“But we’re here now and we’re alone.”

“That we are,” she said, knowing the exact moment his lips would touch hers.

From the center of the fountain just a few feet away, ten-foot jets of water spouted and fell in a lighted display. Sam’s lips touched hers and her eyes fluttered shut. The sound of rushing water echoed in the distance but all she could think about was the soft touch of his lips on hers, the warmth of his tongue slipping past her teeth and moving seductively into her mouth.

Wrapping her arms around his neck and tilting her head for better access she took him in, moaning as he sucked her tongue with deep hungry strokes, sinking closer into his embrace as he masterfully seduced her with his mouth.

Never before had she been kissed like this. Surely this must be a dream. Either that or it was forbidden. Nothing that tasted this good, felt this right, could be good for her. Hadn’t she already learned that lesson?

Summer Heat
A.C. Arthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

Welcome to the art world and to the legacy of the beautiful and talented Lakefields of Manhattan. Once again I have given you a family of strong, independent and successful adults—this time in the form of three intriguing sisters—Monica, Karena and Deena.

When I envisioned the perfect woman for Sam Desdune I knew she would have to be multi-dimensional. Sam would want a woman who was independent and sexy, yet compassionate and loving. I also knew that bringing Sam and Karena together was going to take something really special, so I went out on a limb with a beautiful Brazilian beach, an endearing Great Dane and the tried and true tale of Romeo and Juliet.

I hope you enjoy this first look into the Lakefields and stay tuned for more!

As always, I would love to hear from you. I can be contacted at acarthur22@yahoo.com.

Happy reading!

A.C. Arthur

Prologue

August—St. Michael’s, Maryland

Karena Lakefield took her seat on the plane and immediately buckled her seat belt, just as she did when getting into a car. It was just one of those things she was anal about. Actually, if her sisters were telling it, they’d say she was anal about just about everything. She, however, liked to think of it as having an orderly life—everything in its place and all that.

That’s how she managed her business dealings, her family issues and her personal life—otherwise, she would have checked into the sanitarium by now.

She was just about to reach into her bag and pull out her laptop when the seat beside her was taken.

“Hello, again,” Sam Desdune said with an easy smile that once again had Karena’s toes warming.

“Well, hello to you. I didn’t know we were booked on the same flight.”

“Neither did I. Originally I was going to stay another day just to make sure that things went smoothly with Luther’s extradition. But Brock assured me that he’d go down to the police station to personally see the man off.” With that, Sam had packed his overnight bag and headed for the airport, hoping to find a flight leaving for New York sooner rather than later. And lady luck seemed to be on his side—in more ways than one, he noted as he looked into the cheerfully pretty face of Karena Lakefield.

They’d officially met last night at dinner, the one where Brock announced that Noelle would be moving to the East Coast with him—and Jade nearly fell out of her chair. The memory had Sam chuckling. He’d known Trent Donovan for almost ten years. He’d shared some of the Donovan family dinners and enjoyed them immensely, but none as much as last night’s.

The lady with the coal-black hair styled in a short spiky do and dark, seductive eyes was the cause for that.

She was one of the Lakefields of Manhattan. The minute Noelle had said her name, he’d made the connection. The Lakefields ran the most exclusive and affluent African-American-owned art galleries in the United States. And while his brother-in-law, Lorenzo Bennett, had just recently opened his own gallery, Renny had nothing on the Lakefields’ status in the art world.

That’s exactly the impression Karena gave him: refined, delicate, priceless—a piece of art worth buying for whatever price was asked.

“Good. I’m glad that whole episode is over. I feel so bad for Noelle and all that she’s been through.”

“Yeah, but she’s got Brock now, so I’m sure she’ll be well taken care of from here on out.”

“Humph, must be nice,” she said with a frown then looked out the window.

The plane was just about to take off when Karena’s cell phone chimed. She cursed and answered it quickly, looking around to make sure none of the flight attendants noticed that she hadn’t turned it off as they’d asked.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“What? Monica, I’m on the plane. Can this wait until I get home? No, I don’t leave again for another two weeks.

“It’ll be fine if we wait, Monica. Yes. I know.” She rolled her eyes skyward and sucked in a breath as the plane lifted from the ground. The worst parts of flying were takeoff and landing, in her book.

“I know, Monica. Look, I’m hanging up. I’ll call you when I get home.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll call you when we land.”

“Trouble on the home front?” Sam asked when she’d snapped the phone closed, turned it off and stuffed it into her purse.

“Not exactly. My older sister, Monica, is a slave driver.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she manages our family gallery in Manhattan while I do all the buying and supervise the sales division.”

“I see, a family business. I know all about those.”

“Are you in a family business?”

“Nah, I’m one of the apples that fell far from the tree,” he chuckled. “My family owns restaurants up and down the eastern seaboard. But at my P.I. firm I employ mostly family members. My twin sister and Trent’s cousin to name a few.”

“That’s right, you and Trent are good friends. Well, I’ll tell you, people are constantly telling me to get a life, but Monica is the one who needs to take a chill pill,” Karena said with a grin.

“Really? That’s interesting,” Sam said thoughtfully.

“How so?”

“Is Monica involved with anyone right now?”

“No. Didn’t you hear when I said she was a workaholic? The only way she could be involved is if she’s sneaking a man into the gallery after hours, because I swear that girl sleeps there.”

“I think I know somebody who would get along famously with her.”

Karena frowned. “I don’t usually do the matchmaking thing,” she began. “But tell me about him anyway.” She was smiling and turning sideways to look at him.

“He’s my brother-in-law’s older brother. His name is Alexander Bennett, but we just call him Alex. I don’t think he ever peels himself away from his desk either.”

So as the plane soared higher into the clouds, Sam and Karena talked about Alex and Monica, then about their jobs and finally about themselves. By the time the plane landed, they’d exchanged all contact information with a promise to call when they had some free time.

A promise Sam happily planned to keep.

September—Gramercy II Grand Opening, Maryland

“You never called,” Sam whispered over her shoulder.

Karena turned, the smile spreading across her face, slowly but impulsively and probably giving away how happy she was to see him. “Neither did you.”

“Guilty,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing its back. “Forgive me?”

She was still smiling, feeling like a high-school girl on her prom night. “No big deal.” Karena pulled her hand from his, because this was getting too weird.

Sure, she’d met Sam Desdune last month when she’d come to check on her best friend, Noelle. And yes, he was handsome, easy to talk to and had made her flight back to New York very pleasant. But it wasn’t as though he was a long-distance boyfriend—or even a long-distance friend, for that matter.

He lived in Connecticut and she in Manhattan. They weren’t that far away, and yet neither had tried to contact the other after their first meeting. Perhaps the tiny flutters she’d felt while sitting next to him on the plane were really nothing.

“So what do you think?” Sam asked, his gaze moving around the room of the Gramercy II, the sister casino/resort owned by Lincoln Donovan of the Las Vegas Donovans and run by Noelle Vincent, Karena’s best friend and Linc’s sister-in-law.

“It’s fabulous,” she answered without hesitation. “But then if Noelle had her hand in it, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Sam was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, it turned out really well. Linc’s thrilled.”

“That’s wonderful. I know Noelle really wanted to impress him.”

“Well, I’d say she did that and then some.”

Conversation tapered off as they each looked around the room, then as if it were planned, Sam touched a hand to her elbow and escorted her out of the main casino room. They walked along the high-ceilinged corridor with its copper-toned fountain running down one side and lighted walkway along the plush sage-green carpet.

The atmosphere was calming and relaxing, which seemed a bit strange for a casino. Yet it fit this small water community, the splash of decadence and bling mixing seamlessly with the quiet ambiance, creating a unique feel that was sure to attract a lot of customers.

Karena felt the relaxation but instinctively fought it. She had so much work to do when she returned to the city, which was why instead of taking Noelle’s offer to stay at the house she shared with Brock Remington, her boyfriend and Linc Donovan’s cousin, Karena opted to stay here at the Gramercy II for the night and take a flight out first thing in the morning.

Why she couldn’t relax enough to take a vacation was beyond her. No, actually it wasn’t. It was her choice, her goals in life, the limitations she set for herself, all her choice, her doing, her need.

Coming to another airy space centered by a larger fountain, this one with copper railings to keep guests from venturing too close to the water display that was presented every other hour, she and Sam stopped.

“It’s nice here,” she said, tired of the endless quiet between them. It felt odd to be with this man and not talk, because he was so easy to communicate with, unlike other men who would have probably been pawing all over her by now. Maybe Sam wasn’t interested in her in that way. And why should she care?

“It’s quieter here. There were too many people in the other room. I didn’t want any distractions,” he said seriously.

His hand was still on her elbow as they faced each other. “You’re at a casino/resort opening, how could you not want to be in the casino?”

“I’m here to support a friend,” he said, speaking of his best friend and business partner, Trent Donovan. “The Donovans are like extended family to me, so it’s great to see them taking on another successful venture.”

“All the more reason you would want to be out there.”

“Nah,” he said, taking a step closer to her and lifting his other hand to touch her cheek. “Not when I can take advantage of being alone with you.”

Okay, so she wasn’t crazy. The fizzle of attraction she’d felt when they’d met last month hadn’t been a fluke. And it was back, alive and sparkling as they stood, feeling tiny drops of mist as the water show prepared to begin.

“You could have been alone with me before if you’d called,” she said, surprising herself with her boldness. Being with a man wasn’t new to Karena, but she wasn’t the flowers, romance and courting type. Because of her hectic lifestyle and those endless limitations she put on herself, her encounters with the opposite sex needed to be quick and efficient. So if there was something brewing between her and Sam Desdune, maybe it was best they act on it quickly and keep it moving.

“I could and should have. But we’re here now and we’re alone.”

“That we are,” she said, knowing the exact moment his lips would touch hers.

From the center of the fountain just a few feet away, ten-foot jets of water spewed and fell in a lighted display. Sam’s lips touched hers and her eyes fluttered shut. The sound of rushing water echoed in the distance, but all she could think about was the soft touch of his lips on hers, the warmth of his tongue slipping past her teeth and moving seductively into her mouth.

Wrapping her arms around his neck and tilting her head for better access, she took him in, moaning as he sucked her tongue with deep hungry strokes, sinking closer into his embrace as he masterfully seduced her with his mouth.

Never before had she been kissed like this. Surely this must be a dream. Either that or it was forbidden. Nothing that tasted this good, felt this right, could be good for her. Hadn’t she already learned that lesson?

Chapter One

October—Lakefield Galleries, New York City

“Stolen? That’s impossible!” Karena slammed her palms flat on her desk then stood.

Dropping down into the paisley-patterned guest chair across from her was her oldest sister and biggest critic, Monica Lakefield. Monica was the manager of Lakefield Galleries, their family-owned and for the most part family-run art gallery in Manhattan.

In addition to being extremely intelligent Monica was as ambitious, cutthroat and relentless as any Brooks Brothers suit-wearing man in corporate America—a fact she relished.

Karena was two years younger than Monica, having celebrated her thirtieth birthday six months ago. She considered herself ambitious as well, a trait clearly inherited from their domineering father, Paul. But she wasn’t as hard as Monica, not as rigid and stern when it came to business—or everything else for that matter.

“It’s right there in black and white,” Monica was saying as she tossed a manila folder onto Karena’s desk. Sighing heavily, Karena moved to pick up the folder. No way this was happening to her. She’d had a rough enough time trying to sleep last night due to dreams that she definitely should not be having. And now this. It was barely ten in the morning and Monica was delivering this disastrous news.

“Jacques did the appraisal, just like he always does. He checked with the ASA and the ADAA. It’s either a fake or it’s stolen. He has a few more tests to run, but odds are it’s stolen.”

Karena’s fingers shook slightly as she leafed through the pages. Sure enough, there were three reports: one from Jacques, one from the Appraisers Association of America and the final one from the Art Dealers Association of America. Hearing Monica sum up the reports in front of her in such cold and succinct language had her heart pounding, the sound throbbing in her ears.

“I met with him personally. We had breakfast on the terrace in Pirata. He even showed me the cliffs where he liked to paint at dawn.”

“Oh, please. Karena, he played you like a prized violin. He didn’t paint that picture. He’s not Leandro.”

“There’s a mistake. There’s got to be some mistake,” she insisted. Because if there wasn’t, then her sister was right. She’d been played by the quietly handsome man who stood six feet tall with somber brown eyes and nut-brown skin.

His heavily accented voice had been a little hard for her to understand, but it didn’t matter once he showed her the first painting. Immediately she’d fallen in love with the colors, the tone, the simplicity of the piece. She’d had to have it. Lakefield Galleries had to have it.

And now they did. A stolen portrait that could totally destroy the reputation they’d spent years building.

“Did you get any form of identification? I mean, damn, what made you believe it was even him? For more than a year he’s been unreachable, his paintings appearing only in small galleries spread out over the world. Not even his agent has ever met him in person.” Monica waved a hand as she spoke, her signature long painted nails catching bits of the fluorescent lighting.

“I didn’t card him, Monica. That’s not normally how I do business. And remember, he called me.” The call had come just as Karena had returned from Maryland, where she’d been attending the grand opening of the Gramercy II, the casino her best friend, Noelle Vincent, and her boyfriend, Brock Remington, had built.

The resort was the East Coast version of one of Las Vegas’s hottest casinos owned by Lincoln Donovan, of the illustrious Donovan clan. It was through Linc that Karena had met Noelle and forged one of the closest friendships she’d ever had.

The moment she’d stepped off the plane from Maryland and turned on her cell phone, it rang. On the other end, calling all the way from Pirata, a medium-size town in Brazil, was Leandro, the reclusive oil-painting artist now blowing up in the art world. The minute he’d said his name, she’d been ready to board another plane to visit him.

In less than a week she’d been in Brazil, soaking up the gorgeous scenery and sitting across from the man who was about to give her the biggest sale of her art-buying career.

Had he lied to her?

“Maybe you need a lesson in how to do business?”

Both Monica and Karena stilled at the sound of his voice. He’d opened the door and walked right into her office, no announcement from her secretary needed. After all, he owned Lakefield Galleries and the Lakefield Foundation.

“If it’s truly stolen, where did it come from? Because right now there’s no proof that the man I met with wasn’t Leandro,” Karena said, trying like hell to hide the nervousness being in the same room as her father inevitably brought.

He was angry. No, not quite so, more like annoyed. His broad body wore a designer suit as if Ralph Lauren himself had come to the mansion and cut the material around him. His thick wavy hair hadn’t started to fall out, which was more and more common for men over fifty-five these days. Instead, Paul Lakefield’s hair had turned a sparkling gray, taking him from handsome to distinguished in the past five years. His dark eyes were what threw off the otherwise handsome package. Those eyes always seemed to pin Karena with accusation.

Her birth wasn’t a mistake, not entirely, just her sex. Her entire life her father had made no secret of the fact that he’d wanted a son. Proving that there were some things Paul Lakefield could not control, the good Lord blessed him with three daughters instead.

“How did you ship the painting?” her father asked, slipping his hands into his pant pockets.

“Like I always do, Federal Express International, with insurance. I packaged it myself before it left the estate where we stayed. I labeled the box and spoke to the carrier. From that point on anything could have happened.”

Monica was already shaking her head. “Jacques thinks it’s one of the paintings stolen from members of the royal family.”

Karena’s head ached. She wanted to rub her temples but refrained from showing any sign of weakness in front of her father. And her sister, for that matter. Neither of them would understand what she was going through. Hell, she doubted she understood it herself.

“There’s a royal family in Brazil?” Paul asked.

“A prince, I think,” Monica said and reached for the folder, which Karena quickly closed and gripped tightly.

“Great,” Paul huffed. “Now they’ll think the Lakefields are thieves.”

“I doubt they know who the Lakefields are all the way in Brazil,” Monica stated quietly, her eyes sweeping to Karena.

“Exactly my point. Now their first impression of us will be that we stole from them.”

Karena felt sick. Her stomach quivered and her head throbbed so hard she could feel the vibration throughout her entire body. This room was too small for all three of them. In fact, sometimes she thought the whole world was too small for her and her family.

“I’ll take care of it,” she snapped and was already moving toward the door.

“Let me help, Karena. This is our name on the line,” Monica stated coolly.

“No, it’s my buy, I’ll handle it.”

“Yes. You handle it, and do it fast before word gets out,” Paul said solemnly.

Karena opened her mouth to speak then clapped her lips shut.

Three things were drilled into her and her sisters as they grew up in the Lakefield household: Loyalty. Honesty. Respect.

Only her upbringing held the words she’d longed to say to her father at bay, while the terrible fear that she’d truly messed up guided her quick steps.

Samuel Desdune fell back on the ground laughing as his two-year-old blue Great Dane tackled him to the ground, red ball hanging from his mouth.

Fall was just creeping up on the quiet Greenwich, Connecticut, neighborhood he lived in, delivering a crisp morning breeze in its wake. The trees and shrubs surrounding Sam’s waterfront home were just beginning to show signs of color change, and Romeo was enjoying his morning exercise.

It had been a year since Sam had adopted Romeo from National Great Dane Rescue after Romeo’s battle with kidney failure. Initially Romeo had a fear of all men except Sam, which made it quite difficult when Sam’s older brother, Cole, or his father, Lucien, came for a visit. But then his sister Lynn had brought her four-year-old son, Jeremy, over and Romeo’s attitude toward the male gender had changed.

Rolling Romeo off him, Sam retrieved the ball from the dog’s mouth, got to his feet and tossed it the length of the yard once more. Romeo, with his shiny blue-gray coat and long legs, practically leaped across the grass to retrieve it.

Oh, the joys of being his own boss. D&D Investigations was in its sixth month of business. For two years prior Sam hadn’t had a partner, but after the biggest case of his new career so far—tracking and capturing the man who stalked and terrorized the Bennett family—he’d decided a partner would be nice. For that he’d called on his old friend, Trent Donovan, an ex-Navy SEAL with instincts Sam trusted and a kick-ass attitude he admired even though it still scared him a bit.

Trent ran the West Coast location while Sam concentrated on the East Coast cases. Right now they were handling the surveillance of a cheating husband and the disappearance of a four-year-old girl. For both cases, his twin sister, Sabrina, and Trent’s cousin Bailey could hold down the fort. Bree, the nickname he would always use for his twin, no matter who she married or how many kids she had, was a former Marine. She could hold her own, as she’d shown without a doubt when she’d chased and injured the stalker who was about to shoot her husband, Lorenzo Bennett.

Bailey Donovan was, for lack of a better term, a loose cannon. She was antsy and reckless and itching for some action. That’s why Trent had sent her to Sam, because he didn’t have time to babysit her now that he was married and about to become a father.

For now, however, the missing-child case was making good use of Bailey’s excess energy as she followed lead after lead in the hopes of finding the child before Christmas.

Romeo was back, his natural ears flapping against the breeze as he returned the ball once more. “Good boy,” Sam was saying as the cell phone at his hip began to ring.

“Desdune,” he said answering after the second ring.

“Hi, I hope you remember me. This is Karena Lake-field.”

The red ball fell out of Sam’s hand as Romeo with his large, sometimes awkward body danced around Sam demanding attention.

Of course he remembered her. The petite, brown-skinned beauty with intriguing eyes and tight body he’d met while in Maryland helping Trent with a family problem. How could he forget her?

“Hi, Karena,” he said cheerfully. “It’s nice to hear from you.”

They’d exchanged phone numbers on the plane ride back from Maryland in August and then saw each other again briefly at the opening of the Gramercy II in early September.

No. Sam hadn’t forgotten. She’d felt like sunshine in his arms, then dripped like molten lava when he’d kissed her. He’d wanted to take her up to one of the rooms at the Gramercy II, thought she wanted the same. Then she’d pulled away, left him standing, getting wet in front of the water show, and he hadn’t spoken to her again.

Until now.

“I need your help,” she said, her voice sounding less like the sexy timbre he remembered and just on this side of desperate.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m in trouble,” she sighed. “Big trouble.”

Chapter Two

Sam couldn’t say he was happy about driving into Manhattan on a day he’d planned to spend rolling around in the yard with Romeo.

And he couldn’t say that he liked the tone of Karena’s voice as she asked for help.

What he could say was that he was looking forward to seeing her again. As his body heated thinking about her in the tight jeans and even tighter T-shirt she’d worn on the plane ride they’d shared, he admitted he was really looking forward to seeing her.

Talking to her on the two occasions he’d seen her had been like a breath of fresh air. While she tended to talk too much about her job, as if there was nothing more interesting in the world to her, Sam got the impression she was witty and adventurous, even if she didn’t know it herself. From Noelle he’d learned that she was the middle child of three daughters, born into a very wealthy family now making their name in the art world. Upon returning from his first trip to Maryland he’d run a check on Karena’s father, Paul Lakefield, and came up with a brief family history.

The Lakefields’ wealth stemmed all the way back to California’s historic Gold Rush in 1848, when a slave named Celia Smith was taken by her master’s cousin from Virginia across the country. George Lakefield had instantly fallen for his cousin’s housemaid on a visit to Virginia, and before he’d left he’d had Celia in his bed. Upon agreement with his cousin, George took ownership of Celia and headed west to take up with the other panhandlers in search of gold.

That search led to George Lakefield’s first taste of fortune. In 1863, when President Lincoln declared the freedom of all slaves, Celia Smith had stayed by George’s side, and in the years ahead gave birth to four sons and one daughter. Two of the Lakefield sons moved on to Texas, where they struck oil, while the other two ventured into the steel business. The daughter married and stayed in California, where her descendents now ran the successful Genoa Winery.

It was Paul’s great-grandfather, Mathias Lakefield, who took Lakefield Steel to its victorious holdings, leaving a legacy for Paul and his two brothers to follow.

A very impressive history, Sam remembered thinking as he read, leading to more intrigue about Karena. The first time he’d met her, she’d seemed worried about Noelle and the idiotic ex-boyfriend of Noelle’s Sam had helped Trent and the other Donovan brothers capture. But once that situation was settled and Sam talked to her on the plane, he’d noticed something else about her: she was totally dedicated to her job and her family.

Did that sound familiar?

Of course it did. There was nothing—and Sam readily emphasized the word nothing—that he wouldn’t do for his family. Born and raised in Louisiana, Lucien and Marie Desdune were Creole. That was the name given to persons of various racial mixes who were descended from the colonial French and Spanish settlers of Louisiana and from African-Americans and Native Americans.

The Desdunes were a cultivated mixture of French and African-American ancestry. As such, twenty years ago Lucien had opened his self-named Creole-and-Cajun restaurant in New Orleans. Since that time, Lucien’s had expanded to four popular restaurants along the eastern seaboard. Unfortunately, Lucien’s children hadn’t all gone into the same line of work. Sam’s oldest sister, Lynn, was a domestic law attorney, while Bree had gone the military route before settling into security and now private investigation with Sam. Cole, the second oldest, was the only one who’d taken to his father’s love of cooking, now working as an executive chef and manager of Lucien’s in New York. To be closer to their children, who all seemed to move from Louisiana once they’d graduated high school, Lucien and Marie also lived in Connecticut.

So yes, Sam knew a little bit about being loyal to his family, to a certain extent. In talking with Karena on those previous occasions, Sam had immediately sensed she had problems drawing the line between her family’s expectations and her own desires.

The sound of blaring horns and the stop and go of traffic reminded Sam of how much he hated coming into the city. Still, he’d kept his composure even when one of those notorious cab drivers cut him off. It was that control that had gained him his reputation of being levelheaded and the best person to have around in high-pressure situations.

He’d almost smiled as he remembered finding out that Bree had been assaulted. At that point, Sam recalled, he lost that reputed composure, wanted to lace his fingers around the neck of Harold Richmond, the now-jailed former colonel from the United States Marine Corps. The only other time Sam had lost his cool was when his older sister Lynn’s ex-husband had been stupid enough to slash her tires and kick her door in before packing and leaving his wife and young son for good.

He sighed, realizing he definitely knew about loving one’s family.

The address Karena had given him was coming up just ahead, and Sam made one last maneuver through busy Manhattan traffic before pulling into the narrow garage opening. Stopping again, he retrieved the parking ticket, tucked it into his windshield and proceeded through the rounding maze until he found a spot.

Ten minutes later he watched as the elevator doors opened to the seventh floor. Stepping off the elevator onto the dark marble floor, he walked the few steps to the glass doors with Lakefield Galleries in wide gold letters hanging above.

Inside those doors the floor was carpeted, a dusky gray color with cool black furniture and an even paler gray paint on the walls. Behind the reception area sat an Asian woman, her long hair dark as onyx, her eyes friendly as she turned to him.

“Good afternoon, welcome to Lakefield Galleries. How may I help you?”

Her voice echoed in the large space.

“Sam Desdune, here to see Karena Lakefield,” he replied easily.

“Of course,” she stood, coming around the desk to stand beside him. “Ms. Lakefield’s expecting you. Follow me, please.”

Sam surveyed more of his surroundings while walking behind the courteous receptionist.

No money had been spared in the building and maintaining of this gallery. As they’d rounded the corner to a long hallway, the walls turned to a crisp white. Pictures were hung at carefully measured intervals. Not a real fan of art that went beyond green pastures and lakes, he found himself pleasantly surprised by the abstract designs that carried a theme throughout the office space. He was wondering what the rest of the gallery looked like when the receptionist stopped in front of double black-lacquer doors, opening one and waving him inside.

“Thanks,” he said before stepping inside. Behind him he heard the quiet click of the door being closed.

Although it was only a couple of feet away it sounded distant, and the memory of the receptionist’s smile and friendly voice faded from his mind. The curiosity about the rest of the gallery also fell to the side as she stood from the high-backed leather chair she’d been sitting in and walked toward him.

This was the scene in movies where the music supervisors played an up-tempo track then let it pause. The camera captured his eyes then hers, panning out until her entire body was in view.

Petite didn’t accurately describe her, although she was no more than five feet two or three inches without heels. It was the curves that made that word an understatement where she was concerned. The dip of a slender waist spanned to perfectly rounded hips, taking his gaze on a slow, heated ride down to toned legs covered only midway to her thigh, where the dress she wore abruptly stopped.

Nylons covered her legs, he sensed, although the sheer, silky caramel color could have been her bare skin. Classy, expensive and sexy black leather pumps sported heels so high their purpose could only be to tempt a man to distraction.

The song “Fire and Desire” by Rick James and Teena Marie immediately played in his head. Although he hadn’t loved and left her, Karena Lakefield was definitely tempting him, positively heating a fire in him that he’d wondered if he’d ever experience again. Just as petite didn’t accurately describe her,

desire did not fully capture what he was feeling for her at this very moment.

“Hi, Sam. Thanks for coming so soon,” she said, extending her hand to him.

Swallowing the thick ball of lust that had lodged itself so comfortably in his throat, Sam took her hand and knew exactly what Rick James had been singing about.

Taking her hand in his, Karena Lakefield had effectively turned on a fire in Sam that would be hell trying to put out.

Chapter Three

Sam cleared his throat and shook his head as if trying to rid his mind of something.

His hand gripped hers tightly and Karena lifted her free hand to his elbow. “Are you okay?” she asked, full of concern.

“Fine,” he said, his voice breaking just slightly. “I’m fine. You said you were in trouble,” he finished and released his grip.

“Yes,” she said, still not sure if he was all right but resigned to getting down to the pressing matter at hand. “Something strange is going on and I wanted to see if you could help me.”

Moving back to her chair, she sat then motioned for Sam to sit in the chair beside hers. They were in the west conference room, the smaller one on this floor but still large enough to hold fifty people. This was where they held press conferences or hosted small receptions.

Reaching out, she spread the papers and photos from the file she’d been reviewing all morning. After Monica’s bombshell about the stolen painting, she’d wanted to read up on everything she had on the artist known as Leandro and compare it with the man she’d met in Brazil.

Sam sat, quickly looked down at the papers and touched a finger to one of the photos.

“It’s called ‘Awake,’” she informed him about the painting she thought she’d purchased from Leandro.

He nodded. “Because of the sun rising,” he stated blandly.

“No,” she touched the picture, tracing her finger along the line where the ocean met the simmering rays of the mounting sun. “Because it awakens the senses. It pulls you in from the moment you look at it. Whether you think of the coolness of the water against your skin or the scent of the tropical air blowing in the distance, you instantly become a part of the painting.”

His fingers moved from the intense orange-and-crimson tone of the sun to stop just beside hers. Where she traced the water line, he did the same, until the tips of their fingers touched.

Karena felt a jolt to her system. A quick piercing sensation started at the exact point where he’d touched her and moved quickly throughout her body. Frowning, she moved her hand and picked up another sheet of paper.

“Two weeks ago I went to Brazil to meet an artist,” she said, then recounted a brief history of Leandro. “He does oil paintings and has been on the scene for about two years now. His work is in high demand but extremely hard to come by. He doesn’t do shows, no appearances, no interviews. All pieces are purchased directly from his agent and he usually remains anonymous.”

“But you met him?” Sam inquired.

“He called me,” she said, looking up at him.

He lifted a brow in question. “The reclusive artist called you? Why?”

A woman would kill for thick, even eyebrows such as his. His complexion was the color of honey fresh out of the jar. Eyes that were dark, yet warm, held her gaze steadily. He wore brown slacks and a lighter-shade short-sleeved shirt that fit his muscled chest precisely. It was still reasonably warm outside so a jacket wasn’t really necessary. This fact afforded her the opportunity to see even more of his toned arms, ribboned with veins that showed his sheer strength.

Was her mouth watering?

Now it was her turn to clear her throat. “I…I don’t know, really. And to tell the truth I was too excited to ask. It was the day we flew back from Maryland. He called before I left the airport. I booked another flight out the next evening and met with him on a Wednesday morning.”

“He picked you up at the airport?”

He was staring at her intently, as though he could see into her mind and therefore really didn’t need to ask her questions. Her pulse quickened and she flattened her palms on the table.

“No. I took a cab to the address he’d given me.”

“To his house?”

“Yes.” She blinked then attempted to focus more on her trip to Brazil than on the man sitting—now that she thought about it—too damned close to her. “No. Well, I guess it was his house. I didn’t really ask.”

“Did you stay with him? In this house, I mean. Did you stay there during your trip?”

Karena was sure these questions had something to do with the stolen pictures, but her mind kept wrapping around the slight edge in his voice, the intensity of his gaze as he waited for her answers.

“I stayed, yes. There was a cottage on the property and he said I could stay there.”

Sam sat back in the chair, his tall, built form moving so that it swiveled to the side. Her view of him increased, as now she could see muscled thighs even through the loose-fitting pants he wore. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, then lifted one hand to rub his fingers along his chin. Except for a thin mustache his face was clean-shaven, giving him a neat, quiet allure.

“The house was big. Did it look like he had money or did he truly give the impression of a starving artist?”

What she saw looked too good. Sam was too attractive. Had he looked like this when she’d met him in Maryland? Or had the weeks since she’d seen him simply added to the days of her self-imposed celibacy, coloring her present perception of him?

“It was like a mansion or something. There was a lot of property.”

“And just the one cottage where you stayed?”

“No, there were several cottages.” Then shaking her head, she held up a hand and said, “Wait a minute. You’re asking me about where I slept and how I got to his house. But none of this has anything to do with the fact that the appraiser’s report says the painting was stolen. My question is how does an artist steal his own painting?”

He wanted to know where she’d slept. Had she been in this artist’s—this man’s—house, in a bedroom next to his or, heaven forbid, in his bed. It was insane, Sam knew without having to mentally kick himself with the thought. Karena wasn’t his, and thinking of her with another man should not have his fists itching to punch someone. Looking at her should not be tugging on something primal, hungry, inside of him.

And yet…

“I’m trying to paint my own picture of sorts,” he said, giving her the best part of a smile he had to force. “This is a recluse, an up-until-now private person, who calls you out of the blue. He wants to what, sell you a portrait? Or does he want to meet you personally? Were you targeted for some reason?”

She was shaking her head, the diamond-stud earrings sparkling in her ears. Her short, sophisticated hairdo was neat and precise and sexy as hell. Sam usually enjoyed women with hair that he could run his fingers through, but on her that look would be too much, overwhelming the delicate beauty of her small facial features.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about the fact that I purchased a portrait that was obviously stolen.”

“Nothing is obvious, Karena,” he said honestly.

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you have a history of this guy. He doesn’t talk to anyone, doesn’t do showings, doesn’t seem to want anyone to know who he is or where he is. His work is good and is in high demand. So why all the secrecy? Then he calls you. Of all the art galleries in all the world he picks you and the Lakefield Galleries. Why?”

“Because we’re good,” she said, apparently ruffled by his words.

He nodded. “I’m not disputing that fact. I’m just pointing out a few things. How did he know you’d come if he called? Had you been trying to find him?”

“No. Actually, I hadn’t. I knew his history. Once, earlier last year I contacted his agent about a showing, but I assured her that he wasn’t required to show up.”

“Didn’t his phone call strike you as weird?”

“Yes.” Now that she thought about it, it had.

“He called your cell phone. How many people have that number? Do you have a separate cell phone for business and personal use?”

“No. I have one phone, but I have two numbers. Kind of

like an extension within the phone.”

“So he called which extension? Business or personal?” She thought for a minute, remembered the distinctive ringtones she’d programmed to tell her which type of call was incoming. And she sighed. “He called the personal number.”

“You think this man targeted my company for some reason?” Paul Lakefield asked Sam fifteen minutes later when he and Monica Lakefield had joined him and Karena in the conference room.

Paul Lakefield was tall, brooding and stern, all characteristics Sam could respect. He was also judgmental. The tone of his voice, the way in which he’d looked at Sam the moment he’d entered the conference room, said he was neither impressed nor thrilled that Sam was here. Even when Karena had introduced him as being a business partner of Trent Donovan’s, one of the Donovans renowned for their own success in business as well as their philanthropy.

Not that Sam cared. His business was steadily building its own credibility and reputation, and he didn’t need Paul Lakefield’s approval. He was here only because Karena had called him.

“I’m saying that I don’t believe it was coincidence that he called Karena offering not only to sell her a painting but to also meet her in person.”

“Maybe he’s making a move on behalf of his career. Coming out of hiding to further build on his name,” Karena said, hope tinting her voice.

“Or maybe it was a setup all along.”

This was from Monica, Karena’s sister. Her older sister, he surmised from the impatient look she gave Karena.

Monica was the polar opposite of Karena in the looks department. She was taller for one, probably around five feet eight or nine inches, her frame svelte and sophisticated. Her clothes matched her personality, designer business suit with starched white blouse and heels that put her directly at eye level with him. She was cool, professional and determined to prove she was as good as any man. Sam had seen her type before.

She was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that. Her complexion was a few shades lighter than Karena’s, her features stronger, more defined. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun that probably only added to her uptight attitude. All in all, if Sam had his choice of whom he’d like to be trapped on a deserted island with, Karena won, hands down.

Sam was a detail man. He paid attention to everything around him, even the things that people themselves didn’t realize they were doing.

Karena was sitting in the exact spot she’d been in before her father and sister arrived, only now she wasn’t as talkative or as assertive in her position. Monica had taken a seat beside her, but it was clear she was on her father’s side. Or was she playing the mediator between Karena and Paul?

“This should never have happened. You should have checked things out before going down there.”

“Checked things out how, Daddy? Should I have had the number he called from traced? Asked him to send me his photo identification and Social Security card?” She sighed heavily and began gathering the papers from the table. “I’ve hired Sam to look into this. Until then, the picture stays in our warehouse. I mean, Jacques hasn’t even produced a name of the alleged true owners of the portrait. And I haven’t seen an insurance claim for the stolen property.”

Standing, she lifted the folder in her hands, took a deep breath and looked at her father once more. “I got us into this and I’ll make sure we get out of it. Just like I told you earlier this morning.”

In that moment Sam saw her strength, her dedication not only to her job but to her family. And when her father hadn’t responded but only looked at her solemnly, Sam saw something else. Hurt.

“This is my company, Karena. I’m just trying to make sure we all keep our dealings aboveboard,” Paul offered as if he’d seen that flash of pain in his daughter’s eyes, as well.

“With all due respect, Daddy, the gallery is my domain,” Monica offered. “I’m the manager and Jacques reports directly to me. So I’ll keep a close eye on this and fill you in as the need arises.”

Paul’s gaze moved from one daughter to the other. “The need has already arisen. I want to know every development in this matter. If you’re going to investigate, know that we’ll pay top dollar for priority as well as privacy,” he said to Sam.

“That’s not required. I know how to do my job.” That was something Paul hadn’t expected him to say, Sam was sure. But he’d been more than a little concerned with the way Paul Lakefield handled his daughters. It was as if they had positions within his company but he was still in control, no matter what. His trust in them was nonexistent, and Sam was willing to bet the sisters knew this and detested their father for it.

“Then do it quickly,” he stated before leaving the room.

Monica stood, moved to Sam, extended her hand and waited. When he grasped it, she said, “I want daily reports on your findings.”

Dominance, or should he say bossiness, definitely ran in the Lakefield family. “I’ll keep Karena updated,” he replied.

She lifted an elegantly arched brow then looked over her shoulder as she slipped her hand from his grasp. “Karena, I need to speak to you privately. I’ll meet you in your office.”

Turning back to Sam, she said, “Nice meeting you.”

Monica walked away, and Sam felt the chill of air leaving behind her. This one was all business, no-nonsense and no softness. He remembered on the plane when Karena had told him about Monica being committed only to her job. She obviously hadn’t lied, and he wondered briefly if his initial thought of introducing her to Alex Bennett was a smart move.

Alex was the oldest son of Marvin and Beatriz Bennett, the family he’d worked the stalking case for earlier this year. He was also the CEO of Bennett Industries and a bona fide workaholic. Still, Alex was Sam’s brother-in-law since Bree had married his brother, Renny. Sam wasn’t sure he’d wish the cold wrath of Monica Lakefield on a family member.

“For the record, I don’t think tracing Leandro’s call would have done you any good,” he said when they were finally alone.

She was rubbing her temples, and she looked up at him as if she’d forgotten he was there. “I just don’t know what else they expect me to do.”

Her voice sounded so desolate, but then as if she’d released a deep, dark family secret, she straightened and walked toward him. “If you can just call me with your developments, that would be great. I just need to know for sure whom I met with and where that painting came from. As my father so eloquently stated, we’ll pay you whatever is necessary for a speedy turnaround.”

Was she dismissing him? Yes, she definitely was. Sam would have taken the hint if she hadn’t looked so sad and so sexy at the same time. So instead of turning to leave the office, he reached out and took her free hand.

“I’ll call you every day to let you know what I uncover.” She looked up at him, confusion and something just a little darker in her eyes. Sam moved closer until his chest pushed the folder she was clutching against her breasts. “In fact, I’ll call you twice a day, and you don’t have to pay extra for that service.”

Her nipples tingled and she stifled a groan. There was clothing between them and even that dammed folder, and still the heat from his body had mingled with hers, creating a fiery sphere around them. She inhaled deeply but the breath was ragged coming out, hitching on the huge swirl of sexual frustration mounting in the pit of her stomach.

God, she needed either a vibrator or a quickie right away. Before she did something clearly out of character and jumped Sam Desdune’s bones.

Chapter Four

“So how long have you known him and are you sleeping with him?”

Monica was never one to beat around the bush, Karena thought the moment she stepped into her office and into Monica’s barrage of questions.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, closing her office door behind her and praying none of the staff had been walking by and overheard.

“The P.I., Karena. How long have you known him?”

Monica sat in one of the guest chairs, her long legs crossed, arms resting on the sides.

Karena rounded her desk, dropped the folder then plopped down into her chair. “It’s been a really long day, Monica. I’m not in the mood for your interrogations.”

“Then you’d better get in the mood,” Monica said, glaring at Karena. “Because if Daddy finds out you hired him because you’re sleeping with him, he’s going to go ballistic. And if this man doesn’t figure out what the hell is going on with Leandro and that painting, we’re both going to be out of a job.”

“We’re heirs to the company, Monica. How can we be out of a job?”

“That’s a name on a piece of paper that rides on the fact that our father is still breathing.”

Karena groaned, letting her head rest on the back of her chair. “It is not that serious, Monica, really.”

“So you are sleeping with him,” she accused.

Don’t I wish. “No. I’m not sleeping with him. I met him a few months ago when I went to Maryland to visit a friend.”

“What friend? Oh, that girl who’s always getting herself into trouble.”

“Noelle’s not like that anymore. And this trouble she was in was serious, life-threatening serious. Sam and his partner helped her out.”

“Sounds like you need to get better friends.”

Karena was about to say something else when Monica held up a hand. “Don’t get all uptight. I’m just trying to keep a handle on all this.”

“D&D Investigations has a good reputation. I trust Sam to get to the bottom of this.” And she did. From what she knew of him so far, he was a good investigator and a good friend. She only hoped her traitorous body could keep it together long enough for him to do the job.

“Well, you know how men are, so just be careful working with him,” Monica quipped.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I work with men all the time and I don’t get this type of warning from you.”

“The other men you work with all the time don’t look at you like he was.”

Karena flicked her wrist in Monica’s direction as a way of dismissing her remark. “You’re starting to sound melodramatic, like Deena.”

“Oh, please, nobody is as melodramatic as Deena. I swear that girl lives in a world of her own.”

“Well, she is a writer,” Karena said in defense of their younger sister. Deena Lakefield was the free spirit of the family. Being cooped up behind a desk all day would have the same effect on her as kryptonite would on Superman, she thought with a smile.

“Deena doesn’t know what she is from one day to the next.” Monica stood. “Be that as it may, she’s our lost cause of a sister no matter what. You, on the other hand, are salvageable and I don’t want you getting your head all twisted over some man just because he looks good, smells good and watches you like you’re the only woman on earth.”

Her words had Karena sitting straight up in her chair. “He’s all that, huh?”

Monica was not amused, although the corner of her mouth did lift in a smile. “He’s not bad to look at, but you know my philosophy on men—especially good-looking men.”

Yeah, Karena knew, and it was a damned shame. How a woman as strong as Monica could let one man tear her down and destroy her faith in the entire species was beyond her. “He’s working for the company, Monica. That’s all.”

“Mmm-hmm,” was her response as she walked out of the office.

“He’s working for the company,” Karena repeated once more when she was alone.

He’s working for the company…so why am I am thinking of his strong arms and how they’d feel wrapped tightly around me?

He should have gone back to Connecticut immediately after leaving her office. Bree was there; he’d already called and briefed her on the situation. She would be working on it until it was time for her to leave for the day. Sam could go back to the office and help her or he could go home. Yet, it was almost six-thirty in the evening and he was still in Manhattan.

After leaving Lakefield Galleries he’d stopped at the library, using the Internet to retrieve a list of all art galleries in Manhattan and the surrounding boroughs. He wanted to know which ones were showing Leandro’s work and which ones were trying to get more information on the man.

In the past few hours he’d visited six galleries, three of which had pieces of Leandro’s on display, two that were negotiating to buy pieces and one that had tried valiantly to get in touch with Leandro’s agent with no success.

Now Sam found himself turning into the same parking garage he’d been in earlier, heading back to Lakefield Galleries.

“Hi, we don’t have a showing tonight so I’m just about to lock up,” the friendly receptionist whose name he now knew was Astrid told him.

“I was hoping to catch Ms. Lakefield,” he said. “Karena Lakefield,” he amended when she stepped behind the desk and looked down at her computer screen.

“She hasn’t logged off her computer yet so she’s probably still here.”

“Does she do that often?”

“Do what?”

“Work late,” he said, realizing he’d spoken aloud. He’d been thinking that a woman as fine as Karena should have an active social life. Invitations to parties and friends to hang out with should be taking up the majority of her time.

Oh, no, that was his ex-fiancée’s lifestyle he was thinking about. Leeza Purdy was the queen of Greenwich’s most elite society clique, which meant that most of her time was spent entertaining. That was, when she could pry herself away from Sam’s side, where she tried to dictate everything from the type of underwear he wore to the kind of gas he put into his car.

Breaking up with her had been one of his finer moments, and while his sisters had both readily told him that, he’d known it from the waves of relief that washed over him once it was all said and done.

Astrid shrugged. “Yes, I believe so. I’ll walk you to her office,” she said, picking up her purse and coming around the desk to meet him.

“Don’t worry about it, I remember where it is. You go ahead and have a good evening.”

“Thanks, you have a good evening, too. I’ll put the automatic locks on so when you leave the door will lock behind you. As long as you’re just going out, the security system will stay activated,” Astrid said before slipping through the glass doors.

Sam nodded. He’d been wondering about their security, as he hadn’t seen any cameras or security beacons on his first trip to the office. But now that he’d suspected someone was setting the Lakefields up to take a fall, he was determined to cover those bases.

When Astrid was gone, he moved behind her desk, kneeling to look underneath. There was a panic button. Good. Further inspection yielded a separate computer keyboard that Sam recognized as part of one of the better security systems. This keyboard monitored every employee in the office as they were logged in to their computers. It also monitored each office by using heat and motion sensors so that if someone were in an office that shouldn’t be occupied, a message would immediately appear on a small computer screen.

Sam knew the system well and pressed a few keys before the screen flashed. The seventh floor was dedicated office space, he noted as he looked at the computerized layout. The larger rooms, he assumed, were conference rooms while the smaller ones were most likely employee offices. Of the ten offices, only two were still occupied. Karena and Monica, he knew without a doubt.

Tapping another sequence of keys, he pulled up the eighth floor, the gallery. This had additional security. Laser beams crisscrossed from the floor to the ceiling, in addition to the same heat and motion sensors that were on the office level. There were some smaller alcoves which had more security, coded keypads or locked encasements. He figured these probably held the more valuable pieces. He was just about to tap in another code when her voice startled him.

“What are you doing?”

His head snapped up, his body instantly warming at the sight of her.

“I was hungry,” he said as casually as he could manage. “I figured you might be, too, so I came to take you to dinner.”

She blinked, confusion marring her pretty face. “You’re on the computer.”

“No. I’m checking your security systems.”

“Oh,” she said and came around the desk to stand beside him. “The system was just updated two months ago.”

He nodded. “It’s a really good system, worth the money. How often do you and your sister stay here by yourselves?”

“We don’t work normal hours, if that’s what you’re asking. But there’s a security guard on the lower level of the garage and cameras everywhere. It’s safe.”

“It’s not healthy,” he replied, his fingers moving quickly over the keys as he closed the areas he’d wanted to check.

“It’s after five and you’re still working,” she responded.

“Yeah, but I didn’t leave my house until well after ten this morning. I’m betting you were here a lot earlier than that.”

“That has nothing to do with your job,” she said then moved around the desk.

He smiled at her sarcasm and her attempt to put him in his place. But she had no idea whom she was dealing with.

“You will find that I’m really into details. Whether they directly relate to my job doesn’t really matter. Now, about dinner?”

“I’ll order in. You can let yourself out,” she was saying as he approached her.

“I don’t want to eat alone.”

“That’s not my problem.” Yet Karena got the sinking feeling that it was. His mouth said the hunger he spoke of was related to food. His eyes said something entirely different. The dark brown grew even darker, lust circling his irises with a smoldering ring. He approached her, and suddenly the reception area seemed too small for the both of them.

Inhaling sharply, she backed up, knowing instinctively that having him close to her was a mistake. He continued his trek forward, determination giving his tall, broad form an air of intimidation she wasn’t quite sure she could handle.

“Are you afraid of me, Karena?”

Chapter Five

Karena let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself.” Her back hit the wall and he kept right on moving until his body invaded what she needed to be her personal space. Her heart was pounding and she fought to keep her breathing normal. “I’m just trying to decide what’s more important, getting to the bottom of this stolen-picture drama or kneeing you in the balls. What do you think?”

At the end of the day, training and upbringing aside, Sam was still a man. As such, he grimaced at the mere mention of the harm she threatened to his most prized possessions. “First, I’m not the enemy, so there’s no need to run from me,” he said calmly because he didn’t know any other way. “Second, finding out what’s going on with the painting is definitely important but not to the point that you neglect your own personal needs.”

With one more step he was so close her perfume smelled as if it had been sprayed on him instead. She was a lot shorter than him, the top of her head coming to his pectoral muscles. Yet with his continued progress toward her, she’d lifted her chin and tilted her head so that she was staring directly into his eyes.

Sam realized in that moment that he wanted her beneath him, there was no question about it. He’d thought she was sexy the first two times he’d seen her, in a passing kind of way that all men noticed a good-looking woman. When he’d heard her voice on the phone this morning he’d thought, hell, maybe his chance at getting close to her was happening. Spending the day in Manhattan waiting like a schoolboy with a crush until it was time for her to get off from work to see her again proved he was going to lose the battle of taking things slow, which was normally his repertoire.

“Besides,” he said, remembering her comment concerning his groin area because all the blood in his head was now rushing to that location, “kneeing me would be a dangerous option. Not to mention painful, and I’m sure it’s not your intent to cause me pain.”

She lifted a brow and he wanted to touch her there, to feel the smooth hairs just above her eyes. Anything to get his hands on her because his fingers itched to touch, his mouth watered to taste. “I’m hungry,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Yes, he was, she thought, and so, quite possibly, was she. His body was pressed hard against hers now, his hands at her sides remaining still only by the control she saw straining at the surface. His body trembled with that control, that need to stay still battling with the desire to reach out and touch.

And, God, she wanted him to touch her. Never had she been weak to the needs of the flesh. With her mind made up about what type of men she would involve herself with and the limitations where relationships were concerned, Karena owned enough sex toys to open her own online sex shop. She used them more than she probably should and often wondered what effect all the electricity moving in and out of her body would have in the long run. Still, she was a woman and a professional who knew how to do what was necessary to survive in the world she’d built for herself.

Unfortunately, right about now she was so starved for the real thing, if Sam touched her she was bound to spontaneously combust, and then what?

Hadn’t she just had this conversation with Monica? He was here for business and business only. She definitely needed to keep that thought in mind.

“Maybe you should leave,” she said finally when the silence was giving her too much think time. “Go home, get yourself some dinner. Call me in the morning.” And she would go home and try to figure out this mess she’d made of her career.

“I want you to join me,” he persisted.

“We don’t always get what we want, Sam.” His name whispered past her lips and she watched as his eyes lowered to her mouth. Instinctively she licked her lips, then regretted the motion as Sam’s head began to lower.

Oh, God, he was going to kiss her. He couldn’t.

He was a breath away, warmth caressing her skin.

He shouldn’t.

She braced herself, feeling the sizzling ache deep inside.

He wouldn’t.

Oh, please, let his lips hurry up and touch hers.

When they did, all pleas were futile, all thought vanished and her mind clouded.

The taking was slow, his lips touching lightly against hers as if testing the waters. They touched hers a second time, and she was the one to step closer. Third time was the charm, as his tongue snaked out to meet with hers as if in silent agreement.

Warm, wet, enticingly slow, he kissed her and she kissed him right back.

Her hands clasped around his neck, his around her waist. The kiss deepened until his moans echoed in her ears, her heart thumped in her chest.

As far as kisses went this was, as Deena would say, off the chain.

His technique was slow, persistent and right on the mark as Karena felt sensations rippling fiercely throughout her body. This was breaking another of her rules when it came to men. She didn’t do a lot of kissing. It was too intimate and stirred too many emotions. Like right now, she felt as if she was falling weightlessly into a swirling pit of desire lined with fluffy white clouds designed to make the fall smoother.

Heat licked at her with each stroke of his tongue as she felt his hold on her increasing until he was almost lifting her off the floor. His mouth opened over hers, devouring her lips, strangling her tongue. And still, she felt as if he was holding back, giving her only a taste…of what was to come.

Sam was lost, felt the stranglehold of control that normally surrounded him slipping just a bit. He hadn’t meant to take the kiss this far, only to get a small taste. But she’d opened to him immediately, like a flower waiting to bloom. When she wrapped her arms around him, going higher on her tiptoes to meet his insistent embrace, he almost shivered.

He wasn’t a player by any stretch of the imagination. He’d had only two serious relationships in his entire thirty-one years. Unlike his brother, Cole, his goals where women were concerned were already etched in stone. Love. Marriage. Family. That’s what his parents had and that’s what he wanted. Any woman he took to his bed more than once would have to know that right up front.

Damn, she tasted good and felt good, wrapped in his arms with her body pressed hotly against his own. Desire speared through him with an intensity that had him holding her tighter, tonguing her deeper. His erection throbbed and he lifted her until it was cradled against the flat indentation of her belly.

He could take her right here, right now, and give them both a pleasure they longed for. But that would be crass, not to mention unprofessional. No, he wanted the seductive Ms. Lakefield in his bed for hours on end, not propped up against this wall screaming his name, because that would never be enough.

With those thoughts running rapidly through his mind, Sam pulled away slightly, giving her a second to breathe before nipping her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and feeling her tremble once more. One more taste and he swore he was going to let her go. His tongue traced her lip, slid along the line of her teeth. She pulled her head back away from him and he groaned.

“Don’t run, Karena,” he whispered huskily, moving his lips closer to hers, his tongue already extended and waiting for her to join in.

For a split second it appeared she would back down, but then something sparked in her eyes and her tongue once again touched his, twirling around him in a sensual dance that had him moaning. His eyes were just closing once more, his mind slipping into the trance that her taste weaved around him, when his cell phone rang.

He’d planned to ignore it, Karena could tell by the way his arms tightened around her. She couldn’t blame him, this was one helluva kiss. She’d felt it all the way down to the tingle in her toes. Yeah, that probably sounded real corny, but damn if she was lying. Sam Desdune definitely had skills in the kissing department, and if she wasn’t careful she’d be ending her self-induced sexual drought right here in the lobby of her art gallery.

The phone chirped again and she forced herself to pull back. “Answer it,” she said, breathing hard and lifting a hand to wipe the moisture from her lips.

He only stared at her for a moment and she nodded toward the phone that still rang at his waist. Finally he reached for it but still kept her pinned to the wall.

“Desdune.”

“I’ve got identification and a passport. Are you near a fax?” Bree said in her efficient way.

“What’s the fax number?” he asked Karena and repeated it to Bree.

“That’s the machine in my office,” Karena said, using this diversion as an opportunity to slip away from him and move in the direction of her office.

Grateful for the space she walked quickly, knowing he was watching her but refusing to bask in the feeling of sexiness that emanated with just one look from him. She wasn’t an amateur in the game of boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy and girl have sex. And after what they’d just done she was thinking more and more that sleeping with Sam Desdune would be just as explosive as the kiss they’d shared. Her business-only stance might have to be readjusted.

Pushing through the door to her office, she saw that whatever he’d asked be faxed to them was already being transmitted through the machine.

“Your office works fast,” Karena quipped.

“It’s Bree, my twin sister. She takes her job about as seriously as you take yours.”

“Smart woman,” she said, lifting the first page from the machine without looking at him.

He was about to say something else when she gasped.

“It’s not him.”

He moved closer to her. “What?”

She handed him the paper, dread filling her eyes, her entire body tense. “That’s not the man I met with in Brazil. It wasn’t Leandro. Monica was right. I got played.”

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