“You want me. You can’t hide it,” Troy said smoothly

“Your lips are pursed, as if you’re thinking of being kissed. Of kissing back,” he continued. “Of using your mouth for something other than talking….”

“Pursed lips can also be a sign of attitude,” Venus countered weakly.

He nodded. “Oh, honey, there’s no question you’ve got miles of attitude. But it’s not your attitude at work when your lips are full and ripe and parted like that. It’s another part of Venus altogether.”

Yeah. The empty, aching part that needed to be filled by him. She closed her eyes, desperately trying to relax.

“Even your legs are shaky,” he teased, running his fingers along her thigh.

Her eyes flew open. “I didn’t think touching was part of this demonstration,” Venus said between ragged breaths.

“It’s not. I don’t have to touch you to know how badly you want me.” He moved his hand again, the tips of his fingers scraping ever so delicately across the curls concealing her womanhood. “Though if I did, I think we’d find out quickly just how much you do….”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to THE BAD GIRLS CLUB! I think every romance reader has come across a book that has a great “bad girl” secondary character—a woman whose story they’d like to read. But it sometimes seems difficult to envision that slightly outrageous, possibly shady best-friend type as a heroine. Thankfully, in Temptation, anything’s possible!

I loved writing about Venus Messina in my March 2002 book, Into the Fire, and many readers apparently loved the plucky redhead, too. The problem was finding just the right hero to be her match. When I finished writing my June book, Two To Tangle, I realized I’d found that hero—Troy Langtree. Because who better to bring down a very wicked woman than an even more wicked man?

This book was such fun to write. Venus is my kind of woman—gutsy, strong, funny, sexy and yet, believe it or not, I think she’s the most vulnerable heroine I’ve ever written. And what can I say about Troy? I adore him, wicked rogue that he is. The icing on the cake was working with two of my other favorite Temptation authors—Julie Elizabeth Leto and Tori Carrington. The “bar scene” in Wicked & Willing should give you a little taste of what’s to come.

Hope you enjoy hanging with the bad girls….

Leslie Kelly

Wicked & Willing
Leslie Kelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Julie, Lori and Tony…

terrific writers, even more terrific friends!

Thanks for making this project

such a wonderful experience.

And to my readers. Thanks for hanging in there

with me for another wild ride.

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

1

“WHAT WOULD YOU SAY if I told you it’s possible you’re the long-lost granddaughter of a millionaire?”

Venus Messina snorted as she twisted the cap off a bottle of Bud, then flipped it into the trash with her thumb. She didn’t even look over her shoulder at the uptight old windbag whom she’d dubbed Mr. Collins—Tom Collins—since that was his drink of choice. He sat at the end of the bar and had been trying to engage her in conversation since the moment he arrived.

Granddaughter of a millionaire. Right.

Lemme guess…my Granny is Miss Manners. Cause everyone can see I’m just like her. She chuckled under her breath.

The man persisted. “…and his direct heir?”

Though his voice grated shrilly over the noisy chatter in the crowded room, nobody even glanced over in curiosity. It was late into Happy Hour on a hot Friday night in June, and everyone knew Friday nights in an Irish pub were as good a place for outrageous stories and high drama as any movie theater.

Tonight was the third time this week the man had parked himself here at Flanagan’s, her foster uncle’s bar, where she’d been working until she could find a full-time job. The first night, the man had been so quiet she almost hadn’t heard his drink order. He’d looked as out of his element as a nun in a strip club. Not so much in the way he dressed, though. After all, Flanagan’s catered to a lot of ambitious, wealthy businesspeople who spent their days bowing down to the almighty dollar in one of the many huge office buildings in downtown Baltimore.

No, he didn’t look out of place because of his pricey dark suit, which even Venus could tell probably cost more than she made in a month—or more than she had made in a month when she’d actually been employed full-time. Instead, it was his stiffness, the upturned tilt of his pointy chin, the way his nose flared in that irritating way when somebody stepped too close. The way he combed one long strand of graying hair over the top of his head to hide a bald spot, because, after all, rich people were much too refined to ever wear something as gaudy as a toupee.

Nope, she couldn’t say she liked Mr. Collins, even if he was a damn good tipper.

“Are you even going to answer me, young lady?”

The imperious tone said he’d given up on easy friendliness, something he’d tried last night and failed at miserably. Mr. Collins’s face looked like it was going to crack from his smile—obviously he didn’t use it very often.

Tonight he’d skipped friendly and gone for nosy. He’d been trying to engage her in conversation and had been asking way too many personal questions—none of which she’d answered, of course. After she’d spent the past hour ignoring everything he said that wasn’t prefaced by the standard, “Bartender, get me a…,” he’d finally blurted out his ridiculous millionaire comment.

“Well?” he prompted, impatiently tapping his perfectly manicured fingers on the top of the pitted, sticky bar.

Sliding the bottle of Bud and a Fuzzy Navel—a disaster of a drink if ever there was one—to the yuppie couple seated at the bar, she muttered, “I’d say somewhere a village is seriously missing its idiot.”

Yuppie man grinned. His date, with the pisspoor taste in drinks, gave Venus a quick frown, warning her away from spoken-for territory. As if, lady. Guys in ties were definitely not Venus’s bag these days. As a matter of fact, she’d lately sworn off all men in general. Her last relationship had burned her—badly—leaving her not only brokenhearted, but jobless to boot.

Besides which, Venus had decided thirty was too old to keep playing the field. She looked forward to her thirtieth birthday the way a condemned prisoner looked forward to the executioner.

Thirty. Less than a year away. Now, doesn’t that suck?

Venus didn’t so much mind the number. She did mind not being where she’d thought she’d be by age thirty—in a great job, a stable relationship, a house, maybe even with a couple of rugrats running around. Her upbringing had made her desire The Brady Bunch life as an adult.

At the rate she was going, she’d be lucky with The Os-bournes.

“It would behoove you to take a brief break and speak with me,” Mr. Tom Collins said, still red in the face from her previous comment.

“Behoove?” She paused to finish pulling a draught of Guinness, complete with the requisite “G” swirl of foam on top. She pushed it toward the waitress, and grinned as Janie rolled her eyes behind the annoying man’s back. “It would also behoove me to earn my paycheck, don’tcha think, Janie?”

The woman snorted. “You call what that cheapskate Joe pays us a paycheck?” Venus took no offense. Janie was Joe’s on-again, off-again girlfriend. This week they were off-again.

Besides, Janie was right. The pay was pretty abysmal. It was the tips that had kept her clothed and fed for several months. For some reason, the regulars at Flanagan’s seemed to like Venus’s caustic wit and in-your-face attitude. Plus, she made a damn fine Bloody Mary, if she did say so herself.

But bartending wasn’t exactly her dream job. Up until eight months ago, Venus had had the job she’d always hoped for, complete with the kind of salary that had enabled her to actually open a savings account. Starting out in the typing pool of a financial company right out of high school, she’d worked her way up for ten years. She’d scraped and studied, taken college night courses when she could. She’d put in long hours and kept the right attitude, including keeping her mouth shut when the occasion warranted it. Eventually she’d ended up in management in the HR department.

Then she’d been stupid enough to let down her guard, to get involved with Dale, one of the executives in the company. She’d fallen in…well, not love, but at least infatuation. He’d fallen in lust. Unfortunately, she’d gotten over the infatuation a little sooner than he’d gotten over the lust. When she’d broken it off, he hadn’t been pleased.

In fact, he’d been so displeased, Dale had made sure Venus ended up on the unemployment line three months later.

Hence, her dislike for guys in ties.

Without a college degree to go with her experience, Venus had simply been unable to find a new job—unless she wanted to start all over again at the bottom of the ladder.

She might reach that point. If she hadn’t had this job at Joe’s place to fall back on, plus the remainder of that nearly empty savings account, she probably already would have. But holding out for a better-paying job wasn’t just about taking care of herself. She needed to make enough to get back to helping Ma. Her foster mother had insisted she was doing fine, but Venus knew more than most the way Maureen struggled. Until her layoff, Venus had managed to send enough back to Trenton to make a real difference for the four kids currently living in her old home.

She wanted to be able to do so again. Soon.

“Imagine not having to worry about a paycheck,” the man said, sounding almost desperate. “Please, Ms. Messina, give me a few minutes of your time.” The word “please,” and the urgency in his voice, made her pause and really look at the man.

“Go ahead, V,” she heard from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the sardonic look on her uncle Joe’s craggy red face. “And if you’re a millionaire heiress, don’t forget who taught you to ride a bike.”

“That woulda been Tony Cabrini, the boy in 6A,” she replied with a saucy grin.

Joe wagged his index finger at her. “And who taught you how to deal with Tony Cabrini and boys like him when he got fresh on your fourteenth birthday?”

Venus fisted a hand and put it on her hip. “Ma did.”

“Well, who do ya think taught her that knee trick, hmm?”

Laughing helplessly, she said, “Okay, okay. Thanks for teaching her the knee trick, Uncle Joe.”

Not that she’d ever used it on Tony Cabrini. The last time she’d seen him, her knee definitely was not the body part she’d reacted with when he “got fresh.” She’d lost her virginity to Tony in the laundry room of their building when she was sixteen.

Venus still had a real fondness for the spin cycle.

“Now, take a break,” Joe said. “You can use my office.” He turned toward the stranger. “Don’t try nothing funny. You try to run a con on her and I’ll make sure you have to drink your vodka through a straw for the rest of your life.”

Venus gave Joe a quick hug, noting his start of surprise. Though not a real blood relation, he was as close as any uncle one could want. His sister, Maureen, had been Venus’s foster mother since age eight. She remembered looking forward to Joe’s visits to Jersey the way she’d look forward to Santa in December—even if Santa had usually brought only sensible clothes and donated secondhand toys, rather than the Barbie stuff and play makeup Venus had asked for.

Heck, when she thought about it, Joe’s visits were probably more entertaining than Santa’s anyway. Joe had taught her to play poker when she was ten. He’d taught her to spit like a boy when she was twelve. He’d taught her how to fake a fever to avoid a big exam when she was fourteen.

He’d also taught her that being poor was nothing to be ashamed of, and used himself as an example of how you could get what you want if you were willing to work for it.

She’d never forgotten the lesson.

Joe had also been the one who helped Venus when she’d come to Baltimore looking for a job right out of high school. And he’d been her closest family member ever since.

“Okay,” she said over her shoulder to her impatient customer. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Leading him through a swinging door, Venus walked into the cement-floored storage room, piled high with boxes and crates, broken bar stools and lined with shelves full of premium liquor. At the back of the room was the desk Joe referred to as his office. Sitting in Joe’s well-worn chair, Venus leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest, and watched as the stranger sat in the metal folding chair opposite her. “Now why don’t you tell me who you are and what the hell it is you want?”

Though he stiffened, she didn’t apologize. He was on her dime. And if he didn’t like her attitude, that was too damn bad. To Venus, attitude was everything.

“My name is Leo Gallagher,” he finally said. “And, to confirm, you are Venus Messina, born in Trenton, and your parents are Trina O’Reilly and Matt Messina?”

“So they tell me, not that I know for sure since I never laid eyes on my father,” she said. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Any particular reason you’ve been checking up on me?”

He ignored her question and mumbled, “The hair is a surprise. But the eyes, that deep green…”

Venus watched as he looked her over again, knowing what he saw—a tall redhead with a big mouth and the kind of figure that could turn horny men into drooling idiots and jealous women into shrews. Venus had long since stopped feeling self-conscious about her height or her very curvy figure. But she began to fidget as the man continued to study her.

“Your parents weren’t married.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “Nope. Shocking, huh? My mother used to joke about how awful her name would have been, Trina Messina.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “You never knew your father, and lost your mother to cancer when you were eight.”

Venus clenched her back teeth, fighting the impulse to stand up and walk out of here. “What do you want?” she bit out.

He seemed to sense her patience was nearing its end. “Ms. Messina, I believe your father, who called himself Matt Messina, may actually have been my cousin, Maxwell Longotti, Jr.”

Her heart beat a little faster, but Venus took a deep breath, ignoring it. “Why?”

“My cousin left my uncle’s estate in Atlanta thirty years ago, determined to make it as a stand-up comedian. He stayed in New York for a while, using a stage name—Matt Messina.”

Her heart quickened even more. “My mother met my father in New York, but she never mentioned a stage name.” However, she did say he’d made her laugh like no one else she ever knew.

“She might not have even been aware of it. I don’t believe they could have known each other very long. He was in New York City for only a few weeks, and then he went out to California.”

Unable to help it, she asked, “Where is he now?”

“He was killed in a car accident less than a year later.”

Venus closed her eyes, angry with herself for allowing a tiny spark of hope to burn for the briefest moment. “Oh.”

“He planned to return to New York, but was going to stop in Atlanta first to try to make amends with Uncle Max. They’d parted rather bitterly, you see. He phoned, said he wanted to mend fences. Something amazing had happened, he said. Something that made him reevaluate the importance of family.”

Like finding out he had a baby with a woman he’d had a fling with back in New York? She thrust the thought away.

“The next day we heard Max had been killed. When his father went out west to settle things, he found a card in Max’s apartment. It simply said, ‘Congratulations, Daddy.’ Inside was a photo of a baby with the name Violet written on the back.”

“My name’s Venus,” she immediately countered.

The man shrugged, as if unconcerned. “Possibly a nickname? Perhaps your mother changed her mind?”

“No way would my mother name me Violet. Besides, I think I would know my own name.”

Leo glanced away, not meeting her eye. “Are you certain of the name on your birth certificate?”

“I’ve never seen it. There was a robbery at my foster mother’s place back when I was in high school and a bunch of papers got stolen.”

He raised a brow.

“But,” she insisted, “my driver’s license, social security card and school records all say Venus. I think by now somebody woulda figured it out if I’d been using an illegal name.”

“Perhaps. But no matter.” The man—who thought he could be her what…uncle? Second cousin?—smiled thinly. “The point is, there is enough circumstantial evidence to think it is possible you are my cousin’s illegitimate daughter.”

She remained silent, absorbing his claim. Her heart no longer raced, and she didn’t tremble with excitement. If she hadn’t just been told Max Longotti Jr. had died nearly thirty years ago, perhaps she could have allowed herself a moment of hope…a moment of that familiar longing to find out who her people were. Now, she felt only anguish. Whether the man spoke the truth or not, she was no closer to having a real father now than she’d ever been.

Deep down, she prayed he was wrong, this so-called relative. She’d long imagined her real father living a great life, being the great guy she liked to think he was. She’d pictured his happiness when he’d learned about the existence of his daughter, who he must never have known about since he hadn’t come for her when her mother died. Her mother told her she’d tried to contact him about Venus’s birth, and she’d never stopped believing he’d return to them.

But what if he hadn’t gotten the news? Messages got lost. Phone numbers changed. Postmen went postal and didn’t deliver the mail. Her father could very well be out there somewhere, living his life, as wonderful as her mother had said he was.

No. Venus didn’t want to imagine him dead. Not now. Not ever.

“Okay, Mr. Gallagher,” she said as she stood and squared her shoulders. “You’ve said what you wanted to say. It’s a nice fairy tale, but I don’t believe it. My name is not Violet. Matt Messina is not exactly an unusual name. New York’s a big city. And I think it’s time for you to leave.”

His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Obviously he’d expected her to fall at his feet in gratitude. Right now she wished she’d never laid eyes on him.

“B-but, you have to admit it’s possible,” he sputtered.

“Why? What difference does it make if the man is dead?”

“Well,” he said, “because I want you to come to Atlanta to meet your grandfather.”

She began to shake her head. Accepting this Longotti character as her grandfather would mean accepting that her real father had died decades ago. It would mean accepting she really had no parents and the father she’d fantasized about all her life had been in his grave before she took her first steps.

No thank you.

“And I will pay you a great deal of money to do so.”

Venus paused. Then she slowly lowered herself to her chair.

TROY LANGTREE sat in his new office at Longotti Lines, nodding with satisfaction at the tasteful decor and the magnificent view of downtown Atlanta off the balcony. His office at his family-owned department store in south Florida had been just as nicely appointed, but its view had been of swaying palm trees and bikini-clad beach goers.

“Well, that had its benefits, too,” he murmured with a wry smile. Still, he found himself appreciating the look of Atlanta. The skyline spoke of big-city energy and excitement. In the week he’d lived here, he’d found himself growing energetic and excited, too.

He still couldn’t quite believe he was here. His move to Atlanta had been rather a shock, even to him. If someone had asked Troy a year ago where he saw himself on the day of his retirement, he would have firmly replied that he’d still be heading up the Langtree store chain in Florida. He’d never pictured himself doing anything else.

After his father had retired six years ago, he’d worked with his twin brother, Trent, until they both realized Troy liked the store and Trent hated it. When Trent struck out on his own to start a landscaping business, Troy had moved into the executive position with ease. He’d enjoyed his job, and if he sometimes felt bored, closed-in, well, he’d had other outlets to pursue in his off-hours. Mainly outlets of the female variety. As a wealthy, and, to be honest, attractive bachelor, he had never lacked for female company.

But about a year ago, his well-laid plans began to wrinkle. His brother’s marriage had been a surprise, though a pleasant one. Watching Trent go crazy over his wife, Chloe, Troy had wondered, for the first time in his life, if he might ever meet a woman who could turn him into a complete idiot, like his brother had become.

“Doubtful.”

His sister-in-law’s subsequent pregnancy had thrilled the entire family, Troy included. It was, probably, why he’d been foolish enough to get briefly involved with someone not at all his usual type. By dating a friendly, personable young woman who reminded him a little of his brother’s wife, had he been subconsciously trying to follow Trent’s lead?

Maybe.

Whatever the reason, it had ended in disaster. Because, for once, Troy had gone out with a woman who hadn’t played the dating game. She’d fallen and fallen hard. Troy hadn’t.

Oh, sure, he’d liked her. She’d been nice and attractive.

And she’d bored him beyond belief.

Their breakup had devastated her, and she’d definitely let him know about it. Troy had never meant to hurt her. He’d certainly never made any promises and they’d only gone out a few times. Hell, they’d never even slept together—which should have been his first indication something was wrong.

Looking back, he couldn’t even fathom why he’d thought he could be interested in someone who didn’t make him crazy with lust from the first time they met. Love might be the greatest thing since the invention of the wheel, but if it wasn’t accompanied by a serious case of the hots, Troy didn’t think it would ever be for him. Any woman with whom he fell in love would have to inspire some immediate thoughts of hot, sweaty bodies and long, erotic nights before she could ever inspire images of diamond rings or whispered promises.

“It will never happen,” he’d often told himself, especially after that last dating disaster.

In any case, the damage had been done. For the first time in his life, he’d hurt someone who hadn’t deserved it.

Lots of women had called him a heel over the years, but this was the first time he’d ever actually felt like one.

Worst of all, the situation had made him cautious about his relationships with women. He hadn’t so much as wanted to kiss one in a good three months! That was pretty long for a man who hadn’t gone without sex for three months since losing his virginity at fourteen to his grandmother’s housemaid.

His twin said occasional breaks from sex could be good for a man. Frankly, Troy thought he’d rather lose an arm than his sex drive. “You can teach yourself to write with your other hand,” he mused. But you couldn’t teach other body parts to have orgasms.

Still, even his suddenly barren love life couldn’t compare with the upheaval in his career. The job in which he’d felt so secure had suddenly disappeared.

I think you’re crazy, Dad.

After six years of retirement, his father had decided he wanted his job back. He had to hand it to his old man. Most fifty-eight-year-olds who’d had a minor heart “episode” would take it as a sign to slow down. His father had decided his early retirement was going to kill him, and that he’d been much healthier when working. So back to Florida he and Troy’s mother had come. Back to the store. Right into Troy’s job.

His father certainly hadn’t pushed him out. They’d be partners, he’d insisted. But when Troy had thought it over, he’d realized he was being given a chance to do something he never thought he would—go outside the store, maybe move somewhere else altogether, try another line of work.

Freedom from Langtree’s had been shocking—but also intoxicating. He’d finally understood some of the choices his twin had made. Though, God knew, he’d never fathom Trent’s delight in planting bushes or mucking around in fertilizer.

Fate had stepped in to make his decision a simple one. Max Longotti, an old friend of his late grandfather, had told Troy’s grandmother he was thinking of selling his nationally known catalog company. He wanted the Langtrees to consider buying it. To that end, he asked Troy to come work with him at his Atlanta headquarters for a few months, so the board could get to know him before Max asked them to vote on the sale.

Troy had leapt at the chance. He’d closed up his beachfront condo and driven to Georgia. Max Longotti, a crotchety old soul who reminded Troy of his grandfather, had welcomed Troy into his own home until he could find another place. He’d be moving into a furnished apartment in a few days. Until then, the Longotti estate was quite comfortable—if large and rather deserted.

One thing Troy had learned so far during his brief stay in Atlanta…Max Longotti was a lonely man. A rich, lonely man who seemed surrounded by scavengers just waiting for him to kick the bucket so they could sink their claws into his money. Troy shook his head in disgust.

Remembering Max had mentioned he’d be in late in the afternoon due to a doctor’s appointment, Troy glanced at his watch, noting it was nearly four. He should have just enough time to read over the marketing projections for the latest sales circular before meeting with Max at the end of the day.

He reached for it, but froze when something else—a bright flash of red outside—caught his eye.

A woman. “Who the devil…” He stood, walking toward the sliding glass door which lead out to the small balcony. A nice touch, the balcony. Troy had become accustomed to sitting outdoors when he had reading to do or reports to peruse.

Obviously no one had come through his office, so the intruder had to have come out the other door, which exited off Max’s. Knowing Max hadn’t yet arrived, he wondered why the older man’s efficient secretary had left the woman alone. And, more importantly, why was she here to begin with? Watching her out the glass, he doubted she was here on business.

The woman had to be tall. She sat in one of the two tasteful, wrought-iron chairs, her long legs crossed and her feet resting on the waist-high balcony railing. She seemed completely unconcerned about losing her slip-on sandal, as she tapped her toe against the air in some unheard rhythm. The heel of the shoe swung against her bare foot as it dangled ten stories above Peachtree Street.

Troy followed every swing of her foot, nearly spotlighted in the sunlight. Her open sandals revealed bright red-polished toenails and a splotch of color—a tattoo—just above her right ankle. Definitely not here on business.

He continued to stare. Her legs, completely bare, went on forever. And ever. Troy swallowed hard as he studied the smooth skin of her calf, the slimness of her pale thighs. Her tiny jean shorts interrupted his visual assessment of her legs. His gaze skimmed past them to the clingy white tank top she wore, which hugged a generously curved chest.

His heart skipped a beat.

Then he saw her face, complete with full lips and a pert nose. Long lashes rested on her cheeks since her eyes were closed. And her thick mass of auburn hair caught the sunlight and shone like red-hot flames.

Seeing her lips move, and her head nodding in rhythm with her tapping foot, he leaned closer to the door. Even through the glass, he could make out the words she was singing.

“B-b-b-b-ba-ad. I’m bad to the bone.”

The sudden rush of familiar heat as his libido returned in full force brought a smile to Troy’s lips. Reaching for the handle of the door, he nearly sighed in relief. He hadn’t felt this good for a long time. Three months, to be exact.

“Thank you, God,” he whispered.

Now it was time to meet the woman who’d so effortlessly awakened him from his long, sexless sleep.

2

“HELLO, ATLANTA. Scarlett has come to pay a visit,” Venus Messina murmured to the sky as she reclined on the balcony of the high-rise office building. “Aunt Pitty, hide the silver. And Rhett, if you’re out there, call me, baby.”

She closed her eyes, thinking she could almost fall asleep in this bright patch of sunlight. Considering the whirlwind of her life over the past seventy-two hours, she supposed it wasn’t surprising. She hadn’t gotten much sleep lately.

If anyone had suggested last week that within days she’d be in another state, preparing to meet a man who may or may not be her grandfather, she’d have laughed in his face. Or, more likely, cut him off, taken his keys and called a cab.

Yet here she was.

Leaving had been remarkably easy. Joe had insisted he could do without her at Flanagan’s. She’d also arranged for her best friend, Lacey, to look after her spoiled cat and her half-dead houseplants. The cat she wanted to come home to. The plants she didn’t really care about—but Venus didn’t like to admit defeat, and if those dumb ferns were going to die, they would do it at her hand. Lacey would probably have them all healthy and blooming by the time she got back, anyway, just the way she had when she’d lived next door to Venus in their Baltimore apartment complex.

Venus had missed her friend since she’d moved out a year ago. If Lacey were still her neighbor, she probably would have gotten Venus to spill the truth about this trip. Since Lacey was a newlywed, though, it hadn’t been hard to keep her in the dark. Lacey was easily distracted by any question about her much-adored spouse, Nate.

Venus wiggled in her chair slightly, the wrought iron hard against her backside. “Pool boy, bring me a froufrou drink and a more comfortable chaise lounge,” she whispered with a grin.

A beach vacation would have been nice. But she had a feeling she was going to like Atlanta, especially with the way things had been going in Baltimore.

She hadn’t had a second thought when she’d deposited Leo Gallagher’s five-thousand-dollar check, nor when she’d taken a cab to the airport and boarded a plane heading south this morning. Venus still hadn’t figured Mr. Gallagher out yet. Either he was one heck of a nice nephew who really wanted to see his uncle happy…which she doubted. Or he was running some kind of scam…which seemed more likely. What her part in the scheme was, she really couldn’t say. And for five grand—which would go a long way toward rent, not to mention summer clothes for the foster kids back in Jersey—she wasn’t asking many questions.

After all, she wasn’t doing anything illegal. She’d simply agreed to visit this Longotti guy for one week, to explore the possibility that she was his long-lost granddaughter. Just because she personally had serious doubts that she was—and didn’t particularly want to be—did not mean it was entirely impossible. The odds were better than, say, getting struck by lightning. Or winning the lottery.

Or finding a nice guy who wanted to get married and have a house in the suburbs and a few babies before Venus was too old to enjoy them. She sighed at that cheery thought.

Anyway, whatever Gallagher was up to was on his head, not hers. She was just along for the ride. A well-paid ride.

She had, however, been curious enough to call her foster mother and ask her about the birth certificate. Maureen had told her she’d lost the original in the break-in, but had also said the Child Welfare Agency had forwarded a box of things after Venus had turned eighteen. Confirming she still had the box somewhere, she told Venus she’d mail it to her in Baltimore.

Nearly purring in the warmth of the sun, Venus began to hum, then to sing, a favorite old rock-and-roll song that fit her mood perfectly. When she heard the soft slide of a glass door opening, however, she stopped singing and opened her eyes. She expected to see Leo, accompanied by an old man.

She was almost afraid to look. Would his face seem familiar? Would his smile look like her own? Would he see something in her that reminded him of his long-lost son?

Stop it, Venus. It’s not true and you know it.

When she saw a younger man standing there instead, her heart raced faster, anyway.

Good lord, they grew men well in the south!

Shading her eyes with her hand, she studied the stranger in the gray suit. A guy in a tie. Her first impulse should have been to leap off the balcony in self-preservation. But somehow, after months of relative apathy when it came to men, Venus remembered what she so very much liked about them.

Just about everything.

Besides, she was in Atlanta for one week only. How much damage could even a guy in a tie do in one little week?

First things first—was he tall enough to meet her number-one requirement on her man list? At just a smidge under six feet herself, Venus never went for guys she’d tower over in spike-heeled do-me shoes. A girl had to have her priorities.

All lean, muscled male wrapped up in an elegantly tailored package, this man obviously stood a few inches over six feet tall. Meets height requirement. Check.

He was also dark-haired, another personal preference. His thick, chestnut-brown hair was cut conservatively, but ruffled a bit in the strong breeze blowing between the high-rise buildings. It would probably be tousled like that when he woke up in the morning.

Her mouth went dry. She swallowed and continued staring.

His face was magazine-model handsome. Lean jaw, straight, strong nose. Heavily lashed to-die-for eyes the color of springtime leaves. And one of the most kissable mouths she’d ever seen on a guy.

Kissing was one of her personal favorite things to do, and got her vote for being the all-around best activity for the mouth. It ranked even higher than eating rich, dark chocolate, which was probably in her top five. As for the rest of the list…well, that was flexible, depending on her mood, the time of the month and her romantic status. With someone like this incredible man, however, she could definitely picture the possibilities. She nearly moaned at the image.

Her gaze moved lower, to his left hand. No ring.

Perfect.

“Good afternoon,” she said lazily, her mouth widening in welcome, a signal no man alive could miss.

He smiled back just as lazily, just as aware. Those eyes darkened and his smile faded as they stared at each other for a long, heady moment. Then, taking his cue from her, he expressed not a hint of surprise about finding a strange, casually dressed woman sunning herself out here on the balcony. “Good afternoon to you. Enjoying the sunshine?”

She nodded and turned her face to the sky, drawing in a deep breath. “Love it.”

“Be careful,” he warned as he sat on the other chair. “It’s deceptive with the breeze. Redheads tend to burn, right?”

She raised a brow. “Who says I’m a natural redhead?” At this point in her life, Venus could barely remember what her natural hair color was anymore, though she thought this was pretty close. She’d run the full color spectrum in the past several years. But red was definitely her favorite.

“Whether you are or not, stick with this,” he murmured, glancing at her hair with a look so intimate it felt like a touch. “A woman with eyes as green as yours should be a redhead.”

His quiet flattery hit home. The man was a charmer.

“And a man with a face like yours is usually wearing a wedding ring,” she murmured, needing to make sure he was available before they went any further. Venus might like men, but she never went after the taken ones.

“Not married. Not involved,” he replied easily.

She wondered if he heard her audible sigh of relief.

When he didn’t respond by asking the same question, Venus paused. Was he not interested? Or was he so interested he simply didn’t give a damn whether she was available or not? Hoping it was the latter, she offered the information anyway. “Me, neither.”

Far below them, the traffic rumbled by, evidence of the bustling city life during a hectic Monday rush hour. But up here, high above it all, Venus felt completely separated. Alone. Except for this sexy stranger with the mouth she felt she had to soon kiss or die trying.

He gestured toward her sandal. “That could probably kill someone if it fell from this height.”

She intentionally flipped it harder, setting a tapping rhythm with the shoe.

He grinned. “Okay, so I’ve got ulterior motives for wanting you to move your legs.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared intently at her foot. “What is it?”

“I think it’s called a shoe.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant that.” He pointed toward her ankle. Leaning even closer, he reached for her leg and gently tugged her foot off the railing. Venus sucked in a breath at the feel of his warm fingers on her calf, wondering if he heard the crazy pounding of her heart within her chest. She heard it—it roared to life in her head as she focused every bit of her attention on the brush of his skin against hers.

“This,” he said softly as he placed her foot on his knee, completely disregarding any possible damage to his expensive trousers. Then he leaned over to look at her tattoo. He touched the tiny hummingbird she’d had put on as an unemployment present last year. “Very pretty. Did it hurt?”

She could only manage to shake her head. If she tried to make a sound, it would emerge as a whimper. Or a plea.

He continued touching her, tracing the shape of the blue-green bird with the tip of his finger, cupping the back of her calf with his other hand.

The chair suddenly felt harder against her bottom. She shifted uncomfortably in the suddenly too-tight jean shorts. And her breath barely made it into her lungs as she focused on the way he looked at her. The way he touched her.

“Why a hummingbird?” he asked, still not letting go.

She didn’t answer at first, not quite able to. She couldn’t even think of anything but the way his gentle touch would feel, sliding up her leg, beneath her shorts. Touching her where she suddenly felt hot and achy.

Finally, drawing in a ragged breath, she whispered, “I like hummingbirds. They’re aggressive as hell, but still delicate and small. Just like I always wanted to be.”

Shaking his head reprovingly, he tsked. “Why do women always want to be the opposite of what they are? Even when they’re stunningly beautiful?”

She snorted a laugh, drawing his stare to her face. Okay, she was the opposite of delicate and small. But she didn’t think she was the opposite of aggressive. Or so she’d been told. Then she focused on the stunningly beautiful part.

That worked.

“I’ve suddenly discovered I really like tall women.”

Oh, yay!

“Any other tattoos anywhere?” he asked, letting his gaze travel across her bare shoulders and neck.

Her body reacted, her nipples hardening beneath her shirt. Feeling them scrape against the cotton, she wondered if he noticed. “No,” she said. “But I’m thinking about it. I’m not sure I’ll like my next choice once I turn seventy-five or eighty.”

He raised a questioning brow. “Next choice?”

She nodded. “Jessica Rabbit.”

When no look of understanding crossed his face, Venus gestured toward her top. If he hadn’t seen her body’s reaction to the way he’d held her foot before, he’d surely notice it now.

She tugged the cotton tight, revealing the sexy, red-haired cartoon character vamping it up on the front of her T-shirt. In a bubble above the bombshell’s head were the words, “I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way.”

Venus liked the sentiment.

“Ahh,” he said, staring hard at her shirt. His voice sounded thick. Yeah, he’d noticed.

“She doesn’t look like a rabbit,” he offered, still delicately stroking her ankle, absently caressing her calf until she nearly writhed in her chair.

“She’s, uh, not…” Venus managed to reply. “That’s her married name.”

“What about you? Are you bad? Or are you just drawn that way?”

She closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat, silently asking him to continue the tender stroking of her leg. “Maybe I’ll let you figure it out for yourself,” she murmured.

He finally let go of her foot, as if realizing they were moving really fast for a couple of people who hadn’t yet introduced themselves.

“I’ve thought about getting one,” he admitted, gently shifting her foot off his lap. Then he chuckled ruefully. “Not that anyone would believe it.”

“Why not?”

He answered with a secretive smile. “Let’s just say people see me in a certain way. A tattoo wouldn’t go with the image.”

“I know how that goes,” she muttered, not even able to count the times someone had been surprised by her intelligence, or the business sense hidden beneath the exterior package and smart mouth. “But you don’t exactly look like Mister Boring Businessman.” Gesturing toward his tanned skin, she mused, “Looks like you’re no stranger to the sun yourself.”

“I actually live on the beach in south Florida. Or rather, I did, until last week.”

“You moved here? To Atlanta?”

“Not permanently. I’m not sure where I’ll end up. I’ve recently found myself with a lot more freedom than I expected.”

She couldn’t resist. “So you made parole, huh?”

Deadpan, he nodded. “Certainly. Amazing how quickly they let us homicidal maniacs out nowadays.”

“Tell me you didn’t get sent up the river for throwing red-haired females over balconies.”

He shook his head, a twinkle in his pale green eyes. “Only natural redheads.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Whew.”

“So,” he continued. “Should I ask who you are and what you’re doing here? Or should we just leave now and go straight to…dinner?”

She liked his directness. And she suspected his pause had been quite deliberate. They’d exchanged only a few dozen sentences, but she’d mentally substituted another word for “dinner,” and she’d bet he had too. As surely as she’d bet that word was “bed.”

Venus, you swore off men, remember? Even before this whole long-lost granddaughter business.

Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care. The instant chemistry between her and the stranger was something she hadn’t experienced before. Ever.

Sure, she’d had her fair share of relationships with men. Probably enough fair shares for two or three women, if she wanted to be completely honest about it. That had been part of the reason she’d decided to take a break from them after losing her job.

Other reasons had probably included Lacey’s blissfully happy marriage. Plus Venus’s brief fling with Raul, a hunky young guy who worked with Lacey. She’d dated Raul in the brief period between dumping Dale, the loser at work, and getting paid back by him with the loss of her job.

Raul, though a good bit younger than she, had been a doll, and she’d found herself caring about him quite a lot. If he’d been older, and at a different place in his life, Venus could have fallen in love with him. But they were moving in different directions and realized they worked best as friends.

Still, having pictured love, she almost found herself wanting it. True love, marriage, the whole shebang…with the right person. Eventually. After she’d gotten over what dickhead Dale had done to her.

Eight months seemed just about long enough to get over backstabbing and betrayal. Besides, she’d missed some parts of her former lifestyle. Particularly men. Venus liked men. She liked dating. Liked going out dancing, or to ball games, or just for walks at the Inner Harbor back home in Baltimore.

And she liked sex. Really liked it. So sue me.

As much as she’d enjoyed getting to know men—usually the wrong ones—she’d never felt such an instant, sudden, overwhelming desire for one. Especially not while stone-cold sober. So she at least ought to find out his name.

“My name’s Venus,” she said. She scooted her chair closer until her bare knees nearly touched his blue trousers.

“How appropriate,” he murmured.

“I think so. You would be…”

“Troy.”

“How nice to meet you, Troy. I’d love to go to dinner with you, but unfortunately tonight’s not possible.” She gestured toward his tasteful necktie and gave him a flirtatious grin. “Besides, I’ve recently sworn off guys in ties.”

He shrugged. “Easily remedied. I’ll take it off.”

“And suits,” she said, knowing he could hear a suggestive purr in her voice.

“It can come off too.” His tone was just as suggestive.

She raised a wicked brow and glanced at the other buildings nearby. “Hmm, that could be interesting. But aren’t you worried some of these executives in their cubbyholes keep binoculars around? I know I would if you were in the habit of standing out here, taking off your…tie.”

He laughed out loud, a warm, rich laugh that rolled over her body and made her tingle. She liked the sound of it as much as she liked the curve of his lips.

Taking a deep breath, she suddenly wondered what other interesting sounds the man was capable of. Sighs. Moans. Shouts.

She nearly shuddered at the thought.

“I didn’t mean here,” he said.

She pouted. “Aww, gee.”

“Tomorrow?” he asked. “I promise not to overdress.”

Or dress at all? Oh, yes, the man knew how to play this game. But before she could go any further, she needed to find out just who he was. “So, are you here today for a meeting or something?” she asked, hearing a hopeful note in her own voice. Please say yes. She hoped like crazy that he didn’t work here, in the suite of offices used by Max Longotti’s catalog company, Longotti Lines. Because she really didn’t want to start off her relationship with her supposed/could-be/maybe grandfather by seducing one of his employees.

Not that she’d have to do the seducing. If she was any judge—and she was—the man looked fully capable of seduction. She shivered slightly, in spite of the heat of the brightly lit afternoon.

“Actually, that’s my office.” He pointed over his shoulder to the door through which he’d emerged moments before.

Moments? Had she really discovered the existence of this man who made her heart pound like crazy and her legs feel weak and boneless mere moments before?

She finally thought about his reply and her heart sank, along with her plans. “Your office. Right there. So, uh, you work here? For Max Longotti?” When he nodded, she tried to contain a disappointed sigh.

“I’m Max’s new V.P. For now,” he continued.

Perfect. Just perfect. She’d met a man who’d finally made her rethink her “men aren’t worth the trouble” stance, and she couldn’t have him. It simply would not be smart to get involved with this man, no matter how delicious he was.

Leo would not be happy if she did what she really wanted to do with this handsome, charming stranger. He seemed intent on “pleasing” his uncle by presenting him with his sweet and lovely long-lost grandchild.

Sweet she wasn’t, which is exactly what she’d told Leo. So he’d settled for bright and lovely. Still, he had insisted that she be as discreet as possible, and she’d agreed.

And even Venus—who’d been called everything in her life, except discreet—knew sleeping with Max’s executive might not be the height of discretion.

As a matter of fact, the guy would have to be completely off-limits. Starting right now.

Hell.

TROY SENSED IT the moment the stunning redhead began to withdraw. Her smile faded, her eyelashes lowered and she turned away in her chair to stare at the skyline. Because he worked here? Interesting…

“Now, why don’t you tell me who are you, and why you’re here, Venus?”

“I’m just visiting.”

Her voice was cool, when it had previously been warm. That didn’t concern him. The heat in her eyes two minutes ago could have melted solid ice. “From where?”

“Baltimore.”

She swung her feet up on the rail again, silently dismissing him. Troy almost laughed, seeing through the maneuver. He paused to appreciate again those long-enough-to-wrap-around-him-twice legs and had to shift in his seat.

No. The cold shoulder wasn’t going to change the way they’d reacted to one another from the start. Or the way he was reacting to her now.

If she worked for Max and was worried about a no-fraternization policy, he might just have to quit his new job. It was a small enough sacrifice. What job could compare to getting his libido back?

“Have you been to Atlanta before?”

She merely shook her head.

Getting answers from her was like pulling teeth, but Troy was not about to give up. Not now that he’d met her, now that he’d seen those beautiful green eyes of hers up close, caught a whiff of her exotic perfume and heard the husky timbre of her voice. He could still feel the smoothness of her skin on the tips of his sensitized fingers.

He wanted her, not knowing who she was or why she was here. And she wanted him too.

It was just that simple.

“What do you do?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and said, “Right now, I’m a bartender.”

He nearly chuckled until he realized she was serious. Then he shrugged. “Remind me never to offer to make you a drink.”

“I don’t imagine you’d ever have reason to,” she replied firmly. “I’ll only be in town for a week.”

Ouch. A definite rebuff. But Troy hadn’t earned his reputation by being easily rebuffed. “Where are you staying?”

“At the Longotti estate.” Then, she grudgingly added, “At least, I think so. I’m supposed to go over there this afternoon.”

He hid a grin. Max hadn’t mentioned another houseguest. He could hardly wait to bump into her coming out of the shower or knock on her door at night to borrow some toothpaste.

He wondered if she slept naked. Then he wondered just how long it would take him to find out. Not long, he hoped.

It was too bad he’d be moving out in a few days. Then again, maybe his new apartment wouldn’t be ready for a week. Maybe he’d make damn sure it wasn’t. “So, why aren’t you sure you’re staying with Max? He knows you’re coming, doesn’t he?”

As she nibbled her full lower lip, the heat in his gut shot up another notch. She had a mouth made for kissing. And other things.

“Not exactly,” she mumbled. “Leo dropped me off here, then went to find him. He’s, uh, setting things up, I think.”

“Leo? Leo Gallagher, Max’s nephew?”

She nodded.

Not good. Leo was a white-haired weasel, as far as Troy could tell. Not that it was his place to judge, of course. He barely knew the man, who had some high-level job in this company, though no one seemed sure exactly what he did. But he did know Max’s nephew had been vehemently opposed to Troy’s arrival, and to the possibility of the company being sold.

Apparently, from what Max said, Leo had fully imagined himself to be heir apparent and had been angling for more than a decade for Max to retire so he could step in. Max referred to him as the pencil-necked leech and said he’d retire when they pried his office keys out of his cold dead hand. Or when he passed them over to a new owner—which somehow made Troy think Leo’s job aspirations weren’t going to pan out.

Venus must have noticed his sudden silence, and his frown. “You know Leo?” she asked.

“Barely.”

“You barely know him, but you know you don’t like him?”

He hedged. “I don’t dislike him, I only met him last week when I started working for Longotti Lines.”

Her eyes widened and she finally turned to give him her full attention again. “You just started your job? I thought maybe you’d just gotten a promotion and transferred in from Florida or something.”

“Today is my one-week anniversary.” Leaning closer, he went for smooth charm, since honest conversation hadn’t gotten her to relax, the way she had at first. “I never imagined perks like beautiful redheads sunning themselves right outside my door when I took the job. Maybe I should stock up on sunscreen. Would you like me to do your back?”

She rolled her eyes. “Save it. I liked you better when you weren’t being oily. Besides, you’re not very good at it.”

He straightened, not sure whether he felt amused or offended. Then a reluctant chuckle crossed his lips. “All right, Venus. In the interest of being strictly sincere, I personally think Leo Gallagher is a shifty, spoiled man with abominable taste in shoes and a need for a good barber.”

She grinned. “My, my, from oily to pompous. You are a contradiction, aren’t you?”

Pompous? She’d just called him pompous? He raised a brow and leaned closer. “You’re one to talk about contradictions. From sultress to iceberg in under a minute.”

He stared into her brilliant green eyes, daring her to disagree. She didn’t even try. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

“So you don’t want to have dinner with me?” He dared her to deny it, knowing damn well she did.

She raised a skeptical brow. “Oh, you mean we were really talking about dinner?”

“What else could we have been talking about?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of dessert.” Her voice held a note of challenge.

“I hadn’t even asked about dessert,” he said, his voice holding a hint of playful challenge.

Her creamy cheeks began to grow pink with obvious embarrassment. He doubted this woman blushed very often and he found the heightened color in her face extremely attractive.

He let her sweat for a moment. Then, unable to lie to her any more than he could to himself, he said, “But I would have.”

Her answer was equally as honest. “Five minutes ago the answer probably would have been yes.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s got to be no.”

“Why?”

She merely shook her head, unable or unwilling to answer. Troy, however, wasn’t one to give up without a fight. “Can you give me one chance to change your mind?”

She eyed him warily but didn’t refuse. Letting her see his small confident smile, he leaned closer, catching her exotic scent. Then closer, until he saw the pulse beating wildly in her neck. And closer still, until their lips were a breath apart.

“You think you can change my mind with a kiss?” she whispered.

He responded with a slow nod and a lazy drawl. “Yes.”

She visibly stiffened at the certainty in his tone.

“You think I can’t?”

She responded to his challenge with a raised eyebrow and a taunting look. “You can try.”

He did, slipping his fingers into her hair, tangling his hands in that thick mass of living fire. He touched his lips to hers, gently at first, tasting her, savoring the softness of her mouth. Only when she moaned low in her throat did he go farther, sliding his tongue between his lips, letting it mate lazily with hers in a hot, intoxicating dance that sent intense sensations rushing through his body.

She tasted sweet and ripe, like summer fruit. But warm, like fine whiskey. She moaned again and tilted her head, kissing him back just as deliberately, just as invitingly.

He tugged her closer, until, somehow, she was sitting on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck, his around her jean-clad hips. He skimmed his fingers beneath her cotton top. Lightly touching the bare flesh at her waist, he heard her sigh against his kiss as skin met skin.

Finally, he moved his mouth from hers, kissing the corner of her lips, then her cheek. Her jaw. Her neck.

“Changed your mind yet?” he growled against her throat.

“Uh-huh,” she whispered.

“Good. Tell me what time we can get together tomorrow night.” He scraped his teeth along her collarbone, feeling the way she jerked against him in response. “If you’re sure tonight’s out, that is.”

She groaned in frustration. “It’s definitely out.”

Before he could attempt to cajole her, she pulled back. “I think I hear voices.”

She was up, off his lap, standing at the rail so fast, he thought he’d imagined their heated kiss.

“Are you sure? I don’t hear anything,” he said, wanting her back in his arms. Immediately, if not sooner. He stood and joined her at the railing.

Before she could answer, a sliding glass door opened behind them. Max stepped out, followed by his nephew, Leo. Max looked tense, appearing very much the seventy-four-year-old man he was. Leo, on the other hand, looked positively euphoric.

Max glanced briefly at Troy, dismissed him, then focused on Venus. “Is this true?”

She stood up straighter. Beside her, Troy could easily see the way her hands trembled, until she clenched them together in front of her. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak.

“Is what true?” Troy asked.

“Of course it is,” Leo said.

Max ignored them both and stepped closer to Venus. “Is it possible? Is it really you…Violet?”

Confused, Troy said, “Her name’s…”

“Yes, I told you, I’m certain it’s true,” Leo interjected, stepping between Troy and Max. He took Venus’s hand and pulled her forward, looking as happy as a kid with a surprise cereal box toy. “Uncle Max, meet your long-lost granddaughter.”

3

OF COURSE? CERTAIN? TRUE?

Venus wanted to strangle Leo Gallagher. So much for his assurances that this would just be a “visit” to see if it was “possible” she could be the person he claimed she was. He’d obviously presented it to the old man as a done deal.

Well, it wasn’t a done deal, not in her book. Five grand or no five grand, she’d never agreed to outright lie.

“Actually, my name’s Venus,” she said, hearing an edge in her own voice. She shot Leo an angry look before turning her full attention to Max Longotti. “Venus Messina.”

The old man, with a thick head of brilliant white hair and piercing gray eyes, met her unflinching stare. “Messina. I see. How old are you, Ms. Messina?”

“That’s a nice way to start a conversation with a woman,” she tossed off, still annoyed at being manipulated. “You gonna ask me my bra size next?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leo wince, then draw his brow into a frown. He’d warned her to be discreet.

Not a good start. Especially since if it weren’t for her really keen sense of hearing, she would have been caught making out with the hired help three minutes ago.

“I’m not so old that I can’t make a fair guess at that,” the old gentleman said, his tone droll and amused.

Venus chuckled. Score one for Grandpa.

Beside Leo, Troy watched silently. He leaned casually against the balcony railing, arms crossed in front of his chest, absorbing every word they said. The bright sunlight cast bits of gold on his dark brown hair, and she was again struck by the sheer handsomeness of the man. Amazing to look at, and hands down the best kisser she’d ever known. Her lips and tongue still tingled.

As if he read her thoughts, he met her eye and smiled slightly. We have a secret, don’t we? his smile seemed to say.

She wondered what he must think of this whole thing. It seemed like science fiction even to her.

“Now,” Max Longotti continued softly, “will you please tell me exactly when you were born, young lady?”

She rattled off her birth date, hating to admit being almost thirty in front of Troy. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. Before that unreal kiss, she’d decided he was off-limits. And after it, well, he’d still be off-limits…after she got at least one more kiss from the man…or two…or…

Max nodded. “And you say your father was actually my son?”

“I didn’t say jack,” she retorted, dragging her attention away from the hottie with the intense look on his face. “Since I never laid eyes on my father, he coulda been Jimmy Hoffa for all I know.” She gestured toward Leo. “But your nephew here seems to think it’s possible.”

Leo’s subsequent frown would have scared small children.

“Maybe I should excuse myself,” Troy finally said. “This appears to be a family matter.”

“Yes,” Leo began.

“No,” Max Longotti insisted. “An outsider’s viewpoint might be useful here.” He turned back to Venus. “I know what my nephew thinks. I want to know what you think, Ms. Messina.”

Sensing her answer was very important to the man, who suddenly appeared a little less strong and sure than he had at first, she admitted, “I suppose it’s possible. Stranger things have happened. I mean, who’d have ever thought fat-free potato chips would actually not taste like cardboard?”

She saw Troy’s lips curve slightly.

“But you personally don’t think it’s true. You don’t believe my nephew’s claims,” the old man prodded.

Leo touched his uncle’s arm. “Max, the evidence…”

Max ignored him. “What happened to your mother?”

“She died when I was eight.”

“Then who raised you?”

“I was lucky enough to be placed in a really good foster home. My foster mother raised me until I left home at eighteen.”

“Your mother had no family?”

Venus shrugged. “None who wanted me.”

She didn’t glance at Troy, not wanting to see a look of pity on his face. She’d never pitied herself, and she’d damn sure never wanted it from anybody else. Especially not a man with whom she was in serious lust.

“So, judging by your birth date, it is very likely you were conceived during the weeks my son spent in New York. If he was, indeed, your father, your parents’ relationship would have to have been a very…brief one.”

She tensed, waiting for him to make one crack about her mother’s morals. Venus might not know much about her biological father, but she’d adored her always-smiling mother until Trina had drawn her last breath. If this stranger spoke one negative word about her, Venus would be out the door so fast he’d think she’d fallen off the balcony.

He didn’t. “So it is possible that your mother never knew my son by any other name than the one he adopted for the stage.”

“There’s that word again…possible,” Venus said, surprised at the relief flowing through her veins just because the old man hadn’t passed judgment on her mother.

He continued softly, talking almost to himself. “And it’s also possible she had difficulty reaching him to tell him about you. She must have been desperate.” He glanced at the sky, continuing to formulate his theory aloud. “Perhaps she sent your picture, with the name Violet on the back, to a club in Los Angeles. The letter might have had only his stage name on it. It could have taken a long time for it to catch up to him.” He returned his gaze to Venus. “But when he did receive it, it changed everything. He was coming back.”

“More could haves and might haves,” she insisted, knowing the man was speculating. She still couldn’t bring herself to believe this scenario. It was too farfetched. Too coincidental.

Too damned heartbreaking.

Venus didn’t want to believe her father had died within days…maybe hours…of finding out about her. She didn’t want to think of her mother—who’d said she’d fallen ass over elbows in love with the man when they’d bickered over a cab in the rain—wasting the last eight years of her life waiting for someone who was already long gone. She couldn’t bear to think of Trina pining for a man who’d gotten her message, planned to come back to them…and then died before ever being able to do so.

No, the whole thing was too sad. And Venus wasn’t into sad.

Feeling moisture in her eyes, she swung around, turning her back to the three men. She stared out at the sky, blinking rapidly, groping for control. Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder, a supportive squeeze, a tender offer of reassurance.

Turning her head, she saw Troy standing there. He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer trite, nurturing words. He just let her know she wasn’t alone, with a small nod and a look of intense concern on his face. She took a deep breath, sucking up his silently offered strength. Then, crossing her arms in front of her chest, she faced Max again. “Let me ask you something now.”

He waited expectantly.

“If all this is true—and I think that’s a big humongous if—why’d it take almost thirty years to find me?”

Max glanced at Leo. “My nephew apparently thought of something I never did all those years ago. We assumed Max, my son, had been involved with someone in California. We focused our search efforts there. And, of course, we used his real name.”

Leo smiled. She thought he was going for self-deprecating, but his expression looked self-congratulatory instead. “I’m so sorry I didn’t think of the possibility of him meeting someone in New York long ago. Nor of having a private investigator search birth records in the northeast to see if Max Longotti or Matt Messina turned up as a father during that time.”

She immediately latched on to his words. “Birth records. So you have seen a copy of my birth certificate?”

Leo’s jovial expression never faltered. “No, I left it in the hands of the investigator. He is the one who obtained those records, then tracked you down. I simply utilized the address he provided.”

Smooth. Reasonable. But she didn’t completely buy it.

“Is he going to send you those records?”

A slight narrowing of his eyes indicated his annoyance. “I’m sure I’ll receive them now that the case is concluded.”

Wanting to gauge the man’s reaction, Venus said, “My foster mother said she does have some paperwork, after all. She’s digging it out and mailing it to my home in Baltimore.”

Leo stared at her for a moment, then his smile thinned. “Good.”

Troy, who’d been standing quietly for several moments, cleared his throat.

“You have something to contribute, Troy?” Max asked.

Troy raised a brow. “It seems you’re at an impasse,” he offered. “You may discuss dates, pseudonyms and birth certificates all afternoon and never come to an agreement.”

He sounded like a businessman brokering a big deal. Venus almost rolled her eyes, wondering where the flirty hunk who’d kissed her until she was brainless and limp had gotten to.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just conduct a DNA test?” he finally concluded.

“I’ve already thought of that,” Leo interjected. He touched his uncle’s arm. “Of course, knowing your mistrust of newfangled science, I made sure to contact one of the experts in the field. When I hear back from him, we’ll bring him to Atlanta and have him conduct the test.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Max agreed. He raised a quivering hand to his brow, looking out of sorts. “Splendid. That’s much more conclusive than any birth records, which aren’t entirely reliable. DNA. Marvelous thing.”

DNA tests? Conclusive proof? Things were going too fast for Venus’s taste. She hadn’t decided if she liked this old guy, and she definitely hadn’t decided if she even wanted to know the truth!

She cocked her head and raised her hand, wiggling her fingers in a little wave. “Hello? Anybody going to ask me if I’m willing to roll up my sleeve and let some stranger poke needles into me? What if I don’t particularly like needles?”

“Actually, I think they swab your cheek,” Troy explained.

She shot him a glare that told him to mind his own business. “Oh, you’ve undergone these tests before? Have lots of potential illegitimate junior executives running around out there, do you?”

As he stiffened, Venus cursed her quick temper and sarcasm. Troy had only been trying to help, after all.

Her barb had obviously angered him. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem very anxious to confirm your claim, Ms. Messina.”

“It’s not my claim.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “Or perhaps you want Max to think you don’t believe it. Throwing your arms around him and calling him Grandpa might have made him suspect your motives. This insistence that you’re not may make him more sympathetic.” He stepped closer, until the tips of his shoes almost touched her toes. She forced herself to stay still, so close to him she could smell his warm cologne and see the beating of his pulse in his neck. She could think of nothing except the way his mouth had tasted against hers, just minutes before.

“And generous,” he finally concluded.

Venus didn’t follow at first. She was too focused on her instinctive reaction to him. The heat radiating from his body, the coiled strength concealed beneath the conservative suit. And, unfortunately, the absence of the warm, tender concern that had been in his eyes just minutes before.

“Generous?” she asked, hearing the breathiness in her voice.

“I wonder what your motives were in coming to Atlanta,” he said softly, as if merely speculating aloud. “They didn’t have anything to do with money, did they?”

Money? He thought she’d come here to try to scam money off the old man? She was about to tell him to take a flying leap off the balcony when she remembered she had been paid—and paid well—to take this trip. She swallowed her angry words and lowered her eyes, her whole body stiffening as she acknowledged the partial truth of his accusation. He made a sound that could have been a sigh, then stepped away from her.

“Mr. Longotti,” she said, turning her back on the annoyingly handsome man who suddenly had such a low opinion of her, “I’m being straight with you here. I don’t think I’m who your nephew says I am. I don’t even know if I want to be, if you can dig that.” She shot a look over her shoulder at Troy, who still watched with suspicion and distrust. “But I am willing to talk to you about it some more. And, perhaps, to consider a test if we both decide it’s what we want.”

The elderly gentleman blinked, then stared at her, his gaze looking sharper and more direct. He seemed to be looking for something in her eyes, a gauge of her honesty, perhaps? Or some reminder of the son he’d lost? Finally he nodded. “Agreed.”

“Yes, excellent. These things do take time,” Leo murmured, holding his elderly uncle by the arm. “Uncle Max, you look very pale. Perhaps we should go now?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “I want to visit with my…with Ms. Messina here.”

“But your doctor’s appointment,” Leo continued. “You said you were supposed to see the doctor this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “I’d forgotten. That’s what I was planning to do until you almost shocked me into a heart attack with this news.” Max frowned at his nephew. “I can reschedule. I want to get her settled in at home.”

“I can take Ms. Messina over,” Troy interjected. “Max, you go keep your appointment, then head home and meet us there. I think it might be good for everyone to have a little while alone before any further conversation, don’t you?”

He shot Venus a look daring her to disagree. Not that she would. She wanted to be alone, to reconsider just what she’d gotten herself into here. Things suddenly didn’t seem as simple as they had this morning, when she’d thought she’d take advantage of a paid vacation in the south.

More than ever, she thought Leo Gallagher was up to no good. It looked like he planned to use her for whatever it was he wanted. The way he’d presented her to his uncle—so unlike how they’d agreed—was a clear indication he couldn’t be trusted.

For the first time in ages—probably since she’d first been taken into custody by the state, been told that her mother’s distant family didn’t want her and that she had to go to a foster home—Venus began to feel very alone. In Baltimore, at least, she had friends—Lacey, Uncle Joe and many others. She was completely comfortable in her world, even if that world consisted only of her apartment, her cat and Flanagan’s. There were a dozen people there she could call if she needed help…or just a sympathetic ear.

Here, though, she had only three men, three near strangers. Leo, who apparently wanted to use her. Max, who likely wanted her to be someone she was not. And Troy, a man she was incredibly attracted to, but couldn’t have. A man whose kiss had made every thought flee her brain and made her body willing to do absolutely anything so long as he kept touching her. A man who, at this moment, wasn’t too impressed with her.

That knowledge, more than anything, made her stomach knot and her body tense. She had a sinking feeling Troy was going to be the most difficult situation of all.

TROY WAS GLAD to get Max Longotti and his undoubtedly scheming nephew out the door. He wanted to be alone with Ms. Venus Messina, or whatever her name was. He had a few things to say to her. A few things to get straight.

The woman was easy to read, almost an open book. She wore her feelings on her face, and was obviously ruled by her emotions, as many passionate people were. As an observer, a thinker, Troy had long ago learned to pay attention to other people’s expressions and body language. He gauged reactions of others before deciding on his own actions.

Hers—when he’d confronted her about the issue of money—had been damning. Troy couldn’t shake the strong feeling of disappointment he’d felt when he’d seen a flash of guilt in her eyes. She hadn’t been able to meet his stare for more than ten seconds. Her shoulders had stiffened and her lush bottom lip had disappeared as she sucked it into her mouth in dismay.

Yes, money definitely had something to do with Venus being in Atlanta.

And no matter how much he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her again, he knew he couldn’t do it. Maybe the old Troy wouldn’t have given a damn if he’d gone to bed with a thief or a liar. This Troy did. As much as he wanted her—really wanted her—he wasn’t going anywhere near the redhead until he figured out what the hell she was up to.

Troy remained silent as they exited the building. Good manners dictated that he hold the door for her, and the sight of her folding her long legs into his low-slung sports car hit him in the gut with the intensity of a punch. Five more minutes on that balcony and he might have felt those legs wrapped around him.

Enough. More than likely, the woman was a con artist. Or else she was Max Longotti’s grandchild. Either way, she was off-limits. If she was Max’s granddaughter, having a hot affair with her would likely ruin his relationship with his new boss.

If she was up to no good with Max’s nephew, they could hurt the old man, whom Troy had grown to care about. Max reminded him of his own grandmother, Sophie, whose strict, controlled exterior hid someone fiercely loyal to family. Unlike Sophie, Max had no close family. With the exception of Leo, a few assorted cousins, and now this mysterious redhead, he had no one.

Given Leo’s attitude since Troy’s arrival in Atlanta, any plan would probably also involve the company. Meaning it involved Troy directly. He liked Longotti Lines and saw tremendous potential for a merger or an outright sale to his family.

Troy had been paying careful attention to a major merger that had taken place last year between a national retail chain and a popular outfitter catalog company. This current deal could have the same result, each firm benefiting by tapping into the other’s strengths. Longotti Lines was known for its southern-themed products for the tasteful home, but had all the standard problems with distribution and marketing as any mail-order business. Langtree’s was quickly becoming renowned as an upper-crust department store in south Florida, but wasn’t as far-reaching as it should be due to its geographic limitations.

A merger could be a perfect marriage. It could also be the perfect opportunity for Troy to bring something new and fresh to the Langtree family business. Since his father had returned to manage the stores, Troy wanted something of his own, something to take on and make successful. It wasn’t that anybody in his family expected him to prove anything to them, and he didn’t feel the need to. This was more a matter of proving something to himself.

He wanted this catalog acquisition to happen. And he wanted to make it a triumphant success for both companies. Because if he didn’t, he honestly didn’t know what he would do with his career.

After pulling out of the parking lot of the office building, he kept his eyes on the road, not on the sexy legs of the woman in the passenger seat. He had no intention of getting into an argument with her here in the close confines of his car. Hell, just the warm smell of her musky cologne was enough of a distraction—he didn’t want to kill them both in a wreck. They would have time to talk when they got back to Max’s estate up in Buckhead.

She, apparently, had no such reservations. “You’ve got a fat lot of nerve, mister,” she snapped.

He shot her a look out the corner of his eye. She was turned in the seat, facing him, arms crossed and steam practically coming out of her ears. “I beg your pardon?”

“You think I’m a con artist, don’t you?”

Focused on navigating the traffic-filled street, he shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your attitude said it. You think I’m up to something, just because I’m not falling all over myself to get tests to prove I’m related to someone I haven’t even decided I want to be related to.”

“A very wealthy someone,” he replied easily, not allowing her to bait him into raising his voice.

“All the more reason for me to not want to be here. Do you think I don’t know how out of place I am with the Max Longotti types? You think I intentionally want to throw myself to a pack of rich wolves who’d tear me apart because I don’t know a salad fork from a dessert fork?”

“They’re interchangeable, unless they have distinct triangular points at the ends of the outmost tines,” he explained, not even thinking about it. “Then it’s a salad fork.”

Silence. He glanced at her, seeing her staring at him as if he had two heads. “Gag me,” she finally muttered.

Troy bit his lip to hide a grin, entertained again by her forthright personality. He couldn’t make sense of the woman, who outwardly appeared very open and sometimes shockingly honest. That just didn’t gel with the image of a deceptive con artist.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Then, stopping at a traffic signal, he finally turned to meet her stare, forcing himself to focus on what she was up to, not the way she looked—not the pale curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips or that tantalizing hollow in her throat.

He stiffened, mentally ordering his body to stop reacting to her when his mind didn’t trust her one bit. “You must admit, money is a large motivation for a lot of things, Ms. Messina.”

She held his eye, not turning away or blushing. “I’m not after Max Longotti’s money, Mr…. Vice President!”

Her reaction was different than when the money issue had come up before. So either he’d misread her earlier, or else she’d better prepared herself to answer the question. He honestly couldn’t say which he believed more. “My last name is Langtree.”

She snorted. “Figures.”

He was almost afraid to ask. “Why?”

“Because it sounds rich and uptight. Like you.”

“I didn’t seem too uptight for you up on that balcony when we met,” he said softly, daring her to disagree.

“No, then you were oily and pompous.”

He couldn’t prevent a small laugh from spilling across his lips. The woman was damned stubborn and fiery as hell. Surprisingly, he found himself liking the combination, even when she was hurling insults at his head. “So,” he asked, “which was I when we kissed? Uptight, oily or pompous?”

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