Hard To Handle

Nolan swore mildly under his breath. “Don’t think I won’t throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of this courthouse if I have to, Mikki,” he warned, his voice too intoxicating for a Nolan junkie like her to withstand.

“Try it,” she dared him.

Unaffected by her empty threat, Nolan chuckled, then hauled her into the stairwell and pushed her up against the stone-cold wall after the metal door closed. His mouth clamped firmly over hers in a hot, openmouthed kiss that had her body humming.

She responded with equal hunger, ramming her fingers into his hair to make certain he knew without a doubt she’d settle for nothing less than complete satisfaction.

His knee nudged hers, and she shifted her stance to straddle his thigh. The snug fit of her skirt prevented her from feeling the pressure of his leg against her throbbing and swollen center. She moaned in frustration and hiked her skirt up past her hips.

Mikki’s senses spun. Her body heated as if he’d set it on fire.

Thank heavens some things never changed.

Dear Reader,

As women we share a special kind of bond with other women, whether they are lifelong friends, special co-workers, family members, or sometimes even total strangers for a brief moment in time. But nothing is quite as special as that close bond between sisters, even sisters of the heart, such as the one Mikki Correlli shares with Lauren Massey (On the Loose, February 2005, by Shannon Hollis) and Rory Constable (Slow Ride, March 2005, by Carrie Alexander) in the LOCK & KEY trilogy.

Mikki knows she can count on her “sisters” to always be there for her, whether it’s to tell her the truth when she needs to hear it or to offer their unwavering support when she really needs it. And boy, does she ever need them when her “ex-husband,” Nolan Baylor, shows up with news she never expected to hear—that their divorce isn’t valid!

Hard To Handle is a different kind of story for me, one I especially enjoyed not only because of the opportunity of working with Carrie and Shannon, but simply because of the journey it took me through.

I hope you enjoy Mikki and Nolan’s journey to find their own happiness. I’d love to hear from you and know what you think! Please write to me at P.O. Box 39, Rouseville, PA 16344 or via e-mail at jamie@jamiedenton.net.

Until next time,

Jamie Denton

Hard To Handle

Jamie Denton

For my sisters,

Wanda, Stef, Frannie and Lois

I love you all!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

1

“IS CHOCOLATE REALLY better than sex?” Michaela Correlli asked her sisters, licking a dollop of creamy dark chocolate from the tip of her index finger. Savoring the rich taste, she moaned with sheer hedonistic delight. “This stuff definitely qualifies as a front runner.”

“Depends on the chocolate—and the man.” Lauren Massey polished off her éclair and already had her eye on a second. “Not that I’ve had much by way of comparison lately,” she added.

Mikki envied her younger sister’s ability to eat whatever she wanted and not gain an ounce. If Mikki so much as considered indulging in a second of her older sister Aurora “Rory” Constable’s scrumptious bakery goodies, she’d be relegated to the treadmill for the remainder of her natural life.

“These are a lot more satisfying than the last loser I laid.” Mikki slid the delicate rose-patterned china plate in front of Lauren. “Maybe I should give up sex and stick to chocolate.”

Rory held an oversize Lavender Field promotional mug in her hand. “That’ll be the day,” she said, her green eyes warm with affection.

“I could, you know,” Mikki said, a tad too defensively to be totally convincing.

Lauren snickered.

Mikki smoothed her hands down her slim black skirt as she rose to pour herself another cup of coffee from the big stainless-steel coffee urn in the corner of the back room of Rory’s flagship bakery, Lavender Field. She shot them both a warning glance, which they ignored.

Lauren only laughed louder. “Not in this lifetime, Mikki Mantis.”

Mikki gave the hem of her wine-colored blazer a sharp, indignant tug cringing at the nickname. They knew her too well. She had about as much hope of giving up sex as the San Francisco 49ers did of making it to another Super Bowl without the quarterbacking talents of Joe Montana or Steve Young. Some things in life just weren’t meant to be. As long as Lauren or Rory didn’t expect her to start mooning over some guy, then she figured no harm, no fumble.

“Are you going to tell us what was so important that it couldn’t wait until Saturday?” Lauren asked. “I have a meeting with my managing editor, aka the Queen of Pain, in an hour.”

Mikki returned to her stool and set the matching china cup on the scarred surface of the old butcher-block worktable. The air was redolent with the aromas of freshly baked bread and the dried bunches of lavender strung from the overhead beams. Since Rory had first opened Lavender Field, which had grown into one of the Bay area’s most popular bakeries with a fourth location under development, Mikki and Lauren had been meeting here most Saturday mornings. Their weekly bull sessions touched on men, sex, hopes, dreams, men, sex, work, life, men, sex, films, books. No taboo subject existed between them.

Since Lauren and Rory weren’t her sisters by blood, but of the heart, their relationship was even more precious to Mikki. Rory’s mother, Emma, had been Mikki’s foster mother from the time Mikki had been placed in the Constable home when social services had stepped in to remove her from a bad situation.

Twenty years later she still cringed whenever she recalled what a horrid little witch she’d been those first few months. Mouthy. Sullen. Sneaky… She’d ducked out one night and got herself busted for lifting a bag of potato chips from the corner liquor store. Another night, she’d been picked up by the cops on a curfew violation. All in all, she’d just made a general nuisance of herself. After cutting so many classes she now considered it a miracle she’d even made it out of the seventh grade. She hadn’t made Emma Constable’s job easy, but then, Mikki hadn’t been expecting to stick around for long. Why would she when, at twelve, she’d already been shuffled through a half-dozen foster homes in less than two years?

Initially she’d kept her distance. She hadn’t seen the point in becoming attached to people when they’d eventually call her social worker and toss her out because she wasn’t worth the effort. Although she had instantly recognized that Emma wasn’t like the other foster moms she’d been subjected to, she hadn’t been dumb enough to believe the woman’s earth-mother mask had been for real. In her experience, once the social worker dumped her and took off, the wholesome, all-American family facade faded fast and Mikki would be faced with a not-so-pleasant reality that consisted of foster parents who cared more about the state’s monthly stipend than the kids in their care.

But Emma had eventually proven different. Months later the mask remained firmly in place, which had only added to Mikki’s confusion. On the surface Emma’s devotion to each of the children in her care appeared sincere. She’d been kind, fiercely protective and gently handed out discipline when warranted, the latter of which Mikki had earned plenty of during those first few months. Regardless of whatever stupid stunt she’d pulled, though, Emma’s affection had remained steadfast. With an abundance of unconditional love, an unending supply of patience and her own odd brand of homespun wisdom, Mikki had eventually figured out that Emma Constable was the genuine article.

A number of troubled young girls had benefited from being placed in Emma’s care over the years, but for the most part, they hadn’t been long-term cases like herself and Lauren, who’d arrived four years after Mikki. Lauren had been fifteen, scared, confused and orphaned, and one year behind Mikki in school. As a matter of emotional survival, Mikki had made a habit of keeping people at a distance, but she’d done the unthinkable the day a group of preppies had picked on Lauren and had become her champion. Mikki had gone ballistic and ended up with a two-day suspension for fighting. To this day, she wasn’t about to stand down when someone messed with her family.

She remembered expecting Emma to ground her for a month after that trick, but while the peace-prone Emma hadn’t condoned Mikki’s behavior, she hadn’t exactly condemned it, either. Instead she’d encouraged Mikki to nurture her protective instincts in a more positive way. With Emma’s guidance and encouragement, she’d become an attorney. She truly loved her work as a child advocate with San Francisco County Legal Aid, representing kids with backgrounds similar to her own who desperately needed someone in their corner.

A smile touched Mikki’s lips as she pulled a pair of tickets from her handbag. “Because Saturday would be too late,” she said, handing one to each of them. “These are only good for Friday night.”

Rory set her mug on the table and shot Mikki a wry glance. “What’s this all about?”

“A charity event.” She sounded much too chipper, instantly raising her sisters’ warning flags. They really did know her far too well.

“‘Unlock the possibilities,’” Lauren read, then regarded Mikki with the same wariness as Rory. “Mikki, you’re up to something.”

Mikki took no offense at the accusation in Lauren’s tone. “Before either of you even think of saying no, it really is for a good cause.” Forget playing a trump card, she’d go straight for the emotional jugular. “Maureen Baxter is hosting the event to raise money for a transitional home for young girls in crisis situations. With the shortage of qualified foster care, Baxter House will be an alternative to county housing.”

What were once commonly known as orphanages or county homes were supposed to be safe havens, but overcrowded conditions and understaffing had all too often led to less than desirable environments that made the juvenile facilities an unfavorable option for displaced children.

“You know what nightmares those places can be,” Mikki added, shooting Lauren a meaningful glance. “Courtesy of all the budget cutbacks, the situation is only becoming worse.” Mikki and Lauren had both briefly lived at McClanin Hall, a county facility with a bad reputation due to its rough, prisonlike atmosphere. Rory had heard their horror stories and Mikki felt confident that that alone would be more than enough to push her sisters into conceding.

They both looked resigned, which made Mikki smile. Maureen Baxter, who was a couple of years younger than Mikki, had been another of Emma’s girls. She had come along during Mikki’s last year of high school after her mother had been killed by her abusive husband. Mikki wasn’t as close to Maureen as she was to Lauren or to Rory, but they still shared a few bonds. Their affection and respect for the woman who’d cared for them for one, their work with children being another. As an attorney and child advocate for legal aid, the bulk of Mikki’s caseload came from the child welfare division, where Maureen was employed as a social worker.

“If anyone can make it happen,” she continued, “it’ll be Maureen. She’s one of the most compassionate, driven women I know.” Mikki supported the cause completely, and had been working closely with Maureen, wading through the sea of legal red tape involved in such a huge undertaking.

“She already has the licensing,” she told them. “Between what little government funding she’s finagled, and the generosity of several financial contributors, she’s close to turning Baxter House into a reality. She’s having it built on that piece of raw land she inherited from her mother’s estate. This event is to raise money for the building fund.”

Lauren flicked her fingernail over the glossy black ticket with bright neon-pink lettering. “Fifty dollars?” she exclaimed, upon closer inspection. “Per person?”

“It’s on me,” Mikki reassured her. Fifty bucks wouldn’t make a dent in Rory’s wallet, and would leave only a small one in her own, but Lauren was a struggling journalist who worked for little more than peanuts half the time.

“Exactly what kind of possibilities are we supposed to unlock for fifty bucks?”

Rory leaned forward on the table, giving the éclairs she’d foresworn a longing look before resolutely wrapping her hands around the mug. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Ever hear of speed dating?”

“Sure,” Lauren said with a shrug. “You pay an entry fee and then spend ten minutes chatting with some guy. If you hit it off, great. If he’s a dud, then in ten minutes you’re free to move on to the next one.”

“Count me out.” Rory plunked down her mug and stood.

“But—”

“Speed rejection is more like it. Forget it, Mikki,” Rory said in that stubborn way of hers that drove Mikki even crazier than when she called her Mikki Mantis. “I’ll reimburse you for the ticket and I’ll fork over a nice-size donation, but there’s no way I’m going to subject myself to that kind of humiliation.”

“Oh, come on, Rory,” she argued. “It’s not technically speed dating. Actually, it’s more like a key party. Sort of.”

Looking even more dubious, Rory smoothed her sweater over her generous hips. “A key party? Like in The Ice Storm? You’ve got to be kidding. I thought those died out way back in the seventies, along with Mom’s love beads and hookah pipe.”

“Key parties are trendy again.” Mikki grinned. “I hear hookahs are, too.”

“I’m not the trendy type.”

“Oh, I dunno, Rory,” Lauren chimed in hopefully. “It might be fun.”

“It will be,” Mikki rallied. “Fifty dollars buys a key or lock ticket. The male guests are all given keys and the women an adorable pendant in the shape of a tiny white-gold suitcase. Which, by the way, we get to keep. How can you say no to free jewelry, all for circulating, flirting and having fun trying to find out who holds the key to your locket? The guy with the key that opens your suitcase is your date for whatever prize is drawn from the raffle ticket hidden inside. Everybody wins.”

Non-key-holder tickets were also available, but Mikki kept that fact to herself. She knew which option Rory would choose and, in Mikki’s opinion, there was more to life than bread rolls and solitary annual excursions to France. Her sister desperately needed a life—even if she refused to admit it.

Rory still didn’t look too convinced. “I don’t know…”

Mikki understood her sister’s hesitation, although she didn’t agree with it. Rory was a beautiful, striking woman, but after an awkward adolescence plagued by weight problems and few dates, coupled with a nasty breakup with her only long-term boyfriend, she was now painfully self-conscious about her figure. Having more than a few hang-ups of her own, Mikki couldn’t completely discount Rory’s apprehension.

“Oo-oh,” Lauren murmured, putting down her ticket to pluck a flyer from Mikki’s purse. “The grand prize is an all-inclusive weekend in Mendocino at the Painter’s Cove Resort. The winners share a luxury suite with a hot tub and private pool.” A lascivious grin canted her lips. “I could handle that.”

“A weekend with a total stranger,” Rory reminded them. “It could end up being the blind date from hell.”

“Or not,” Lauren said, opening the brochure. “Tennis, golf, horseback riding on the beach. Even an on-site spa. Oh, my God—they have mud baths and hot stone massages.”

Rory shuddered. “A naked weekend with a total stranger.”

“No one says you actually have to go on the date with the guy,” Mikki pointed out. “Look, Maureen’s been working hard on this event and is counting on all of us being there to support her. The backing from city merchants has been amazing.”

Lauren perused the extensive list of prizes, then handed the brochure to Rory. “It looks like every movieplex in the entire Bay area has donated passes.”

Rory brightened. “Movie passes? Now you’re talking my language.”

“Tons of them,” Mikki said. “Including the theaters, the opera house—even the ballet company. They were all happy to hand over almost a dozen pairs of tickets. Maureen’s gotten just about every trendy or exclusive restaurant in San Francisco to each contribute three or more dinners for two, and even managed to wrangle nearly a third of the B and B’s in Napa to donate weekend stays. There are a couple of day-spa packages, too. I would love to get my hands on one of those.”

“She really worked hard on this,” Rory said. “It looks like every lock-and-key ticket holder will receive a prize of some sort.”

Mikki sensed her weakening and went in for the proverbial kill. “Baxter House is important to her. And to me, too. I wish there’d been a place like that when I was in the system,” she added, hoping it would be the final push over the edge into acceptance.

Rory let out a sigh, then placed the brochure on the table before crossing the workroom to pull a lavender apron from the hook by the rear door. “I’ll reimburse you for my ticket, but I don’t need to be there.”

“Well…” Mikki hesitated. She wasn’t all that comfortable the key party plan herself. When it came to men, she didn’t exactly wear a user-friendly label. The truth was, she had a tendency to use men for sex. She had no use for relationships or romantic entanglements. The female version of the old love-’em-and-leave-’em cliché. “You sorta do.”

Rory slipped the loop of the apron over her head and tied the sash. “Why, exactly, do I sorta have to be there?”

“Because I kind of promised Maureen you’d…” Oh, she’d really done it this time. Rory was going to kill her.

Her sister’s eyes instantly filled with suspicion. “That I’d what, Mikki?”

“Donate desserts and pastries from the shop,” she said in a rush.

Rory folded her arms, raised one eyebrow and gave her a direct look. “For how many people?” Her sister obviously knew a rat—even one with good intentions—when she smelled one.

Lauren nudged Mikki with her elbow. “Have you ever noticed how much she looks like Mom when she does that? Scary.”

“I always hated that look,” Mikki muttered.

“Because you knew she’d busted you cold,” Lauren reminded her.

“Well?” Rory impatiently prodded.

Mikki sucked in a quick breath that did nothing to alleviate the stab of guilt. “Five hundred.” She winced before adding, “Minimum.”

Lauren’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Mikki, you’ve always been pushy, but even you have to admit this time you just may have crossed the line.”

“I think I figured that one out, Lauren.”

“Are you for real?” Rory’s tone rose sharply, but contained no anger, only shocked disbelief.

Mikki couldn’t really blame her if she was angry. She had resorted to out-and-out manipulation, even if it was for Rory’s own good. Since she’d opened Lavender Field she’d been working too hard and it was time she let loose and had a little fun. Although whipping up baked goods for five-hundred-plus people didn’t exactly qualify as fun, she suddenly realized.

“I’ll help,” Mikki offered. She was a much better lawyer than a cook, and hoped her sister would forget that minute detail.

“Prepare baked goods and pastries for five hundred people or more with only four days’ notice?” Rory’s expression remained tough as nails even though she had an expert staff at her disposal. “You bet you will.”

“So will I,” Lauren added, leaning over to offer Mikki a sympathetic hug.

Rory shook her head. “Dammit, Mikki. I can’t believe you did this to me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I should be shot. But think of all the great publicity for Lavender Field. With your fourth store opening soon, it can’t hurt.”

“Maureen’s really expecting five hundred people to show up for this thing?” Lauren asked.

“She’s hoping for twice that,” Mikki answered. “She’s sold five hundred tickets so far.”

“Impressive, but that’s hardly going to cover the cost of construction,” Rory pointed out.

“Maureen found a contractor willing to donate the work for free, and is arranging for subcontractors who’ll do the same. All she has to do is raise enough to cover the cost of materials,” Mikki explained. She turned to Lauren. “Could you do a story on the fund-raiser? This is San Francisco. You know how we love our causes. Who knows what kind of additional donations it might bring in for Baxter House. Maureen would love the free publicity.”

“Maybe,” Lauren said with a fair degree of hesitation, but Mikki could tell by her sister’s expression she was giving serious consideration to the idea.

“Maybe you should ask Maureen first,” Rory chided with a hint of sarcasm.

Mikki shot Rory an exasperated look. “I said I was sorry. Sheesh, do you want it in blood?”

Rory’s wry smile was slow in coming. “Flour will do just fine. And you’d better be here by six o’clock to start signing. Call it just deserts for volunteering my services.” She snorted. “And risking my dignity at a key party, of all things.”

Mikki she loved these women with all her heart. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact they never could say no to her.

BALANCING THREE DRINK glasses in her hands, Mikki nodded her thanks to the bartender then navigated the crush of charity-loving partygoers at Clementine’s to make her way back to the table where Rory and Lauren waited for her. A particularly attractive denim-covered ass caught her attention and she paused momentarily to check out the rest. Trim waist, wide shoulders and…oops. That little gold band on his left hand was more than enough of a deterrent for her to keep walking. Still, that ass definitely deserved a second glance and she shamelessly enjoyed the view as she passed.

A stocky guy with dark wavy hair sporting a small, twinkling diamond in his ear blatantly gave her the once-over as she moved closer to Rory and Lauren. Under normal circumstances, Mikki didn’t go out of her way to encourage men who came on to her, but she’d had a brutally disappointing day in court. She still couldn’t believe the judge had ordered the minor she’d been representing back into his junkie, trick-turning mother’s custody when the child’s paternal grandparents were willing to assume his care. Despite Mikki’s strenuous objections, the judge had ruled in favor of the boy’s biological mother, but Mikki knew from experience the kid would be back in the system within a few months, with who knew how many new emotional scars.

The guy with the earring winked at her. Maybe some safe but mindless sex would take the edge off, she thought. She usually preferred the role of the aggressor. Her party, her rules. As long as she called the shots, she stayed in control, which was the only way she liked it.

Diamond Jim did have a pair of gorgeous, clear green eyes that perhaps made him worthy of a pithy innuendo about locks and keys. At least until he nudged the guy next to him and made an obscene gesture about the generous size of her breasts.

She considered pouring her drink over his head as she passed, but couldn’t justify wasting a perfectly good diet soda on a classless jerk. Instead, she shot him a cold look and kept moving.

In an era where reed-thin models graced the covers of nearly every magazine on the stands, she had the kind of body that had gone out of fashion five decades ago. As one of her previous lovers had told her after she’d shown him the exit, she had a body made for sin, but the heart of an ice queen.