye, staring right at her. And soaking up every word.
Great. Just great. When his smirk transformed into a full-blown smile, the heat in her cheeks rose in proportion to his expanding grin. Her stomach lurched as mortification swept over her. Half of her wanted to ask him out just to show Rachel up. Her more practical half wanted to scold him for eavesdropping on a rather embarrassing conversation.
She chose a middle ground. “Could you bring us some water?”
“Sure thing.” His deep voice held just enough of a New York accent to add flair without stealing attention from the rest of him. As he leaned over to clear their empty glasses, Paris inhaled his cinnamon-musk scent, a nice contrast to the smell of beer and tobacco that wafted through the pub. The dark stubble on his face contrasted with honey-colored waves to give him a wild, bohemian quality. His hair was the kind a woman’s fingers, and her kisses, could get lost in.
His profile danced on the edge of her memory, just inches out of reach. Why did he seem so familiar? She knew she’d never seen him before, yet his appearance called to her. His features were angular, with high cheekbones and a well-defined jawline. The tip of his nose bent just a little, as if broken in a reckless youth.
He moved away, weaving his way through the tables.
Then it hit her—that chiseled face, the sensual mouth, his bad-boy-playing-at-respectable air. Could it really be?
“Waiter!” she called, desperate for another look. When he turned and stepped into the light, Paris quelled a gasp. She’d been right. In her mind, she could picture every line, every angle, every contour of Alexander’s face. Except for the dark blond hair, this waiter could be Alexander’s twin.
“Miss?”
With a start, she realized she’d been staring, her mouth hanging open like an idiot. At least she’d refrained from drooling.
She grappled for something to say, then noticed the empty bowl that had earlier held cashews. “Um…could we also get something to nibble on?”
Her cute waiter nodded. “No problem.”
DEVIN O’MALLEY TRIED to get a grip on himself. He rarely noticed women. For years he’d been too immersed in his business to bother. Of course, that didn’t stop the women from noticing him, and if they made the first move, Devin had no qualms about reciprocating. He’d entertained plenty like the brunette named Rachel, in and out of his bed, usually converting their casual talk about sex into low-pitched moans and desperate pleas once the lights went out.
Yet he’d never once experienced such a tug of pleasure just from watching a woman like the petite blonde with the deep brown eyes. And it had been ages since he’d puzzled over how to ask a perfect stranger out on a date.
But he was wondering about how to ask this one.
Paris. The name seemed to fit, even though she lacked the exotic appearance he’d expect to accompany that name. She wasn’t a classic beauty. Each of her features, standing alone, boasted some flaw. Brown doe-eyes spaced a little too far apart, untamed eyebrows a shade darker than her neatly pinned golden curls, a nose that was just a little crooked, a too-small mouth that didn’t do justice to the perfectly shaped, full lips.
Empirically, her features were flawed. As a whole, her face was striking. It had certainly struck Devin. She was every fantasy he’d ever had rolled into one woman. And then some.
Her friend said she needed a man. Well, he intended to apply for the job.
“Pass me some nuts, would you, Jerry?” Devin asked as he slipped behind the mahogany and brass bar.
“We’re out. Want me to run to the back?”
“I’ll do it,” he said, actually grateful no one had bothered to stock the bar. He needed a few minutes to get his head in order. To plan his attack.
A large room with high ceilings and bare walls, the stockroom was a hodgepodge of electronic gadgetry and miscellaneous supplies. Devin found the cashews under a stack of misprinted menus and grabbed a box.
“Larry? Federal prosecutor Larry? He doesn’t have any magnetism. No one will buy that he’s Alexander.” Devin almost dropped his bundle. That smooth voice belonged to her.
“Well, I’ll be,” he mumbled. He’d forgotten that the room shared a thin wall with booth twelve.
“He’s perfectly fine,” Rachel replied.
“People have an image of Montgomery Alexander. Not just anyone can step into his shoes.”
Whoever this Alexander guy was, Paris sure seemed taken with him. The lucky bastard.
Devin took a deep breath. What the hell was he doing, eavesdropping on a woman he didn’t know and envying a man he’d never met? “Dev, you’re a basket case,” he muttered.
“You can say that again.”
Jerry’s whisper carried, and Devin spun around, a finger to his lips.
“Don’t worry,” Jerry assured. “The sound only comes in. Don’t ask me why. I just—”
Devin held up his hand. The women were talking again.
“So you’re okay with the idea?” Rachel asked. “All we have to do is find the right guy?”
“No, I’m not okay with it.” That was Paris. He pictured her with slightly raised eyebrows, like a woman scolding a small child. “Even if he looked perfect, how can we be sure this guy would keep the secret? Besides, it’s not right. It’d be like we were scamming everyone.”
“Scamming? Honey, what do you think we’re doing now?”
“Nothing,” Paris insisted. “Montgomery L. Alexander is just a pen name. My pen name.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” whispered Jerry. “Who woulda thought Montgomery Alexander was a broad?”
The knot in Devin’s stomach loosened and his heart picked up its tempo. He caught himself smiling and almost laughed out loud. There was no Alexander. It was just a pseudonym.
His reaction bordered on absurd, and he knew it. She didn’t know him from Adam. Just because there was no Alexander didn’t mean she was going to rush into Devin’s arms and smother him with kisses. So what difference did it make if this Alexander guy was out of the picture? None. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
Didn’t matter. The logic center of his brain must have taken a vacation and left the lust department in control. All he could think was that Alexander’s untimely demise left one less person in the world to compete with for her attention.
Now he just had to figure out how to get her attention.
“Okay,” Rachel finally said, and Devin imagined her leaning back into the worn red leather booth, gathering steam for her next attack on Paris’s logic. “But there’s a drawing of Alexander on the back of your latest book. There’ve been articles, and web-pages, and on-line interviews. There are even women who swear they’ve slept with the man. You didn’t expect that, and neither did I. But that’s what we’re dealing with now.”
“I should just ‘fess up and tell the truth at the party.” Paris said, sounding as if she’d prefer to have a root canal.
“And ruin everything? Hardback book deal. Remember? Money, publicity, the whole nine yards. Remember? You know Cobalt Blue’s only going to make an offer if Alexander comes through at the party tomorrow.”
“I know. I know. Besides, I’m just babbling. You know I can’t tell the truth. Not now. I’m in too deep.”
“So, let’s go out and find us an Alexander.” There was a pause. “What? Oh, no. You’re not going to say what I think you’re going to say.”
“But it’s true,” Paris insisted. “Not just anyone can be Alexander. He’s special. He’s unique.”
“Hello? Anybody home? He’s made up. Or are you going mental on me?”
Paris laughed. “Haven’t I always been?”
“Well, I’ll give you that.”
Devin heard shuffling.
“But what about the party?” Rachel asked. “We need time to find the right guy.”
“Maybe we could say he missed his plane from London.” Although her voice was muffled, Devin could just make out what Paris said. “As his personal manager, I guess little ol’ me will just have to break the bad news.”
Her voice barely penetrated the wall, and Devin realized they were leaving. The urge to see her again overwhelmed him, and he was on his feet and out the door before the echo faded. He burst into the dining area just as the front door swung shut.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he spewed, startling an old man munching pretzels at the bar. Without stopping to consider, he sprinted for the door, opened it and stepped into the heavy August heat. Paris stood across the street, about to slip into a taxi.
For a moment, she seemed to look right at him. Without thinking, he took a step toward her. Her mouth twitched in what could have been a smile, then she ducked in, slammed the door and was gone.
Devin mentally shook himself. He was acting like a flake. Since when did Devin O’Malley run after anonymous women? He tried to laugh it off, blaming his quirky behavior on testosterone, sunspots, or his fast-approaching thirty-first birthday. Anything to lessen the feeling that he had suddenly and without warning lost something terribly important.
“Answer to your prayers, eh, boss?”
“She’s a diamond, Jerry,” Devin answered, without turning around. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m coal. My whole family’s coal. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll make it to graphite by the next millennium. But not diamonds. Never diamonds.” And that was a damn shame.
“I ain’t suggesting you marry her, man. I’m saying she’s a nice little solution to your problem.”
Distracting thoughts of marriage and honeymoon nights, bare shoulders and a willing woman, that woman, drifted though Devin’s mind. Devin and the diamond? The possibility intrigued him, and Devin had never turned his back on a challenge. Hadn’t he started his business despite every possible obstacle? Wasn’t he finally shaking loose the remnants of his childhood?
Devin shook his head to clear his thoughts. “What are you talking about, Jerry?”
“Just your gal-pal and that twenty-thou you owe a certain, um, loan manager.”
Devin turned. “I don’t owe it.” A technicality, but true. After his dad’s stroke, Devin had said he’d cover the debt. Too bad for him the creditor was more vile than the worst thug in a Scorsese gangster flick.
Jerry shrugged. “Your pop, you. Same difference. You stepped in, so now it’s yours.”
Devin moved closer to the pub, out of the way of the foot traffic on the sidewalk. “What scheme are you crafting?”
“You ever read any of Montgomery Alexander’s books?”
Devin shook his head. “Never.”
“Well, I have. Every one. They’re all about this dude who’s your average, everyday super-spy named Joshua Malloy. A real slick number. All the books are pretty much the same. Old Joshua’s hired by some government to fight terrorists, assassinate the enemy, that kinda thing.”
He popped a karate chop toward Devin. “Fire fights, supersonic jets, nuclear bombs. Sex. You name it, these books got it.” Jerry grinned. “They ain’t literature, but they’re a damn wild ride.”
Blond curls, petite features and delicate hands flashed through Devin’s mind. “And that wisp of a woman writes these things?”
“Who’da thunk it, huh? For years people been wonderin’. ‘Who is Montgomery Alexander?’ they ask. Navy SEAL? Former CIA? Lot of folks say he’s a retired spy carryin’ a grudge. Got tired of his life being top secret and decided to call it fiction.”
“So you’re saying nobody knows what we just overheard?”
“You kiddin’?” Jerry lowered his voice. “This is major scoop material. I’ll tell you something else. Nobody, I mean nobody, woulda guessed Alexander was the homecoming queen.”
Devin looked down the bustling street, but her cab was well out of sight. His first impression had been right. She was one hell of a woman. And she’d taken a taxi right out of his life.
Idiot. He should have raced through the bar, fallen at her feet, shouted bad poetry over the loudspeaker. Something, anything, to have kept her close to him.
“Well,” Jerry prodded. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“Come on, Dev.” He gripped Devin’s shoulders and groaned with exaggerated melodrama. “The perfect scam just walked into our little corner of the world.”
Devin jerked away. “I run a pub. That’s not my world. And when I hired you, you promised me it wasn’t yours anymore.”
“I’m clean, man. I been straight over a year, ever since you hired me. But you need that money, and opportunity just strolled by. You can’t tell me you didn’t think of it. You’re a chip off the old block, eh? And your pop was among the best.”
“I’ll get the money, Jerry,” Devin insisted.
“What? In two weeks? How? This place is mortgaged to the hilt, buddy boy, and I know you don’t got any spare cash tucked in a drawer somewhere. What’re you gonna do? Call Derek?”
Devin grimaced. His older brother had been more than happy to follow in their father’s footsteps. On the night Devin moved out, Derek had told him in no uncertain terms that he was a loser, would never make it in the legitimate business world, and would come crawling back with his tail between his legs. Every cruel word was a prophecy Devin had no intention of fulfilling.
“I’ll get it. Without Derek and without pulling a con.”
Jerry held up his hands in surrender. “See, this is what I been talkin’ about.” He gestured to Devin and then back to himself. “You and me, we ain’t communicatin’. I’m not talkin’ ‘bout conning nobody. The thought never even entered my mind.”
“Sure, Jerry.”
“Honest. A simple business deal. You do something for diamond-lady, she does something for you.”
Twenty grand weighed on Devin’s shoulders. If Jerry really did have an idea, didn’t he owe it to himself to listen? And if Jerry’s idea wasn’t legitimate, he could just walk away.
Fighting against his better judgment, Devin looked into Jerry’s eyes. “You’ve got five minutes.”
JERRY LET OUT a low whistle. “Man, you are gonna knock ’em dead. If this were a movie you’d be a shoo-in for an Oscar.” He was sprawled in the middle of Devin’s tattered but comfortable couch, the major piece of furniture in the tiny, rent-controlled apartment. Piles of paperback novels teetered on either side of him. Index cards and empty cans of soda littered the glass-topped coffee table, replacing Devin’s financial magazines that were now scattered across the floor.
Devin chuckled. “Yeah, well, thanks for the vote of confidence. But I’m not interested in anything beyond the girl. She’s where my head is tonight.”
“The girl’s money, you mean,” Jerry said, slapping a sticky note inside one of the books.
“Of course,” Devin lied. First rule of the con—always keep your eye on the ball—and he’d already blown it.
His head knew the money was the only reason he’d finally agreed to this little scam. Unfortunately, his heart and certain other parts of his body were preoccupied with the thought of seeing Paris again. Of getting close to her. Talking to her.
Touching her.
His head was planning a scam, and his heart was planning a seduction.
Wonderful. His first con in over ten years and he couldn’t even focus. The woman had really thrown him for a loop.
But for the most part, he wasn’t worried. Jerry’s instinct was right. As a teenager, Devin had worked the streets enough with his dad to know he had a knack for playing whatever role needed to be played. Once he got the old rhythm back, Devin could practically sleepwalk through a con and pull it off.
That thought fostered another. Why not combine some not so pleasant business with some very pleasant pleasure? As long as when all was said and done he had twenty grand in his pocket, he might as well make the most of it. And other than paying off his dad’s debt, about the only good thing that could come out of the whole mess was the chance to spend a little time with Paris.
He moved to the apartment’s one bedroom and studied his reflection in the full-length mirror. He’d never really thought of himself as the suave, sophisticated baccarat type. More the jeans, T-shirt and poker type, actually. But he had to admit he looked the part. All it took was a close shave, some hair dye, and a double-dose of attitude and he was in like Flynn.
How easy it was to fall back into old habits. Bad habits.
His stomach churned and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Dammit. What the hell was he thinking?
He ripped off the suit jacket and threw it on his bed, then stormed out of the bedroom, determined to rectify this mistake before it went any further.
“Forget it, Jerry. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not conning her.” No matter how much he needed the money, he wasn’t going to scam Paris. He’d walked away from that life the day he turned eighteen. And not even the prospect of seeing her again could entice him back into that role.
Jerry closed a paperback crammed full of yellow sticky notes and stood up. “You’ll be doin’ her a favor, buddy boy. You heard the lady. She needs an Alexander.”
He tossed the book to Devin. “And here you are, a walkin’, talkin’, breathin’ solution to her little problem.”
Devin studied the sketch on the back cover. The artist had been careful not to include anything too specific in the loose drawing. But even so, the resemblance was there. He could pass for Alexander. Easy.
“Your diamond gal’s up a tree. You heard ’em. Don’t you think she’d pay twenty grand to find the perfect Alexander?”
“She probably would,” Devin agreed.
“Well, then,” said Jerry, as if he’d just resolved some mathematical theorem.
“But she didn’t hire me. I’m crashing the party, remember? That’s how we know it’s a con and not gainful employment.”
“For cryin’ out loud, Devie-boy. Where’s the harm? I mean, we’ve already decided she’d pay it, right? And it sure ain’t no worse than the con she’s got going.”
That lost Devin. “What con?”
Jerry spread open his arms. “Everything. The whole shebang. Letting the world think this Alexander dude exists. That he’s smoking cigars and driving fast cars and sidling up to the ladies, when really he’s a chick, fussin’ over her hair, painting her toenails and taking bubble baths.”
A pounding at the front door jerked Devin’s mind away from images of Paris lounging in a tub full of bubbles.
“Expecting someone?”
Devin shook his head, frowning. His Manhattan apartment might not be in a high security building, but nobody was supposed to be able to enter without first being buzzed in. “Probably a neighbor.” Still, he had a bad feeling…
He looked out the peephole. Nobody. The mailman had probably left Devin’s mail in Mrs. Miller’s box again. He’d given her his phone number three times, but the poor old thing just kept on risking a coronary by trotting up three flights of stairs and leaving his mail under the welcome mat.
When he opened the door, instead of his mail he found a small package, neatly wrapped in white paper and tied with string. A very bad sign.
Jerry looked over his shoulder. “They got your number, man.”
With some trepidation, Devin picked up the package and dropped it on his kitchen table. Using a steak knife, he cut the twine and loosened the paper. A wave of nausea swept over him.
A cow’s tongue. Fresh from any butcher shop in the city.
“It’s a warning, my friend.” Jerry’s voice was lower and more serious than Devin had ever heard. “If you don’t pay up on time, it’ll be your tongue. Or your dad’s.”
Devin nodded, fighting back the urge to fly down the stairs and comb the streets for the punk who’d left that little gift. But that wouldn’t help. It would only up the stakes.
Pop had always been small-time. Little cons. Just enough to pay rent and put food on the table. But his damn gambling habit had mushroomed. First the track, then Atlantic City.
His dad’s biggest mistake had been placing a bet with Carmen’s boys, then letting it ride, double or nothing, when the pony lost. Carmen and his cronies had sucked the old man in like quicksand. And mob-backed bookies weren’t quick to forgive. Forget interest rates, it was the penalties that really got you.
“It’s your choice, man. Either call Derek or…” Jerry’s voice trailed off as he glanced toward the books on the sofa.
Trapped, Devin shut his eyes. Jerry was right. There was no way in hell he was going to call his brother. He’d run out of choices. He’d do this.
For his father, he would pull one last con.
PARIS TOOK A DEEP BREATH, then another. It didn’t help. Panic inched another step closer.
The first hour of the party had been painless. She had circulated among the crowd, making small talk, evading questions about Alexander, and having a better time than she’d expected. But now people were beginning to wonder why Alexander hadn’t arrived. And that meant it was almost curtain time.
She pressed her back against the wall, hoping no one would notice her and decide to chat. Right now, Paris wasn’t sure she could form a coherent sentence. But despite her frazzled nerves, she had to concede the party was a hit. Cobalt Blue Publishing had rented the back two dining areas of a funky restaurant tucked away on the first floor of a renovated older hotel where Paris frequently stayed.
As she had wandered through the party earlier, she’d overheard various snippets of lively conversations. Everything from speculation about whether Alexander would really show, to intellectual ruminations about the deeper meaning behind some of Alexander’s plots. A few people even asked if she was involved with Alexander that way. She’d said “no,” of course, although for a fleeting moment she’d been tempted to reveal to the public the steamy affair she had going on in her fantasies. That was an urge she’d quelled right away.
But while Alexander might be the man of the hour, his absence wasn’t keeping the guests from taking full advantage of the music, the food and the drink. A band Paris recalled seeing on late night television jammed in one corner under a wall of neon beer signs. A few energetic souls were dancing on a raised platform, but for the most part people clustered near the food or the alcohol. Two open bars bracketed a buffet laden with typical cocktail party appetizers. Nothing particularly original, but all tasty. Mounted behind the buffet, a six-foot-tall reproduction of the cover of Montgomery Alexander’s latest book, Dearest Enemy, Deadly Friend, loomed over the crowd, a not-so-subtle reminder that this party had a purpose.
Paris had to hand it to Ellis Chapman. Once again he’d outdone himself. The owner of Cobalt Blue, Ellis had grown his small press into a legitimate publisher. Now he was on the brink of being a real industry player, primarily because of his guerilla marketing stunts. At a minimum, Ellis insisted his authors do local television talk shows, and it had originally irritated him when Paris explained that Alexander refused to make public appearances. Ellis being Ellis, he’d quickly turned the situation to his advantage by focusing on Alexander’s mystique. If Paris were a betting woman, she’d lay odds that Ellis had planted the persistent rumors that Montgomery Alexander was a former spy.
She’d hoped Ellis would stay happy with the mysterious recluse angle indefinitely. But with the release of Dearest Enemy, he’d become antsy. Sales were doing just fine, but he wanted them to do even better. So when the book made one of the bestseller lists, he’d sent out invitations to a supposedly low-key cocktail party honoring the book’s success. Then he’d hinted to the right people that Alexander himself might drop by.
When Paris had protested, he’d started throwing around words like “hardback,” and “higher royalties,” and “multi-book deals.” At the same time, he’d casually asked Paris to let Alexander know he’d be seeing none of those things if he didn’t get himself to New York for the cocktail party.
Now the restaurant overflowed with a variety of people who’d been drawn by the allure of seeing the reclusive Mr. Alexander. Reporters danced with editors. Fans chatted with other Cobalt Blue authors. A few soap opera stars mugged for the photographers.
Paris caught sight of Ellis chatting in the corner with a reporter she recognized from that morning’s news. She swallowed the lump in her throat and wondered what he would do when she made her announcement that Alexander wasn’t coming. Her gaze swept over the relatively well-mannered crowd. Surely this group wouldn’t transform into a modern-day lynch mob.
Would it?
Swaying to the rhythm of the music, Rachel approached with two glasses of champagne and pushed one toward Paris.
“You know I don’t drink that stuff.”
“Trust me on this one.”
Paris sniffed the champagne, sighed, then took a quick sip. The bubbles tickled her nose and took her mind off the party. Since that wasn’t a bad thing, she took a bigger swallow.
“Having fun?”
“Better than I expected.” She frowned, remembering the announcement she still had to make. “For now, anyway.” With a broad wave of her arm, Paris gestured over the entire room. “Look at this. Put these folks in pinstripes and it would be just like all the parties back when my dad was hot and heavy into politics. I spent the first twenty years of my life promising myself I would spend the rest of my life avoiding any function where I was required to schmooze. But here I am of my own free will.”
“It’s a fun party. And you’re not the same girl who turned down Daddy’s offer to run his law practice when he became a judge.”
Paris nodded. That was true. She’d changed a lot since law school. If her dad had asked the woman she was now to follow in his footsteps, maybe she’d have been able to turn him down honestly, telling him she wanted to try her hand at writing. And if she was having a really brave day, she might even have told him what kind of writing—fast-paced, sexually charged, testosterone-laden flights of fancy.
Unfortunately, Judge Sommers hadn’t asked today’s Paris. He’d asked a Paris who existed almost a decade ago. Fresh out of law school, that Paris didn’t have the stomach to stand up to her father. That Paris couldn’t bear the look of disapproval she knew would have flashed across his face. So she’d concocted a job in another city and never told him about her books.
She grimaced. Who was she kidding? Today’s Paris wasn’t any braver. She’d managed to dig herself in deep with this life full of lies. But she’d get back on track soon enough. She had her literary and financial life all mapped out, and she didn’t intend to keep secrets from her dad forever. As soon as she could afford to quit writing the Alexander books, she would. She’d turn to accepted literature. The kind that got reviewed in Sunday newspaper inserts. The kind that won literary awards.
The kind her dad would find respectable.
She tossed back the last of her drink, grabbed Rachel’s still untouched one, and took a gulp.
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Just because I’m the poster girl for step aerobics doesn’t mean I can carry you back to your room.”
“I think I’ve discovered the cure for nerves,” said Paris, raising her glass. “Tiny bubbles.” She hummed, trying to remember the words to one of her dad’s favorite songs, her feet tapping out a subtle little jig.
“Paris.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s about time.”
“They’re going to hate me. What’s that saying? Kill the messenger?”
“Nonsense. Maybe you won’t get Christmas cards, but they won’t hate you. They won’t hate Alexander, either. It’s just a delay, remember? Until we can find the right guy. In the meantime, this will just add to his mystique. Hell, it’ll probably boost sales.”
“Maybe I should—”
“Paris. Go.”
Paris grimaced, but nodded. Walking like a woman condemned, she crossed the dance floor and headed toward the kitchen. On the way, she noticed a commotion near the entrance. Camera flashes illuminated the room like tiny bursts of lightning.
On any other day, Paris would have been lured by the possibility of seeing a big celebrity. But right now, even Harrison Ford couldn’t have waylaid her. She had to get to the phone, pretend to dial, then return to the party and relay the sad news that Mr. Alexander had missed his flight from London.
Athunderous round of applause stopped her dead in her tracks. Curious, she turned and watched as the crowd parted to make way for a man she knew. A man who didn’t exist.
Montgomery Alexander was walking straight toward her.
OF COURSE, Paris knew the man couldn’t be Montgomery Alexander. Alexander was a figment of her imagination, created so she wouldn’t have to explain why she was writing books filled with guns and cars and girls wearing next to nothing.
For years, she’d shared with him the kind of adventures she craved. Adventures a politician’s daughter just couldn’t have. In her mind, they’d traveled to exotic islands, danced until dawn, made love on the beach with nothing but the breeze to cover them. Real life couldn’t satisfy her desire for passion and romance, but Alexander had filled that gap.
They’d had long conversations in the moonlight, and he’d listened to her hopes, her dreams. He amused her with his wit and beguiled her with his charm. Yes, she’d made him up. She knew that. But somehow she’d fallen in love with him anyway.
And over the years, she’d spent uncounted delightful hours imagining every luscious inch of him. So how was it possible that now Alexander’s details escaped her? Now, she could see only him, an Alexander bursting free of fantasy and striding toward her with such purpose that her sluggish imagination kicked back into gear, conjuring up all sorts of erotic fantasies about how they could pass a little time together.
He stepped out of the shadows and she swallowed. Oh my.
His walk marked him as confident, almost arrogant, and his firm, humorless mouth was belied by a sparkle in his eyes that reflected compassion and intelligence. Defined cheekbones and a sturdy jaw accented his freshly shaved face. Dark brown waves were slicked back in a devil-may-care style.
Even the forest green suit, Alexander’s standard attire for special occasions, was perfect. Another man might just wear the suit. Not Alexander. He commanded it, as if even clothing couldn’t escape the brute force of his magnetism.
Alexander glanced her way, then said something to a nearby woman, who turned to the crowd with the promise that Mr. Alexander would be right back.
Before Paris realized what was happening, before she could still the flutter in her chest, he caught up with her. Her breath caught as his gaze caressed her, starting at her toes, and she surprised herself by trembling under the scrutiny. She took inventory of her appearance—black heels, little black dress with spaghetti straps, pinned-up hair—and wondered if he approved.
When he reached her face, Paris saw real desire in his eyes and fought hard not to blush. When he leaned in and kissed her cheek, she almost dissolved into a puddle of goo right there.
Her logical half knew she should be throwing a fit, hurling accusations and demanding explanations. Baser instincts urged her to grab the moment, to melt into his arms and taste his kisses. She concentrated on just keeping her balance.
“We shouldn’t keep meeting like this,” he said, his voice straight from her fantasies. “People will say we’re in love.”
Paris gasped, knocked even more off-kilter. A right-punch to her stomach wouldn’t have shocked her as much. He was quoting a line from her first book, and Paris wasn’t sure if she should be comforted, or very, very worried.
She took a shaky breath. “Have you read the book?”
He hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
Paris shrugged. “No reason,” she said, trying hard to throw some ice into her tone and take control of, not only the situation, but her own leaping pulse. “It just seemed like an odd line to choose, since Joshua, the hero, says it to a female spy after she’s tried to kill him three times.”
“I assume she fails.”
Paris squirmed, aware that her own insides had turned to jelly with nothing more than the simple brush of his lips across her cheek.
“She doesn’t kill him, right?” the stranger pressed.
“He, um, he manages to convince her otherwise.”
“You mean he seduces her and manages to turn her into a counteragent. Nice technique he had, wouldn’t you say?”
“Under the circumstances, I suppose,” Paris muttered, trying to get a grip on herself.
Discussing a seduction scene with a man who could reduce her to quivers with one heated look was not a good idea. It was bad enough to have a crush on a man her imagination had conjured up, but that could be justified as a creative mind working overtime. But to have a libidinous reaction to some practical joker who was surely little more than a wanna-be actor was just plain ludicrous…no matter how much he looked and acted like the man of her dreams.
She needed to sit down, but nothing was nearby. Squatting on the floor would give entirely the wrong impression, and running screaming from the room simply wouldn’t do. She had no choice but to stick it out.
“Who are you and why are you here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” The mild accent hinted at New York, not the cultured, almost British lilt she’d always imagined. Even so, it was familiar. She was just too rattled to remember why, who, where.
As if observing herself in a dream, she felt her features smooth into a polite mask punctuated by a sugary smile. “We need to talk.”
“We’re not talking?” His voice was almost a whisper. Sultry. Sexy.
For a moment, Paris thought that talking wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Kissing would be better. If she melted from nothing more than a peck on the cheek, imagine what a real, deep, mind-numbing kiss would do to her…
She gave herself a mental kick in the pants. He was not Alexander. He couldn’t be. And she wasn’t going to let herself crumble in a pile of lust at his feet.
“We need to talk now,” she repeated. He nodded, just barely, and pressed his hand against her lower back, guiding her toward the kitchen. His heat through the thin material distracted her, and it took all her concentration to keep her feet moving and her lips smiling.
As they moved toward the kitchen, a few people called out to him, one or two holding out a hand for him to shake, and all urging him to stop and join the party. If he stepped away from her now and started circulating among the crowd, Paris knew she’d lose what little control over the situation she still had. She held her breath, waiting for him to play his trump card. He never did. Instead, he greeted the fans with a polite smile and a promise to return. With his hand firmly on her back, he steered them both through the mass of people and into the kitchen. Even Alexander couldn’t have handled the situation any better.
She stepped away from him the second they were through the doors. She needed to get centered, to put on a businesslike front. Staying close to him would be too distracting. Too dangerous. Alexander or not, the man was lethal.
“Just who do you think you are?” she demanded.
No glib answer rolled past his lips. He offered no reassurance that all was well. Instead, his lips curved into the slightest of smiles. “Tonight, I’m Montgomery Alexander.”
There it was, that punch in the stomach. For a moment, one freakish, funky, never-to-be-repeated moment, Paris believed him. The thought skittered through her head that all these years she’d been the one impersonating him.
Determination gripped her. He was trying to confuse her. Then she remembered where she had seen those eyes. The hair was no longer blond, and the roguish beard had been shaved, but there was no mistaking his midnight blue eyes.
“Alexander’s eyes are darker,” she said, her words and tone both an accusation and a challenge. “Almost black.” Piercing, yet sensual. A contrast to this man’s warm, inviting eyes—eyes that looked as though they could see all her secrets.
“Really?” He ran his finger casually down her arm, leaving her flesh hot and anxious in his wake. “Are you sure?”
She swallowed. She wasn’t sure of anything. Except that the evening was becoming increasingly surreal and that she needed to regain her equilibrium before she lost complete control of the situation, and herself. It was as if a chasm yawned in front of her, compelling her to jump in, to free-fall into fantasy with this man. To live the adventure she’d always imagined.
Frowning, she urged her meandering thoughts back on track. “The other day. You’re that waiter…” she said, latching on to the one small thing she was sure about.
“Actually, I own the bar.”
“I don’t care if you own the whole city. What are you doing here?” With a start, she realized how she’d been set up. “Rachel put you up to this.”
“No.”
“Don’t give me that. How much is she paying you?” The words spilled over each other. “I’m going to kill her. I can’t believe she would hire you without telling me.”
She slammed her fist into the palm of her other hand. “Look at me. I’m a wreck. My best friend’s made me a total wreck.”
“Paris,” he whispered.
She ignored him.
“Paris.” He cupped her chin, easing her head up until she had to look at him. He dropped his hand and waited.
“What?”
“No one sent me,” he said.
Maybe it was the gentle sound of his voice. Maybe it was something noble in his eyes. Paris wasn’t sure. All she knew was that, despite circumstances and logic, she believed him.
And she wanted him to touch her again. She pushed the thought away, determined not to fall victim to the allure of this stranger. No matter how delicious the prospect.
“Then why are you here?” she demanded.
This time the confident curve of his lips became a full-fledged smile. It was everything she’d imagined Alexander’s smile would be, and more. He reached out to caress her cheek, then pulled away as if he’d been caught in the cookie jar.
A wave of disappointment crashed over Paris as his hand retreated. She fought the urge to lean forward into his touch.
“It’s nothing nefarious. I promise. I just wanted to meet you. To help you.” He looked straight into her eyes. “Actually, I wanted to ask you out.”
She blinked. “Oh. Well, you’ve got strange ideas about how to get a date.” Her retort came out softer than she’d intended. She wasn’t sure she believed him, but regardless, her indignation seemed to be sliding away. For a figment of her imagination, he’d become decidedly real. Not to mention sexy.
Stop it! This man was not Alexander. He was some anonymous party crasher who obviously had an agenda.
If the situation weren’t so absurd, it would have been tragic. Here she was, faced with some weirdo—albeit a seductive, mind-numbingly gorgeous weirdo—impersonating her livelihood, and she was all a-flutter. Like some prepubescent groupie.
She realized he’d been observing her with some apprehension, the way a trainer would study a wild animal he intended to tame. “Is that all you have to say?” She heard the edge of impatience in her voice.
“What else can I say? The situation is in your hands. Are you going to turn me in?”
Paris was half-tempted to say yes, but both she and this stranger would know she was lying. She couldn’t reveal him as a fraud without looking absurd herself, and certainly not without producing the “real” Montgomery Alexander. She had no choice but to continue the charade.
She needed him. And he damn well knew it.
Of course, there was a bright side. Ellis had made his rules very clear—no Alexander, no hardback or multi-book contract. Now, that little hurdle had been satisfied.
“Well?” he prodded. “What are you going to do?”
Through the window in the swinging kitchen door, Paris saw Brandon Foster, Montgomery Alexander’s editor, approaching fast. That nailed her decision.
“Just remember who you’re not, and don’t do anything to get either of us in trouble.” She smoothed her dress, trying to gear up for her impromptu performance. Then she pushed through the door, the evening’s Alexander at her heels.
As soon as Brandon was close enough to overhear, Paris planted a kiss on both of the stranger’s cheeks in stereotypical New York fashion, but still slow enough to absorb his scent. It reminded her more of a redwood forest than the streets of Manhattan. Primitive, earthy and masculine.
“Alexander,” she scolded gently in a voice loud enough for Brandon, “I was beginning to think you’d missed your flight.”
The last bit of wariness faded from the stranger’s eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched just slightly. Then he swung an arm around her and pulled her close, as if he’d held her that way a million times before. Automatically, she melted against him, her head resting against his shoulder.
“Sommers, I’m surprised. You know I’d never let you down.”
This man had done his homework. Only one magazine article mentioned that Alexander called his manager by her last name of Sommers, just as she routinely referred to him only as Alexander.
“Good to finally meet you, old man,” said Brandon, extending his hand. “I can’t believe that for six years you didn’t make an exception and let me meet you in person.”
Paris watched as Brandon quit pumping Alexander’s hand. Had she just thought of him as Alexander again? Stop that. He’s not Alexander. He’s a stranger. She pulled out of his embrace. His nearness must be making her confused.
“Not everything’s entirely in my control.” The stranger’s voice was more clipped and less New York than it had been when they were alone. A remarkable performance, really. She had the feeling she was watching an actor playing a duke or some other British noble.
Then the stranger’s last words registered, and Paris opened her mouth to protest. Was he suggesting she’d kept Alexander away from Brandon?
Brandon cocked his head toward Paris. “So our little angel here kept us apart, eh?”
“I’m afraid so.”
How dare he! “I never—”
“She’s kept me locked in a basement in London, a sex slave chained to a typewriter, for the past few years.”
Her jaw dropped, even as wicked and surprisingly appealing images flashed through her head.
Brandon’s eyes went wide. “You two are a—”
“No,” Paris interjected. “No, we’re not.”
“I was just pulling your chain, old man. I leave the business end to Sommers because I don’t have the stomach for the grinder you literary types put my manuscripts through.” Alexander’s smile broadened. “Without Sommers I’d probably go into a less stressful career. Like espionage.”
Paris could have kissed him. Not only had he confirmed her story that it was the author, not the manager, who was the recluse, but he’d hinted at a background in espionage.
Whether Ellis had started it or not, the long-standing rumor that the books were fictionalized accounts of Alexander’s life as a spy seemed to boost sales, so she certainly wasn’t going to complain. Besides, in her mind, the line between Alexander and his hero had always been a bit murky. Except for the fact that he didn’t actually exist at all, the author Alexander was every bit as much the poised, polished secret agent as the fictional hero, Joshua Malloy.
She looked at the stranger, who was chatting amiably with Brandon. With his drop-dead good looks, tailored suit and unflappable air, he seemed to have Alexander down pat. Hell, he claimed he was Alexander, at least for tonight. Absurd.
But the champagne, the party, her stranger—they were a heady mix. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, didn’t even want to admit it to herself, but for tonight she wished it could be true. She wished he really were Alexander.
When he looked her way, she smiled, then concentrated on the floor. Maybe it was just the champagne, but part of her was starting to believe he really was.
Paris shook her head to banish such ridiculous thoughts. No matter how much her body sizzled when he touched her, no matter how many goose bumps she got when she looked at him, she had no business thinking that way about her mystery man.
Why not? She bit her lip. Why not, indeed? Wasn’t this man exactly what she’d always wanted? A slice of fantasy wrapped up in a tailored suit? A finite package of adventure chock-full of enough charisma to nourish her for the rest of her life? Didn’t she want an adventure to sustain her? And hadn’t Mr. Adventure arrived before her on a silver platter?
Her rational side objected before she got carried away, listing all the reasons why she had no business getting involved with him. Not as much fun, perhaps, but certainly more reasonable, more rational.
Brandon interrupted her debate by running down a list of people Alexander needed to meet during the evening. “Especially Ellis Chapman. This party was his idea, you know.”
“Well, then, he certainly should be on the list,” Alexander agreed.
“I suppose I should go and find him,” added Brandon. “After all, normally we’d already be well acquainted and have no need for this introductory period.”
Paris wondered if Alexander had caught the criticism in Brandon’s voice.
Alexander nodded slowly, as if digesting Brandon’s suggestion. “If we’d known each other, it would have been a different Montgomery Alexander. I’m only me, and I make no apologies for my quirks. But if you want me to say I would have enjoyed drinking a beer with you on my deck, and it’s a shame circumstances prevented it, then I will. And Brandon,” Alexander added, “I’ll mean it, too.”
Brandon’s expression softened. “Every interview has said you are both an enigma and a gentleman. Every interview has been right.” Brandon shook Alexander’s hand again, nodded at Paris and then disappeared into the center of the room.
Paris realized she was holding her breath.
Alexander took her hand and tugged her toward the middle of the room. “Don’t you think it’s time we mingle?”
“I’m not sure we should.”
“Afraid I’m going to blow your cover?” He dragged his fingertips in lazy strokes up and down her palm, each pass sending her blood throbbing.
“I…I was.”
“And now?”
She eased her hand free, not sure she was comfortable with the way her entire body seemed to sigh with each caress. “Right now you’re batting a thousand. I’m wondering if you can keep it up.”
“Sommers, I’m shocked.” He held up his hands and pulled a face of mock disbelief. “Here I’ve been slaving for at least eight hours to read up on good ol’ Mr. Alexander and his very pretty manager, and you’re questioning my ability to cram. I crammed before every test in high school. I’ve got it down to an art form.”
Paris restrained herself from laughing. “Yes, but did you pass those exams?”
He waggled a finger. “No fair asking hard questions.”
“That does it. We’re staying in this corner. If they really want to talk, they can come to you.” Besides, she wanted to figure out his angle.
“Of course.” He moved closer, but didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. His proximity alone made her head spin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you must be pretty attracted to me if you’re going to that much trouble to keep me all to yourself.”
She smiled sweetly, fighting to keep her breathing under control. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying? Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer?”
“So we’re enemies?”
“Frankly, I have no idea.”
“Well, there you go.” He leaned against the wall, smug satisfaction dancing across his face.
“There I go what?”
“Just that you don’t know if I’m an enemy or a friend. But you want me around. Sounds like attraction.”
She held her tongue. Such an infuriating man. Attraction wasn’t the point. The point was that he crashed the party—pretending to be the man of the hour—supposedly to get a date. Then, in a display of pure arrogance, assumed she was attracted to him. The idea was irritating, conceited. It was also, she conceded, exactly what Alexander would assume.
Well, so what? True, he looked the part. And he did have a certain aura. And, yes, there was a tingle when he took her hand. But that didn’t mean…
Okay, maybe it did. But even if Paris was attracted to him, he would be the last person she’d tell. “I think you’re confusing curiosity about your lack of manners and good character for attraction,” she finally retorted.
“Am I?”
His response was so quick that for a moment words evaded her, and he seized the advantage.
“Let me prove myself. Let me be your knight in shining armor and ride forth into the masses spreading the glorious crusade of Montgomery Alexander.” He thrust one arm skyward as if holding a sword.
A giggle escaped her. She couldn’t help it. He looked so silly. Besides, what choice did she really have? Montgomery Alexander hiding in the corner with his manager would do nothing to satisfy his fans and would certainly not make Ellis Chapman’s day. Any minute now, the masses would come to them.
It’s just like swimming. Take a deep breath and jump.
“Fine,” she said. “But we go together.”
Arms linked, they plunged forward. Within moments, someone caught Alexander’s attention and pulled him toward the dance floor, but not before he leaned over and offered one last word of reassurance.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I promise an award-winning performance.”
“I SHOULD HAVE COME right over,” Rachel said. “But I thought you’d hired him, and I was going to sulk a little since you’d kept me out of the loop.”
The party was winding down, and Rachel and Paris were camped out in the darkest corner of the restaurant. The remains of crackers, cheese and plump strawberries littered their table. Paris grabbed the last strawberry and shoved the plate aside.
“He’s amazing,” Paris said, glancing toward the dance floor where her mystery man was politely stalling a persistent redhead who kept urging him to dance. “I mean, his performance was amazing,” she added, feeling the heat pool in her cheeks. “I shadowed him for two hours, ready to rescue him, but he never said anything stupid.”
“Is he how you pictured Alexander?”
Paris shrugged. Rachel had hit upon the question of the hour. “It’s weird. Before, I could imagine Alexander’s hands, his scent, his walk, everything. But now, when I close my eyes, all I see is, well, him.” She nodded toward the impersonator.
“Well, of course,” Rachel purred, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.
“Of course? Oh please, Dr. Freud, do enlighten me.”
“Fantasy and reality collided. Reality is winning.”
“You really do sound like Freud.”
“I’m serious. You’re attracted to him, and—”
“Whoa, wait a minute. I am not attracted to him.”
“You’re such a liar. Besides, where’s the harm?”
“Just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him.” Paris wanted Rachel to see the difference. And she needed to convince herself there was a difference. Then Rachel’s words registered. “Harm?”
“In a little seduction,” explained Rachel. “Where’s the harm in that?”
“He’s not going to seduce me.” Too bad, thought Paris, taking in his broad shoulders and leading man looks. She could think of worse things than being swept away by a man like that.
“No, no,” continued Rachel. “You should seduce him.”
“Oh, well that’s…have you lost your mind?” Paris blustered, pulling her gaze away from Alexander.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. He practically dropped out of the sky into your lap. He admits he wants to go out with you. What better way to get a boy toy?”
“Rachel!” She’d played with the idea earlier, true. Who wouldn’t have? But there was no way she’d go through with it. Really. Rachel was just being ridiculous. For one thing, Paris wasn’t the seducing type. And even if she was…
Well, she wasn’t. So it didn’t matter.
Paris felt Rachel’s stare, then saw the diabolical grin.
“Uh-huh,” said Rachel. “You know you want to. He’s your fantasy come true.” She grabbed her purse and hauled it onto her lap.
“I’m not looking for a fantasy,” Paris urged, as much to herself as her friend. “You know my plan.”
“Oh, right. Two more of these books. Sock away the money. Finish your dreary epic. Publish it under your real name. Retire Alexander. Admit to your father you’re a writer, but of fine literature that won’t embarrass the family name. Find a suitable man—that means boring, by the way—and have babies. The end. How could I have forgotten your brilliant plan?”
“You’re going to use a lifetime’s supply of sarcasm in one sitting. And there’s nothing wrong with my plan,” Paris insisted, ignoring the niggling feeling that maybe there was.
“Are you supposed to be a nun in the meantime?”
Paris squirmed, not wanting to admit just how appealing Rachel’s seduction plan sounded. Instead, she parried, figuring that the best defense was a good offense. “You’re not exactly practicing what you preach,” she said, then immediately regretted her words.
Rachel shot her a tentative glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Paris shrugged, not sure it was the time or the place to explore the truckload of issues surrounding Rachel’s love life. To say Rachel had self-confidence issues was an understatement. An overweight, plain little girl from the wrong side of the tracks, Rachel had been teased mercilessly during grammar school. And the torment had escalated in high school after Paris had moved away. She might have grown up and slimmed down and turned into a knockout, but Paris didn’t think Rachel saw her true self in the mirror. And so she overcompensated something fierce.
“All I mean is that you’ve dumped the last dozen guys you’ve dated without so much as a good-night kiss. You’re hardly the roving expert on seduction,” Paris said. During their years together in college and law school, Paris had watched Rachel master the art of flirting. Now, she attracted a constant stream of men, but always cut them loose before they got too close. Paris didn’t need a textbook on pop psychology to see why. Rachel couldn’t handle being the one to get dumped, so she cut the possibility off at the pass. And as a result, she never got close to anyone.
“That’s completely different,” Rachel insisted. “The men I date are potential relationship material. When it’s obvious things won’t work out, I let them down gently.” Paris opened her mouth to argue, but her friend didn’t let her get a word in. “Besides, I’m not suggesting you marry this guy. You just need to have a little fun. Especially if the rest of your life is going to be the utter doldrums.” Rachel continued to rummage in her purse, finally pulling out three little plastic packets. Condoms.
“For crying out loud, Rachel,” Paris snapped, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. “I don’t need these.”
“Just take them,” coaxed Rachel, opening Paris’s purse and dropping them in.
Paris grimaced. The last thing she needed was to get involved with a guy who impersonated authors to get a date. Even one so intriguing and sexy? She shoved the thought away. She needed to focus on work…not long, steamy nights with Alexander or the waiter or whoever the hell he was.
Still, a little more time together would give her a chance to figure out what he was up to. And why not have a one-night fling? How many women had the chance to cuddle up to their fantasy man? She shivered from the memory of his taut, tight muscles. Of the way her body had caught fire from just the touch of his fingertip.
She sighed.
Get a grip, Paris.
No way was she going to bed with the guy. It simply was not going to happen. He wasn’t Alexander, and that was the end of that. Plain and simple.
Except…
Already she missed the way her blood burned when he looked toward her, missed the way her skin tingled when he was nearby. She grazed her teeth across her lower lip. She did want an adventure. And a tall, dark and handsome one had just materialized out of thin air. So maybe Rachel was right. Maybe a little seduction was in order.
No, no, no. She curled her hands into tight fists. Sleeping with him was out of the question. It would be a mistake—indulgent and foolish.
But why couldn’t she spend a little more time with him? A little flirting would be innocent enough. What would be the harm in that?
Before her mind could think up a reason, she pushed herself out of her chair. “The party’s wrapping up. I should go collect my Alexander.”
BY THE END OF THE PARTY, Devin held new respect for actors. He’d been “on” for five hours. Three hundred minutes of smiling and hand-shaking. Eighteen thousand seconds of an award-winning performance.
He’d forgotten how much work it was to stay in character for so long. His head throbbed, fire lapped at his feet and demons tormented each muscle. If Paris knew how grueling the evening had been, she would gladly write his check.
Paris.
His body wasn’t too tired to express extreme appreciation for the way the flimsy black dress hugged her, defying gravity with the help of two thin straps. He watched, enraptured, as she maneuvered through the last few guests, kissing cheeks and shaking hands. Primped and manicured, blond and bouncy, she was the complete opposite of the listless, life-weary women who had littered the streets of his childhood neighborhood.
She hypnotized him. Paris was everything Devin had ever hoped to find in a woman, but knew he could never have.
You don’t belong here. Memories flooded back. His father, stressing diction and poise. His uncle, teaching him French. It never hurt for a grifter to have a touch of class, they’d said.
His schooling had started with street sessions. He and his father pulling the old switcheroo and conning store owners out of change for a twenty, when he’d paid with only a fiver. The movie Paper Moon had shown that maneuver to the world, but still they’d never been caught. Easy cons, kid stuff. Then came the bigger deals. Scams that would prepare him for life on the street.
He knew his father had only been looking out for him, and Devin loved him for it. But he didn’t love his father’s life-style. So he’d spent a lifetime working and studying, all so he could escape his father’s shadow, and this is where he’d ended up. Pulling a con on the most adorable woman he’d ever met.
“Hey stranger.” She eased up beside him, linking her arm through his as if they’d stood together a hundred times. Her touch excited Devin as much as her familiarity saddened him. He fought the urge to pull her tight against him and cursed sentimentality. She was a mark. Nothing more. Quit thinking you’re better than your background.
“Hey yourself,” he said, shaking off the mood and matching her smile. “You left me. I was beginning to think you’d decided you could trust me alone.”
Her grin blossomed, punctuated by a wink. “Not a chance. I’ve been keeping tabs on you from a distance.”
“Have you? That’s interesting.” He’d injected a lascivious note into his voice. From the way she cocked her head, he was pretty sure she’d caught the inflection.
“Interesting? Why?” She pulled out the hairpins holding up her mass of blond curls. They tumbled down, and her fingers intertwined in one long strand. God, she was adorable.
“I’ve been keeping some tabs on you, too. I wonder if we’ve been thinking about the same thing.”
Twirl, twirl. Devin didn’t think Paris realized what she was doing. A nervous habit, perhaps. But what was making her nervous? A little innocent flirting?
He raked his eyes over that dress again, taking in the way it clung to her delicious curves, then back up to her soulful eyes and sun-kissed hair. The beginning of an erection strained against his fly.
To hell with innocent. The woman was a siren.
“You said you came because you wanted to go out with me.” Her voice held only the slightest tremor. “I was wondering if you meant that.”
“Of course.” Go out with her, hold her, touch her, taste the sweetness of her skin. Make love to her.
“The party’s wrapping up. Are you tired?” The finger returned to that one strand of hair, and Devin imagined the soft lock caressing his chest, her fingers combing through his own hair as she lost herself to passion.
He’d lost his train of thought. “What?”
She hesitated. “Never mind. It was nothing. I’ll just say good-night.”
“No, no.” He took her bare arm, delighting in its softness and anxious to know if the rest of her was as silky. Unable to help himself, he traced his finger up her arm, then across her delicate shoulder, and finally along the neckline of her dress. “Have a drink with me.”
She took a shuddering breath. “I…I really shouldn’t. It’s late.”
“’Then stay with me until it’s early, and I’ll ask you again.’”
She looked up, stern, but the desire in her dark eyes told a different story. “Have you memorized every one of my books?”
“Not at all.”
“Just a few choice lines to help you get what you want?”
“Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just coincidence.”
“Coincidence?”
Devin kissed the back of her hand, letting his lips linger on the delicate skin. He wanted to taste more of her. All of her. “Maybe I’m coming up with these lines entirely on my own. I could be the man you’ve always dreamed of. Do you really want to risk turning me away?”
He expected her to laugh and say he wasn’t the stuff of anyone’s dreams, much less hers. It would break the ice, and they could have a relaxing drink, talk, and explore where this chemistry between them would lead. Her hotel room, perhaps? Heat coursed through him and he wondered if she’d be keen on skipping the drink, the talk.
But she wasn’t laughing. Instead, her brow furrowed. Rather than putting him down, she took a step backward.
Okay, mistake in judgment. If he didn’t regroup quickly, Devin would never get close to her. He frowned, remembering why he was really there.
He had to get close to her, had to bring up the money.
“Or not,” he said, wishing he could think of something a little more articulate.
She squinted at him. “What?” Although only a few steps from him, it seemed as if she had retreated to the far side of the restaurant.
“I mean I did memorize your books. Well, not every book. A friend culled key lines. We put them on cue cards. I crammed.”
A bug. That’s what he felt like under her stare. A big, fuzzy bug pinned to acid-free paper and baking under a bare lightbulb.
“Cue cards?” she repeated.
Devin fished in his jacket pocket, finally pulling out a handful of note cards. He held one out like a peace offering.
She took it gingerly, as if it might bite.
“’My job? It’s wild and dangerous, but not as dangerous as my passion for you.’ Were you planning on using that line tonight?”
If Jerry were around, Devin might just have to kill him for including that card among the bunch. Since Jerry was safe and sound in Brooklyn, Devin chose another tact.
“Maybe. I like to keep my options open.”
Her mouth twitched. “You do? Why?”
“Because I like to get what I want. And I’m willing to work for it.”
Her eyes softened. “What do you want?”
“A lot of things.” Her. To see raw, sexual heat reflected in her eyes. To know that right then, right there, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“For example, I’ve been wanting to do this all night.” He heard her breath catch as he moved toward her. Eyes closed, she leaned toward him, soft and sweet and sexy. Desire radiated from her, and he knew she wanted his kiss.
Wanted him. Devin O’Malley, Montgomery Alexander, it didn’t matter. She wanted the man standing next to her. No matter what name she might give him, tonight Devin was that man.
Molten desire boiled in his veins. His body craved the feel of her mouth under his, her fingers gliding over his skin, her breasts pressed hard against his naked chest.
Devin groaned, quelling the urge to take her mouth, to explore with his hands the secrets she had hiding under that sexy little dress. He wanted to let her excitement build slowly, even if it killed him. To wait until her head was just as sure as her body of how much she needed him close to her. Inside her.
His palms cupped her cheeks, pulling her closer. She trembled as his fingers glided across her skin, skimming over the top of her ears, then tangling deep in her loose curls.
She tilted her head back, her lips parted, eager and moist. Waiting. Waiting for him.
“Fabulous,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Fabul—”
She opened her eyes, still lazy and soft with desire. “Fabulous?” she asked. “My hair? That’s what you’ve been wanting to do all night? Play with my hair?”
“It’s hypnotic. Hair like that could have felled an entire army. Helen of Troy and all that.” His voice was husky with lust, and it took every ounce of his strength to keep from touching his mouth to hers, to keep from giving her what she wanted. What he wanted, too.
“I’m…well, thank you, but…”
She frowned, and he knew she was trying to figure out his angle. “You really just wanted to touch my hair?”
The disappointment in her voice humbled him.
“Actually, there was something else.”
She smiled, almost shyly, and his heart raced. “Yes?”
“I’d still like to buy you a drink.”
She hesitated, her small tongue flicking over her lips. He held his breath. Was she, like him, wondering if maybe skipping a drink and going straight to her room might be the better plan? Or maybe she was trying to talk herself out of even the drink?
“All right,” Paris agreed at last. “But just one drink.”
He exhaled, relieved, and held his hand out to her.
“You have my word,” he assured.
But after the drink…? Well, he’d make no promises about that.
HE KEPT HIS WORD, too, Paris thought. An hour later she was still sitting across from him in a secluded booth near the back of the hotel’s deserted bar, one unfinished drink between them. Meant to serve twelve, the drink, called a “House on Fire,” combined vodka, rum, banana liqueur, coconut and other fruit flavors into a concoction the menu said was a favorite at parties. Mystery Man and Paris hadn’t made a dent.
He also hadn’t made a pass. And despite the heated way he kept looking at her, she was starting to think that all he really wanted was the drink and a little small talk.
Well, what did you expect? He’s your fantasy, but that doesn’t mean you’re his.
Paris sighed. She was beginning to feel like a tennis match was going on in her head. Yes, she wanted to sleep with Alexander. No, she didn’t want to sleep with Mystery Man. Yes, no, yes, no.
The “no’s,” of course, were a lie. She did want to sleep with one of him, more than she’d ever wanted any man. But that would be a mistake. She needed to keep reminding herself. He wasn’t Alexander, and sleeping with him would be a huge, giant, mind-blowing mistake.
Too bad. He’d barely even touched her and already her body mourned his absence.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
You’re not touching me. That’s what’s wrong. But she didn’t say it. Instead, she shook her head. “No, not at all.”
Whatever game he was playing, she’d hold her own. She plucked a slice of orange out of the huge bowl that housed their mammoth drink. “I want to know about you. I mean, how on earth did you manage to end up here tonight?”
Alexander reached across the table to stroke her cheek, the caress electric and inviting. Without thinking, she pressed her face into his palm, soaking up the warmth before he pulled away. He didn’t let the contact between them break, however. As soon as one hand left her face, the other took her fingers.
“You already know everything. Didn’t you invent me?”
“I’m beginning to think I did.” Paris’s thoughts became fuzzy as she lost herself in his caress. Fingers intertwined as he traced the outline of her hand. His skin, slightly calloused, melded with hers that was lotioned and pampered. He dragged his fingernails lightly across her palm. The effect was torture, almost a tickle, and completely erotic in its casualness.
She blinked, then remembered to breathe. “Maybe I conjured you up in my head and you just fell from the sky like manna.”
“So why did you make me up?”
Why indeed? How could she explain? She’d needed an author for her books, true. But that wasn’t the whole story. She’d been lonely, plain and simple. And the sunsets in Texas, orange and purple and vibrant, were too perfect to share with just anyone. How many times had she sat, alone, above the river sipping coffee and waiting for the sun to set? She’d never met a man worthy of sharing her sunsets.
So she’d made him up.
She opened her mouth, trying to find the words to explain about twilight, then shut it again. That wasn’t a secret she wanted to share.
“Paris?”
She took another sip while she collected her wits and considered what part of the truth to tell him. “Necessity.”
“You had no choice but to write novels under a fake name?”
Paris laughed. “Are we talking about me, or philosophizing about free will?” She shrugged. “I thought it was necessary. It’s even more necessary now.”
“Why?” He leaned toward her, elbows on the table, his chin resting on his fists while still clasping her hand. As he slowly rubbed his chin along their joined hands, the slight prickle of his evening beard grazed her fingertips and his breath mingled with her skin. His earthy scent teased her, sending her head swirling to dizzying heights.
His appearance was innocent, like a fascinated student caught up in the wonder of learning. The effect was anything but innocent. Paris couldn’t escape her body’s reaction. Her palms were damp, her stomach fluttery. She wondered if he could see her tight nipples under the thin black dress.
Only their hands were touching. She wanted so much more.
“What’s so special about Alexander?”
She gaped at him, letting his words sink in. Something clicked in her head. Montgomery Alexander didn’t exist. So who was this man sitting across from her and making her pulse burn? Slowly she took her hand back. “What’s with the twenty questions?”
“Maybe I want to get to know you.”
“Or maybe you’re up to something,” she retorted, careful to lace her voice with a slight tease. She might want the truth, but she didn’t want to scare him away getting it. She knew he wasn’t Alexander. But he was close. And real. And sexy.
Just being there with him was more adventure than she’d ever had. And touching him, feeling the way she did when he touched her back, well, she could store that memory away and live on it forever.
Mystery Man leaned back in the booth, his eyes widening. “Up to something? Why on earth would you think that?” She quirked an eyebrow, and was rewarded with his chuckle. “Fair enough. I’ll grant that you’ve got a few good reasons.”
He took her hand, and she glanced down at their casually intertwined fingers. The touch lacked the earlier erotic caress, but the contact affected her all the same. She took a shaky breath and looked back up into his eyes.
“Really, Paris,” he continued, the sparkle in his eyes matching the smile on his mouth. “I’d like to know. Why was I necessary?”
I? He spoke as if he really was Montgomery Alexander. Paris couldn’t shake the feeling that she was having a drink with a man she had known for years, not just hours. A man she’d dreamed about forever.
Of course he wasn’t Alexander, and for a second she thought she should argue with him, pursue uncovering whatever he was up to, at least for the sake of appearances. But the desire to share her secret with this enigmatic, fascinating man overwhelmed her. And that confused her even more than the fire that consumed her every time he looked her way.
“There were lots of reasons,” she said, pulling her hand away and focusing on her words. She started to tick them off on her fingers. “I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but my dad never took my writing seriously. I love him to death, but it’s no secret that a lot rides on the family name. He’s a federal judge in Houston, the fifth in a long line of judges, with various other relatives owning companies, performing heart surgery, politicking.”
Paris heard his slight cough as she switched hands to offer more reasons. This talking was good. It proved his proximity hadn’t killed her ability to form a coherent sentence.
“Does your mom know?”
“She died when I was three. I think that fueled Daddy’s zest for watching out for his little girl. And mine for not wanting to disappoint him.” She shrugged. “That’s why I went to law school—Daddy wanted me to. But I came here for school, to New York I mean, and I wrote whenever I wasn’t studying. About the time I graduated, I sold a story to Desperado, the men’s magazine.”
“Let me guess. You published under a pseudonym, figuring your dad wouldn’t find out. Desperado also publishes pulp paperbacks, and they wanted one from you. And then another, and it snowballed.”
“You’re good. If you’re wondering, the story ends with the good daughter telling Daddy that she’s opening her own law firm. She moves back to Texas, but settles in Austin. She figured that was near enough to Houston to keep Daddy happy, but far enough for a little distance. And, surprise, surprise, she soon lands a major client, up-and-coming author Montgomery Alexander. Eventually, she becomes his manager. Daddy’s proud, because she’s doing well, but he’s a little bit miffed that she spends so much time promoting the author of ‘those kinds’ of books.”
Paris took a long sip of the drink before continuing. “So I’ve got myself stuck. I don’t want to tell him because of his reaction to the books themselves, and I can’t tell him now because it’s ballooned so much.”
“Does it bother you?”
Paris studied the pattern in her cocktail napkin, only half noticing that it required significant effort to see only one, not four, designs. “Daddy not knowing?”
“Nobody knowing.”
“Some people know,” Paris replied, feeling like a schoolgirl trying to argue her way out of a failing grade in a subject she’d never studied.
“Who?”
“Well, Rachel. And now you.”
“Oh, yeah, lots of people know.”
She heard the sarcasm.
“I didn’t say lots. I said some people. You’re ‘some people.’” Two, actually. Montgomery Alexander and Mystery Man.
His dimple appeared. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
She smiled at him, then sighed. “It doesn’t matter anyway, because I won’t be writing these books forever. I’m working on an epic novel. Very literary. Very Oprah.”
“Does Brandon know?”
“That I’m writing a literary novel?”
“That you write these books that Daddy doesn’t approve of.”
“Isn’t it my turn for questions?” Paris asked, wishing she were bold enough to suggest they just skip to the kissing part.
Thankfully, kissing wasn’t sex, at least as long as they didn’t get carried away. Which meant kissing was within the random boundaries she’d drawn within her plan, a loophole she’d quite happily exploit.
“Humor me.”
Paris knew the big picture eluded her, but the alcohol was making her thoughts mushy. Why was he asking these questions? What didn’t he want her to know? Before she could figure out how to challenge him, Alexander jumped in with another query.
“So why doesn’t Brandon know? He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is a nice guy. Same reason, I guess. I didn’t think I could tell him at first, and now it’s too late. Besides, I kind of like getting his unfiltered reaction to my work.”
Kissing, she thought, trying to throw psychic energy his way. Forget Brandon and concentrate on kissing. She focused on his forehead and tried out Rachel’s most seductive smile.
“Why didn’t you just tell him at the beginning?”
So much for her psychic abilities. “If you knew Brandon, you’d understand. He started his career at Desperado. The most prominent thing in his office was a poster of six women wearing bikinis made out of the flag and toting rifles. It was on the wall next to his safari trophies.”
She watched his face to make sure he had the scene firmly in mind. “Now picture me. Early-twenties, size six, frequently described by my friends as perky. I was afraid if he knew I wrote it, he’d ooze so much testosterone that the book would lose what little literary merit I’d managed to cram into the hundred and fifty thousand words.”
“How’d you keep it a secret? What about royalty checks?”
She twirled her straw around the edge of the glass. That had been the tricky part. “Well, you could say my dad helped with that.” His brow furrowed. “Law school, I mean. Just one afternoon of paperwork, and suddenly the Montgomery L. Alexander Literary Corporation was born. The company actually owns the copyrights to all of the books. And it has a tax identification number, so there’s no problem with the IRS.”
Alexander leaned back, nodding approval. “Very clever.”
“Thanks.” Now can we move on to other topics? Perhaps, say, kissing?
“But Brandon never asked?”
Paris took a long swallow of the drink. Obviously he was stuck in the getting-to-know-you phase while she was itching to start rounding bases. “Sure he did. I told him about Alexander being the private type, and that was that. Eventually he quit asking.”
“You must have liked him, though. You’re at another publisher, and he’s still your editor.”
“Same publisher, actually. Cobalt Blue’s a recent spin-off of Desperado. Ellis Chapman thought the classy name would help with marketing,” said Paris. “But you’re right. Brandon’s swell. He’s a fabulous editor. And we’ve become good friends, too.” She felt a blush creep to her cheeks. “At least, as much as we can be considering I lie to him pretty much every day.”
Paris fell back against the plush upholstery, intending to nip in the bud his fascination with the fine art of conversation. “Listen to me babble. This drink on top of champagne. Wow.” She drew the straw up to her mouth and licked off every drop of liquid, enjoying the reaction she saw in his eyes.
She didn’t really doubt he wanted her. Throughout the entire evening, his touch, his look, his voice had all told her so. He wanted her and she wanted him.
But she wasn’t going to have him. She was going to hold tight to her resolve. It was just chemistry between them, anyway. Nothing magic, nothing earth-shattering. She would allow herself a kiss, maybe even two or three, just so she’d have the memory. So she could satisfy the part of her that longed to be swept up and away, the part that wanted to lose herself if only for a moment.
She’d lose herself in his kisses. Those kisses, she told herself—his kisses—would be enough.
Of course, even a kiss might be wishful thinking. Like her or not, he still hadn’t tried anything. So what are you going to do about it?
No brilliant plan stepped forward, and for the first time in her life Paris wished she’d paid more attention to Rachel’s scripted, rehearsed and tested technique. She’d just have to wing it. Or chicken out entirely.
“Are you going to tell Brandon?” he asked.
She smiled at him, still teasing the end of the straw between her lips in a manner she hoped emphasized how kissable she was. “You’ll be out of a gig if I do.”
HER RESPONSE WAS LIGHT and teasing. But even so, Devin worried she had realized what his questions were getting at. If a number of people already knew Alexander’s deep, dark secret, she’d have little motivation to pay him to keep his mouth shut.
His father’s voice lectured in his head. So what if she’s figured it out? She’ll realize when you ask her for the cash.
True enough. But he didn’t want to demand the money just yet. He wanted to get to know her, to spend time with her. Alone. Preferably undressed. From the way she looked at him, he knew she wanted to spend that type of quality time with him, too.
If he could just keep the desire burning in her eyes, maybe he could get the money and still manage to hold on to the girl.
He bit back a curse. Who was he fooling? She wasn’t interested in him. Paris wanted Montgomery Alexander. She wanted to be swept away by a suave, sophisticated man who said all the right things.
Devin O’Malley was not that man. But he wanted her, wanted her bad. Even if it meant playing a part. And maybe, just maybe, she’d fall a little bit for the man behind the mask.
Oh, Devie-boy. Falling for a mark. Didn’t I teach you better?
“Shut up,” he whispered.
“What?” She looked confused. He hoped she hadn’t heard him.
“I said we should go up.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “We should?”
“I meant that I should walk you to your room.”
“Oh.” She studied her short manicured nails. Was she disappointed he hadn’t suggested more?
“And then you’ll invite me in for a nightcap.” There. That was a very Montgomery Alexander thing to say.
“Pretty confident, aren’t you?” she asked, her breathless voice reassuring him that he didn’t have to worry about being invited in for the evening.
“That we’ll have a nightcap together? Yes.”
“Why, Mr. Alexander, are you trying to get me drunk?”
“I think you already are.”
She put up a good show of being offended. “Moi? No, no, no. I’m just a little tipsy.” She leaned forward, crooking her finger to draw him nearer. “If I were drunk, then I’d do what I’ve been thinking about all evening.”
Devin’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah? What’s that?”
A mischievous smile lit up her eyes, and he wondered what he was in for. In a quick movement, Paris slid out of the booth, and joined him on his side of the table. She sat close, her hip and thigh soft and feminine against him. Devin steeled himself against an instinctive, physical reaction. She was so close, so sweet. He wanted her so naked, so willing.
“What have you been wanting to do?” he asked, amazed and relieved that he was able to form words despite the effect of her proximity on him.
Her lips brushed his ear, her scent more intoxicating than their drink. “Can’t you guess?”
“Tell me,” he whispered, even as he struggled to keep from grabbing her shoulders and claiming her mouth with his.
Her tongue flicked across the top of his ear. He grabbed the edge of the table and squeezed, willing himself to stay sane.
“I want you to tell me something first,” she whispered.
“Vixen,” he teased.
She eased forward so he could see more of her face, more of her eyes, dark with passion. Her finger dipped into the drink, and she moved it to her mouth, parting her lips, sucking the liquid from her own finger. Then she dragged her finger casually over her full lower lip, her eyes never leaving his face. Teasing eyes and tempting lips. He wanted to lose himself in those lips. Wanted to lose himself in her.
Devin heard a moan, realized it came from him, and knew the world was reeling beneath him.
Paris slipped her finger back into the drink, but this time, instead of raising it to her own lips, she gently grazed his mouth with her moist fingertip. So tender. So inviting.
Craving a deeper taste, Devin drew her finger into his mouth, rolling his tongue over her flesh, reveling in her sweet flavor. Paris shut her eyes, but Devin didn’t need to see those liquid brown pools to know she was aroused.
Just as Devin closed his own eyes, Paris withdrew her finger and shifted so their hips no longer touched. His body lamented as he opened his eyes and saw that she’d slid away. Now she leaned against the table, her gaze locked on him, one finger in her mouth. This time the gesture wasn’t seductive. Instead, she was nibbling on a fingernail.
Basic, primal need crashed over him.
Was she having second thoughts? Please, no. She’d already taken him to the brink, and the thought of not having her, not touching her was unbearable. He wanted to keep them in this moment with a desperation he’d never felt before. He needed to let the feeling grow, to explore her finger until he knew every taste, every crevice. And then to do the same with every soft, perfect inch of her.
“What did you want to ask me?” He kept his voice low, willing her back to him.
Her smile was fragile. “I shouldn’t…we shouldn’t…” Paris took a deep breath, then looked down at the table. Devin could tell she was torn, and he stiffened, waiting for her to decide. Everything he wanted in the universe hinged on which way she would come down.
When she lifted her eyes to meet his, he thought he saw an invitation. Devin relaxed, and the earth continued to spin.
“I wanted to know if you really just wanted to run your hands through my hair.” She looked away as she spoke, and his heart swelled at her sudden shyness.
Devin held on to the moment for as long as he dared. He wanted to burn that instant into his memory. The way she looked, magnetic, electric, blazing. Her voice, husky with lust. Her scent, flowers and musk.
He stroked her cheek, his fingertips light enough to feel the fine hairs on her perfect skin. Paris closed her eyes again, her lips slightly parted. He caressed her face, outlined her mouth with his fingertips, stopping finally to cup her chin. When he had taken as much as he could from the moment, he brushed his lips over hers.
“Is that what you’ve been wanting to do?” he asked.
A sparkle in her eyes. A hint of a smile. She shook her head, no.
Before Devin could register confusion, she continued. “No. I wanted to do this.”
In one movement, she caught his mouth with her kiss. Bold and deep, the kiss was hungry, devouring, nothing like Devin’s sensual tease. This was a full-blown kiss. Torrid, lustful, enthusiastic and unmistakably sexy.
Devin returned her ardor. Her mouth was moist and ready for him, and he explored her with his tongue, even as his hands glided over the curve of her neck and the arch of her back. Despite the awkward position, their bodies fit perfectly.
More. He needed to know the rest of her.
“Maybe it’s time I walk you to your room,” he said, pulling away just enough to look at her. It was a strain for him to get the words out.
Paris’s eyes told him what he wanted to know. “Yeah. Maybe it is.”
Hours seemed to pass before they settled the bill and caught the elevator. During that eternity they held hands, not saying a word, electricity arcing between them. “What floor are you on?”
“Thirty-five,” she said, punching the number.
“You should have taken a room in the single digits. This elevator’s horribly slow. I’m not sure I can wait until thirty-five.”
With a gleam in her eye, she looked down at the obvious bulge in the front of his slacks. “No, maybe you can’t.”
Devin pulled her in front of him, his erection pressing against the thin dress and her soft flesh underneath. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”
She wriggled against him, her unexpected response thrilling him and almost sending him tumbling over the edge. “I’ve got a pretty good idea,” she said.
He groaned into her hair. “Vicious flirt,” he murmured.
The elevator stopped at the sixth floor, and Paris straightened up, placing a safe strip of air between them, as a gray-haired woman stepped on and punched the button for the thirty-second floor. She smiled at Devin and Paris, then turned to face the closed elevator doors.
Devin moved closer behind Paris, clasping her around the waist to keep her from pulling away. He peered at their companion. She seemed unconcerned.
When he felt Paris relax in his arms, Devin conjured a fake cough, and, with cough and motion working together, managed to maneuver Paris’s zipper down to her waist without their elevator guest noticing. Paris stiffened but didn’t say a word.
Devin laid the palm of his hand against her bare back, fearful that Paris would step away. He’d never done anything this bold, but he felt compelled. Desire controlled him. He felt a hunger to know her completely, body, mind, soul. And a need to be the man she wanted, the type of man who was confident enough to seduce a beautiful woman in an elevator.
For her, he could be that man.
Paris held her back rigid and faced forward like a soldier. But she didn’t try to move away, and Devin let his fingers glide up and down the path left by her zipper. She shivered, then leaned back into him, her sigh almost inaudible.
Trailing his fingers up her back, Devin kept his eyes on the gray-haired lady, ready to drop his mission if need be, but still tantalized by the prospect of discovery. He felt the pattern of Paris’s spine, traced the gentle curve of her shoulder blade, and found the soft skin under her arm. Her body rose and fell as her breathing became more labored. She was forcing herself to stay in control. He knew, because so was he.
With slow, easy strokes, he caressed her side, up and down under her arm, delighting in her soft skin under his fingers. With each upward stroke, he moved his fingers closer to her front. Paris leaned back, the soft grinding movement of her hips against his groin making him harder than he’d ever been.
When his index finger stroked the soft flesh of her breast, his efforts were rewarded with a small spasm. Was she going crazy? He knew he’d go mad if they didn’t soon reach her room.
The elevator stopped at thirty-two, and their impromptu chaperone stepped off. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Paris spun around in his arms, her face flushed.
“Kiss me.”
It was an order Devin wouldn’t dream of ignoring, and he lost himself in the kiss for the next three floors, lost to everything except the throbbing of his own body and the delicious ambrosia of her mouth under his own.
When they reached Paris’s floor, Devin felt a twinge of regret that this woman he was seducing, that was seducing him right back, had absolutely no idea of his name. He started to tell her, then stopped. What was the point? He was from his world, and she was from hers, and never the twain shall meet. She didn’t want a Devin O’Malley. Wasn’t that obvious? After all, she’d never pressed him for his real name.
Paris wanted Alexander, and Devin had no idea how to change that, how to make her see that he could be everything she wanted.
She wanted Montgomery Alexander, and fortunately for Devin, tonight that’s who he was. He wanted tonight with her.
Tomorrow was soon enough to figure out how to get the money, keep Paris and still be Devin O’Malley.
”THIS IS IT.” Paris indicated her hotel room door with a wave of her hand. She tried to keep her voice normal, casual, but she doubted she succeeded.
Alexander nodded. “So it is.”
He stood only inches away, not touching her, but close enough to tease her with the possibility of contact. Part of her wanted him to touch her again, like he had in the elevator, but if he did that, Paris didn’t think she could summon the strength not to touch him back. Every part of him. With her fingers, her lips, her tongue. And not just kisses…
After all, wasn’t that what she really wanted? Wasn’t that why they were standing here in the hallway in front of a room furnished with little more than a bed? She’d been foolishly trying to trick herself into thinking she could survive on only his kisses. But in truth, she wanted all of him. Maybe it was only chemistry between them, but that was okay. After all, she didn’t want or need any ties to this man. Just one night of passion to savor forever.
She imagined Alexander, stretched out naked on that king-size bed, holding his hand out, beckoning her to come to him. Urging her to make love to him all night. Just like he did in her fantasies.
The possibility sent her blood rushing.
Anticipation. An old ketchup commercial skittered through her head. I’m giddy, smitten and starstruck.
“Are you going to invite me in?” His soft words brought her back to the moment. From the husky tone of his voice, Paris knew he wasn’t worried the answer would be “no.”
“Sure,” she said, then slipped the card key through the slot and watched as the light turned from red to green. Green for go. Green for no holds barred, damn the torpedoes, and all that jazz.
As her hand paused on the door handle, she realized that the etiquette of the situation eluded her. The Fates willing, she was about to sleep with a man she technically didn’t know all that well—not a normal happening for her.
But he was Alexander. And with Alexander, Paris had no qualms. She may have only met him a few hours ago, but she’d known him all her life.
Girl, you are so losing it.
She ran her free hand through her hair, pulling the curls up and away from her face. What on earth was she doing? He wasn’t Alexander, and she wasn’t going to sleep with him. Adventure in fiction was fine and dandy. But it had no place in her real life. You are not going to make love with him. She needed to keep reminding herself of that. For some reason, she kept forgetting.
For some reason? Please. She had good reasons. Lots of them. Like that he was hotter than sin and so very close.
Still, no matter how much she wanted it to be true, he wasn’t the man she’d imagined so many times when she was alone in her bed. He couldn’t be.
She stressed the point, trying to mentally drive it home. He couldn’t be Alexander, because Alexander didn’t exist. And this man, the one standing behind her who had almost burned up the elevator with her, was not—repeat, not—her dream man.
She needed to call this off, run for shelter, before it was too late.
Unfortunately, her body wasn’t really keen on this new call-it-off plan. Her body wanted to do the kinds of things people did behind hotel room doors.
Her body didn’t even care that she didn’t know his real name. But what was in a name, really? Especially when the chemistry was so potent. When she melted at his touch. When every thought in her head evaporated under the spell of him.
She sighed. Maybe he really was Alexander.
Or maybe she was trying really hard to think up a justification for sleeping with him.
“Paris?”
She looked up, taking in his bad-boy-turned-corporate-exec good looks that practically oozed sex. The silk tie was loose and his first two buttons were undone, revealing a smattering of gold hair. His eyes glittered, intent on watching her. A smile played at his lips, and Paris thought of the wolf and Red Riding Hood. The better to eat you with.
Oh my.
Paris was having a hard time remembering why they were still standing in the doorway. “Um?”
His gaze darted to the partially opened door. “Do I need to guess the password?”
“What?” Paris said, then realized she was blocking his path. “Oh. Sorry.”
She stepped into the narrow hallway leading to the main area of the room, then stopped cold. The bed loomed about nine feet away, illuminated by the one reading lamp the maid had left on.
The course of the evening suddenly seemed more real. And appealing? She paused to consider, but her hormones rushed to answer. You bet.
Common sense stepped up to the plate. Just because the room had a bed did not mean they had to put it to good use.
Alexander must have picked up on her hesitation. “Second thoughts?”
“No,” she blurted, her hormones beating her pesky common sense into submission. Then she felt herself blush, embarrassed by her quick response. “I mean, please, come in.”
Paris wanted to roll her eyes at her awkward eagerness. She couldn’t have been any less subtle if she’d ripped her dress off and thrown herself into his arms right then and there. That might be what she wanted to do, but such bold tactics lacked the proper panache. Besides, she was too much of a chicken.
And you’re not sleeping with him anyway, remember?
She sighed. Somehow, she kept forgetting that tiny detail.
As he stepped past her toward the bed, their arms brushed, sending enough current surging between them to set the building on fire. Could have, but didn’t. Instead, all that energy, all that heat, centered in her stomach and her knees. Just one touch and he’d made her go weak.
Feigning nonchalance, she leaned gratefully against the wall. Her bare back pressed against the smooth, cool paint that didn’t even begin to lessen the red-hot passion pounding through her.
He was standing there, right in front of her, so hot he should be burning a hole in the floor. So close Paris could feel his breath, could almost hear his heartbeat.
This amazing hunk of fantasy material was there for her. What a coup. She was privy to a sexual coup. But she was pretty sure she wasn’t the one calling the shots. He’d turned her on, mixed her up when she needed to concentrate. She needed to keep her head on straight, needed to strengthen her resolve before he destroyed her defenses without even saying a word.
“I’m not going to make love with you,” she blurted, as she sat back on the bed. Immediately she wanted to take it back, but couldn’t very well do that. Not without admitting how much his nearness was messing with her head. And with the rest of her.
She looked up at him, expecting to see shock or disappointment. Instead, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for letting me know.” He looked amused, damn him. Well, he wouldn’t look nearly so confident when he realized how determined she was.
“I mean it. No sex.”
“I believe you.”
“You do?” She frowned. She knew she shouldn’t be disappointed with his easy agreement, but she couldn’t help it. Alexander wouldn’t give up so easily, not if he really wanted her. Alexander was too much of a rogue.
Unless this man was just playing it cool, planning to lower her defenses for a sneak attack. That would be very Alexanderish.
He kneeled casually in front of the minibar. “Nightcap?”
“I’m…yes. Please.”
Then again, perhaps he was a gentleman and not a rogue at all. She shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. This man and Alexander were all mixed up in her head.
He popped the cork on a miniature bottle of champagne and poured them both a glass. “How about talking? Is that safe territory?”
Talking? Talking was fine. Kissing would be even better. Kissing fell within her boundaries. But she couldn’t really say so without sounding desperate. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You’re a writer, right?”
She nodded, wary.
He moved closer and passed her a glass of champagne. His fingers grazed over hers, intimate and purposeful, and any remaining doubts about his desire for her vanished in a puff.
“I thought maybe you’d be interested in an intellectual evening. We could discuss literature.”
“Literature?” She didn’t believe him for a second, but neither could she guess what he was up to.
“Maybe Victorian-era erotic literature?” His voice had changed, it was lower, rougher. Suggestive.
A trill coursed up her spine. How easy for him to reduce her to quakes and quivers. “I…I don’t really know anything about it.”
“No? Too bad. How about kissing?” His eyes bore into her without blinking, his desire obvious but still unspoken. She licked her dry lips and looked at the floor.
“Kissing?” she repeated stupidly, unable to think of anything else to say. What had seemed like safe territory only a moment ago suddenly seemed dangerous. Wonderfully appealing, but undeniably dangerous.
Her legs wobbled and the wall no longer seemed capable of holding her up. She stumbled to the bed and sat on the edge, her hands folded primly in her lap, a reminder of what she wasn’t going to do with him.
“I thought we could talk about kissing. Is that okay?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. But he could talk all night about kissing if he wanted. That wouldn’t break any rules.
Talk? Hell, he could kiss her all night.
He lowered himself onto the bed next to her, close enough that his taut thigh muscles pressed against her. She focused on taking nice, normal breaths. But the more she tried to ignore his heat against her, the more flustered she became.
When he leaned back on the bed, she hesitated to look at him. “It’s too hard to talk sitting up next to each other. I promise I don’t bite.”
She drew a steadying breath and turned her head. He was lounging behind her, propped up on one elbow. He patted the space in front of him. “Come on.” Then he grinned, slow and self-assured. “Unless you don’t trust yourself with me.”
As a matter of fact, she didn’t. Not one bit. But she probably shouldn’t mention that. She leaned back and scooted up the bed until her face was even with his. She had to admit it was a much better position for talking. It was a much better position for kissing, too. How convenient.
“Now, about kissing.” With one fingertip, he traced her lower lip. Her pulse throbbed and she tried to steady her breathing. “Did you know that some people think kissing is more intimate than sex?”
A small sound of interest was the most she could manage.
“There are times when I think that’s right,” he said, flashing her a lazy grin. His finger teased her lip, then slid inside her mouth to graze the top of her teeth. She closed her eyes, fighting to keep from closing her lips around his finger.
“Not that I’m knocking sex, mind you,” he murmured. “I certainly can’t deny the intimacy of being naked next to a woman who makes your heart pound as it’s never done before, sheathing yourself in her, filling her up, taking her places she’s never been and watching her skin flush when she finds satisfaction.”
Paris squirmed on the bed, her thighs pressed tight together to try and forestall the liquid urgency that he was creating inside her. She lost the battle with his finger, and closed her lips over him, suckling, hoping that giving in just a little bit would douse the flames that were beginning to consume her.
Gently, he pulled his finger from her mouth. She heard herself whimper.
“But a kiss, a kiss can be sweet and gentle. Or hard and desperate. A kiss is fast and hot and deep, or slow and lingering. A kiss is sharing breath and soul.”
Something soft brushed her lips. When his evening beard tickled her cheek, she realized he’d brushed her mouth with a kiss. “Tell me what you think about kissing,” he whispered.
She quaked, imagining his lips on hers, his breath mixed with hers. Apiece of his soul. And she so wanted to see into his core. She needed to know if he could really be the man she’d dreamed of.
“Paris?”
She opened her eyes. “Just one kiss.” Her voice sounded thick, more sultry than she could ever remember.
His eyes darkened. Then Paris saw the hint of a smile. She heard his breath coming as uneven as her own. With a low groan, he pulled her across the satiny bedspread into his arms.
Her breasts pressed hard against his chest, her nipples painfully tight. He took her bottom lip in his mouth and sucked, drawing her blood through her veins with every infinitesimal increase in pressure.
Wriggling closer, she maneuvered her leg over his thigh, needing to feel him pressed tight against her, wanting to feel the evidence of his arousal against her belly.
His ministrations on her lip continued, and she moaned for him, closing her eyes and balling the material of his shirt in her tight fist as she struggled not to beg him for more.
Desperate, she crushed herself against him and opened her mouth, silently urging him inside her. He played with her mouth, teasing, sucking, nipping, but never entering.
When he drew away, she shivered from the cool air that replaced his hot breath. His attention had made her lips full and swollen. Raw with kisses. And she wanted more. Opening her eyes, she saw him smiling at her, his own mouth moist.
“Please…” She could only manage one word, but that was all it took. He cupped her face and pulled her to him, his mouth claiming hers, fast, hard, primitive and completely satisfying. Their tongues fought a timeless battle of male and female, lust and desire.
She writhed against him, wanting a satisfaction his kisses alone wouldn’t bring.
He released his claim on her mouth. “Paris. Oh, Paris…”
The poor man sounded almost wounded. She’d never imagined herself capable of causing such a reaction, but she knew well enough it was real. She brushed her lips across his. “Yes?”
“You’re killing me. I can’t keep kissing you, touching you, and not be deep inside you.” Raw and gravelly with desire, his voice confirmed his words.
“Oh. I…” She could barely force words past the haze of passion. Right then, all she knew was that she hungered for him. She’d made up rules, silly rules. But her body answered to a different law, and her rules now seemed best ignored. Or broken.
“Paris, what do you want?” His murmur stroked and enticed her, turning the rivers of lust coursing through her into white water rapids.
The space within his arms seemed to shrink. Her eyes locked with his, knowing that if he could see into her heart, he would see only passion.
For years, her only adventure had been in her books. For one night, she wanted to live that adventure. With him. With Alexander.
“You,” she whispered. “Tonight I want you.” Maybe it was just lust, but she wanted him inside her with a desperation she’d never felt before. She might regret it in the morning, but tonight she needed him. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t really be Alexander. Hadn’t he told her that, just for tonight, he was? And he had to be…
He had to be her dream man. After all, who besides Alexander could make her feel this way?
DEVIN COULDN’T TAKE his eyes off her.
Paris had said she wanted him—had said it out loud—and he intended to make love to her like no other man ever could. More erotic, more sensual, more thrilling than any lover she’d ever had.
Or had ever fantasized about.
With slow, torturous movements he grazed his hand along her thigh, her hose silky under his fingers. He watched the desire on her flushed face as his fingers moved casually up her leg. When his thumb grazed soft skin instead of silk, she shivered, and he stopped, surprised.
“Stockings?”
She nodded, her tongue flicking across her lips.
“Oh, sweetheart. I knew you were sexy under that dress. I didn’t imagine this.”
His finger skimmed the edge of the stocking until he found the snap of her garter. He moaned and took a second to fight for control, pressing himself closer to her.
“I didn’t think panty hose fit a special occasion. The publisher’s party, I mean.” She smiled at him, soft and feminine and a little shy. “I didn’t realize quite how special the night would turn out to be.”
Her innocent, sweet words and halo of golden curls contrasted with the naughty lingerie and the heated arousal of her skin under his touch. The effect was honest and feminine and breathtaking.
Devin wanted her even more. He hadn’t thought such a thing possible.
“Any more incredible surprises I should know about?”
Wordlessly, she shook her head as his fingers fumbled over the snap. He eased her stocking down and off, then traced his finger back up her leg, along the outside of her thigh to the edge of her panties.
When his finger slipped under the elastic, her breathing became ragged and she closed her eyes. He teased her a little, tracing the edge of her panties, knowing she wanted him to go farther, but not quite willing to do that yet. Not until she was ready. Not until she was desperate.
When he pulled his hand away, she whimpered, but he kissed her into silence as his hand moved higher, a light tease on the outside of her dress, over her hard nipples, to her shoulder.
He fingered the straps. “If you don’t want me to rip this off you, I suggest you slide out of it.”
The thought had a certain appeal, and for a moment he considered just grabbing her dress and tugging, leaving her surprised and naked against him.
Primitive, yes. Satisfying, absolutely.
But probably not a good idea.
She shifted just enough to let him ease the dress off her, leaving her naked except for panties, her garter belt and one stocking.
Damn, she was gorgeous. “You’re beautiful.”
An adorable blush painted her already flushed cheeks.
“It’s true,” he insisted, but she just grabbed the edge of the bedspread and pulled it over her.
He grinned. No way she was getting away with that.
“Come on, sweetheart, I want to see more of you.” He took her hand and urged her to push the bedspread away. Her easy agreement and shy smile told him the compliments embarrassed her—not their intimate activities.
Good. The evening promised to get a lot more intimate. As for the compliments, well, eventually she’d get used to those. And if not, that blush was damned alluring.
He positioned her so that she was sitting at the foot of the bed, her feet flat on the floor, her hands behind her so that her shoulders were back and her chest was out. Her breasts rose and fell erratically with her ragged breathing. Her tight nipples begged to be kissed.
His own breath came just as choppy. Just watching her, without touching her, was sending his control spiraling away into oblivion.
From her breasts, his eyes moved down to her tiny waist, so small he could probably encircle it with his hands. Next, her round hips, still clothed in the silk panties he’d already explored. By the time his eyes lingered on the small patch of black material just between her thighs, he felt as if he would burst out of his tailored slacks.
Because the material was dark and her thighs were almost closed, he couldn’t tell if she was wet for him. But he imagined he already knew the answer to that. Her breathing, her heat, her scent, her eyes. Everything about her screamed that she was as aroused as he was.
Just knowing that excited him, made him anxious to see what other feelings he could coax out of her, how crazy he could make her before the sun came up.
How crazy he could make himself.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?”
“Touch me.”
Her words cut straight to his groin. Yes, oh, yes.
He knelt in front of her and ran his tongue along the top of her remaining stocking, lingering over her feminine taste. He stopped just long enough to look at her. “Touch you like that?”
She opened her mouth, but didn’t answer.
He teased her with his thumb, leaving her skin tight and hot. When he traced the edge of her panties with his forefinger, sliding his finger just under the material, she bit her lip.
“Like that, maybe?”
“Yes,” Paris moaned, her voice hoarse with passion, “like that.”
He continued his erotic exploration, his tongue tasting the inside of her thigh as his finger teased her, always just out of reach of where he knew she wanted. Sweet torment for her.
And for him. He wanted to be inside her, exploring her silky folds. Touching her. Kissing her.
“Don’t stop…” she begged.
Devin’s breath caught and he smiled, more than happy to oblige.
Bang, bang, bang. The pounding filtered through Paris’s muddled thoughts, and the moment shattered around her.
She bolted upright, pulling away from all the wonderful things Alexander was doing to her body. He stared back at her, his breathing just as uneven as hers.
She looked at the clock. Two forty-eight in the morning.
“Room service?” he whispered.
“We didn’t order anything.” The pounding repeated. “Should I answer it?”
Alexander traced his finger up the side of her arm. “Do you have to?”
“Paris?” Rachel’s voice spilled into the room.
Paris cringed, sure that she was blushing. “It’s Rachel.” She looked at Alexander. “I do have to answer it.”
“It’s the middle of the night. Does she do this often?”
“Paris!” Rachel’s voice had shifted from urgent to annoyed.
“Coming,” called Paris, managing a shrug for Alexander’s sake as she slid off the bed and began hustling into a terry-cloth robe she’d left hanging over an armchair. “Do what? Girl talk after hours? Not often. Maybe she wants a shoulder to cry on. Or someone to do tequila shots with.”
Alexander pitched her dress and shoes into the closet. “Don’t let her cry for too long. I have plans for that shoulder.” He trailed his index finger over the shoulder in question.
Paris smiled. “That’s a deal.” She turned toward the door. “One second, Rachel. I was just in the bathroom.”
“Well, hurry. I’ve got some amazing news.” Rachel’s voice was laced with excitement.
Paris looked at Alexander. “Wait for me in your room,” she whispered.
His face registered only confusion. “Where?”
Paris steered him toward the connecting room. She grabbed the key off the top of the television, and opened the door.
“Whose room is this?”
“Yours,” she said immediately, then, “I mean Alexander’s. I always take two rooms. One for me, and one for Alexander. Otherwise, people might talk.”
“Paris, I—”
She cut him off. “Please, hurry. I’m already teetering on mortification, here.”
“That doesn’t even compare to what I’m teetering on the brink of,” he shot back with a grin.
Paris shook her head. “Men. Might I remind you that you’re the one who gets to hide while I get to be totally embarrassed in front of my best friend?”
He surprised her with a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. “Don’t be embarrassed. You deserve this night.” He pulled the door shut behind him before she had a chance to respond.
Easy for him to say. Paris agreed that she deserved every moment spent with her Alexander. But now her best friend was gearing up to give her the teasing of a lifetime, laced with a liberal number of I-told-you-so’s. And there was no solace in hoping Rachel wouldn’t figure out what had been going on. No matter how hard Paris tried to keep it a secret, the odds were that somehow, someway, Rachel would realize what Paris had been on the brink of doing with…who?
She stopped dead, as reality took this opportunity to conk her on the head. Was she actually about to sleep with a man whose name she didn’t even know? What was she thinking?
And what about Rachel? Paris would never hear the end of it from Rachel if she didn’t know his name. She lunged for the connecting door and tried the knob. Locked.
Rachel pounded again. “Paris, for crying out loud, the Queen doesn’t take this long.”
“Coming,” squeaked Paris, cringing when she realized how nervous she sounded. A quick glance around the room revealed nothing that would hint at her recent extracurricular activities. Taking a breath, she hurried to the front of the room and unlatched the door.
Rachel burst in the second the lock released.
“Finally! I’ve been trying to call you.”
Paris shrugged. “I stayed out late.” She hurried to change the subject. “What’s the big rush?”
“You’ll never believe it, not in a million years.” She rubbed her fingers against her thumb. “Know what this is? Cash, moola, greenbacks. Money for you, and money for me.”
“Either it’s too late or you’re not making any sense.”
“And it’s going to be so easy, I promise,” Rachel rushed on.
Paris was on the verge of shaking her friend. “What’s going to be so easy? What are you talking about?”
Rachel grimaced. “Of course there is one hitch.” She held up her hand as if Paris had moved to protest, when in fact Paris was standing completely still, dumbstruck by Rachel’s frenetic rambling. “But it’s minor, really. We can work it out.”
“Rachel, focus for me here. Work what out?”
“You got his number, right?”
“Whose number?” asked Paris, even as a queer feeling in her stomach suggested that she already knew the answer.
“From the party. Alexander. He’s essential. We absolutely have to have him.”
A SMUG GRIN covered about ninety percent of Rachel’s face.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Paris asked, for about the thirtieth time.
Rachel shook her head. “I told you, it’s true.”
“A three-book deal? Hardback? This is so…so…amazing. I don’t even know what to say.” She flung herself at Rachel and kissed her on the cheek. The two women linked arms and swung each other around the room, letting loose war whoops every now and then for good measure.
Paris let go of Rachel, scrambled onto the bed and did a little jig before falling backward onto the mattress. “You realize what this means, don’t you?”
Rachel smiled. “Yes, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”
Paris sat up. “Darn right. It means that after this deal I’ll have enough money to live on while I finish Distant Passages.”
Rachel shrugged. “If that’s what you want to do.”
“Of course that’s what I want. It’s what I’ve always talked about.”
“Always? When we were little girls you wanted to write about spies and secret codes and hidden passageways. Seems to me you’re already doing that.”
Paris frowned. “Things change. When we were little you wanted to have a big house with a wraparound porch and a swing. That doesn’t sound like any place I’ve ever seen in Manhattan. And I don’t see you getting the urge to move back to Texas.”
“That’s different. I don’t want a house like that anymore. Really.” Paris thought about arguing, but decided it wasn’t the time. “And wild horses couldn’t get me back to Braemer,” Rachel added. “But you, on the other hand, do want to keep writing the Montgomery Alexander books.”
“What I want is to write Distant Passages, sell it, and be respectable.” For a brief moment, Paris wondered if the forceful tone of her voice was meant to convince Rachel, or herself.
“Well, at least you’ll have the clout to sell—” Rachel cut herself off before finishing. “Sorry,” she added.
“No, I won’t have the clout to sell it. I’m not Montgomery Alexander. But at least as his manager I can convince Brandon to take a look at it. And maybe Alexander’s fabulous agent can help shop it around.”
Rachel nodded. “Sounds like a plan. After all, he’s got the most amazing agent, if I do say so myself.” She winked at Paris. “But rumor has it his manager is a little loopy.”
“Go ahead,” Paris laughed, “taunt all you want. Nothing’s going to get a rise out of me today.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope.”
“You’re sure?” Rachel pressed.
Something in Rachel’s voice caught Paris’s attention. “What are you worried about? It’s about him, isn’t it?”
“Did you get his number? Do you know when he works at the pub? You got his real name, right? We have to get in touch with him.”
“No, he owns it, no, and why?” Paris crossed her arms over her chest and waited for Rachel’s explanation.
“It’s not a big deal, really,” said Rachel, her voice lyrical and soothing.
Paris knew better. “What’s not a big deal?”
“Just-that-they-want-Alexander-to-do-a-book-tour.” The words tumbled over each other like toddlers in a tiny tots’ gymnastics class. She took a breath. “A short tour. More a publicity jaunt than a book tour. Ellis Chapman was really impressed. Said Alexander’s got charisma. And he thinks we can increase female readership if he does some public appearances and talk shows.”
Paris imagined Alexander’s chiseled features accented by his enigmatic smile and come-hither eyes. Yes, Ellis had a point.
The import of Rachel’s words struck home. “Television? Interview shows?”
Rachel nodded.
“You agreed to this?”
“Well, I said I had to check with you, of course, but that I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
“Not a problem? Rachel, it’s a huge problem. How are we supposed to pull it off? Alexander’s given about fifty on-line and written interviews over the last few years. This guy’s not going to have any idea what Alexander’s said in the past. He’ll forget something and screw up, and the gig’ll be over.”
“So, other than the interview shows, you’re okay with the idea?”
Trapped. Paris was trapped like a rat. She tried to back out slowly without getting even more entangled in barbed wire. “No, it’s not okay. I just latched on to the first and biggest of about five-million problems with this plan.”
On the one hand Rachel had just created the perfect opportunity to spend more time with Alexander. More time doing exactly what they’d been doing. And more.
But on the other hand—the one that still had a grip on sanity and her career—Rachel had just upped the ante on Paris’s whole scheme. Unless Alexander was one-hundred-percent perfect all of the time, someone would surely catch on.
“No book tour, no contract. No contract, no nest egg to support you.”
“If Dearest Enemy, Deadly Friend continues to do okay, I bet they’ll offer another contract.”
Rachel shrugged. “Maybe.”
Paris glared at Rachel, irritated that her friend was right. For years, Paris had been telling herself that she wanted to retire the Montgomery Alexander books and turn to serious fiction. The kind that got reviewed on PBS, won obscure literary prizes and could justify a visiting professor position at some prestigious university. All the trappings of upper-strata respectability necessary to be a card-carrying member of the Sommers clan.
So far the money wasn’t enough to keep her in food and shelter while she worked on Distant Passages. She needed a job lined up in case the book was a huge flop. Of course, she could go back to being a lawyer full-time to make money, but the hours were too intense if she wanted to get any serious writing done.
Now someone had dangled a carrot in front of her nose. She could finish her first important book and get started on another while she still had the security of steady income from Montgomery Alexander. Even with the risks, she’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity.
She glanced at the door to Alexander’s room, thinking about the delicious perks that would go along with the arrangement. After only one night, Paris wasn’t ready to blurt out her undying love, but neither did she want him to just walk away. She at least wanted to know his name.
Somewhere between the bar and her room, sometime between the flirting and the kisses, she’d begun to want more from this Alexander than just one wild night of adventure. She wanted to go out, maybe eat dinner and see a movie. Heck, she wanted sex. Normal life stuff.
Of course, her life was rarely normal. And it seemed to be getting more abnormal by the minute. Alexander might not fit into her long-term plan, but in the meantime, if she couldn’t have normalcy, she’d take this.
“I’ll do it.”
“Yes!” Rachel punched the sky and whooped. “Okay, so how do we get in touch with our man Alexander? Do you have a phone number?”
“Call him? Now? What’s the rush? Go home and we’ll track him down tomorrow.”
Rachel shook her head, sending her hair flying. “No, no. You don’t understand. You have to leave the day after tomorrow.”
Paris blinked and clutched the edge of the bed. “What? How?”
“I told you, it’s a short tour. Do you remember Madame Marasky, the one who writes all those psychic detective books?” Paris nodded, not sure what the funny old gypsy woman had to do with Alexander. “Well, she lives in California, so the publicity folks had her booked on a ton of morning radio programs and a few television talk shows. Then she scheduled book signings all up and down the coast. That’s the first leg. Then she was booked to go to Las Vegas for the book and media convention. Only a couple of weeks, but heavy on the public relations.” She paused for a second before rushing on. “Oh, and there’s even a few days in Texas. Maybe we can get your dad to throw one of his killer parties.”
Paris rubbed her temples. Maybe it was the late hour, but Rachel still wasn’t making any sense. “What does this have to do with me or my dad?”
“Madame Marasky’s having gallbladder surgery. You’re getting her itinerary. You and Alexander. But you have to be on the ten o’clock flight to Los Angeles the day after tomorrow.” She looked at her watch. “Actually, tomorrow. Because today already is tomorrow, so the day after tomorrow would be too late.”
The news settled over Paris. A book tour. With radio and television. Wow. She sucked in a deep breath. She just needed to round up her imposter.
Rachel’s eyes drifted to Paris’s robe. “Throw on some jeans and let’s run down to his bar. Maybe we can catch him cleaning up or something.”
Paris glanced down at the pattern on the carpet, willing the blood to leave her cheeks and go back to other parts of her body where it belonged. “Um. I—”
She couldn’t finish. Rachel was her best friend. And best friends make the most notorious teasers.
“What?” As Rachel stared at Paris, the question in her eyes transformed into curiosity, then speculation.
Paris hurried to jump in, before Rachel could leap to a conclusion even more bawdy than the truth. “We don’t have to go to his bar.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Paris hadn’t seen Rachel looking so interested in anything since they’d watched the “Introduction to our Bodies” filmstrip in sixth grade health class.
Without thinking, Paris turned toward the connecting door. Rachel’s gaze followed, her expression blank. Then she looked at the bed and the tangled bedclothes. Paris knew the second her friend figured it out.
“He’s next door—” Paris blurted out.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me—” Rachel said at the same time.
They both laughed.
“You’re the one who said I should,” Paris reminded Rachel.
“Well, yes, but I never thought you’d actually listen. Lord knows, even I hardly ever follow my own advice.”
“If it’s any consolation, nothing’s happened. Yet. Somebody interrupted before we got to the main attraction.”
Rachel actually had the decency to look embarrassed. But just slightly. “At least I interrupted for a good reason, right?”
Paris pretended to pout. “Well, your news could have waited until morning.”
Rachel laughed. “If it had occurred to me that there was even the remotest possibility that you would be doing what you were thinking about doing, I would have waited. And waited. And waited.” She winked. “And then I’d have waited a little more.”
Images of the way the evening didn’t turn out flashed through Paris’s mind. “Oh, oh my gosh.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “What?”
Paris ran her hands through her hair, trying to avoid the reality that was creeping toward her. “I was actually going to go to bed with a man I’d just met.”
“No, no, no. A cute man you’d just met.”
“Not cute. Gorgeous.”
Rachel nodded. “I’ll give you that one. And you have a lot in common.”
“Well, yes. We have him in common.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “And you like him, right?”
Paris remembered the way his hands had raked over her body, hearing again all the things he’d whispered in her ear. Her body flushed with the memory. He’d been right there for her. Touchable. Kissable. Real.
She knew the smile she flashed Rachel was one of complete satisfaction. “Oh, yeah. He’s wonderful.”
Trouble was, she didn’t exactly know who he was.
DEVIN FELT LIKE a grinning idiot, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Paris completed him, made him feel like a whole person. They’d been together almost nonstop since the party began, and he still hadn’t soaked up enough of her. No woman had ever affected him so much or so quickly.
He fought the urge to burst through the connecting door, interrupt her meeting and whisk Paris away to some white sand beach. Anyplace but here, where they each had their predetermined roles to play.
But that was impossible. In a few minutes, Rachel would leave, and Paris would knock on the door. Devin would go in, they’d make love, then morning would come, along with orange juice, muffins and the moment of truth.
And what then?
Devin stood in front of the mirror, challenging his reflection to come up with a way to get the money he needed without scamming Paris. His reflection failed.
All you have to do is remind her of what a great Montgomery Alexander you make and what a huge favor you did for her. You hand Paris her checkbook and tell her to write. And if she doesn’t, you drop the bad news. Simple.
Devin wasn’t sure if the voice in his head belonged to his father, Jerry, or himself. All he knew was that whoever was speaking was going to be sorely disappointed.
Then just forget the money and stay with her.
Now that was an intriguing idea. Everything about Paris fascinated him—and not just sexually. Something about her recharged him. Her wit, her gentleness, her mystery. Even the odd dichotomy between her wild-ride books and her staid and proper family. This was a woman with a lot of layers. And he wanted to peel away each layer until he knew all of her.
The heavy connecting-room door drew his attention. He could burn it, break it, somehow get through it. No problem.
If only that door was the only thing between him and Paris.
Fat chance, buddy. You’ve got some serious competition.
That was an understatement. If he had any hope of something developing between him and Paris, he’d have to compete against her fantasy, his performance of her dream man, and the public image of a suave, sophisticated, mysterious author. He’d have to compete against Montgomery Alexander.
Devin groaned. He didn’t stand a chance.
He took a tentative step toward the door to the hallway, urging his leaden feet to do the right thing and carry him away.
Paris had been willing to give herself to Montgomery Alexander, not Devin O’Malley. The man she wanted to make love with was suave, sophisticated, a witty raconteur, a man who could dine at the White House or in a foxhole. Montgomery Alexander could probably quote Yeats while smuggling encrypted messages across the Serbian border.
Contrast that with Devin O’Malley, for whom a good week meant no screwups with payroll or inventory, no employees calling in sick, and no Carmen and his mob cretins breathing down his neck. Hardly the epitome of the man Paris wanted.
He was stuck in a dilemma. He couldn’t go through with his blackmail scheme and still look himself in the mirror. But neither could he stay with her, pretending that two such different people actually had a chance.
So he left, slipping into the hallway and pushing the button for the elevator before he could change his mind. All the while he half hoped she’d poke her head out the door and catch him. But of course she didn’t. It wasn’t meant to be.
The down-arrow lit up, and Devin stepped in, fighting back memories of touching Paris in this very elevator just a few hours earlier. He swore he could still smell her perfume.
Like a vertical fade in an old-fashioned movie, the door slid shut, cutting off his view of the door to Paris’s hotel room. How fitting. End of the scene, end of that chapter of his life.
He wondered when she would realize he’d left. Would she be hurt? Angry? Relieved? He hoped not. As much as he didn’t want to hurt her, he couldn’t believe that she’d be happy to find him gone. Their time together had been special, almost magical. For himself, he needed to hold fast to the belief that she thought so, too.
Devin leaned against the polished wood panels of the elevator, fixed in place by the strong grip of hesitation. He fought the urge to get off at the next floor, race back up the stairs and pull her into his arms.
Don’t even think about it, Devie-boy. No, he had done the right thing by walking away. Best to make a clean break, even if the leaving pained him.
He caught the tail end of an idea and stood a little straighter, his hand heading for the Stop button.
Maybe he should tell her the truth. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to lay it all on the line and invite her out for a proper date. After all, when he started this scheme he’d had no idea how he would end up feeling about her.
“You’re pathetic, Dev,” he whispered, dropping his hand. He was trying to justify a reason to stay based on the strength of his own feelings. But what about Paris?
She was an up-and-coming author with a carved-in-stone image of the man she wanted. She didn’t have any room in her life for a pub owner mortgaged to his eyeballs and scurrying to satisfy a debt he couldn’t pay.
Devin couldn’t be Montgomery Alexander forever. Sooner or later, he’d have to be just Devin. And as much as he wished it weren’t true, just Devin wasn’t the man Paris wanted.
Their short-lived affair was over before it even had a chance to start.
Except.
The elevator thudded to a halt in the lobby and Devin pushed the thought away. Even his dad would know better than to bet on Paris sauntering into Devin’s bar of her own free will, hoping to continue where they’d left off. Stuff like that only happened in fiction, an area Devin no longer had anything to do with.
“HE’S A CREEP.”
“Paris,” Rachel chided, rolling down her window to let some fresh air into the stale taxi.
“No, it’s true. He’s a creep and I’m an idiot.” Paris kept her voice at a monotone, using no more emotion than a store-special announcer at the local mega-mart. “I should have known from the first moment. It’s his eyes. They’re shifty.”
“His eyes are not shifty.”
No, his eyes are gorgeous. Deep and inviting.
“Maybe they shift just a little,” Paris insisted, gunning for a squabble, but Rachel wasn’t going to be baited. The problem, of course, was that Paris didn’t want him to be a creep, and didn’t believe that he was one, not really, even though he’d engaged in some very creep-like behavior. But ranting felt good, and Paris intended to wallow in it.
Rachel flopped against the soiled upholstery, then crossed her legs in an I’m-in-control sort of way. Paris knew better. Rachel usually made balancing on the edge of taxicab seats an art, careful not to let her typically chic outfits get more mussed up than absolutely necessary. Today, however, Rachel was practically hugging the tattered back seat.
“What are you so upset about?” Paris demanded. “I’m the one who almost boffed some lunatic with a slick come-on line.”
Rachel grimaced and looked out the window. Paris gave up. Rachel wasn’t going to say a word until she calmed down.
Fat chance that would happen anytime soon. Paris had been indulging in a grab bag of emotions since about three-thirty in the morning. It was now one in the afternoon. Except for a four-hour nap between five and nine, Paris had been bingeing nonstop on self-pity and anger, with a high emphasis on embarrassment. For a woman who usually kept her cool, Paris thought she was doing a heck of a job in the ranting and raving department.
She had to admit, though, it was getting a little old. And all the pouting in the world wouldn’t get her the information she really wanted—why? Why had he walked away?
Out her window, the Manhattan streets groaned under the weight of taxis, buses and cars, each moving at a snail’s pace, with drivers gesturing wildly to each other in a futile effort to make the traffic move more quickly. Paris didn’t mind the delay. The longer it took to get where they were going, the more time she had to prepare to meet him.
What did annoy Paris was that some secret, almost-buried, traitorous part of her wanted to see him again, to touch him and feel his arms around her. To feel her breath catch and her blood boil the way it had last night.
She leaned her head back against the seat and stared at the roof of the taxi. For six years, she’d lived her life in neat little compartments. Her future had been all planned out, what kind of books she would write, what kind of man she’d marry.
Twenty-four hours ago Paris had total control of her perfect plan. Now chaos had taken over. Her world was swerving out of control. And she didn’t like that one bit.
“Rach, maybe I should just tell Chapman everything.”
Rachel turned and stared at Paris, her face a mixture of annoyance and concern—an expression that evolved into something even more significant. If she hadn’t seen it herself, Paris would never have believed that Rachel could give such an in-depth response without even saying a word.
Paris sighed, drawing out the sound until she noticed the cabdriver eyeing her in the rearview mirror, possibly wondering about her sanity. She was sane, all right. But if she was going to suffer, she was going to do it in style. A little melodrama never hurt anyone.
She shot Rachel an accusatory glare. Usually Rachel was as loyal a friend as Paris could want. But today, instead of helping like agents and best friends were supposed to, Rach was just sitting there like a bump on a log.
“If you don’t say something, I really am going to tell.”
“Honey, we went over this earlier. You don’t want to tell Chapman. Embarrassment, remember? Money? Deal?”
“I can’t believe I’m about to beg help from some guy who left me half-naked in a hotel room without even a goodbye note.”
“Are you mad at him for leaving, or at yourself for what was going on in your dirty little mind?”
“Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on the side that gets us another book deal.”
“Nice. You’re a real pal.”
Rachel laughed. “Oh, come on, Paris. You’re more mad at the situation than you are at him. You practically slept with the guy, something you never do despite all of my urging and coaxing. And now you’re embarrassed because the one time you steer from your normal little dull routine, the plan backfires.”
There were times when Rachel could be so right. It was downright annoying. “It didn’t backfire, it exploded. He left. Poof. Picture a big cloud of dust. Then the dust settles, and, golly gee…there’s…no…guy.”
“Well, he’s probably just as embarrassed as you.”
Paris doubted that. “How do you figure?”
“He came to the party to meet you. Maybe he fantasized that you’d fall for his Montgomery Alexander routine—”
“So far he’s right on the money.”
“—but he never really believed it,” Rachel finished, shooting Paris a do-you-mind look. “And then when you do fall for him, it’s like this fantasy come true. First he figured out the secret, and then he seduced the woman of his obsession.”
Paris had never been the object of anyone’s obsession before, at least that she knew of. “Go on,” she urged.
“Well, you’re both wrapped up in this fantasy. And you’ve got great chemistry on top of it.”
Paris nodded. No matter what, the chemistry between her and Alexander had crackled.
“So when I knocked and you scooted him off to never-never land, reality probably kicked in. I’ll bet he thought you’d be hopping mad once the haze of passion wore off. He probably thought he should get out of there before you had him arrested.”
“So you’re buying his story that he pulled off the whole thing just to meet me?”
Rachel shrugged. “Sure, why else? He knew all those lines. He’s obviously a fan.”
Maybe. But something wasn’t clicking. Still, what Rachel said about Alexander being embarrassed made some sense. If it had been her shuttled off to the connecting room, maybe reality would have propelled her out of the hotel as well.
“You’re probably right,” Paris conceded. “Still, it’s going to be awkward seeing him again like this.” Awkward and exciting.
“Thirteen-fifty.”
Paris looked at Rachel and then at the cabdriver, who was holding out his hand for the fare. She hadn’t noticed when they’d pulled up in front of the pub.
Rachel got to her purse first. “Here.”
They slipped out of the cab, and crossed the sidewalk to O’Malley’s Pub. A brass placard announced the establishment’s hours from four in the afternoon until two in the morning.
“Maybe they’re in there doing prep work,” Rachel suggested.
Paris nodded, then grabbed the heavy door and pulled. Unlocked, it opened easily. “Here goes nothing,” she said, stepping inside with Rachel at her heels.
With three hours left until the bar officially opened, the dim lamplight of the other night had been abandoned in favor of strong, institutional fluorescents. The stale smell of old beer and cigars assaulted Paris, seeming much more pungent than it had during the pub’s regular hours, when the odors of alcohol and tobacco had been tempered with music, sweat and fried foods.
The only person in the bar was a lanky fellow squatting on the floor. Earnestly rubbing at a stain on the hardwood planks, he hadn’t yet noticed Paris and Rachel. The expression on his face suggested that he’d be happier if the lights were dimmed again, so that the spot he was working so hard to remove would just blend into the shadows.
Paris coughed lightly. The lanky fellow shifted his weight, still concentrating on the stain.
“We ain’t open ‘til four,” he said, without looking up.
“I know. I need to see the owner.”
The fellow grunted, as if being interrupted from his chore was the most disruptive thing that had happened to him in ages. He looked up, and Paris saw his eyes widen as he turned from her to Rachel, and then back to Paris.
His mouth hung open as he stared at her.
Paris checked to make sure all her buttons and zippers were fastened. They were. Have I turned green?
She opened her mouth to speak, just as the fellow scrambled to stand up. “Oh, it’s you. I didn’t know. Sorry. What can I get you? Really, anything. It’s on the house.”
Paris looked at Rachel, who managed to twitch her shoulder and cock one eyebrow in a gesture that left no doubt that she, too, was clueless.
“I’ll take a margarita on the rocks,” Rachel announced after only a second’s hesitation.
Or maybe not so clueless.
“Rachel,” snarled Paris, as the fellow loped toward the bar.
“What?” Rachel asked, the picture of innocence. “He asked, and it’s rude to turn down your host’s invitation.”
“Two seconds ago he was kicking us out. Now we’re the guests of honor?” Paris lowered her voice, even though it wasn’t necessary. The fellow had started the blender, and its grating noise in the empty bar was sufficient to mask their conversation.
Rachel smirked. “From the way he’s been looking at you, I’d say you’re the guest of honor. I’m just along for the tequila.”
Paris was spared having to think of a snappy retort by the sudden silence in the bar.
“Here you go. One margarita.” The fellow held up the glass, then set it on the bar.
“It’s like a carrot,” Rachel mumbled. “He puts it over there, and I’m drawn to it.” She headed across the room to the bar. Paris rolled her eyes and followed.
Their de facto host nodded toward Rachel as he looked at Paris. “So, who’s she? Your lawyer?”
Odd question. “We did go to law school together, but—”
“Aw, geez, I knew it. I freakin’ knew it. I shoulda kept my big mouth shut. He’s gonna be up to his armpits in lawyers and cops, and it’s all cuz o’ me.”
Questions ricocheted in Paris mind. Who’s going to be in trouble with the lawyers? What did the police have to do with anything? What did she have to do with anything? Was the lanky fellow’s “he” her Mystery Man? She had a feeling she could place a bet on that one, and have pretty good odds of winning.
One question came to land on her tongue. “Who are you?”
Suddenly all smiles, the fellow slid around the bar to shake her hand. “Jerry. Jerry Mangolini. Wow. What an honor. Meetin’ you, I mean. I’ve read your books. Every one of ’em.”
Paris heard Rachel gasp, and considered asking for a sip of the margarita. She was beginning to think she was going to need it. Then again, this was a situation best approached with caution. And a clear head.
“Um, what books are those?”
Jerry nudged her with his shoulder as if they were old friends. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell. Ironic, ain’t it? Me keepin’ your secret even though Devin was gonna spill the beans unless, well, you know.” He rubbed his thumb and fingers together, the international symbol for money.
Devin. “Devin was—” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“—going to blackmail Paris?”
Good ol’ Rachel. Always ready to pitch in during a crisis.
“That’s why you two are here, right?”
“N—”
“Yes. Of course.” Rachel interrupted before Paris could deny having any inkling that the fabulously suave mystery man of her dreams was actually a wolf in Montgomery Alexander clothing.
Overall, the situation stunk.
Jerry nodded. “I’m surprised you found him, him not telling you who he is and all. Guess you musta recognized him from the other day, huh.”
“The day when you two figured out my secret identity?”
Jerry cocked a finger at her. “Yeah. You’re getting it. A beautiful scheme, really. Worthy of the kind of gigs Devin’s pop used to pull.” He paused, frowning. “But you might as well lose the lawyer. He didn’t go through with it. He told me. Left without getting the money and everything.”
“That makes it right?” Paris asked the strange little man.
“Right, not right. Don’t really matter. The important thing’s that no DA’s gonna care about a blackmail scheme wherein no one got blackmailed.”
Paris had to agree with the fellow. Even if she were inclined to prosecute, no district attorney would care.
“Besides,” continued Jerry, “he had his reasons. Good reasons. Twenty thousand of ’em.”
“What?” Rachel asked.
“Gambling debt,” Jerry announced. “His—”
“Hello, Paris.”
Paris spun around, and there he was—Alexander, Devin, whatever the heck he called himself. Gone was the deep brown hair from the night before. Now damp golden waves framed his face, as if he’d just showered away the remnants of Alexander. But the change didn’t reduce his sex appeal at all.
Her first impulse was not to accuse him of trying to rip her off. Not to yell at him for leaving her in a lurch. Not to scream at him for using her. Not to slap him for playing Russian roulette with her heart.
No, her traitorous heart wanted to kiss him, touch him, be near him.
And that was what really made her angry.
THE LOOK ON HER FACE put a quick end to Devin’s fantasy that they were going to ride off into the sunset together. Damn, but she looked sexy when she was ticked off.
“Gambling debt,” she whispered. “You were going to blackmail me so that you could pay off a gambling debt?” Her voice rose from a low tremor to a high shrill. Devin cringed. This was definitely not happily ever after.
So much for her rushing over to confess true love, or at least serious lust. How did that saying go? Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.
“Paris, it wasn’t like that.” He hoped a soothing voice would keep her from crossing the line into hysterics.
“Wasn’t it? What was it like? Some innocent, starstruck fan just wanting to get close to me?” She stomped her foot, and glanced over the bar. Fortunately, the ashtrays were in the dishwasher. Had one been handy, no doubt she’d have hurled it.
She snorted. “Can you believe I fell for that one? I actually thought you were interested in me. Bet you and your buddies’ll have a million laughs over that one.”
Devin wished he could wake up and start the day over. All morning he’d been on the phone, begging for more time to pay back his dad’s debt. Two lousy extra weeks they’d granted him. Twenty thousand dollars in four weeks. An impossible task.
And now he was being confronted by a woman he’d left naked in a hotel room after impersonating her pen name and dream lover. A woman he craved so much his insides ached, but had no idea how to go about getting. Especially considering that she was standing in front of him, spitting mad, looking for all the world like she believed he was the lowest of the low.
All in all, it was shaping into one hell of an afternoon.
“Well,” she persisted, looking particularly cute the way she glared at him with her hands perched on her hips. “Aren’t you going to throw some new line my way?”
The urge to laugh almost overwhelmed him. Here he’d taken the chivalrous path, leaving her room before he could actually go through with the scam that would solve all of his financial problems, and to what end? The object of his fascination, the only woman he’d ever desired so tangibly, was standing in his pub, yelling at him, and thinking that he was a no-good, lousy, two-bit con artist.
Well, aren’t you?
“Paris, you don’t understand—” He stopped himself. The trouble was that she did understand. He was his father’s son. He was his neighborhood. He was his upbringing. Everything she was accusing him of. Everything he’d been running from his entire life. You can run, but you can’t hide.
“Don’t I? You seem to have mistaken me for one of the characters in my novels. The girls who like to mix it up with the bad guys.”
Devin took a breath and came to a decision. Damn his father, damn the mob and damn himself. He was better than that. She needed to know he was better than that. “I didn’t go through with it. I walked away without going through with it.”
Her eyes widened, and she took a tiny step backward. Devin didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but obviously not that. He watched her face as she regrouped.
“So?”
He almost chuckled in relief. That was hardly the fighting response he’d expected. Still, there was an edge to her voice. He wasn’t out of the woods yet.
“I didn’t blackmail you.”
“But you intended to. All those questions about who knows the truth. That wasn’t flirting. It wasn’t getting-to-know-you talk. You just wanted to use me, and all that talk was nothing but digging and planning to cover your weasely little tracks.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, her gaze fixed on his eyes. “Well?”
Devin looked at Jerry, then Rachel. Both were entranced, their expressions no help to him. A lie had sucked him into this mess. He’d gamble and try the truth. He noticed the irony and held back a grin.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“But you didn’t go through with it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Devin paused. Moment of truth time.
“Devin, why?” Paris pressed.
His breath caught in his throat as she spoke his name for the first time. For some idiotic reason, the fact that she’d used his name made him believe they could work everything out. It was a romantic, foolish, sappy notion, but he intended to hold on tight to it anyway.
He nodded toward Jerry, who took the hint. Rachel stayed firmly planted until Paris mouthed the word “go.” Then she stood regally and crossed the room, apparently becoming transfixed by the jukebox.
“Why?” Paris repeated, her voice soft. The same voice that had begged him to kiss her. God, this was killing him.
“Because it was you. I couldn’t do that. Not to you.” He wanted to tell her more, to explain that he’d fallen for her. Hard. But in her mind, she’d just now been introduced to Devin O’Malley. He needed to move slowly and not risk scaring her away.
Her brow furrowed, and her hand went automatically to a strand of hair. When a smile played at the corner of her mouth, he exhaled in relief, only then realizing he’d neglected breathing. It was going to be okay. They would make amends and get to know each other as Devin and Paris. Not Paris and Alexander.
But then she tilted her head and studied the floor. When she looked back up at him, the smile was gone. Her eyes were still warm, but her face was composed. A poker dealer, maybe. Or a lawyer. But not his lover.
“Maybe all your planning wasn’t entirely wasted,” she said.
“What?” She’d lost him.
“You said you crammed, right?”
He nodded, still not sure where she was going with this.
“And you do seem to have a knack,” she added, almost under her breath.
Curiosity battled with irritation. Curiosity won. “A knack for what?” Devin asked.
She shrugged. “Blackmail, gambling. All this intrigue. I understand it runs in the family. And it’s so very…Alexanderish.”
Devin bristled. Alexander was creeping closer and closer, and Devin was getting pushed out of the picture, replaced by a con artist with a knack for role-playing. That wasn’t the Devin he wanted her to see. He wanted her to see the man he’d become—honest, respectable—and he opened his mouth to tell her so.
“Two thousand a week,” she said, and Devin closed his mouth.
He swallowed. “Excuse me?”
“The publisher wants to send Alexander on a three-week book tour. Starting tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“The media is clamoring for interviews, and Cobalt Blue wants to strike while the iron is hot. So I need an Alexander. And you owe me.” She smiled at him, a real smile with warmth and promise.
She was sexy when she smiled. Devin considered pulling her into his embrace and kissing her the way she’d kissed him in the bar the night before. That would get her attention.
Unfortunately, it would also make her point. Planting uninvited kisses on angry women would be like waltzing into Alexander-dom. But if he was with her for three entire weeks, it would be a heck of a lot easier to convince her of his real charms over Alexander’s imaginary ones.
He tried to think fast. Jerry could run the pub, and would probably be thrilled to do it just for the extra cash. Jerry might be gruff, but he knew the business. That left the problem of the rest of the money. How the hell could he raise fourteen thousand dollars in the one week left after her tour?
No, he needed time to get the cash he owed. Trouble was, he also needed her. Spending some time with her in close quarters was just the ticket. But three weeks was too much. “If I owe you, I should do it for free. But just one week. No pay.”
“Oh, no. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but one thing I am sure of is that I don’t want to feel obligated to you. Three weeks and you get a paycheck.” No smile this time. Just a firm jaw, arms crossed, one hip slightly cocked, as if she was dug in for the duration.
She was sexy when she was stubborn.
He did some fast multiplication. Six thousand from the book tour, another five thousand he could skim from the pub if he scrimped. Two grand he could take off a credit card. That still left him a chunk shy of his goal.
“Make it four a week and you’ve got a deal.”
“I don’t think so.”
He held up his hands. “I need more.”
“I can’t afford more. And I doubt I’d pay it if I could. Besides, you got me into this mess, remember?”
That he had. And if he could spare three weeks he’d help her in a heartbeat. He’d just have to compromise.
“How about I do only one week for two grand?” If she agreed, he could scramble to raise the rest of the money in the weeks after the tour. Maybe he could get the earnest money back that he’d put down to buy his second pub in Boston.
And he could always go crawling to Derek as a last resort. He didn’t want to, but if that’s what it took to help Paris out, he’d suck it up. Somehow, he’d get the money.
“Two weeks.”
“One and a half. That’s my final offer.”
Paris looked toward Rachel, who shrugged.
“We’ll make it work somehow,” Rachel said.
“Do you think they’ll still honor the contract?” Paris asked, and Devin wondered what contract she was worried about.
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know. But we don’t have much of a choice, do we?” She shot Devin a withering look.
He held up his hands in surrender. “I can only do a week and a half. I’m sorry. Really.”
More sorry than she knew. The possibility of three weeks alone with Paris enticed him, and not only because he wanted time for her to get to know the real Devin. On top of that, he wanted to help her. But it just wasn’t possible. If he helped her, he’d never be able to raise the money in time.
Paris nodded. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. We’ll work it out.” She held out her hand. “Really. Let’s shake on it.”
Her handshake was crisp and firm. Businesslike. “You’re doing us a huge favor. Really. Thank you,” she said.
Devin nodded. “You’re welcome.”
He felt like a total heel.
ONE BY ONE, Paris opened each dresser drawer, making sure nothing was left but plastic hotel laundry bags, the complimentary magazine raving about Manhattan’s hot spots, and the Gideon Bible. She moved on to the nightstand and checked its drawer as well. Also empty, except for the room service menu. “I think that’s everything except for the closet and a couple of things from the bathroom.”
Rachel looked up from her magazine. “I should hope so. You’ve checked each drawer at least twelve times.”
“Only twice.” Actually, three times. But Paris doubted Rachel had noticed.
“Three times. I counted. And you don’t even leave until tomorrow. Why the big production tonight?”
“I just don’t want to forget anything,” Paris said, latching on to the first half-truth that flitted through her mind. The real truth was that she wanted to stay busy, needed to keep her mind off Devin. Plus, they’d agreed that he’d spend the night in her connecting room so that she could coach him this evening, and so they could ride together to the airport in the morning.
With Devin just a thin wall away, Paris doubted she’d be able to concentrate on packing if she waited until morning.
Rachel stood up and crossed to the bed, peering down at the stacks of clothes and bags of cosmetics. “I already see something you’ve forgotten.”
“Really?” Paris inventoried her belongings, comparing the list in her head to the piles on the bed. “What?”
Rachel squatted on the floor and rummaged in her leather tote bag, then pitched a handful of condoms into Paris’s open suitcase. “I’ve only got a half dozen here. But between you, me and the hotel furniture, I haven’t really needed them lately. There’s a shortage of good men in this city. And since you just snagged the last one, you’ll need to pick up a pack at the airport tomorrow morning.”
Paris glanced at the neon packets shining like Mardi Gras coins, then up at Rachel, who was doing a poor job of holding back a grin. With friends like this…
“First, I am not going to sleep with him. And second, even if I were, I would not in a million years suggest a lime green fluorescent condom.”
“The hot pink is nice.”
“Third,” Paris continued, ignoring her once-best friend who had just slipped below Paris’s goldfish on the friendship scale. She stopped, confused. “I know I had a third.”
“Third, you’re going to be a martyr for women everywhere and turn down the attention of this amazing looking guy who is obviously crazy about you.”
“Yes,” said Paris. “I mean, no. I am not being a martyr.”
“You were going to do the deed last night.”
“Last night I didn’t know that he almost blackmailed me. This is not a good start for a relationship. Dr. Laura would not approve.”
“But he didn’t blackmail you. He’s honorable. Chivalrous. Oozing with character.”
“Just because he walked away from one blackmail scheme doesn’t make him Sir Lancelot. Knights in shining armor don’t think up clever ways to use women to get money. Besides, maybe he walked away because my dad’s a judge and not because his chivalrous side overwhelmed him.”
Or maybe he does like you. She squashed the thought, then grabbed a pair of khakis from the closet and started folding them on the bed. What was the world coming to when she was arguing with her best friend and herself?
Rachel stood sideways in front of the mirror mounted on the closet door, stomach sucked in, chest out. She turned and checked her other side.
Paris watched, amused. “What are you doing?”
“Sagging. No wonder he’s smitten with you. You don’t sag.”
“Rach, gravity doesn’t even know where you live. And he’s not smitten with me.”
Rachel dropped the pose. “Oh, I know smitten. And he is it.”
“It was a one-night thing, set in motion because he wanted to get something from me. Even if he did walk away from his little racket, that doesn’t mean he’s smitten.”
She concentrated on folding her clothes, warding off erotic memories of the night before. Her thoughts had no business going there. No matter how much she’d melted from his touch, she was not about to fall under the spell of some con artist who intended to use her just to make a buck. And for a gambling debt! Maybe if he’d needed the money to buy a kidney for his grandmother…
She shook the thought away. Her imagination might be able to come up with noble reasons for his scheme, but that didn’t make them true.
“Everything is on an even keel now. It’s a business arrangement, pure and simple. That’s all. No repeats of last night. I need an Alexander, and he fits the bill.” Her body regretted the decision, but her head knew it was for the best.
“So now you’re the one using him.”
Paris considered. “Yeah. I guess I am. Well, good for me. After all, turnabout’s fair play. And at least I hired him.”
“Oh, I’m not criticizing,” said Rachel, flopping on the bed. “In fact, that makes it even better.”
Paris almost cringed at the devious tone in Rachel’s voice. “Better how?”
“If it’s a business arrangement, he can still be your boy toy. It’s so yuppie. One and a half weeks. That’s the perfect length for a fling. A little diversion, take your mind off work. And you’re hitting California and Vegas. How decadent is that?”
The laugh escaped before Paris could stop it. Great, now Rachel would be encouraged. She put on a stern face. “Decadent is not the image we’re going for here. I don’t need a boy toy or your advice.” She waved her arm around the room. “All of this is the result of you shooting off your mouth at the bar that night.”
“The room?”
“The situation, dummy,” Paris said, lobbing a pillow at her intentionally dense friend. “I don’t need any more complications in my life. Certainly not a complication with a gambling debt the size of Alaska. I can’t get involved with some scheming, gambling, street-savvy con artist.”
Paris held up a hand against Rachel’s inevitable comment. “And I realize he didn’t go through with it, but that’s not the point. I don’t do flings well. It would be just my luck that I’d fall for him, and then where would I be?”
Of course, the better question was, How did she un-fall for him? The damage was already done, but Paris wasn’t going to admit that to Rachel. The way out of this mess was to just take it one step at a time, and to keep the relationship purely professional. Any hints of sexual tension, and she’d politely turn the conversation back to their work.
Then she’d take a cold shower.
“Okay, you win,” said Rachel. “Have a nice boring little tour. Maybe you’ll meet a valet in Vegas who’ll sweep you off your feet.”
“Thank you,” said Paris, grateful to steer away from the dangerous direction her thoughts were headed.
There would be nothing smart about getting mixed up with a fantasy man, and Paris was not a stupid girl.
“HERE I AM. Putty in your hands.” Devin leaned negligently against the door frame, a canvas duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his tattered navy T-shirt just tight enough to show there was nothing soft or malleable about this man. He was hard. Stone. As immovable as a mountain.
“Hi. Come on in.” Paris stepped aside to let the mountain enter.
Rachel would consider this a personal challenge. He wants to be putty, she’d say. By the time I’m done he’ll be mush. But Rachel had the seductress act down cold, not Paris. Even if Paris could, what would be the point? A week of savage, wild sex, and then what?
Isn’t that enough? Paris imagined Rachel’s amazed query.
Paris ignored her friend’s urging, as well as her own hesitant agreement. No matter how alluring he might be, she’d squashed all intentions of picking up where they’d left off. He’d been setting her up for blackmail, after all. Best she kept that little fact firmly in mind.
She shut the door and turned around. He waited a few feet behind her, just on the threshold of the main area of the hotel room. Despite her self-imposed mini-lecture, the desire to reach out and stroke his chest almost overwhelmed her.
Damn Rachel. She was such a bad influence.
How was she going to manage such close quarters with this gorgeous hunk of tanned, muscular, blond…maleness if she couldn’t control her eyes, much less her hands?
She tried to manage a businesslike smile. He watched her, a quizzical expression playing across his features. “What is it?” she asked, fearing he could read her mind.
“Three weeks.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m yours for three weeks. I got you into this, the least I can do is help you get out.” His jaw was firm. Was he expecting her to argue?
“I can only afford to pay you two a week.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“But…I thought you needed—”
“Do you want me for three weeks or not?”
“Of course,” she answered, ignoring the devilish voice in her head that urged her to blurt out the kind of thoughts his words inspired. “I just don’t want to mess things up for you.”
How pitiful is that? Paris wondered. Suddenly the last thing she wanted to do was inconvenience him. What’s wrong with this picture?
Devin’s smile softened his entire face. “Thanks. I appreciate that. But I’ll be fine. Really.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Some obligations I’m just not willing to turn my back on.”
“Oh,” she blurted. “A code. Like honor among thieves.”
She regretted the words the second they left her tongue, even before she saw him wince. “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry,” she said uselessly. He was at least making an effort at chivalry and she was insulting him.
He waved a hand and gave her the slightest of nods. “So, we’re leaving in the morning?” he asked.
Paris considered whether to apologize again. Probably better to drop it. “Yeah. Bright and early.”
“Well, then, what’s on the agenda tonight?” Nothing in his tone suggested he was thinking about a repeat of the night before. Didn’t matter, Paris thought about it anyway.
“Training.” She smiled sweetly, forcing her mind back on track. “Brutal, hard-core basic training. If you’re going into battle for me, I want you prepared.” Her eyes grazed his body again and she choked back a sigh. The real battle was raging in her. She’d managed to keep her hands in check for all of four minutes. That deserved a pat on the back.
He dropped his shoulder and let his bag slide to the floor. “Fair enough. Where do we start?”
“Ground rules,” Paris said, with force intended more for herself than him. “We need to establish the basic ground rules.”
“Great. Shoot.”
Paris frowned. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“So what’s our first ground rule?” he pressed.
“You’re Devin,” she said, ignoring his question as she realized what was troubling her.
“Hate to break it to you, but your rule doesn’t make sense.”
“No. I mean, yes. No. I mean you are Devin.”
“Yes. Me, Devin. You, Paris.”
Paris ignored his sarcasm. “I mean your hair is blond. That’s not Alexander.” Her stomach turned as she considered the uncomfortable truth. This blond-haired devil—not Alexander—had swept her off her feet.
His con, remember? He pretended to be Alexander to get you in bed. To get your money. And he did a damn good job.
She felt like bopping herself on the forehead. Of course! Certainly she hadn’t fallen for this man. No way. Just for his Alexander-ness.
Well, she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
A muscle twitched in his cheek and he took a few breaths before speaking. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I needed to be good old Monty every waking minute. Since I’m not trying to pull anything over on you, I thought I’d just be myself for now.” His eyes held a challenge, but Paris didn’t understand the contest.
“I’m hiring you because I need an Alexander on this tour. If someone figures out you’re not really Alexander, then I’m in a lot of trouble.”
“You mean someone like me?” A hard edge laced his voice.
He seemed defensive, and her guard went up, parrying his thrusts with sarcasm. “You think I’m worried about unscrupulous scoundrels learning my secret and blackmailing me? No. I figure that’s probably a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”
Paris thought she saw hurt flash in his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure.
She took a breath. “Look, that’s not what bothers me. I realize it may be a pain, but the fact is that Alexander’s never been on tour before. No one’s ever seen him before, at least not until the party. What if someone sneaks into the room? Follows us? Peers in a window? At the very least, you need to always look Alexanderish, even if you talk Devin. Don’t you see? I can’t risk the truth. I need this contract.”
Some of the tenseness seemed to melt from him. “Fair enough. I guess we start with hair dye.” He leaned over and rummaged around in his battered canvas bag, eventually pulling out a box. He held it out to her. “Bold and Brilliant Chestnut. Got it on sale. Permanent this time. Want to do the honors?”
SHE SHOULD HAVE SAID NO, Paris realized later, as she ran her fingers through his damp hair, massaging in the conditioner that had come in the package. Without thinking, she’d walked smack into a predicament designed to test her resolve.
Devin balanced on the edge of the bathtub, bare feet inside, his tan shoulders and sinewy back naked except for the small, white towel draped over him. At least his legs were covered by the ratty blue sweatpants he’d changed into before they’d started this whole hair thing. The last thing Paris needed was the distraction of seeing his well-muscled thighs extending under a pair of shorts or straining against tight denim.
From behind him, Paris couldn’t see his chest, but she remembered the smattering of hair that matched the still-golden locks gliding over her fingers. His hair seemed silkier tonight, probably because he’d washed out the color. Her fingertips recalled the coarse strands she’d stroked the night before.
Had it only been one night?
Paris remembered the pleasure of his hands on her skin, touching and stroking. His kisses, hot and wild. She barely realized that her fingers were grasping tighter, pulling his head back. He followed with his body, leaning against her until his bare back pressed against her stomach, and his head rested against her breasts. She could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Closing her eyes, she could feel the rhythm of her own heartbeat, its tempo increasing, pounding.
“Paris.” Devin’s voice was low, almost inaudible, but the way he said her name cut straight to her core. “I think you’re supposed to add the gel sometime before my hair dries.”
With a start, she opened her eyes. “Oh. I…um…I was just thinking.” Biting back a curse, she scolded herself for getting sidetracked so easily.
“You’re supposed to pull your own hair out when you think. Not someone else’s.”
She looked down and saw her fingers knotted in his hair. “Sorry. I was—”
“—thinking. I know.” He twisted at the waist until she could see his face. “What were you thinking about?” His cockeyed grin suggested he had some idea already.
A little white lie flew to her lips. “The publicity tour. Details. You know.” That was half-true, after all.
“Really.”
Why did she get the feeling he didn’t believe her? She stepped back, and her hands automatically went to her hips, as she adopted her little-used, I’m-in-control-here courtroom stance. Your Honor, just because my client has millions socked away in the Caymans doesn’t mean he embezzled it. Yeah, right.
She forced a smile. “Yes, really. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things. Planning, you know? Stuff to do.” She waved nonchalantly in his direction, as if he was just one of a dozen tasks awaiting her. “We have to rehearse you, for example.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You don’t believe me?” She immediately regretted the question. Of course he didn’t believe her. And he was right. Not that it mattered. Thinking and doing were two entirely different things.
His smile started slow, but soon dominated his face. “Oh, I believe you.”
“You do?” Paris stared at him, amazed she’d pulled off that coup.
“Sure. I believe you were thinking about your ground rules.” The smile changed, losing some innocence, gaining some seductive appeal, and becoming ever-so-much-more interesting in the process.
Interesting and kissable.
Paris yanked the thought away. “Right. Ground rules.”
“I was doing a little thinking about rules myself.” He pointed at the small plastic bottle sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “If you’re finished conditioning, maybe you should rub that in now.”
“Sure. Before your hair dries.” His shift in topic had distracted her, and she was left wondering what rules he had come up with. She snipped the tip of the bottle off with nail scissors, then slipped on the flimsy plastic gloves that had come in the package. “Turn around,” she ordered.
His back to her again, she frowned, unable to shake the feeling that he was toying with her. She massaged the gel through his hair, pulled off the gloves and set the alarm on her watch for fifteen minutes.
Not a word from Devin. He still hadn’t clued her in on his rules.
Paris cleared her throat and spoke to the back of his neck. “So, what is it you were thinking about? Rules, I mean.” She hoped her voice came out casual. At least it hadn’t cracked.
Silence. Then he bent forward and turned on the tap, running his wrist under the water and fiddling with the controls until the temperature was right. Only then did he turn his head and look back at her over his extended arm.
His eyes beckoned, and her body warmed in response.
“There’s an attraction between us.” He straightened up and stood as he spoke, crossing the small space in one step, ending up so close that she could feel his breath on her face.
She opened her mouth to deny it, but no words came out.
“Don’t you think so?” he added.
Paris squared her shoulders. They needed to be talking rules. Business. Now was not the time for her insides to get mushy.
He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The erotic caress made her dizzy.
“Paris? The least you can do is admit the attraction. We were both there, remember?”
She nodded, poise and composure slipping away. “Of course. Yes. Yes, there’s an attraction. Sure.”
One breath. Then another. And another.
Okay, maybe this wasn’t so bad, where the conversation was going. This was good. Talking about this attraction, desire, lust, whatever. It was necessary. Her whole purpose was to lay their major ground rule. No repeats of last night. Nothing but work. So he’d led the conversation in totally the right direction. She just needed to tell him.
She cleared her throat. “Devin, I—”
“We’ll have to fight it. We shouldn’t let anything more happen.” He stroked her cheek, a friendly gesture that left a trail of fire. “You know. Professional distance. I think that would be best.”
“That’s really what you think?” They were all words she had planned to say. So why was she so disappointed?
“Of course,” Devin continued, his voice low. “Although I can see your point, too. You may be right. Yes, you just might be absolutely right on this one.”
“I might?” Her point? Did she have a point? What kind of game was he playing?
He nodded. “It’s difficult to tell which is the better route.”
Paris opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but her wristwatch alarm beeped, stalling the question. Thank goodness. She needed a moment to get her head together. This wasn’t going at all like she’d planned.
She plastered on a professional smile. “Rinse time,” she sang. “Do you want to just pop into the shower?”
He perched on the edge of the tub again, and slowly shook his head. This time his feet were on the outside, and Paris had a feeling she knew what was coming.
“It’s just as easy for you to do it.” As he spoke, he grabbed her hips, urging her forward, and Paris vaguely wondered if his fingers would singe her. “I’ll just tilt my head backward,” he added as he gently positioned her over him.
As she straddled him, one leg on either side of his knees, Devin passed her a cup filled with water. Paris forced herself to concentrate. She poured the water over his head, and it flowed down his hair and into the tub. They repeated the exercise, waiting for the water to flow clear instead of inky.
The intimacy of the position was undeniable. So was the danger, Paris realized, as she let another stream of water trickle over him. Not that she feared falling. The danger lurked in the heat they were generating, in the way Paris was aware of the spot inside her thigh just above her knee that kept rubbing against his leg.
Once again she reminded herself. Thinking. Doing. Two entirely different things. And doing was not on the agenda.
He passed her another cupful of water. But instead of retreating to the edge of the tub as before, his hand lightly gripped the back of her leg, his finger idly stroking.
Fighting her body’s response, Paris grabbed a dry towel from the rack and ran it over his head, working the water out until nothing was left but damp curls.
As soon as she removed the towel, she sucked in her breath. Moments before, his appeal had been undeniable. But now he was larger than life. He was Alexander, a man straight from her fantasies. Straight from between her sheets on nights when she couldn’t sleep and lay awake dreaming, wondering, hoping that someday he’d step into her life.
She shook herself. Alexander wasn’t real, and it was Devin in her bathroom, half-naked and tempting her.
She realized what he was up to. He had said she was right, but he knew perfectly well she had no idea what she was supposedly right about. He wanted her to ask.
Paris didn’t want to play his game, didn’t want to lose control of the situation. But she really did want to know. And, girlfriend, you are already way out of control. Besides, the torment of his finger drawing lazy patterns on the back of her leg was going to drive her mad.
Round one, Mr. O’Malley.
“Okay, what might I be right about?”
“Intimacy.” His eyes didn’t open.
“Excuse me?”
“Intimacy. Appearances. Comfort zone.” He opened his eyes and they held no challenge. Just desire. Paris took a step backward, but his hand tightened around the back of her calf. He straightened his head, and Paris realized with mortification that he was eye level with her breasts. And she was wearing a T-shirt. With no bra. In a humid bathroom. So much for playing it cool.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Paris said truthfully, hoping she didn’t sound rattled.
“There’s an intimacy between you and Alexander. An understanding. You’re supposed to know each other so well. If we’re fighting this…thing…between us, there’ll be tension, nerves. People will be able to tell.” His hand slid up the back of her leg, his fingers boldly caressing her inner thigh, until finally cupping the curve of her rear.
Paris was pretty sure her kneecaps were melting.
“If there’s an intimacy between us, people will realize,” he went on. “They won’t know what kind, of course, but they’ll recognize the closeness and your scam won’t be in jeopardy.”
“Is that…” her voice sounded husky. She cleared her throat, conjuring her normal speaking voice, determined to fight against what was happening to her body. And to her head. “Is that the way to pull a scam?”
“Trust me on this one.” He leaned forward, urging her toward him with his hand even as he leaned forward from the waist. His mouth closed over her breast before Paris could think, and then all she could do was react. Her nipple hardened under the attack of his tongue through the thin material. Her legs turned to rubber as warm honey flowed through her body. She had to sit before she fell, and she sank to the floor. His mouth and hand released her, and she ended up perched at his feet while he smiled down at her, warm and inviting and, oh, so tempting.
Thinking. Not doing. Her new mantra.
“And I thought through all of that, huh?” she asked, when her voice worked again.
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. A brilliant piece of reasoning, actually.” He leaned over and plugged the tub, readjusting the temperature on the still-running tap. Then he uncapped a bottle of hotel-supplied bubble bath and poured it into the stream.
“Three weeks, right?” He held out a hand to her and helped her up from the floor.
“Right. So?”
Devin put one leg over the side of the tub and stepped in. Paris leaned over for a closer look. A thin layer of bubbly water covered the bottom of the oversized tub. She looked back at him, eyebrows raised.
Then he swung the other foot over, sat down, and stretched out in the tub, sweatpants and all.
“Devin!”
“What?” He looked genuinely shocked at her outburst. “Three weeks isn’t very long. I figure we’ve got no time to waste getting started on that intimacy idea of yours.”
“But, but…” She had no clue what to say. “Your pants.”
He shrugged, the picture of indifference. “Oh, don’t worry. They’ll drip-dry.”
Paris knew her mouth was hanging open. She felt like the only one in the room who didn’t get the joke, and she was positive there was a joke.
He pulled his legs up, freeing half the bathtub. Then he splashed the water as if he were patting a seat cushion. “Aren’t you coming in?”
The evening was getting weirder and weirder. Paris searched her mind, trying to figure out some way to articulate the utter bizarreness of the situation.
“What?” she finally sputtered. It was the best she could come up with.
Devin nodded sagely. “No, you’re right. Once again, you have a point.” A wide grin lit up his face, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re batting a thousand tonight.”
As if she’d stepped into a cartoon, a lightbulb turned on over Paris’s head. This time he was going to say that she was right about their intimacy. How could they really be close if they were wearing clothes?
She imagined him loosening the drawstring of his pants, raising his hips up and letting the waterlogged pants slide off his well-muscled legs. She pictured the way he would look, sitting there in the tub, water beading on his skin. His smile when he held out a hand to her, urging her forward. The heat from his fingers as he loosened her own pants and then grazed her hips as he slid the material down to the tile floor. Her body warmed as she imagined his eyes taking her in before she joined him in the warm, scented water.
She sighed. A nice fantasy, but it wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the floor. She looked up and saw disappointment flash in his eyes. And something else. Determination, maybe? “It’s an interesting suggestion, but I think we’ll stick with the no-intimacy version of the rules.”
Devin nodded. “I understand.”
“Are you mad?”
There was no mistaking his surprise. “That you said no? Of course not.”
“That I didn’t stop you before you drenched your pants.”
“Nah, they needed washing anyway. I’ll just hang out here and give them a good soaking.”
Paris laughed. “We’ll jump right into the Alexander lessons tomorrow.” She nodded at the tub. “That was not an Alexander-like thing to do.”
No, not at all. But very endearing nonetheless.
“Lessons are fine. Just don’t forget that I’m not Alexander. I’m Devin. All of me.” He crossed his arms behind his back and stretched, his chest muscles rippling.
She cleared her throat, the now-familiar fluster returning. “Yes, well, stay as long as you want. You can have this room and I’ll sleep in the connecting one.”
She turned to leave, then paused, turning back to him. “Devin?”
His eyes were closed. “Hmm?”
“You never had any intention of following ground rules, did you?”
“’I’d gladly sidestep any rule if it keeps me from my mission.’” He opened his eyes. “’Or from another taste of you.’”
She drew a shaky breath. Another line from her first book. He was Alexander, and yet he wasn’t. Her dream lover, and at the same time a flesh and blood man—fascinating and sexy. And dangerous.
She steeled herself, then nodded at Devin, fearing that any attempt to talk would end her up in his arms. She slid out of the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind her.
Memories of his caresses, his scent, his charm drifted through her mind. She sighed. It would be a long night.
But at least she’d won Round Two.
”HALF-NAKED IN A BATHTUB? And you left? Are you ill?” Rachel extended a hand to feel Paris’s forehead.
“Will you stop?” Paris swatted Rachel’s hand away, glancing around the busy LaGuardia airport gift shop.
A well-tanned older couple wearing matching Bermuda shorts and clashing Hawaiian print shirts glanced her way. Paris smiled politely, hoping they were staring because they were nosy, and not because they’d overheard Rachel’s comments.
Then again, maybe they were looking at the dark circles she was sure lined the undersides of her eyes. She hadn’t slept at all last night, too distracted by the man in the next room. But now victory was hers, and Rachel wasn’t going to spoil it. Especially considering how hard-fought the battle had been. “I told you I wasn’t going to sleep with him. And I meant it.”
“Well, goodie for you. You win the jackpot. Biff the Wonder Accountant, a thrill-a-minute life playing hostess at Daddy’s and hubby’s parades of political functions, a nanny and a prescription for Prozac. How excited you must be.”
“Rachel.” Paris shot her a warning look.
Rachel threw her hands up in surrender. “Hey, not that there’s anything wrong with that. If that’s what you want.” Rachel slapped a magazine and a packet of gum down on the counter. “But I think you’re just avoiding the truth.”
Paris rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have even told you if I’d known you’d go psychoanalyst on me. In fact, I wouldn’t have had you drive us. Devin and I would have just taken a taxi.”
Rachel shrugged and paid the clerk, a dark-haired girl who looked about sixteen. “It’s not too late to stock up on those condoms. You still might need them.”
The clerk giggled. Paris aimed a dirty look at Rachel, then added a candy bar to her own stack of paperback novels. “What magazine did Devin say to get him?”
“Um,” Rachel scanned the magazine rack and pointed to a dense weekly finance and investment report. “Guess our little scrapper’s into light reading, huh?” She nudged Paris. “Maybe you can mold him into your accountant.”
Paris gave her a level stare. “Just pass me the magazine.”
She paid the girl, who Paris was sure was holding back a smirk. On the way to the gate, Rachel coughed once. Then again. Paris looked at her.
“Nothing,” Rachel said, all innocence.
“I’m not sleeping with him,” she said, her gaze automatically drifting toward the bank of pay phones halfway down the concourse where Devin stood, the receiver pressed to his ear.
“Right. I know. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
Paris stopped dead, almost tripping a woman struggling with a massive suitcase. “Why are you making it your personal project to attach me to this guy? You’re practically begging me to sleep with him. And despite all your talk, that’s not your normal routine. So why are you pushing it on me? Do you win a prize or something if you manage to compromise my virtue?”
“Not me. You win the prize. A lifetime membership in the Club of Lost Virtue. Or…” She took a step back, arms crossed over her chest, and scanned Paris from head to foot.
“Or, what?”
“Maybe he’s The One. You’ll fall madly in love, and your virtues can ride off into the sunset together.”
Paris laughed. “Since when did you become the romantic type?”
“I liked Sleepless in Seattle. I cried during Titanic.”
“Only because she dropped the necklace in the Atlantic.”
“Even so. Mark my words. I have a feeling he might be it.”
Paris frowned. Rachel needed to hurry up and get over this Paris-Devin kick before she resorted to something rash. Paris pictured Devin handcuffed to her in a locked candlelit room, and Rachel not letting them out until they finally did the deed.
Of course, that might not be such a bad thing. Paris pictured Devin laid out on the bed, his arms stretched wide and kept firmly in place by silk ribbons. No, by Paris’s black silk stockings. Chest bare, she could tease and torment him with her kisses until his skin danced with passion and he writhed beneath her at only a whisper of her touch.
Paris sighed and opened her eyes. This was not the place to be thinking those kinds of thoughts. No, she corrected, she shouldn’t be thinking those thoughts anywhere. Plan, remember? Right kind of man, remember?
But thirty minutes later, as she sat tucked into her cramped little airplane seat, Rachel’s prediction still rang in her mind.
The One? Not possible. Paris was a sensible girl, and sensible girls did not fall madly in love with con artists. A smile touched her lips. Not even ones that read the financial pages, spoke eloquently about kisses and thought up goofy plans that involved taking a bath fully clothed? No, she told herself sternly, not even those.
But do sensible girls write thrill-a-minute spy novels with half-naked femme fatales lurking in the hero’s bed?
With a yank, she cinched the seat belt tighter. This girl did. She wrote novels, she fantasized about her invented author and she hired a mystery man to impersonate her pen name. But even if he was a complete hunk, and even if she was attracted to him, and even if her hormones were working overtime, she wasn’t going to fall for him.
Not hard anyway.
She was going to stick to her plan and get her life back on track so that she could tell her dad what she did for a living and marry some nice, normal guy and live happily ever after.
Paris shot an irritated look toward Devin, buried in one of her books. She scowled. He didn’t even have a clue about her angst. Men.
She gave the restraint one more tug for good measure and made sure her seat and tray table were in the full upright and locked position. When the attendant held up an emergency procedures card, Paris scrambled in the pocket to find hers.
Devin wasn’t even paying attention. He seemed engrossed in Alexander’s third book. The plane could go down in flames and he’d have no clue about which exit to head for.
She looked up to find the oxygen masks that would fall in an emergency. The ceiling seemed pretty solid. What if her mask was in there too tight?
She turned to Devin, but he didn’t seem interested, and his nonchalance fanned her already sparked irritation. She took a breath and tried to think of that mantra. Something about lotus flowers. Okay. Everything was okay. If the plane crashed Paris could take care of herself.
Oh, Lord, surely it wouldn’t crash.
Devin turned a page, glancing up slightly, and caught her eye. A smile tugged at his mouth. His kissable mouth.
Paris frowned and dropped her eyes, concentrating on the emergency card in her lap. Rachel was just flat wrong. That was all there was to it. He surely wasn’t the one. He was all wrong. Nothing like Paris had planned for. Nothing like what her father expected or would approve of.
She had her entire life and career to think about. Family expectations. Appearances. She’d be silly to sabotage all that by giving in to a couple of weeks of passion. Even really, really intense passion.
She jumped a mile at the gentle nudge on her shoulder.
“Sorry.” His brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”
“Sure. Yes. Of course.” She peered at him. “Why are you asking? Don’t I look all right?”
He nodded toward her lap. Paris followed his gaze and winced. She’d managed to inflict serious damage on the emergency card. Bent corners, little tears, creases and crinkles.
“My mind wanders,” she said.
“I can see that.”
“And I don’t much like flying.”
“No kidding.”
It was like sitting next to a tub of dynamite. Paris didn’t know what to do, what to say. She wanted to explore this thing, this desire, that crackled between them, even as she wanted to run screaming from it.
The silence thickened.
Getting any work done with him was going to be murder, and she still had four hours on this plane with him before they landed in Los Angeles. Not to mention over five hundred hours on the ground. Traveling together. Working together. Closely. Intimately.
The hum of the engines increased and Paris felt the pressure of acceleration push her back in the seat. Her fingers tightened around the armrest and she closed her eyes.
The surprise of his palm on the back of her hand took her mind away from the takeoff. His caress was gentle, but still firm and reassuring. Paris opened her eyes and smiled a silent thank-you as the plane lifted into the air. He squeezed her hand, and Paris instantly wished he hadn’t. Every nerve ending below her wrist was on fire, and each of those nerves had a high-speed connection to the depths of her heart.
The wrong kind of thoughts started wandering through her mind. Images of his shoulders, his thighs, the memory of the elevator and his breath on the back of her neck.
Something about a mile-high club. She shivered.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“What? Oh, the plane. Yeah. It’s takeoff that gets me the most. I’m fine. Really.” She glanced down at their intertwined hands, then back up quickly before he could notice.
Too late. He let go of her hand. When she looked at him, he seemed sad, but the effect was fleeting.
“You distracted me,” she said, walking into dangerous territory. “I guess I should say thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He sat up straighter and turned to face her. “So, did you sleep okay last night?”
Her response was immediate and honest. “No.”
“Me neither,” he said, shifting in his seat and relaxing a little. “It’ll be hard getting through three weeks on no sleep.”
“Somehow we’ll muddle through.”
“It’s a bummer.” The corner of his mouth twitched and Paris knew he was teasing.
“What?”
“’Round the clock employment, but no fringe benefits.” He spread his hands, imploring. “What’s a poor boy to do?”
Paris grinned and smacked his hand away. He was too quick and caught her fingers, his hand engulfing hers. She gave a gentle tug, but he held on.
“Gotcha.” He gave a quick, gentle kiss to her fingertips, sending her mind whirling. “I think I’ll just have to keep a tight hold on management until we can negotiate better terms.”
No doubt he was thinking about the same type of terms that were running through her mind. Terms that involved more than just touching fingertips.
She mentally waggled a finger at herself. Ah-ah-ah. Rules, remember? Plans? He’s been officially working for you for less than twenty-four hours. Get a grip and control your lust.
She smiled sweetly. “You’re not exactly being paid minimum wage.” She pulled her hand free, and as her fingers slid away, the ability to think coherently returned.
She regarded him out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t look at all guilty about trying to change her mind. Persistent devil. “Nice try,” she allowed.
“Thanks. Did I gain any ground?”
“No.” And if you did, I wouldn’t tell you.
“Oh, well. Too bad. But I had to try.”
“Why?”
He tapped his finger against his chin. “Why? Hmm. I’d have to say testosterone, mostly.”
“It’s amazing how accurate some stereotypes are. Men are just ruled by their—”
“—right. It’s true. We’re a lowly lot.” He pretended to pout.
He was pretty cute when he was being lowly.
“Well, all that aside, we’re keeping a safe distance between us. Platonic. Professional,” she insisted.
“Safe for whom?”
Paris ignored him.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked.
“Devin. I told you. You distract me.”
His eyes found hers, and Paris was sure he could see all her secrets.
“I like to distract you,” he whispered, in a voice that zeroed in on her core.
She took a breath. Steady. Steady. “We need to work. You’re the hired help, remember?”
“I’m gunning for a promotion.”
Paris did her best to conjure up a seductive smile worthy of Rachel. “Well, then, you know what they say,” she said, lowering her voice to a husky whisper.
He didn’t look like he was buying it for a second, but he played along. “What?”
“Performance counts.”
“I’ll like earning this promotion.”
She pulled a three-inch thick binder out of her tote bag and dropped it into his lap. “This. You get to perform this.”
“I’m guessing this isn’t the Kama Sutra,” Devin deadpanned.
“You’re very astute.” She flipped to the first section. “You can start with the plot lines of Alexander’s books.”
THREE HOURS LATER, Devin closed the notebook, his eyes sore from reading. He hoped he could keep it all straight. The last thing he wanted to do was let her down.
Devin had to give her points for organization. Her notebook certainly made his job a lot easier. Press clippings, time lines, a fifty-page bio of Alexander, complete with birthplace and educational background. It was all there. A complete primer on Montgomery Alexander. The bloody British bastard.
With a sigh, he leaned back in his seat. He’d agreed to play her Monty in public. Like he’d said, it was his performance that created this mess for her. In private, however, he intended to convince her that she wanted him, not some fantasy she’d crafted over the years. He’d play Alexander, sure. But he’d let Devin seep in around the edges. Until finally, in private, there would be only him. Devin.
And when that happened, he didn’t want there to be any doubt in her mind about who was holding her and loving her. That was the real reason he’d agreed to this tour. The only reason he’d sucked up his pride and committed to three weeks—even though that meant he’d probably have to crawl to Derek when he got back to New York.
Maybe he’d get lucky. Jerry promised to canvass all their friends from the old neighborhood who’d gone legit. He’d end up indebted to half of New York and most of New Jersey, but it would be worthwhile if he got Paris in the end.
And he had every intention of getting Paris back in his arms and keeping her there.
Old Monty could take a flying leap.
Paris mumbled something in her sleep and shifted her position, the flimsy blue blanket dropping from her shoulder. Devin reached over and tucked it around her, unable to resist the urge to stroke her cheek as he pulled his hand away. She stirred, turning her face toward him and prolonging the contact.
He imagined her in bed, asleep, curling her body against his, instinctively seeking his warmth, his touch. It was a dangerous place for his thoughts to go. His body was already reacting to the image of Paris, naked beside him, her skin and hair glinting in candlelight.
Very dangerous. And very, very appealing.
She moved again in the seat beside him, pulling the blanket tighter around her. He chuckled. She probably hogged the covers. That was okay. A small price to pay.
Devin reached over and brushed a wild curl away from her face.
“Are we there yet?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. He pulled his hand away.
Paris sat up and squinted at him. “Do we land soon?”
“Welcome back. I think we’re over California. Probably about a half hour more.”
“Devin? Thanks for agreeing to the whole tour. I appreciate it.” She dropped her eyes. “And thanks for agreeing to keep it purely professional.”
“Well, I’m not so sure I willingly agreed to that.” She looked up, alarm shining in her eyes. “But, hey, a deal’s a deal. The lady wants it purely professional, then professional it is.”
Devin allowed himself a tiny grin. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to change the lady’s mind.
”IT’S AN HONOR having you stay here, Mr. Alexander. Really. An honor. I just love your books.” The bellhop stopped the luggage cart in front of the elevator bank of the swank Santa Monica hotel.
“Thank you,” Devin said. He gestured to the call button. “It’ll come faster if you push the button.”
“Oh. Right. I’m just…Wow.” The boy jabbed the up-arrow.
Devin squelched a grin, and looked at Paris. She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest. Then she examined her watch and looked back up at Devin.
He shrugged, not sure what was annoying her. Maybe the taxi drive. Even after the morning rush hour, Los Angeles freeways weren’t exactly a picnic, and although their driver spoke no English, he seemed to have a fascination with rap music played at deafening levels. Paris probably just needed to relax.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. “Right this way, Mr. Alexander.” The boy wheeled the luggage cart in, holding the door open just long enough for Devin to enter. Paris jumped in as the doors were sliding shut. She shot the bellhop a dirty look, but Devin doubted the boy noticed since he was so intent on staring at the famous Mr. Montgomery Alexander.
This sudden dive into celebrity was turning out to be a wild ride. He checked to see if Paris shared his amusement. She rewarded him with a look even dirtier than the one she’d laid on the boy. Okay. So she wasn’t amused.
She turned her back to him and faced the closed doors. Her arms were crossed in front of her again, her foot tapped a rhythm, and her back was rigid. She looked ready to explode.
She also looked damn sexy.
What was it with the two of them and elevators?
A light, cotton button-down covered every inch of her back and arms, but it didn’t matter. In his mind, Devin could still see the glow of her milky-white skin revealed as he coaxed her zipper down. He delighted in remembering her warmth under his fingertips, her fervent response to his touch.
The elevator stopped at the fourteenth floor. Just in time, thought Devin. He needed a shower. A cold one.
The bellhop led them down the narrow hallway. “Okay. Miss, you’re right here.” He opened Paris’s door, then dropped her suitcase inside the threshold. “Enjoy your stay.”
Paris rolled her eyes to the ceiling, nodded curtly at Devin, then slammed the door. The bellhop scurried back to the luggage cart. “And Mr. Alexander, you’re in the next room here.”
“It connects to the lady’s room, right?”
“Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Alexander, sir.” The boy winked as he left, and Devin was glad Paris wasn’t around to notice.
The room was simple, but comfortable. Devin eyed the double bed right away, along with the closed door to Paris’s room. He crossed to it and rapped lightly. “Paris?”
“Not now.”
Devin resisted the urge to use the key the bellhop had given him. She’d been fine when they’d left the airport, but now she was as cold as ice. Surely she wasn’t ticked off because one of the hotel staff lacked basic manners.
He knocked again.
“I’m napping.”
“You’re not napping if you’re talking.”
Muffled shuffling noises, then the click of the dead bolt being turned. The door opened a crack. “What?”
Well, that was an interesting question. Devin didn’t actually have a reason for seeing her. Not right now, anyway. He had his duffel to unpack. The shower was beckoning. And she wasn’t exactly brimming over with hospitality.
But if he let her shut that door, he might not see her for hours. And that just wasn’t acceptable.
“Devin,” she prodded. “What’s up? Other than me?”
“Practice.” It was the best he could come up with. Besides, it was true.
“Practice?”
“Right,” he pushed the door open and walked in past her. It was unlikely she was going to rip off her clothes and jump into his arms, but neither did she look as though she was about to kick him out. A minor victory, but a victory nonetheless. “Television. This evening. Interview. Any of this ringing a bell?”
“Oh.” She moved to the bed and stretched out, her back against the headboard, her chin resting in her hand. One finger tapped at her lip. “Afraid you can’t handle the spotlight?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Of course not.”
She raised one eyebrow. “So confident?”
Was she challenging him? Why? Had she lost faith in his ability to play the part? She should know better. He could be Alexander. He would be anything she wanted him to be, as long as in the end she only wanted him to be Devin.
Alexander was suave, in control. And arrogant. Devin could do that. He crossed to the window, standing straighter than he usually stood, shoulders back and rigid. He searched for the faint British lilt to color his voice.
He turned to face her. “’Confidence is the last refuge of the fool,’” he said, bending forward into a regal bow, his head up and his eyes fixed on Paris. “’And I assure you, madam, that I am a fool for you.’”
“’So confident that you will defeat me at my own game?’” Paris said.
She was playing along, and the fact that he’d managed to lure a grin from her lifted his heart. Too bad it took his Alexander persona to accomplish that little feat.
In two long strides he reached her. He took her hand in his, then traced the tips of his fingers lightly over her palm, teasing, tickling. She closed her eyes, and he saw the struggle reflected on her face. He longed to kiss those little creases between her brows, to kiss the edges of her mouth, to coax away her frown.
He lowered himself onto the bed. When she opened her eyes, he put his arms out, urging her toward him. Her smile as she slid into his arms was shy, sweet, almost grateful. He could sit that way all day, her back pressed against his chest, his fingers linked with hers, their arms intertwined and wrapped around her chest. She belonged there, next to him. He’d known it the moment he had first seen her. Now he just needed to figure out how to make her realize it, too.
“Paris,” he murmured, letting his lips dance over her shoulders, silently urging her to confide in him, to tell him her troubles and let him help.
She trembled, and pulled his arms tighter around her as she snuggled closer. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the raspberry scent of her blond curls, then whispered, “’I assure you everything will be all right. Sometimes the most catastrophic defeat renders the sweetest of victories.’”
Her body stiffened against him, and she sat up, still in his arms, but no longer pressed against his back.
She had moved less than three inches, but now the Grand Canyon stretched between them. Devin didn’t know what had caused it, and didn’t have a clue how to bridge it.
“Paris?”
“You’re fine. You don’t need practice. Montgomery Alexander hardly needs to be coached on how to behave during an interview on the local news.”
Lightbulbs flashed, thunder crashed, trumpets blared, the soundtrack surged. All the usual indicators. Realization finally hit. She was jealous. Stupid of him not to have realized before. She was jealous, and he was a fool.
Paris didn’t want Devin. Not yet, anyway. Alexander was the one who had comforted her, who had touched her skin, kissed her hair. Paris sought refuge in Alexander’s arms, not Devin’s.
But even as she longed for Devin to transform into Alexander, warm and willing and so much more alive than her fantasies, she resented him. No, she resented the limelight that went along with his role. The very role she asked him to play.
His muscles tensed and his jaw tightened. The situation ate at his gut.
He got up from the bed and stalked to the window. Happily ever after loomed before him, big as life, on the other side of this book tour, and damned if he knew how to get there. In her mind, Devin was still just a slick street-con. She’d fight like hell before she’d give in to just Devin. But he couldn’t sneak into her heart by starting out as Alexander, either. Not if she was going to be jealous and removed.
The scope of the problem frustrated him. He’d worked hard his entire life. Nothing had slipped from his grasp if he’d worked hard enough at it. Escaping his dad’s life-style, taking night classes, opening his pub.
But he’d never wanted a woman like this before. And certainly not a woman like Paris. A diamond. Now that he did, knowing he might not be able to have her irritated the hell out of him.
With one hand, he pushed the curtain aside and looked down fourteen floors to Santa Monica Boulevard. He could see the ocean in the distance, the sun glinting off the dancing waves.
Devin wasn’t a quitter. He’d beaten the odds before. And something told him that, deep down, Paris wasn’t at odds with him. She was attainable. She just didn’t know it yet.
Deep in his soul he knew that Paris was the woman for him, and that he was the man for her. Somehow, someway, he’d make sure she realized that as well.
In the meantime, he had no choice but to play the role he was hired to play—Montgomery Alexander. He’d just have to remind her that she was the one who’d hired him to play it.
PARIS WATCHED as Devin pushed the heavy drapes aside. The California sun spilled into the room, bouncing off his hair and dancing on the gold-flecked wallpaper. Usually a cheery room and sunshine lifted her spirits. Not this time. She knew she was being difficult, but couldn’t help it. She wasn’t sure if it was nerves or lack of sleep, the obnoxious bellboy or the gorgeous man in her room, but something in her was going ballistic.
Eternity passed before he spoke again. “You’re right, Sommers, as usual. I don’t need to rehearse. I could give an interview in my sleep.” He turned away from the window and looked at his watch, his casualness irritating. “The studio’s sending a car for us at five. I think I’ll go hit a few bookstores. Sign autographs.”
“Autographs?” Paris couldn’t believe he had the gall to suggest that he should just go downstairs and start signing autographs. “Wait just a second.”
She kneeled at the end of the bed, putting her just about eye to eye with him. “I’m Alexander,” she said. “Maybe I should just go downstairs and announce it to everybody.”
“Maybe you should.” He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it. For a second, she thought Devin was going to fight back. She almost hoped he would. Her insides felt all knotted up, and she wondered if some heavy-duty verbal sparring, followed by a crying jag, wouldn’t make her feel better. But then Devin’s face softened, and Paris knew she’d have to get through the afternoon without a tantrum. Pity.
“You’re not really mad at me, you know.” He paused, probably giving her a chance to agree or argue. He was right, but she didn’t say anything. “You’re really mad at yourself.”
“Myself—”
He didn’t let her finish. “I think you should go ahead and do the interview. Why not? Go ahead and reveal all.”
Paris took a breath to calm down. How did she manage to get so worked up about one bellboy? Montgomery Alexander had lots of fans. She’d known that for years, and it had never bothered her before. At least not very much. But none of those fans had closed an elevator door in her face.
She closed her eyes. No wonder she was cranky, what with lack of sleep and close quarters with an off-limits man who made no secret of the fact he wanted her. Who wouldn’t be stressed?
She took another deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I’m not mad. Really.” She caught his eye. “Besides, it’s just for three more books and then it’s bye-bye Alexander, hello my life.”
He spun the desk chair around and straddled it, one leg on either side, his arms crossed over the top of the back. Forget cool, suave and sophisticated Alexander. He was one hundred percent Devin, masculine and casual and hot. She couldn’t stop staring at him.
“Get rid of Montgomery Alexander and get your life? Seems to me like you’ve got a pretty good life right now.” He tilted his head, as if recalling all the things she had going for her. “Steady income, a body of work you should be proud of and you’re writing the stuff you enjoy.”
Paris opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. The man was impossible. He had no clue what he was talking about. Really. Her life would be on track when she could do what she’d always planned on doing. The fact that she enjoyed writing the Montgomery Alexander books had nothing to do with anything.
“Well,” she finally retorted, “at least bellboys won’t snub me, and I won’t have to travel the globe with racetrack happy, casino-loving con artists.” He flinched a little at that, and Paris almost apologized, but he’d started it, and technically, what she said was true. Besides, she was on a roll.
“Also, I can have a nice house and a study. Do book tours where I’m the one doing the signing and giving the interviews. I can visit my family without lying about my job, and, and…”
Paris stopped, sure that there was more, but not sure what it was. Right here, right now, none of her spiel sounded all that appealing. Certainly not as appealing as the prospect of the upcoming weeks with Devin. With his wacky sense of humor and laid-back manner, he was turning out to be a lot of fun.
Not to mention the added benefit of the way her heart skipped every time he looked at her. A perk, true, but still torture since his gaze was the only thing she intended to let caress her.
“Well, it sounds like you’ve got the whole thing worked out. I suppose you’re right. I mean, what more could you want?”
There was nothing argumentative about his words, but Paris couldn’t shake the feeling that he thought she wanted a lot more. Maybe he was right. Paris was beginning to think she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” she conceded. “Really. I was out of line. I hired you, and you’re doing a fabulous job.” She skimmed over every luscious inch of him and couldn’t help but smile. “Truly fabulous.” She cleared her throat. “So, are you going down to the bar?”
He flashed his killer grin. “Actually, I don’t get to stay in hotels very often. I was thinking about doing something a little wild and crazy.” In one motion, he pushed himself off the chair and held his hand out to her. “Care to join me?”
THE END CREDITS ROLLED, and Paris sniffed and wiped a couple of tears away. They were sitting next to each other on the bed, their backs against the headboard, the remains of cheesecake and apple pie littering the foot of the bed.
Devin passed her a tissue, an amused smile tugging at his mouth. “It was an action flick, not Terms of Endearment. Why are you crying?”
She shrugged. “I always cry. I cry at long-distance commercials. And those soup commercials,” she clutched her chest, “those get me every time.” She sniffled again.
“The perfect consumer.” He passed her the entire box, then slid closer.
She leaned against him. “Thanks for a perfect afternoon.” They’d done nothing except hang out in the room, but lazing around with Devin ranked as one of the best times she’d ever had.
“You’re welcome.” He urged her closer until her breasts pressed against his chest, and she realized her nipples were hard. Her body warmed as Devin’s hands drifted along her back, and she noticed with mild surprise that her hands were exploring his shoulders, his neck, his back.
Her head screamed that she shouldn’t be doing this, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was Devin, the touch of his skin against hers, his breath mingling with hers.
“Paris?”
One glance up was all it took for the flames to ignite. She knew what he was thinking. What he wanted. She could hardly believe that he could need her as much as she needed him. But the desire was there in his eyes, and she pressed her body closer, longing to be a part of him.
She moved her lips up to meet his, then tasted the fire of his mouth. His lips parted and his tongue explored the soft corners of her mouth before demanding entrance.
A slight tug, and her shirt came untucked from her jeans. His hands stroked her back and up the sides of her body until his fingers were sliding under the thin material of her bra and cupping her breasts. She moaned, and his tongue thrust deeper, warm and wild and tantalizing. She greedily returned the kiss, her fingers running through his coarse, thick hair as she pulled his head down to force his kiss deeper and deeper.
She wanted more. So much more. She wanted all the things she knew she couldn’t have with him.
Knowing she’d hate herself for it, she broke away. The hollow feeling in her stomach expanded the farther away she moved. But she needed to get away, needed to clear her head. She slid off the bed, moving to stand near the window.
“Guess we broke some ground rules, huh?”
Disappointment laced his voice, and she silently thanked him for not urging her to change her mind. “Guess so. Your hugs are lethal.”
“Registered weapons.”
But what a way to die. He was still sprawled on the bed, and she fidgeted. This was one of those moments Emily Post didn’t cover.
“Well,” he said, standing, “I guess I’ll…” He cocked his head toward the connecting door.
“Right. It’s almost five, anyway. We should get changed.”
Pushing the connecting room door open, he said, “I’ll be in here if you need me. Holler when the car comes for us.”
As soon as the door shut behind him, Paris flopped backward onto the bed and pulled her pillow over her face. Then she let out a howl of frustration that could shake the heavens. With just a little concentration, Paris was sure that she could hear Rachel laughing on the other side of the continent.
Admit it. The only thing that’s going to make you feel better is a roll in the hay with Devin.
Maybe so. But that still didn’t mean she had to act on it. He was a guy she had no business even thinking about. A guy who’d almost blackmailed her. Who wandered around the streets of New York scamming innocent grandmothers. And children. And puppies.
She rolled onto her stomach, clutching the pillow under her. Except, she admitted, he didn’t really seem the type. He owned a pub, after all, and from what she could tell, he spent a lot of time working there. So when did he find time to pull cons on blind Girl Scout leaders?
And he did walk away from what he’d planned for you.
She glanced at the closed connecting room door. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t bothered to bolt it. Maybe…
Don’t even think about it. Frustrated and hollow, she got up and paced. A week ago, she’d been perfectly content with the way her life was panning out. She had her fantasy in one corner, complete with the man of her dreams. In the other corner, she’d kept reality. A suitable man, a solid career, respect.
But now Alexander had walked into her life. Or at least the closest thing to Alexander in a living, breathing human. And everything had changed.
She flopped back down on the bed and hugged the pillow tight against her body. He was in her blood. Coursing through her veins. He was everywhere. In her thoughts, her skin, her pores, her essence.
Like water on a rock, he kept eroding her defenses.
Rachel would tell Paris to quit torturing herself and sleep with the man. To go ahead and squeeze that Charmin.
Use him the way he’d almost used her.
Or realize he has a permanent place in your heart. The little thought wormed its way into her head, and Paris pushed it away. That was one possibility she couldn’t fathom. Not now.
But sleeping with him? Taking the proverbial bull by the horns? Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. Her brilliant, professional-only plan had done nothing but leave her frustrated.
For three whole weeks she was going to be in close quarters with a man who’d come straight from central casting to play Alexander. He walked, talked and acted like her fantasy man, and she’d actually laid down no-touching ground rules. Was she nuts?
Most women would give up chocolate for the chance to spend three weeks traveling with the man of their dreams. Not her. Like an idiot, she’d made up rules. Rachel was right. She was acting like a martyr.
Well, no more. As soon as they got back from the interview, she’d make sure Devin realized the rules no longer applied.
“SO, CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH? It’s, uh, for my girlfriend.” The twenty-something cameraman thrust a dog-eared copy of Death in a Pretty Package and a ballpoint pen toward Devin as he stepped off the slightly raised stage.
“Sure thing.” Devin scribbled the signature he’d practiced in the hotel across the title page. “What’s her name?”
The kid flushed as red as his hair. “Oh. Um, just make it out to Mark.”
Devin looked down to hide his grin and added a personal note before handing the book back to Mark. “What did you think of the interview?” From Devin’s perspective, it couldn’t have gone any better. He’d come up with an answer for every question, managed to plug the current book quite a few times, bantered with the anchorwoman, and even hinted that a few fictional adventures were based on his experience as a secret agent.
He wanted to know what Paris thought, but since she was still in the control booth, he’d have to settle for Mark’s opinion.
“Oh, man, you were awesome, Mr. Alexander. I mean, like, totally awesome. Just like your books.” Mark clutched the paperback tight against his chest and looked down at the vinyl floor. “So, uh, can I, you know, ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Devin said, remembering too late that a die-hard fan surely knew more about Alexander than Devin did.
“In Angels and Assassins, when Joshua’s pretending to be the girl’s long lost husband, what’s his deal? I mean, is he really interested in her, or is he just trying to get close so he can steal the code from her boyfriend and disarm the bomb under the embassy?” The words spilled out, and when he was done Mark took a deep breath and looked up at Devin, apparently waiting for the famous author to spew nuggets of brilliant insight.
Devin kept a polite smile plastered on his face and tried not to grimace. Angels was one of Paris’s older books, and he hadn’t spent as much time studying her plot outline. But from what the kid had said, Devin was pretty sure he knew how Paris would answer. No, he corrected, he knew how he hoped she would answer.
“He was always interested. From the first moment he saw her. Even though he had to pretend to be someone else, his feelings for her were always true.”
“Then it really sucked that she stayed with the boyfriend, huh?”
The arrival of the anchorwoman who’d conducted the interview saved Devin from having to explain why his reality didn’t match the fiction Paris wrote. She stopped just long enough to shake Devin’s hand one more time. “Fabulous interview, Mr. Alexander. We’d love to have you back when your next one comes out. Truly fabulous.” With Mark at her heels, she continued toward the dressing room, leaving behind a wake of gardenia-scented air.
Awesome and fabulous. Devin grinned. These were adjectives he could get used to. Yes indeed, this celebrity thing was turning out better than he imagined. From the moment the interview started, Devin had to admit he’d actually missed the role-playing he’d done when he was pulling a con with his dad. He always knew he had a knack, but it never occurred to him that he might miss the creative rush that came with stepping into someone else’s shoes.
And not only did he get to slide legitimately back into character, but he got to be a semi-famous author with a boatload of loyal fans. Not that the fans were really his. Paris was the real celebrity, and he was anxious for her verdict on his first solo flight as Alexander.
He glanced up toward the control booth and saw her step toward the glass. He waved, trying to stand out from the grips and gaffers cleaning up after the shoot. At first she didn’t see him, but when her eyes finally met his she waved back, a smile springing immediately to her lips.
Unrehearsed, spontaneous, real. That one smile improved a day that Devin didn’t think had any room for improvement. She pointed behind her, and Devin knew she was heading for the stairs. He stepped over the wires and cables and met her as she opened the control booth door.
“So how did Alexander do?” he whispered, slipping an arm around her shoulder.
“Alexander was amazing. Witty, charming, just a hint of mystery. I couldn’t have asked for better.” She smiled up at him. “Thanks. You were brilliant.”
Of course, she hadn’t expected any less than brilliant. From her perch in the control booth she’d fidgeted through the entire interview, and not because she was nervous about the media. No, she was just anticipating later. Crossing and recrossing her legs had done little to dull the sweet ache that had been building in her ever since she’d decided to sleep with him. She’d missed half of the interview just because her mind kept wandering to fantasies of what she wanted to be doing with Devin back in their rooms.
During their return drive to the hotel Paris was sure she would spontaneously combust at any moment. Devin sat in the front seat, amiably chatting with the taxi driver who had caught his interview on the news. Just as well. If he’d shared the back seat with her, Paris was positive she would ignite into a blaze that only he could put out.
Now back in her room, she regarded his door. He’d gone in to change into jeans, and then they were supposed to meet and grab a bite in the hotel restaurant. But Paris wasn’t really interested in fruits and vegetables. She had other nourishment in mind.
She hesitated, then forged ahead and knocked. When he opened the door, she just stared, with absolutely no idea what to say. Her fantasies of how the night would pan out hadn’t included much dialogue.
“Hey,” he said, leaning against the door frame, “we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
He had unbuttoned his shirt, and it hung open and untucked, revealing his taut chest muscles and a smattering of silky hair, all of which Paris found extremely distracting. “Um,” she said, and then congratulated herself on her brilliant repartee.
Amusement lit across his face, and that was all it took to spark her vocabulary. “You could help,” she said, “instead of standing there laughing at me.”
“Help?”
“Yes, help. This isn’t easy.” She gestured between them. “You, me.”
“What am I supposed to be helping you with?”
“I’ve decided to seduce you. I’d appreciate a little cooperation, please.”
“Oh,” he said, awareness rising in his voice. “In that case, let’s make sure we get this right. Come on in.” He stepped back so she could come into his room. His bed was rumpled, the sheets mangled on top of the mattress, and for some reason that made her feel better. On top of everything else involved in a seduction, she didn’t have to worry about messing up the bedspread.
She sat down in the room’s one chair, and he immediately laughed.
“What?” she asked, and when he looked at her, moving his gaze up and down, she realized she was sitting with her feet flat on the floor, knees together, her hands folded in her lap.
“You’re not exactly posed for seduction.”
Paris tried to loosen up, intentionally lifting one leg and crossing it over the other. “I’m still a little iffy on this seduction thing.”
She watched his slow grin. “You’re a cruel woman, Paris. Get my hopes up and then just dash them to the ground.” He was on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him. Now he leaned back against the headboard, resting his head in his hands.
Hardly the picture of a man whose hopes for a wild night in bed had just been dashed. More like a fox who just realized he’d accidentally been locked in the chicken coop.
A very sexy, very smug fox.
She stood up. It was easier to focus when she was standing. “The thing is, if we do this…this…thing, it’s not because there’s anything permanent there.” She stopped pacing in front of the bed and looked down at Devin, still reclining on the bed. So far he didn’t look too concerned about her parameters.
“I’ve got a plan,” she added, “for my career and my life.”
“With those boring men you date?”
“What? Oh, you overheard me and Rachel. They’re not boring. They’re nice men. Doctors. Accountants. Investment bankers. Stable. Dependable.”
He eased off the bed and stood up, just a footstep away from her, his six inches of height over her giving him the advantage. “But you’re in here with me now,” he whispered, as he took her hand and raised it to his lips.
Thinking was a problem. Coherent thoughts were dropping by the wayside. “Yes, well. That’s the point. Now isn’t later.” She took a shaky breath. “It’s just chemistry between us. It has to be. But there’s no point in torturing ourselves for three weeks. We’re consenting adults. We’ll just have a little fun. An affair. A fling.”
His lips grazed her palm. “I’m nice. I’m dependable. Respectable.”
She made a soft noise in her throat. “Maybe. But you’re…it’s not the…” She took a deep breath. “If we do this, it’s temporary. Just on the book tour. I just want to be clear on this. Up-front.”
“Paris?”
“Mmm?”
“You’re here with me now.” He pulled her roughly to him, his mouth immediately capturing hers.
Slowly he released his claim on her lips, but one hand remained firm around her waist, pulling her close and pressing her into him, sending her mind reeling. His mouth played over her neck, and she threw her head back to let his lips dance on her flesh.
She pulled away from his kisses. “I want us to have an understanding, Devin,” she murmured.
“There’s something you should know.”
She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. “What?”
“I raised the money to buy the pub trading commodities.”
Okay, he was teasing. She chuckled. First he adopts all of Alexander’s traits, then he makes up characteristics of her not-really-boring dates for himself. The man was certainly willing to cover all aspects of her fantasies. But that didn’t change the facts. “Are we clear? It’s temporary?”
“Paris.”
“Yes?”
He shook his head. “Never mind. I think we’re clear.” His gaze held her fast, the boiling desire she saw there enough to make her knees weak. “We’re changing the ground rules from no sex, ever, to wild, hot, torrid, passionate sex as often as possible over the next three weeks. Is that right?”
Her body throbbed simply from his words. His eyes promised unimaginable pleasure, and she nodded agreement, unable to speak.
“Good.” He kissed her fingertips. “But there’s something I should warn you about.”
Her chest constricted, and she tried to steady her breathing despite the way his lips brushed the tender tips of her fingers. She managed only a whisper. “What?”
His fingers grazed her cheekbone and dropped to caress her lips. “I intend to try and change your mind.” He leaned in and she felt a whisper of a kiss on her earlobe. “I just thought it was fair to warn you, in the interest of full disclosure.”
“Devin, I—”
He pulled her to him. His kiss, powerful and possessive, cut off speech and coherent thought until nothing was left in her except a wild hunger. She undulated against him, soaking up his heat, tasting the luxury of his hard, lean body.
With a boldness that surprised her, she reached down between their bodies and cradled his hardness in her palm. He shuddered under her touch, and his reaction sent her own passion soaring to new heights. She wanted him to shudder, to cry out in ecstasy, to find absolute pleasure in her touch.
His hands stroked her legs, and her skin began to burn up under her clothes. Her stomach tightened. A soft moan escaped her lips. She tilted her head back, needing to see passion reflected in his eyes.
“Devin,” she whispered, “make love to me.”
Uttering a deep, guttural groan, he pulled her with him to the bed, managing somehow to end up on top of her as they sprawled across the cool sheets.
“Close your eyes,” he said, and when she did, he kissed each eyelid, a feather kiss rendered by firm and demanding lips. The rest of her body tingled in anticipation.
A flurry of sensation above her belt as a fingertip trailed lightly over her waist. The slightest of touches with the deepest of promises. When he started to peel off her clothes, she raised her hips in accommodation, until she was naked from the waist down.
“Can I open my eyes?”
He brushed a kiss across her lips. “No.”
His lips burned a path down her neck to the collar of her blouse. His breath burned hot against her body. Her thin shirt suddenly seemed thick and cumbersome as a winter coat. “Just rip it off,” she begged, when his fingers fumbled at the buttons.
“You’re sure?”
“Please,” she cried, her voice rasping from the need to feel nothing against her skin except him.
One tug and she heard the satisfying rip, felt the cool rush of air on her skin. Devin’s hands cupped her breasts. When his tongue teased over her nipple, she pulled her legs together, tight, struggling to keep control. She reached up for him, but he pulled away, catching her hands.
“Not yet.”
With one motion, he turned her over on her stomach, pulling her free of her shirt. She stayed still as he nestled himself against her, his arousal pressing into the back of her thigh. His tongue traced patterns on the back of her neck, sending bursts of ecstasy racing through her.
While his lips roamed her back and shoulders, his hand slipped down, caressing her bottom. She held her breath as he traced a path between her buttocks.
“Open your legs for me.”
She moaned and spread her legs wider, wanting him to cool the burning inside her. His fingers slid inside her, and she cried out, pushing herself down harder, wanting him deeper. He was like a fire that was spreading through her being. Afire she needed and wanted. So much she thought she might die if he did anything so foolish as stop making love to her.
“Devin, please.”
IT TOOK ALL HIS WILLPOWER not to explode when she said his name. She intoxicated him. No woman had ever had such an effect on him.
Agony. Not being in her was such sweet torture, but he wanted to savor these moments, to draw out her pleasure for as long as possible.
“Devin, I…”
“Trust me.” He grabbed her hips and rolled her over, then balanced himself above her, awed by her response to him, so honest and intense. Her face was flushed, her nipples tight. When she opened her eyes and smiled, shy and trusting and hungry all at the same time, he knew that she would be his. She had to be. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else touching her.
Her eyes raked over him, stopping where he strained against the slacks he still wore.
“No fair,” she whispered.
He struggled out of his clothes, and lowered himself on her, needing to feel her body against his skin. His erection nudged between her soft thighs, and he fought not to lose himself.
He kissed her lips for the briefest of moments, then slid his kisses down her chest to her navel, where his tongue flicked over her bare flesh, hungry for the taste of her. He heard her small moan of surprise when she realized he wasn’t stopping there.
“Devin…”
Heady from the desire rippling in her voice, he nibbled and licked and sucked her soft skin, concentrating his attention on the tender inside of her thigh. Her breathing was coming faster and faster, her little moans and sighs music to him.
He moved his hand down to cup her sex, then slipped his finger inside her, wanting to know how hot she was, how ready. For him. With his thumb, he stroked her sensitive nub and she writhed against his hand, calling out his name.
Desperate to taste her, he let his tongue take over where his hand left off, first flickering across her most intimate place, then deep and demanding. Her fingers curled in her hair, and he knew she had lost herself as he was lost.
Her body stiffened, tightened under him, and when she cried out in release, she pulled him up to her. He kissed her savagely, deep and hard, until she slid her mouth from his and breathed one word against his lips.
“Now.”
Already he was on the edge, and that one soft word almost hurled him over. He moved away from her only long enough to sheath himself, then balanced over her, taking one sweet moment to memorize the passion in her eyes, the way her lips moved in silent urging. She opened her legs wider for him, the most compelling invitation he’d ever received. He entered her then in one hard thrust, trading control and reason for the silky, hot passion.
Nothing he’d imagined compared with the reality of being inside her. Her body clamped around him, milking him with the tiny spasms of a woman on the precipice.
Her hands rasped over his back, her fingernails razing across his skin, the added sensation increasing his need for her. She cupped his rear in her soft hands and pushed, urging him deeper inside her.
Devin needed no encouragement, he thrust deeper, harder, wilder, grinding against her. She matched his every move, raising her hips up to meet his. When her body tightened around him, he knew they wouldn’t last much longer.
She cried out his name, her spasms demanding he join her. He drove into her one final time, then felt his body explode, his own release coming all too soon and not soon enough.
He collapsed next to her, and she snuggled against him, her back against his chest. He draped an arm over her and played lazily with her breast, feeling a possessiveness toward her body that surely lacked political correctness. He felt like a caveman. He’d claimed her. She was his.
“We won’t get much sleep if you do that,” she said, as he pulled and teased her nipple.
“Sleep is an overrated activity.”
She responded eloquently, scooting her hips back so that her rear pressed softly against his groin. Already he was hard again, and he rubbed himself against her, letting the passion build slowly.
His hand stroked her belly. He heard her whispered plea, “Again.”
He’d never have thought himself capable, but her sweet demand spurred his passion, and soon he’d flipped her on her back. This time their coupling was rough and wild, passionate and needy, lightning-fast and totally satisfying.
She snuggled against him, her features soft, a dreamy look in her eyes.
“Devin?” she said, and he heard the haze of sleep in her voice.
“Hmm?”
“I think I like these new ground rules.”
They made love twice more during the night. Both times she’d moved innocently against him. Her hand had brushed against his chest. Her arm had rested across his waist.
Immediately his body would react, and at his heated touch, she would wake up and slide into his arms, rubbing herself sleepily against him until he had to have her yet again. He just couldn’t get enough of her.
By the time he could hear the bustle of the hotel staff in the hallway, Devin knew only two things for certain. He was going to get damn little sleep over the next three weeks. And he was hopelessly in love with Paris.
Now all he had to do was convince her she felt exactly the same way about him. Devin O’Malley.
”SO, HOW’S OUR LITTLE PROTÉGÉ?” Rachel asked.
Paris balanced the cell phone between her shoulder and her ear. “Fabulous, of course. Hold on a sec.”
Across the crowded neighborhood bookstore, Devin sat behind a table highlighted by an enlarged poster of Dearest Enemy, Deadly Friend. He looked up from the book he was signing and flashed her a smile.
Just one smile, and suddenly Paris was rattled and weak-kneed like a schoolgirl.
Paris forced herself back to the phone call, turning away from Devin’s table so she wouldn’t get distracted again. “It’s amazing. I just aim him at a camera or a bookstore or a journalist and, poof, instant Alexander. Every interview has gone over like a dream. Nothing rattles this man.”
“Of course not. Didn’t you invent him to be smooth, in control, a skilled operator under pressure?”
“Rachel…” Paris warned. She was in no mood to get into the Devin-Alexander thing. Over the past few days, Paris was beginning to think that maybe Alexander wasn’t all she’d cracked him up to be. Sure, sophistication and a background in espionage could add a little extra zest to a relationship, but she couldn’t really picture Alexander sitting cross-legged in front of the television, wearing nothing but ratty twill shorts and a tacky T-shirt, content just to hold her hand.
“Can you hold on a sec?” Rachel asked. “I’ve got another call.”
“Sure,” Paris said, turning back around to pass the time watching Devin. She grinned, remembering how thrilled he had been the night before when he’d discovered Arsenic and Old Lace in the late-night television listings. He’d suggested they cancel dinner plans at one of the chic new bistros in West Hollywood, and Paris had willingly agreed.
At one point Devin had slipped his arm around her shoulder, and she’d rested her head in the crook of his neck. They’d sat that way for a long time, with Devin lightly stroking her hair, while Cary Grant discovered that his little old aunts were mercifully murdering stray gentlemen.
Their gourmet dinner consisted of take-out pizza and wine from the hotel. They ate on paper towels and drank from the hotel glasses on top of the mini-bar. And after the movie, he’d kissed each of her fingertips, then moved on to kiss much more interesting places.
A glorious evening. And unlike anything she’d ever imagined with Alexander.
With Alexander, it had always been formal gowns and scotch on the rocks, satin sheets and cruise lines. She pictured Devin in black-tie and smiled. He could do formal with the best of them. But could Alexander go grocery shopping? Could he lounge around in sweats and play poker on the bed? She frowned. She’d never thought about it. Reality had never crept into her fantasies. Hell, until recently, her fantasies had never become reality.
So which guy was really more appealing? Especially when one of them had the added benefit of being flesh and blood?
But this is only a temporary fling. He’s still all wrong, remember? Yes, she remembered. But it was becoming more and more difficult to recall why she’d been so gung ho on planning her life out forever.
Paris jumped as Rachel coughed into her ear.
“Paris, did you hear a word I just said?”
“What? No, sorry.”
“I said that I saw both of you on one of the late-night talk shows last night.”
“Both of us? Which show? We taped four yesterday afternoon.”
Rachel gave a dismissive snort. “Who cares? The point is you two looked awfully chummy. Have you used up my supply yet? Need me to overnight you a truckload? Hot pink? Vibrant green?”
“Will you stop it?” Paris said, with less force than she’d intended. She hadn’t planned to keep secret the fact that she’d made love with Devin, but somehow she’d never got around to confiding in her best friend.
“Now I know you’re a martyr. It’s obvious you’re crazy about him.”
Paris couldn’t bring herself to form an argument. It was true. Rachel was right. She was crazy about him. But if she told Rachel they’d slept together, her friend would latch on to her “He’s The One” spiel. And that was a place her thoughts had no business going.
“So, did you find out about the room situation in Vegas?” Paris asked, changing the subject and hoping Rachel took the hint.
“Yep. I talked to your publicist this morning. Everything’s fine. You and the Boy Toy are in a suite. Since I’m neither the author nor the author’s imposter, I’m in a regular room.”
“Thanks for calling for me. And I’m glad you’re able to come.”
“You think I’d miss Vegas? Where they pay men to stand on the street wearing gladiator costumes? Of course I wanted to come. And I check in the day before you, so if you want I’ll check Alexander’s itinerary and make sure nobody screwed up the appointments.”
“You’re an angel.” Paris checked her watch. An hour until the store closed, but the line for the autograph table was still long. “I’m gonna let you go.”
“Paris, I’ve got one more thing. Just one word before you go.”
“What?”
“Latex,” said Rachel, and Paris heard her drop the phone she was laughing so hard. Shaking her head, Paris clicked the cell phone shut without even waiting for Rachel to recover.
The urge to spend some time alone with Devin was suddenly palpable, but it would be a while before she could scratch that itch. Judging by the number of people still in line, Paris figured she had about an hour’s wait.
The bookstore had big, comfy armchairs placed strategically around the store, and Paris grabbed one near enough to Devin that she could keep an eye on him. They’d agreed on the first day of the tour that if he hit a snag, he could flash her a hand signal and she’d somehow rescue him. So far it hadn’t been needed.
Paris grabbed her notebook computer from her tote bag and hauled it into her lap. She really needed to get some work done on Distant Passages. Determined to make progress on this epic she was writing, Paris flipped open the computer and switched it on. She booted up the file and put her hands on the keyboard, ready to crank out those award-winning words just as fast as her fingers could type.
Nothing came.
Okay. No problem. She reread the last chapter she’d written, figuring that would stir some creative juices.
Boring. And how did she expand on boring? She had no ideas. Nothing.
At least nothing for this book. Her head was overflowing with ideas for the next three Montgomery Alexander books. Some really innovative ideas. Brandon would be impressed. She’d have to remember to tell him what Alexander was plotting when she called in to give him a progress report on the book tour.
She turned her attention back down to her epic. The cursor blinked at her, and she scowled.
Giving in, she changed files and her fingers began to dance over the keyboards as she wrangled and manipulated Joshua O’Malley, super spy extraordinaire, and the other characters in Montgomery Alexander’s fictional world.
She did a double take, looking back at the screen. It was Devin O’Malley. Joshua’s name was Malloy. The man had completely infiltrated her imagination.
“Boo.”
Paris jumped. She’d been so absorbed that she hadn’t realized Devin had finished until he was leaning over her.
“Sorry,” he added. “I thought you’d heard me.”
“What time is it?”
“About six. They’re closing up. Ready?”
Paris nodded and collected her things, following Devin to the front, and joining him in thanking the manager for all the work the store had put into the signing.
“Hey, people eat this stuff up,” the manager said. “Adventure, sex, a touch of mystery. A little class. The books go like hotcakes. Hope you don’t plan on stopping anytime soon, ‘cause you sure would disappoint a lot of people.”
Devin flashed an Alexanderish smile, then looked straight at Paris before turning back to the manager. “No, this is one project that I’m in for the duration. At least as long as circumstances allow.”
An unexpected tug of melancholy grabbed her. Circumstances gave them just three weeks. And then they’d both get back to their lives apart.
For now, at least, she intended to enjoy having Devin around. In and out of her bed.
They’d rented a car, and Devin opened the passenger door for her, then slid in behind the steering wheel. “Where to?”
“Where? The hotel. We’re hitting San Diego tomorrow and I haven’t even packed.”
“Our last day in Los Angeles and you want to pack? Just throw your clothes in a laundry bag and let the next hotel press everything.”
She rolled her eyes. Typical guy.
He twisted in the seat to face her, sporting a lopsided grin. “Come on, Paris, you know you want to.”
“I do?”
“Oh, yeah. You really do.”
Of course she’d do whatever he wanted. How could she turn him down? “Well, then. Lead the way.”
Devin maneuvered the car through the tree-lined Pasadena streets, finally ending up on one of Los Angeles’s many freeways.
Paris was completely lost. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a secret.”
“Oh.” She caught a glimpse of a freeway sign as they merged onto Interstate 10 and headed west. “If you go the other direction we can visit my dad.” Odd to think that the same piece of road traveled all the way to Texas, within just a few miles of her father’s sprawling Houston house, and then on even farther to the Florida coast.
Paris usually slept on road trips, but a cross-country jaunt with Devin would probably be a blast. She could imagine him telling funny little stories to pass the time, or singing along with the radio. Then there would be all those stops at motels along the way. Cheap wine and bed picnics and all the perks that she already associated with Devin and hotel rooms.
“Daddy’ll have to spend the evening alone, I’m afraid.” He took his eyes off the road just long enough to fix them on her. “I’ve got other plans for his darling daughter tonight.”
He let go of the steering wheel and checked his left palm, then exited the freeway. Another glimpse at his hand, and he made a series of turns, finally ending up in a parking garage. “This looks like as good a place to park as any.”
“Let me see your hand,” Paris demanded.
Devin opened the car door. “Okay, everybody out.”
Paris crossed her arms over her chest and sunk down into the seat. “I’m not going anywhere until you let me see your hand.”
“Hmm. Really?” She nodded. “That’s a shame,” he said. “Because I plan on having a great time tonight.” He stepped out of the car and turned around to face her. “Well, see ya.”
Then he shut the door, and Paris watched as he ambled across the parking structure toward the stairs. She half considered staying in the car, just to show him. She contemplated the roof of the car and shook her head. Who was she kidding? Of course she was going with him.
She should have known better than to try and bluff Dev in the Wonder Gambler. He was probably a whiz at poker.
Sure that she would be mercilessly teased, she climbed out of the car and scrambled across the parking lot.
He was waiting for her just inside the stairwell.
“A minute and twenty seconds. Truly your stamina is something to behold.” He was razzing her, of course, and she playfully stuck out her tongue at him.
The thought struck her that somewhere along the line she’d begun to expect, to count on, his gentle teasing, their silly games. Standing in a grungy parking garage somewhere in Santa Monica, Paris felt more alive than she had in a long time.
Before she realized what she was doing, she stroked his cheek. Devin caught her hand and kissed her palm before pulling her into his arms. They’d shared bunches of glorious kisses, but, like snowflakes, each was unique, and she drew closer in anticipation of this kiss. First soft and sweet, then harder and deeper until she thought she would drown in it.
As his tongue explored her mouth, she settled into the kiss, savoring the way Devin’s hands explored her back, gently pulling her to him. His mouth moved away from hers and he littered her face with feather kisses. His tongue played over her ear, and she felt her skin ignite and her stomach tighten. A soft moan escaped her lips and she pulled back to face him. She recognized the passion in his eyes.
“Told you we should have gone to the hotel,” she teased.
He planted a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “Ever made love in a stairwell?”
“Devin!” She hoped he was joking, because if he was serious, she doubted she’d have the wherewithal to insist on more traditional surroundings.
Footsteps pounded on the metal stairs, and two teenage boys descended toward them, lost in an animated discussion of video games.
She cocked an eyebrow at Devin in an I-told-you-so sort of way.
He shrugged. “So, we’ll keep our eyes open for a better staircase.” He pulled his arm around her, and she snuggled close as the kids scampered past.
“Devin,” she murmured.
“Hmm?”
“What’s on your hand?”
With a chuckle, he presented her with his lightly fisted hand. She uncurled his fingers to reveal several lines written in black ballpoint.
“Directions from the bookstore to the beach?”
Devin bent to kiss her forehead. “We’d been to so many bookstores, I was afraid I wouldn’t remember the way back. And I wanted to walk with you in the surf. I wanted to see you on the beach at sunset. I figured if we ended up lost, so would the moment.”
Paris blinked back tears. That had to be the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. “Thank you,” she said, as he pulled her in front of him and closed his arms around her. She buried her head in his chest, and sniffed. “And thanks for dragging me out tonight.”
“Sweetheart, this night is just beginning.”
THE MAN KEPT MAGIC in his pockets, Paris decided hours later, as they stood barefoot in the surf. How else could he make a night of late-night television seem like the best time she’d ever spent, and then twenty-four hours later turn around and hand her the entire universe on a platter?
He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and pulled her close to him, burying his face in her hair. They stood that way a long time, looking out at the ocean.
The sun had long since escaped beneath the horizon in a pyrotechnical display of pinks and purples and oranges. Paris even swore she saw the green flash. Scientists might insist the little pop of green that made up the last bit of light from the setting sun was nothing more than refraction and other characteristics of light. But Paris knew they were wrong. It was magic.
Devin had given her a magical sunset.
Now she leaned against him, feeling warm and safe despite an endless ocean spread before them and the unfathomable universe above. Billions of stars reflected on the gentle waves laid out like a blanket just for her.
“It’s beautiful,” Paris whispered, sure that she couldn’t have imagined a more perfect night, or a more perfect man, even if she’d tried.
“Yes,” he agreed. “You are.”
She hugged his arms tighter around her, trying to memorize the moment. “We should get back.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“No. But we’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I actually have to work some on this trip.”
He didn’t argue, and she was grateful for that, fearing her resolve would melt if he kissed her one more time. Movies and television might suggest otherwise, but she was pretty sure the Santa Monica police wouldn’t take any more kindly to finding a couple making love on the beach than in a stairwell.
Back at the hotel, they headed first to her room, their fingertips lightly grazing as they walked.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have another film festival?” he asked. “I think there’s an old Bogart film on tonight. You could work after.”
Paris kissed his cheek, resisting the temptation he offered. “We’ve seen how much work I get done after. No, I owe Brandon a Montgomery Alexander synopsis. Plus, I’m anxious to work on Passages. The ideas just won’t leave me alone.” She stifled a grimace, hoping that maybe that little white lie would spur some creativity.
He brushed his fingertips lightly over her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “Well, let no one say I interfere with the creative process.”
But he did. Once she sat down, she stared at the blank computer screen, thinking about Devin. The way his mouth curved when he smiled. The scalding heat of his hands on her body. The sensation of him deep inside her.
She gave up. Maybe she could work later. Right now she needed Devin.
When she pushed open his door, she heard the shower running. For a moment, she considered joining him, then had a better idea. After she pulled the covers down, she spread her jeans at the foot of the bed. Her T-shirt took a prominent place in the path from the bathroom to the bed. She hung her bra from the doorknob, and dropped her panties to the floor, right at the threshold of the bathroom.
Naked, she slid onto the bed. With the sheet smoothed beneath her, she leaned back against the headboard. Then, in case she alone wasn’t incentive enough, she unwrapped the chocolate hotel candy and balanced it on her breast.
By the time he finished his shower, she knew she’d be hot and wet from nothing more than the anticipation of his touch. Truth be told, she already was.
THE COLD SHOWER wasn’t doing a thing for him, and he shut the water off with a jerk. They’d been apart for maybe forty minutes, and already he was going nuts without her.
Truly and without a doubt, he’d gone completely head over heels for this woman. No great newsflash, true, but he also had a sneaking suspicion that Paris felt exactly the same way about him. She just wasn’t ready to admit it.
That was okay. He could wait. Devin could be a very patient man.
At least most of the time. Right now, he wanted to slam through the door to her room and convince her with his kisses to toss work aside for one more night. As appealing as the thought might be, he quashed the idea. Except for the public appearances, he was practically on holiday. But this was a working trip for Paris.
He considered calling Jerry to check on the pub, but dismissed that idea just as quickly. So far, he’d checked in at least once every day of the tour, and not a thing had gone wrong. During the last call, Jerry’d griped and swore he’d quit on the spot if Devin didn’t wait at least thirty-six hours before calling again.
That left packing or sleeping. A movie was out of the question. Not without Paris there with him.
Devin stepped out of the tub and wrapped the child-size towel around his waist. He’d seen a lot of hotel rooms and no one had ever given him a good explanation as to why the damn towels had to be so small.
He opened the door and stepped into the room, stopping when he felt something soft and cool under his foot. Panties. Strange place for her to have left them. Then he noticed the bra swinging from the doorknob.
Suddenly the evening had potential.
The path of clothes led to the prize on the bed, Paris, spread out like a temptress for him. Her dreamy eyes beckoned, urging him to lose himself in her. He groaned and stiffened under the towel.
A seductive smile eased across her face. She reached up and grabbed the headboard above her, arching her back so that her breasts lifted toward him.
When he noticed the candy, he came close to losing control.
“I realized you missed dessert,” she purred in what he knew in his heart was a voice meant only for him. “Can I offer you a snack?”
He managed some feeble noise. Right then, at that moment, everything in his life depended on touching her. Urgency moved him toward her. He dropped the towel at the foot of the bed and straddled her.
His erection pressed against her belly as his mouth closed over her breast. The candy melted on his tongue, as he pulled and sucked until the chocolate was gone and she was moaning in his ear, begging him not to wait, not to stop, not to do anything except be inside her.
That was a demand he had no intention of denying. Positioning himself over her, he slid into her, relishing how hot and ready she was for him. She lifted her hips, urging him to take her harder. Devin cupped her bottom and raised her to him, pulling her against him with each thrust, wanting to touch the deepest places within her. He didn’t want her to have any doubt that she was a part of him.
Her back arched down, leaving him with a stunning view of her body joining with his. The taut skin of her stomach flushed pink from their lovemaking, and her breasts, round and perfect, bounced with each powerful stroke. Her shoulders grazed the mattress and her head tilted back, golden curls splayed wildly across the pillow. She was beautiful. And for now, she was his.
She licked her lips. “Yes, now, please.”
With one final thrust he took her where she wanted to go, her body quaking and trembling, tightening around him, as he lost himself and joined her on the far side of passion.
DEVIN WOKE WITH A START and his hand moved to the other side of the bed. Empty. He sat up, panic threatening, then fading when he noticed the crack of light where the connecting room door was slightly open.
He peered into the next room and saw Paris hunched over her computer, banging away at the keyboard.
“Paris?” he said softly, but she didn’t look up. He walked up behind and peered over her shoulder. Random words jumped out at him.
Joshua Malloy. Greece. Vivian Jones. Stiletto.
“Paris?”
Her hand flew to the top of the notebook, slamming the screen down. Then she twisted in her chair to face him, a pretty pink blush consuming her cheeks. “Devin. Hi.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I woke up and I…” He trailed off, reaching out to stroke her hair. “I wanted you next to me.”
She relaxed a little and smiled. “I woke up with all these ideas. For Distant Passages.”
He frowned. “Going well? You were rather engrossed.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s really coming together.”
He opened his mouth to argue. The page he’d just seen was not a literary saga of epic proportions. But no protest came out.
What was she up to? Devin wondered later, as they stretched out on the bed. Twice now he’d seen her working on a new Montgomery Alexander book, and twice she’d denied it. His glance at the screen tonight had been fleeting, but Devin had seen enough to know that there was a new woman on the scene. Vivian. She’d had a stiletto knife tucked into her boot, and stabbed some dissident general through the heart before he could stab Joshua.
Very interesting.
More so since Paris kept insisting that she was working so hard on her epic, that it occupied her thoughts totally, that she was overflowing with ideas for her great literary work. Clearly, Paris had fibbed. From what Devin could tell, she was overflowing with images of guns and knives, plots and schemes. Not historical sagas and prose worthy of the Pulitzer Prize.
An enigma, that’s what she was. A woman who said she was proper, that she wanted the right kind of life and the right kind of man. That was all fine in theory. But what was “right” for Paris?
She might want to think of herself as prim and proper, but Devin knew better. Paris had a wild side, an impulsive side he found incredibly appealing. That side of Paris didn’t balk at things like inventing Alexander. That side didn’t hesitate to traipse all over the country despite her fear of flying.
That was the part of Paris that had flirted with him in the elevator, had kissed him with gusto in the bar, had relaxed in his arms watching a classic movie. And that part gave herself completely to him every time they made love.
No question, Paris was a woman who needed to take a good long look in the mirror. And Devin was just the guy to hold it for her.
Because with each passing day, Devin wanted more and more for her to see that his reflection was right there beside hers.
DESPITE UNEXPECTED TURBULENCE, she’d survived the flight from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. And even though the taxi driver seemed to confuse the Vegas Strip with the racetrack at the Indy 500, she’d survived the drive to the casino hotel as well. So Paris had no intention of collapsing in mortification now that she’d made it this far. No matter how many smirks and giggles the teeny-bopper clerk in the casino gift shop aimed in her direction.
Sure that she was blushing, Paris snatched her change and the paper bag, and headed out of the shop and back into the tacky opulence of the casino. Rachel skirted a cluster of polyester-clad women contemplating the slot machines and caught up with her, a wicked grin plastered across her face. She snatched the bag and peered inside. “Well, well.”
“It’s not what you think,” Paris said.
“A twelve-pack, no less. Did you get fluorescent? Ribbed? Tell me you at least bought extra large.”
“Rachel!” Paris came to a standstill, glancing around to make sure no one, especially Devin, was listening. “You’re such a—”
“I know. I am. It’s true.” The smile returned. “Come on. Give. Or I’ll just jump to my own sordid conclusions.”
Paris allowed herself a tiny smile. Any more self-satisfied and she could pose for Da Vinci. The surprising thing was that in just a few days she’d gone from wanting to keep her secret all to herself to wanting to tell. “It’s not what you think. What do you think?”
“That since you’re in Las Vegas, land of lust, you finally got smart and decided to jump his bones. I only hope that you at least wait until you’re in your room. Casino security frowns on that kind of thing.” She leaned forward. “And they have cameras. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up in the sale rack at Big Barney’s Triple-X Playhouse.”
Paris rolled her eyes and pulled Rachel behind a bank of slot machines.
“Are we doing espionage?” Rachel quipped.
“I told you it isn’t what you think,” Paris sang. She watched Rachel’s eyes widen at the scent of gossip.
“What, then?”
“You think I’m planning a seduction.”
“Yes. Either that or it’s his birthday and you’re buying really unique balloons.”
“Too late.”
“Too late, what? His birthday?”
“Seduction, stupid.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “No way. You and the Boy Toy? That’s fabulous.” Her brow furrowed. “It was fabulous, right?”
Paris laughed. “You are not getting the prurient details. But yes. It was. It is.”
“Is? I guess you’re expecting some encores, huh?”
“There’ve already been a few encores.” She counted on her fingers. “A few in Los Angeles, a few in San Diego, a few in San Francisco. And I plan to make the most of this last week. Like you said, we’re both adults.”
“And you’ve both got the hots for each other.”
“Temporary hots,” Paris said. “We made a deal.” A deal that was for the best. Long term with Devin would be a mistake, no matter how wonderful short term might be.
“So you’re both just going to walk away after the tour?”
“Right.” Paris saw Rachel fight back a grin. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that we’re in Vegas, the land of gambling. I’m thinking surely I can make some bucks off of this, ‘cause sweetie, you are so going to crash and burn.”
“No, I’m not,” Paris insisted.
“You really shouldn’t bet against me,” Rachel said, casually examining her nails. “So far I’ve been right on the money.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“I know.” Rachel searched the cavernous room. “So where is your little love toy?”
Paris decided to let the “love toy” comment slide. Besides, she kind of liked the sound of it. She stepped back from the slots and turned in a circle, but didn’t see Devin either. “He’s here somewhere. After we checked in, he said he was going to look around the casino.”
“Do you think that was a good idea?”
Paris shrugged. “Why not?” And then she remembered. Twenty thousand. Gambling debt. Had she actually let him loose in the candy store?
She reached out and grabbed Rachel’s arm. “You’ve got to help me find him.”
Finding one man in a crowded casino in Las Vegas was not as easy as it sounded. After an hour, she’d still come up with no sign of Devin.
She found a bar tucked in a corner near the blackjack tables, and plopped herself down on a stool. She ordered a glass of wine and wondered if Rachel was having better luck.
And then she saw him, right there in front of her.
She stood up, then realized she was looking at a mirror. Spinning around, she tried to find him behind her.
Nowhere. The stupid mirror was at an angle, and was reflecting an image from yet another mirror. And Devin must have moved, because now he wasn’t even part of the reflection. But he was nearby. That much was certain. Unfortunately, the bartender had also disappeared, so she couldn’t pay her bar tab.
Cursing mirrors and bartenders, she plunked a ten dollar bill on the bar, blew off getting change, and set out to comb the area. She’d either find him, or she’d hire a mathematician to analyze the angle of that stupid mirror.
Paris passed behind a pillar, mirrored of course, and stopped short.
“Counting cards isn’t going to make you a success, Andy, any more than hanging out at the tracks back home,” she heard Devin say.
“Carmen says I’ve got a knack for cards.”
Paris inhaled sharply, then clapped her hand over her mouth, afraid Devin might hear her. This Andy kid sounded much younger than twenty-one. What was the kid doing in a casino?
“I’m not surprised,” Devin said. “You’re a smart kid.”
“Damn straight,” Andy said, a cocky edge to his voice.
“You could do a lot better than spending the rest of your life gambling or working for Carmen.”
“My uncle Carmen’s not a loser.”
“I didn’t say he was,” Devin said, his tone level and reasonable. “But the people he works for are scum. You could do a hell of a lot better.”
“He wants to talk to you. Wants to make sure you’re not taking the extra time he gave you and running out on him. He told me to remind you of the package I dropped off at your place a few weeks ago. He said that should convince you not to blow him off.”
“Where is he?” Devin asked, and Paris shuddered from the ice in his tone.
“Over there. Waiting for you.”
“Andy, you don’t have to live like this, you don’t have to grow up to be a strongman for your uncle. You’re smart. Finish high school and go to college. Then decide. At least then you’ll know what your options are.”
“You are so lame, man. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do know. Just think about it.”
Silence.
“Okay?” Devin pressed.
“Screw you.”
Paris saw the kid as he walked by, head down, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his black leather bomber jacket. She wondered if Devin really saw the kid, or if he just saw himself years ago.
“Damn,” Devin groaned, then he must have slammed his fist against the pillar, because Paris felt the reverb as she leaned against the mirrored surface. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she knew what Devin was thinking. That kid wasn’t going to give school another thought.
But at least Devin had tried.
Without thinking about what she was doing, Paris stepped around the pillar. She wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to tell him he’d tried his best and maybe he’d made a dent in the kid’s armor. But he’d moved away. He walked in crisp, determined strides toward two burly men, one with a jagged scar on his cheek. Carmen, surely, and someone else.
She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she could tell Devin was furious. He stood rigid, his hands clenched in fists by his side. The man without the scar finally stuck his hand out. Devin put his hands in the pocket of his jacket. The man with the scar said something and poked Devin’s shoulder. Devin shrugged away from the touch as the other man thrust his hand out once again.
Slowly, defiantly, Devin faced each of the men, then turned his back to them and walked away.
“You remember what I said, Devie-boy,” shouted the man with the out-thrust hand. “You know I’m a man of my word.”
Paris slipped away to the other side of the casino before Devin could see her.
“Devin,” she called out when she saw him pass nearby, “over here.”
“Hey there,” he said, and after a moment, he smiled. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” Paris asked, hoping he’d tell her what the tête-à-tête with the gorilla twins had been all about.
Devin just shook his head. “I’ve been wandering around, lost in the crowd. Nice to see someone familiar.” He grinned, and this time it seemed genuine. “Especially someone so pleasantly familiar,” he added, then kissed her gently on the back of her hand. A sweet, gentle gesture, and Paris felt her heart swell.
“I was going to find Rachel and get some lunch. Want to come?”
“I’m not really hungry yet. You girls go on ahead. I think I’ll hit the blackjack tables.”
“The tables?” Paris squeaked, then coughed. “You’re going to the blackjack tables?” After that lecture he’d given the kid, Paris couldn’t believe Devin was going to dive headfirst into gambling.
Devin shrugged. “I’m in the mood for some mindless entertainment.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll catch up with you in a couple of hours,” he said, stepping away.
“Wait!” Paris caught up with him. “Uh, wait a sec, Dev.”
He turned, a question in his eyes. “Do you want to come with me?”
“Do you think this is such a good idea?”
He looked at her like she’d lost her mind.
“I mean, well…” Paris drifted off. How did she politely point out that racking up another gambling debt probably wasn’t such a great idea?
Inspiration hit. “We need to get you prepared for tomorrow. Do you really think we can spare an hour while you play at cards?”
His brow furrowed and he regarded her through squinted eyes. “I thought you were off to have lunch.”
Yup, she’d said that all right. Now what? “Right,” she said, regrouping. “Right, I did say that. And we are. Yes. Lunch. Oh! We’ll take it upstairs, and work while we eat.”
“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms over his chest. The corner of his mouth curled up, and Paris couldn’t decide if he was hiding a smile or rehearsing his speech to have her committed.
She waved her arm toward the elevator banks. “So? Are you coming?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” he repeated, still fighting a grin.
Well, shoot. She gnawed on her lower lip as she scoured the room with her eyes, hoping to find something, anything to get him upstairs. “Why not?”
“We’ve been over everything a hundred times. The last two weeks went off without a hitch. I think we can spare an hour.”
She remembered the financial magazines he was always thumbing through and decided to try another approach. “Did you really buy the pub with money you’d made in the market?”
He leaned back against a slot machine. “Looking for stock tips?”
“Just curious.”
“Didn’t that kill the cat?”
He wasn’t even trying to hide his grin anymore. Infuriating, really. He wasn’t helping her in the least. She stood straighter, huffing up a bit. “I’m trying to have an interesting conversation and you’re teasing me.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Devin!”
He leaned over and kissed her nose. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”
Paris tapped her foot and glared.
“Okay, I surrender.” He grinned at her. “Now I’ve forgotten the question.”
Had she said infuriating? She’d meant exasperating. And irritating.
And fabulously handsome, but that really wasn’t the point.
She blinked and frowned at him for getting her off track. “I asked if you really made money in the market.”
“Yes. It’s true. I took every night class I could find to learn about investing. College credit, extension, informal classes. The works. Surprised?”
“Not at all.” Devin had drive. He was smart. She didn’t doubt that he could do anything he wanted.
“Why do you ask?”
“I guess trading in the market is a little like gambling, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. A little. But at least you can study the markets, reduce your risk.”
“Right. Exactly.”
“Right, exactly, what?”
“Well, if you were to lose, say, twenty-or-so thousand dollars in the market, that would be a pretty big thing to recover from, wouldn’t it?”
“Twenty-or-so…” Devin trailed off, then cocked his head, looking at her. He put his finger against the side of his mouth and tapped lightly.
“You know,” he finally said, “burning off steam at the blackjack table may not be such a good idea after all.” He reached over and trailed his finger in gentle strokes up and down her arm. Tempestuous heat reeled through her. All it took was a look, a touch, and she melted.
“Uh-huh.” She yanked herself out of dreamland. Now wasn’t the time to get all hot and bothered. She needed to keep her mission in mind. “I mean, good. Good idea.”
There was no reason on earth why such a smart, focused man couldn’t fight the urge to gamble. And she’d do anything she could to help.
He flashed a lopsided grin. “Roulette would be much better. Even more mindless. Pure chance.”
Plan B. She needed to come up with a Plan B.
She could think of only one surefire way to keep his mind away from gambling. Luckily, Plan B had benefits for her as well.
Calling up a sultry smile, she moved closer, then ran her finger along his collar. “The thing is, I’m not really all that interested in rehearsing or in having lunch.”
“No kidding?” The look in his eye told her Devin knew exactly what she was up to.
“No, I’m much more interested in betting on more pertinent things. Like exactly how hot I can make you with just my mouth.” She leaned in closer and flicked her tongue along his ear. “And I promise you that my odds don’t favor the house.”
He swallowed, and she knew she’d won that battle. When they got to the room, the actual war promised to be a lot of fun.
In the elevator, Devin grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her toward him. “It occurred to me that we never got to finish what we started on that elevator in New York.”
“Oh, really?”
A trill of excitement coursed through her, growing stronger as he reached down and stroked the back of her leg, starting with her knee. His touch was light, teasing, so soft that it was little more than a caress.
When he reached her hem at mid-thigh, he pulled her in closer to him, until their bodies were melded together. There was no mistaking his arousal, and as he pulled her tighter against him, Devin slipped his hand up the back of her thigh, higher and higher under her short skirt until his finger grazed the edge of her panties.
Madness loomed before her, complete and utter insanity brought about by the torment of his touch.
“Devin. What if somebody…?”
“Do you want me to stop? Say yes if you do,” he whispered.
“I…I…” She couldn’t say it. And she didn’t want to.
“Too late,” Devin said, then kissed her hard on the mouth. His hand continued to explore, bedeviling her, as she squirmed under the pleasure of his touch.
“You do things,” she whispered, “to my control. My willpower.”
He traced the edge of her ear with his tongue. “Good. I’ve got more things in mind when we get to the room.” As if to give her an idea of what kind of things, he slipped his finger inside her, silencing her cry of surprise and delight with his kiss.
The elevator glided to a halt, and in one fluid motion, Devin pulled away from their embrace. He stayed next to her, his arm around her waist, and she leaned against him, anxious to reach their suite.
The doors slid open and Devin led Paris past an elderly couple waiting to get on. Paris stared at the floor as she stepped out, sure that her face was bright crimson. The instant the doors closed behind them, Paris turned to Devin and laughed, a mixture of anxiety and relief.
“Do you think they knew?”
“No,” he shook his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “And if they did, they were just jealous.”
It took an eternity for him to get the door unlocked. Probably her fault, really, since he kept fumbling with the card key every time she rubbed her hand down his groin or licked the back of his ear. The second the lock released, he threw the door open, pulling her in with him.
“Now,” he growled, pressing her roughly against the wall. He dropped his slacks and had her panties down before she had realized what he was doing, then he grabbed her waist and lifted her. “Put your legs around me,” he said. Paris did as he said, arching her back so that her shoulders pressed against the wall.
He entered her like that, and the passion was devastating, like bottle rockets and starbursts. Paris cried out and wrapped her legs tighter around him, never wanting the moment to end, but afraid she might die if it went on any longer.
When she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck as he readjusted his hold on her. “Wow,” she whispered, wondering how this man could have come to mean so much to her so fast.
“Yeah,” he said. “But…”
“But?”
“I can still hear those tables calling.”
“Really,” she said, throwing a tone of mock horror into her voice. “Well, maybe it’s time to test my little wager.” She nibbled on the side of his neck, her fingers unbuttoning his shirt. “Gentlemen, place your bets.”
By the time her kisses reached his waist, she knew he was fighting for control. As she drew him into her mouth, he groaned and called out her name.
When she took him to the brink, he pulled her off and tugged her down to the floor. He entered her quickly, and she gasped when he shuddered inside her and collapsed next to her on the rough carpet.
“I think the house won that bet,” he said.
Paris snuggled closer and ran her hand over his chest, twisting her fingers in his hair. “If you feel like placing another bet…”
She smiled and let her hand roam lower. Soon enough, they went from fireworks in the hallway to candlelight and roses in the bed. Intense and sweet, powerful and tender.
Afterward, Paris snuggled against him. Vegas and Texas. The last week of the tour. The last week of their deal. In seven days, he would go back to being Devin full-time, and she’d have her book deal and could get on with her life.
Her life without Devin. No wonder she felt melancholy.
She reassured herself that the deal she’d made with Devin was for the best. She had a specific life plan, and they were so different. Weren’t they? Just because he made her feel alive, just because he made every moment special, that didn’t mean she should abandon everything she’d planned. Did it?
She pushed the thoughts away, determined not to think about it. Instead, she pressed herself tighter against him, coveting his warmth, especially now that their last day together was drawing closer.
She remembered the men in the casino. He still hadn’t mentioned them. Was the uncle Carmen that kid mentioned the one to whom Devin owed the money?
“Devin,” she murmured, rolling over so that she could look at him. “I saw you downstairs talking to some men.”
Was that fear she saw in his eyes? “You did?”
“I waved from across the room, but you didn’t see me.”
“Sorry.”
Something was wrong, but Paris couldn’t get a handle on it. “It’s no big deal. Who were they?”
“Just some people I know from New York. Coincidence bumping into them all the way out here.”
On top of the possibility that Devin owed those creeps money, another problem occurred to her. “They know you?” What would happen if they saw him spending the week in Montgomery Alexander mode?
He must have understood. “Oh, they’re on their way out of town tonight. Don’t worry. They won’t blow my cover.” He kissed her, then pulled back and locked his eyes on hers. “I promise you.”
She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’m not worried. I trust you.”
Devin sighed and rolled onto his back. “Why don’t you just come out of the closet and confess to writing the Montgomery Alexander books?”
Paris propped herself up on one arm, studying him. “Where did that come from?”
“I was just wondering,” he said simply.
What was going on?
She rolled over and lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. “I thought I already explained that to you.”
He scooted next to her and sat up, leaning over her and looking down into her face. There was concern in his eyes. For her? Did he fear she was making a mistake with her life, her career? Or was there something more there?
Tenderly, he stroked her cheek. “Explain to your father that you love writing these books. I’ve read all of them. And sure, they’re over-the-top, but the themes are all honorable. Courage and loyalty and patriotism. Your characters are strong. They’re self-sufficient and smart. If he doesn’t see that, then he’s the one who’s blind.”
“It’s not just my father. The fans love Alexander’s image. I can’t just step in and say it was me all along. Maybe if I’d done that from the beginning and had just invented a co-author. But not now. It’s too late.” She winked at him. “Besides, I’d get laughed out of town. Who’d believe me as Alexander? Who could after seeing you?”
He brushed a light kiss over her forehead. “Then don’t tell the world. Just tell your father and forget about this literary epic idea. That’s not you, no matter how much you think he wants it to be.”
She started to argue, but he hushed her with a gentle finger on her lips. “I’ve seen you at night. I know about your new character, Joshua’s new partner, Vivian, and her stiletto blade. I’ve watched you with your eyes closed as you make up new adventures. You’re beautiful when you’re working. You’re alive because you love it.”
Paris felt her eyes foolishly brim with tears. Stupid, really. She had nothing to cry about. “I’m just not used to writing in another style, that’s all. I’ll love that as much when I get good at it.”
He kissed her then, and she took the kiss greedily, as if he were a fountain and she was drinking in his strength and courage. When he broke from the kiss, he looked deep into her eyes, silent, for a long time, so long that she began to squirm under his demanding gaze.
“Promise me something, Paris.”
“What?”
“Just promise,” Devin insisted.
She lifted a shoulder. “Okay, I promise. What?”
“Do what your heart says is right.”
She frowned. Was he talking about her books? Or about him?
And more important, had she just made a promise she couldn’t keep?
DEVIN OPENED HIS EYES and stared at the ceiling. He knew he was grinning, but he couldn’t help it. Despite the visit early on from Andy’s uncle Carmen and Bull, the last four days in Vegas had been a dream. Letting Paris continue to believe the twenty-thousand-dollar gambling debt was his, and not his father’s, had been a stroke of genius.
Paris had been more than willing to abandon the casinos in order to keep Devin away from those demonic blackjack tables. He’d known exactly what she was up to, and she knew that he knew. And, of course, that made it all the more fun.
For the entire week, whenever they weren’t working, they’d been in the hotel suite, sipping wine, watching movies. Making love. Glorious, satisfying, over-the-top love.
Devin felt a little guilty, sure, but not enough to own up. He’d never said the debt was his, after all. She’d only assumed. And the proper time to put his real cards on the table was after he was sure she’d admit to being head over heels in love with him.
He rolled over and kissed her cheek, then slid out of bed and padded toward the bathroom for a shower. He pictured Paris naked under the stream of water, slick with the strawberry scented shower gel the hotel replenished daily. For a second, he paused and considered waking her, but then dismissed the idea. He’d kept her up way too late the night before—he grinned at the memory—and they had a long couple of days ahead of them. A two-hop flight to Dallas, five bookstores to hit and drinks and cocktails with various reporters. Fly to Austin the next morning and repeat the process. Then Houston, and six more bookstores.
And looming at the end of all that was the party. Thrown by Paris’s father, the federal judge.
The chasm between their upbringings mocked him, reminding him that Paris had insisted their arrangement be only temporary. He was playing way out of his league. And even if her dad liked him, that didn’t change anything. Judge Sommers wasn’t meeting Devin. Montgomery Alexander would have the pleasure of his company.
A hell of a mess.
He cast one last glance at Paris before closing the bathroom door. Somehow she’d managed to cocoon herself in the sheet, except for one leg that dangled over the side. He shook his head, smiling. He’d been right. She was a notorious covers stealer.
A needle-fine spray of water worked the kinks out of Devin’s shoulders and back. He hoped he’d done the right thing in not telling Paris about Carmen’s threats.
He was furious that Carmen had dragged Andy into his life-style. The kid was smart. He deserved better than to grow up thinking Carmen’s way was the best way. Carmen and his flunkies sure as hell weren’t going to let the boy expand his horizons.
Bastards.
They’d seen Devin on television and pried the whole story out of Jerry. Devin couldn’t blame Jerry, who’d spewed apologies for not keeping a lid on the secret. Devin knew just how persuasive Carmen and his lackeys could be. He was just grateful Jerry escaped with little more than a few bruises.
To think that Devin had actually believed he was nearly free from Carmen. With the money he’d get from Paris for playing Alexander plus the money Jerry’d been able to round up from friends, he had enough cash to satisfy his dad’s debt.
Then Carmen had thrown in the monkey wrench, threatening to reveal Paris’s secret unless she agreed to pay monthly hush money. Devin had said Paris didn’t give a rat’s ass about anonymity, that she’d reveal the truth herself rather than pay them.
It was a big lie, a whopper, and Devin hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him.
He adjusted the showerhead to shoot thick, massaging pulses, letting the water pummel his chest and face. He hadn’t heard another peep from the hometown thugs. Maybe his bluff had worked. That was fortunate, considering he’d struck out trying to convince Paris to come clean with Alexander’s fans, much less with her father.
Her father. Forty-eight hours before he met the man, and already Devin’s nerves tingled. He decided to stay in the shower a few minutes longer, letting the powerful spray soothe his nerves and hoping it would wash away any sign of Devin’s heritage, his neighborhood or his upbringing.
”YOU MUST BE MONTGOMERY ALEXANDER,” the judge said, extending his hand. “Patrick Sommers. I’m so pleased you could make it to Houston. It’s an honor having you in my home. And it’s a pleasure to finally get to meet the man who’s been keeping my little girl so busy.” With his free arm, the judge gave Paris’s shoulder a squeeze. She smiled at her father and looped an arm around his waist.
“The pleasure is mine,” Devin said, with an Alexanderish tip of his head. He liked the man already. Paris might fear that her father wouldn’t approve of her life-style, but Devin would be willing to bet that Judge Sommers would forgive Paris just about anything.
Rachel elbowed in and planted a quick kiss on the older man’s cheek. “So, where’s the bar set up?”
The judge laughed. “It’s good to see you again, too, my dear.” He looked over his shoulder. “Catering is set up in the guest house.”
Rachel grinned at Paris. “See, this is why I love visiting your dad. He understands my basic needs.”
Paris raised an eyebrow. “Try not to single-handedly triple the bar tab, Rach.”
“I’ll do my best. But since you two got us here an hour late, I’ve got some serious catching up to do.” She slipped into the crowd and headed for the quaint stone guest house.
Paris winked at Devin and then looked up at her father. “Making up for lost time.”
Devin could see bits of Paris in the trim, distinguished man. Like his daughter, Patrick Sommers’s facial features were well-defined. But it was their eyes father and daughter shared most prominently. Deep brown eyes that held infinite potential. Warm and welcome one minute, sharp and commanding the next.
“I read one of your books last night,” Judge Sommers announced, looking straight at Devin.
Paris whipped around to face her father. “No way. Really?”
“What did you think?” asked Devin. He saw Paris stiffen, and he resisted the urge to take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.
The judge pulled at his chin. “Not my cup of tea, really,” he said. Paris’s shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes. “But,” the judge went on, “it was quite a bit more entertaining than I had imagined. Well-written, the characters weren’t flat. Moved quickly. It wasn’t…” He seemed to be searching for an appropriate word.
“Trash?” Devin suggested.
“Ah, there you go,” said the judge, giving Devin a chummy pat on the arm. “It wasn’t complete trash.”
“Trash? Complete trash?” Paris repeated, looking from Devin to her father and then to Devin again.
Devin laughed, and Paris glowered at him.
The judge squeezed her shoulders. “Calm down, honey. The author over here is laughing. I don’t think I’ve offended your client.” He cocked his head toward Devin.
“I’m not offended in the least,” Devin said, sure that Paris was seething.
“There. You see. You never expected me to love his stories, did you?”
Paris sighed. “No, Daddy. I never did.”
“Well, then. Why don’t you two go join the party. Larry was looking for you earlier. I imagine he’ll want to claim a dance.”
“Larry?” Devin asked, as they walked away.
“We went to high school together. He’s a federal prosecutor, and he just got appointed to head up the racketeering division. He’s the youngest person ever to have that job.”
Great. His competition was Larry the child prodigy. “Yeah. They asked me to do that, but I told them I really couldn’t fit it in. What with my busy schedule and all.”
Paris bumped him with her hip, laughing. “You behave.”
“Make me,” Devin teased, longing to pull her close to him, but remembering that he was in Alexander-mode. He crooked his arm and offered it to her, pleased just to have her by his side. They strolled through the stone-paved backyard, shaking hands and making small talk with the guests, who ran the gamut from staid professionals to multi-pierced college students. The party was a welcome home for Paris, but it was also the last stop on Alexander’s whirlwind tour, so fans and booksellers and the media were noshing with judges and CEOs.
“This is an amazing house,” Devin said, grabbing a seat on a marble bench next to the Koi pond. “Did you grow up here?”
“Pretty much. We moved here from our ranch after junior high.” She waved her arm to encompass the magnificent, landscaped backyard. “This was just dirt and grass when we moved in.” Now it was a paradise. Ivy crept up the fence, roses climbed trellises, cobblestones wound a path through sections of the garden.
Strings of ornamental lights laced the trees, and their soft glow accentuated Paris’s hair and skin. “You’re beautiful,” Devin said, particularly enjoying the way the crisscross halter of her silk dress accentuated her breasts.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Paris said, her voice light.
Devin ached to kiss those lips, to taste her again. It had been over two hours since he’d held her close and kissed her, and that was two hours too long. “Paris, tell your father. Tonight. Follow your heart. Do it while we’re here. He seems like a nice man, surely it won’t be the explosion you think.”
He felt her stiffen, and regretted pushing her.
“You tell me to follow my heart, but that’s just the same as Daddy. He says to do one thing, and you say to do another.”
“No, it’s not the same,” he said, more sharply than he intended.
Rachel sauntered up the walk, a fellow who looked as though he’d stepped off the cover of Esquire on her arm.
“Larry here asked to come see the lady of the hour.”
“I thought we could have a dance, catch up on old times,” said the child prodigy turned cover model.
“I, um,” Paris looked from Devin to Rachel.
“Come, dance with me,” Rachel insisted, holding out her hand to Devin.
He hesitated, seeds of jealously starting to take root.
“Come on. Let the kiddies chat. I don’t bite. Not hard, anyway.” She turned to Paris. “May I borrow him?”
Before Paris could answer Devin found himself on the dance floor.
“Well, you’re tense as a board,” Rachel said. “Feeling a little competitive, are we?”
“What? No,” Devin said, far too quickly to fool someone as sharp as Rachel.
“Uh-huh,” Rachel said, as she twirled into Devin’s arm. “So, have you told her?”
“Told who what?” asked Devin, figuring that if she was going to drag him away from Paris, the least he could do was make her work for her information.
“You’re a man in love, my friend. Have you told her yet?”
That one was out of left field, although he should have seen it coming. He’d spent some time with Rachel over the past week, at least enough to learn she didn’t pull any punches. If what Paris said was true, Rachel didn’t have the strongest grip on her own love life. But when it came to looking out for her best friend, Rachel was as loyal as they came.
Devin also knew that she wouldn’t settle for a half-truth, at least not where Paris was concerned.
“No,” he said, “I haven’t told her.”
“Then you do love her.”
“Are you blind?” he asked, grinning. “Of course I love her.”
“You should tell her.”
Devin took Rachel’s arm and led her off the dance floor. “Is Paris blind?”
“No, but she can be…nearsighted. Especially now.” She waved her arm to encompass the house, the party. “And especially here.”
“Why the sudden burst of matchmaking energy?”
Rachel tilted her head. “Honestly? Because I like you. I think you two are a match. And I think you’re good for her, not one of these stuffy old dudes her father’s drooling over.”
“The child prodigy doesn’t look stuffy.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Who?”
Devin pointed back to the dance floor, where Mr. Federal Prosecutor held Paris in his arms. “Him.”
“Larry? Nah, he’s okay, but he’s not right for Paris. Besides, they’ve known each other since high school. If it was going to happen it already would have.”
Devin looked again. Rachel was right. Paris was moving on the floor with Larry, but she wasn’t dancing with him. Not the way she’d danced with Devin before. She didn’t look bored, but neither did she look enraptured. As Larry spun her around, Paris looked in Devin’s direction. When their eyes met, she smiled, and Devin went to mush.
“So you think I’ve still got a shot, here?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re perfect for her,” said Rachel. She stepped forward and crooked her finger, urging him to bend down. “But more than that,” she whispered, “I figure if my goofy best friend who makes up fantasy men can find Mr. Right, then there’s still hope for me.”
Devin knew she was joking around, but he remembered what Paris had told him about Rachel’s less-than-stellar track record with the opposite sex. He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her head up and brushing a soft kiss across her temple. “Rach, there’s definitely hope for you.”
She blushed, a first as far as Devin could tell, then looked down. “Thanks,” she whispered. When she looked back up, she smiled, and he thought her eyes might have been a little misty. “I told Paris she got the last good guy in New York. Looks like I was right.”
He waved his hand to indicate the party. “Plenty of fish here in Texas.”
She laughed. “A cowboy? No thanks. I’m a city girl, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Devin was still chuckling at Rachel’s last words as he circled the dance floor in search of Paris. He thought about what else Rachel had said, and decided that she was right on target. Paris needed to know how he felt. She needed to hear it out loud before she convinced herself that she meant what she’d said about their three-week-only deal.
He avoided getting sucked into another conversation with a group of party guests by slipping behind the built-in barbecue. As he reached the edge, he heard Paris’s voice. Devin eased back into the shadows.
“What I wanted to tell you, Daddy, is that I’m writing a book,” Paris said. Devin sucked in his breath. Was she about to tell her father the truth?
“Well, good for you, sweetie. What kind of book? Nonfiction?”
“No. Well, not exactly.” Devin heard her take a breath. “It’s…oh, hell…I haven’t written much of it yet, but it’s this saga. It starts in Ireland, and goes all the way through the Civil War to the Depression.”
“Well, that sounds fascinating. I’m surprised you have time to write, traveling as much as you do.”
“It’s not easy.”
“Have you thought about settling down?”
“I’ve thought about it,” she said.
“Larry still adores you. Of course, Anson and Michael are waiting in line.” Devin felt a wave of dislike for Larry, Anson and Michael. “You could do worse than a doctor or a lawyer.” The wave increased to tsunamic proportions.
“I know, Daddy. And Larry’s a great guy…”
“Well, you’re not getting any younger.”
“Daddy,” Paris said. “I’m barely thirty.”
“Still. Are you seeing anyone seriously?”
Devin held his breath.
“No,” Paris finally whispered, thrusting the knife into Devin’s heart.
“No one,” she said, twisting it.
Devin closed his eyes and fell against the rough brick surface. Anger, disappointment, despair battled for attention in his stomach. Disappointment won. He couldn’t be angry at her, not really. She’d told him the ground rules on day one. He’d just been arrogant and foolish enough to think he could change her mind.
Fat chance, Devin. Look around you. You think Larry, Curly and Moe had to work their way through night school? Do you think their fathers had to pull cons to put food on the table?
He couldn’t ignore the truth. She was a diamond, and he was coal.
Devin slammed the palm of his hand against the barbecue pit. Dammit, this wasn’t a problem he could blame on his upbringing. Those guys weren’t any better than him. He had to face that there were just some things that couldn’t be had. Rachel was wrong. He wasn’t the man for Paris. He’d fought bitterly to get an education, to make enough money to open his pubs, to have a good life. But none of that changed one important fact. Paris had only wanted him for three weeks. Three weeks of having her fantasy, of having Alexander, before she got on with her life.
And no matter how worthy he was, if she didn’t think so, it was as good as over.
“AND NOW, the man of the hour, Mr. Montgomery Alexander,” announced the bandleader.
Paris turned around to look for Devin, then winced when she saw him slip out from behind the brick grill and step to the podium. Had he heard everything? She took a step toward him. She needed to explain, to apologize. To say something.
Too late, of course. Devin stepped onto the platform and took the microphone.
“Mr. Alexander, Mr. Alexander!”
Paris couldn’t see the man at the front of the crowd scrambling for attention, but from Devin’s scowl, she guessed that something wasn’t right.
“Mr. Alexander, isn’t it true that there are going to be some revelations about you and your books? Very soon?”
Devin took a step backward, as if he’d just taken buckshot in the stomach. What was going on? Paris watched Devin skim the crowd until he found her. She raised her shoulders in a silent query.
Devin stared down the obnoxious little man. “Yes,” he said, “some things will be revealed soon that I think will surprise my fans.”
What revelations? What was he talking about?
“In the meantime, you’ll just have to wait and see. Thank you for coming. Good night.” He stepped off the platform.
Paris looked at her watch. He was supposed to speak for half an hour. Barely two minutes had passed since he hit the podium. Now he was striding through the crowd, heading in the opposite direction from her.
The second she cleared the side of the house, Paris broke into a run, planning to cut through the kitchen and head him off in the entry hall.
Rachel slammed breathless through the front door just as Paris reached the entry.
“Where is he?” Paris asked, winded. She had the feeling she already knew.
“Gone. He just pulled away in one of the hired cars.” Rachel took a breath and looked at Paris. “So what was that all about?”
Paris shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Were we wrong about him? You don’t think…?” Rachel trailed off, but Paris knew what she was considering.
“That he’s planning to announce my secret? To blackmail me? No way. I don’t think that. This revelation could be anything. Joshua’s new partner, Vivian. The book deal. Maybe he’s dyeing his hair back to blond. Anything.”
Rachel nodded. “I know. I don’t really believe it either. But what’s going on? What’s he talking about?”
Paris shook her head. “All I know is that Devin wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”
“He left,” Rachel pointed out.
Paris looked at the floor. “That’s my fault. I hurt him first.”
PATRICK SOMMERS slid a cup of coffee across the breakfast bar to Paris. “You’ve been moping about for four days, honey. Are you sure you won’t tell me what’s wrong? Did he fire you?”
Paris shook her head, sniffed and blew her nose.
She’d flat out lied to Devin. She’d promised him, promised, that she’d follow her heart, and then she’d gone and chickened out. She did love writing the Montgomery Alexander books.
And she loved Devin.
For days now, she’d been seeing him around every corner, hearing him every time the phone rang, running to the door every time a car drove up. And each time he wasn’t there, her heart broke a little more.
Well, it stopped right now. She was going to do everything she could to get him back. Everything.
And Paris knew where she had to start.
“Daddy?”
He lowered his paper and looked at her. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“About that book I told you I was writing…”
When she’d told him the whole story, Paris had to admit she was impressed. Her father hadn’t interrupted, and now he just sat there, quiet and pensive. And although quiet didn’t necessarily mean all was well, from Paris’s perspective, quiet was a heck of a lot better than ranting and raving.
“Daddy? Are you going to say anything?”
The judge clasped his hands and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. “I thought perhaps you were hiding something. I never dreamed you were writing those books. I thought you were in love with Mr. Alexander.” He shook his head. “I mean, Devin.”
“Yeah, well, I guess you get two for the price of one.” She bit her lower lip and tried to read his face. “Are you okay with this?”
Judge Sommers stood up and poured himself a cup of coffee. He kept his back to Paris, staring out the window that overlooked the front drive. Paris shifted on her stool, anxious for him to say something, anything.
“Did I ever tell you why we named you Paris?” he finally asked, looking back over his shoulder at her.
Paris shook her head.
“We were dating, your mother and I. It was May. And your mother decided she wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. She was working in a secretarial pool, and I was in law school. She took her savings, and I took my schoolbook money, and we went to Paris. Just like that. That’s where you were conceived. We were married the day we got back.”
“No way. Who are you and what have you done with my father? That doesn’t sound like you at all, Daddy.”
He turned to face her, the tiniest smile playing at his mouth. “No, but it sounds a lot like your mother.”
Paris’s eyes welled. “Really? I always wanted to be like her. I thought you wanted me to. She’s always seemed like this perfect person. The best hostess, the best wife, the best mother. Always doing the right thing, you know? The smart thing. Watching out for the family name. For you.”
“She was all that and more.” He took Paris’s hand. “Your mother understood how important it is to sometimes just follow your heart.”
“So you approve?”
“Approval is a big step for an old man at breakfast. Let’s just say I understand. I can’t argue too much with your mother’s methods. After all, it got me you. And you’re very much like her. I just want you to be secure.” He smiled. “And happy. I want you to be happy.”
She laughed, harshly, at her own stupidity. “Devin makes me happy. Why couldn’t I have just told him that a couple of days ago?”
“You wouldn’t have believed it yourself then.”
Paris put down her mug. “Oh, Daddy. What am I going to do now?”
He stood behind her, stroking her hair like he had done so many times when she was a little girl needing comfort in the dark. But this wasn’t the kind of problem a night-light would solve. “Anything you have to.”
The ringing phone interrupted her brooding.
Devin!
Paris lunged for it, scooping up the handset. “Devin?”
“Ms. Sommers?” The coarse voice sounded nothing like Devin’s low, sultry tones.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“I must see you. I’m Devin O’Malley’s father.”
”PLEASE, CALL ME COURTLAND.”
She regarded the old man perched in a wheelchair. He was wrapped in a flannel robe, an ashtray in front of him on the table, with an unopened package of cigarettes resting nearby. Courtland glanced down at the package often, as if it taunted him.
She’d rushed to the Houston airport only minutes after he’d called, taking only her purse and leaving her suitcases with her dad. She’d had to change planes twice—which meant enduring three takeoffs—before finally landing in New Jersey and taking a taxi to Mr. O’Malley’s nursing home. But she’d endure just about anything for a chance to get Devin back. “I would have known you were Devin’s father even if you hadn’t told me. He looks just like you.”
“Poor boy.”
Paris laughed. “Not at all. And you know it.”
“Once, maybe. But now I’ve got wrinkles and gray hair and nothing quite works the way it once did. Oh, the ladies around here don’t complain much, but they’re not exactly fresh off the farm themselves.”
“You’re extremely handsome. Sophisticated. Worldly. Sexy in a Paul Newman sort of way.” She paused to make sure he was paying attention. He was, and she smiled at him. “And you can quit fishing now, because that’s all the compliments you’re going to lure out of me, even though each one is perfectly true.”
“Spunky little thing. Of course you’d have to be for my son to fall for you.”
Her heart leaped. Could what Courtland was saying really be true? And, more important, if it was, could she still get him back? “What makes you think he’s fallen for me?”
“Television. My dear, the box sees all. I’ve watched you two on some of those interview shows. He looks at you that way.”
“What way?”
“The same way you look at him.”
“I’m in love with him.” It felt good to say it. The more she said it, the stronger she felt. If she said it enough, she could get him back.
“I told him never to fall for a mark.”
“I hired him. He’s not blackmailing me.” She grinned. “Well, he almost did. But he couldn’t go through with it.”
“I’m glad.” Courtland looked out the window, but Paris didn’t think he was seeing the trees and the clouds and the passersby. Courtland O’Malley was seeing the past and a little boy who’d beaten the odds. “I was afraid my debt drove him to turn his back on his own mind.” He turned from the window to peer at her. “That’s never good, you know. Doing something that’s not true to your heart. Breaks the spirit.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I just learned that one myself.” She realized what else he had said. “Your debt?”
“I have a fondness for the ponies. My son’s always managed to help me out. But this last time, I dealt with the wrong people. Should’ve known better. I’ve always been small-time. Got way in over my head, and they called in my marker.”
“And Devin told them he’d cover it.”
“I told him not to. After all, what can those fellows do to me in here?” he gestured around the cramped nursing home room. “My mind goes in and out. Half the time I don’t even remember I owe the money.”
“Devin’s got his own code of honor. He couldn’t let them hold that money over your head.”
Courtland nodded. “I’ve never told him how proud I am of him not following my example. Oh sure, I taught him what to do, but that was because I was scared not to. What if he had failed at success? At least my kind of skills kept us from going hungry.”
“But he hasn’t failed,” Paris said. “He’s smart and funny and he must love you very much.”
“Why isn’t he with you?”
The question tore at her. “I made a mistake. I was following my head, and not my heart.” A tear slid down her face, and she wiped it away. “And now I’m afraid I’ve lost him.”
The old man crooked a finger, and Paris bent down to get closer. “If you want him, if you want love, you need to fight for it.”
Paris nodded. “That’s my plan.”
“YOU’RE AN IDIOT, boss,” Jerry announced.
“Thanks, Jer. Your moral support is truly overwhelming.” Devin lost his train of thought and had to start adding up the credit card receipts again. He’d been easily sidetracked for the past four days, and he knew the reason. Paris. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. About her laugh, the feel of her body, her quirky sense of humor.
After overhearing her with her father, and then having one of Carmen’s thugs make a not-so-subtle threat in Paris’s own backyard, Devin had thought it was better for her if he left. But now? Now that every day was killing him, Devin was beginning to realize he was wrong.
He could give up a lot of things, but not Paris. His resolve had grown even stronger when he’d received the special delivery envelope that morning. Inside he’d found a check, neatly filled out in her precise handwriting, for six thousand dollars.
So she’d paid her debt, effectively severing her last tie to him. But that was an ending he just couldn’t stomach. He needed her, and somehow he was going to get her back, or die trying.
“What’s that old saying, Jerry? If you love something—”
“—hunt it down and kill it, boss.”
Devin laughed. “Set it free. I think it’s set it free.”
Jerry shrugged. “Whatever. So?”
“The hell with that. If Larry, Curly and Moe want her that bad, they’ll have to go after her through me, because I’m going back to Texas and I’m not leaving until that woman admits she loves me.”
Jerry cast him a sideways look. “Ya got it bad, boss.”
“Yeah, Jerry. I know.”
Only after Devin stepped out into the Manhattan night, did he remember that it was three o’clock in the morning, and he wasn’t going anywhere, much less hopping a plane to Texas. He considered going back in and helping Jerry, but the guy had been doing a fine job with the pub over the past three weeks, and Devin needed to get some rest if he was going to have the energy to wrestle Paris away from the three stooges.
He trudged the five blocks to his building and climbed three flights of stairs to his apartment. He’d left every light in the place on, he realized, as soon as he pushed open the door. No wonder his electric bill was always outrageous.
Then he saw her. Curled up on his battered sofa under an old quilt he’d rescued from a flea market.
He must have made a noise, or else she heard the Hallelujah Chorus playing in his head, because she stirred, then opened her eyes and squinted at him.
“Hey there,” she said.
“Hi.” Not poetry, but the best he could manage with his heart threatening to burst.
She pushed herself up to a sitting position. One of his old, ripped T-shirts barely covered her, giving him an enticing view of her thigh. Her hair was a mess, with wild curls going every which direction. Most of her makeup had rubbed off, except for the touch of mascara that was smudged under each eye.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Montgomery Alexander’s not retiring. I told my dad. I told him everything.” She smiled. “There wasn’t exactly gunfire. Maybe a few stray shots, but overall it went well.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, and he couldn’t help but grin. “I always thought that I wanted a certain kind of man and that I wanted to write a certain type of book. I thought that if I got that man, that life, then I could be happy.”
Devin tried not to anticipate where Paris was going. He was terrified of being wrong. Terrified she’d flown all the way here simply to say thanks for playing the role, have a nice life, and by the way, thanks for making the mob notice me and my little scheme.
He swallowed. “What are you saying?”
“That I never knew what I wanted. But I do now. The man I want can dance on the beach or in a ballroom. He can make love to me with a passion so intense it ignites my soul. He’s suave, yet funny. He works hard, but he knows how to play. He loves adventure, but a perfect Sunday morning is reading the paper in bed. And most of all, he loves me.” She stared at him with an intensity that cut to his core. “I love you, Devin. You. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”
Devin exhaled, relieved, but still wary. “I’m not Alexander.”
“I don’t want Alexander. Alexander doesn’t even exist.” She stood up. “I don’t want an Alexander, or an accountant or a social climber.” She took a step closer. “I want you. I want the man who charmed me and teased me. I want the man who’s so fiercely loyal to his family that he’s willing to cover a gambling debt that’s not even his own.”
“You talked with my dad.”
“He’s a sweetheart. He told me to fight for you.” She grinned. “And he gave me his key to your apartment.”
He pulled her to him. “Remind me to thank him,” he whispered, bending down to claim her mouth, to claim her. This was the woman for him, and nothing could come between them.
Except…
He gently broke the kiss, pulling away to look down at her face. He saw confusion in her eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s not just about you and me. Alexander is part of this.”
“No, he—”
“They’ll never leave us alone,” he insisted.
She shook her head. “We can pay off your dad’s debt.”
He stepped back from her, gently stepping away from her outstretched hand urging him back to her. He ran his hands through his hair, dreading telling her. But she had to know.
When he looked back at her, she was smiling.
“What?”
“I like your hair blond. It’s sexy.”
“Paris, if we don’t pay them, they’re going to reveal that Alexander doesn’t exist.”
He watched her brow furrow and her mouth curl into a small, adorable frown. “The men in Vegas?” she asked.
He nodded.
“The press conference,” she said. “That guy was making a threat, and you were setting it up so that I could introduce me. It wasn’t the new character or the book deal or anything else you were thinking about.”
“If you don’t go public that you’re the real author, then you’ll be under their thumb forever.” He fixed his gaze upon her. “I can’t live with knowing I brought that on you.”
“Did you like being Alexander?”
“That’s not the issue.”
She nodded furiously. “Oh, yes. It’s exactly the issue. I’m without an Alexander. He can go back into seclusion, of course. But if you enjoyed it, he wouldn’t have to.”
“I loved it,” he admitted, then laughed. “Maybe I am my father’s son.”
She laughed. “And maybe you’re my soul mate. After all, I guess I’m Alexander, too.”
“Soul mates. I like the sound of that.”
“Can you do it? Even just part-time? Can you keep being Alexander and still manage your pub?”
Of course he could, but that wasn’t the point. “Paris, these men—”
“Can you?” she interrupted.
“Jerry’s been managing the pub here, and doing a great job. We close next week on the Boston pub, and I’ve got a couple of people in line to run it. I’ll need to spend some time up there getting it off the ground, supervising the finish-out, but nothing too extensive. I’d actually like not to have to do the day-to-day stuff. I’m more interested in opening a few more.” He smiled at her. “I thought Texas might be a good venue.”
“Well, see?”
No, he didn’t see. “All I know is that if Alexander becomes a recluse again, maybe these thugs will forget about you. If I’m out there front and center, they’ll hound us for life.”
“I’m not letting these men come between us. And I’m not letting them dictate what I do with my life or my books.” She turned to face him, her eyes defiant. “It took me a long time to realize that I can’t even do that for my dad. Not and be happy. I certainly won’t do it for some two-bit thugs who don’t have anything better to do than threaten invalid old men and helpless authors.”
“You’re hardly helpless,” he said, feeling proud as he watched her stand straight and determined. She was one gutsy woman.
“Well, I fudged a little on that part.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
She shook her head. “No. You?”
Neither did he. He studied the floor for a while, looking for a brilliant plan buried in the polished wood. Nothing.
But then…
He looked up, and she was staring at him, her eyes bright.
“I’ve got an idea,” they said together, then laughed.
THE MAN CALLED Carmen gave Paris the creeps, but the one called Bull outright scared her. A jagged scar cut across his cheek, his dark eyes cold.
For a moment, she wished she had a drink, but it was early in the morning and the pub was technically closed. She looked around the room at the empty tables. Just her and Devin and the creepazoid twins.
She squeezed Devin’s hand under the table and he squeezed back. His touch reassured her. She took a breath. Show time.
“You wanted me to bring her, and I did. But you’ll have to convince her,” Devin said. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the booth.
“I really don’t understand. What is it you gentlemen need to speak to me about?” she asked, resisting the urge to spit in their faces.
Carmen leered, revealing one gold tooth. “That’s a good question, Miss Sommers. You see we’re in the protection business. We know your little secret. And we can make certain that nobody else finds out.”
“Well, that’s interesting,” she said, leaning across the table and coming even closer to the disgusting beasts. “But I don’t really understand how it works.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Carmen proceeded to explain, in intricate detail, why his protection service was so effective, along with the amount of that pesky monthly charge that ensured the protection went on and on.
“So, what do you think, Paris? Have you heard enough?” Devin asked.
She replayed the conversation back in her mind. Not the cleanest evidence in the world, but it would do.
Paris flashed her best smile at Carmen and Bull. “Yes. Yes, I think I’ve heard everything I need to.”
Devin lifted his arm and rapped on the wall behind him. “Got that, guys?”
“Loud and clear,” came the muffled response, and Paris couldn’t help but smile when she saw the expression on Carmen’s and Bull’s faces.
When the two thugs were led away in cuffs amidst a flurry of activity Paris felt as though she was in one of her novels. She wanted to applaud, but quelled the urge. Instead, she kissed Devin.
“Thank you.”
Devin shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Your father’s the one who got Larry to come out here, and Larry’s the one who got the local cops involved.”
“I’m not the one who thought of calling my father.”
“There’s no guarantee that tape will stop them or even end anyone up in jail. The wheels of justice don’t exactly spin at a fast clip. You should know. But this way, harassing us is a lot less appealing.”
“I know. And blackmailing us would be pointless after we run through Plan B, so I’d say we’re all set.”
“Did you call Rachel?”
Paris nodded. “Everything’s ready. Are you?”
“Ready to spend the rest of my life with you? Oh, yeah. I’m ready.”
Paris laughed. “Ready for a press conference?”
Devin shrugged. “That, too.” He smiled at her, but made no move to walk to the door.
“What is it?”
“Have I told you today that I love you?”
She smiled. “Yeah. But you can tell me again.”
“I love you.”
Paris stretched her arms around his neck and kissed him, this man of her dreams who had literally made her fantasies come true. “I love you, too.”
HOUSTON, TEXAS—Bestselling author Devin O’Malley married his manager and recent co-author Paris Sommers yesterday. O’Malley is better known as Montgomery Alexander, the reclusive author of a popular series of espionage thrillers. O’Malley surprised Alexander’s fans six months ago by announcing at a press conference that Alexander was O’Malley’s pseudonym.
Even more surprising was the announcement that, for future books, Montgomery Alexander will be the pen name for the dual effort of Sommers and O’Malley. The couple revealed that the next Joshua Malloy book will team the superspy with a female partner, Vivian Jones, promising that the leather-clad, stiletto-wielding heroine will keep Malloy, and his fans, wanting more.
The ceremony was held in the bride’s family home in River Oaks. The bride’s father, Judge Patrick Sommers, performed the nuptials.
Devin tossed the paper on the floor and pulled his naked bride next to him. He liked the sound of that. Bride.
“You tired?”
She didn’t answer, just eased on top of him, moving her body over his until he was just as aroused as he’d been less than an hour before. And an hour before that.
She kissed the top of his ear. “What did you have in mind?”
“Research,” he said.
“More research?” she teased.
“Hey, Malloy’s never had a female partner before. If you’re going to write these scenes, you need to make sure you’ve done all the prep work.”
“Mmm, that’s very thoughtful.”
“Well, since you’re doing all the writing and I’m just a pretty face, I thought it only fair to do my part.”
She sat up, straddling his waist and arching her back as he reached up to stroke her breasts with one hand, teasing and tempting her. His Paris, his wife.
“Eventually,” she said, her voice ragged, “I’m going to have to stop researching and start writing.”
He chuckled, but didn’t stop. “All in good time, my dear. All in good time.”
”I WANT TO SEDUCE YOU.”
The five words were spoken softly, nearly whispered, yet Baltimore heard. Throughout the bustling city, people paused, falling under the spell of the sultry declaration that seemed to echo in the hot September night. Patrons in a Harbor Place bar hushed one another. Riders aboard a city bus craned forward to hear from the driver’s tinny speakers. Lights were flicked off in apartments around town as residents sat back in the candlelight to listen to her voice.
“Seduction. Even the word sounds erotic, doesn’t it? It rolls off the tongue and instantly floods the brain with the images that most excite us. Gentlemen, what would it take to seduce you? Is it soft, white lingerie, so pure and innocent it’s utterly sinful? Is it the flash of a woman’s eyes that says yes, even before you’ve asked the question?”
It was ten o’clock and tonight, as it had been for the past two months, Baltimore was at the feet of a mystery woman calling herself “Lady Love.” Near Charles Street a cabdriver flicked off his “available” light, slid his car behind a closed shopping center and settled in his seat to listen. A woman in a downtown row house lay in her bubble-filled tub, letting Lady Love take her away. Couples married twenty-five years turned off their televisions and looked at each other, feeling the spark her words always ignited.
“Maybe it’s a touch. If she runs the tip of her finger across your bottom lip, will you be able to think of anything except how much you want to kiss her? If she feeds you succulent fruit, letting you lick its juice from her hand, will you want to taste more? When she so carefully allows her short skirt to ride dangerously high on her leg as she steps out of a car, will you want to push her back in and take her to a secret hideaway?”
Most of the men she was speaking to screamed a silent “yes” in their brains, picturing the infamous Lady Love doing all these things. They’d never seen her, yet each felt they knew exactly what she looked like…she was tall and short, a redhead and a blonde, slim and elegant and built with Mae West curves. They laughed and kidded one another, telling ribald jokes even as they fantasized about meeting her, wondering if she could possibly look as good as she sounded.
Women wanted to hate her for the effect she had on their men. But once they listened to her, they understood that she was talking to them even more than she was to their mates. In Lady Love’s husky voice, they could hear their own fantasies and desires.
She had them and they adored her.
“And ladies, if he makes up his mind to make you desire him, can you possibly resist? If he stares deep into your eyes, and his breath comes faster across his lips, can you stop your body’s response? If he kisses the palm of your hand and whispers ‘I love the way you touch me,’ can you stop yourself from touching?
“It’s all about seduction. Making someone want you. Let’s talk about it. I want to hear from you…tell me how to seduce you.”
And, oh, how they wanted to tell her.
Baltimore settled back to spend four hours with their lady of the night, knowing now what she had in mind for them. They were never quite sure where she would take them when they turned her on. Some nights were light and playful, some heavy and erotic. She sometimes made them laugh, sometimes made them cry…but she always made them hot.
“This is Lady Love on WAJO…and you’re listening to Night Whispers.”
by Leslie Kelly
”WHAT HAS SHE DONE TO MY YARD?”
Mitch Wymore stared out his kitchen window and shook his head. Rubbing a weary hand against his unshaved jaw, he closed his eyes briefly. He’d just returned from a six-month research stint in China—his luggage still lay heaped on the floor in the foyer. He’d looked forward to returning to his brownstone, to his own huge bed, some real American junk food, and familiar surroundings. But this place didn’t look familiar! From the moment the taxi dropped him off in his driveway and he saw the little red sports car parked in his spot, he’d wondered if he was at the wrong house.
It wasn’t just the yard. The kitchen was changed. There were frilly yellow curtains at the window, and copper pots hung over the cooking island. The last time he’d seen them they’d been gathering dust in a box in the basement. A delicate-looking tea set perched on the sideboard. Pot holders and matching towels hung from a new towel rack. Fresh flowers burst out of a cut-crystal vase on the butcher-block table.
“Someone’s also been messing with my kitchen.”
Mitch didn’t really expect Fred to respond. He’d been speaking more to himself than to his tenant.
“Yeah, looks nice, doesn’t it?”
Mitch slowly turned on his heel and stared at him. He didn’t know Fred that well, despite the fact that the man had been renting the top-floor apartment in his home for the past year. Fred was a young grad student—serious, studious and quiet—the perfect tenant, and, frankly, that was just how Mitch liked it. They’d never socialized, and in the few encounters he’d had with Fred, he’d never seen him crack a real smile. Now a huge grin creased his face.
“Is there anything else I should know about?”
Fred’s grin widened, and Mitch nearly groaned.
“Well, she painted the dining room, fixed the cracked chair rail in the living room, and repapered the foyer.”
Mitch didn’t have to ask who “she” was. Of course, it was Kelsey.
He glanced back out the window and rolled his eyes. The quiet little courtyard he’d left six months ago had been a nice blend of stone patio, a few rosebushes and a little grass. Two stately old maples provided shade in the back corner. Nice and easy. Low maintenance.
Now it looked like the pictures of those English gardens, a mass of trees, shrubs and flowers. A stone path meandered around clumps of evergreens and mums. Some green, palmy thing hung right over the gate and he dreaded having to circumnavigate it when taking out the trash. A huge mound of wildflowers surrounded most of the back patio. There was even a fountain splashing merrily near the fence.
He hated it.
“I’m gonna strangle that kid.”
Tossing his keys onto the kitchen table, Mitch shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie. All he wanted to do was strip away his stale clothes and take a forty-five-minute shower. Instead, he was going to leap into a confrontation with Kelsey Logan, the bane of his childhood!
“Kid?” Fred asked.
Mitch didn’t pay him any attention. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let her move in here. She’s a menace, always has been, always will be. And she has liked nothing better than to irritate me since the day we met.”
Fred seemed surprised. “I don’t see her that way.”
“Believe me, you don’t know her.”
Mitch wished he’d told her mother no when she’d called last spring to ask if Kelsey could rent one of the apartments in the Baltimore brownstone he’d just renovated. But of all the people in the world, Marge Logan was one he couldn’t say no to. She’d done too much for him. He shuddered to think where he might be now if it hadn’t been for Marge and her husband Ralph—in jail, dead…no telling. So he’d said yes, hoping the move would be temporary and Kelsey would be long gone by the time he got back from his trip.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen Kelsey?” Fred asked.
“Not long enough,” he muttered. “Where is she?”
Fred pointed out the window toward the backyard. Mitch wasn’t surprised.
“I’d better be on my guard. That monster dumped a bucket of fertilizer—fresh fertilizer—on my head once, just because her brother and I made the mistake of walking through her vegetable garden.”
Fred laughed out loud until Mitch glared at him.
“I can’t begin to tell you the number of acts of terror she’s inflicted.” Mitch mentally ticked off memories in his head of the times she’d run his underwear up a flagpole, hidden dirty diapers beneath his bed—and then there was the time she’d told half the neighborhood that Mitch slept with a stuffed bear and liked to dress her Barbie dolls up as Southern belles. Oh, the list went on and on. And those were only the harmless pranks. She’d gotten him into real trouble a couple of times.
Mitch had, of course, retaliated. He’d considered pounding her into the ground, and if she’d been a boy, and five years older, that’s exactly what he would have done. Instead, he’d reacted by treating her exactly in the way he knew she’d hate most: he ignored her. It drove her nuts. He smiled at the memory.
“That was a long time ago, though,” Fred said.
“Of course, fifteen years ago,” Mitch conceded. “And I’m certainly not the type to hold a grudge. But I’m still going to strangle her.”
Mitch burst through the French doors onto the back patio, wondering why he’d been surprised at what she’d done. He should have expected it. After all, her mother owned a plant nursery in western Virginia, and Kelsey had always spent more time digging in the dirt than playing with dolls.
Mitch stopped staring at the changes in his yard and took a brief moment to enjoy the slight breeze. It was an utterly gorgeous afternoon. Indian summer had stretched into the last week of September and everything was golden and glowing. The aroma of honeysuckle and apples floated on the wind. For a moment Mitch let go of his anger to enjoy breathing clean air.
The months he’d spent in China doing research for his newest book project had been difficult. Much tougher than he’d expected. The initial thrill he always felt when immersing himself in a culture he planned to study had faded quickly amid the crowds, congestion and rigid political policies of the country. In retrospect, the months spent researching his first book, a text on the ancient Mayan civilization, now seemed like a cakewalk, though he’d been living in a small jungle village that didn’t even have a telephone.
Now that he was home, all Mitch wanted was quiet, solitude and privacy. He was ready to think, ready to absorb what he’d learned, and begin putting his thoughts on paper for the college textbook he was under contract to produce.
Fat chance, he thought. Solitude and quiet were two words he had never yet been able to associate with Kelsey Logan, the demon-child. He wondered how Baltimore had survived her presence.
Feeling a splash of water on his cheek, Mitch noticed he was standing directly in the path of a sprinkler. He grimaced, squared his shoulders and went to find Kelsey.
Mitch tiptoed along the stone walk and rounded a newly planted evergreen. Smothering a curse when he saw a little ceramic chipmunk, he restrained an impulse to kick it over the fence. Then he looked to the far corner of the yard and found her.
She obviously had been working. The pruning shears lay near some bushes, and a rake lay sprawled, spines up, across the lawn, just waiting for a Three Stooges-like accident to occur. Kelsey lay in a lounge chair with her back to him and he walked softly, being extremely careful to avoid potential mishaps with gardening tools. His shoes sank into the soft soil next to a leaking watering can. Glancing ruefully at the dirty Italian leather, he figured that was just one more thing to thank Kelsey for.
She didn’t notice him. He was a step or two behind her, far enough that he cast no shadow over her face to warn her of his presence.
Then he stopped dead in his tracks. This curvaceous, voluptuous even, woman in the lounge chair could not be Kelsey! He’d made a mistake. Kelsey was the skinny, obnoxious, freckle-faced younger sister of his best friend. So he hadn’t seen her in several years. She couldn’t have changed this much, could she?
She wore a devil-red bikini, which was damp with the sweat of her exertions and clung to her skin. Her legs were slightly bent and raised, a golden honey color, slender and about a mile long. His gaze slid up, taking in the gently flared hips and small waist, then on to the trim midriff and the deep vee of cleavage revealed by the low-cut bathing suit, and up to the top of her sun-streaked hair.
He stared as she reached a slim arm over the side of the chair and felt around until her hand brushed against her cool water glass. She caressed the side of it, her fingers becoming damp and slick with the condensation, and she smoothed a little of the water over her fingertips. Then she reached into the glass to fish out a piece of ice, shook it gently and brought it toward her chest.
He swallowed hard. The woman—Kelsey?—moved the ice just above her flesh, and Mitch watched each drop of water as it fell in a trail along her collarbone. When she finally lowered the ice to the hollow of her throat, he released the breath he’d been holding. Then he slowly drew in another as she moved the cube down her skin, allowing it to melt on her chest. He heard her small moan of contentment at the cool relief and very nearly echoed it. The ice disappeared quickly until her fingers were moving over her neck and shoulders with nothing but the tiniest sliver, and then just a few drops of water. Her hand remained motionless for a few moments, lightly resting on her throat, and he thought she’d perhaps fallen asleep. He considered backing up and retreating into the house, but she shifted slightly, and he remained still.
No. No, this couldn’t be Kelsey.
The last time he’d seen her had been at her high school graduation, seven years ago, back home in Virginia. She’d looked skinny and gawky and uncomfortable in the flowery dress her mother had made her wear under her graduation gown. They hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words that day, as Mitch had spent most of the time catching up with his buddy Nathan. She’d just been…there…little Kelsey the pest. When had she become little Kelsey the temptress? And where the hell had he been during her amazing transformation?
When she reached toward the glass, ostensibly for another piece, Mitch cleared his throat. He was not about to watch a repeat performance of what had undoubtedly been the most unconsciously seductive moment he’d ever witnessed.
“IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU SHOWED UP, Fred,” Kelsey said, not turning around to greet her upstairs neighbor. She felt too warm and lethargic to even open her eyes. She’d been working all morning, wanting everything perfect before Mitch returned home the next day. She suspected he wouldn’t be too happy about the work she’d done, but it was too late to worry about it now.
The warmth of the sun felt relaxing, not vicious as it could be in mid-July, but hazy and soothing, the way only an Indian summer sun in the mid-Atlantic states can feel. Alight breeze blew across her body, and where the ice had touched her skin, it brought delicious coolness. She could lounge like this all day. But it appeared Fred had finally come to help out.
“I’d just about finished without you—you said you’d be down by ten. Are you still going to help me get this place cleaned up?”
Kelsey sat up and stretched a little. Arching her back, she moved her head from side to side to work the kinks out of her neck. If she didn’t get back to work now she might never be able to. Her shoulders already felt achy.
“I’m going to pay for this tonight,” she said, not even turning to face him. “My arms are killing me from lugging the wheelbarrow around.”
Fred didn’t say anything, which wasn’t surprising. The man was incredibly shy. Until his girlfriend, Celia, had become friendly with Kelsey, he hadn’t spoken much more than a half-dozen words to her. After that, he’d come out of his shell and the three of them had become the best of friends.
“Let me,” he murmured very quietly. She didn’t know what he meant until he moved behind her chair and put his hands on her shoulders. Kelsey scooted forward on the lounge chair, dropping her chin to her chest so he could rub the back of her neck. He worked expertly on her tight muscles, and she instantly felt better. Kelsey was a little surprised. His hands felt rougher and stronger than she’d expect from someone who spent ten hours a day in a lab. He also pressed and stroked with complete confidence, not typical for a guy who seemed so shy around women.
“Wow,” she said with a lazy drawl, “I think you have a future as a masseur.”
He still didn’t say anything. She didn’t mind. Fred was sturdy and dependable, a little too serious, but a great neighbor. He minded his own business and yet always let her know she could call on him if needed. She hoped Mitch’s return tomorrow wouldn’t upset the peaceful balance they’d created in the brownstone.
Mitch didn’t know what crazy impulse made him reach out to massage Kelsey’s shoulders. He’d been about to confront her when his hands had moved with a mind of their own. And once he’d started, he’d been no more able to stop than a flower could resist turning up to the sun. So he kept touching her, kneading her flesh, rubbing the golden skin, which felt smoother than the silks he’d touched in China. He had an overwhelming urge to kiss the base of her neck, and only her next question stopped him.
“So what time do you think Mitch will be home tomorrow?”
What was he doing? This was Kelsey! He’d known that, consciously, from the moment she started speaking. He recognized the slight Virginia drawl and the deep voice she’d inherited from her mother. When she was little, Kelsey used to get mad when her family teased her that she sounded like a boy. But she had most definitely grown into it. She sounded the way Mitch thought velvet soaked in whiskey would sound, if it could make noise.
“His high holiness isn’t going to be pleased about the yard.”
Kelsey had started calling him “his high holiness” the very first summer he’d come to stay with her family, since she’d had to share her room with the baby so Mitch could bunk with Nathan. She’d put peanut butter between his toes the very first night! He shook off the seductive spell he’d been under. This was Kelsey. This was no temptress. He stood up and backed a step away from the chair.
“Do you think we should kowtow when he gets back? I bet he loved being in China where everyone bowed to him.”
He didn’t question the impulse. Grinning evilly, Mitch bent down, picked up the large watering can and dumped the contents all over her head.
When the dirty water hit her, Kelsey shrieked, then leaped up with laughter on her lips. “You rat,” she said as she shook off the moisture, spraying him with several drops.
Mitch watched her glance over her shoulder and saw the smile fade from her face as she recognized him. When she turned around, he tried not to stare. He really tried. And failed miserably.
Kelsey, the ten-year-old monster, was long gone. Kelsey, the scrawny freckle-faced teenager, had disappeared, too. Here was Kelsey the beauty. The sharp angles of her face had softened with maturity and the freckles had faded into the creamy skin. Her sun-streaked honey-colored hair brushed the curves of her breasts, which were barely covered by the red bikini top. Her eyes were the same brilliant green as her father’s, and her mouth, which he’d longed to slug at least two dozen times in his youth, was generous and eminently kissable.
Damn.
“Hello, Mitch,” Kelsey finally managed to whisper.
What was he doing here? He was a day early, and Kelsey was not at all prepared to greet her new landlord in her bathing suit. Mitch had looked at her like a bratty little kid for so many years, she’d planned to be smartly dressed, cultured, urbane and adult when they finally met again. How typical of him to come back early and spoil everything.
“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.” Her voice cracked and she cursed herself for being a coward.
“I can see that,” Mitch said. “Been doing a little gardening, hmm?”
He didn’t sound pleased. Then again she hadn’t really expected him to be. But Kelsey ignored the warning tone in his voice and gestured around the yard. “It just needed a little sprucing up. Isn’t it beautiful? Think of the garden parties you could throw here now.”
Mitch didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, leaving her feeling terribly exposed. She grabbed her T-shirt and yanked it on over her head, plucking at the ends to try to cover her hips. He still stared, and she realized how foolish she must look trying to cover up what he’d obviously already seen.
“How was China?” she asked inanely.
“Crowded.”
He didn’t say another word, just continued to stare piercingly at her, as if he almost didn’t recognize her. Well, two could play at that game, she figured. She lifted her chin and stared right back.
She wished she hadn’t. Mitch had always been too good-looking for her own good. His thick dark hair, as brown as mahogany, hung a little long, nearly brushing his collar. The breeze blew a lock of it onto his forehead, and Kelsey had a moment’s impulse to brush it off. His eyes, which probably should have been dark brown to match his hair, were instead a deep midnight blue. The contrast was incredibly dramatic. His face was lean, with a slight five-o’clock shadow highlighting the sculpted jaw. She wondered how rough it would feel on her skin, then shook off the thought and glanced over the rest of him.
Mitch’s six-foot form was lean and solid as ever and, even clad in a white dress shirt and tailored slacks, he looked athletic and muscular. Not bulky, she noted, but toned, with a runner’s legs and strong rower’s arms. He had played a lot of sports as a teen, she remembered, and he and her older brother Nathan had been the two best athletes in their high school. She recalled being in sixth grade, watching their basketball games, proud when her friends would giggle and whisper about Nate, but somehow annoyed when they did the same thing about Mitch. If Emmy Frasier could see Mitch now, she’d positively faint at his feet. He was one fine male specimen.
“Finished?” He gave her a slight, knowing smile.
“Are you?” she asked, knowing he’d done his fair share of staring. He narrowed his eyes. Kelsey decided to call round one even. But she knew from experience the war was a long way from over. After all, they’d been battling since they were kids.
Years before, Kelsey’s mother had offered to take Mitch in while his archaeologist parents traveled. Mitch got in so much trouble the first summer for smoking, drinking and sneaking out, that Kelsey thought he’d be shipped off to military school, something his own parents had threatened. The residents in the sleepy little town of Billings, Virginia, just hadn’t known what to make of a rich, big-city kid with a huge chip on his shoulder. But Marge Logan had a soft heart, and Mitch kept coming back. His visits eventually grew longer until he was spending most of the year with them.
Little Kelsey, who thought all boys were totally gross, already had her hands full with her two brothers. So she did everything she could to get rid of Mitch. Her pranks had been relentless, but for the most part he’d ignored them. The angriest he ever got was when she purposely changed the time on his watch and car clock one night before he went out. His date’s father had been livid when his sixteen-year-old got in at two in the morning instead of midnight. It didn’t hurt that the girl was the daughter of the mayor. That had been the end of that budding romance.
Kelsey’s campaign of terror came to a screeching halt when she was twelve and realized just how handsome Mitch was. Suddenly it didn’t seem so bad to have him around. She tried everything to make him notice her. But he’d never seen her as anything but a pesky kid.
Kelsey smiled slowly. He saw her as an adult now, though. She had seen the expression on his face in that first unguarded moment, and knew he would never see her as a child again. She raised her chin a notch and squared her shoulders. Oh, yes, he saw her as a woman. And he certainly was a man.
“Exactly what have you done to my home?” he asked.
Not “Thank you.” Not “Hello, Kelsey, it’s nice to see you after all these years, how are your folks.” Mitch was spoiling for a fight. She couldn’t really say she was surprised.
“I made some improvements.” Trying to ignore the tone in his voice, she bent to clean up some of the tools she’d left lying around. Her loose T-shirt slid up, baring her middle. “This house didn’t even look lived in. How long have you had it, anyway?”
“Uh, I’m sorry, what?”
Kelsey glanced up to see Mitch staring in fascination at her bare midriff. He looked decidedly uncomfortable. She dropped her lashes and suppressed the grin threatening to spread across her face. Well, wasn’t this interesting? God, how many years had she waited to see that look on his face?
“I said,” she answered slowly, leaning even farther to retrieve the rake, “how long have you had this place?”
She watched his eyes shift again toward the thigh and hip she displayed. “Three years,” he choked out.
“I was sure you wouldn’t mind me sprucing up things a little,” she replied sweetly. “I know how much you travel and assumed you didn’t have time to make this house a real home.”
Kelsey looked for something else to pick up, liking the purely dumbfounded expression he still wore. She started folding the lawn chair, taking her sweet time about it, and allowed it to brush against her legs. A spot of grease or dirt smudged her thigh. Rubbing at it with the palm of her hand, Kelsey slowly wiped away the stain, knowing he was watching her every move. His eyes were twin drills on her flesh. She savored it.
“Your letter did say that I could make myself at home, and should feel free to use the yard and kitchen, didn’t it? I mean, the little efficiency in my apartment isn’t good for much more than warming soup.”
“Yes, yes, of course I said that,” he replied absently. “But I meant you could use the kitchen, not redecorate it. And what about this jungle?”
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Kelsey pulled her T-shirt up to her waist and efficiently tied it in a knot. Mitch looked more and more uneasy, shifting back and forth on his feet and cracking his knuckles. She watched as he dropped his gaze to her bare middle and it was all Kelsey could do to remain nonchalant. She’d waited half her life for Mitch to stop treating her like a little sister. And now that he’d noticed she was a woman, she was not about to back down.
Mitch wanted to yank his shirt off and cover her from neck to knee. Obviously she wasn’t conscious of her provocative appearance. No. Kelsey saw him as another older brother, or she wouldn’t be so casual about her state of dress…or undress. Right now, though, distinctly unbrotherly thoughts buzzed around Mitch’s mind like a swarm of bees.
He shook his head again. Stop it, he told himself, this is just Kelsey, still Kelsey. Closing his eyes, he began to work up the indignation that had somehow evaporated in the minute or two that he’d been mindlessly staring at her.
“No, it isn’t lovely. It’s a pain in the neck. I had the yard exactly the way it was because I travel so much and I’m not here to maintain it.” He gestured with wide arms to the profusion of plants. “Who’s going to take care of it? I’m already paying a fortune to the guy who mows while I’m away.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Kelsey replied, tossing her hair over one shoulder.
“You? You’re going to be gone soon, aren’t you? Your mother said this move was temporary, and you’d be here only a few months. Just an internship to give you a little big-city broadcasting experience, right?”
Kelsey smiled a little. So he wanted her gone, did he?
“I’ve been offered a permanent job at the radio station here and I’ve accepted. I’m staying in Baltimore. Looks like we’re going to be long-term neighbors, Mr. Landlord.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. That wasn’t part of the deal. Mitch had been able to handle Kelsey renting the middle-floor apartment when it was only for a few months and he would be away. But now…how was he supposed to stand having her right upstairs all the time…every day…every night? If seeing her T-shirt ride up over that smooth skin was enough to send heat rushing through his body, what would happen if he had to lie in bed night after night and imagine her slumbering, drowsy and sensual, just above him?
And, of course, there were the days to worry about. Kelsey was a whirling tornado, sweeping everything around her into her energetic world. Mitch had struggled long and hard to achieve some tranquility in his life, especially after his turbulent teenage years. His now quiet existence lent itself very well to his writing, which was technical, engrossing and required his full attention. He hated distractions. No way could they be roommates.
“Forget it.”
“What do you mean, forget it?”
“I mean,” he replied slowly, as if to a child, “forget it. Your mother said a few months and it’s already been six.”
Kelsey flinched, and Mitch saw a flash of hurt in her bright green eyes. She obviously hadn’t expected him to react this way. Mitch mentally cursed his own lack of tact, wondering when Kelsey had gotten so thin-skinned.
“You’re throwing me out? Why? I mean, I know we were never best friends or anything, but we certainly weren’t enemies.”
How could he make her understand without appearing to be a complete fool? He could not come right out and tell her he didn’t want to live under the same roof with her because she looked as delicious as solid sin, and she was his best friend’s baby sister and, therefore, off-limits. Nor could he tell her she was a major pain in the butt and he simply didn’t want her causing trouble!
Then Mitch thought about her parents. If they’d tossed him out the way he was trying to do to their daughter, his life could have ended up very brief or very ugly.
At thirteen, when he’d first started spending a great deal of time with the Logan family, Mitch had been full of resentment and anger toward his parents for their neglect. Their need to constantly travel, to nurture their fascination for antiquities, had left him with a childhood full of nannies and paid caregivers. Mitch had convinced himself that no one would give a damn if he spent his teen years in self-destruct mode. If it hadn’t been for Marge Logan, an old college friend of his mother’s, Mitch would probably have continued right into juvenile hall, drug rehab or much worse. She and Ralph had given him what he really needed: a loving, stable home life. And their son, Kelsey’s older brother Nathan, had become his lifelong best friend.
He owed them all. Big time.
Besides, he didn’t want Kelsey living in some bad part of town. She was almost like his own little sister, and he needed to look after her just as her family would expect. And that twinge of—what should he call it—desire? Hell, put the right name on it. It was pure lust. That had just been a fluke. He hadn’t recognized her. He’d been out of the country for six long, celibate months, and she’d been the first attractive woman he’d seen when he got back. It didn’t go any deeper than that.
“I’m sorry,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Mitch was trying to figure out how to put the situation right when Kelsey breathed a deep sigh, tossed her head and squared her back so straight that one thin strap of red slithered over her shoulder and disappeared down the front of her oversize T-shirt.
Desire coursed through him again. “Stay. Please stay.”
Kelsey couldn’t understand his quick changes in temper. His mood ran so hot and cold, it seemed she didn’t know him at all, even though she’d known him most of her life. One moment he was staring at her as if she were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and the next he told her to get out. A big part of her was tempted to tell him to go to the devil, that she’d be out tomorrow.
But Kelsey really didn’t want to leave. She loved this stately old house, even if only one floor of it was actually hers. She’d made it her home. Mitch traveled a lot, they should not see each other too often. Still, she hesitated. What about that flare of attraction? There had been a definite spark, and even now, minutes later, Kelsey could still feel his intense gaze on her skin. But it hadn’t meant anything to him, obviously. He still saw her as a nuisance he didn’t want underfoot. So what if he’d given her a second look? Since she’d bloomed into a woman, long after she had given up on such an occurrence, men had been giving her a lot of second looks…and third ones. It didn’t mean anything!
As for her instant reaction to him, well, that wouldn’t be a problem. She’d always thought Mitch was attractive, but had grown used to it over the years. His admiration gave her a little boost of pleasure because she’d wanted it so much at age sixteen. It was a powerful moment, that was all. Not to be regretted, certainly, but also not to be repeated.
Besides, Mitch looked utterly exhausted. His movements were slow, and his eyelids drooped. She imagined his foul mood was caused by fatigue from a couple of days of traveling across the world. That would explain his strange behavior since he’d gotten home.
He seemed to sense her hesitation. “You’ll save me a lot of trouble. I mean, it felt weird having Fred move into my home, and I would hate to rent the apartment to a stranger.”
Kelsey nodded, her decision made. “All right, I’ll stay.”
Mitch released the breath he had not even realized he’d been holding. “I’m glad.”
“Me, too.” Kelsey smiled brightly. “I promise, I’ll keep out of your hair. And you will not regret this yard.”
If the yard was the only thing he came to regret about Kelsey living in his house, Mitch figured he’d be getting off lightly.
”WHAT IS THE REAL DEFINITION of sexiness?”
Lady Love paused for a moment, letting listeners think about tonight’s topic. She always opened her show with a hook, getting them interested enough to stay tuned even though it was ten o’clock on a work night. One of the greatest compliments she’d ever been paid was when a caller told her he always got in trouble for being late to work, because he just couldn’t turn off her show until it ended every night.
“Sometimes people confuse good looks with sexiness. I’m sure all of us have seen photographs of the beautiful people of the world, or stopped on the street to watch some physically perfect person walk by. No question, physical beauty works to attract us. But be honest. Ladies, who makes your knees shake, your lips quiver and your heart beat like it’s going to explode from your chest…a man so gorgeous he’s prettier than you are? Or is it a man exuding confidence? The one who has that look in his eyes, that look that tells you he’s undressed you mentally and already brought you to mind-blowing fulfillment?”
She took a deep breath, purposely exhaling across the microphone, knowing that, in apartments or cars around Baltimore, her audience was doing the same thing. She let the tension build, let them fantasize a little, then continued.
“Gentlemen, you know what I’m talking about. A perfect model type might catch your eye, but be truthful…she’s easily forgotten. So what kind of woman gets under your skin, like an itch you can’t quite reach? Is it the brunette sitting at a nearby table who eats a piece of fruit like she’s making love to it? Is it the woman in the tailored suit, the one with the glasses and businesslike hairstyle, who’s got a curve in her hips and a long, slow stride that makes your mouth water?
“Sexiness…not just good looks. Is it the walk, the sigh, the mouth, or the steady stare? It’s all in the eye of the beholder. So, tell me what you see as sexy. Call me. This is Lady Love on WAJO and I want to hear from you.”
Kelsey Logan leaned back in her seat and spun a George Michael CD that fit tonight’s topic perfectly. Leaning back in her chair, she listened to the music and allowed the lyrics to enhance her mood. She studied the fluorescent tube light above her head and thought about her own definition of sexy. One male image came to mind—strong, confident, intelligent, with lips that made her weak just thinking about them. Lady Love’s definition of sexy lived right downstairs from her. She smiled. By the time the song ended, Kelsey was well prepared for tonight’s Night Whispers.
FOUR HOURS LATER, when the show was over, Kelsey wearily slipped out of the booth, nodding to the late-night deejay who would run the graveyard two-to-six shift. He barely looked at her. She sighed in resignation. The guy still hadn’t gotten over the fact that the station manager, Jack McKenzie, had given her the ten-to-two slot for Night Whispers, even though she was a rookie intern with only small-town radio experience.
Kelsey still couldn’t quite believe it herself. She’d figured, when she came to Baltimore, fresh off a two-year stint as the morning personality at a tiny little country-western station in Virginia, that she’d have to work hard to eventually achieve big-city success. She’d been as stunned as everyone else when she’d received instant rave reviews after filling in for a vacationing deejay a few months before.
And it had all started with Mick Jagger’s lips.
She still laughed when she thought about it. She’d been trying so hard to be good—trying to stay within the boundaries the regular night guy had left in his notes. Just spin the CDs, he’d said, no cutesy stuff, no stupid voices, no jokes.
Why she suddenly had the urge to invite callers to vote on Mick Jagger’s lips, she’d never know.
It had been just one remark, one question. She’d just airguitared her way through “Satisfaction” and, when it was over, had leaned into her mike and said, “What is it with this guy’s lips? I can’t decide…are they sexy as sin or repulsive as hell?”
Dozens of callers had flooded the phone lines, debating her question. Inspired by their comments, Kelsey had gone on to propose other provocative topics. And Night Whispers had been born. The show had begun airing in its regular slot two weeks later and she’d never looked back, never even paused to take a deep breath.
Every night, listeners clogged the phone lines, anxious to get on the air to talk about the sexy subjects Lady Love introduced. Brian, her producer, said it was because the city was full of closet exhibitionists who liked the anonymity of the radio. Of course, Brian would know about those things. He freely admitted that once he’d firmly slipped out of his own closet, he’d met plenty of flamboyant people.
Leaning against the doorjamb, she watched as Brian tidied his workstation, then tugged an expensive khaki raincoat over his immaculate silk dress shirt. The man’s taste in clothes was remarkable. She’d never seen anyone, male or female, with as keen a fashion sense or as true an eye for color. He could, and did, wear every shade imaginable. Except, of course, for pale pink. Because, he’d explained, for a gay man, it was so redundant.
“Great show, doll,” he said as he joined her in the hall outside the studio.
“Thanks, Bri. As usual, I couldn’t have done it without you. Have you got Jack’s approval for the rest of this week’s shows?”
“Done. He gave me some grief about the erotica bit. We have to be real careful with the callers that night.”
Kelsey shrugged. “When don’t we have to be careful?”
Brian cinched his belt tight around the waist of his raincoat. “You know how station managers are…covering their own butts while we take all the risks.”
She paused, giving him a sultry grin. “Taking risks is such fun, though, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely, Lady Love. Absolutely.” He hooked his arm in hers as they left the building.
KELSEY HAD THE NEXT NIGHT off and took advantage of the extra time to get some chores done. She stood in the basement Saturday afternoon, finishing up laundry while mentally going over some show ideas. She was completely lost in thought.
“Is it really necessary for you to hang your panty hose on the doorknob?”
Kelsey screeched and dropped the bottle of liquid laundry detergent she’d been carefully pouring. It careened off the corner of the washing machine, tipped end over end and splashed to the floor. A bright blue sticky trail led to a plate-sized pool next to her foot.
“You scared me half to death!”
Ignoring Mitch, she grabbed a towel from a stack of clean clothes on top of the dryer and began mopping up the detergent from the basement floor. He had surprised her. Kelsey hadn’t seen Mitch very much in the week since he’d been home. She’d tried to be quiet, knowing he was sleeping a lot the first few days. Then he’d pretty much locked himself in his apartment to work on his book.
“You’re using one of Fred’s towels.”
She didn’t look up from her task. “Your point being?”
“You might ruin it.”
“Oh, no.” She sighed dramatically. “Oh dear. How will it ever come clean? All this terrible mess staining his towel. What could possibly be harder to get out of terry cloth than…laundry detergent?”
Kelsey peeked through her lashes at Mitch and saw the corner of his mouth twitch. His shoulders shook, and the grin widened until she saw the dimple in his left cheek.
“You’re such a brat.”
“Nice to see you, too,” she said as she dropped Fred’s towel into the laundry sink.
“About the panty hose…”
Snagging the offending items out of his hand, Kelsey stuffed them into the laundry basket and gave him a saucy grin. “Good thing you didn’t come in a couple of hours ago when I washed my…other unmentionables.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen ladies’ underclothes, Kels.” He narrowed his eyes. “Yours included.”
“I don’t wear little pink unicorns anymore.”
No, he didn’t imagine she did. Mitch tried very hard to dash the image of Kelsey wearing a black silk teddy from his mind. But he failed miserably. It didn’t help that he had been thinking about her in that red bikini for the past week.
She certainly wasn’t dressed enticingly now. She wore a pair of faded jeans, torn at the knees, which had obviously seen better days. A thick, shining ponytail bounced with her every move. A huge cartoon mouse covered the front of her T-shirt. But she still managed to look incredibly sexy.
Mitch had been avoiding her. He could admit that to himself, not that he’d ever let her know. For days, he’d locked himself in his study, ostensibly working, but often just listening for her footsteps above his head. She didn’t make much noise, and sometimes Mitch didn’t know if she was even home. Except at night. She kept late nights. Her bedroom was right above his and he heard her when she got into her creaky bed at around three in the morning. It was as he had feared. Sometimes he swore he could hear her breathing and the rustling of her bedcovers as she made herself comfortable.
Bath time was the worst. Kelsey seemed to scorn showers, but nearly every evening, at around six, she’d run a bath. From the length of time the water ran, he’d say it was a very deep bath. Soft strains of music would sometimes drift down through the pipes, and often an hour would pass before he’d hear the tub drain. Sometimes he’d close his eyes and picture her, with her hair up on her head and a few loose tendrils hanging down, leaning back in the claw-foot tub wearing nothing but a thick coat of bubbles.
“Carry this for me, will you?”
Kelsey pressed one laundry basket into his arms, then walked up the basement stairs with the other one. In the kitchen, Mitch set the basket on the table, casually lifted her slacks and started folding. She did the same.
“How’s the book coming?”
Kelsey knew Mitch was writing a textbook on the inherent changes in post-Tiananmen Square China. His first anthropology textbook, which had just been released a few months ago, was already in use at various colleges. That had surprised some folks back home to no end. Many people couldn’t forget his teenage reputation as the resident hooligan.
He shrugged. “Just scratching the surface.”
“You know, I still can’t picture it. You, a college professor and now a textbook writer. When I first met you, I figured you would do something adventurous or daring with your life.” She shook her head in wonder. “It’s just that, I don’t know, you seem so different. I guess I saw you being something like your parents, the big-shot archaeologists, but more along the lines of Indiana Jones, whip and all.”
“And instead,” Mitch said with a wry smile, “you find I’m just a boring, conservative bookworm.”
Kelsey eyed him speculatively. He might be able to fool some people with that reclusive writer bit, but she knew him too well. She saw the dangerous gleam in his eyes and the sardonic smile on his lips. The way he held himself, all coiled and ready for action, and the way his voice dropped to a whisper when he was angry spoke volumes. He might have learned some self-restraint, but inside Mitch Wymore there still lurked a potential hell-raiser.
“Yeah, right. And I’m a debutante,” she drawled.
She read the laughter in his dark blue eyes as he looked her over, head to toe, his gaze lingering on the haphazard ponytail and the wisps of hair dangling over her forehead.
“Come on. What’s the story? How did Mitch the bad seed end up like this?”
“Why are you so surprised? I’ve always loved reading, writing and researching. Never had much problem in school…at least not academically. I’ve inherited that from my parents.” He pulled a chair out and sat down at the table.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she muttered, disgust lacing her voice, “I heard all about it. Doctorate by twenty-six. Gag me.”
He grinned. “You did ask. Anyway, I taught for a while, found I didn’t much like being restricted by class schedules and grading papers. Writing seemed a perfect alternative.”
“Yeah, but why textbooks?”
“Well, I’d been writing articles for journals, magazines, National Geographic and the Smithsonian, that kind of thing.”
If anyone else had said something like that, they would probably be accused of bragging. But Kelsey had known him long enough to know that Mitch wasn’t touting his accomplishments. He merely stated fact.
“Anyway, I called a publishing company to complain that they kept updating texts and raising the prices so high my students couldn’t afford to take my classes. I made some contacts at the company, found myself asking questions about how these texts were written. Sounded interesting. I liked the idea of travel and research and writing, and tying it all together with academia.”
“Think you’ll ever go back to teaching?”
“Probably. I did give some guest lectures at the university in Beijing, since I was working closely with one of their professors. I might teach a class here next semester, just to keep my foot in the door. But thanks to a nice little trust fund from my grandfather, I’m not tied down to a nine-to-five job. And that’s the key, because maybe next time the company will need something on the tribes of the Amazon and I’ll be off again.”
It all made sense, in his annoyingly logical way. She had always pictured Mitch ending up a world explorer like his parents. But their careers had cost him a real family life during his childhood, and had instilled in him a need for security. It appeared he’d found a way to do his adventuring in spurts, allowing him to also be the academic, the writer…the loner.
That was the part that bothered her. Mitch seemed very much alone. “Do you see much of your parents?”
“Not really. They’re wrapped up in their newest project outside Cairo. But they were here last Christmas. It was the first holiday we’ve spent together in about ten years. I have to admit, it was nice seeing them.” He chuckled. “I think they’ve finally stopped worrying I’m going to end up in jail.”
Kelsey didn’t know the elder Wymores very well. They’d always seemed very exotic to her, and when Mitch first started coming around, she’d envied him his world-traveling parents. But once she realized just how unimportant he felt to them, she’d thanked her lucky stars for her own homebody family.
“I’m glad you’ve worked things out with them.”
Though he shrugged and maintained a nonchalant expression, Kelsey suspected he, too, was glad to have some sort of relationship with his only living relatives.
“I imagine you’re getting a lot done on your book,” she said, trying to lighten the conversation, “the way you keep yourself locked in your study.”
“Lonely, Kelsey?”
“No, of course not,” she insisted. “Actually, it’s nice having the house so quiet. Fred makes almost no noise, which has been great since I started working the night shift and sleeping late in the morning.”
“Night shift? Since when?”
“Well,” she said, wishing she’d not brought up the subject, “two months ago I filled in for Mafia Don when he was on vacation. And it went over pretty well. It was my first shot on the air alone here, and I guess I did a good job. “
“Mafia Don’s the guy who handles the evening rush-hour show, right? The one who always argues with every caller? I didn’t realize you were working with him.”
“After my internship, they offered me a permanent job at the station. I was just supposed to work with Dr. Hal, the shrink. He went kind of nuts on the air one day,” Kelsey said with a small grin. “He started yelling at people, comparing their problems with his own. He, uh…got a little personal…something about liking to wear high heels and fruit on his head. That was his last day. So they temporarily expanded Don’s show and made me his on-air sidekick.”
“Kelsey Logan, the ‘pay attention to me’ queen, somebody’s sidekick? I have trouble picturing that.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. Anyway, Don was away, I filled in, got a great response, and they gave me a shot at my own show.”
“Do they have you doing the world issues in the evenings?”
“Not exactly,” she said as she quickly grabbed a shirt.
“What then?”
Kelsey finished the last shirt and stacked everything back in the empty laundry basket. Stalling further, she got a glass and poured herself some ice water, hoping he’d move on to something else while she slowly drank it.
Mitch didn’t budge. He cocked his head in that irritating way and raised an eyebrow, as he always had when waiting for her to take her turn in Monopoly when she’d just rounded the corner toward Boardwalk and he had all the hotels!
“It’s a new show, okay?” she said, finally. “Right now I’m just winging it. The topic changes constantly.”
Mitch knew she’d been itching for a break on a big-city station. Her mother had said Kelsey had been a big hit on the local station back home. With her talent for impersonations and her quick wit, Kelsey was a natural performer. She had always said she’d be on stage, TV, film or on the radio. Most times he’d just wished she’d be on another planet.
“What time are you on?”
“Late night. Ten to two.”
Mitch frowned. “You mean you’re working until two in the morning in a nearly deserted building in a not-so-great part of town?”
“It’s perfectly safe. There are plenty of people around at night, including a security guard. And I park right by the door. Would you please stop treating me like a little girl?” she snapped.
Mitch bit back a retort. He hadn’t meant to patronize her. But he’d promised her parents she’d be safe living in Baltimore. He hadn’t been around to keep an eye on her for the first several months, but intended to remedy that starting right now. He was going to look after her whether she liked it or not.
Kelsey saw the caretaker look in his eye and was not in the mood to deal with it. No way was she going to start explaining to him about Night Whispers and hear his lecture about why she shouldn’t do it. That would come soon enough.
“Thanks for your help. I’ll see you later,” Kelsey said as she tried to stack the two laundry baskets together.
Mitch grabbed one away from her and said, “Let me help.”
Kelsey moved toward the heavy oak door that led into the hallway. The hall extended along one side of the house, from back to front. She always used it to access the kitchen and, of course, the basement laundry room. Mitch, however, walked toward the other door, which led into his living room. She followed him.
There were two entrances to Mitch’s apartment, one from the main foyer of the house, and the other from the kitchen. Kelsey had felt free to enter his private rooms to clean and decorate while he was away, but had not set foot in this area since his return. The first thing she noticed was the clutter.
“Good grief, have you put anything away since you got home?”
Papers and pamphlets covered the coffee table, and six months’ worth of junk mail erupted from the top of the trash can. She figured he was using the living room as a temporary office because the room he used as a study was already crammed with books, papers and files.
“You need a maid.”
“Volunteering?”
“Not on your life,” she retorted. “I remember how you nearly ripped my head off when I was twelve and I tried to clean off that desk you and Nathan used to share.”
“Don’t go there, Kelsey. You purposely threw out a lot of my mail. And you tossed one of Nathan’s songs.”
“Well,” she admitted, “I was getting a little sick of you rereading those notes from Melanie Thompson. And the day Nathan actually learns to play the guitar and write music will be the day I sprout wings and fly home.”
“Thank goodness he gave up on that,” Mitch agreed with a grin.
Kelsey returned the bright smile, thinking how unfair it was for a man to have those gorgeous dimples and sensual lips. She walked past him as he held open the door to the foyer with his foot.
Mitch walked up the steep wooden stairs right behind Kelsey. Watching her walk in tight jeans was a joy any man would want to behold, and he enjoyed every moment of it. He found himself wondering once again when she had filled out so beautifully. Before he thought better of it, he asked her. “Kelsey, when exactly did you change?”
She laughed lightly. “I haven’t changed, Mitch. I’m still the rotten little teaser I was all those years ago. I’ve just learned some self-control.”
“I meant physically.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You mean, when did I fill out?”
Mitch nodded. He really didn’t know why he’d asked her—it seemed stupid to come right out and admit to her that he’d noticed her looks. The woman was already too confident. “You’re…so different than you were.”
“I’m a late bloomer, I guess. Mom said she was the same way and she kept promising me that one day I’d wake up and not look like a Popsicle stick with a head on it. She was right.”
She most certainly was. Kelsey was curvy and feminine, soft and supple. He found himself thinking about how perfectly their bodies would fit together, but realized he could get totally lost if he let his mind travel down that road. And the fact that he was having these thoughts about little Kelsey Logan made them even worse!
“Anyway, I realized I had ‘arrived’ when I was a sophomore in college and was out running. The captain of the football team ran into a goalpost when I went by. I didn’t know why until my friends told me it was because he was staring at me.”
“What did you do?” he asked. “Reenact the whole humiliating event for your dorm that night?”
Kelsey frowned. “I wasn’t a ten-year-old anymore, Mitch.”
“I’m sorry,” he admitted, knowing he’d offended her. “I’m sure you didn’t laugh at him.”
She shook her head. “I should say not. The poor guy ended up with a dislocated shoulder. I felt so bad I went out with him several times, and we had absolutely nothing in common.”
“Poor thing,” he murmured, “going from plain-Jane to queen of the prom overnight, and forced to go on several dates with the captain of the college football team.”
“Well,” she laughed, “I guess it wasn’t so bad at that.”
Mitch looked around her apartment as they entered. He hadn’t seen it since she had moved in and had to admit it looked great. Kelsey’s talent with plants was evidenced by the amount of greenery, and pictures of her family were everywhere. He paused to look at the latest photos of her parents, trying to remember how long it had been since he’d seen them.
A wicker patio set stood in a sunny corner by the rear bay window, and he walked around it to glance outside. “No wonder you work in the yard so much. You have the best view in the house.”
Kelsey moved next to him. “You have to admit, I did a good job. Aren’t you glad I took the initiative?”
“You always do. Jump first, look later,” he said steadily.
“Like you used to.” She dared him to deny it. He didn’t try.
They fell silent and Kelsey suddenly realized just how close together they’d been standing. She shivered a little as his arm brushed her shoulder. She could feel his breath on her hair, and she finally looked up into his sculpted face. He wasn’t looking out the window anymore. Instead he stared at her intently.
A thick, dark lock of hair hung down on Mitch’s forehead. Unable to resist, Kelsey reached up to brush it with the back of her hand. She couldn’t seem to pull her fingers away. The moment stretched as Kelsey stared into his blue eyes. He had dark, sooty lashes that were too long for a man, and his lids lowered slightly as his gaze dropped to study her lips. She sensed he was thinking of kissing her. Kelsey wanted him to—at that moment, she was dying for him to—but he didn’t.
Mitch drew in a ragged breath. Expectation filled the air, fueled by the unexpected touch of Kelsey’s soft hand. A rush of excitement surged in his chest, until he remembered whose soft, feminine, sweet-smelling body he was reacting to. He stepped back and walked to the door.
“Mitch?”
He stopped with his hand on the knob but didn’t turn around.
“Thank you for your help,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome, Kelsey.”
A FEW HOURS LATER, Mitch still wondered how he could possibly even have contemplated kissing Kelsey. What if he had given in to his impulse and done it? Considering how much he’d been thinking about her, and how his body responded every time she was in the same room, he imagined they’d have spent the entire afternoon in bed.
Mitch indulged himself, imagining for a few seconds the intense pleasure they could give each other. Then he forced the mental pictures away. Because that was never going to happen.
It wasn’t just that she was Nate’s sister. And it wasn’t just that she’d terrorized him for several years. Mitch had known since he was seventeen that Kelsey delighted in tormenting him because she had a crush on him. But he’d never let on that he knew. She’d basically been a cute kid, in spite of her brattiness, and he’d never have humiliated her or denigrated her feelings. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one in the family who’d noticed how little Kelsey felt.
Mitch would never forget the conversation he overheard one evening many years before in the Logans’ house. He’d come home early from basketball practice. Marge and Ralph had been sitting with Aunt Betsy, Marge’s older sister, who was the nosiest, nastiest busybody he’d ever known. None of the adults in the kitchen had heard him come in the front door.
Mitch could still hear every word of that long-ago conversation.
“REALLY, MARGE,” Betsy said, “I think it’s shameful that you’re putting your daughter at risk like this.”
“For the last time, Mitch is not a threat to Kelsey.”
Mitch froze on the stairs, shocked into silence at the mention of his own name. Why would anyone think he was a threat to Kelsey?
“That boy is a risk to any girl who comes in contact with him. I heard all about him getting caught in the Thompson girl’s bedroom in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Betsy, it wasn’t her bedroom, it was the family’s pool house. The two of them went for a late-night swim. Weren’t you ever young?” Ralph muttered.
“Bedroom, pool house, it doesn’t matter where. The point is, that boy is trouble. Marge, I know you’ve got a good heart, and Mitch’s mother was your best friend in college. But that doesn’t mean you’re responsible for him. Good gracious, he’s practically lived in this house for the past few years! If his own parents can’t handle him, why should they expect you to?”
Mitch held his breath while he waited for her answer. Even after spending months at a time with the Logans, he was still never sure if there would come a day when they’d decide he wasn’t worth the trouble and ship him off to someone else—or to military school. After all, why should Ralph and Marge be any different from his own parents?
“Betsy, that’s enough. Mitch is practically a part of this family, and he’s one of the most decent, honorable young men I’ve ever known,” Marge retorted.
“Tell that to the Wilsons…you know, the ones whose car he ‘borrowed’ three summers ago?”
Mitch groaned, not surprised she’d brought up that old incident.
“He’s different now,” Marge said. “Mitch was very rebellious when he first started coming to us. As fond as I am of Carol, I have to say she hasn’t been much of a mother to that boy. She and Richard are much too self-involved to have children. How could a child grow up in that atmosphere and not resent it?”
“That doesn’t change the fact,” Betsy said shrilly, “that your Kelsey is in danger. That boy is too handsome by half, and Kelsey is a pretty little thing. She wears her heart on her sleeve for him and one of these days…”
Mitch tightened his grip on the stair railing, astounded that even a spiteful, narrow-minded old biddy like Aunt Betsy would believe him capable of seducing a twelve-year-old kid.
“That boy would never repay our trust in him by abusing our daughter. If I am wrong about this, then I am absolutely no judge of character,” Ralph retorted. “Any man, young or old, who would take advantage of a young girl who lives under the same roof, who’s practically his sister, would deserve to be horsewhipped! And our Mitch is not like that.”
He liked hearing himself referred to as “our Mitch.”
“Now, this is Mitch’s home,” Ralph continued. “We trust him, and we love him. He is here not out of any friendship with his parents—he is here because he’s part of our family. And unless you treat him with the respect he deserves, you can just stay away, Betsy.”
Mitch was shocked at the fervent defense. Rushing upstairs to the room he shared with Nathan, he suddenly felt confident and secure that here, at least, were people who would always love him. People he would make proud. People he would never, never betray.
THRUSTING THE MEMORY of the incident out of his head with an angry shake, Mitch threw himself onto his living room sofa. Here it was, fourteen years later, and he was close to confirming Aunt Betsy’s dire predictions.
Any man who took advantage of an innocent young woman living under his own roof was a scumbag. Kelsey’s family would never forgive him for the utter breach of trust if he gave in to his attraction and got involved with his tenant. Hell, Mitch would never forgive himself!
So, it would not happen. Period.
“HE HAS A DATE.”
Kelsey said the words out loud, talking to her own empty apartment. She shouldn’t have been spying. If she’d been minding her own business she would never have had to see that gorgeous, perfect-looking blonde unfold herself out of her expensive car and mince her way to the front door of the brownstone. If Kelsey hadn’t opened her apartment door and peeked around the corner and down the stairs, she wouldn’t have had to watch Mitch greet the woman with a kiss and lead her into his apartment.
“Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly,” Kelsey muttered as she sat on the wicker love seat and stared at the backyard in the fading light of early evening.
Kelsey had been trying all afternoon to forget about those moments earlier in the day when she and Mitch had…connected. That was the only suitable word. There had been a connection, a spark. They had both felt it. And he had walked out.
She told herself she was glad. Being kissed by Mitch might be nice, a lovely moment, but nothing could come of it. They lived under the same roof, saw each other all the time. And it would be awkward to bump into each other in the kitchen pantry or anywhere else if they’d given in to an impetuous kiss. So it was just as well that kiss had occurred only in her heated imagination. It’s not as though anything else would have happened anyway, she reasoned. She and Mitch were casual friends, almost like family, and a kiss was, after all, just a kiss.
Who was she kidding? Kissing Mitch would be divine.
Kelsey heard a high-pitched laugh from downstairs and punched her fist into the pillow she’d been holding. The woman sounded shrill, grating, and Kelsey could not imagine why Mitch would be interested in someone like her. Other than the legs, the hair, the body, the face, the obvious wealth and elegance, what did the woman have to offer?
“Lead me to your parlor, said the spider to the fly is more like it,” she said sourly.
Mitch was, after all, ideal prey for that type. She really couldn’t believe some long-legged, perfectly coifed female hadn’t snared him in her web yet. He was talented, gifted really, friendly, personable, utterly drop-dead gorgeous, and single. And, oh yeah, wealthy. What self-respecting, husband-snaring spider could resist him?
Kelsey had no idea who the woman was, didn’t even know her name. But she hated her.
“MITCH, YOU WERE GONE SO LONG, I missed you so,” A manda said as she draped herself upon the sofa.
Mitch watched her, not attracted by her languid grace, as he used to be, but instead somewhat amused. Amanda’s every move seemed choreographed—she always managed to frame herself well. For a split second he compared her to the several other women he had dated since moving to Baltimore. He suddenly realized they were all just like her: lovely, elegant, confident and sophisticated. Why, then, was she suddenly so unappealing?
“I’m quite certain you didn’t spend the past six months pining for me,” he said with a dry chuckle as he poured her a drink.
“Of course not, you know me better than that. But the social whirl just palled without you.”
He handed her the glass. “Did I miss anything interesting?”
“Billingsley’s retirement dinner was diverting,” Amanda explained after taking a sip of her gin and tonic. “And Fern Handley has been having a torrid affair with one of her English Lit students. It’s all over campus.”
Mitch shrugged. He could have been listening to a taped conversation from six months ago. Amanda sat on the board of trustees at Wilson College, where he used to teach. The college was a veritable hotbed of gossip and intrigue. Who was sleeping with whom, who would get tenure and whose research project would get funding were the only topics of conversation at the various dinners and parties. He’d tried hard to care about it all when he first started teaching, without success. He wasn’t cut out for the petty intrigue of it all.
“When are you going to give your guest lecture at the college?” Amanda asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” Mitch replied as he walked across the room. “I haven’t even started thinking about that. I’ve got loads of documentation to sort through first. Right now I’m trying to finish up the articles I’ve been writing for the Sun.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “I’ve been following them while you were gone. You had the whole city in tears when you wrote about the orphan girls.”
Mitch sensed the boredom in her tone. She wasn’t the least bit interested in talking about his work. Amanda never much cared to stray off her favorite topic of conversation: herself.
He sat on a leather wing chair, swirled his drink and waited for her to get to the point of her visit. He was very patient, a trait he’d worked long and hard to achieve, and within a short time Amanda was tapping her nails on the edge of the sofa, betraying her irritation at his aloof greeting. Finally she walked over and perched on the arm of his chair, resting her fingers on his arm. He glanced down at the perfectly manicured hand, wondering if those long, bright red nails would last for five minutes in Kelsey’s garden. Probably not.
She offered him a coy smile. “I did hope you might be at least a little pleased to see me.”
He should have been. After six months of intense research and practically no social life, he should have been enticed by the kind of distraction Amanda had always been willing to provide. But he just couldn’t muster the interest.
“Refresh my memory,” he said. “Don’t I recall you flinging a very expensive Oriental vase at my head the last time we were together? That was right after we ‘agreed’ not to see each other anymore, right?”
He watched her bright red lips tighten and pull down at the corners. She was so spoiled. That was another thing Mitch hadn’t been able to handle while they dated. Amanda had never been denied anything by her father, and she wanted a man who would provide the same mindless devotion. Mitch wasn’t that kind of man. And he never would be.
“Really, darling, I would have thought you’d have forgotten all about my little bout of jealousy. I just couldn’t stand it that you didn’t want me to join you in China.”
As if that was what had broken them apart. Amanda’s overreaction to the trip was the excuse for the breakup, not the reason. They’d only dated a few months, and never exclusively, because of Mitch’s realization that beneath the polish the woman was shallow as hell. The attraction had palled long before the trip to China came up.
“I think you and I both knew that was never an option.”
She frowned. She hadn’t taken their breakup very gracefully.
“Possibly,” she conceded. “But there’s no reason two old friends shouldn’t spend time together, is there? After all, I’ve so much to tell you…did I mention who we’ve lined up as a visiting lecturer for next semester?”
Mitch watched Amanda as she spoke. He saw her lips moving and heard a vague humming sound, but he really didn’t hear a thing she said. For some reason he suddenly found himself wondering what Kelsey was doing. Was she sitting right above their heads with the fading sunlight catching the golden highlights in her honey-colored hair? Was she upstairs lying in the tub? It was nearing six o’clock, and he half cocked an ear to listen for the sound of water running. But there was nothing.
Until the knock.
KELSEY NEARLY TURNED BACK and darted upstairs to her apartment. But she’d already knocked sharply on Mitch’s door. This was crazy. Insane. He was here with a date, and she was about to barge in.
It was purely impulsive. She’d been about to run a bath when she again heard the shrill voice from downstairs. Before consciously deciding to do it, she marched to her closet, yanked out a satiny emerald green robe and pulled it on. Skipping downstairs, she banged on the door without even forming one cohesive thought about her plan.
Mitch opened the door and Kelsey smiled brightly. She pushed past him into his living room, pretending she didn’t see the blonde in the corner, whose jaw had suddenly dropped, and said, “Mitch, baby, do you have some candles I could borrow? I’m afraid mine are burned down to nubs and I do love taking a long soak in the tub with candlelight flickering on the walls.”
Narrowing his eyes as Kelsey cast him a sultry glance from beneath partly lowered lashes, Mitch dropped his gaze to appreciate her attire…or lack thereof. She wore a silky confection that clung to every curve. The top gaped open, revealing smooth cleavage, and the bottom of the robe just kissed the top of her thighs. Was she wearing anything underneath? He had no idea, but damned if he didn’t want to find out.
“Oh, gosh, Mitch,” stammered Kelsey. “You have company. Please excuse me….” Kelsey stared wide-eyed at the woman on Mitch’s couch. “I can make do without the candles.”
She looked too innocent. That sweet “who me?” gaze looked as familiar to Mitch as the back of his own hand. She’d had the same look on her face years ago when she’d sabotaged one of Mitch’s teenage make-out sessions. The little brat had strolled out onto the darkened back porch and nonchalantly asked him, right in front of his girlfriend, if he was sure he should be kissing, considering the problems he’d had with “those little sores.” The girl in question had found an excuse to break up with him a few days later.
Tonight’s intrusion was completely intentional, just as that long-ago one had been. And Mitch knew exactly how to beat her at her own game. “No, Kelsey, don’t rush off. Stay. Have a drink with us. I’ll find you some candles, honey, I know how much you relish your bath rituals.”
Kelsey was confused by his reaction. Mitch should have been squirming by now, attempting to push her out the door, to explain a half-clothed female to his girlfriend. Most men would be in the midst of a panic attack.
But he wasn’t. He spoke in a low, sexy voice of his own, sending shivers down her spine. Staring with unabashed appreciation at her legs, he didn’t look uncomfortable or embarrassed in the least. He actually moved closer to her until she had to tilt her head back to return his stare. The intensity she saw in those deep blue eyes shocked her. The heat was palpable.
“Mitch,” an intrusive voice demanded, “I think an introduction would be appropriate.”
Mitch didn’t reply right away. Still gazing intently at Kelsey, he gave her a slow, seductive smile. Kelsey could barely draw breath as her eyes followed the movement of his sensuous mouth.
Finally he turned his attention to the other woman, who Kelsey had practically forgotten was even in the room. “Amanda, meet Kelsey. She lives upstairs. You could call her my semisibling. The sister I’ll never have.”
Amanda seemed a little relieved at the description, but Kelsey was not. Semisibling? Sister? She’d make him eat those words!
“Really, Mitch, you shouldn’t encourage the girl to run around your home half-clothed,” Amanda said with a forced smile.
Mitch laughed out loud. “That’s true. Young ladies shouldn’t run around in their nighties, Kelsey.”
Kelsey glared at him. She could practically hear her mother’s voice saying the same words to her when she was eight.
Mitch had obviously seen right through her ploy to destroy his evening. She was determined to wipe that grin off his face if it was the last thing she ever did. Thinking quickly, she forced a serene smile to her lips and moved a step closer to him. “I’m so sorry I burst in on you like this.” Her every word dripped with sweetness. “The candles really aren’t necessary.”
She smoothed the palms of her hands over her satiny robe as if straightening it, drawing his stare down her body. When she knew she had his undivided attention, she said, “That window in my bathroom is right over the tub, and it should be a full moon tonight. The light shines in at the perfect angle and makes the bubbles absolutely iridescent.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, the sultry, sexy voice she used on her radio show, daring him to resist her. “Sometimes on moonlit nights I lie there in the dark, with my eyes closed, letting the water caress every inch of my body. I use a fragrant bath oil and it feels so silky and delicious.”
She was getting to him. Mitch was clenching his fists, and his breath came a little faster. She could see the pulse at his temple beating and knew he was gritting his teeth. She had to bite her bottom lip for a moment to avoid displaying a smile of triumph.
Finally, when she was able to go on, she said, “Then I slowly pour cupfuls of water on my skin. It’s so amazingly erotic when you can feel the warmth cascading over your flesh, nearly kissing you, yet you can’t see it. You have to give in to the feeling.”
Kelsey closed her eyes as she whispered to Mitch. She knew Amanda was straining to hear what was said, and dropped her voice even lower. “There are nights when I want to cry at the beauty of the sensation. It seems a shame to have such an erotic experience when I’m totally…alone.”
Mitch had been leaning closer and closer as Kelsey spoke, wanting to catch every word. The images she evoked mesmerized him. He couldn’t have moved if someone told him his pants were on fire. All he could do was stand, helpless, woven in the seductive spell of her whisper.
“Well, have a wonderful evening, you two,” Kelsey said loudly. “It was lovely meeting you, Amanda.”
Mitch watched the bounce of her shining hair, and the swish of her robe as Kelsey moved to the door for her grand exit. Suddenly he realized her every word had been calculated to drive him wild. Little brat!
Even as he tried to push the seductive images from his mind, Mitch acknowledged what a great performance she’d delivered. Kelsey Logan had always been a heck of a performer. Unable to resist, Mitch brought his hands up and slowly began to applaud.
Kelsey had her hand on the knob when she heard Mitch clap. Glancing over her shoulder uncertainly, she caught Amanda’s gaze. The blonde laughed nervously. Kelsey wished the floor could open up and swallow her whole.
Rushing out the door, she hurried upstairs to her apartment, cursing Mitch and his friend every step of the way. They were laughing at her. Well, she figured, she probably deserved it. What a fool she’d been! Slamming her door behind her, she leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths to calm herself down.
It had been all she could do to present a careless facade and walk away from Mitch, when what she’d really wanted to do was touch him with her hands the way she touched him with her words. Intimately. Seductively. Erotically.
“This is crazy,” she said aloud.
And it was crazy. Her joke had backfired. Even if her seductive words had affected Mitch, it couldn’t compare with what uttering them had cost her. All she could picture were Mitch’s strong hands, his beautiful mouth and his firm, lean body. She felt achy and hot, and parts of her body tingled with anticipation she knew was not going to be fulfilled.
“Cool it, Kelsey,” she muttered, shrugging off her robe as she started running her bath. She’d stopped fantasizing about Mitch years ago. It had been bad enough when she was fifteen and he was off at college and she’d imagined him putting his arm around her, or, heavens above, actually kissing her! Now that she was an adult, she knew exactly why her body tingled and ached and why she felt warm in her most feminine places. She couldn’t allow herself to have those types of dreams about Mitch. Because if she did, she might never be able to stop.
As she lay in the huge bubble-filled tub, Kelsey tried hard to shake off the erotic images dancing around her brain. When she closed her eyes, she could practically see Mitch’s hands reaching to stroke her beneath the silky water. She could nearly feel his lips trailing kisses on her throat. She could imagine her fingers dancing over his supple chest, curling in the dark crisp hairs, teasing him and urging him on.
She tried naming the fifty states, tried reciting the Gettysburg Address, but nothing would drive Mitch out of her head.
Finally, she just stopped trying and gave in to an absolutely delicious fantasy. By the time she got out of the tub it was very late, her body was all pruney and the water was chilled. But when she caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, Kelsey wasn’t a bit surprised to see the smile lingering on her lips.
”TO MITCH WYMORE, who’s successfully escaped a nine-to-five job. It’s good to have you back, buddy.”
Mitch smiled at his old college friend, Paul, who’d just made the toast, and raised his own glass. “Thanks, man,” he said, then sipped his beer.
They sat in a crowded, trendy little bar near the harbor. It was a yuppie place, with lots of ferns, round unscarred tables and varnished floors. Jazz from the radio provided a little background noise, but mostly he heard laughter, clinking glasses and buoyant conversation. Spending an evening shooting darts, ogling women, eating pretzels and drinking beer seemed just the cure for what ailed him…
Kelsey.
Mitch hadn’t seen her since her grand entrance into his apartment over the weekend. He’d had a hard time kicking the image of those long legs and sultry comments.
“Have you seen Amanda since you got back?” Paul asked.
Mitch grabbed a handful of pretzels. “She came by the other night.”
“And? Details, details…come on, buddy.”
“And nothing. We talked. She left. Period.”
“You’re kidding,” Paul said in disbelief. “I ran into her a few weeks ago, and she started pumping me for information about when you were getting back. I got the impression she was going to give you a tremendous welcome home.”
She probably had been planning exactly that when she came by the other night. But since Mitch hadn’t even been able to pretend interest, especially after Kelsey’s visit, a highly offended Amanda had stormed out.
“It’s not that I’d tell you anything, anyway,” Mitch said, “but in this case, let me assure you, there’s nothing to tell.”
His friend didn’t look as though he believed him, but Mitch didn’t bother to elaborate.
“Quiet down,” someone yelled. “It’s time for Night Whispers!”
Mitch glanced around and saw the bartender reach up to the sound system to crank up the volume on the stereo.
“Oh, buddy, you’ve got to check this out,” Paul said.
“What?”
“This new radio show. Everybody’s talking about it.”
Around the room, conversations quieted. Mitch saw people shushing others, demanding they listen. He’d never heard of Night Whispers, and couldn’t believe there was this much of a stir over some radio show.
“What’s it all about?” he asked Paul.
“It’s a sex show,” Paul said with a grin. “Well, not really sex, I guess women call it romance, or passion, but let me tell you, I hear Lady Love’s voice and I just ache.”
Ache? Paul ached? Mitch nearly laughed aloud at his friend’s exaggeration until he noticed the man was dead serious.
“Laugh if you want, but I’m telling you this show is great. A lot of people have Night Whispers parties. Everybody I know is into it. This woman, she just…I don’t know how to describe it, she speaks, and it’s not just how sexy her voice is, it’s that you almost feel she’s speaking from her soul.”
Mitch raised a skeptical eyebrow at Paul’s eloquent words as he lifted his drink to his mouth. A few slow, mellow notes of a saxophone underscored the prerecorded introduction, setting a lazy, relaxed mood. Then a smooth voice spoke.
“Hello, Baltimore. This is Lady Love and tonight I want to talk about sensuous pleasures.”
“Oh, my God,” Mitch sputtered as he nearly choked on his beer.
It was Kelsey.
“We all know about the five senses, learned of them in grade school. To taste, touch, hear, see and smell are all such gifts. Gifts that many of us take for granted and don’t stop to consider.”
Kelsey leaned closer to the microphone, closing her eyes as she spoke. The bright lights in the studio, and the equalizers, stereo and sound equipment, weren’t exactly conducive to romance or, tonight, sensuality. She had worked herself into her mood, as usual, with her bath. That always helped. She hadn’t been exaggerating to Mitch when she talked about the importance of a long, languorous bath, and found that her evening ritual helped prepare her to come in and talk frankly about the subjects she covered in her show.
“Tonight,” she continued, “I want to consider them. Sensuous pleasures are derived from everything that surrounds us. The soft petals of a rose brushed against the cheek, then its scent deeply inhaled, gives such delight. The sweet, slightly bitter taste of dark chocolate lingers on the tongue long after it’s gone. The calm solitude and silence of a beach under a night sky interrupted only by the sound of churning waves, washing forward then receding, brings peace and tranquillity. And who can look at a masterful piece of art and not be moved by its power and the skill of the artist?”
Kelsey bowed her head as she formed her thoughts. She always planned her topics in advance, but often her words were spontaneous.
“All are sensuous. Anything that invades our senses, anything we see or smell, touch, hear or taste, that brings us pleasure, that invigorates our soul, is sensuous.”
Kelsey paused for a moment, a purposeful hesitation. Her audience was half-hooked already. She just had to bring them home.
“Now let’s talk about sexuality,” she continued. There, that was the rest of the lure. They were listening now. She could feel it. Brian gave her a thumbs-up from his side of the glass-enclosed booth, and she continued with a soft smile.
“Some people think they mean the same thing. But they don’t. Tonight we’re going to discuss how they differ.”
Kelsey cued the music that led into a cluster of commercials.
“Stick with me. We’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll start taking your calls later in the hour. Until then, please come back and spend some time alone with me, Lady Love, on WAJO. I’ll be waiting for you,” she said in a breathy voice.
Kelsey leaned back in her chair. Brian was mimicking applause, and she grinned back. It was going to be an interesting night.
MITCH COULDN’T SPEAK. He sat, in shock, knowing but not caring that he probably looked like an utter fool, with his mouth hanging open. Had that really been Kelsey? Of course it had. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. And she had come right out and told him she was working the ten-to-two shift. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to talk more about her job.
“She got to you, didn’t she?” Paul said with a knowing grin. “Did I tell you, or what?”
Mitch just nodded.
Around the bar, voices picked back up, and he caught snatches of conversation from other tables, most of it about Kelsey…Lady Love. There seemed to be universal approval and interest.
“Is she always like this?” Mitch finally asked.
“Uh-hmm, but it gets better. That was just her introduction.”
Mitch frowned. Glancing around at the grins of most of the male patrons, he knew Kelsey had already all but seduced half the men in the place. Exactly how far would she go on this show?
“Is this X-rated, or what?” he asked, not really knowing if he wanted the answer.
“No, man, it’s not like that. She never gets raunchy, and I guess she’s got her callers on a time delay, because none of them do, either. Sometimes people try to steer the conversation, but she never goes for that. She’s classy, but, oh, so sexy.”
Mitch should have been relieved, but he wasn’t. So what if she wasn’t exactly pornographic? She was on the radio broadcasting to thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, about intimacy and sex as if she were an expert on the subject. He hadn’t figured she was a virgin, but he’d never considered her a sex expert, either. Hell, as far as he knew, Kelsey had never even had a serious relationship.
“I’d love to see what she looks like,” Paul said, “but she could be a sixty-year-old grandmother.”
Aman staggering by must have heard Paul’s comment, because he paused at their table, saying, “No, I heard she’s a babe. A friend of mine parked outside the radio station one night and watched her come out. He says she’s as hot as she sounds.”
Oh, great. As Mitch had feared, Kelsey’s show attracted psychos who were lying in wait for her outside the station in the middle of the night. What on earth was she thinking? Kelsey had always been free spirited, but she’d never been stupid.
The obviously drunk man leaned toward Paul and Mitch and leered. “I’m goin’ down there myself one o’ these nights. Gonna give Lady Love some real interestin’ topics…give that lady lots to talk about.”
Standing immediately, Mitch kicked his chair back and grabbed the drunk by the front of his shirt. He yanked the other man’s face toward his, smelling the reek of too many beers. “You better watch your filthy mouth.”
The man took a few steps back, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. “What is she, your sister or somethin’?”
Mitch shook his head, then looked around at the stares he was receiving. Paul gaped at him, as well, but Mitch couldn’t begin to explain. How did he possibly explain about Kelsey? Hey, folks, Lady Love’s living in my house, sleeping right above my head, as a matter of fact, and you know the funny thing? She likes to eat peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches with sliced bananas. And hey, get this, she once put my underwear in the freezer!
Mitch shook his head quickly, not quite believing he’d had the urge to punch out a loudmouthed drunk in a bar. He hadn’t thrown a punch at anyone since he was in high school. When he thought about it, he remembered that Kelsey had been responsible for that fight, too! She’d told Mitch that she was secretly sneaking out to meet an eighteen-year-old, and Mitch had pounded the guy after gym class one day. The little brat had admitted she’d lied only after he’d been suspended from school for a week.
Shaking his head, Mitch grabbed a ten out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table. “I’ve gotta go. Beer’s on me. Thanks for the invite. I’ll see you soon.”
Outside, Mitch hurried to his car and jumped in. He cursed as he slammed the steering wheel with his palm, then took a few deep breaths. Before starting the engine, he thought about how close he’d come to violence. Kelsey pushed all his buttons, even when she wasn’t in the damned room! His hands were shaking, and since he hadn’t finished half of his first drink, he knew it wasn’t the beer. It was anger.
“HELLO AGAIN, BALTIMORE. Thanks for sticking with me. This is Lady Love on WAJO, and you’re listening to Night Whispers. Tonight, we’re talking about sensuality versus sexuality.”
Kelsey paused, giving her listeners a chance to turn up the volume or curl up together on a sofa or pour a glass of wine. Or, perhaps, just roll up the car window to cut down on outside noise.
“Something can be amazingly sensuous, can give you immense pleasure, and have absolutely nothing to do with sex. And, unfortunately, many people go through their lifetimes having sex, feeling moments of physical pleasure, but never really experiencing the truly sensuous,” she purred, drawing out each word to lend an intimate atmosphere.
Kelsey saw Brian waving and gesturing to the phone lines, and noticed that the switchboard was already lit up like Las Vegas. She wouldn’t start airing calls for a while yet, but people were amazingly patient, sometimes waiting a half hour for a chance to get on the air. Brian busily screened them, getting names and a few words about what they’d like to say.
“The first step in understanding how sensuality can enhance sexuality,” Kelsey continued, “is to understand and appreciate what is truly sensuous. To me, the most sensuous texture is human skin.”
Brian gave her a quick grin.
“Rubbing lotion on my legs, letting it be absorbed, feeling my flesh grow more pliant, is incredibly sensuous. Not sexual. Now, let someone else rub lotion and knead and stroke my limbs…well, I’m getting a little ahead of myself,” she said with a throaty chuckle.
Intentionally, of course. She tried all the time to jump ahead of the audience, get their minds working overtime wondering where she was going, then she’d go right back to where she’d been, teasing them, building up the momentum. It wasn’t what she said that was so provocative, it was what she hinted at, and what the audience filled in with their own minds.
“Let’s talk about scents. Smells are incredibly evocative. A certain perfume can take you back to another time, and another place, and bring memories flooding into your mind. For me, the smell of lavender always brings with it sweet, warm memories of my grandmother. Closing my eyes and deeply inhaling the scent of gardenias makes me think of lying in a garden, with the sun beating down on me. It gives me a great deal of pleasure.”
Kelsey smiled, remembering for a moment the afternoon when Mitch had found her lying in the backyard. She’d been feeling just such pleasures at that point, enjoying the warmth, and the sounds of the birds, and the smell of the earth she’d been digging.
“And speaking of lying in a garden,” she continued, “imagine, if you would, how soft grass can feel against your skin on a warm spring day. It tickles a little, it cushions your body, and, if you concentrate, you’d swear you can feel each blade pressing into you. The smell of flowers inundates you, and the sun warms you. You open your eyes to the bright blue, cloudless sky, and you hear cicadas singing in the distance. That is sensuous.
“Now,” Kelsey continued, “add your lover lying there next to you, and sensuous becomes sensual…and, perhaps, sexual.”
MITCH TRIED NOT TO TURN ON the radio as he drove home. He resisted for about ninety seconds, then flicked it on and punched the dial to Kelsey’s station. She spoke of sensuous things, and with every word, all he could think was that her voice and her words were the most sensuous things he’d ever experienced. Picturing Kelsey, knowing she was saying those words, having those thoughts and those desires, was incredibly erotic.
And incredibly frustrating.
Mitch listened the whole way home. She didn’t speak all the time, breaking to play a very melodic love song, speak to one or two callers and air some commercials. But in between she continued weaving the spell of seduction that reached out through his car speakers and held him enthralled. Her entire topic tonight was on the sensuous. But she never even touched on the sensuality of a beautiful woman talking about pleasures and fulfillment, and what words and subtle nuances in a voice could do to a man.
When he reached home, Mitch hesitated before switching off the car. Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes, listening, savoring what she said.
“So, my friends, let me just take one more moment before we go to this next brief interruption, and make a suggestion. The next time you and your love are in an intimate moment, remember to pamper your senses. Savor the textures, and the smells, and the lovely sights. Don’t rush through the sensual, savor it. This is Lady Love, and I’ll be back with more music, perhaps a little poetry and more of your calls right after these messages.”
Mitch turned the key and sat in the car in the darkness for a few moments. Lady Love. If he didn’t know who she was, he would probably have been one of the idiots parking outside the station to get a glimpse of her. She’d seduced him, totally and completely, and at this moment, to use Paul’s expression, he ached for her.
What in the name of heaven was he going to do? The most erotic, exciting woman in Baltimore lived right in his home. She slept and moved and ate and fantasized right over his head. Men all over the city were listening to her, imagining being with her, speculating on what she looked like and whether they had a chance with her.
No one but Mitch knew the woman of their dreams was Kelsey Logan, the bane of his childhood and the cause of his recent sleepless nights. Little Kelsey of the freckles and braids, his pseudo little sister.
“Hell!”
“NIGHT, BRIAN. THANKS FOR walking me out,” Kelsey said as she inserted the key into the door of her car. Someone always walked her out at night. In fact, everybody left the building in pairs after dark. As Mitch had said, the station wasn’t in the best part of town. But, so far, she’d never had any trouble.
“No problem, Kelsey. By the way, tonight’s show was fantastic. You had ’em eating right out of your hand.”
“I think we’re going to have to do this topic again, soon,” she said. “I was amazed at how into it some of those callers got.”
Brian blew her a kiss as she waved and drove away. Kelsey knew a lot of the success of Night Whispers was due to Brian’s hard work. She still thanked her lucky stars that Mafia Don hadn’t protested too loudly when she’d coaxed Brian into following her to her new time slot. Don was one of those macho guys whose masculinity was threatened around gay men, though he’d never admit it.
She arrived home within twenty minutes and let herself into the brownstone. Locking the door behind her, Kelsey felt her way to the oak-trimmed banister. It wasn’t pitch-black in the house, but the high arched window over the front door did not let in much light from the outside streetlamp.
When a shadow on the bottom of the stairs moved, she let out a small scream. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders, and a voice said, “It’s me, Kelsey.”
Kelsey drew a shaking hand to her heart. “Mitch, what are you doing? You scared the living daylights out of me! Why are you lurking at the bottom of the stairs in the middle of the night?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” His voice was steady, emotionless.
Kelsey’s breathing gradually returned to normal, though adrenaline still made her pulse race. She could feel Mitch, could sense him. The hairs on her body stood up with a life of their own in an almost electric reaction to his nearness. But her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, and she could barely see him.
“I was up listening to the most interesting radio program until two o’clock,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.
Kelsey flinched. Mitch had heard the show.
“Well, what’d you think?” she replied, forcing a bravado that she didn’t feel into her tired voice.
“I’m sure you know very well what I thought, Kelsey.”
“Gee, you really loved it, huh?”
“No,” he replied in a sarcastic whisper. “I thought the same thing your parents would have thought—this cannot be Kelsey Logan. Kelsey Logan would not get on a public station and talk like some porn movie star.”
She gasped. “That’s out of line, Mitch Wymore. Way out of line, even for you.”
“Is it? That’s what you sounded like. Some kind of self-appointed love goddess bestowing her sexual wisdom on us mortals.”
Kelsey gritted her teeth, determined not to have this argument, even though she’d actually been expecting it. “You know what? I’m not going to have this discussion with you. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m tired,” Kelsey said as she tried to push by him and go up the stairs.
He reached out to grab her arm as she passed. “You’re not going to gloss over this, Kelsey. Does your family have any idea what you’re doing? What do you think they’d say about you becoming some publicity-seeking sex goddess?”
Kelsey stopped with her hand on the banister, turned and, as her eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark, leaned until she was scant inches away from Mitch’s face. “Just who do you think you are? When were you appointed to the Baltimore morality police?”
“Look, Kelsey, you’re attracting the worst kind of attention. There are a lot of wackos out there who would just love to get Lady Love alone and force her to put her body where her mouth is.”
She gritted her teeth, determined to remain calm and not throw a hissy fit on the stairs in the middle of the night. “Back off, Mitch. Your college professor past is showing. God, is there anyone more sanctimonious than a reformed tough guy?”
He didn’t so much as grin. He obviously was not going to be teased out of his anger. “Kelsey, this just is not you.”
“How would you know? You don’t know me. You know nothing about the Kelsey Logan standing here with you right now. You see me as some pigtailed little kid who needs looking after, but you know what? I’m all grown-up, Mitch. And what I do is none of your business.”
Kelsey tried to squeeze past Mitch and move up the stairs, to no avail. He was right in her way, and he wasn’t budging. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to stand where she was.
“I know enough about you to know that you’ve got a hell of a lot of talent. You could do a lot better than just titillating the public with some sordid little talk show.”
Kelsey drew up a fist and punched against Mitch’s chest. A cinder block might have felt softer against her fist, and she winced as pain shot up her arm. He didn’t flinch.
“You’re wrong. I’m an entertainer, Mitch, a performer. My audience responds to me because they like me.” Kelsey suddenly wanted him to understand in spite of the fact that she really shouldn’t have to explain herself to him. “And I do make them laugh. It’s not always like it was tonight. Sometimes it’s all lighthearted and fun, and I do wacky voices, and it’s very innocent.”
Mitch didn’t release his grip on her shoulders, and she could see through the shadows that his stiff jaw had not relaxed one bit. He would never understand this. She could waste her breath from now until the end of the new millennium, and he’d still disapprove.
“Look, Mitch, you are not my brother, nor my father. You are nothing to me….” Kelsey stammered. “Nothing except my landlord, and the subject of some amusing childhood memories. So mind your own business and let me go!”
Kelsey ended on a shout, and Mitch gritted his teeth to avoid shouting right back. Nothing? He’d watched this stubborn, willful female grow up, had put up with years of abuse, longer years of her schoolgirl crush, and yet he was nothing to her? Her body shook beneath his fingers, her anger as obvious as his own.
Her husky voice echoed in his ears, and the smell of her filled his senses. Her chest heaved with her deep breaths. Her full lips were parted and she looked as if she was about to say something else. Mitch really didn’t want to hear it. He just wanted her to shut up.
He had to kiss her.
Bending swiftly, he captured her open mouth with his own. She moaned, a wild sound from somewhere deep in her throat, and he pressed harder, urging her lips farther apart and sweeping his tongue against hers. She hesitated for not more than a second, then he felt her arms circle his neck as she pulled him hard against her body. Her sweet mouth welcomed him, beckoned him as he tasted her.
Kissing Kelsey was sweet and agonizing and arousing and fulfilling, all at the same time. Mitch moved his hands up her neck and cupped her face, stroking her temples and letting his fingers tangle in her loose hair. He felt her hands press into his back, pulling his body against hers. She fit against him as he’d imagined she would, as if they were made for each other.
Kelsey clung to Mitch like a drowning woman to a life raft. He filled her senses—his smell, the feel of him. In his arms, with his hot mouth on her own, she could admit that when she’d spoken of sensuous pleasures, the most rapturous one she could have imagined was the feel of this man’s kiss.
And then he pulled away.
There was cold where there had been warmth. A chill touched her face and Kelsey shivered. She reached for him, wanting to draw him back, but he jerked away from her touch as if she burned him.
“I’m sorry, that should never have happened,” Mitch insisted. “I was angry, and wanted to shut you up.”
“It’s all right,” Kelsey replied, still adrift in sensation. “You didn’t do anything I haven’t been wanting you to do.”
She smiled at him and raised a shaky finger, intending to trace the outline of his lips. He grabbed her hand, stopping her before she could touch him, and gripped it tightly.
“No, Kelsey, this was a mistake. We were both angry. It won’t happen again.”
He didn’t want her. She bit her lip, watching the self-recrimination cross his features. He already regretted kissing her. She knew he’d been as affected by the kiss as she had, but for some reason, Mitch was not about to admit it.
“I shouldn’t have ambushed you like this.” He raked his hands through his hair in angry, jerky movements. “I should have waited and spoken to you in the morning, when we could both be rational about it. Let’s do that, all right? We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He was talking about the show again, she could tell, and Kelsey’s stomach tightened into a hard knot. “No, Mitch, we won’t talk tomorrow. There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I mean,” he explained, “we’ll talk about the show, not about…well, what just happened.”
“I know exactly what you meant.” Kelsey crossed her arms firmly in front of her chest. “And, as I said, we have nothing further to discuss. It’s none of your business what I do for a living. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. So I’ll thank you to back off.”
“Oh, right,” he said, his voice silky and dangerous. “Like you took care of yourself a minute ago when I kissed you? You didn’t fight too hard, Kelsey. What if I’d been one of Lady Love’s overamorous fans?”
Kelsey narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to whisper, “Then you’d be bent over, talking in a real high-pitched voice right about now.”
A light flicked on upstairs, and Kelsey jerked her head at the sound of footsteps. Fred and Celia’s anxious faces peered over the rail, and she realized they must have woken them with their shouting.
“Is everything all right?” Fred asked.
“Everything’s fine,” Kelsey replied. “Mitch and I were just saying good-night.” She stared coldly at him. “Good night, Mitch.”
Not waiting for his response, Kelsey rushed up the stairs. Her feet hadn’t hit the top step when she heard his door slam shut below. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and for the life of her she could not make her key fit into the lock.
Kelsey heard Celia’s and Fred’s low voices. She didn’t protest when Celia approached, gently took the keys out of her hand, opened the door and led her inside.
“Thank you,” she said, as Celia steered her toward her own sofa.
“No problem, honey, you look upset. Let me make you some tea to calm you down.”
“I’m all right,” Kelsey insisted, “though I’m about ready to strangle one overbearing anthropologist!”
Celia smoothed back Kelsey’s hair and then handed her a tissue. Fred’s girlfriend looked like a little wren, with an incredibly expressive face dominated by huge brown eyes and a gentle smile. Kelsey could never imagine her raising her voice, much less screeching at a man loud enough to wake the upstairs neighbors in the middle of the night.
“I’m sorry about this, Celia. I can’t believe we woke you up.”
Celia filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stove. “It’s all right. Though I’m sure Fred’s going to turn five shades of red the next time he sees you because you and Mitch now know that I slept over.”
Kelsey laughed softly, her bad mood quickly evaporating with Celia’s rueful smile. “Oh, right, we never suspected. It’s not as though I can see your car parked across the street when I get home at three o’clock or anything.”
“I won’t bother trying to hide it anymore, then,” Celia said with a grin. “So, do you want to talk about…anything?”
She didn’t, really. What was there to talk about? She knew from the moment she took the job at the station that Mitch and her family would never approve. His reaction tonight had come as absolutely no surprise.
“It was just a typical argument. Mitch heard my show for the first time tonight. He wasn’t pleased,” Kelsey admitted as she curled up in one corner of the sofa.
“I could tell,” Celia said nodding slowly. “From what Fred tells me, you and he have a sort of love-hate relationship?”
“I guess you could say that.” Kelsey kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her. “Mitch and I have always gotten under each other’s skin. I was a pretty rotten kid, and he was the target of a lot of my pranks. Not that he was much better. He was hell on wheels himself.”
“Mitch? Our Mitch?”
Kelsey grinned at the disbelief in Celia’s voice. “Yes, nice, dependable, studious Mitch. He was a regular juvenile delinquent. He didn’t really straighten up until he was about seventeen.”
“I can’t believe it. I mean, I don’t know him that well, but from what Fred has said, Mitch seems almost…”
“Conservative? Don’t let the brains fool you. He’s somehow managed to keep his emotions suppressed, but I imagine they’re still churning away somewhere deep inside. He just needs someone to remind him they’re there.”
“Volunteering?”
Celia laughed, but Kelsey didn’t join in. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.” A slow smile spread across her lips.
“I recognize that look. That’s a Lady Love face. Let me guess, you feel anything but sisterly toward him, right?” Celia asked as she carried two cups from the kitchen.
Kelsey sighed deeply. “Celia, I have been incredibly attracted to that man for years. And now, finally, I know he feels the same way. But when he allows himself to give in to those feelings for a moment, he yanks away as if he’s committed some crime.”
Celia didn’t respond. Kelsey almost regretted taking her into her confidence. She’d never told anyone that she had the slightest interest in Mitch. It had been her secret, a schoolgirl fantasy, for many years. It was the dream she would indulge in while drying her hair or, lately, while bathing. Now that she’d said the words out loud, it was too real.
“You didn’t see the way he looked at you when you stormed up the stairs,” Celia said with a gentle smile. “I thought for a second he was going to grab you and throw you over his shoulder and carry you off or something…it was terribly romantic.”
Kelsey gave her a sour look and stirred her tea. “If Mitch wanted to throw me anywhere, it wouldn’t be over his shoulder…it would be off a bridge.”
Celia sipped her tea silently. She looked like a Cheshire cat, full of secrets, sure of what she knew, and Kelsey couldn’t resist asking, “You really mean it? About carrying me off, I mean?”
“He looked like a man in pain, Kelsey.”
Kelsey couldn’t stop the little stab of malicious pleasure that thought gave her. There had been plenty of girlish nights when she’d cried into her pillow because Mitch had called her “little brat” or given her noogies on her head.
“I think the problem is that Mitch is too decent a guy,” Celia continued. “He’s protective of you, wants to keep you safe from the big bad boys who might take advantage of you. And what he’s feeling for you now, well, suddenly he’s found out maybe he’s still one of the big bad boys.”
Kelsey nodded ruefully. Celia wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know. Mitch was never going to willingly get involved with her. He was too honorable, too loyal to her parents. He’d accepted the “big brother” mantle her family had thrust on him and would likely never let himself touch her again. Unless…
“Celia, I’ve always meant to ask you. How did you ever get Fred to ask you out? The man is so shy.”
“Simple,” Celia answered with a smirk. “Every time I saw him, I flirted, teased and seduced him without ever letting him know I was doing it.”
“Seduction, hmm? Gee, seems to me I’ve heard a few things about seduction.”
Celia’s eyes lit up as she caught Kelsey’s drift. She nodded, a speculative look in her eye.
Kelsey propped her feet up on the coffee table, patting the vacant seat next to her on the sofa so Celia would sit next to her. “Tell me more.”
And Celia did.
SOMEONE WAS POUNDING.
Kelsey buried her head under her pillow, but it did not block out the noise. She rolled over, groaning in frustration. Opening one bleary eye, she glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine.
The pounding continued. As she came more fully awake, Kelsey realized the noise wasn’t coming from next door, or the street. It was coming from her front door. It had to be Mitch. Kelsey rolled out of bed, grabbed her robe and staggered out of her bedroom.
“Do you know what time it is?” she snarled as she yanked the door open.
“Good morning to you, too,” Mitch said as he breezed past her into her apartment. “Like bagels?”
He looked bright and chipper and Kelsey really wanted to sock him one. “You know I hate bagels.”
“I know. That’s why I brought doughnuts,” he said as he made himself at home at her small café-style kitchen table and tore open the bag. Her efficiency kitchen was really not much larger than a closet, and flowed right into the living area. Kelsey had placed the table and chairs as a sort of divider, and his large form dominated the small space.
“What do you want?” she grumbled.
“Coffee would be nice. Or even milk.”
She knew full well he was stalling. “I mean, why are you here?”
“I think we need to talk,” he replied. “I did a lot of thinking last night.”
“Then how come you’re up so early?” she asked, shooting him a glare from behind lowered lids. Kelsey plopped onto the sofa, leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“I never need more than six or seven hours of sleep. Don’t you remember?”
Of course she remembered. When they were kids, Mitch had always been the first one awake in the house, which had driven her right up the wall on many Saturday mornings when she’d come downstairs to watch Land of the Lost and he’d already been engrossed in Johnny Quest.
“Right. Mr. Perfect. Now, what do you want?”
Kelsey realized she wasn’t being friendly. So much for her conversation with Celia about how to attract or, more accurately, seduce, Mitch. Right now she just wanted to shove him back down the stairs, get a little more sleep and face him later in the day, after she’d at least had a chance to brush her teeth.
“I came to apologize.”
Kelsey opened her eyes and sat up straight. “So…apologize.”
“I’m trying to,” Mitch said ruefully. “It’s not easy.”
“I’m sure you’re not in the habit of having to admit you were wrong.”
Mitch helped himself to a powdered sugar doughnut. “That’s not why I’m having a problem. I wasn’t wrong. I still believe everything I said to you last night. I’m just apologizing for ambushing you and for taking advantage of the situation.”
“You mean kissing me?”
“Yeah. Kissing you. It was out of line.”
“Right,” she said in a steely tone. “Kissing me was a crime against the nation. Are you finished?”
Mitch could tell Kelsey was getting upset as she leaned forward and started tapping her fingers on her knee. She wore her little green robe and looked all rumpled, with her hair puffy and wild, and no makeup. Mitch knew if he closed his eyes he would imagine her lying in her bed, without the robe, beckoning to him.
He forced himself to stop his wandering thoughts. Taking a big bite out of the messy doughnut, he glanced around for a napkin to stall for time.
He was going about this all wrong. His plan was to come up and smooth things over, to start their conversation again, and to try to talk some sense into her. Instead he found himself hip deep in the topic he most wanted to avoid: their kiss. Thinking of that kiss, and of her all sleepy and seductive, had already caused him enough trouble. After he had gotten over his anger at their argument, he’d been able to think of nothing else the previous night.
Mitch had never imagined that one kiss, a first kiss, could start such a flame. He’d burned. Long after she went upstairs, he’d sat in his apartment and done a slow, agonizing burn for her. But he’d mentally doused that fire and decided on a course of action. He would go right back to treating Kelsey like a kid sister, and would never let on that the kiss meant a thing. He’d ignore the fact that he got hard just remembering it.
“Look, let’s chalk it up to the heat of the moment and forget about it, okay?” He tried very hard to keep his voice steady and noncommittal. “It was a kiss. Big deal.”
To Kelsey, it had been a big deal. But Mitch obviously didn’t view it the same way. Kelsey wished she was still in bed and this was all a dream. The day was going from bad to worse, and she’d only been awake for five minutes. Having Mitch angry at himself for kissing her had been bad enough. But having him blow off the whole event as no big deal just plain hurt.
“Fine. Right,” she replied, determined not to let him see how his words affected her. “As the song goes…’a kiss is just a kiss.’ And, hey, look who you’re talking to…Lady Love. I should know.”
Mitch’s jaw stiffened. “You wanna explain that?”
“No, Mitch. As I told you last night, I don’t have to explain a thing to you,” Kelsey said. “I am an adult. You are an adult. We happen to live in the same building. What I do for a living has nothing to do with you.”
Mitch nodded slowly. “I know.”
Kelsey ran a weary hand over her eyes, trying to follow his logic. “You know? Then why are you here?”
“Just because I know you’re right that it’s none of my business doesn’t mean I like it, or that I won’t try to talk you out of it, Kelsey. It simply means I acknowledge the fact that my opinion really doesn’t matter to you.”
Mitch wouldn’t meet her eye, and Kelsey felt a moment’s remorse for some of the things she’d said to him the night before. Mitch did matter…she was beginning to suspect he mattered too much!
“That’s not true. Mitch, I respect you. I think you’re a very intelligent man and I value your opinion. But, in this case, I don’t know that you’ve formed your thoughts rationally. You heard one show. Give me a chance, please. Listen in a few more times. The show is not what you think it is.”
“And if I listen, and my views don’t change?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her as he waited for her reply.
“I don’t know, Mitch,” she said, eyes flashing as she stood and walked toward him. “I guess if your views don’t change, you have the right to turn the radio off and pretend I’m the weather girl. I’m not going to tell you I’ll quit my job because you don’t like it.”
Her robe swished around her body as she walked. He couldn’t stop staring at the peach flesh of her upper leg, exposed as her robe gapped with each step. She reached the table and stopped right next to him.
“So what you’re telling me,” he replied slowly as he let his gaze burn a path up her thigh, across her body and up to her face, “is that I should give you another chance, listen more, and maybe I’ll like what I hear, but if I don’t, then I should go take a flying leap. Do I have this right?”
Kelsey grabbed a glazed doughnut, held it speculatively in front of her face, then looked down to stare at him.
“Yeah, I guess you do.”
Mitch stood very slowly. She had come to stand close to him, nearly between his legs, and he did a slow slide up her body, feeling a crackle of electricity flash in the scant inch that separated them. She had to tilt her head back to maintain their eye contact, and Mitch suddenly had the advantage.
“Kelsey?” he said softly, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
She backed up a tiny step. He followed until again they were nearly touching.
“What?”
“To hell with that,” he retorted.
Kelsey watched Mitch drop the half-eaten doughnut on the table, turn and stride out the door.
“Well,” she muttered after he’d gone, “so much for seduction!”
LATER THAT DAY, after Kelsey had managed another hour of fitful sleep, she went downstairs, carrying a paperback and a tall glass of iced tea. It was still relatively warm for mid-October, and she meant to enjoy the weather while it lasted. Not wanting to risk another confrontation with Mitch, she was quiet as she slipped through the kitchen to the back door.
Slight hints of yellow tinged leaves on the trees. A smoky smell hung in the air, and Kelsey knew someone was anticipating the cold weather with an early season fire. Dragging a lawn chair from the garage, she placed it under a tall shady maple in the backyard. Her long-sleeved cotton shirt and khaki pants were perfectly adequate for warmth. Kelsey breathed deeply, invigorated by the clean, crisp breeze. She would lie here and read her romance novel and not think at all about Mitch.
But she couldn’t even open the book. She kept staring at the picture on the cover. The hero was gorgeous, larger than life, but he still wasn’t as handsome as her frustrating landlord. As for the heroine…well, Kelsey figured she’d have a really tough time buying blouses that fit.
“Shall we try this again?” came a familiar drawl.
Kelsey jerked her head and dropped the book at the sound of Mitch’s voice. He stood right beside her. She hadn’t even detected his approach.
“You’re quiet as a cat,” she said. “That’s the second time you’ve done that to me.”
Kelsey watched as Mitch leaned back against the maple tree and stared down at her. Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to slow her rapid pulse. She would play this cool if it killed her. What had Celia said? Flirt, seduce, all without his knowledge. She could do that. After all, she was Lady Love. Kelsey felt like a soap opera diva at the thought.
“Look, we live under the same roof, whether I like it or not,” he finally said. “And we have to find a way to get along.”
“We already do get along, Mitch. I really don’t see the problem.”
“Right. Yeah, well, that’s what I came out to say. There’s really no problem. As you said, I’m merely your landlord, of absolutely no importance in your life. That fact has finally sunk in. You do your thing, Kelsey, and I’ll mind my own business. And as you also said last night, I’m really nothing to you. We’ll be acquaintances who nod at each other on the stairs, all right?”
No. No, that was not all right. Acquaintances? How could he say that? Even if Kelsey had never laid eyes on Mitch until she moved to the city, if their childhood lives had never collided, she still felt they were a heck of a long way from mere “acquaintances.” However, since she’d said much the same thing during their dispute, she couldn’t very well disagree with him now. She wished she’d refrained from arguing with him and just continued up the stairs when she’d gotten home last night. But then, if she’d done that, they would never have shared that kiss. And she knew down to her very soul that she would never regret finally being in Mitch’s arms.
“Please, don’t get the wrong idea,” she said, “I really didn’t mean to offend you earlier. I care what you think, I really do.”
Mitch shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. As far as I’m concerned, it’s finished.”
Kelsey watched him turn to leave. Mitch was in such a strange mood, so somber and unemotional. In all the years she’d known him, she had never seen him so…remote.
“I’ve gotta go,” he said as he walked away.
Mitch managed to reach the house without turning back to look at Kelsey one more time. He refused to let her see that their conversation bothered him in the least. She’d looked so lovely, with a few loose tendrils of hair blowing free, and her angelic face turned toward the sun. But he had to stop thinking of her in that way. There were plenty of beautiful women in Baltimore. As far as he was concerned, Kelsey barely even existed anymore.
Mitch had spent a good bit of the morning racking his brain over their fight and hadn’t been any closer to a solution when he’d received a call an hour ago. Kelsey’s mother wanted to welcome Mitch home, and to sincerely thank him for “taking care” of Kelsey. She assured him again that she and Ralph were so happy Kelsey had a “member of the family” to look after her in Baltimore.
Fifteen minutes later, Nathan called and he heard the entire speech over again. Mitch was tempted to tell her brother that while Kelsey might seem a fairly inexperienced young woman, her alternate persona, Lady Love, seemed an expert. Instead, he’d kept Kelsey’s secret and assured Nathan that she would be as safe in his house as she’d been at home. That meant safe from everyone. Including himself. So it was time to draw the line and stay well behind it.
Mitch still believed this solution was for the best. He’d already allowed Kelsey to creep into his life and it was time to put a stop to it. If she wanted to go on the radio and titillate the entire city, she was welcome to do it. He didn’t have to think about it, absolutely was not going to listen, and they certainly didn’t have to socialize. There should be no reason why they should have more than minimal contact. And that was fine with him.
“NOT ON YOUR LIFE, Mitch Wymore,” Kelsey whispered as she watched Mitch enter the house. “You are not going to shut me out.”
Mitch wanted to pretend they meant nothing to each other. Well, he could pretend all he wanted to. But he wouldn’t get away with it. They lived in the same house, parked their cars two feet away from one another, bumped into each other at the mailbox, or while getting the newspaper. No way was he going to be able to avoid her.
She would make sure of that.
“LET’S TALK ABOUT DESIRE.”
Kelsey sat in her studio, opening her show even before the last notes of her introduction were finished. She was more than prepared for tonight’s topic.
“Now I don’t mean the natural urge we have to be close to someone we love, to further our deep emotions for that person through physical expression. That’s wonderful, too, of course. But tonight, I want to talk about the kind of desire that’s almost painful in its intensity. You know what I mean…the sweaty palms, the pounding heart, the tense, coiled feeling in the pit of your stomach when you think of someone you want so badly but haven’t been with. Think about it. You know what I’m talking about. Stick around. It should be an interesting night.”
Kelsey sat back during her first set of commercials, winking at Brian while she sipped a glass of water. Usually she kept her personal feelings out of her show. She considered Lady Love to be a character she portrayed. But after days of doing her best to make Mitch want her, she was very much acquainted with wanting someone and was quite ready to talk about unfulfilled desire.
When Brian cued her, she leaned forward and said, “Welcome back to Night Whispers on WAJO. I’m Lady Love and tonight we’re going to explore that intoxicating feeling of just wanting someone. Let’s not muddy the waters, we’re not talking about lifelong love. When you find your one and only, the desire changes, it becomes more meaningful, more fulfilling. That’s another topic for another show. Instead, let’s focus on that spine-tingling sensation you get when you’re around someone who you just know could give you immense physical pleasure.”
Sultry images flooded her mind, but Kelsey forced herself to keep focused on what she was doing.
“Have you felt it? Do you feel it now?” she asked, her voice challenging her listeners. “Can you close your eyes and picture every inch of the person you want?”
She had. She did. She could.
“Sometimes the person we want isn’t right for us, or doesn’t feel the same way. But that doesn’t stop the need. Pure, undiluted desire. We’ve all experienced it. Now let’s talk about it.”
“HOLY HELL!” MITCH MUTTERED. He kicked a pile of papers out of his way as he stalked across the living room and punched the off button on his stereo. Still not satisfied, he reached behind it and yanked the cord out of the wall. He didn’t know what demon had made him tune in to begin with.
“Shut up, Kelsey. Just leave me alone,” he muttered aloud in the empty room.
But she wouldn’t. Kelsey would not leave him alone.
He glanced at the notes he’d been writing before her show came on. It wouldn’t do any good to try to get back to work. Every time he tried to concentrate, thoughts of Kelsey intruded.
For the past week, while he’d struggled to avoid her, she’d turned up everywhere. When he went outside to change the oil in his car, she came out in a pair of very tight, torn jeans and a T-shirt to wash hers. The water had splashed her, making the shirt stick to her skin. He’d been paying so much attention to her that he’d forgotten what he was doing and neglected to tighten the filter. When oil came spilling out on the driveway he’d had to dive back under the car, getting his clothes black and sticky. She’d rushed over to help him clean up, dabbing at the stains while he sucked in gulps of air and tried to look everywhere but at her totally wet, nearly transparent shirt.
When he pulled a load of clothes from the dryer, he bumped into her coming up the basement stairs, and had to lift the laundry basket high over his head while she scooted past. As she slid by, he’d swear she purposely brushed her entire body against his, saying, “We’re just supposed to nod, right?” He stared down at her, watching her descend, as her light, flowery scent hung in the air. She hadn’t even looked back at him standing mute on the stairs.
When he went out to cut the grass, he found her pulling weeds in the garden. Yesterday, when he got home, he found her baking sweet-smelling cinnamon rolls in his kitchen. For several minutes, while he put away his groceries, he had to watch her slowly licking sticky, sweet icing from her fingers.
And all the while she smiled and batted her lashes and played the role of temptress as though she’d invented it.
“You’re not going to get away with this, Kelsey,” Mitch said aloud as he walked to his office and flipped on his computer.
He knew he was being played like an instrument. Kelsey was trying to make him admit they could never be mere acquaintances, or housemates. She didn’t like him criticizing her job, but then, when he’d come up with an ideal solution, she didn’t like that, either.
Tonight she must have suspected he’d listen to her show. She seemed to be speaking directly to him. Telling him she wanted him. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or just plain frustrated.
At this particular moment, he was opting for frustrated.
LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Kelsey sat with Celia in Fred’s apartment, waiting for a batch of cookies to finish baking.
“How is it going with Mitch?” Celia asked.
“It’s not going at all,” Kelsey replied with a sigh. “He’s not responding in the least. He doesn’t appear to even be aware of me.”
Celia grinned. “You must be joking. I was watching out the window the other day when you washed your car. He definitely knew you were there. Fred thought I was crazy for laughing when Mitch got himself covered with oil.”
“Well,” Kelsey conceded, “he knows I’m around, he’s just not ready to admit he cares I’m around. I think it was better when we were just friends. This acquaintance business is getting tiresome.”
“So, you just want to be friends again? Yeah, right,” Celia said with a knowing smile.
“Well, maybe friends isn’t quite the right word.”
Celia crossed her arms across her chest and raised one eyebrow. “I think lovers is the word you’re looking for.”
Kelsey laughed at Celia’s droll tone. “The thought has crossed my mind.”
“A woman would have to be made of stone for that thought not to cross her mind when Mitch Wymore walked into a room.”
Kelsey pretended she was shocked. “Why, Celia, for a nearly engaged woman to say such a thing…I’m appalled!”
“Hey, I love Fred, okay?” Celia explained with a laugh. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a male body that looks like it should be a centerfold…or a face that looks like it should be on the cover of GQ.”
“Don’t forget those dark blue eyes that seem to see everything,” Kelsey contributed.
“I think I prefer green eyes.” Celia’s sweet smile told Kelsey she had switched her thoughts to Fred.
When they heard a car pull up outside, Celia glanced out the window. “Fred’s home. Looks like he’s unloading some boxes. Uh-oh, Mitch is going out to help him.”
“I think I’ll slide on outta here, then,” Kelsey said. “I’m not exactly dressed for another seduction attempt.”
Kelsey glanced ruefully at her purple sweat suit and sneakers as she carried her teacup into the kitchen. She had a little flour on her chest from the cookie baking, and a brown smear on her wristband where she’d accidentally leaned into a bowl of chocolate chips.
“Don’t go,” Celia said. “When they get up here I’ll order pizzas or something, and the four of us can have dinner.”
“With Mitch ignoring me and me drooling over him? Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You don’t drool, and he doesn’t ignore you.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I am about ready to call this plan quits, anyway. Mitch has made it clear he’s not interested, and I’m not about to ambush him. Besides, my producer, Brian, is stopping by later. I need to get home and make some notes about show ideas before he arrives.”
Kelsey opened the apartment door to leave and found Fred, carrying a large carton, reaching for the knob. She held the door for him, and said hello and goodbye. Hoping Mitch wouldn’t be too quick, she dashed to the stairs and was halfway down when he started coming up. He hadn’t seen her yet; the large box he carried blocked his view. Kelsey decided to press against the wall and let him move right past her on the wide stairway. With any luck he’d never even notice she was there. It almost worked.
Mitch peered around the side of the carton he was carrying to see if he was nearing the top step, and came face-to-face with Kelsey. Startled, he dropped the box, watching helplessly as plastic beakers and papers spilled onto the wooden stairs. The cardboard container tipped on its side and slid like a toboggan straight down to the landing.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry, I was just trying to get out of your way.” Kelsey shrugged slightly, but grimaced at the loud thump of the box hitting the floor at the bottom of the steps.
“Dammit, Kelsey,” Mitch snapped as he faced her and moved closer. “This is going to stop. Understand?” Kelsey leaned back farther as he crowded her. His hands braced the wall on either side of her head, and he trapped her, inches from his chest, as he continued his tirade. “I hope Fred didn’t have anything breakable in that box. What a dumb stunt!”
Mitch stared hard at her, looking for the gleam of mischief he felt sure he’d find, but it wasn’t there. She looked contrite, embarrassed even. And a mess.
A smudge of flour rode the high plane of her cheek, and her hair hung in disarray from a clip. He watched her part her full lips and take in a deep breath, and noticed the strong pulse beating in her throat. She was nervous—he could see it. A slow flush spread from her neck up through her face, and her breathing became more labored. Mitch glanced down to the slight space between their bodies. Not much more than a whisper separated them.
He dropped his voice to a growl. “All right, Kelsey. You win.”
Kelsey raised her eyes in confusion, but didn’t have time to absorb his words when his mouth suddenly captured hers in a searing kiss. She didn’t move, didn’t have the strength to lift her arms to encircle his neck, but reveled in the hard press of his body, crushing hers from shoulder to thigh. His hot mouth urged hers to open and she welcomed him, loving the intimacy, the taste of him as the kiss continued endlessly.
She whimpered when Mitch moved his hands to her shoulders, then slowly slid them down her arms until he reached her fingertips. He laced his fingers through hers briefly, then moved his hands to her hips, pulling her tighter against him. Her whimper turned into a moan at the feel of his hard excitement. Mitch lifted his mouth from hers, trailing hot kisses down her chin, across her neck, to the hollow of her throat. His fingertips reached her waist and slid under her sweatshirt, caressing her sensitive, bare flesh.
Kelsey shifted a little, silently urging him to continue exploring her body, as she longed to do with his. Finally regaining the ability to move, she allowed her palms to travel up the flat expanse of his stomach to his hard chest. She stroked the side of his neck, then curled her fingers in his hair.
Mitch inhaled Kelsey’s scent as he trailed kisses along her throat. He lightly grazed his teeth against the soft curve of her neck as he caressed her bare midriff, then moved his hands higher to rest just underneath her breasts.
“Oh, Mitch, yes, please,” she whispered brokenly in that deep, throaty voice he knew so well.
Mitch closed his eyes tightly as her words intruded on the seductive spell he’d allowed to envelop him. Pulling his fingers away from her skin, he leaned his forehead on the wall behind her and struggled mightily to slow his rapid, shallow breathing.
After a few seconds he pulled back from her, looking at her dazed expression. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, and deep breaths came from between her swollen lips. Desire for her rose again, almost as swiftly as his anger at his lack of control. He didn’t know whether he was more angry at himself for forgetting his resolutions regarding Kelsey, or at her for being so damned tempting.
“Are you satisfied now?” he asked raggedly.
Kelsey slowly shook her head and replied without even opening her eyes, “I’m a long way from satisfied.”
So was he. Mitch knew the only way he’d be satisfied right now was if he buried himself inside her body and felt her sleek legs wrapped around his waist.
“This is insane,” he muttered as he angrily thrust his hands through his hair. “What are we doing?”
She smiled slowly without bothering to open her eyes. “Exactly what we’ve both been wanting to do, I believe.”
Mitch shook his head in disbelief. She was so matter-of-fact, as if this moment of wild, unexpected passion was the most natural thing in the world. As if the two of them could forget the past, and her family, and their long-standing connection, and just drift into a reckless affair.
He stared steadily at her. “What do you want from me?”
Oh, if he only knew what she wanted! She wanted Fred and Celia to disappear. She wanted Mitch to yank her clothes off and lift her up so she could wrap her legs around him. She wanted him pressing her against the wall as he filled her body and they let the passion consume them.
And more than anything, she wanted to wake up tomorrow morning, and many mornings thereafter, and find him next to her.
“I think that if I answer that question honestly you’re going to go back down to your apartment, lock your door and never come near me again,” she said softly.
Mitch backed away and studied Kelsey’s face. She was not flirting, she was not trying to seduce or cajole. Her honest desire was plain to see, and her bright green eyes held absolutely nothing back. All she wanted was him.
God help him, all he wanted was her, too. His blood coursed through his veins and excitement threatened to overwhelm him. For the first time in years, he felt totally in tune with his senses, remembering every soft inch of her flesh, the sweet scent of her aroused body. He wanted to take her, right there on the stairs, to hell with Fred and Celia and anybody else. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t say to hell with her family.
Finally, when he trusted himself to speak without telling her how much his body was screaming for her, he muttered, “Then maybe we’d better forget I asked.”
THE ICE CUBES CLINKED against his glass as Mitch swirled his drink. He stared pensively out his front window at the night sky, wondering what kind of fool he’d been to walk away from Kelsey.
Mitch had never wanted a woman as much as he’d wanted her at that moment. He’d never been as aroused, or as totally unaware of where he was and who was present. He’d felt like a kid again, conscious of nothing but feeling, not caring about anything but physical pleasure.
He didn’t know how he managed to turn his back on her and begin gathering Fred’s spilled belongings. Kelsey had moved past him with quiet dignity and entered her apartment. After dumping the box unceremoniously in Fred’s apartment, Mitch had gone back downstairs, resisting the strong temptation to stop at Kelsey’s door, knock, and see what happened when she answered.
He did the right thing. Things had gotten a little carried away again, but there was no sense in making a difficult situation worse. Maybe he’d been a little crazy to think he and Kelsey could be nothing but neighbors; too many years of history made a mockery of that idea. But they could not become lovers. For about the hundredth time that evening, he found himself wishing she’d never moved in. And for about the hundredth time that evening, he called himself a liar as he remembered the feel of her pressed against him.
Mitch heard the doorbell ring. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was after nine, and knew exactly who was showing up. Kelsey’s date. Celia had mentioned earlier that she’d invited Kelsey to stay for dinner but that she had other plans, with a man, for that evening.
Good. That was exactly what she should be doing. Getting out, meeting people, forgetting all about him.
“You’re such a liar,” Mitch said aloud, knowing he’d rather have both his legs broken than have her forget all about him. He started pouring himself another drink as he heard Kelsey come down the stairs and greet her guest. When he heard them go back upstairs to her apartment, he made it a double.
“I REALLY APPRECIATE you coming by and going over these show ideas with me, Brian. And thanks for dinner.”
Kelsey sat on the floor of her apartment, leaning on her coffee table to write on a yellow legal tablet. She absently picked up her cold-cuts sub and took a bite.
“No problem,” he replied. “I wasn’t doing anything tonight, anyway. Chuck’s working a double so I would have been sitting around at home.”
“So, what’s my excuse for having nothing to do and nowhere to go on a Saturday night?”
“Oh, make me laugh. Half the guys at the station would ask you out in a second if you gave the slightest indication you were interested,” Brian argued as he glanced at his notebook.
“But would it be me they were asking out, or Lady Love?”
“If Lady Love were interested, you’d have half the guys in Baltimore at your door. But from that moony look you get on your face whenever you start talking about this guy who lives downstairs, I guess Lady Love’s not available.”
Kelsey grimaced and wiped her sticky fingers on a napkin.
“I’m not moony,” she said. She hadn’t realized her feelings for Mitch had been so obvious. Of course, Brian was very perceptive.
“No, of course you’re not, sweetie,” Brian said with a grin, as if humoring her mood.
Her mood stank. After Mitch’s rejection earlier that afternoon, she hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry. She’d done a little of both, then sat quietly and calmly and thought about her relationship with Mitch.
It was done. Whatever fantasies she had about him were finished, and good riddance to them. Well, she had to admit, maybe her fantasies themselves weren’t done. After that kiss, that embrace, that flash of absolute electricity they’d shared, she imagined her fantasies were going to get a lot more intense! But her slight belief that maybe something would come of those fantasies…that was gone. Mitch had rejected her for the last time. Right now, he was probably feeling so embarrassed he wouldn’t come near her again. And that suited her just fine.
MITCH WASN’T THINKING totally clearly, but he knocked on her door anyway, muttering, “I owe you one, Kelsey Logan. You’ve got this coming.”
He shivered slightly as a draft swept up from downstairs, blowing under the towel he wore around his hips. Curling his toes on the cool wood floor, he wished she’d hurry up and answer. Every second she delayed made him think about heading back downstairs. But his reflexes were perhaps the tiniest bit slower because of his mood…and, possibly, the scotch. Before he had time to forget the whole stupid idea, Kelsey’s apartment door opened.
Kelsey had really expected Celia to be standing in her doorway with a plateful of cookies. Instead, a six-foot-tall, nearly naked, rock-hard, golden, lean man stood there.
“Hello, Kelsey,” Mitch said with a slow smile as he sauntered into her apartment. “Gee, seems I’m all out of soap. Got some I could borrow?”
Kelsey stared as Mitch moved past her. He was naked. Well, not entirely, she supposed. He wore a white towel around his waist, but otherwise, nothing. His dark hair was mussed, damp, as if he had just jumped in the shower, then jumped back out. A drop of water fell from one lock of hair and landed on his sculpted bronzed shoulder, slowly gliding a glistening path down the crisp, dark hair on his chest. She followed the droplet’s descent, and then allowed her eyes to travel farther down his body. A quivering sigh was the only sound she could manage.
Kelsey had a pretty good idea what men were supposed to look like. She’d been raised with two brothers, after all, and had enjoyed her fair share of male attention. But Mitch, well, she’d never seen a man who made her forget to breathe.
He was beautiful. His body was hard but not bulky. Lean, toned, with sinewy muscles that rippled along his chest and upper arms. His flesh was smooth, unmarred, a delicious light tan color. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. The dark hair on his chest was sparse and tapered to a thin line down his flat stomach. The white towel interrupted her gaze, but she skimmed it and studied his firm legs. Even his feet were sexy.
Kelsey felt like one of those gaping, foolish men so often seen in comedy movies, ogling a gorgeous woman in a bikini. She quickly glanced up to see if Mitch had noticed.
He smirked.
“Ah-hem,” a voice intruded. Mitch glanced nonchalantly over his shoulder to the dark-haired man standing near the sofa. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you have company?” he drawled.
“I was just leaving,” the other man said. He eyed Mitch from head to toe, then glanced at Kelsey and gave her a huge grin and a wink. Mitch couldn’t understand why Kelsey’s date would be so amused at another man, nearly naked, bursting in on them, and why he would cut and run at the sight of the competition. But he really didn’t care. The guy was leaving. More important, he and Kelsey had both been fully clothed, sitting in the living room, when Mitch arrived!
Kelsey found her vocal cords and managed to say, “Uh, yeah, thanks, Brian.”
Brian surreptitiously gave her a thumbs-up as Kelsey returned his quick kiss on the cheek. Her producer looked highly amused, and she imagined she’d have a lot of explaining to do Monday night.
“Gee, don’t run off on my account. I really didn’t mean to interrupt your date,” Mitch said with an absolute lack of sincerity.
“No problem,” Brian responded as he stood by the open door. “Kelsey’s not my type, anyway.”
Mitch shrugged as the other man gave him another long glance, then sighed and slipped out the door. Suddenly he noticed Kelsey beginning to chuckle. He turned to face her as her chuckles turned to uproarious, gut-clenching laughter, and she fell to the couch.
“What’s so funny?” he asked indignantly.
Kelsey couldn’t answer him. Oh, it was too much! Mitch was paying her back for the trick she’d played on him with that blond witch. He thought Brian was her date, and he’d come up here to give her a little taste of her own medicine.
Finally, she calmed down and looked over to where Mitch stood, looking at her as if she were insane.
“I’m sorry,” she said between giggles. “It’s just…well, if Brian were to come to the brownstone for a date, I imagine he’d be knocking on your door…or Fred’s.”
Mitch didn’t understand for a moment. Then it sank in. Kelsey’s “date” was gay. Mitch tried for self-righteous indignation. He tried to be offended. He tried to feel stupid that his plan had blown up in his slightly drunk face. But he couldn’t. He started laughing and fell to the couch to sit beside Kelsey, who once again erupted in chuckles.
When they’d both calmed down, Kelsey said, “Oh, Mitch, what were you thinking? What would possess you to come up here like this?”
“Like this?” Mitch asked as he playfully stood and posed in the towel.
She grinned at his impersonation of a muscle-man, not that he couldn’t pull it off, but because she knew him so well. Mitch had never flaunted his looks. His personality and brains had taken him anywhere he ever wanted to go. But, oh, if ever a man was born who could have coasted a little on an absolutely mouthwatering physique, this was he.
“Well,” he continued, “I suppose I could have come like…this.”
Mitch grabbed the knot at his hip and loosened it, giving her an evil leer. Kelsey gasped and threw her hands over her eyes, but peeked through her fingers as the towel dropped to the floor.
“You cheater,” she exclaimed when she saw the running shorts he was wearing.
He grinned wickedly. “Did you think I’d be crazy enough to come up here totally naked under that towel?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “When you were a kid you might have. But the Mitch Wymore I’ve been sharing this house with for the past few weeks…he’s so uptight, I’m surprised he didn’t show up in a three-piece suit.”
“Uptight?” he exclaimed with mock offense. “I am the least uptight person on the planet. Unless, of course, you happen to be Lady Love, the sex queen of Baltimore.”
Kelsey searched his face for any bitterness but saw only his teasing laughter. “I miss you, Mitch. I miss this. I miss my friend.”
“Kels, we’ve never really been friends. You were a royal pain in the butt.”
“Speak for yourself,” she said as she swatted at him with a pillow. “Seriously, do you think we could manage friendship? I mean, acquaintances, that’s absolutely out. And you’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t want anything more…intimate. Can we just be friends?”
Kelsey sounded uncertain, her voice quivered. Could it be she didn’t know how much he desired her? Could she really not tell that this whole fiasco tonight had been prompted by pure jealousy?
Mitch didn’t question her. Kelsey was giving him exactly what he wanted, what was right. Friendship with no strings. Perfect. He would forget about desire. He hoped.
“Being friends sounds great, Kelsey.”
AT TEN O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING, Kelsey stood outside the door to Mitch’s apartment and knocked sharply. He’d asked her to come down and help him sort some paperwork in the spirit of their new friendship.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” she said as Mitch answered his door.
“Come on in,” he replied.
Kelsey entered Mitch’s apartment, noting the piles of papers and pictures on every available surface. She didn’t bother to ask why they weren’t working in his office; she’d cleaned in there a few times while he was gone and, if anything, that room was even worse.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Actually, I really need help putting this stuff in some kind of order. I had several rolls of film developed, and I’ve listed the subjects in my journals. Could you match the rolls with the notes? It would be a big help.”
Kelsey sat on the sofa and picked up a packet of pictures. “I can do that. Are these pictures going to be in the book?”
He wryly shook his head. “No way. This is a collaborative effort. The publisher has professional photographers, graphic artists, even other writers for certain sections. These are just for my notes…and my memories.”
Mitch surreptitiously watched Kelsey work. Her tawny hair swung forward, covering her cheek, and he took advantage of the moment to drink her in with his eyes. This “friends” thing was playing havoc with his peace of mind. He grinned, teased, talked about his trip and answered her endless questions, carefully hiding the fact that he wanted to strip off her fluffy sweater and lick her collarbone.
“Who are these children?” she asked.
Glad she’d distracted him from his wandering thoughts, Mitch glanced at the photos she held. Gazing at the eager faces, he smiled. “These are China’s little angels. They’re the unwanted ones. The baby girls who’ve been abandoned and are raised in state homes.”
Mitch saw a frown cross her face. Her shoulders drooped as she sat cross-legged on the floor, next to the sofa.
“Oh, of course, I remember reading your articles in the Baltimore paper a few months ago. These are the girls who are suffering because of China’s one-child policy. Now I understand why there are no boys,” she said softly.
“You don’t usually see boys in these places unless they’re ill or handicapped.” Mitch set the pictures on the table. “Boys are a valuable commodity in a land where parents are punished for having more than one child. If a couple has no son, there’s no one to support them in their old age. Baby girls are found abandoned every day, and they’re usually taken directly to an orphanage. Officials seldom even try to find out who they belong to.”
“How could parents do that to a child?” Kelsey asked in dismay.
“Chinese parents love their children as much as we do, Kels. They’re in an untenable situation, and are forced to do something morally repugnant to survive. I’m sure most Chinese mothers mourn the loss of their daughters all their lives.”
Kelsey stared at the pictures on the table, captivated by the faces, the bright-eyed optimism of the beautiful little girls.
“Your articles helped them, you know,” she said softly. “I read that there has been a recent surge in foreign adoptions.”
He nodded. “That makes it worthwhile. Believe it or not, I even thought about it myself while I was there. For the first time in my life I thought long and hard about becoming a father, even though I’d never believed that would happen.”
Kelsey quickly looked up at him. “Why not? I’m sure you’d be a great father. What kid wouldn’t want a dad who knows how to hot-wire a car?”
He shook his head, chuckling, and replied, “I’ve come a long way from those days. It’s funny when you think about it. I grew up resentful as hell toward my parents, and ended up a lot like them…a little introverted, a little selfish. I travel all the time. I’m not cut out for home, family and kids. The only times I ever felt a family connection were when I was staying with your parents.”
She gave him a sour look. “You sure were around enough to be a Logan!”
“To me, you were like a television show from the fifties that I could step into and pretend I was part of for a little while. But I never felt I was really one of you.”
She stared at him, knowing what he said was true. Mitch had always been a little removed from them, always prepared for the rug to be pulled out from under him. At first it was evident in his rebellion, later in his self-imposed isolation.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I’m not really cut out for kids, just as my parents weren’t.”
“I’m quite sure your parents love you, Mitch. But admit it, you weren’t the easiest kid to deal with.”
She saw his wicked grin and knew he was indulging in a little reminiscing about his hellion years.
“I know you’re right,” he said. “I was totally out of their realm. I got more interesting to them when I was older, once your parents helped me overcome my tendency toward self-destruction. And they’re certainly pleased I ended up so respectable.”
He said the word as if it pained him, and Kelsey grinned. “I somehow suspect they know you well enough to be aware that the badass in you is always lurking just underneath the surface.”
He shook his head ruefully, leaned back on the sofa and said, “Kelsey, until you moved into my life, I would have sworn that badass was long gone!”
“Gee, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Mitch,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
Kelsey slid up on the sofa to sit next to him. Papers and books covered two of the three cushions, and Kelsey nudged Mitch with her hip until he made room for her. He gave a loud, theatrical sigh as she sat down.
“Admit it, I’m not so bad to have around.”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “There are a few definite benefits to having you around, Kels.”
She liked the sound of that.
“Mainly, it earns me points with your family.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “Not funny.”
Kelsey reached out to retrieve the stack of pictures on the table, slowly flipping through them again. She sensed Mitch watching her. His body was pressed against hers, from hip to knee. When he stretched his arm across the back of the sofa behind her, she curled up into the crook under his arm. He didn’t pull away. Kelsey closed her eyes briefly and savored the heavy weight of his arm on her shoulders, and the faint scent of his cologne. His neck was inches from her face, and the urge to press a kiss below his right ear was nearly overwhelming. She resisted it by focusing on the pictures. He took a few from her and glanced through them himself.
“You’re wrong, you know,” she said as they finished going through the stack. “You have a huge heart, Mitch. You are not destined to be alone.”
She turned her face up to look at him, staring intently into his dark blue eyes. He didn’t say anything. Kelsey couldn’t stop looking at him, knowing she wasn’t quite staying within the “friends” boundary they’d decided on. She didn’t care. She’d be willing to bet money that he didn’t, either. Especially when she realized he was going to kiss her.
He leaned forward slowly and brought his lips to hers. He kissed her sweetly, lovingly, and Kelsey nearly melted. This wasn’t mindless passion, the heated exchanges they’d shared in the stairway, but instead a kiss of comfort and longing and sweet seduction. She opened her mouth slightly, inviting him to further the intimacy, and he complied, his tongue engaging hers in a slow, seductive dance.
Kelsey didn’t want the kiss to end. But when it finally did, Mitch didn’t jerk away from her. Instead he closed his eyes and moved slightly so his cheek rested against her temple. She felt his heart pounding under her fingertips, which had somehow found their way to his shirt-clad chest.
“Mitch?” she whispered against the side of his neck. “Is that how friends usually kiss?”
“I think that’s possible,” he replied softly.
“Then I’m awfully glad you’re my friend.”
“WE NEED TO TALK.”
Kelsey didn’t look up from the pile of correspondence she’d been sorting through. Mitch was obviously trying to keep busy, to cover up the awkward silence that had ensued after their kiss.
“I’m so sick of talking,” she replied.
Mitch had been brooding for the past half hour, ever since he’d finally moved away from her and gone back to work. She knew he was trying to figure out what to say, how to rationalize that kiss, and she did not want to hear it.
“We kissed. Friends kiss all the time. You said so yourself. Besides, I think it was natural for us to seek a little emotional release after talking about something so draining. Let’s not make more of it than it was, all right?”
Mitch didn’t let it go. “Look, Kelsey, there’s something happening here, and we need to sort it out.”
Kelsey nodded, sighing, giving in. They’d have to have this conversation sooner or later. “I understand, Mitch. I think, for the first time, I truly understand what you’re feeling.”
“You do? Tell me, would you?” he said with a self-deprecating smile as he popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth.
“You want me so bad it’s killing you.”
Mitch choked, and Kelsey jumped up and pounded him on the back.
“Excuse me?” he said when he’d finally stopped coughing.
“You heard me. There’s no harm in admitting an attraction, Mitch. You want me. I know because I feel the same way about you.”
“That’s comforting,” he said, an amused grin crossing his face.
“And I finally understand why you have fought the attraction and made every effort to avoid me. I always figured you just saw me as a kid, a brat who used to bug you. But it’s a lot deeper than that, right? It’s all mixed up in your head, your loyalty to Nathan, your feelings for my parents, your view of yourself as an outsider.”
He stared at her, saying nothing, but Kelsey knew she was right.
“It’s okay,” she insisted. “Now that I know you’re not just being a tease, and you have deep reservations about anything happening between us, I can accept your rejections for what they are and not take them personally.”
She sounded so logical again. He really couldn’t stand it when she made things that were so very complicated sound so very simple. But Mitch couldn’t argue with her. She’d cut through all the extraneous garbage floating around in his head, and leaped straight to the correct conclusion. Then what she’d said sank in.
“Tease? What do you mean by that?”
“Well, aren’t men allowed to be called that? I mean, if I were the one who kept grabbing you and kissing you and rubbing all over your body and then running away, that’s what I’d be called, right? And isn’t that what you’ve been doing?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“Absolutely not! Besides, it’s not the same.”
“Why not? Because I’m a woman?”
“Exactly,” he replied before he could think better of it.
“I’ll have you know, Mr. Hotshot Anthropologist, that women can have the same physical sensations as men. You’d think, with all the cultures you’ve studied, you’d have learned that women have needs, too. When you kiss me, when you touch me and I feel your body pressing into mine, all I can think about is making love with you. And when you walk away, it’s frustrating as hell. Of course, now that I understand what the problem is, I can let it go. I can wait, Mitch.”
“Wait?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Wait for you to come to your senses. But be warned. The next time you start kissing and touching me, you’d better plan to follow through, because I’m not going to let you walk away from me again.”
“You’re not going to let me—”
“Nope,” she said, not allowing him to finish.
“Let me get this straight. You think you can just wait, and I’ll totally forget my sense of responsibility and loyalty and fall into bed with you?”
“No, of course not. It’s not about forgetting anything, it’s about recognizing that you’re placing too heavy a burden on yourself.”
“A burden. Resisting you is a terrible burden?”
“Uh-huh,” she said happily. “But like I said, I can wait. We’ll just be friends, as we decided last night. Good friends.”
“And if that’s all we ever are?”
Kelsey laughed and rolled her eyes as if he’d just made a colossal joke. “Well, if that’s all, then we’ll have a terrific, lifelong friendship.”
All he could do was nod. He felt as if he were on a roller coaster, but with Kelsey, he often felt that way. She’d practically challenged him to resist her! For a brief second he considered not resisting her at all, but the impulse was gone in a flash.
Every word he’d said to her about his life and his future was true, and her interpretation was dead-on. She was throwing down a gauntlet, but he had no intention of picking it up. Kelsey Logan was off-limits.
“Okay, Kelsey. No more mixed signals. Let’s just concentrate on this friendship thing.”
“All right, Mitch.” Kelsey kept her eyes downcast so he wouldn’t spot the excitement she knew sparkled there.
Nodding and looking slightly relieved, Mitch went back to work. Kelsey watched him try to ignore her while he read some newspapers, translating the Chinese figures laboriously. She liked the intensity of his gaze and how his brow furrowed in concentration. A man with brains was incredibly sexy. And Mitch had brains to spare. Of course the fact that he had the looks to match the brains made him that much more devastating.
And now, she greatly feared, he’d gone and tugged on her heartstrings. It was bad enough when she just suffered from a teenage infatuation, then a woman’s major physical attraction. Now she wanted more than simply the satisfaction she knew they’d find in bed. She wanted him to care about her, to continue opening up to her about subjects dear to his heart. She liked that he confided in her, liked that he trusted her. Now all she had to do was get him to admit that his reluctance to getting involved with her was misplaced.
“Um, Mitch?”
Mitch glanced up quickly, and she knew he’d been waiting for her to break the silence hanging in the room like a shroud.
“I wonder, if, as my very dear friend, you could do me a tremendous favor.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Go on a date with me. Whoa, whoa,” she continued quickly, holding up her hands in response to his look of suspicion. “I don’t mean a date, date. I need an escort.”
“For what?”
“The station is a big sponsor of the Wilson College Halloween Ball, and I’ve been asked to appear.”
“Oh, so I’ll be escorting Lady Love?”
“Is that such a problem?”
“Look, Kelsey, we’ve gotten past one major hurdle and agreed to try to get along. Let’s not start another argument this soon. You know very well how I feel about your job.”
“Yes, I do,” she admitted, “and that’s why I hoped you’d help me out. This is Lady Love’s first appearance in public and, frankly, I’m a little nervous. I could use a friendly face.”
That was completely true. She wasn’t ready to admit it to him yet, but Mitch had been right about the fact that she might be drawing attention from some undesirable sources.
Kelsey received a great deal of fan mail at the station. Much of it was complimentary. Some letters were flirtatious, the writers often telling her they’d like to help her with some “research.” Harmless, really. One writer, who’d written a dozen times, signed his letters “Knight of Your Life” and sent some truly awful poetry proclaiming she was his sun, moon and stars. That particular poem had gone on to say her eyes shone as brightly as the headlights of cars. Brian had laughed aloud for five solid minutes, but Kelsey was touched by the author’s earnest sentiment, if not his skills as a poet. He’d been very faithful: she’d been getting letters from him since her very first week on the air.
But lately some of her mail had been a little disturbing. She had heard from jail inmates, and from men who told her very explicitly how they wanted to help Lady Love enhance her sexual knowledge.
Kelsey had already met with Jack, the station manager, about the problem. He’d hired another security guard to assist Edgar, the regular security guy, particularly during her shift. Jack had also offered to have one of them escort her to the Halloween ball, but she’d turned him down. She wasn’t ready to allow some sick creeps to dictate how she’d live her life. Neither, however, was she ready to show up at the party alone.
“Won’t others from the station be going, as well?” Mitch asked.
“Yes,” she said, “but they all will be bringing significant others, and since I don’t have one, I feel I’ll be a target for any single guy who wants to cash in on some of Lady Love’s knowledge.”
“So you do realize that some of the attention you’re getting is not positive?”
“Of course I do,” she answered, shifting her gaze uncomfortably.
Kelsey didn’t want to be dishonest, but she also didn’t want Mitch any more worried than he already was. She couldn’t tell him everything that was going on.
“Look Mitch,” she finally said, “we disagree about what I do. But I have no argument with you about the fact that I’ve put myself in a position where I might draw unwanted admirers.”
“Well, I guess we’re getting somewhere,” Mitch murmured.
He really didn’t want to go. Mitch didn’t care for college functions anymore, neither the boring faculty ones, nor the raucous student ones. And the Halloween ball, usually held at a downtown hotel, was traditionally a combination of both.
But Kelsey needed him. He couldn’t refuse. And it absolutely would not be a date. He’d be simply a stand-in for Nathan, he decided, a male body to run interference between Kelsey and any overzealous fan.
“All right, I’ll come. But don’t try to put me in costume.”
“You have to wear a costume! They’re not letting anybody in who’s not in costume.”
Mitch rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “I suppose I could come up with something, though I have no idea how, since the party’s next week and I’m absolutely swamped with work.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing,” she assured him. “You’re doing me a big favor by coming, so I will take care of your costume. I’m sure we’ve got something at the station that will fit you. As a matter of fact, I seem to remember seeing a biker outfit, lots of black leather and chains…”
“Oh, no, no leather.” Mitch held his hands up in protest. “I am sure I’ll be seeing colleagues and perhaps even former students at this party. Nothing too outrageous, please? Just traditional Halloween fare? A sheet with two holes might work.”
“Or it could be a sheet with twenty holes,” she replied, “and you could go around saying, ‘I got a rock.’”
Her reference came to mind instantly, and he laughed. “That’s me, Charlie Brown…and, hey, I see a definite resemblance between you and Lucy.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. I wasn’t that bad, was I?”
“Kels, you want the truth, or you want me to lie?” he asked with mock sincerity.
“Maybe we’d better just forget I asked.”
“Good idea,” he said.
“Anyway, I thought maybe you saw me as the little red-haired girl.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me the big, goofy male pining away for the beautiful unattainable girl.”
“I’m not unattainable, Mitch,” she said softly.
She lowered her lashes, casting him a sultry glance, and Mitch took a step back. “Knock it off.” He pointed a finger at her. “Friends, remember?”
She gave a deep, exaggerated sigh and stretched like a cat. “Oh, well, can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Mitch watched the sinuous movement of her body, and was hit in the stomach with another rush of excitement. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Mitch, stop throwing out openings like that one if you don’t want me to come back at you with some very specific suggestions.”
Her words brought lots of specific suggestions to his head, and he closed his eyes to picture them. Kelsey in a white negligee, Kelsey in the bath, Kelsey in his arms…Kelsey everywhere!
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw her staring at him intently. Their eyes locked for a moment, then she slowly smiled at him, challenging him to tell her what was on his mind.
“You really are very wicked, Kelsey Logan.”
“Maybe that’s why you like me so much,” she retorted.
Kelsey broke the stare and walked toward the door. “I really need to get out of here. If I’ve got two costumes to plan, I’d better get started.”
“I appreciate your help,” he said, following her to the door.
“Anytime, friend,” she said, “anytime.”
”SO, HAVE YOU GOT ANY IDEA what to dress up as?”
Kelsey glanced at Celia and then continued chopping vegetables. She’d invited the other woman over for dinner. Fred had been working so many hours that Celia hadn’t been around the brownstone too much lately. Kelsey missed her.
Plus, she knew Celia was very skilled at sewing.
Celia tossed Kelsey a freshly washed cucumber and started rinsing some lettuce. The two had decided on big salads and worked assembly-line fashion in Kelsey’s small kitchen.
“Not a clue,” Kelsey said, sighing. “You’re the one who can sew. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Celia answered as she turned off the tap water. “Depends on what you’re after. Scary? Funny? Outrageous?”
“I suppose,” Kelsey responded, “that Lady Love ought to show up in something a little outrageous, probably a little sexy.”
“A little sexy?”
“Okay, okay, a lot sexy!”
Celia nodded. “We can do that. What about Mitch?”
“I have no idea,” Kelsey said. “He doesn’t want anything too flamboyant, so I guess my Adam and Eve idea with suitably placed fig leaves is out.”
Kelsey loaded up two plates with salad and fresh vinaigrette, grated some Italian cheese and handed one plate to Celia. Pouring two glasses of Chablis, she offered one to her guest and sat down with her at the kitchen table.
Celia took a few bites of her salad. “I can picture Adam and Eve. Hmm, do they make fig leaves big enough?”
Kelsey feigned indignation. “Celia, I’m not that big!”
“I didn’t mean for you,” Celia replied, dangling her fork off the end of her fingers and giving Kelsey a sly look.
Kelsey caught her drift and laughed. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know about that.”
“But you’d like to,” Celia insisted.
“No comment,” Kelsey said, turning her attention to her dinner to avoid dwelling on the picture Celia’s words brought to mind.
They both looked up when they heard a loud banging coming from the front door of the brownstone. “Do you know if Fred was expecting someone?” Kelsey asked.
“No, but maybe he or Mitch forgot their keys.”
“Could be,” Kelsey said, dropping her napkin. As she quickly descended the wooden stairs to the foyer, the knock continued in an almost imperious repetition. Kelsey paused to look through the peephole.
“Oh, great.” She sighed aloud when she recognized the blonde who had been in Mitch’s apartment that night Kelsey had burst in. She hadn’t seen the woman around since, and had begun to hope Mitch wasn’t dating her after all. Kelsey contemplated going back upstairs and not answering, but her good manners won out and she opened the door.
“Well, thank you so much,” the woman said in a brisk voice. “I’ve been knocking for five minutes, and it’s very chilly out here.”
She tried to push past Kelsey to enter the brownstone, but Kelsey blocked her. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mitch,” the blonde said.
“He’s not here.”
“Well, when will he be back?” The woman was obviously annoyed at being kept standing on the doorstep.
“I have no idea. We don’t exactly keep track of each other’s comings and goings.”
The woman eyed her again, and Kelsey almost wished she’d bothered with a little more makeup and hadn’t pulled her hair into a ponytail while making dinner. This statuesque blonde reeked money, looking every bit as lovely as she had the last time she’d been over. Her knee-length coat was obviously cashmere, and she carried a Gucci bag. Her hair was perfectly in place, and her makeup impeccable.
“Give him this, please,” she said, shoving something toward Kelsey with one leather-glove-clad hand. “It’s his invitation to the Halloween ball. Tell him I am counting on him to come, Kelly.”
“It’s Kelsey.”
“Of course.” The woman offered her an insincere smile. “Kelsey, Mitch’s friend’s sister. He has, of course, told me all about how your family was so kind to him. And how he felt so obligated to rent you a room here to repay them.”
Obligated? Mitch felt obligated? Kelsey began to see red. Just then Mitch’s car swung up the driveway, and the blonde glanced over her shoulder and smiled in relief. They watched him park his car and start toward the house. Some imp of mischief made Kelsey say, “He’s here now, and you can offer the ticket, but I don’t think he needs it.”
“Oh?” the woman asked, raising her eyebrow imperiously. “Why do you say that?”
“Mitch has a date for the ball. He’s going with me. And I’ve already got tickets.”
“You’re not serious!”
“About what?” Mitch asked as he walked up the two steps to the front door of the brownstone.
Amanda turned to him and shrilly announced, “Your little ‘pseudo-sister’ here claims you’re attending the Halloween ball with her.”
“Of course, she’s serious.” He scowled at Amanda in annoyance. Sometimes the woman could be incredibly high-handed, as well as thick-skinned. In spite of what had happened the last time she’d come to his apartment, she still continued to call him every few days. He’d avoided complete rudeness, up to now.
“But you always go with me, Mitch! And Daddy…he was so looking forward to joining us.”
Always could be translated as twice. Mitch had gone with Amanda once, last year, and as a guest of her father’s the year before.
“I’m looking forward to seeing him, too. But as I’ve said, I am going with Kelsey. Her station is sponsoring the event, and she needed an escort.”
Amanda’s face tightened as she tried to smile. Kelsey figured it took a great deal of effort to turn and say, “I’m sorry for doubting you, Kelsey. Of course Mitch would step in and play the gallant escort.”
“Oh, Mitch is nothing if not gallant,” Kelsey said.
“But, Mitch,” Amanda said, “after Kelsey’s finished her duties for her employer, you must join us. Daddy and I will still save you a place at our table.”
Amanda cast another glance at Kelsey. “And if Kelsey wishes to remain at the party after she’s finished working, she’s welcome to sit with us, too.”
“How kind,” Kelsey murmured, feeling like the unwelcome servant invited to a dinner party to make up for a no-show guest.
The woman did not seem to notice her sarcasm and continued. “However, I do insist that you let me plan your costume, Mitch. I thought we could go as Fred and Ginger again, since everyone loved our costumes last year.”
“I’m afraid not. Kelsey is already working on our costumes.”
“Oh, Mitch, don’t be silly,” Amanda replied, undeterred. “It won’t matter what costume you wear to play escort for a brief time for your little friend. Your duties shouldn’t take too long, then you can join me in your top hat and tails. You won’t be chained to Kelsey all night!”
Kelsey figured she ought to have her brain examined for taking the insults that had been flying her way for the past several minutes. “You know, I think I’ll leave you two to sort this out, all right? Celia’s waiting upstairs. Good night, it was lovely seeing you again.”
Not waiting for a reply, she stalked up the stairs, slamming her apartment door behind her.
“My goodness, I hope I didn’t offend her, Mitch.”
“How could you not have offended her?” Anger made his voice tight and hard. “You walked in here, into Kelsey’s home, and started treating her like an unwanted guest, or as if you have some claim to my time, when you know that’s absolutely untrue.”
“Well,” Amanda sputtered, unable to come up with anything else to say. Mitch knew it was pretty stupid to antagonize her. After all, she and her father could easily prevent his books from being required in any class at several colleges.
When he didn’t respond or apologize, Amanda said quietly, “I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry, Mitch. I was a little abrupt with her. I guess I still am proprietorial about you. Silly of me.”
“Maybe you’d better tell Kelsey that next time you see her.”
Amanda nodded, said goodbye and walked back to her car.
Mitch let himself into his apartment, wondering if he should go upstairs and straighten things out with Kelsey. She’d mentioned Celia was waiting, so he figured this wouldn’t be the best time.
The urge to seek her out had been with him ever since she’d left his place that afternoon. He was getting very used to that urge: it seemed to be constant. For about the twentieth time, Mitch wondered what kind of fool he was to take her to the party. And for about the twenty-fifth time, he told himself there was no way in hell he was going to back out.
“WE WON’T BE CHAINED together all night,” Kelsey muttered as she entered her apartment and caught Celia’s eye. “Mitch and I won’t be chained together at the ball, so of course he can feel free to dump poor little old obligation me and go waltz off with Miss Moneybags and her father!”
Celia looked at her as though she were crazy, and Kelsey briefly related the conversation with Mitch and his girlfriend.
“So she expects Mitch to ditch you and spend the rest of the evening with her?”
“Apparently so.”
“But, Kelsey, Mitch isn’t even dating her anymore. Fred told me they broke up before Mitch left town.”
Kelsey breathed a deep sigh of relief. She’d suspected as much, but it was good to hear her suspicion confirmed.
“Chained together, indeed,” she muttered.
Then an idea began to take shape in her mind. It was outrageous. He’d kill her. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Celia, I think I may have come up with a costume idea after all.”
“Really? Fill me in.”
Laughing, Kelsey did exactly that. And when she finished explaining what she had in mind, Celia gasped, then laughed, too.
THE NEXT MORNING, armed with a pad of paper and a measuring tape, Kelsey went downstairs and found Mitch in the kitchen.
“How big are you?”
Mitch dropped the bowl he’d been about to put away, and gaped at her. “Excuse me?”
“I’m glad that was plastic,” she said, glancing toward the bowl on the floor. “And I said, how big are you? You know, sizes. I’ve got some costume ideas, but I really need your measurements.”
“Oh,” Mitch said. “Clothing sizes.”
“Uh-huh…what else would I have meant?”
“I have no clue, Kelsey.”
Kelsey grinned at his too-innocent tone, then started writing down his sizes as he rattled them off. She probably could have gone with her original guesses, because she had just about hit them dead-on, except for the chest size. She had overestimated that by a bit, probably because she’d gotten so worked up remembering him in her apartment Saturday night wearing that towel. His chest had seemed to go on forever.
“So what’s your idea, anyway?” he asked.
She was not about to tell him specifically what she had in mind, but didn’t lie, either. “Just a good old Halloween pirate.”
“What are we talking here, an Errol Flynn type of pirate? Or more of a Captain Hook with long black curls and high buckle shoes?”
“Definitely Flynn.” She didn’t want him waving a hook around, especially considering what she’d planned for the rest of the costume.
“By the way, don’t shave Saturday, okay? The dark and swarthy look suits you.”
Mitch’s firm jaw was slightly stubbled; she could tell he hadn’t shaved yet. The dark shadow didn’t look unkempt, but instead made him look a little rough and exciting. It brought out the hollows under his high cheekbones and accentuated the tiny cleft in his chin. He seemed like the dark, dangerous Mitch she used to know.
“What are you going to wear?” Mitch asked as he moved to dry another dish.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she said with a secretive smile. “Stand still, let me confirm the measurements you gave me…men have a habit of overestimating sizes.”
“Are you always so utterly outrageous?” Mitch couldn’t resist laughing at her suggestive words.
She didn’t reply as she pulled the measuring tape out and stretched it across his back and shoulders.
“Hurry up, would you?” Having Kelsey leaning against him was very disconcerting. Her hands ran over him lightly, almost teasing him, and her soft breasts pressed into his back. He was very conscious of the contact. When she finally finished, he breathed a deep sigh of relief and stepped away.
“Now, you’re not going to back out on me, are you?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Kelsey. This whole evening is starting to sound interesting.”
KELSEY SPENT THE REST of the day ordering things and sewing. Her plan was pulling together quite nicely. Jack, her boss, called late in the afternoon, anxious to find out if she’d decided how “Lady Love” would be dressed for her first public appearance. Though at first he didn’t seem to understand what she described, she said, “Just picture a romance novel cover, all right?” and he finally got it.
That evening at the station, she and Brian quickly threw together some highlights from their discussion Saturday night. When they’d nailed down a topic and listed some songs, Brian sat back and stared at her, a knowing look in his eyes.
“There’s talk in the coffee room that you’ve gotten some more mail from your lovesick knight, Sir He Who Cannot Write Poetry,” he said. “Why didn’t you share?”
She gave him a sour stare. “Because I knew you’d just make fun of the poor guy. This one was very sweet, too, and we all know how catty you are around genuine sweetness!”
“That’s because it doesn’t exist,” he sniped. “So, does this one compare your voice to the dulcet tones of his grandpappy’s harmonica?”
Kelsey pulled out the pale blue stationery. “Actually, it’s another poem, in which he claims ‘the only sounds bringing tears of joy he’d wipe, are my gravelly voice and a Scottish bagpipe.’”
After Brian let out a few shouts of laughter, he wiped the corners of his eyes. “Oh, man, I wonder if this guy’s a comedian…he must be doing it on purpose. No way could someone write such genuinely awful poetry!”
“It’s kind of sweet,” Kelsey insisted, trying to keep a straight face. “He’s writing me two or three times a week now, and he obviously puts a lot of effort into these letters.”
“Doesn’t that creep you out a little bit? I mean, that someone is crawling out of the woodwork, writing you all these love letters, when he’s never even laid eyes on you?”
Kelsey shrugged, folded the letter and slipped it back into its matching blue envelope. “I guess it goes with the territory. There are a lot of lonely people out there who don’t have anything better to do than write unrequited love letters.”
Brian leaned toward her and took her hand, suddenly serious. “Kelsey, listen, don’t take this too lightly, okay? It might seem like nothing to worry about now, but we have all heard stories of overzealous fans going too far.”
Kelsey saw genuine concern in Brian’s face and squeezed his fingers reassuringly. “There’s nothing to worry about. The guy’s harmless. Besides, the security guards are being great, I feel totally safe while I’m here.”
He smirked. “And, of course, while you’re at home, you have a modern-day replica of a Greek god running around in nothing but a towel to protect you. Hey, maybe he’s your knight.”
“Don’t I wish,” Kelsey said with a chuckle. “Unfortunately, Mitch was out of the country and had never heard of Lady Love when I started getting the letters.”
“Too bad,” Brian said as they left the break room. “By the way, you never did fill me in on what happened after I left Saturday night.”
“I figured you’d get around to that sooner or later, but it’ll have to be later. We’ve got two minutes and I have to run to the ladies’ room,” Kelsey said as she hurried away.
“Chicken,” Brian called out, his laughter following her down the hall.
MITCH DIDN’T GET MUCH SLEEP for the rest of the week. He spent his days writing, researching or speaking with contributing editors. Though really only in the outline stage, he was pleased with the book’s progress.
His long nights were spent listening to the radio. He tried to resist. Every night he promised himself he’d listen to her opening, hear what she was planning to talk about, then shut off the radio. But he never did. He always ended up sticking with Lady Love until her sign-off. The leather living room sofa wasn’t very comfortable, so Mitch bought a boom box and put it in his bedroom. Every night he went to bed with Kelsey. Well, with her voice anyway.
As he listened, Mitch’s appreciation for Kelsey’s talent grew. Her show was always entertaining, sometimes hilarious, usually very sexy. But Paul had been right. It was never raunchy or in poor taste.
Her subjects changed nightly. On Tuesday, her topic was first love. Wednesday, she lightened things up a bit as dozens of callers detailed their most embarrassing romantic moments. On Thursday, she steamed up his room when she talked about eroticism. And last night, Friday, she opened the phones for a sort of free-for-all. She impersonated that little old lady sex doctor, then a French madam. Callers asked romantic trivia questions. Her audience threw challenge after challenge at her, and she answered with wit and style. Mitch was very impressed.
“HAS MITCH SEEN ANY of this yet?” Celia asked.
Kelsey shook her head and continued sewing. The two of them were finishing off the last bits of the costume. Material, clothing and accessories were strewn over most of Kelsey’s apartment. Her home looked like a theater dressing room.
“No. I haven’t seen much of him this week.”
“That’s good. I somehow suspect he might rethink this whole Halloween costume if he saw it too far in advance.”
“He already knows what he’s wearing…pretty much,” Kelsey said with a chuckle.
“How’s the hair coming?” Celia asked. “Was it uncomfortable to sleep in last night?”
“A little.” Kelsey shook her head lightly. The waxed paper that she’d tightly wound around locks of hair all over her head crinkled with every movement. “But it will be worth it. Wait and see.”
After they finished everything, including lowering the neckline of Kelsey’s blouse once more, Celia said, “Why don’t you let me run Mitch’s costume down to him so he doesn’t see you before tonight. It might be bad luck. Oh, that’s just for weddings, right?”
Kelsey grinned and walked Celia to the door, thanking her profusely for all her help. After the other woman left, Kelsey glanced at the clock and saw it was only two. She took a bath, being careful to avoid getting her wrapped hair wet. She soaked for a long time, then got out and rubbed her body with a fragrant, flowery lotion. Pampering herself yet more, she spent another half hour doing her nails, painting them a ruby red. Finally she took a few minutes and began pulling the wax paper out of her hair.
When she was finished, Kelsey shook her head, laughing in delight at the effect. Crinkly, flowing curls cascaded down her back almost to her bra line, bouncing with every move. After applying her makeup with a heavy hand, she surveyed herself in the mirror. The riot of curls framed her dramatically made-up face. She struck a pose, pursing her lips and lifting an eyebrow. She looked exotic, enticing even. Good. That was just what she was shooting for.
“SHE WANTS TO TORTURE ME,” Mitch said aloud as he stared down at the indecently tight pants he’d just put on. They were a shiny black material and fit like a second skin. Mitch wondered if she’d written his measurements down wrong. Probably not. Knowing Kelsey, she’d fully intended for them to be as outrageous as possible. She’d had a mischievous sparkle in her eye lately, and he imagined dressing him in a sexy pirate costume was her way of getting back at Amanda for her high-handed treatment. He couldn’t look less like Fred Astaire unless he dyed his hair red and put on a clown suit.
Mitch reached for the rest of the costume Celia had delivered earlier in the day, marveling at how complete it was in every detail. Yanking on the accompanying black leather boots, he wasn’t surprised to see they came all the way to his knees, covering the bottom of the obscenely tight pants. The shirt was a little better, he thought as he pulled the flowing material over his head. It was white cotton with long, billowing sleeves that gathered at the wrist and spilled lace over his hands. The front had no buttons, instead lacing up with string from his abdomen to his throat, and he left it loose. Celia had told him the bright red silk scarf was to wear around his hips. Mitch quickly wrapped and tied it. Finally he worked up the nerve to look at himself in the mirror, and his jaw dropped. Then he slowly grinned. He looked like some male stripper dressed up for a woman’s pirate fantasy.
“Oh, what the hell,” he said, laughing out loud. It was one night. It was Halloween. It was for Kelsey. Tonight, Mitch would be a pirate.
AT A FEW MINUTES BEFORE SEVEN, Kelsey heard a knock on her apartment door. Glancing in the mirror one more time, she quickly checked her makeup and called out, “Just a minute, Mitch.”
The long rain cape she’d borrowed from Celia lay on a chair by the door, and Kelsey quickly pulled it on, completely covering herself from head to mid-calf. She tucked a few errant curls against her neck, then buttoned the cape.
“Right on time,” she said as she yanked the door open, determined to get out into the murky hall before he had a chance to see much of her. But her intentions fled as she saw him leaning indolently against the doorframe.
He looked magnificent.
Mitch’s thick, dark brown hair was tied back into a short ponytail with a strip of leather. She hadn’t made that suggestion, but it worked perfectly, giving him even more of a rakish piratical appearance. He was unshaved, his face dark and lean, giving him a dangerous look. The white shirt gaped open, exposing the crisp dark hair on his hard chest, and her eyes followed the vee down almost to his waist. The tight red sash emphasized his lean build, and the black pants…well, if she started thinking too much about what Mitch looked like in those black pants, they’d never get to the ball.
“What do you think?”
“You look gorgeous…tall, dark and dangerous,” she admitted weakly.
He flashed her a boyish grin, and said, “I have to admit I do feel very Errol Flynn-ish. You and Celia did a great job. Where on earth did you find this stuff?”
“Just lucky, I guess. Some of it we put together ourselves, and some I got in the mall. I found the boots in a thrift shop.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, at last noticing the cape that covered her from the top of her head to her knees. “I want to see your costume.”
“No time,” she retorted. “We’ve got to go. And it’s raining a little. I don’t want to mess up my hair.”
Mitch frowned at her, but Kelsey ignored him and grabbed the bag she’d left sitting by the front door.
“What’s this?”
“Just some props. Finishing touches to my masterpiece.”
Kelsey rushed downstairs, glad to hear the rain still hitting the windows. It had given her the perfect excuse to wear the concealing cape. Mitch put his own coat on and opened the door, then glanced down and noticed her shoes.
“What do you have on your feet?”
Kelsey wore flat brown leather sandals. Instead of a buckle, they fastened with two long strips of leather, which she’d wound around her ankles and up her calves.
“Sandals, why?” she asked, offering no explanation.
Mitch sighed, glanced at her feet, then at the soggy yard. Not bothering to ask, he bent and picked her up in his arms. She gasped. He shouldered the front door open, and dashed with her across the front yard to his car. She didn’t utter so much as a word as he quickly opened the car door and sat her in the passenger seat.
As they drove toward the harbor, Kelsey began having second thoughts. What if Mitch outright refused to go along with it? It wouldn’t really matter, she supposed. They would both still be in costume, though hers might look a little strange. His pirate outfit would be fine. In fact, she acknowledged, this whole thing might blow up right in her face. Because if he balked at using her “props,” he would very likely be a target for every single woman in the place, Amanda included. She wished for a moment that she hadn’t done such a good job on his costume.
“Looks like a big crowd,” he said when they pulled up to the hotel entrance and he stopped in front of the valet parking stand. “Do you see anyone from work?”
Kelsey glanced through the raindrops on the car windshield and saw several costumed party goers. A man dressed in a green Godzilla costume stood out, but everyone else was indistinguishable.
The hotel was an elegant structure that had stood in the downtown area for probably forty years or more. Kelsey had read that the building had recently been renovated, and the interior gleamed. Casting an appreciative eye around the plush lobby, she noted a few costumed guests mingling in one corner, while a family with two impatient children checked in at the front desk. Leather sofas were arranged in intimate groupings, and a couple sat whispering to each other in one of them. An impeccably uniformed porter bustled toward the elevator, while sparkling lights reflecting off the crystal chandelier danced across his mauve uniform.
Mitch moved toward the coat check, but Kelsey caught hold of his sleeve. “Could you come here for a minute? I need to finish setting us up.”
“Setting us up?”
Kelsey led him across the thick gold carpeting to a corridor opposite the lobby. They slipped into a small alcove near the game room. The wall was mirrored, and the area well lit. Perfect.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked as she dropped the satchel to the floor. “You’ve been acting very mysteriously.”
“I know. But all will now be revealed.” She bit her lip nervously. Kelsey caught Mitch’s eye as she began unbuttoning her cape. She gently pulled the hood back, revealing her curls, then let the cape slide from her shoulders to pool around her feet.
Mitch sucked in his breath and widened his eyes.
She wore a gauzy white blouse that clung to her body as if it were painted on. Only the sleeves, long and billowy, were loose. They covered her from upper arm to wrist. But her shoulders, upper chest, and throat were totally exposed. The top of the tight blouse skimmed her breasts, revealing a great deal of creamy cleavage, and Mitch thought if Kelsey moved too quickly she would reveal far more than she wanted to.
Adding to the natural “spillage” danger was the fact that Kelsey wore a tight white bustier over the blouse. It laced in the front, cinching her waist to near nothingness, hugging her midriff and pushing her breasts up to a dangerous level.
A flowing white skirt skimmed over her shapely hips and fell in layered ruffles to mid-calf. Kelsey moved slightly, and Mitch saw that on one side the skirt curved into a slit that came up to her upper thigh.
Her hair was a mass of shining curls, lustrous and inviting and seductive as hell, falling in ringlets over her shoulders. Her huge green eyes stared at him from her exquisite face, and Mitch just drank in her beauty.
“What in heaven’s name are you supposed to be?” he finally asked when he regained the ability to speak.
Kelsey dropped her eyes and said, “Um…your wench.”
“My what?”
“You know,” she explained, “a pirate’s wench.”
“A…pirate’s wench?”
Kelsey bent over, and Mitch was unable to suppress a groan at the view he was given. He watched as she grabbed for the bag she’d had him carry into the lobby.
“Now, Mitch, you trust me, right?”
Mitch was able to nod, but that was all. His voice hadn’t started working yet, since she’d sucked all the air out of his body when she bent over in front of him.
“Okay, then,” she said, “close your eyes.”
Mitch complied instantly, glad for the chance to pull his eyes back into his head.
“Just bear with me, okay? Withhold judgment for a minute?”
“I’ll agree to withhold judgment if you’ll agree not to fall out of that damned blouse,” he said without opening his eyes.
A light peal of laughter was her only response. The bag she’d been carrying rustled, then Mitch heard a clinking sound and tried to place it. It registered about two seconds before he felt the shackle slide around his wrist and snap shut with a click.
“What the…”
“Uh-uh, no peeking. Just one more second,” Kelsey said, sliding the other shackle over her own wrist. “Now you can open your eyes.”
Mitch did.
They stood in front of a mirrored wall, and Mitch studied the reflection. Kelsey stared at him in the mirror, biting the corner of her lip and looking the tiniest bit uncertain. As well she might.
“Kelsey, we’re chained together.”
“Yes, Mitch, I know.”
MITCH’S RIGHT WRIST WAS ENCASED in a metal bracelet that looked and felt like a real prisoner’s shackle. About five feet of chain, probably three-quarter-inch links, hung down his body, then looped and traveled up Kelsey’s white-clad form, ending at a smaller shackle on her left wrist.
Though there was enough play in the chain for them to move apart, Kelsey was pressed against him, still watching for his reaction. Mitch took a deep breath, inhaling her flowery fragrance, and felt a familiar rush of excitement. He continued to study the reflection. He and Kelsey, a pirate and a wench.
“Well?” she finally asked, breaking the several moments of silence. “What do you think?”
“Hmm,” he said slowly, “what do I think?”
He saw her mouth tighten and her hand move toward her pocket. She was nervous. He figured she was about to reach for the keys.
“I think,” he finally said, “that we look pretty damn good.”
“Oh, I love you! I knew you’d be a good sport about this,” Kelsey said as she laughed and pulled him down for a quick kiss on the mouth.
Some devil inside him made him tighten his arms around her waist and deepen the kiss. Mitch didn’t question the impulse as he pressed his mouth against hers. She didn’t seem to question it, either, because she immediately tilted her head and parted her lips invitingly.
He was alive with sensation, following his instincts instead of his intellect and it felt so good. As did she. She molded against him perfectly, pressing her body against his from neck to hip. This time when they finally drew apart, Mitch didn’t regret the kiss for one second.
“Ready, wench?” he asked, glancing at Kelsey’s swollen lips, then lowering his gaze to her heaving chest.
“Oh, yeah, I’m ready,” she muttered. “I think you are, too.”
Mitch followed her frank gaze down the front of his own body. His black pants left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and certainly no room for arousal.
“You better give me a minute before we go inside,” he said, his voice a throaty whisper.
“I’d give you a lot longer than that if we weren’t standing in a public hallway.”
“Hell, Kelsey, the way I’m feeling right now, I probably wouldn’t need much longer than that!”
She laughed softly. Mitch pulled his gaze off her and stared at the ceiling, trying to calm himself down by thinking of Chinese burial rituals, bowls of cold oatmeal and his first-grade teacher, a gray-haired old battle-ax named Mrs. Dora. Finally he looked at her and nodded. “Let’s do it.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.
“I mean,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “let’s go to the ball, Lady Love.”
“Is that what makes tonight different?” she asked. “Am I just Lady Love tonight, and can you forget about the fact that I’m Kelsey Logan?”
Her lips were parted and he watched as the tip of her tongue slid out to moisten them. She moved closer, laying her hand flat against his chest, and stared up at him with liquid desire in her eyes. The conservative college professor in him tried to answer logically, but his brain and vocal cords didn’t connect.
“Keep looking at me like that, Lady Love, and you’re not going to make it to the ball.”
Kelsey felt a rush of triumph fill her. “Who says I want to?”
He shook his head, then chuckled. “Come on, little wench. You need to keep your job to pay your rent.”
Kelsey sighed, picked up the empty bag she’d used to carry the chain, and let him lead her out of the alcove.
“I guess this means I won’t be doing much dancing with ‘Ginger’ tonight, hmm?” Mitch asked as he jiggled the chain.
Kelsey flushed lightly as she realized Mitch knew exactly why she’d come up with the costume idea. “Well, we don’t have to leave them on all evening. I’m supposed to spend an hour greeting people and giving out promotional stuff. After that, we’re on our own.”
“Let’s see what happens, all right? We’ll definitely stick together while Lady Love is working.”
Kelsey gave him one more chance to back out. “You’re sure about this? I mean, it might be a little embarrassing.”
“Baby, let me tell you, being chained to a beautiful woman who calls herself my wench is only going to enhance my reputation,” Mitch assured her. “Now, let’s go. I’m sure all of Baltimore is anxious to meet the infamous Lady Love.”
Kelsey nodded and they walked back toward the lobby. A brunette dressed as Cleopatra sat cozily with a man who looked like a punk rocker on one of the sofas in the lobby. The queen of Egypt stared at Mitch as they walked by. The harried-looking mommy of two, still standing at the front desk, couldn’t keep her eyes off him, either. Kelsey curled her fingers in his possessively.
The chain clinked a little as they walked, but Kelsey ignored it, proceeding as if she and Mitch were just like any other couple holding hands in a hotel lobby…half-dressed and chained together.
“Where do we go first? Do we find a table or do you report for duty?”
Kelsey glanced at the clock hanging above the double doors leading into the ballroom. “We’re right on time. I’m supposed to work for the first hour.”
“Does the station have a booth or something?”
“Yeah. And my boss left me a note that they’re setting up a special area for me.”
Mitch was moving to open the door for her when a group of twenty or so people came from behind them, laughing and complimenting one another’s costumes. The group moved toward the doors, sweeping Mitch and Kelsey right along with them into the ballroom.
Inside, Kelsey glanced quickly around the huge parquet-floored room. There was a large crowd standing in a buffet line, and most of the tables were already full. Several couples were on the dance floor. Along the far right wall she saw a large banner with the call letters for the station, and they steered along the outside edge of the ballroom as they made their way toward it.
“Kelsey!”
Glancing around, Kelsey saw Brian approaching them. He was dressed as a large chicken and looked about as uncomfortable as anyone she had ever seen.
“Hi, Brian. You look…interesting,” Kelsey said, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a grin.
“Don’t get me started,” Brian responded with a sour look. “I reserved the Lone Ranger and Tonto costumes for Chuck and me, but the rental place messed up and I had to choose from what was hanging on the racks. I’m the chicken, and Chuck is dressed up as Godzilla.”
“I thought that lizard looked familiar,” Kelsey said.
“You need to hurry up. The station photographer’s taking a few shots over at the booth and wants you in them. Sweetie, you two look great…I can’t wait to see you in the cover.”
“The cover?” Kelsey asked, not knowing what he was talking about. Brian hurried away without responding.
Mitch didn’t protest as Kelsey squeezed through the crowd, dragging him behind her. They generated stares throughout the length of the ballroom, and Mitch nodded to a few familiar faces, chuckling at their astonishment at his appearance. He grinned at the college dean, who was dressed as a vampire. The man’s jaw dropped so hard when he saw a chained Mitch being led by Kelsey that his false fangs popped out and landed with a bubbling fizz in his drink. Mitch imagined there would be a new topic of conversation at the next faculty party.
As they approached the large WAJO banner, which Mitch could see over the heads of people pressed near the radio station’s booth, they skirted between a few tables and came up from behind to avoid the crowd. Kelsey introduced Mitch to two of the other deejays already there, then waved at a photographer standing nearby.
“Perfect timing, Kels. I want to finish off this roll, and I’ve got to get out of here soon,” Dan said. “You don’t have a problem with me taking a few shots for the station, do you?” he asked, obviously addressing Mitch.
“I guess not,” Mitch replied.
“Good,” Dan said. “I just need you to sign the standard forms.”
Mitch watched as the man felt around his camera bag and came up with two small crumpled-looking pieces of paper and a pen. Kelsey signed first, without bothering to read the card, and Mitch followed suit. His signature ended up a crooked scrawl because Kelsey accidentally jerked the chain while he wrote. “Watch it, wench,” he muttered.
“Sorry, master,” she said with a saucy grin. “Are you going to punish me later?”
Their eyes met for one charged moment. “Only if you’re lucky.”
“Okay, we’re all set,” Dan said as he shoved the signed forms back into his camera bag. “I have to say, you two look amazing. This is going to be terrific.”
“I hope you’re right,” Kelsey said. “Where do you want us?”
The photographer rolled his eyes. “In the cover, of course, right over here.”
Dan grabbed Kelsey and Mitch by their chained hands, pulling them forward to stand beneath a large wooden frame. Kelsey could only see it from the back. She assumed a special “Lady Love” promo was on the front. The frame was about seven feet tall, and contained a large empty spot in the middle. As the photographer pulled them beneath it, Kelsey realized it was built around the shape of two bodies. She and Mitch fit very nicely inside the center cutout.
“Let me pose you, all right?” the photographer asked. Kelsey didn’t protest as he grasped her shoulder and turned her to face Mitch, pushing her tight against him. Mitch’s eyes opened wider and he looked at her for an explanation, but Kelsey was as confused as he appeared to be.
“Here,” Dan said to Mitch, “grab her leg.”
Kelsey gasped as Dan pulled her right knee up and placed Mitch’s hand high up on the back of her thigh. Their bodies were pressed intimately together, with her leg almost resting on his hip. Before she could say a word, Dan had placed Mitch’s arm around her waist and gently pushed Kelsey’s shoulders back so Mitch’s arm was almost completely supporting her. Then he lifted Kelsey’s hand and placed it against Mitch’s bare chest. She couldn’t resist digging her fingers slightly into the skin next to the soft cotton shirt.
“What are you doing?” Kelsey asked softly, suddenly worried about the extreme seductiveness of the pose.
“Ah, ah,” The man held up his hand. “Just let me be creative. Kelsey, toss back that hair, purse those lips of yours. Come on, get into it, you two.”
Mitch stared down at Kelsey and caught her eyes with his own. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in short gasps, and Mitch felt another rush of desire for her. Standing in the middle of a crowd of people, all he could think was that if he bent forward a few inches, he could press a hot kiss in the hollow of her throat.
“Yes, yes, that’s it,” Dan said as he backed away and began focusing his camera.
One of the other deejays approached the microphone and cleared his throat for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, appearing in public for the first time, WAJO’s own princess of the night, Lady Love.”
Mitch noticed a perceptible drop in conversation, at least in the tables closest to the booth. The deejay’s announcement over the microphone probably didn’t reach the far recesses of the huge ballroom, but everyone within at least thirty feet stopped their conversations and turned to watch.
“Look enraptured!” Dan whispered loudly as he began snapping pictures.
A small spotlight came up, illuminating them from head to toe, and Mitch did as Dan ordered, not because of the photographer’s request, but because he could do nothing else. He stared down at Kelsey with every ounce of pent-up desire he felt for her. He would have sworn that anyone within five feet could have felt the heat coming from them.
Someone whistled, someone else cheered, and then a loud thunder of applause washed over them. Mitch barely noticed. He studied Kelsey’s face, with her full pouty lips and her half-lowered eyelids. She looked like she wanted to be ravished. And he felt more than ready for the job. Suddenly, for some reason, the pose, the costume, her hair, everything…started to look familiar.
“Kelsey,” Mitch said as the applause continued, and flashbulbs popped, “am I standing under what I think I’m standing under?”
Kelsey, who had realized at about the same instant that her innocent words to her boss had been misconstrued and used to design this “stage,” nodded weakly.
“Oh, my God. We’re a romance novel cover, aren’t we?”
She nodded again. Watching as Mitch gritted his teeth, she wondered if he would let go of her waist and let her fall to the floor. She wouldn’t really blame him if he did. He probably wanted to strangle her!
After the applause began to die down and the photographer gave Kelsey a thumbs-up, she relaxed a little and tried to pull away from her pirate. He would have none of it.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “If I’m going to stand here doing this, I’m sure as hell going to make it worth my time!”
Mitch grabbed Kelsey’s hip with one hand, allowing the chain to dangle between them. Thrusting his other hand into her thick curls, he wound his fingers close to her scalp, caressing her slightly before gently tugging her head farther back. Her eyes widened, almost as much as his narrowed, and he jerked her body tighter against his from the waist down. He leaned forward, forcing her to arch her back even farther, and bent toward her bare throat and bosom, stopping with his lips just inches from her flesh.
The crowd began applauding and whistling all over again, and the photographer snapped away. Kelsey felt her back was going to break, but she didn’t move. She’d seen a flash of anger in Mitch’s eyes and didn’t want to risk making it worse. He obviously believed she had planned this entire thing and was paying her back. She probably deserved it. Her comment to her boss about “picturing a romance novel cover” had precipitated this entire mess. But this pose was killing her. Mainly because what she really wanted to do was wrap her fingers in his dark hair and pull him those scant few inches to her breast.
“Well, that’s our Lady Love, and her escort. Lady Love will be happy to visit with fans for the next hour, so if you’ve been wanting to meet her, please come do so.”
Mitch heard the deejay make the announcement. Realizing people would be approaching them, he pulled away from Kelsey, drawing her up with him. He didn’t trust himself to say anything yet, and tried to paste on a pleasant expression as people surrounded the display.
Kelsey shot him an uncertain glance out of the corner of her eye and whispered, “I didn’t know, Mitch. I swear to you…I give you my word…I had no idea they were going to do this.”
Mitch recognized the remorse in her voice and knew she was telling the truth. That made the entire embarrassing incident somewhat better. Before he could say a word to reassure her, several ardent fans surrounded the booth and began clamoring for Kelsey’s attention.
“THANK YOU, THANK YOU SO MUCH,” Kelsey said in reply to the three college students who had complimented her costume, and Night Whispers. “I’m glad you like the show. Have any of you called in?”
Mitch cast a quick glance over the three young men who looked more nervous than threatening, and determined that Kelsey had nothing to fear from them. Carefully turning to avoid yanking her with the chain, he slipped out from under the frame to look at it.
Someone had designed and created a complete seven-foot-tall romance novel cover for the ball, leaving only the center cut out so he and she could step into it and complete the picture. The board tacked to the wooden frame was painted a pale lavender, and vines and flowers, very artistically drawn, trailed down both sides. Glittery gold letters spelled out “Pirate’s Prisoner of Passion” across the top. There was even a small pirate ship on a stormy sea painted on one side. He could only imagine how the two of them had looked standing in that perfectly measured cutout center during their dramatic pose. A small grin tickled his lips.
Peeking around the bodies of the people pressing to meet her, Kelsey watched Mitch study the frame. He still didn’t look too pleased, although she felt sure she’d seen a sparkle of humor. She hadn’t worked up the nerve to step out of the frame and examine it from the front yet.
Kelsey continued chatting with fans, most of whom were friendly and nonthreatening. There were one or two, unfortunately, who made some suggestive comments, and Kelsey appreciated that Mitch moved closer, placing his hand on her shoulder, on those occasions. As much as she tried just to enjoy herself, she couldn’t help tensing up when any strange man got too close. In the back of her mind, she wondered if it was possible her secret admirer was in the crowd. She kept glancing around, looking for someone dressed as a knight, but didn’t spot anyone.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” Mitch said after nearly two hours. “But I think my captive here needs a break. You will excuse her, won’t you?”
Not waiting for a reply, Mitch took Kelsey’s elbow and led her away from the crowd. He made his way to a small, unoccupied table on the edge of the ballroom and pulled back a chair.
“Sit. I’m going to go round us up some food and drinks.”
Kelsey began to protest, but Mitch ignored her and started to walk away. He made it half-a-dozen steps before being stopped short by the pull of the chain. Glancing ruefully at his wrist, he looked over his shoulder at Kelsey. Her hand was over her mouth in a vain attempt to smother her chuckles.
“We can do this one of two ways,” she said as she began pulling the chain hand over hand, shortening the distance between them as Mitch feigned protest. “Stick together and go for food as a team…” she continued.
“Or?”
“Or I pull out the key and release you.”
Mitch frowned in thought. He was not ready to be “released” from duty. “Hmm, tough choice. I think maybe we’d better leave the chain for now. I don’t trust you enough to let you out of my sight. The next thing I know you’ll have me volunteered to go onstage and sing ‘The Monster Mash.’”
“I remember hearing you sing in the shower when you were a teenager, and I wouldn’t dare!”
“Very funny…coming from Miss Two Left Feet.”
“All right, let’s call it even,” she said. “You can’t sing. I can’t dance. Together, though, we’re very talented.”
“Together we’re very…something.”
“Perfect?” Kelsey said with a determined flippancy she didn’t feel.
Mitch leaned forward in his chair until their faces were mere inches apart. Her heart started pounding as she recognized the dangerously seductive look on his face.
“Maybe we could be, Lady Love.”
She thought for a second he was going to close the gap between them and kiss her again. She leaned imperceptibly closer, silently urging him to do it, not caring that hundreds of people milled around them.
“There you are, Mitch. I’ve been waiting for you to finish chaperoning Kelsey here. My, my, Kelsey, you certainly are the sly one. Imagine, Mitch’s little childhood friend being the infamous Lady Love!”
Kelsey sighed in frustration and glanced up at the sound of Amanda’s shrill voice. The blonde stood close to Mitch’s chair, breaking the intimate spell they’d been under, as she’d obviously intended.
“Goodness, Mitch,” Amanda continued, her saccharine tones irritating Kelsey tremendously. “How on earth did you let Kelsey talk you into helping her with this…well, titillating performance of hers? I don’t imagine anyone ever dreamed that this was how you’d end up ‘taking care’ of your pseudo-sister. My, my, what would the folks back home say?”
Kelsey could see Mitch retreat from her, mentally and physically, as he sat up straighter in his chair and adopted his usual calm expression. The dangerous Mitch she remembered from her childhood was tucked safely back inside and she was going to spend the rest of her evening with the college professor. Kelsey suddenly wanted to punch someone. Someone blond.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like Mitch the way he was now. She liked him too much, that was part of the problem. He was smart and funny, thoughtful and sensitive, and sexy in the way brainy men are. But when he allowed a little tiny bit of that dark rebel to slip out, he was absolutely irresistible. And only with the rebel would Kelsey have a chance to make him admit how good they could be together.
Amanda’s intrusion hit Mitch like a gallon of cold water. The sultry mood was gone. He tried hard not to think of how the night might have ended if he’d gone on pretending he was only with Lady Love. He probably ought to thank Amanda for splashing him with a dose of reality by bringing up the Logan family. But he didn’t feel very grateful.
“Amanda, I was just about to ask Kelsey to dance. You will excuse us, won’t you?”
Not waiting for her answer, Mitch helped Kelsey up and led her onto the dance floor, brushing aside her protests that she really was a lousy dancer. Pretending she wasn’t too bad, he ignored the half-dozen times she stepped on his toes. Bruised toes were a small price to pay for avoiding a major heartache. And the moment he and Kelsey had shared just before Amanda interrupted could easily have led to one major emotional pain.
Throughout the rest of the evening, Mitch treated Kelsey with polite cordiality, and nothing more. They danced a few times, ate a late dinner and had a few drinks. At one point, Kelsey needed to go to the ladies’ room, and surrendered the key to the shackles. When she returned, he didn’t suggest she rechain them, and neither did she.
Mitch told himself he wasn’t disappointed.
THE DRIVING RAIN POUNDED against her window, and a crash of thunder reverberated, startling Kelsey awake with a jolt. Sitting up in bed, she stared around in dazed confusion. Then she glanced toward her bedside clock but didn’t see the familiar glowing green numbers. It wasn’t working. A long flash of lightning illuminated her nightstand. Grabbing her watch, she saw that it was just after two. She’d only been asleep for about an hour.
The storm that had brought drizzling rain all day had arrived with torrential fury. Kelsey shivered a little and pulled the covers up tighter. This old house was very drafty, and in the short time the electricity must have been out her room had become quite chilly. Remembering the spare comforter in the linen closet, she got up to get it, then noticed the streetlamp in front of the house was lit.
“That’s funny,” she said aloud, staring through the rain-streaked window at the muted yellow glow.
Some other houses had porch lights on, and Kelsey realized the electricity wasn’t out after all. It had probably just flickered, causing a breaker to flip in the basement. She thought about grabbing the comforter and going back to bed, but it really was very chilly, and Mitch or Fred might not realize until tomorrow morning that the heat wasn’t working.
Kelsey quickly felt around on the floor until she found her slippers. She didn’t bother with her robe, since she wore long satin pajamas. Making her way down the short hallway into the kitchen, she pulled open a drawer and located the flashlight she kept there for emergencies. She flicked it on, praying the batteries still worked, and sighed in relief when a weak yellow beam came forth.
Slipping quietly out of her apartment, Kelsey carefully avoided the creakiest steps as she descended the stairs. It was doubtful Mitch would hear her anyway, but she didn’t want to risk it. The last thing she wanted was for Mitch to find her lurking in the house in the middle of the night, and be all kind and solicitous, as he’d been at the ball. Mitch had been so darned friendly that she thought she could have cheerfully strangled him! It was as if, in that moment when Amanda had stepped between them, the invisible wall Mitch kept around himself had slipped back into place so firmly it couldn’t be blasted away with dynamite.
Kelsey stealthily entered his kitchen, playing the weak beam of light over the butcher-block table so she could maneuver around it.
“Ouch,” she muttered as she bumped her shin into a chair.
Limping slightly, she made her way to the basement door, opened it, silently cursing the loud creak, then went down into the basement. The breaker box was in the far corner, past the washing machine, Kelsey remembered. She began walking across the large basement floor when suddenly her flashlight dimmed then went out completely.
“Oh, no,” she said as she stopped to allow her eyes to become accustomed to the pitch-dark. Gradually shadows began to appear, and then a long flash of lightning seeped in through the basement windows along the back of the house. There were no piles of boxes or laundry on the floor before her, so she gingerly began to pick her way across the room.
MITCH’S NOSE WAS COLD. He came slowly out of a deep sleep, realizing that very chilly air circled his face. He heard the thunder first, then the rain, and assumed a breaker had popped, as usual, and knocked out the heat. He’d been fighting to get the electrician he’d had rewire the house to come back to check the breakers, which were very temperamental. Getting out of bed, he pulled a pair of sweatpants over his naked body. He walked to the kitchen, using flashes of lightning to help see the way.
Stopping near the oven, Mitch opened a cabinet and pulled out a box of long wooden kitchen matches. He lit one and began descending the stairs, cupping the match with his hand. The little flame banished the shadows in the stairwell until he reached the bottom. A draft blew it out as soon as his feet touched the cement basement floor. Realizing he should have brought the whole box, he considered going back up to the kitchen for more matches. But he really didn’t see the need. He knew this basement very well, and should be able to make his way to the breaker box with little difficulty.
Kelsey felt the tripped breakers, flipped them and was about to head back through the darkened basement when she heard a loud creak at the bottom of the stairs. Someone was down here in the darkness with her. A tiny jolt of fear shot through her, but she quickly told herself it had to be Mitch or Fred.
Standing in the corner of the room, partially concealed behind the washer, Kelsey pressed back deeper into the shadows. Lightning briefly lit the basement with a muted yellow flash, and Kelsey saw Mitch clearly but only for a moment. Then he faded into darkness again, and she strained to follow his movements.
She couldn’t tear her eyes off his shadowy figure as he slowly moved toward her. Another streak of lightning flashed through the basement windows and she caught a glimpse of his hard, bare chest and unsmiling face. He obviously hadn’t seen her yet, and she made no sound, wanting to appreciate the sight of him for one more moment.
Mitch sensed Kelsey, though he didn’t see her. A faint trace of the perfume she’d worn earlier to the ball lingered in the basement, and he knew she was near. He stopped, listening, struggling to hear the sound of her breathing. His own breaths started coming quicker, harder, and his heart began to pound.
Kelsey sensed the moment he discovered her presence. She saw him pause, cocking his head to one side, trying to hear her.
“Kelsey?” he whispered.
She took a deep breath and whispered back, “I’m here, Mitch.”
Mitch said nothing but moved toward the dark corner where he’d heard her voice. His eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and he saw her, silent, motionless, waiting for him. He stopped a few feet from her, but Kelsey took three small, tentative steps toward him until their bodies nearly met. Her warm exhalations brushed the cool skin of his chest, exciting him beyond measure. They didn’t touch, yet only the tiniest breath of air separated them. Neither moved. Neither spoke.
Mitch searched through the shadows and the darkness for a glimpse of Kelsey’s green eyes. Every ounce of his being longed to move those scant inches and take her in his arms. He waited for the familiar tightening, the voice that would shout, “No, you can’t do this,” but he heard nothing except the strong beat of his own heart.
Another flash of lightning lit the room, and Mitch saw the naked longing he’d hoped for in Kelsey’s face. Her right hand was poised a hairsbreadth from his chest, and only when the room plunged into darkness once again did she move the tips of her fingers in a long caress across his bare skin. Mitch hissed out a clenched breath, nearly undone by her soft touch. When she curled her fingers and lightly brushed her fingernails across his abdomen, he groaned aloud.
Thunder rumbled, rolling across the basement like the steady pounding of a drum. Kelsey’s heart beat to its rhythm. In that last bit of light, she saw just what she wanted to in Mitch’s face. There would be no turning back, no rejection. Mitch was hers. At last.
Kelsey continued exploring Mitch’s hard body, stroking both hands on his chest, then dragging her nails across his ribs. A torrent of emotion seemed to snap in him because suddenly he slid his hands in her hair and turned her face up to his.
“Now, Kelsey,” he said, before capturing her mouth with his own.
Mitch’s kiss was hard and demanding yet promised delights beyond her fantasies. He twined his fingers in her hair as he devoured her mouth. Kelsey met every sweet, wet thrust of his tongue, telling him wordlessly she was as consumed with passion as he.
Her moans of pleasure turned to whimpers as his hands slid down her body. He teased the skin beneath the satiny pajama top, stroking her soft belly, closing his large hands around her waist, then sliding them up her ribs. Her bare breasts throbbed, aching for his touch, and when he finally cupped them in his hands she thought she’d jump out of her skin.
“Yes, oh, please,” she moaned, mindless with pleasure as he ran his palms over her taut, aching nipples.
He stroked her, savoring the soft feel of her flesh. Mitch wanted to taste her, every inch of her. He heard her disappointed moan when he lowered his hands from her breasts, then her excited gasp when she realized he was yanking off her top. Mitch paid no attention. He wrapped one arm around her waist and leaned her back until he could capture the tip of one lovely breast in his mouth.
She thought she might scream. His lips and tongue caressed her, and his teeth lightly scraped her sensitive flesh, sending chills down her spine. Kelsey dug her hands into Mitch’s shoulders, leaning even farther back and urging him ever closer, not wanting to lose one moment of sensation. He supported her entire weight. Her feet slipped a bit on the cement, but he held her safe.
Realizing he might be hurting her, Mitch grabbed Kelsey, lifting her by her pajama-clad hips, and pulled her legs around his waist. He held her there, keeping his arms tight around her, taking advantage of her nearness to thoroughly kiss the front of her body. She wriggled against him, pressing against his throbbing erection, and he was overpowered with the need to be inside her.
“Kelsey,” he said raggedly as he trailed kisses up her neck to the side of her face. “We need to go upstairs. I don’t have anything with me…for protection.”
She didn’t say a word, just grabbed his hair and pulled his mouth to hers for another long, mind-searing kiss. Mitch walked across the basement floor toward the stairs, carrying her, her long slim legs wrapped tightly around his waist. When she pulled her mouth away to gulp in a lungful of air, Mitch ran the tip of his tongue across her earlobe, down her neck and over her collarbone, before capturing her throbbing breast again. Her hips jerked in an instant response.
He carried her effortlessly up the stairs, her slight weight not hindering him at all. Mitch was so overwhelmed with desire and adrenaline that he probably could have carried her like that for miles. He paused in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter while she rained kisses along his jawline and up to his mouth.
Kelsey boldly kissed Mitch, sucking his bottom lip and exploring him with her tongue. Then they were moving again and she held on, not caring where they went as long as he did not stop this delicious assault on her senses.
Mitch paused as they entered the bedroom, and Kelsey watched as he flicked on the switch to a small lamp on the dresser. The dim light enabled her to see his handsome face clearly, and she felt a rush of feminine pleasure at his look of mindless desire. She glanced over his shoulder into the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the wide-eyed woman staring back at her. Her hair, still curly from her costume, was wildly tangled, and her lips were swollen and parted. She watched the muscles of Mitch’s back tense and ripple as she slowly ran her fingernails over him.
Mitch yanked a box of condoms out of a dresser drawer and tossed it onto the bed. Slowly he released her, letting her slide down his body without ever breaking their intimate contact. Trying to control his ragged breathing, he gently brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her softly on the temple.
“Maybe we’d better slow down. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, trying to force himself to calm down in spite of the torrent of raging emotion still churning inside his body.
“Don’t you dare,” Kelsey said, turning to press her lips against his once more. She reached her arms around his neck and whispered against his mouth, “You can be gentle next time.”
Mitch didn’t need any further invitation. Her softly spoken command inflamed him, and he reached for her waist and slid the silky pajama bottoms off her body in one long, slow caress. His knuckles scraped against her, and he realized she wore nothing underneath. The soft feel of her drove the last coherent thought from his mind.
Kelsey slid her hands beneath the elastic waistband of Mitch’s sweatpants, pulling them down his legs in one smooth motion. She wrapped her arms around his back, pressing her naked body against his, loving the hard feel of his erection against her belly. Dipping her hands slightly to caress his bare hips, she slid her fingers around to explore him more intimately.
Mitch sucked in his breath at the soft touch of her hands on his swollen, throbbing flesh. “You’re killing me,” he moaned.
Unable to stand any more of her sweet torture, Mitch pulled away for just a moment and leaned down to grab the box off the bed. Kelsey followed him, pressing kisses on his chest, scraping her teeth against his nipples while she dug into his thighs with her fingertips. Mitch pulled a condom from the package, fumbling with it, unable to get the damned thing open under her relentless caresses.
Taking it from him, Kelsey tore open the packet with a sultry smile. She pushed his hand aside when he tried to take over, and slid the condom over his turgid flesh, ever so slowly, until he thought he couldn’t take another moment of not being inside her.
Picking her up with one smooth motion, he again pulled her legs around his waist, cradling her bottom in his hands. She moved slightly to position herself, and then lowered onto him, sliding over him with her exquisite warmth.
Kelsey took him inside her slowly. For all her frantic need, she wanted to savor his penetration, loving the feel of him as he gradually filled her, making her his. When he was fully sheathed in her body, she remained motionless, closed her eyes and threw her head back as she welcomed his possession.
“Tell me I’m not dreaming, Mitch,” she whispered.
He didn’t open his eyes as he responded thickly, “This is no dream, sweetheart. We’re finally where we belong.”
Mitch didn’t speak anymore, and Kelsey didn’t either. They didn’t remain still for long. Mitch’s hands were at her hips and he pulled her against him as he began to move. Kelsey caught his rhythm, matched it, positively danced to it. Growing mindless as she met his every thrust, she felt the room begin to spin and became dizzy, thinking surely she could take no more.
Then all the sensations coursing through her body centered somewhere deep within her and began exploding, over and over until she screamed with the sheer rapture of it. Mitch’s groan of satisfaction joined hers and together, still joined, they collapsed onto the bed.
A DELICIOUS MOIST WARMTH tickled the back of Kelsey’s knee, and she stretched and extended her leg. She was only slightly awake. The ticklish feeling slowly moved up the back of her thigh, and she shivered, both with the pleasure of it and from the chilly air touching her skin. Gradually, languorously, she came more fully awake and noticed the pillowcase beneath her cheek was a smooth percale, not the flannel she was accustomed to. Of course, she remembered, she was in Mitch’s bed. Remaining motionless, she sighed and enjoyed the feel of his mouth pressing kisses along her thigh.
“You’re awake, aren’t you?” he whispered against her skin, his stubbled flesh brushing against her and making her tingle.
“Uh-huh,” she said with a sigh. “What time is it?”
It was still very dark in the room, the only light coming from the green neon bedside clock, which flashed twelve o’clock in annoying repetition.
“I have no idea,” he said as he moved his mouth to her hip. “Do you care?”
“Not particularly,” she replied.
Rolling over onto her back, Kelsey held her arms out for him, but Mitch would not be rushed. He took his own sweet time running his mouth across her flat belly. His exhalations flowed gently across her flesh, making her shiver more. He kissed his way up her body, inch by agonizing inch, skirting the areas she knew would make her go wild, as if he wanted to tantalize her for as long as possible before ending the wonderful torture. Kelsey was a quivering mass of nerve endings by the time he finally reached her face and began pressing light kisses on her jaw.
“Please…” she urged, not sure what she was asking for.
He continued his gentle assault. His hands were in motion now, stroking her thighs, her hips, her belly, still going nowhere near the pulsing core of her. She knew when he finally did touch her there, she would come apart all over again, and she writhed beneath him, nearly mindless.
Unable to resist, Kelsey began a reciprocal study of Mitch’s body. He was hard, with long, muscular planes that she stroked and kneaded. Her fingertips danced across his supple skin, savoring the textures. He was ticklish at the ribs, sighed when she stroked his back, and hissed when she lightly bit his earlobe.
“Slow and steady this time, sweetheart,” he whispered before dropping his mouth to hers for a long, slow, wet kiss.
Mitch could feel Kelsey shaking with her need. She was so beautifully responsive, arching into his hands, soundlessly pleading with him to bring her the release she craved. And finally he complied, sliding his hand down her body in one long, smooth caress and finding her heat.
Her heightened nerve endings exploded when he made his touch more intimate, and bolts of pleasure rocked through her instantly. She didn’t even have time to come floating back to earth and suddenly he was sliding into her, building the pleasure all over again.
The loving was gentle and tender and so emotionally fulfilling that Kelsey nearly cried with the beauty of it.
THE PHONE WAS RIGHT by her ear and jarred Kelsey awake with its strident bellow. Not opening her eyes, she reached over to the bedside table and felt around until she found the receiver.
“Hello?” she muttered, still not fully awake.
“Kelsey?” came the surprised response.
“Mom?” she muttered, finally opening her eyes and glancing at the phone. It wasn’t hers. Her phone was white and streamlined, and this one was black and bulky. She sat up in bed, staring wide-eyed around the room, with its mahogany furnishings and burgundy bedding, and at the dark man who stirred in the bed next to her. Oh my God!
Mitch, not really awake either, was about to answer the phone when the intrusive summons stopped in mid-ring. He rolled over and prepared to go back to sleep. Then he heard Kelsey’s scratchy voice, saying hello and calling someone “mom.” Mom? He bolted up.
“Oh, no, Mom…yeah, you probably misdialed,” Kelsey said breathlessly, shooting Mitch an apologetic look. “No, that’s okay. What time is it? No, the electricity went out last night and my clock’s not working. Eight-thirty? No, that’s fine, honestly.”
Mitch ran his fingers through his mussed hair and listened to Kelsey’s side of the conversation. He could not believe she had answered the phone, and, of all times, it was her mother calling! Marge Logan had only called twice in the past several weeks, and never this early on a Sunday morning.
Kelsey finished the call quickly and hung up the phone. She looked at him, biting her lip uncertainly. “Mitch, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t thinking.”
“What did she say?”
“She thought she dialed the wrong number. I imagine she’ll be calling you back shortly.”
Kelsey watched him frown. She couldn’t stand to see the look of guilt on his face. She quickly reached to a chair next to the bed and grabbed the shirt he’d worn to the ball the night before. She slipped it over her head just as the phone rang. No way did she want to stick around and watch Mitch close up on her again, overcome with guilt while he talked to her mother. Not after last night. She got up and rushed to the bathroom.
“Hello?” she heard him answer before she shut the door with a click.
Kelsey studied her face in the bathroom mirror. Her makeup, which she’d neglected to take off the night before, was smeared on her face, and her hair was a wild, tangled mess. Her lips were swollen, so well kissed she didn’t know if she’d ever stop feeling his mouth was still on hers.
“Of all the rotten timing,” she muttered.
They should have been slowly waking up together, touching each other, sharing gentle kisses. There should have been that brief moment of embarrassment when they saw each other unclothed in the bright light of day. They ought to have had a long morning of loving to overcome any last vestiges of that embarrassment.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
MITCH SAT IN THE MIDDLE of his bed after hanging up the phone, shocked at the conversation he’d just had with Marge Logan. Kelsey walked back in the room, her face a little cleaner, her hair combed down. She bit her lip uncertainly and held her hands behind her back. She wore his white blousy pirate shirt, and nothing else. His heart pounded harder in his chest and his mouth went dry. All she needed was a pair of high heels and she’d look like every man’s number one fantasy.
And she was his.
“You know, your mother is one smart woman.”
Kelsey slowly approached the far corner of the bed and gingerly sat down, not saying a word.
“I answered, and the first words out of her mouth were ‘I hit the redial.’”
Kelsey groaned. “What did you say?”
“What do you think I said? I told her the truth. I’ve never lied to your parents and I’m sure as hell not going to start now.”
Mitch watched her eyes widen, thoroughly enjoying the thought that for once she was the one who was speechless. He let her stew for a minute, then asked, “Has everyone known that you’ve been crazy about me for years?”
“What?” she screeched, jerking back so hard that she slid off the silky sheet and fell from the bed with a loud thump.
He jumped up, ran around the bed to see if she was all right, and found her laughing on the hard floor. He started laughing too, as he reached to help her up.
“She said your father and your brothers have been placing bets on how long it would take you to get what you wanted…namely, me.”
Kelsey didn’t know what to say. The oh-so-rigid college professor should have been in the middle of a panic attack. But this Mitch…oh, this was the Mitch of her dreams, the Mitch of last night. His eyes sparkled, and a huge grin creased his lips.
“What exactly did you tell my mother?”
“Exactly? I’m not sure of the exact words. But I let her know that little Kelsey had finally roped herself a man.”
Kelsey grabbed a pillow off the bed and smacked him in the head with it. He held up his hands protectively in front of himself, laughing as he fell back on the bed.
“Well, maybe I was a little more tactful,” he admitted as she advanced on him threateningly with the pillow. He grinned and slid farther back until he’d reached the top end of the bed. “I told her we weren’t sure what was happening between us yet, and she very gracefully told me she’d mind her own business. I didn’t come right out and proclaim we’re lovers.”
Lovers. She liked that word on his lips. And she positively adored that he didn’t mind saying it. The fact that her parents understood helped tremendously. Of course, that would probably only hold true as long as they believed Mitch and Kelsey were going to be married. And Kelsey didn’t imagine Mitch had started thinking that far ahead yet. But Kelsey had. She’d fantasized about it for years. She’d fooled herself into thinking she suffered only from a major attraction for Mitch. But the truth was, she’d been in love with him for a very long time. Now, in the morning, in his bed, still feeling warm and drowsy and slightly tender from their delicious intimacy, she could admit that to herself. But she didn’t think he was quite ready to hear it. She’d give him a little while to get used to the whole situation.
Mitch couldn’t believe how his life had changed in the past twelve hours. Only last night he’d been telling himself that getting involved with Kelsey would betray her family. Now, not only had he experienced the most erotically pleasurable night of his life, but he’d gotten her family’s tentative blessing, as well. Mitch chuckled out loud, still marveling at how perceptive Kelsey’s mother was. She’d come right out and told him she’d wanted them to be together for years, that she and Ralph had decided long ago that Mitch and Kelsey made the perfect couple.
It seemed he was the only one who’d had trouble coming to that realization. Remembering the night before, he knew he’d never regret it. In the dark, stormy depths of the night, coming together with Kelsey had been as elemental as the weather. He hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t second-guessed it, and had loved every minute of it.
“Last night was amazing,” he said.
She smiled gently, admitting, “I thought so, too. I never imagined…I mean, Lady Love might sound like she knows everything, but to tell you the truth, Mitch, I never knew such feelings were possible. I didn’t know something could be so pleasurable, so totally mind-consuming. I’ve been wanting to make love with you for the longest time, but until last night, I didn’t even know what making love really was.”
Mitch noted that nothing was as arousing to a man as knowing how completely he satisfied his woman. And at that moment Kelsey looked like a well-contented cat who’d licked clean a huge bowl of rich cream. His body responded instantly.
“So, we’ve given in to this incredible attraction that’s been building for weeks,” he said softly. “What now?”
“Well,” she said playfully, sliding his shirt off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, “we could give in again.”
Her green eyes narrowed and she crawled toward him from the foot of the bed. Mitch crawled to meet her halfway.
”I WANT TO TELL YOU MY FANTASIES.”
Kelsey leaned closer to the microphone, dropping her voice to a sultry whisper. “Those delightful little vignettes we imagine, those interludes we allow ourselves to dwell on for brief moments during our day, or for long hours at night, are our fantasies. Those scenes we picture as we’re slowly waking from a long night of evocative or haunting dreams. They taunt us, floating in the outer reaches of our minds, and we sometimes don’t even remember them when we are fully awake. But they’re there, waiting to visit us again, waiting to tantalize us with their seductive promise when we are ready to surrender our minds to them.”
“DAMN!” MITCH MUTTERED as he stared in frustration at his gray slacks, which he’d just coated with half a can of spray starch. Kelsey’s voice and words had completely distracted him. He’d been standing in his living room late Monday night, figuring he’d do some ironing while he listened to her show. He planned to wait up for her. He’d hated to watch her leave earlier that evening. They’d been inseparable since Saturday night.
Glancing at the slacks, he realized there was no point in even trying to continue ironing. He’d have to wash the pants again, anyway, unless he wanted to walk around as stiff legged as a flamingo.
When Kelsey broke away for her first set of commercials, Mitch unplugged the iron, turned down the lights and sat heavily on the couch. He took a sip of his drink and settled back. He could not even try to do anything else but listen to her, whispering to him in the dark.
“FANTASIES COME IN MANY FORMS. There are wishes for the future that masquerade as fantasies. For instance, I fantasize that Night Whispers goes into syndication and gets picked up nationwide.”
Kelsey laughed softly, inviting her listeners to laugh with her.
“I also fantasize about my personal life, who I might end up with, how he’ll love me more then I ever thought anyone could. How we’ll want to give up our individual lives to create a new one together, perhaps sharing that new life with children.”
A sudden image of Mitch holding a sweet, dark-haired girl intruded, but Kelsey pushed it aside and continued.
“We fantasize about winning the lottery, about being discovered as a great artist, about writing a bestselling book. And all of these fantasies are important, and enriching.”
Kelsey gave a low, throaty chuckle, knowing her audience knew her too well to think she was going to talk about those types of fantasies on her show.
“However, since this is Night Whispers, I think we’ll talk about fantasies that are a little more…seductive.”
“OH, MAN,” MITCH SAID ALOUD at Kelsey’s words. It was going to be a late night.
It was getting a little warm in his apartment, and he stripped off his sweatshirt, then reclined on the couch again, moving quietly as he tried to catch all of her words. And he made a deal with himself. For the next few hours, he was going to forget that the woman he was involved with was telling all of Baltimore about her most sensual fantasies. For tonight he’d just listen to Lady Love, knowing that when Night Whispers was over, Kelsey would be coming home to him.
“SINCE IT’S MY SHOW,” she continued, “I get to go first, all right? And a little later, I’ll open up the phones to you, my faithful listeners.”
Kelsey and Brian had already decided that these calls would need to be screened very carefully. She didn’t want the FCC sanctioning her show because some caller went over the top.
“First of all, I fantasize about being carried. I don’t mean carried away, as in dazzled with romantic gestures, although that would be nice, too. I mean, physically carried. I am all for equal rights, but just once, I want a man to demonstrate that he’s bigger and stronger than I am, sweep me off my feet and carry me away. Of course, it has to be the right man—and the right moment.”
Brian made a gesture from the other side of the booth, then simulated a man wearing nothing but a towel. Kelsey grinned a secretive grin, remembering how Mitch had carried her Saturday night, first to the car, and later straight up the basement stairs into ecstasy.
“In one of my fantasies, this strong man sweeps me in his arms and carries me out of a torrential storm. He kisses me with every step, rain sliding down our faces to our mouths, and his sopping hair brushing my cheek,” she murmured, closing her eyes as the fantasy filled her mind. “The wind drives us toward shelter, and lightning fills the dark sky while thunder crashes all around us. When we reach a secluded cabin, he ever so gently pulls my wet clothing off my quivering body and draws me down to the floor where he warms me with his naked flesh.”
Kelsey drew in a deep breath, silently urging her listeners to stick with her, then slowly released it.
“Gee, it’s a little warm in here tonight,” she said with a throaty laugh. “I think we’ll take a short break and when we come back, I want to hear from you. Call me. Tell me your fantasies. Ladies, listen to our male callers, and gentlemen, perhaps you can get some ideas of what your women want. Don’t leave me now. This is Lady Love on WAJO and I’ll be back in a moment.”
MITCH REMAINED in his living room during the entire show. He refilled his drink once, during a commercial, and turned down the thermostat a little as the room continued to feel warmer and warmer. His eyes growing heavy in the dark, he closed them and lay back to listen to Kelsey.
Her callers were inventive, amusing, some a little silly. Kelsey handled them all with grace and good humor, encouraging and rewarding their creativity but quick to interrupt any caller who tried to get too graphic, or the ones who tried to invent fantasies involving Lady Love. He had to admit she was good at her job. Very good. Throughout the show, Kelsey never lost control. Those who didn’t know Lady Love might think she was just enjoying herself, letting the conversation take her where it might, but Mitch knew her better. He recognized the deliberate pauses, the breathy sighs. Kelsey was polished and professional and seductive as hell.
She read a passage from Lady Chatterley’s Lover, her voice lovingly caressing the torrid words. And then she played a torchy Tina Turner song about a dancer for hire. The two shouldn’t have gone together, but somehow they did.
A lonely-sounding man talked about how much he fantasized meeting someone like his mother, then another spoke of female cops in bikinis. Kelsey helped one woman build on a scenario involving a closed theme park and a certain superhero character, and Mitch laughed until tears came out of his eyes at the story they concocted.
But her own fantasies held him utterly enthralled. She liked strawberries and chocolate. He hadn’t known that about her. She wanted to wake up on a bed of flower petals. That he could have guessed. She sometimes imagined she was a romance novel heroine and a tall, strong man swept her up on a horse and they rode on a beach, along a rough, rocky shore all night long.
She wanted to make love on a staircase.
When he heard that one, Mitch remembered their first heated kisses on the stairs and groaned out loud. He wanted Kelsey so badly that he physically ached.
“SO, MY FRIENDS, we’re coming to the end of another Night Whispers. Not a bad way to spend a Monday evening, was it? I hope you got a little inspiration. I know I did. I thank you for your ideas and your calls. Those of you who couldn’t get through, please don’t give up. We will have many other interesting topics to discuss in all those long nights to come.”
Brian rolled his arm forward, letting her know she had a little more time to fill, so Kelsey continued.
“Here’s one final little secret fantasy I’ll share. I fantasize that one day a certain incredibly sexy man will take off the blinders he’s wearing over those gorgeous velvety blue eyes of his and admit he’s madly in love with me.”
Kelsey paused, then delivered the punch line.
“Of course, I guess Mel Gibson’s wife would have something to say about that!”
Brian shook his finger at her playfully through the glass, telling her he knew exactly whose blue eyes she’d been talking about.
“Again, thank you all. You’ve been listening to Night Whispers, with Lady Love, here on WAJO. Please come visit me tomorrow. I’ll be waiting.”
A HALF HOUR LATER, Brian and Kelsey picked up their things and prepared to leave the break room.
“Great show,” he said again. “I have to say, Lady Love was especially sultry tonight. Any particular reason?”
She shrugged her shoulders and feigned ignorance. “Not a clue.”
He laughed out loud and held the door open for her. “Looks like Mr. Faithful’s on duty tonight. Tell me, has he worked up the nerve to ask you out yet?” Brian murmured as they walked into the lobby and he nodded toward the station doors.
Kelsey followed his glance and saw Edgar, the station’s full-time security guard. She was glad he was the one on duty. “Don’t be silly. He’s just a very nice man…a very nice married man.”
Brian sighed. “Honey, that doesn’t stop some men.”
“Well, I guarantee it would stop him. I met his wife one evening when she brought him his dinner. She definitely wears the pants in that family.”
Kelsey smiled as they reached the guard at the door. Edgar was quiet, unassuming, almost bookish. At first she’d been a little unsure of his qualifications as a guard, but she’d heard he was very coolheaded, and good with his gun. He seemed devoted to her, and was always respectful and polite.
“And better him than Charlie,” she muttered after Edgar stepped outside to glance around the parking lot before ushering them out.
“That meathead?” Brian scoffed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Edgar might not look intimidating, but at least he looks intelligent. Charlie, on the other hand, looks like a slab of human muscle without an ounce of brainpower.”
If it was just the lack of intelligence, Kelsey might not have minded Charlie, the other regular guard, so much. The man was good-looking, tall, broad, blond and confident. But he had made several comments to her about how he could help her with Night Whispers. His flirtatiousness made her uncomfortable. She much preferred Edgar.
“Ready, Miss Logan?” Edgar asked as he stepped back inside and gave them an all-clear sign.
She nodded, and the two men escorted her to her car.
MITCH STOOD OUTSIDE his apartment door, watching from the foyer window for Kelsey. It was forty-five minutes after her show ended, and he knew she’d be arriving home at any minute. He hadn’t told her he’d wait up for her and wondered if her first instinct would be to go up to her apartment or to come to him. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to give her a choice.
She arrived moments later, and he grinned as he leaned back in the dark, waiting for her. What a change from the first time he’d waited up after one of Lady Love’s performances. Now he wasn’t going to kiss her to shut her up. He was going to kiss her to make her moan in ecstasy.
Kelsey entered the dark brownstone, locked the front door behind her and reached her hand toward Mitch’s door. Before she could grasp the knob, a hand closed around her wrist. She screamed.
“Kelsey, baby, it’s only me!” Mitch said.
Her heart pounded a mile a minute and Kelsey raised a shaking hand to her face. “Would you stop doing that?” she shouted. “You scared the heck out of me again!”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, really. I was just trying to surprise you. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“No, I’m fine, you just startled me. I’m tired. For some reason I didn’t get much sleep the past couple of nights,” she said, now smiling crookedly.
Mitch opened the door and led her into his apartment. He slid her coat off her shoulders and tossed it onto the couch, then gently rubbed the tense muscles on the sides of her neck.
“Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but you ain’t gonna get much sleep tonight, either. At least not for a while.”
He kissed the sensitive spot of skin where her neck met her shoulders, and Kelsey instantly felt the tension drain from her body. It was replaced by heat, anticipation, desire. All the feelings Mitch’s touch aroused.
He was right. She didn’t get to sleep for a long, long time.
IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, Kelsey was happier than she had ever thought possible. Mitch was attentive and adoring, incredibly romantic and thoughtful. Each night when she got home from work, she’d find him waiting in the well-lit foyer to sweep her into his apartment. She never took for granted that he’d be waiting, not wanting to upset the perfect balance their relationship had reached. But he was always there.
He fulfilled her every desire. One night she came home from work and found his bed covered with rose petals. A bowl of red strawberries and a fondue pot with melted chocolate sat on the table.
“You heard my show on fantasies, didn’t you!”
“Guilty,” he said as he dipped a juicy berry into the chocolate and held it to her mouth.
She bit into the succulent fruit, licking the chocolate that dripped down his fingers. “Lady Love can be pretty useful, can’t she?”
“I try to forget that you and Lady Love are the same person. But I have to admit, she does have some terrific ideas.”
“She’s got great inspiration.”
Mitch pulled away for a moment and frowned. “Kelsey, what happens here is just for us, all right? I would hate it if you ever brought our personal life onto the air with you.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Gee, it’s awfully warm in here tonight.” Kelsey unbuttoned her slacks and wiggled out of them, sliding them to her feet as slowly as she could. Mitch watched her every move, and she pretended she didn’t notice his eyes darken and his breath come more quickly.
He knew she was trying to change the subject, and allowed her to succeed. While Kelsey sat back down on the bed next to him, Mitch dipped another berry for her. As he lifted it to her mouth, he accidentally dripped a thick drop of chocolate onto her bare thigh. Pushing her back onto the pillows, Mitch slowly and thoroughly licked the sweet candy away. After that, the dripping chocolate was anything but accidental.
Lady Love’s fantasies didn’t compare with the reality of Kelsey’s nights.
HER DAYS WEREN’T BAD, either. When they weren’t making love, Kelsey was doing her best to make Mitch misbehave. She loved teasing him in the middle of his research, shocking that studious look off his face by cranking up the stereo and dancing around his living room. She liked that he’d drop his work to take her out to see a stupid movie just because she asked him to. The fact that the movie stank and he enthusiastically threw popcorn at the screen with her made it that much better.
So far, the only bone of contention between them was her job.
“Mitch, we’ve been over this,” Kelsey said one afternoon as they sorted laundry in the basement. “You said yourself I’m doing a great job and that Night Whispers is a terrific show.”
“Yeah, it’s a terrific show. If anyone else were Lady Love, I’m sure I’d be perfectly happy to lie in bed with you some nights, letting her inspire us.”
“I don’t think we need it,” Kelsey said with a sly grin.
“True,” he conceded with masculine vanity. “Still, you get my point. I worry about you. Kelsey, you’re appealing to people’s innermost passion. You’re their fantasy woman, their sexual dream come to life. There are a lot of men out there who won’t be able to separate Lady Love the character from you, my woman.”
“Your woman? Ooh, you sound so caveman. I like it, I like it,” she said, trying to change the subject and make him laugh. It didn’t work.
“Look, Lady Love makes me so hot I think I’m going to crawl out of my own skin,” he said. “But, baby, it bothers me knowing that a lot of other men in this city feel the same way.”
Kelsey sighed and tossed a load of her jeans into the dryer. Mitch was right next to her, leaning back against the washer, with his arms folded across his chest.
“But I come home to you,” she said. “The only one who makes Lady Love feel hot enough to crawl out of her skin is the man I’m looking at. And, my, you are certainly fine to look at, Mitch Wymore.”
Mitch saw the heat in her gaze as she ran her eyes over his body with the intensity of a touch. He’d come to recognize her physical responses, and knew by the way she bit her bottom lip that her mind was conjuring up a multitude of pleasures. Finding a few flooding his own mind, he forgot about her job.
Never taking his eyes from her, he reached behind his back and started the washing machine. She hadn’t put any clothes in it. Sudden understanding lit her face. Her lips curled into a sultry smile as he pulled her closer and let her feel his body’s hot reaction to her.
“What is it with you and basements?” she asked breathily.
He answered by slowly lifting his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. The cold air didn’t deter him in the least; in fact, it exhilarated him. Almost as much as she did.
She ran her fingertips from the top of one shoulder down across his chest and stomach to the waistband of his pants. He let her undress him, closing his eyes and stifling a groan as she slowly pushed his jeans down with her flat palms.
When he moved to unbutton her blouse, she took a step back with a seductive smile. Never saying a word, she slowly stripped her clothes off, piece by piece. He watched her every movement, building the desire and heat by touching her with nothing but his eyes.
Finally he reached out one hand and curled it around her naked hip. He pulled her against him. Trailing kisses on her jaw, he licked the side of her neck, then scraped his teeth on her earlobe. She shivered in his arms. He knew it wasn’t from the cold. She pressed hard against him, silently demanding what she wanted.
“Spin or rinse?” he whispered, then couldn’t form another thought.
THE NEXT EVENING Kelsey sat in an office she used at the station, reviewing some notes. Night Whispers was doing very well—the ratings proved it. She was going to try to make sure it stayed that way.
“I hear you got some flowers today,” Brian said as he entered the office, “from your knight.”
Kelsey bit her lip, not wanting to get into another discussion with Brian about her secret admirer. But the man knew everything that happened around the station. No way would the delivery of a dozen red roses escape his notice.
“Yeah. They were delivered this afternoon.”
“And you still think this person is just doing a little harmless letter writing? Sounds to me like he’s getting a little more serious. What does Mitch think about it?”
Kelsey bit the corner of her lip and averted her eyes, saying, “He doesn’t exactly know.”
“Not exactly? What, exactly, have you told him?”
Kelsey defiantly replied, “None of it.”
Seeing he was about to argue with her, she held up her hands to stop him. “Look, Brian, Mitch isn’t thrilled about Night Whispers as it is. He’s concerned about me enough and I certainly don’t want to give him any more reason to worry.”
“You’re an idiot.”
She scowled at him.
“I mean it,” Brian said, not letting up on her one bit. “Don’t you know lying like this is bound to come back around and bite you in the rear sooner or later?”
“I’m not lying.”
“Deceiving by omission, then.”
“Look,” Kelsey explained, “Mitch has a lot on his plate right now. He’s receiving a special award for those wonderful newspaper articles he wrote while he was in China. It means a lot of exposure and could really help him with his writing. The last thing he needs is to worry about me.”
Kelsey stood to leave the room and Brian followed.
“Promise me something, all right? If anything else happens, you’ll tell him about it.”
She didn’t want to. Kelsey knew full well how Mitch would react. He’d envision an entire stalker scenario and have her carrying mace and a stun gun. But she knew Brian was right.
“I will. After the awards banquet. Now, can we please focus on the show we have to start in just about four minutes?”
He nodded and fell into step beside her as she walked to the studio. “You have your opening?”
“Uh-huh,” Kelsey said with a nod. “Did you put the CDs in order for me?”
“All done. Sounds like it’s going to be very romantic.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I definitely hope so.”
Mitch turned on the radio a few minutes before Kelsey’s show came on, listening for her intro while he made himself a quick ham sandwich in the kitchen. When he heard the saxophone music start, he grabbed a drink and rushed into the living room.
“Hello, Baltimore, this is Lady Love and you’re listening to Night Whispers on WAJO. I think the time has come, dear friends, to talk about love.”
Mitch dropped his sandwich and had to quickly wipe a spot of mustard off the leather sofa. Lady Love was going to talk about love? He’d never heard her on that topic before. Usually she focused on the more physical side of relationships, not the emotional.
“Love is a word bandied about all the time in our daily lives. I love my new red dress, and I just love Brad Pitt’s latest movie, and oh, how I love spicy Mexican food.”
Mitch wondered if she was going to talk about other things she “loved.” Like how she loved having that tender strip of skin at the very top of her thigh lightly bitten. He didn’t think she would; after all, he’d made himself very clear about how he felt about her bringing their private relationship onto the air.
“We use the word love lightly when we talk about people, too. We just love our favorite sports figure, or a great teacher. The word only begins to reflect its true meaning, however, when we’re speaking about people for whom we have deep, lasting emotions.”
Relieved she wasn’t going to go into further detail about what she loved, Mitch settled back on the sofa to listen.
“I suppose the first love we experience as human beings is the love of our parents. A mother who takes her squalling, red-faced, newborn bundle into her arms doesn’t see the blotches—she sees perfection. She loves this creature because she has created it, and it is a part of her. As children, we respond to that love, blooming into little people under the constant tender care and emotional sustenance. And we love our siblings and other family members who weave like a tight tapestry into our developing lives.”
Kelsey would be a great mother. Mitch didn’t know where the thought came from, but he knew it was true.
“Then, of course, there’s romantic love.”
Ahh! Now we get to it! Mitch smiled wryly as Kelsey segued into the topic he knew she was planning.
“When we’re teenagers, our hormones tell us we’re in love before we even fully comprehend what that word means. Then, one day, we finally get it. We finally realize what love really is. Now, this might not happen until we hit sixty, but hey, I firmly believe it will happen to every person at least once. Real love. Not lust, not compatibility, but real love.”
Kelsey’s voice trailed off, and Mitch heard music. The song asked for just one minute of “real love.” When she returned to the air, after the song and a commercial break, Kelsey picked up where she’d left off.
“Now, about real love…I want to hear from all of you about when you discovered it existed. I want to know the exact moment the excitement you felt when he walked into the room turned into absolute devastation when he left it. Gentlemen, don’t be shy tonight. I want to know when you realized the woman you asked out to dinner became the woman you wanted to spend your life with.”
Mitch wondered if she knew he was listening. Was she asking him to evaluate his feelings for her? Mitch wasn’t ready to do that, but she seemed to be forcing the issue.
“Your physical attraction to him, the excitement you feel when you’re in his arms, that’s only the beginning. It’s also your complete trust in him, knowing he’ll be on your side even if you’ve done something totally stupid, the idea that you’d rather stay home with him to watch an old movie than get dolled up and go out. These are clues of love. Realizing that he doesn’t care if you look like Frankenstein’s bride the morning after a party, or that he’ll tell you your bathing suit looks terrific even if you know you look fat in it, looking at him doing something as simple as reading a newspaper and thinking just how much you actually like him…well, now you’re in very deep.”
Mitch smiled during her brief pause. He liked her, too.
She continued. “Now, add that moment when you’re ready to scream because he left the toilet seat up and then he hands you a bunch of flowers he picked from your own garden. Your annoyance just evaporates. That’s the moment. Real love is when all the varied feelings you have for another person come together in an instant of utter clarity and you realize your life was a huge empty shell before he stepped into it.”
Mitch frowned. This was just a show. Kelsey was onstage when she did Night Whispers. She spoke about topics designed to encourage callers and help her ratings. So why did he feel she was reaching through the speakers, telling him, and only him, how she felt?
“Real love…once you find it, hold it tight and never take it for granted. It will last if you nurture it. And when you are both old and gray and slow in your movements and have only each other to laugh at your bad jokes, it will still be there.”
As a song began to play, Mitch walked to the stereo to turn it off. He didn’t want to hear any more.
Mitch paced around the living room, nearly tripping over a pair of shoes she’d left on the floor near the fireplace. One soft leather glove lay near the door. A fashion magazine rested on the coffee table among the archaeological journals, and a bottle of pale pink nail polish stood on an end table. The room was filled with her light scent. He couldn’t turn around without seeing something that belonged to her or reminded him of her.
When had he fallen in love with her? For there was no question that he loved her. Her words tonight had forced him to acknowledge that. He’d reached that “moment” she’d been babbling on about and now didn’t know what on earth to do about it.
He couldn’t love Kelsey. He liked her. He was amazingly attracted to her. He’d drifted into an affair with her against all common sense. But he didn’t have room in his life to love her.
Mitch was essentially a loner, getting mentally swept away when studying something that intrigued him. He’d never planned on marrying and raising a family. He liked being able to pick up and leave the country for six months at a time. He liked his calm, unencumbered life.
With Kelsey, he found his emotions called the shots and his brain ran to catch up. She appealed to a part of him he thought he’d managed to suppress, the part of him that didn’t fit in with his current existence.
Using every bit of his analytical experience, Mitch went over and over the reasons he couldn’t love Kelsey. A couple of hours later, he nearly had himself convinced.
But, of course, when she walked in the door and smiled that smile, he knew he was a goner.
KELSEY DIDN’T THINK too much about the roses. After all, they’d arrived at the station, just as the letters had. The address was right in the phone book for anyone to see.
The balloons in her car were another matter entirely. Brian and Edgar both noticed them right away as they walked her out after her show the following night.
“You going to a birthday party or something?” Brian asked.
“I have no idea where they came from,” Kelsey said softly as she opened the door and retrieved the huge bouquet. The balloons were brightly colored, with swirling ribbons attached. Holding the ribbons together at the bottom was a chess piece. A white knight.
“Subtle,” Brian said with a smirk.
“Pretty,” murmured Edgar.
“Goodbye,” said Kelsey as she yanked the knight off and let go of the ribbons. The balloon bouquet flew up out of her hands and was picked up by a breeze that carried it over the city. She didn’t say another word as she got in her car—which she knew she occasionally forgot to lock—and left the parking lot. Kelsey tried hard not to think about the fact that someone had actually come to the station and, knowing which car was hers, had gotten into it while she was inside the building.
Luckily, Mitch helped her forget when she got home that night.
THEY SLEPT LATE the next morning, as they usually did on weekdays. Mitch had adjusted his sleep schedule to fit in with Kelsey’s work hours and enjoyed waking up slowly beside her every midmorning.
“I wish you’d change your mind and let me come to the banquet with you tomorrow night,” she said as she snuggled close to him. “Baltimore can survive one night without Lady Love if I call in sick.”
“You’d be bored stiff. I’m not looking forward to going, myself.”
Kelsey sat up and stretched. Since she slept naked, Mitch couldn’t help pausing to admire the picture she made. He felt his body harden in instant response.
“You should be thrilled about it,” she said. “You’re being honored by a charitable organization for some very wonderful work you did. Foreign adoption agencies in the city have really benefited from those articles you wrote last summer.”
“I’m proud of the award, Kels, just not too interested in being around the Downtown Charitable Society. I know some of the members. Rich snobs who dabble in good works. Believe me, tomorrow night will be a bore. I’d be just as pleased to accept the plaque in my own living room.”
Mitch saw her nibble at her lip and glance away. He sensed there was something she wasn’t saying. “What’s wrong?”
“I just wondered, I mean, it’s not that you don’t want me there, is it? I mean, I don’t imagine it would do your reputation a lot of good to show up with the infamous Lady Love on your arm.”
Hearing the uncertain tone in her voice, Mitch immediately sat up and drew her into his arms. He was shocked that she would even think he could somehow be ashamed of her. “Kelsey, you’re crazy. The problems I have with your job have absolutely nothing to do with embarrassment or worry about my reputation. It’s your safety that concerns me. I’d be the luckiest guy in the place if I showed up with you on my arm tomorrow night.”
She nodded, reassured, and Mitch lay back against the pillows, pulling her down with him.
“Maybe I’ll plan on giving you a private little award tomorrow night in your own living room,” she offered in a sultry whisper.
“How about a preview?” he said with a grin.
Smiling, she slid on top of him and complied.
“WHAT HAPPENS WHEN attraction becomes obsession?”
Kelsey saw Brian’s frown from the other side of the booth. She’d changed topics on him with no warning again.
“You and I have talked many times, my friends, about desire, about wanting someone. But we’ve never really discussed that line…that fine line between being attracted to someone and being obsessed with them. Tonight I want to talk about it. Call me. This is Lady Love and you’re listening to Night Whispers on WAJO.”
Kelsey sat back in her chair, confident about her decision to change tonight’s topic. She didn’t really feel like getting on the air and talking about the “funniest places people made love.” Not after last night’s balloon incident, and the love letter she’d received earlier today. In it, her admirer commented on how much he had liked the way she’d worn her hair one night last week. For the first time since the whole “knight” business had begun, she was actually feeling a little nervous. Somewhere, this man was watching her, paying attention to where she parked and what she looked like. It was a disconcerting feeling.
“I know how it feels to lie alone at night, dreaming about being with someone who doesn’t feel the same way. It can physically hurt, wanting him that much. So you start to imagine he wants you, too. You fantasize, planning how perfect your relationship will be once you get his attention. But how far should you go to get that attention? Call me, tell me about it.”
The show sped by quickly. Night Whispers was never short on callers. Dozens of people were anxious to talk about their own brushes with dangerous love.
“I never realized there were that many lonely, lovesick people in Baltimore,” Brian muttered as he walked her to the lobby after the show ended.
“Yeah, but none of them sounded like my lonely, lovesick knight,” Kelsey replied.
“You’re lucky. That’s the last thing you need, to get this guy on the air and fuel whatever sick fantasy he’s got going.”
Kelsey saw Edgar waiting for them. The guard unlocked the front doors as they approached. As they walked toward her car, she prayed there would not be a repeat of the balloon incident.
“Everything looks A-okay, Miss Logan,” Edgar said as he held her driver’s side door open for her while she got in.
“All right, then, I’m outta here,” Brian said as he waved and hopped into his own car. He beeped as he quickly pulled away.
Kelsey waved back, then inserted her key into the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened. She tried again, pumping the gas pedal a few times, mentally cursing the sporty little coupe. Why could cars never break down in their own garages?
Edgar knocked on her car window, startling her as he asked, “Having some trouble?”
“It’s just dead.”
Kelsey stepped out of the car to allow Edgar to get in and try to start it. Nothing happened. He popped the hood and got out to look under it. Kelsey was glad the man seemed to know what he was doing, because she wouldn’t have known a carburetor from a gas tank.
“I can’t see what’s wrong, Miss Logan. I think maybe you’ll have to have it towed to a garage tomorrow.”
She groaned.
“Hey, I’ll let them know inside and I’ll drive you home. It won’t take me long.”
“I can’t put you out. I’ll call a cab,” Kelsey said.
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” he insisted. “We can’t have some stranger coming and picking you up in the middle of the night. Keeping you safe is my job and I take it very seriously.”
He puffed out his chest and hitched up the loose waist of his pants. Kelsey bit her lip to stop a grin. His bravado seemed so out of character in the small, balding, middle-aged man. She was suddenly reminded of Barney Fife from the old Andy Griffith Show.
“Okay, Edgar, I really would appreciate it.”
She waited for him in the lobby while he got his keys and locked up the building for those remaining inside. When he was finished, he took her by the arm and led her back to the parking lot. As they neared his blue pickup truck, Kelsey noticed it sat in a very large, muddy puddle. It had rained earlier in the day, and Edgar had managed to park right in the middle of a huge, water-filled pothole.
She glanced ruefully at her brown leather shoes, hiked her pants up a bit and prepared to step into the water.
“Oh, no, Miss Logan, let me,” Edgar protested.
Before she realized his intention, the man bent over and picked her up. He staggered under her weight. He stood only a few inches taller than she did.
Kelsey yelped. “Edgar, put me down!”
“Can’t let you ruin your shoes,” he panted as he sloshed through the water.
Edgar shifted her so she pressed against the side of the truck while he tried to open the door. She knew he was going to drop her about two seconds before he actually did it. Luckily, as his arms gave out, she leaned back and slid down the side of the truck, using it to keep her balance as her feet splashed into the muddy water.
Breathing a quick sigh of relief that she hadn’t landed on her fanny on the pavement, she looked down at her sopping wet shoes.
“Oh, Miss Logan, I’m so sorry!”
“No, don’t pick me up,” she ordered when he moved to lift her again.
Edgar took a quick step back, losing his balance. Kelsey reached out to grab his arm, and he clutched at her hand, pulling her with him. They both went down, Kelsey landing on her rear end right in the middle of the puddle.
Feeling cold water seep into the weave of her beige slacks, Kelsey closed her eyes. She didn’t know whether to burst into tears or shriek with laughter. Lifting her arms, she placed her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands.
“Oh, please, don’t cry, Miss Logan. I’ll pay for your clothes to get clean.”
She heard the misery in Edgar’s voice, lifted her head and struggled to smile. The man looked utterly mortified.
“It’s all right, Edgar. Why don’t we just go now, okay?”
He insisted on helping her up. She climbed inside as he walked around to the driver’s side door, his wet black boots making a squeaking, sloshing sound she could hear from inside the truck. Kelsey felt a grin tickle her lips. When he got inside the truck, he hung his head sheepishly and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“It’s really all right, Edgar. I know you’re just trying to help.”
He glanced up, gave her a faltering smile and nodded. Kelsey held in a laugh when she saw a soggy leaf fall from his shoulder onto his lap. Shifting in her wet seat, she made herself as comfortable as possible for the ride home.
MITCH GLANCED AT THE CLOCK and frowned. Kelsey was late. She usually arrived home at around two forty-five and it was already past three. He couldn’t help worrying. It was bad enough that her job was so provocative. The fact that she had to drive home alone in the middle of the night made it that much worse.
He saw headlights swing into the driveway and breathed a sigh of relief. He walked into the foyer just as Kelsey came in the front door.
“You’re late,” he said as he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. “I was getting worried. Hey, your pants are wet!”
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I had car trouble and had to get a ride home from someone. I slipped in a puddle. Klutz, huh?”
Mitch saw a car back out of the driveway and pull away up the street. “Who was that? Brian?”
“No, it was Edgar. I don’t think you’ve met him.”
“Edgar, hmm? Should I be jealous?”
Kelsey giggled. “Baby, you’d have no reason to be jealous if Leonardo DiCaprio drove me home. I am all yours.”
He kissed her neck, liking her words. She was all his.
“Prove it,” he challenged as he drew her into his living room.
“That sounds like an order,” she murmured as she let her jacket fall off her shoulders onto the floor.
“I’d never dream of ordering you to do anything you didn’t want to do,” he said as he began sliding the buttons of her blouse open, one by one. Then he cocked a sly grin. “I prefer to use gentle persuasion.”
He whispered a suggestion in her ear and heard her moan deep in her throat. She rolled her head to the side and let her blouse fall off her shoulders. Mitch followed the fine curve of her neck and shoulder with his tongue as he unzipped her slacks and let them slide, along with her underclothes, down her legs. He kissed a path down her body, pausing for a delectable moment or two to taste her breasts before dropping to his knees on the floor in front of her. He was glad he reached his arms behind her legs and held her thighs steady because when he began intimately caressing her with his mouth, her knees nearly buckled.
“Gentle persuasion works,” she muttered while she was still somewhat coherent.
Mitch barely heard her.
SOMETHING WOKE HIM EARLY the following morning. Mitch glanced at Kelsey, sleeping soundly beside him, then saw the clock. It was just past eight. Very early, considering they hadn’t gone to sleep until after four that morning. A languorous smile crossed his lips when he remembered how she’d kept him awake to try some gentle persuasion of her own after they’d moved to the bedroom. Lady Love’s mouth was absolutely amazing even when she didn’t say a word, he thought.
Mitch heard another noise coming from the front of the house.
Quickly getting out of bed, he pulled a pair of sweatpants over his naked body. He didn’t know what the noise had been, maybe a car passing close to the house, possibly a horn blown nearby. But the creak had seemed close, and familiar.
Walking through the living room into the foyer, he saw a box and a piece of paper lying on the floor by the front door. He immediately realized what he’d heard creaking: the mail slot.
Kelsey realized she was alone when she started to feel cold. She shifted over in her sleep, seeking Mitch’s warm body, but found his side of the bed empty. She sat up with a start.
“Mitch?”
He didn’t answer. Curious, she got out of bed, slipped on one of his shirts over her head and walked toward the front of the house.
The door between the living room and foyer was slightly ajar. Kelsey walked to it and gingerly pushed it open. “Mitch? What’s wrong?”
She saw him squatting in the foyer, holding a long, thin box covered with gold foil that looked as if it contained expensive candy. Mitch rose to his feet, staring steadily at her. He slowly extended his arm, offering her the box.
“Mitch? What is it?”
He narrowed his eyes and held out his other hand. Kelsey recognized the pale-blue-colored stationery he held. She winced.
“Who the hell is ‘Your Knight’?”
Kelsey grimaced, then squared her shoulders. “Let’s go sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Mitch didn’t appear to want to move, but finally he dropped the box and followed her into his living room.
After she’d told him the entire story, he stared at her in consternation for several seconds before speaking, “So, someone’s been harassing you for weeks, and you never once even bothered to mention it to me?”
Kelsey ran a weary hand over her eyes. What she really wanted was a strong cup of coffee or a few more hours’ sleep. He seemed intent on arguing. “Mitch, please, don’t get upset.”
“Upset?” he said with a bitter laugh. “That doesn’t quite describe what I’m feeling, Kelsey.”
She cringed.
He paced back and forth across the wood floor. His bare feet struck the surface hard enough to make thudding noises. “I’m angry and I’m hurt by this,” he explained. Kelsey heard the emotion in his voice as he continued. “Why didn’t you tell me? What on earth made you feel you couldn’t trust me enough to share what you were going through?”
“Mitch, of course I trust you. I just didn’t want to bother you with this.”
“Bother me?” he replied as he stopped pacing and stared into her face, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You think telling me someone’s stalking you is going to bother me? Good grief, Kelsey, I might be bothered if you said you didn’t get a raise you wanted, or were concerned about your ratings. This goes way beyond bothered!”
Kelsey shrank back in her seat at the outright anger in his voice. She hadn’t seen him this furious in a long time. She hated that she was the one who’d caused it.
“I thought you and I had something kind of meaningful building here,” he muttered bitterly.
“We do!”
“Obviously, we don’t,” he retorted. “People in a relationship don’t lie and keep secrets because they fear they’ll bother the other person.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“A technicality,” he snapped. “Maybe you never came out and said, ‘No, Mitch, no one has been writing me dozens of love letters, staking out the station and leaving me mystery gifts in my car,’ but there were plenty of times when we talked about your job that you could have come clean. And you didn’t. You kept your mouth shut, figuring I wouldn’t like it and you didn’t want to have to deal with that. Well, you know what? I don’t like it, and you do have to deal with it!”
Kelsey took a deep breath and considered her words, wondering how she could make him understand. “Mitch, look, bother is the wrong word. It’s just…I know how you feel about my job. I know you worry about me anyway. I didn’t want to make you feel worse. Things are going so well for us—I wanted to keep it perfect for as long as possible.”
He didn’t soften one bit. “Gee, it really paid off, didn’t it? Now on top of worrying about some wacko stalking you, I have to wonder if there’s anything else going on that you haven’t told me about because you want to ‘keep things perfect’ between us.”
Kelsey bit her lip and shook her head vehemently. “No, Mitch. You know everything. And don’t make it sound worse than it is. I’m not being stalked. It’s not that terrible. I mean, I certainly don’t feel threatened, just a little uncomfortable.”
“You should feel threatened! What if when you opened your car door the other night you’d found some nut with a knife instead of just some balloons? He’s been watching you, knows which one’s your car, what you look like. And he has obviously followed you home, because he now knows where you live! That doesn’t sound like normal behavior to me, Kelsey. Whoever’s doing this has got a screw loose somewhere.”
Mitch threw himself down in an armchair. Kelsey wished he’d sat beside her on the couch. She wanted him close. He obviously wanted some distance. She blinked rapidly to hold back tears.
“Mitch, I was wrong. I’m sorry. I should have come to you and told you about it. But can you honestly say that you would have been able to deal with it logically? To just sit back and wait for something to happen, for this guy to get caught or to stop? Because that’s really all we can do.”
“Hell, no,” he retorted. “That’s not all we can do. We can remove the temptation, not let Lady Love make Kelsey Logan a target for one more day.”
Kelsey stood up and placed her hands on her hips, feeling anger replace the guilt she’d been feeling moments before. “What are you saying?”
Mitch stood and moved close to her until they were practically nose to nose. “What I’m saying is, no more Night Whispers, no more threat. Maybe even no more lies between us.”
She crossed her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. “Did you just, basically, order me to quit my job? Because, for some reason, I seem to remember being in this room with you a few hours ago and hearing you say you’d never presume to order me to do anything.”
Mitch’s mouth tightened. “No, I’m not ordering you. I am relying on your common sense and your intelligence to make you come to the realization that quitting is the only answer.”
Kelsey ground her teeth, hearing his college professor tone and not liking it one bit. “No, Mitch, quitting is not the only answer. Letting the police take care of this is one option, ignoring it is another, being extra vigilant is a third. These are other options…ones that I’m actually going to consider—unlike your suggestion, which I find totally ludicrous.”
Kelsey saw Mitch stiffen, his face a cold, unfamiliar mask as he absorbed her words. She nearly regretted them, but forced herself to remember why she’d spit them out in the first place. He’d issued her an order, whether he saw it that way or not.
“So, you’re not even going to discuss the possibility of quitting Night Whispers. Getting on the radio and sharing dirty little secrets with the lusting public is so important to you you’d risk your personal safety. And you’d throw away what you and I have.”
She heard what he was really saying. Kelsey felt things spinning out of control. Their words were leading to heartache, but she couldn’t do anything to stop them.
“And now it’s not an order, it’s an ultimatum? I quit or I lose you?” she asked, wanting to be sure she understood him correctly.
He didn’t respond. She stood still for a few seconds, silently praying he’d take her in his arms and tell her they’d work through it together. He didn’t move.
“You know, Mitch, maybe the real reason I didn’t come to you with this whole ‘knight’ nonsense, is this. It’s this moment. It’s because I knew you’d use it as an excuse to try to convince me to give up something I love because it doesn’t fit in with your ordered life.”
Her voice broke and she felt tears falling from her eyes and down her cheeks. She angrily dashed them away with the back of her hand. “You’re not just asking me to quit a job. You’re asking me to be someone else, someone who walks away when threatened, who always plays it safe. I’m not that someone. Mitch, you fell into this relationship with me with your eyes wide-open. You knew who I was from day one, and I never tried to deny it. And deep down, beneath that safe, conservative shell of yours, I know damn well you don’t want me to do what you’re asking me to do.”
Tears continued to fall down her cheeks and Kelsey didn’t even bother wiping them away.
Mitch shook his head slowly. “You’re wrong,” he said with quiet dignity. “I’d be the happiest man alive if you never went back to that station. Don’t you get it? I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”
Kelsey watched as he raised a weary hand to his brow and rubbed his temple. His movements were so familiar to her, she knew he’d swipe his hand through his hair the second before he did it. Her heart ached, but she could not back down.
“The worst thing that could happen to me,” she explained softly, “is that I could allow someone else to dictate how I’ll live my life. I will not change who I am to suit anyone. And if you don’t know that about me, then you don’t know me at all.”
Mitch watched in silence as she strode toward the door. She paused, wrapping her arms around her body, as if gaining strength, then walked out of the apartment without another word.
He nearly went after her. Lots of things had been said before he’d even thought about what he was saying. The whole conversation should have been handled differently, when he wasn’t so angry about the way he’d discovered what she’d been going through…and about the way she’d hidden it from him.
But he couldn’t bring himself to follow her. Because he knew if he did they’d end up in each other’s arms and he’d apologize and tell her he didn’t mean it. Then they’d move on, and she’d remain Lady Love.
And he’d hate himself for the rest of his life if this pervert ended up hurting her.
”THEY CAUGHT THE KNIGHT.”
Kelsey nearly dropped the phone when she heard Brian’s voice. She’d snatched it up on the first ring, hoping Mitch had decided to call her rather than walk up the stairs and risk another face-to-face argument.
“Kelsey, are you there? I said they caught your secret admirer.”
“How do you know?”
“I happened to overhear a conversation going on right now in Jack McKenzie’s office.”
“Listening at keyholes? Never mind, I know better than to even ask. So, how’d they catch the guy?”
Brian paused and Kelsey knew he was building up the momentum. She could practically hear his excitement in the silent phone line. “Come on,” she insisted. “Spill your guts. I know you’re dying to.”
“Well, one of the secretaries caught him trying to slip a gift into your mail slot. She recognized the blue stationery, confronted him, and he broke down and confessed everything.”
Kelsey couldn’t believe the man had had enough nerve to stroll right into the station.
“Then what?” she asked, anxious to hear the rest of the story.
“She called McKenzie, and they’ve been in his office for the past half hour. I’m sure Jack will be calling you any minute—I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“I appreciate it,” she said.
“Don’t you want to know who it is?” Brian said, and Kelsey heard the excitement in his voice. “I mean, it turns out this guy’s no stranger.”
Kelsey paused for a heartbeat, then a name rolled off her lips.
“Edgar.”
“How’d you know?” Brian asked, sounding highly annoyed that she’d stolen his thunder. She sat back heavily in her chair.
“You mean I’m right?”
“Yep. It was Edgar. He’s confessing everything.”
Somehow, Kelsey wasn’t surprised. She’d felt all along that the man writing to her was not a threat, but was simply some lonely person indulging in some fantasizing, just as she encouraged people to do on her show. And Edgar fit the bill.
Last night he’d so conveniently been there to drive her home because her car mysteriously wouldn’t start, then he’d immediately tried to carry her because of the huge puddle. Looking back, it was so obvious it was all contrived. Edgar was starring in his own hero fantasy and had cast her as the helpless heroine in need of his protection and love. She wondered what he’d done to her car.
“Poor Edgar,” she said softly.
Poor me, she thought. Kelsey couldn’t believe it was over. Just hours after her relationship with Mitch had blown to smithereens, the reason had been eliminated. It was so unfair, she felt like crying.
“’Poor Edgar’ is right. From what I’ve heard about his wife, dealing with the station, losing his job and possibly facing prosecution will be the least of his worries.”
Kelsey sighed, knowing Brian was right. “I’ll tell Jack to forget about the police. I am quite sure I won’t be hearing from the ‘Knight of my Life’ anymore. Edgar was acting out a Night Whispers-type fantasy. Now that I know it was him, he probably won’t ever want to see me again.”
Kelsey finished her conversation, and waited no more than three minutes before the phone rang again. She acted surprised when Jack informed her of what had happened that morning. After he confirmed that Edgar had resigned, she asked him just to let the man go and not involve the police.
She debated with herself about whether to tell Mitch. She was still angry with him, feeling hurt and raw at the fight they’d had that morning. The fact that this whole secret admirer business was over really didn’t change anything. Mitch would still want her to quit Night Whispers. He’d still want her to change. And she just couldn’t.
He didn’t deserve to be afraid for her, though. Squaring her shoulders, she walked downstairs and knocked on his door. When he opened it, she noticed a flash of relief crossed his face when he saw her standing there, but as she remained motionless in the hall, he stiffened.
“I just wanted to let you know, so you won’t be worried, that the person who’s been writing me and leaving me gifts was caught this morning. It turns out he was a lonely man with an overactive imagination who works at the station and never had the nerve to tell me he admired me to my face. He was never a real threat, and has resigned. I’m sure I’ll never see him again.”
Mitch nodded steadily, feeling greatly relieved. He hadn’t been able to think of a single thing all day except how to keep Kelsey safe. Now, it seemed, she no longer needed him to.
“So what now?” she asked softly.
Mitch didn’t answer right away. The stalking scare was over, at least for the time being. As for their relationship, he just didn’t know.
“You were lucky this time, Kelsey,” he said finally. “What about next time? What if the next guy’s not just some poor sap with a big imagination?”
She didn’t respond. Mitch didn’t try to make it easy on her, either. He sensed she wanted to work things out. He probably could have told her they’d move on, forget about it now that this whole mess was over with. But he couldn’t let it go. Because deep inside he knew that there would, inevitably, be a next time.
She turned her back to him and walked back up the stairs.
MITCH HAD ABSOLUTELY no desire to attend the Downtown Charitable Society banquet that evening. He was very proud that his articles had drawn attention to the plight of the Chinese girls. But, somehow, attending the elegant affair with all of the rich Baltimore elite who dabbled in charity just didn’t appeal to him. What was important was the plaque he’d be bringing home, not hobnobbing with the likes of Amanda Langley’s father and his rich board of trustees friends. And those were the type of men who made up the Downtown Charitable Society.
He heard Kelsey leave to go to work at around seven. She paused briefly outside his apartment door. Wondering for a heart-stopping second if she was going to burst in and demand he make love to her, he admitted to himself that if she did he had no qualms about missing the banquet.
She didn’t.
The ceremony was held at a hotel near Harbor Place. Mitch mingled during the cocktail hour, finding himself slipping back into the role of the distinguished, detached writer. As he’d expected, Amanda’s father was there, and Amanda was on his arm, looking every bit as lovely and sophisticated as she ever had, in a long beige sheath and a diamond choker.
“Congratulations, Mitch. You look well,” she said as she slipped her arm through his and smiled up at him.
“Thank you. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Well,” she admitted with a trill of laughter, “I have a confession to make. I made quite certain Daddy and the rest of the board members of the society knew all about the wonders you’d done with your writing. I wanted this for you, Mitch.”
She tightened her grip on his arm, pressing her breasts against him, her eyes flashing an unmistakable invitation. Mitch felt more uncomfortable by the minute.
“Let’s go take our seats,” she said. “I’ve arranged for you to sit with Daddy and me.”
Mitch followed her to the table and spent most of the evening listening to rich men congratulate themselves on their charitable work. Not one of them looked as if he’d ever actually seen a homeless person, though they all claimed to be terribly concerned about them.
Accepting his award with his prepared remarks, Mitch bowed his head at the perfunctory applause and wished he could make a getaway out the back. The people surrounding him seemed to fade into a blur. They were frivolous and selfish, amusingly catty and condescending. And he knew he could end up just like them.
He felt sick to his stomach.
“Mitch, do say you’ll come over for Thanksgiving dinner,” Amanda invited. “It was so lovely last year when you joined us. And since you don’t have any family nearby, we’d hate for you to be alone.”
Mitch thought about the upcoming holidays. For the first time in several years, he pictured himself actually enjoying them. Cooking a turkey, watching a football game, eating so much he could barely move from the table. But when he pictured all these things, it wasn’t Amanda’s father’s mansion he saw. It was his own kitchen.
And Kelsey.
The banquet broke up around eleven, and everyone drifted outside to wait for their limousines. Amanda held on to his arm and urged Mitch to come out for a drink. He never even considered it.
He wanted to be home with Kelsey. Tonight, Thanksgiving night, every night before and after. He loved her. Mitch had admitted to himself that he loved her long before now, but finally the truth of it hit him. He didn’t love Kelsey for the person he wanted her to be. He loved her for the zany, irrepressible, gutsy person she was.
She had been right. In wanting her to give up her show, he’d been asking her to be someone she wasn’t. He was basically urging her to do what he had done in his own life: subdue emotion, live logically and by the rules. Doing just that had made Mitch secure financially and socially, but had also left him feeling vaguely unsatisfied, that he was missing out on something. And when Kelsey came waltzing into his ordered home, she’d reminded him of what that was. Passion. Exuberance. Excitement. Laughter. All the rich spices that blended to make a person’s life complete—all the flavors he’d tried so hard to make bland through work and ambition.
This evening’s glimpse of what his world had been like without her was all it took to convince him he wanted Kelsey to stay exactly the way she was. And to stay with him. Mitch grinned and laughed out loud. He felt like shouting to the moon, but settled for whistling instead.
He was about to make his excuses to Amanda when he saw her eyes widen and her mouth drop open in shock. She stood under a covered awning on a sidewalk outside the hotel and stared out at the street. Mitch followed her stare.
A city bus belching diesel made its way sluggishly up the street to the nearby covered stop. The bus was a typical grimy gray, and only one person waited to board it. Mitch didn’t realize what had so captured Amanda’s attention until he saw his own face gliding to a slow stop right in front of his eyes.
“Son of a…” he muttered softly, not believing what he saw.
A huge picture covered the side of the bus—a picture of Mitch and Kelsey…or, more accurately, of the pirate and his wench. A photo of Mitch bending toward Kelsey’s heaving chest had been blown up to about six feet by six feet and attached to the side of the bus. A caption read “Spend the night with Lady Love on WAJO.” Though shown only in profile, both of them were easily recognizable in the provocative shot.
“This is unbelievable,” Amanda said shrilly, her voice drawing the attention of everyone else standing nearby. Mitch saw them follow her gaze to the bus and heard the whispers of all those who’d just paid him tribute.
“They can’t simply put your face up on the side of a bus. You get a lawyer, Mitch,” Amanda continued, her voice getting louder by the second. “You need to sue those people. This is an outrage!”
Mitch watched her squawk, her feathers completely ruffled. He saw the disapproving frowns on other faces around him.
“Yes, it certainly is all wrong,” Mitch said, nodding thoughtfully as he stared at the bus.
Not looking at anyone, he grabbed a black marker from the valet stand. He walked the dozen steps to the side of the bus, reached up and quickly drew a small black mustache on his own face on the photograph. Stepping back to survey his work, he nodded at a job well done as the bus ground its gears and pulled away from the stop.
Mitch glanced over his shoulder, grinning at Amanda’s openmouthed stare. “I knew I would have looked better if I’d had time to grow a mustache!”
Mitch laughed out loud at the shocked expressions on the faces of the crowd he’d just spent the evening with. Amanda looked as though she’d swallowed a quart of sour milk. Her father frowned forbiddingly. Mitch felt better than he had in ages.
Whistling, he tossed the pen to the young valet as he walked down the street toward his car.
“HELLO, BALTIMORE, and welcome to another evening of Night Whispers.”
Kelsey glanced at her notes as she spoke into the microphone.
“Tonight I want to explore relationships. We’ve all had them, some more successfully than others,” she said with a slight laugh.
“Let’s not focus on the sweet romance that builds gradually, with emotions leading to physical expression. After all, this is Night Whispers you’re listening to. Think about those other types. You know what I mean—when it starts with raw, physical attraction, builds into desire and fantasy, and finally reaches sensuous, body-rocking lovemaking.”
She paused, closed her eyes to let her listeners imagine what she was talking about, then continued.
“No question, the beginning of that type of relationship can involve ultimate pleasure. The anticipation of finally being with someone who makes you hot enough to melt like ice cream on a sizzling summer day is worth the possibility of it going no further than one heated night of passion.”
Kelsey forced herself to get her mind off a stormy October night when she and Mitch had exploded together and changed everything.
“But what happens if there is a next day? A next month, year or decade? When the hot, steamy sex is done, and you’re left looking at this person who’s consumed your thoughts for a very long time. How do you segue into a real, meaningful relationship? Do you even want to?
“Call me. Let’s talk about it. This is Lady Love and you’re listening to Night Whispers on WAJO.”
Kelsey scooted back in her chair and sorted through some discs during a set of commercials. Glancing at the clock, she wondered how Mitch’s banquet was going, and wished she’d called in sick and shown up. She would have greatly enjoyed seeing the look on his face if he’d looked up from his speech and seen her standing dressed as his wench under a spotlight!
When Brian cued her, she leaned back toward the microphone. “Welcome back to Night Whispers. Tonight we’re talking about relationships. Let’s skip forward a little, past that initial sensual cloud lovers wrap themselves in. When passion leads to love, how do you make it work? Maybe the person you’re passionately involved with isn’t right for you, or thinks you’re not right for him. How do you move past the obstacles and work on creating something that might actually last?”
The show sped by quickly. Most callers understood exactly what she was talking about and gave tips to others, or else sought commiseration. They discussed marriage and breakups, passion and tenderness. Kelsey wondered why she didn’t feel any better, knowing so many other people were in the same boat she was: in love with someone who thought she was wrong for him and wanted her to change.
“Well, friends,” she said as she glanced at the clock, “we’re coming to the end of another Night Whispers. It’s been an interesting night. Do you feel better? I’ll be honest. I don’t. Sometimes, relationships just stink.”
On the other side of the booth, Brian began gesturing. Kelsey noticed there was another phone call. She frowned. She’d already passed the point when she accepted calls, but he looked insistent.
“Well, it seems we have one more late-night caller,” she murmured. Punching the connect button on her console, she said, “Good evening, caller, you’re on Night Whispers.”
“Lady Love? I’m in desperate need of help.”
A sudden rush of warmth flooded Kelsey’s entire body as she recognized Mitch’s voice. “How can I help you tonight?”
“I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself in a bit of mess with a woman I’m absolutely crazy about.”
She smiled, deciding to make him sweat. “Oh? Done something terribly stupid, have you?”
“Uh-huh. Terribly. I made her think I don’t want her exactly the way she is. She believes I want her to lose the very qualities that attracted me…until I thought I’d go out of my mind wanting her.”
His voice rolled over her entire body and Kelsey nearly curled up in her seat. “And you don’t?”
“Absolutely not,” he said vehemently. “She drives me crazy, she takes risks, she’s outrageous and flamboyant. But, oh, Lady Love, she brings out something in me I thought I’d lost a long time ago.”
“What’s that?”
A short silence ensued before he replied. “Passion. Passion for life, for pleasure, for everything around us. Sorry to tell you this, Lady Love, but this woman knows more about it than you ever will.”
Kelsey laughed softly into the microphone, saying, “Does she know how you feel?”
“Sure, she knows I’m in love with her.”
Kelsey sat upright in her chair, bumping her knees on a shelf under the console. He loved her? He was telling her he loved her? Now? On live radio?
“Are you sure she knows that? I mean, have you told her that?”
“I’ve told her in every way possible. I mean, she’s very intelligent—she doesn’t need things spelled out.”
“Yes…she…does,” Kelsey muttered tightly.
She heard Mitch’s soft chuckle, then he fell silent.
“Sometimes even a woman as sublimely intelligent as yours needs to hear these things said out loud once in a while,” she prodded.
“I love you?” he said with a scoffing laugh. “But that just doesn’t begin to express it. Besides, like I said, she knows.”
Kelsey gritted her teeth. “How?”
“How could she not? She knows me so well. She anticipates my moods, lifts my spirits with one smile, makes me laugh with a word. She can cause me physical pain if she cries. Every minute we spend together is more precious than the previous one. She has awakened me. She has helped me become a man with a future, instead of a man with promise. She’s shown me I can have everything I ever wanted, plus all the happiness I ever dreamed of.”
Tears gathered in the corners of Kelsey’s eyes as Mitch spoke.
“She is my first thought every morning, and my last wish every night. She is my past, and she is my future, and she’s everything in between.”
A long moment of silence hung heavily on the air, and Kelsey could not make her voice work. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Finally she breathed deeply and said, “I love you, too.”
KELSEY COULDN’T REMEMBER the words she used to wrap up her show. By five after two, she was in her car, driving through the dark streets of Baltimore.
When she arrived at the brownstone, she hurried to the front door and let herself in. The foyer was dark, and she felt a moment of misgiving. Then she sensed him. Her body reacted with the same instinctive longing she always felt when Mitch was near.
“Mitch?”
“I’m here, Kelsey.”
And suddenly he was with her, wrapping his arms around her body. Welcoming her home. He lifted her in his arms and carried her into his apartment, kissing her face again and again. Kelsey ran her hands along his shoulders and arms, to be certain he wasn’t a dream.
“I love you,” he said as he sat her gently on the sofa.
“Well, it took you long enough to say it!”
He laughed aloud and caught her mouth in a deep kiss as he pulled her jacket off and warmed her with his body.
“Did you really mean it?” she asked after they ended their kiss. “You want to make this work between us? Because I want that more than anything, but I’m not willing to let fear drive me away from Night Whispers.”
He nodded. “I know. I’m always going to worry about you, Kelsey. But I recognize that Night Whispers is a part of you.”
Leaning down to press a kiss in the hollow of her throat, he whispered, “A very naughty, delicious part.”
She savored the rough feel of his cheek on her skin. “I’ll be extra careful at work. I won’t take any chances.”
“We’ll deal with whatever happens.”
They kissed again, long, deep and wet. Kelsey shifted on the couch, wanting to have nothing between them, particularly her clothing. He slowly began unbuttoning her blouse and she loved how his eyes darkened while he looked at her.
“You’re sure you won’t mind not having a safe, respectable, responsible, pearls-wearing literary wife?” she whispered.
“Wife?” he asked, looking at her in wide-eyed innocence. “Was that a proposal?”
She pushed him off her until he slid to the floor in front of the couch. Luckily, he landed on his knees.
“No, big guy, it wasn’t. I am not going to make all the first moves in this relationship!”
“You’re not? There’s a change,” Mitch said with a grin.
She glared at him, but he took her by the hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I love you, Kelsey. And I don’t just want you to marry me, I am begging you to. After all, who else is going to give me a kick off the straight and narrow when I need it?”
Sliding to the floor in front of him, Kelsey pressed against his body, knees to shoulders, and looked up into his eyes with every ounce of the love she felt for him.
“Sounds like the perfect job for me,” she murmured.
He grinned.
“And Lady Love.”
”GOOD EVENING, BALTIMORE, and welcome to a special edition of Night Whispers.
“This is Brian filling in for Lady Love tonight. Our Night Whispers hostess is celebrating a very special event. This afternoon, Lady Love married the man of her dreams and yours truly was in attendance. Ready for the dish?
“First of all, the bride wore white. Now, skeptics among you, stop your tittering. She was utterly gorgeous, a picture of elegance in a floor-length Belgian-lace dress. For those among you who can only see sexiness in red or black lingerie, stretch your brains and visualize the power of purity. High collar, long sleeves, perfectly fitted to her figure, with pearl buttons running from her neck all the way down her back. Imagine the anticipation of a groom slowly slipping each button free and I’m sure you’ll understand the appeal.
“Speaking of the groom, if there was ever a man born to wear a formal black tux, it’s him. Ladies, he looked like a fantasy man, tall, lean and powerful. And the look of adoration on his face when he saw our lady walking down the aisle was something no one in that church will ever forget.
“The ceremony was traditional, and everything went smooth as clockwork, though the mother of the bride cried enough to leave black streaks down her cheeks. Always remember, please, waterproof mascara for these occasions.
“During the vows, steam came out of the bride’s ears when the minister said the word ‘obey.’ The groom and the best man, the bride’s brother, laughed loud enough to be heard in the back of the church. Lady Love didn’t realize they’d put the minister up to it until he winked at them. The groom got a sharp-knuckled little punch in the upper arm before he swept his bride into his arms for an oh-so-passionate kiss.
“The reception was held at a hotel near the Inner Harbor. In keeping with Valentine’s Day tradition, red velvet bows decorated every table and the hall was packed with well-wishers.
“There was not a dry eye in the place when Lady Love stepped out onto the dance floor with her father, and they were joined by the groom and the bride’s mother. The two couples shared the moment, eventually changing partners and then coming together for a group hug at the end. Another Kodak moment.
“Of course, the real fun started after the bride and groom departed for their honeymoon to the Caribbean. One of the ushers, an old college buddy of the groom, had too much to drink and got a little too friendly with the maid of honor. Her boyfriend, one of the other ushers, decked the guy, knocking him into the champagne fountain. The best man, who’d been fending off every unattached woman in attendance, broke up the fracas and was last seen disappearing into the elevator with a lovely redhead.
“We have to pause now, for a commercial break. I’ve got lots more juicy details on Lady Love’s wedding day, so be sure to come back for more Night Whispers.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0247-8
Copyright © 2007 Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
Constant Craving
Copyright © 1999 by Tori Carrington
Private Lessons
Copyright © 1999 by Julie Elizabeth Leto
Nobody Does it Better
Copyright © 2000 by Julie Kenner
Night Whispers
Copyright © 1999 by Leslie Kelly
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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