Irresistibly Exotic Men

Bed of Lies

Paula Roe

Falling for Dr Dimitriou

Anne Fraser

Her Little Spanish Secret

Laura Iding

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Bed of Lies

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Epilogue

Falling for Dr Dimitriou

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

Her Little Spanish Secret

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

Bed of Lies

Paula Roe

Despite wanting to be a vet, choreographer, card shark, hairdresser and an interior designer (although not simultaneously!), British-born, Aussie-bred PAULA ROE ended up as a personal assistant, office manager, software trainer and aerobics instructor for thirteen interesting years.

Paula lives in western New South Wales, Australia, with her family, two opinionated cats and a garden full of dependent native birds. She still retains a deep love of filing systems, stationery and traveling, even though the latter doesn’t happen nearly as often as she’d like. She loves to hear from her readers—you can visit her at her website, www.paularoe.com.

To all those wonderful writers, contest judges and

editors who read my original version of Beth and

Luke’s story many, many (many!) years ago and gave

me the encouragement to keep writing: Meredith

Webber, Meredith Whitford, Desley and Michael

Ahern, Valerie Susan Hayward and Diane Dietz.

One

Trouble.

For a moment, Beth Jones had to steady herself against the kitchen sink, her heart pounding basketball-hard against her ribs as she stared out into her leafy front garden. Right into the impeccably dressed, clean-shaven face of trouble.

A man had eased from a sporty BMW parked in her driveway, his tall, broad figure radiating tension. The giveaway signs were as tangible as the lingering heat of the early-October evening—his stiff shoulders and neck, a frown knotting his forehead, the impatient way he slammed the car door.

She swallowed thickly, pushed away an errant curl and continued to stare.

He paused by her letter box, checking something on a piece of paper, a frown creasing behind those dark sunglasses. His hesitation gave her time to take in a top-to-toe view of an efficient haircut, broad chest encased in a sharply cut suit and long, long legs. And the nerve ticking away in his jaw.

He looked expensive and self-assured, one of those billion-dollar alpha males who automatically command respect.

So, not a reporter. Some business hotshot? A lawyer? Banker?

She sucked in a breath. Yes.

Amazingly, it looked like East Coast National Bank had graduated from phone calls to face-to-face intimidation.

A misplaced half a million dollars would do that.

Trouble always came in threes. And if she counted her flat tire this morning and her missing employee as numbers one and two, then the third looked as if he was about to come knocking on her front door.

Luke De Rossi had a whopper of a headache.

It had started up after he’d left the Brisbane solicitor’s office and drove south along the M1 toward the Gold Coast, the blasting air conditioner doing nothing to soothe his anger. He’d clicked through a dozen songs on his iPod before giving up, instead letting the thick silence fill the void.

He’d barely noticed when he took the turnoff to Runaway Bay, traffic thinning, the houses becoming bigger and properties more expansive. A couple of times he’d glanced in the rearview mirror, but the car that’d been tailing him had disappeared.

He should be happy about that. Instead, apprehension gnawed like a dog worrying a bone. He could just imagine the headlines now: Lucky Luke Cops House from Dead Gangster Uncle was a particular favourite. The press would put another knife in his back, his reputation would be screwed and he’d lose everything he’d worked for all his life.

He and Gino had never been close, but his uncle had known how much his career meant to him. So what the hell had he been thinking, bequeathing him a house that could effectively sabotage his career?

At the end of the cul-de-sac, sunset spread long-fingered shadows over the sprawling century-old colonial-style two-story, a long, partially hidden driveway and a white letter box emblazoned with the number thirteen. How apt.

The house was painted dark green and ochre, the colors blending into the surrounding trees, completely at odds with the modern grandiose Grecian creations he’d passed farther up. For one second, he expected to see a dog bounding away in the front yard and kids playing on the spacious porch. Instead, a comfy swing sat on the polished wooden boards, inviting him to come and take a load off.

He snorted as he got out of the car. Despite its exclusive island location, the place looked … low-key. Something his uncle was definitely not. So what was Gino doing with a perfect slice of suburbia in his possession when he had the pick of any mansion along Queensland’s elite Whitsunday Islands?

He’d left the solicitor’s office too fired up to hear any explanations. Yeah, he’d gone in already furious and, two sentences into the reading of Gino’s will, he’d turned around and stormed right out. He knew if he’d stayed a moment longer he would have done things, said things that weren’t his right to do or say.

Yet those words still burned in his brain: You need to hear this, Luke. You need to make peace with your family.

Privately, his board of directors had warned him away from the public-relations nightmare that was Gino Corelli. Publicly, they’d called his suspension a “temporary leave of absence due to family commitments.” Yet for some crazy reason, here he was.

You need to make it right.

He sucked in a breath. Gino had died because of him. He’d managed to shove the guilt aside for weeks, burying it under his insane workload and long hours until it had all exploded in Paluzanno and Partners’ shiny boardroom.

Make it right.

With a soft curse, he shook his head. A week would be enough time to check out the house and put it on the market. Then he’d return the money to his aunt Rosa and get back to his life and his upcoming promotion.

A week. Maybe ten days, tops. Then he was home free. Simple.

He took another step forward, ignored his ringing phone, then stilled when he spotted a red hatchback parked under the porch.

This house was designed to pass under the radar, yet by Sunset Island real estate values alone, it was worth a few million. His brain quickly ran through the possibilities until it landed on an unpleasant thought.

A love nest.

A sour taste lodged in his mouth, something bitter and dark. No. Gino had loved Aunt Rosa. They’d been happily married for over fifty years. There was no way he would …

Yet why hadn’t Gino willed the house to Rosa then? Why him, if not to keep Rosa in the dark?

He glanced at the house again, his mouth thinning in suspicion. Something was off … something he couldn’t put his finger on.

He slammed the car door, rechecked the address then stalked across the yard.

Only to pause at the front steps.

A thin band of worry tripped down his back, following the sweat plastering the shirt to his skin. He scratched the base of his neck and looked over his shoulder. The winding driveway and a dense hedge hid the house from the quiet street. A couple of well-tended lemon trees bent over the front porch like wizened sentries. The lawn was in need of a cut, but the flower beds were turned, indicating where the occupant’s priorities lay. And with the exception of the cicadas chirping their repertoire with monotonous regularity, silence reigned.

The remnants of adrenaline from his press encounter surged up a notch.

There were no caretaking arrangements in place. Either he was right about Gino or … His mind clicked, grasping for one other plausible explanation.

Some enterprising reporter was one step ahead.

Luke had always managed to draw the line between unwanted attention and good publicity when needed. Yes, he was the youngest board member of Jackson and Blair, Queensland’s most affluent merchant bank. Yes, he possessed an insane amount of power in the corporate world. But now all people saw was the nephew of alleged mob boss Gino Corelli.

They saw a criminal.

Luke stared at the key in his palm, regret stabbing in his chest. His cousin’s deadly accusation at Gino’s funeral still festered—Maybe if you’d done something, my father would still be alive.

If he only knew.

His hand closed around the key and squeezed. The sharp edges bit into his skin yet he welcomed the pain. Anything that took away, even briefly, from the nagging wound in his heart was a reprieve.

Luke glared at the front door of his legacy—solid, worn … and locked. And felt a frustration so deep it burned a hole behind his eyes.

Despite holding the key, he pounded on the door. Then waited.

Just as he was about to try again, the door opened and his mind went momentarily and uncharacteristically blank.

A human version of Bambi stood there, all mossy wide eyes and long limbs. She was barely dressed in a faded blue tank top and white denim shorts, the frayed cuffs ending midthigh and leaving a long expanse of leg bare. Legs starting at her armpits and running down to the tips of her pink-painted toenails. Legs curved in all the right places, tanned a light honey, with dimpled knees.

Lucio De Rossi was a leg man and he appreciated a quality vintage when he saw it.

He dropped his hand, tipped down his sunglasses and let his gaze run leisurely up her body until his eyes met hers—frosty green eyes that shot down all inappropriate thoughts in flames.

Beth took a step back. The look stamped on this stranger’s arrogant features did not bode well. And those dark, dark eyes edged in thick, almost feminine lashes backed up that thought. As he shoved his glasses up and studied her with the intensity and thoroughness of an interrogator, he ran a long-fingered hand over his jaw.

“I take it you’re here about Ben Foster?” Beth asked coolly, reining in her churning thoughts.

“Who?”

He glanced past her shoulder and unease flared. She snapped her mouth shut, suddenly realizing the downside in offering too much information.

His eyes returned to her and narrowed. “What are you doing in this house?”

Beth’s gut flipped at his barely hidden animosity, but she refused to be cowed. “What are you doing?”

He gave her a dark look, brushed past her and strode down the hallway.

Openmouthed, Beth stared after his retreating back. Panic kicked in, hitching her breath and lending speed to her steps.

When she finally caught up, he’d reached the lounge room, pulled the curtains wide and was scanning the shadowed backyard.

“What do you think you’re—”

“You people never give up, do you?” He spun, eyes shining with battle. “The tail, the ambush at my apartment—now this little trick. So what’s the plan? Bat your green eyes, flash your legs and ask me nicely for an exclusive?” He ran that dark gaze over her so thoroughly Beth might well have been naked. “Those shorts are a good touch, by the way. Distraction by attraction, right?”

She sucked in a sharp indignant breath. “What gives you the right to—”

“Lady, I’ve had one crappy day and I don’t need this. I’ve blown your cover, but you obviously need the story. So here’s the deal—you leave now and I won’t charge you with trespass.” Stunned, Beth watched him turn back to the window. “Where’s your camera crew? Your mikes? Behind the bushes?”

She sucked in a sharp furious breath. “Just who do you think you are?”

That got his attention. He spun with catlike agility, angry and bristling. A formidable sight with the height and arrogance to back it up. But as his silent scrutiny lengthened, her heart quickened, pounding in heavy thuds against her ribs. She nervously eyed the distance to the kitchen. Sharp knives … a phone …

“Are you trying to be obtuse?” he demanded.

Before she could answer that, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out an expensive leather wallet and thrust his driver’s license under her nose. “Luke De Rossi, Miss …?”

“Jones. Beth Jones.”

Thin fingers of suspicion spiked through Luke’s gut as he watched her reposition herself at the hall entrance. Her eyes, startled green and fringed in long sandy lashes that darted over to the kitchen, finally got him. She rocked on the balls of her toes, poised and ready for flight. Suspicion tightened the muscles in her face. Hell, he could practically smell her distress.

A reporter she definitely wasn’t. And squatters didn’t live this well. She sounded like a tough nut, looked like a divine gift and wore her defensiveness like a cloak. She was as confused as he was.

So—a mistress, then.

Normally he relied on his immaculate composure to radiate authority, but, along with his seemingly infallible instinct, all three had flown right out the window.

He took a step back, regrouped. “Look, Miss Jones. Maybe we’d better start again. I’m—”

“I know exactly who you are.”

Luke exhaled heavily and felt the determined throb of a headache coming on. “I suppose you have some proof this is your house?” he said shortly.

She narrowed her eyes. “Proof? Why?”

“Lady, I’d appreciate a little help here.”

“I’ve lived here for the past three years and—”

“Owner or tenant?”

“What?”

“Do you own it or do you rent?” he enunciated clearly.

Beth bit back a rude comment as anger still simmered. “Rent, but—”

“Work with me, Miss Jones.” She watched his jaw tighten. “Who rented you the place?”

“A real estate agency.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t see—”

“The name, please.”

Silently, defiantly, she crossed her arms.

He ran a hand through his hair again, the short strands peaking in the wake of his long fingers. The incongruous action made him seem … oddly vulnerable. Beth nearly laughed at the absurd observation. Vulnerable? Right. Like a black panther waiting to catch his lunch is vulnerable.

Vaguely, she recalled an old Sun-Herald feature on Australia’s leading financial corporations. “Lucky Luke” De Rossi was just one of Jackson and Blair’s gifted talent—off-the-charts IQ, Harvard educated. As a corporate suit with the multibillion-dollar merchant bank, he had a perfect employment record, a perfect trust-me-with-your-millions attitude and perfect integrity. Hell, she’d actually admired his professionalism and commitment even if she hadn’t agreed with his workaholic drive.

His unwavering gaze held hers in silent stalemate. Then, with a sudden grimace, he rolled his shoulder and rubbed the base of his neck.

Trapezius, she automatically thought. Tight deltoids. Possible back pain. Definite headache.

She blinked, confused. Weariness practically oozed from this man’s pores, his features etched in frustration. And try as he might to hide it, she could make out the lines of pain bracketing his mouth.

As quickly as her sympathy rose, she tried banishing it.

And still he continued to massage his neck, almost as if it was a subconscious tic. Maybe, she thought grudgingly, high stress levels could send someone temporarily insane.

“So you’re renting this place,” he finally said.

She held his gaze. “Yes.”

The cynicism in his eyes didn’t intimidate her one bit. If anything, it spurred her irritation.

“So who’s the agency? You have an address? A phone number?”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Look, I’m trying to get to the bottom of this and you’re not helping.”

He was so obviously used to asking the questions, to having ultimate control, that Beth couldn’t contain a humourless laugh. She’d dealt with his kind all too often. “How’s about you help me and get out of my house?”

“What?”

“You heard.”

“Your house?” He narrowed his eyes. “Last time I checked, this place was my uncle’s.” His dark expression grew thunderous. “Were you and he involved?”

Her breath choked off for one second, then came rushing back in a hiss, face flaming. “First you barge into my house then accuse me of sleeping with your uncle. Are you crazy?”

Luke gritted his teeth, the headache pounding in earnest now. Jeez, this lady isn’t Bambi, she’s Godzilla! “Look, we’re not going to achieve anything by yelling at each other.”

“That’s right.” She marched down the hall, leaving him no choice but to follow. “I live here, Mr. De Rossi. If you’re telling the truth, then come back with proof.”

Exhaustion tugged at his legs, desperate to drag him down. All he wanted was a shower and a decent night’s sleep—he’d be willing to commit a felony to get it just about now.

So maybe he could reason with her soft side. If she had one.

Time to change tactics. He took a step toward her, a conciliatory smile teasing the corners of his mouth, palms turned up in supplication.

“I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.” Rewarded by her startled look, he continued. “You know who I am, so you know I’m good for—”

“Good for what?” Her calm response had him flashing a real full-on smile, one he knew could melt a few hearts and strong wills when he chose. “And what kind of arrangement did you have in mind?”

As they stood there with the warm evening breeze drifting through the doorway, Luke happened to glance down. Her tank top gaped at the neck, displaying a gentle swell of cleavage. Bloody hell. Quickly he dragged his eyes up, but a sheen of sweat dotting her smooth honey throat diverted his attention.

“Just give me a break, Ms. Jones.” He swallowed and finally managed to focus on the doorjamb behind her left ear. “I drove down from Brisbane and dodged reporters to get here.”

“Not in the car that’s being jacked, I hope.”

His reaction couldn’t have been more perfect. As Luke whirled, Beth put her hand firmly in the small of his back and shoved with all the pent-up anger and frustration bubbling inside.

Luke stumbled through the doorway. By the time he’d regained his balance, she’d locked the security screen.

“Possession is nine-tenths the law. Have a nice night!”

Then she slammed the door in his stunned face.

Two

Tuesday morning rolled in on brilliant beams of spring sunshine, streaking across the cloudless sky and encouraging more than one worker to call in sick.

Luke sat in his parked car and stared across the yard and into the kitchen. Beth moved with purpose—firm, precise and direct. The very thought of tangling with her cranked his warning system up to maximum volume.

Most men would have taken the hint and let the local cops sort this mess out.

He wasn’t most men.

He’d called Gino’s lawyer and been put on hold for ten minutes. When he’d rung back, the receptionist apologized profusely then proceeded to put him on hold again. With a curse he’d finally hung up.

He should’ve gone with his first thought and refused the bequest. Except …

Gino always knew exactly what he was doing when it came to his business interests. There was a reason Luke had been named beneficiary and by God, he was going to find out. Even if it meant dealing with a possible mistress.

So, two options—call in the cops or deal with the situation himself.

He sighed. No-brainer. Option one meant publicity, something he neither wanted nor needed. With option two, he’d at least be in control. Which meant he needed more information about Beth Jones.

His neck twinged and he stretched, the muscles pulling painfully taut. As the blinding sun hit his face, he flipped down the visor.

It didn’t take a degree in psychology to work out the woman didn’t trust easily, especially following his performance last night. He cringed inwardly. He’d suffered an uncharacteristic loss of control, one that wouldn’t happen again.

His mouth twitched. Damn, if she hadn’t surprised the hell out of him. She was stronger than she looked.

Luke swung open the car door and got out. Lemons. That’s what she smelled like. Fresh, citrus and edible. Like the old-fashioned lemonade his aunt Rosa made on hot Sunday afternoons … sharp on the surface yet oh, so sweet when you got down to the sugar pooled in the bottom of the glass.

He scowled. She might smell great and look even better, but he had a job to do. And her guarded suspicion definitely meant there was something she wasn’t telling him. He’d bet his upcoming promotion on it.

“Thank you for calling Crown Real Estate,” came the tinny message on the other end of Beth’s line. “Our office hours are from—” Beth gripped the phone with a tight sigh then hung up. The phone rang almost immediately. She grabbed it. “Yes?”

“Don’t hang up. It’s Luke De Rossi.”

She frowned. “How’d you get this number?”

“It’s on the deed. Look outside.”

She spun and stared at the long-legged figure in her front yard. “How long have you been there?”

“A few hours.” What did he think she was going to do—burn the place down? Do a runner? “We need to talk.”

She stiffened, waiting for the catch. Luke maintained steady eye contact. Finally, she said, “I’ll come out.”

With a coolness belying her thumping heart, she released the blinds. They clattered down with sharp finality.

A burst of nervous energy sent her pacing across the kitchen.

She didn’t want to talk. Hell, she’d spent the last ten years keeping her mouth shut. Her idyllic existence was based on a bunch of lies and talking would only leave her wide-open to the past, to what she’d left behind.

Not to mention possible criminal charges for identity theft.

Icy fear skimmed her skin, forcing goose bumps to the surface. The Australian press had a fascination with morbid grand-scale tragedy, especially on the eve of the ten-year anniversary. She rarely read the news but the past few months she’d managed to avoid everything—papers, TV, radio. She’d become adept at sidestepping when her clients brought up current affairs. But her memories couldn’t be so easily avoided.

She went over to the counter and poured a cup of coffee from the pot, swallowing the faint acrid taste of panic. No one in her new life knew who she’d been, what she’d done. Yet Luke’s appearance brought back all those old fears like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

She quickly slammed the door on her thoughts and focused on the present. Luke De Rossi.

Like an old motor starting up, her heart quickened. In a normal situation, she’d be itching to help this man who practically smoldered with shredded nerves. In a normal situation … But this could hardly be less normal.

Good-looking men always had hidden agendas. Like that reporter she’d trusted when she was eighteen. Like a couple of rich, smooth business types—both married and single—who used her massage services then tried to chat her up.

Like Ben, her missing bookkeeper.

She’d more than learned her lesson about trust.

After she made a quick call to Laura and asked her to open the store today, she went to the front door, cup in hand. With an efficient smoothing of hair and squaring of shoulders, she took a deep breath. Getting all panicky will do no good. The agency couldn’t give her answers, so maybe he could. And, she realized, Luke De Rossi, Mr. Rich-and-Powerful, could make her life very difficult if she kicked up a fuss.

On that last thought, she opened the kitchen door and stepped outside.

Luke sat on the railing, looking seriously dangerous in the morning light. Even with creased shirt and rumpled hair, everything about him screamed authority and confidence—from the tanned skin revealed by the one loose collar button and strong biceps beneath rolled-up sleeves, to the way he watched her with those darker-than-midnight eyes.

He needs to get rid of that tension bunching up his neck. A few sessions and she could have those muscles massaged into relaxation.

The thought of getting her hands on all that pent-up energy sent an unfamiliar sensation down her spine. What was wrong with her? Sure, she’d seen great bodies before. Pummeled, manipulated and eased any manner of muscular aches and pains. Yet this stranger had a look about him, one that said even though he was fired up about something, he could handle it. He was in control. Too in control?

He surprised her by handing her a bunch of letters. “Your mail.” As she took them, he nodded toward her porch swing and added, “Those are for you.”

Beth’s eyes widened. Carnations covered the seat, a burst of vivid yellow, white and pink. Their distinctive fragrance teased her nose, courtesy of a warm easterly.

She glanced from the swing back to him. His expression was subdued, even a little uncomfortable.

“I was out of line last night,” he said brusquely. “I don’t normally jump to conclusions. I apologize.”

“Okay.” Her gaze skittered back to the flowers.

“I got them from the garden at the end of the street. I left a note and twenty bucks.”

A reluctant smile kicked the corner of her mouth up. “You stole Crabby Craig’s prized flowers?”

“Ah.” His confident expression fell. “With a name like that, he will mind.”

She surprised herself by grinning. “He may come looking for you. Apparently, the man’s a big-shot doctor.”

“Then I’ll have to tell him it was a life-or-death situation.” When he answered her grin with one of his own, her thoughts mockingly returned. He was gorgeous without all that anger—all Italian muscle, aquiline nose and a set of hypnotic eyes.

An awkward silence descended until she remembered the cup she still held. “Here.” She saw him hesitate and added drily, “It’s not poisoned. Milk, no sugar.”

“Good guess.” Luke took the cup gratefully. “Why the sudden kindness? I thought you wanted me gone.”

“And I thought you’d have a cop with you this morning.”

“There are other ways to deal with this.”

“Then I should credit you with more self-control than I initially thought.”

“Enough for both of us, it seems.” Was he teasing her from behind the coffee mug? After that lame attempt to sweet-talk her last night, she didn’t doubt it.

His soft, almost seductive tone made her heart thump. Annoyed, she swallowed a sharp retort. Instead, she gave him an abbreviated version of what little she’d discovered that morning.

He took it all in in silence, with no overt display of emotion except a faint tightening of the jaw, a flash of his dark eyes. Finally, he dragged a long-fingered hand through his hair and rose.

“And what’s the real estate agency called?” He fixed her with such a piercing look, she felt the danger tingle down to the roots of her hair.

“Crown. I have a rental agreement … well, it’s more like a caretaking agreement—the owners are permanently overseas and I pay minimum rent to keep their house.”

“And you’ve been here three years.”

“Yes.”

“And before that?”

A myriad of emotions tightened her gut. “A bunch of cheap rentals. Nothing like this.”

She’d put so much time and effort into making this house her home. Fixed and replanted the sad garden. Painted the walls. Retiled the bathroom. Put up shelves. All with her own sweat and time and with many a muttered curse. And in a few months, finances willing, she’d even planned to make an offer on it.

It was her sanctuary from the world and no one was going to take that from her without a fight.

“What do you do for work?” he continued.

“I’m a masseuse. I have a store in Surfers …” She glanced at her watch. “One that opens at ten.”

He paused and took a sip of coffee, his expression unreadable. “Do you have the agency’s address?”

“Highway end of Surfers Mall.” She frowned. “What are you going to do?”

“Who’s Ben?”

“What?” Beth blinked.

“Boyfriend? Ex-husband?”

“No!”

“You thought I was here about Ben yesterday.”

She hated how the seeds of insecurity had blossomed into a full-blown tree of doubt in the last half hour. She didn’t want to give in to that. Because if she did, it meant all her efforts to carve out a normal life these last ten years had failed. She didn’t want to be suspicious, didn’t want to automatically doubt every person she met. But right now, faced with this bizarre situation, she had a strange feeling she should believe him. He just gave off that kind of aura.

“Ben’s got nothing to do with this,” she eventually said.

“How do you know that? He could’ve been partners with the agency, operating a real estate scam.”

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Oh, and what we have here is normal?”

She plunked herself on the porch railing. They stayed like that for a few moments, Luke in anticipatory silence, she with her lips pressed tight. He gave her that look again, that firm, what-are-you-hiding-from-me look. It unnerved her.

“He was my bookkeeper,” she conceded tightly, cheeks warming. “When my bank accidentally deposited someone else’s money into my business account, he took it and ran.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars.”

He gave a low whistle, and embarrassment flamed her face. She’d trusted Ben—someone she thought she’d known—and he’d gone and screwed her over.

“I take it you’ve filed a police report?”

“Not yet.” His look only compounded her shame. “The bank gives you twenty-eight days to return the money. It’s only the second.”

“You think he’s going to bring it back?” At her silence, he added more softly, “So. We have a scam and a missing person.”

“We don’t. My problems are none of your business.”

“And I can see you’re handling them just fine.”

She shot to her feet, irritated beyond words. He was right. But cops meant an inquiry, one she couldn’t afford to have.

“Were you and Foster in a sexual relationship?” he said suddenly.

Beth flushed. “What is it with you and sex? No! He’s nineteen, barely out of his teens. A math geek. His mother was a client and he… I…” She faltered at his expression then conceded, “We met twice after work, but it was always about business.”

“Did he know that?”

“Of course!” She swallowed as a small sliver of doubt crept in. “Of course,” she repeated with less conviction. “Why would he steal from me? And something that’s not even mine?”

“Greed’s a basic human desire. It’s not a matter of need, it’s about want. You focus on a victim, build trust and then …”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

Luke took in her tight expression and felt a rush of sympathy. “Do you need to sit down?”

“No.” As if he’d insulted her, she straightened her back and crossed her arms.

He flipped out his phone and dialed. “Dylan. It’s Luke. I need a favor. Information on a Ben Foster. Lives …?”

He paused for an interminably long moment, until Beth grudgingly reeled off an address.

As he gave details, he pointedly ignored Beth’s impatient snort. But when she attempted to interrupt, he held up a hand, silencing her. A complex play of emotions flitted across her face—annoyance, indignation—along with a scowl. Obviously she wasn’t used to being silenced. Fascinated, he watched her wrestle with the anger banking in her eyes. For a second he wasn’t sure control would win out.

“Gotcha,” Dylan said. “When do you want this info?”

“Yesterday.”

Dylan laughed. “Right. I’m off to Cairns for a court appearance this afternoon, then I’m booked solid until Friday. I could hand it over to one of my guys—”

“No. I’d much rather you handle it.”

“Okay. So it’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

Four days? Luke frowned. “Sure.” Then he hung up.

Beth rounded on him. “I didn’t ask for your help!” Her eyes narrowed, her expression tight. “Or is poking about in people’s lives just something that comes naturally?”

He slowly crossed his arms. “Dylan’s a P.I. and can find your runaway a lot quicker than the bank or the cops. I’m not interested in your secrets, Beth,” he lied smoothly.

“Just make sure it stays that way.” The fire retreated as she darted her gaze away to a point past his shoulder. “My private life stays private.”

Luke swallowed the unspoken question teetering on the tip of his tongue. Somehow he didn’t think voicing his opinion on her trust issues would bode well for their tentative truce.

“White-collar crime is more common than you think.”

“Gee, that makes me feel so much better.”

He ignored her sarcasm and started dialing Gino’s solicitor again. “And we need to prove I’m telling the truth.”

Luck was definitely not with him. After a few minutes of the busy signal, he clicked off with a foul curse. “I need to see your lease.”

Her eyes narrowed then zeroed in on his hand where he’d begun to rub his neck.

“Wait here.” But when he stood, she took a step back. “What?”

“Wouldn’t have any more coffee, would you?”

She paused. “In the kitchen.” Then, reluctantly, “Fine. Come in.”

Beth was acutely aware of his presence as she gathered up the carnations then walked into the kitchen. She got an empty vase from the cupboard, filled it with water then arranged the flowers, all the while trying to ignore the whirl of confusing reactions circling inside.

“Mind if I have some toast?” he asked when she finally finished.

She sighed. What’s one more oddity in a day like today? “Help yourself,” she muttered and walked out of the kitchen.

When Beth returned, she paused in the doorway, watching as Luke stood at the counter eating Vegemite-smothered toast.

I’ll bet relax is not in his vocabulary. Yet despite that small flaw, he was a perfect specimen. He had shoulders broader than a man had any right to have. His Mediterranean skin was a healthy tan and from what she could see, not one ounce of fat insulted that perfect physique. It was a functional, red-blooded, well-kept body … and looked far too warm and touchable for her liking. Despite herself she wanted to touch him, wanted to ease out the tension furrowing his brow, trail her hands down those beautiful forearms, over his chest, feel the heat radiating there, maybe even—

Annoyance chased away the threads of attraction. After her past mistakes, she’d vowed never to let anyone get that close again.

And now Luke was making himself at home in her kitchen. He’d even mastered her temperamental toaster, because just as the offending appliance flung a piece of toast high into the air, Luke caught it as skillfully as a Brisbane Broncos halfback.

She’d never been able to judge the trajectory on that stupid thing.

She laid her papers on the kitchen table. “Here’s everything. You should also know I have a legally binding tenancy agreement.”

She savored the small bittersweet triumph, even as he grabbed the documents and scanned them with a black scowl.

But as she watched him read, that feeling of victory slowly leeched away. Three months. Only a blink away. If he was telling the truth, could he actually sell her home from under her feet regardless of that bit of paper?

This house meant more to her than a roof. It was a home, a sanctuary. It was her home. After so many years of not belonging, it was a symbol of how far she’d come and everything she’d struggled for. And there was no way some high-priced banker with a sinful smile would force her out.

She needed expert legal advice—except she couldn’t afford it.

She eyeballed Luke still studying her papers, his shirt tight across his shoulders as he leaned over the table. Amazing how such a large piece of clothing provided so little cover.

With awareness prickling her skin, she reached for the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. Gently blowing the steam off, she lifted her eyes, only to find his intent on the rim of her cup.

On her lips.

She swallowed, lowered the cup and waved to her papers. “Does that prove I’m not lying?”

“It looks legitimate.” He pointed to a signature. “The agency has a management agreement, acting on behalf of the owners.”

“That’s right.”

“So you have no idea who the real owners are?”

“No.” From the look on his face he obviously didn’t like her answer. “So our next move is …?”

“I’m going to see Gino’s lawyers.”

“You mean, we’re going.” She put her cup in the sink, the coffee now a tart taste in her mouth.

He flexed his back and grimaced but said nothing.

She scowled. “I’m going to be frank with you, Mr. De Rossi. I am not impressed with you—not by your power or your wealth. I know people like you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Really.”

“Yes. Men dedicated to their jobs, their own needs. They think that with one killer smile, anyone can be swayed into changing a decision. They have to be in control twenty-four hours a day.”

“All that just by looking at me, hey?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice. And just so you know, don’t even think about trying to charm me. I’m immune.”

Luke studied her blankly, her stubborn chin tilted up, lips pressed tightly together, hands on hips.

Classic defensive stance.

His sudden smile threw her. “So, apart from my job, my looks and my mere presence, you like me, right?”

A gentle morning breeze took that moment to sweep through the window, curling through the flowers on the windowsill and ruffling her wheat-blond curls. It wrapped around them until Luke wasn’t sure if the perfume came from her or the flowers.

Either way, she smelled damn good.

Yeah, hold on there, mate. You need to focus on getting Gino’s stuff out of your life, not be swayed by a pair of wide Bambi eyes. She could make things awkward. You still don’t know what her part is and you need Beth Jones onside.

Judging by the hostile vibe of her crossed arms and her closed expression, he had his work cut out.

“Surely there must be one tiny thing you like about me, right? Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here.”

She tilted her head with a curious expression. “Why is it so important I like you?”

“Because then you can start to trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

Luke watched her grab a cloth and wipe the table in swift, jerky movements.

He could read people pretty well, yet Beth Jones was an enigma. In direct contrast to yesterday, she was armored up in a green shirt and jeans, her hair efficiently pulled back low on her neck. Defensive, yes. Self-sufficient, definitely. Yet he couldn’t quite get a handle on the rest … and loose cannons made him nervous.

Despite her desperation to get rid of him and the mess she was now in, she hadn’t mentioned cops or lawyers again. He’d expected tears or anger, not this cool, calm logic. She’d even dug in her heels and dared him to prove his story, which meant she was confident with hers.

His initial hunch was correct—she was hiding something.

He crossed his arms and tested his theory. “We do this my way or we hand it all over to our lawyers. And I’m pretty sure you won’t like the alternative.”

She narrowed her eyes, her smile tight. “So I guess we’re about to find out who’s trustworthy, aren’t we?”

Three

They got into Luke’s car and set off in silence.

Instead of thinking about those long fingers changing gears a hairbreadth away, she tried to focus on the things she didn’t like—his arrogant attitude, the way he took control. Those all-seeing, all-knowing eyes. The tension in his shoulders … hard, firm shoulders … That kissable mouth …

As he changed into third gear, she jumped again, the warmth of his knuckles sending a tingle up her leg. She stole a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead and didn’t appear to be having a problem keeping his hormones in check.

“So,” he finally said, absently running a finger around his rolled-up shirtsleeve and working the material, bringing Beth’s attention to the tanned forearm underneath. “We’ll make a stop at the real estate agent’s first then head to Brisbane.”

“What makes you think they’ll tell you anything?”

“Because I can be very persuasive.”

Oh, I’m sure you can.

“So how did you find them?” he asked.

“They’re local, a few of my clients use them and they had what I was after.” She glanced sideways, taking in his expression. “Look, they’re a legitimate business with an office, a receptionist and a bunch of listings. It’s not like I threw my money at any old bum in the street.”

“I’ve no doubt their operation is professional,” Luke said.

“And I have all the right papers, as you saw.”

“I also saw you have three months left on your lease.” She clamped her mouth shut. She wouldn’t have to suffer his presence much longer. Before day’s end this would all be cleared up.

She focused back on the road, staring out the window as they moved along Pacific Highway, passing Australia Fair shopping complex before driving over the Nerang River.

Soon, Aphrodite’s appeared on the left, all towering glass and concave walls. A replica of the Venus de Milo standing proudly atop seemed subdued in the daylight, almost grave in her state of undress. But at night, when all the lights of the casino came on, reflecting on the lake below like a never-ending fireworks display, she glowed with inner beauty. A magnificent spectacle that was still a regular Gold Coast draw twenty years on.

A familiar line of hotels, shops and restaurants flanked busy Surfers Paradise Boulevard as they crawled along with the rest of the traffic, the pungent smell of exhaust fumes mingling with the familiar saltiness of the Pacific Ocean a few hundred feet away.

She chanced another glance at Luke—deep in thought—and set her mouth in a grim line.

“Why are you getting involved in this, anyway? Don’t you have an army of lawyers to do all the legwork?”

The unspoken mistrust hovered, warm and cloying, until he pulled into a parking space across from Cavill Mall.

He switched off the engine and turned to face her.

“For whatever reason, Gino Corelli gave me that house. So—”

“Wait, what? Gino Corelli? He’s your uncle?” Shock slammed into Beth, choking her breath. She tried to swallow but failed. “The owner of Aphrodite’s? The one who’s just been under investigation from the gaming commission?”

“Yeah, so?”

At his confused expression, she slumped back in her seat and stared blankly ahead. “Gino Corelli,” she repeated slowly. “So you’re … he’s … My God! You … you … You were in my home … using my toaster!”

His black frown loomed like storm-filled clouds. “I thought you knew who I was!”

“You, yes. Not who your uncle is … was. I …” The words caught in her throat as his expression iced over.

“The press are wrong. The commission didn’t have enough evidence to bring to the Director of Public Prosecutions,” he returned tightly.

Beth scrambled out of the car, desperate to dislodge the sour taste in her mouth. What on earth was she in the middle of?

Luke rounded the hood and came toward her.

“You just keep your distance!” she ordered. The brief newsflashes she’d been unable to avoid burst in her mind, robbing her of coherent thought. “Corelli’s a crime boss who laundered money and was bribing the cops and …” She scrambled for further details but it was futile. All that stood out was something about insider trading—and Luke worked for one of the largest merchant banks in Australia.

“Allegedly bribing the cops. Allegedly laundering money.” His eyes went stony, his expression grim. A wall of self-protection to hide the blow she’d unthinkingly dealt him. “One disgruntled employee with an ax to grind, and the mighty press finishes the job. And for the record, Ms. Jones, the case was eventually thrown out and I was never formally named. They didn’t splash that on the front page though, did they?” He spun on his heel and strode across the road.

His words struck Beth like a slap. A wave of shame immediately followed, burning her cheeks as surely as if he’d landed the blow.

She had hurt him. She’d never willingly hurt anyone, yet she’d blurted out those accusations without a thought as to Luke’s innocence.

A small groan of dismay escaped as she recalled the scant details. More important, she remembered the overwhelming rush of sympathy she’d felt for Luke De Rossi right before she’d clicked off the TV in frustration. She had avoided the news since then and frankly, the absence of hearsay, rumor and half-truths was wonderfully liberating.

So why was she so willing to believe in Luke’s guilt now?

That thought propelled her into action. She dashed across the street to where Luke was impatiently waiting, his eyes hidden by sunglasses.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I overreacted. I …” She shrugged, at a loss for words. “It’s not exactly been a normal day for me, okay?”

He sighed, as if suddenly tired of arguing. “Yeah. Me neither. So let’s just focus on clearing up this mess.”

Then he turned and Beth followed in silence as he stalked down the mall.

By the time they’d made it through the gradually thickening crowd of tourists and office workers, avoided a persistent busker and his jovial crowd then a group of teenagers with surfboards, Beth was slightly out of breath. Luke’s purposeful strides left her in the dust. The determined set to his jaw and shoulders screamed “get out of my way.” No wonder people stopped to stare as he breezed by, their whispers and odd looks quickly masked as she stabbed them with a glare.

As they approached Crown Real Estate, they both noticed the closed sign and the locked glass doors.

“Open at ten,” Luke muttered, glaring at the sign. Still, he tried the handle, then shielded his eyes and peered in. Suddenly he pulled back with a soft curse, a moment too late.

A key rattled and the door opened an inch. A business-suited man, his tie askew, smiled out at them.

“Sorry. Office opens in half an hour.”

“Is Jay around?” Beth asked.

“She’s doing a bunch of showings until twelve. Hang on.” He disappeared for a second then returned with a business card. “Call her mobile.” His gaze flicked over to Luke and lingered. “Hey, I know you. You’re—”

“No one important. Thanks.” Luke turned and took Beth’s arm, steering her away.

Beth extracted herself from Luke’s grip moments later.

“Well, that was a bust,” he muttered.

“Not entirely.” Beth took out her phone and punched in the number on the card as they walked back to the car.

“Message bank.” She left a brief message then clicked off. “Great. So what now?”

Luke shoved his hands deep in his pockets and tightened his jaw. “We’re going to Brisbane.”

Two hours later, after meeting with Gino’s lawyer, they rode the elevator down to the basement parking lot in silence.

Beth punched the button again, barely sparing him a glance. She glared at the tiny red numbers, her plunging stomach having little to do with their descent.

“So that’s it, then. You win.”

He glanced up from his phone, still scrolling. “It’s not about me winning.”

“Isn’t it?” She crossed her arms, refusing to look at him.

“No. Probate will take a few months then the estate has to be wound up. That’ll take years.”

Years. “What about my tenancy agreement?”

“Your lease expires the same time the agency’s management agreement does.” Luke frowned then tapped the screen.

“I was in that meeting too.” She scowled at him. “Both are legally binding—”

He held up a hand and put the phone to his ear. “It’s Luke De Rossi.”

Man, that was really beginning to bug her! Beth waited in simmering silence until he hung up.

“I’ll buy the house from you,” she said suddenly. “How much?”

One eyebrow lifted. “I need to get it properly assessed.”

“Ballpark, then.”

He studied her in total silence before saying slowly, “It’ll be way out of your price range.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “How would you know?”

“You do know a Sunset Island price tag starts at a million? What would you use as collateral?”

“My business. And when I get this thing with the bank sorted—”

“What if you don’t?”

“I will. And anyway, I’m there until my lease is up, which gives me time.”

“No.”

“You’re going to keep it?” she asked, surprised.

“Look, it’s not personal.”

At her blatant skepticism, his expression twisted in annoyance. “Gino’s investments took a big hit in the financial crisis, the casino’s been hemorrhaging cash and the gaming commission probe scared a lot of people off. I need to sell quickly and quietly so I can get back to my job. Now, unless you have a spare couple of million hanging around, that rules you out.”

Her initial surprise quickly transformed into irritation. “So nothing matters except protecting your reputation?”

“Do not—” he narrowed his eyes “—presume to judge me, Beth. We still don’t know why you’re involved here.”

“Well, it’s obviously just a massive coincidence.”

His silence and flat expression told her what he thought of that. “I can offer you a good price for your lease.”

She blinked. He wanted her gone that badly he was willing to buy her out? “I don’t want to leave. I want my house.”

The elevator doors opened then and he walked out without a word.

Wow. Talk about shutting her down. She watched his long legs eat up the distance, taking him farther away with each stride until he paused and turned.

“Coming?”

His voice echoed in the great concrete cavern. A thousand different retorts, all considered then discarded, formed as she stalked toward him.

Her phone rang then, but he suddenly grabbed her arm.

She hissed, twisting in his warm grip. “What do you—”

“Shh. Something’s not right.”

“But—”

“Move. Now.”

Her eyes went in the direction of his nod, to the fire stairs nestled in a concrete alcove, then widened.

And all hell broke loose.

Four

Like a deer caught in the headlights, she froze.

A second too late.

A handful of reporters surged forward from the stairwell, surrounding them like a fluid entity. Cameras flashed, microphones thrust forward as they yelled out questions and jostled for a better position.

“How are you taking the suspension, Luke?”

“Have you hired Gino’s lawyers to defend you?”

“Any truth to the rumor you’ve been accused of insider trading?”

The air buzzed, frantic and urgent. Luke fought against the sea of bodies, shielding his face as he grabbed Beth’s wrist just before a camera slammed into his shoulder. Sucking in a grunt and with Beth firmly in his grip, he turned and ran.

Beth gulped in huge lungfuls of air and picked up the pace, her flat shoes slapping on the concrete as they raced toward their car.

Luke glanced back before aiming his keys at the car. With a pop and flash of lights, the locks disengaged. “Get in!”

She barely had time to close her door before he gunned the engine and took off.

The car flew over a speed bump. Luke spun the steering wheel and the tires squealed, the smell of burned rubber hitting Beth seconds later as she slammed into his shoulder.

“Slow down!” She righted herself from that wall of muscle quickly. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

“Just trying to lose their tail and avoid any pedestrians with a death wish.”

He followed that with an abrupt swerve, barely missing a jaywalking youth. Luke ignored the obscene comment and gesture left in their wake. He did, however, inch his foot off the accelerator.

Beth glanced through the back window. A beat-up cream-colored car that had been following was stuck at the now-red light. “You’re losing them.”

Luke barely managed two more yellow lights before their pursuers were lost in the steady flow of traffic.

He matched the car’s speed to the signed limit and Beth finally loosened her grip on the door handle.

“You okay?” He glanced at her.

Her pulse pounded in her forehead, but she gave him a nod, grateful for the blasting air-conditioning. “How on earth did they know where we were?”

“People noticed us at the mall. It only takes one phone call.” He glanced in the rearview then changed lanes.

“Great.” Beth sighed and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear as her heart began to slow. “So what do we do now?”

“We’re going to the airport.”

“The what?”

“Here, take the wheel.”

She grabbed the steering wheel as Luke flipped open his phone. “This is Luke De Rossi. I need the plane ready for takeoff in around thirty minutes.” He paused, said, “Thanks,” then hung up.

“We’re flying?” She relinquished the wheel.

“Yep.”

Her throat tightened, suddenly dry, and she squeezed her eyes shut, the stony walls of frustration lying heavy on her shoulders for one brief second.

It had been ten years. Ten long, full years of triumphs and achievements. She’d worked hard, been in control. She’d overcome enormous hurdles many would have run from. She was living her life.

It made sense to do this. It was the quickest way to leave the tailing press behind.

But a plane …

For a nanosecond the awful flashes screamed by, but she refused to let them linger.

She swallowed again and straightened her spine. You can do this. You have to.

It was one thing to convince herself while they were driving, but soon they were on the tarmac, the shiny Beechcraft King Air plane awaiting them.

She stared at the clean white lines of the turboprop plane, the large twin engines, the glossy paintwork as her heart began to race.

Pound, pound, pound. The sudden primeval urge to run snaked low as a shaky breath jammed in her throat.

Therapy worked. It stopped those nightmares. It helped to handle the fear and guilt. It can’t rule your life anymore.

When she choked down a short groan, she could feel Luke’s eyes on her.

“You don’t like flying?”

She nodded mutely, her eyes still locked on the plane.

“Soooo …” He paused. “You’ve never been on a plane at all?”

“Once. It … didn’t go well.” Boy, understatement of the century. She blinked, filling her lungs slowly then emptying them again, just as she’d been taught.

“After instrument check, it’s a fifteen-minute flight to Surfers—we go up, we come down. The whole thing will take an hour. I’ve made the trip a thousand times.”

But it only takes one. She remained silent, her heart battering her tight chest.

When Luke took her hand she nearly jumped out of her skin, her nerves lurching as his fingers laced intimately through hers.

“Okay?”

“No.”

“You can do this.”

With his hand enveloping hers, she let him tug her across the tarmac, the steady roar of Brisbane airport’s air traffic swirling around them.

“Mr. De Rossi.” Their pilot stood by the stairs and nodded. “We have clearance, when you’re ready.”

“Get us up, John.” Luke mounted the stairs, still holding her hand. Her viselike grip must have been uncomfortable, but he said nothing. His warm skin, firm fingers and cool authority were a welcome distraction, even if her breath still raced as they walked up the metal stairs one clanky footstep at a time.

But when she stepped into the plane’s cool interior, fear was momentarily suspended.

“Wow.” Perfectly circular tinted windows let in enough light to display the oval interior to luxurious perfection. She counted six spacious seats in soft honey leather before running her gaze over the polished mahogany paneling and fittings, the immaculate carpet, then the cockpit just beyond. She barely registered Luke’s hand slipping from hers as she took one step inside, then another.

“Pretty cool, huh?” he said behind her.

“It looks like a limousine.” She slowly ran her hand down one headrest.

Just as soft as it looked. She breathed in a myriad of scents—leather, new carpet, even a faint whisper of cigar smoke. The scent of power and money.

Then Luke shifted behind her and suddenly a luscious hint of ginger and spices, mingled with something all male, flooded her senses.

Her heart kicked up, but whether it was from the impending flight or Luke’s proximity, she couldn’t tell.

Then his hand was on the small of her back and she had to swallow back her nerves.

“Take a seat and buckle up.” He nudged her forward then took the seat next to hers, the leather squealing in protest.

She could do nothing but follow his lead.

Luke watched Beth squeeze her eyes shut as the plane began to taxi down the runway, her breath coming short and sharp. Sweat beaded across her forehead and her grip tightened on his, threatening to cut off his blood supply. He swallowed a wince.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, her eyes edged open. “What?”

“It’s better if you don’t shut your eyes.”

She scowled. “What would you know about it?”

“My aunt hates flying, too—her first and only trip was when she and Gino immigrated here forty years ago. If she can’t get to it by car or boat, she doesn’t go.”

“Oh.” She jumped as the gears clunked into place. Then he began to gently stroke her knuckles and she blinked.

“What are you doing?”

“Calming you down.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“No?” He continued, his eyes fixed on her pale face. “When were you in a limo?”

“What?” The plane sped up and she dragged in a raggedy breath, but Luke wouldn’t let her look away.

“You said the plane looked like a limousine.”

“Yes.”

He reached up and twisted the knob for the air-conditioning in the overhead panel, and when the cool air flooded down, she breathed deeply.

“A limo?” he prompted, settling in his seat.

“A bunch of us hired one to celebrate our final year of study. My first and last taste of the high liiiii—!”

The plane swooped up, his stomach quickly following, and Beth’s hand gripped his until his fingers began to throb.

He winced and ignored the pain.

Beth swallowed, knowing she was hurting him but helpless to stop. Yet past all that blood-thumping anxiety, his strong hands wrapped around hers and his deep voice murmured gentle inanities that eventually broke through her panic. Yes, she still wanted to jerk her hand away, but the desire to overcome this awful debilitating fear was greater.

She hated losing control. Yet as she kept her eyes focused on Luke, listening to him recite the plane’s capabilities and luxurious interior specifications, she felt something shift. It could’ve been the intimate warmth of skin on skin, or the sensual timbre of his voice. Or maybe it was the promising flicker behind those eyes she wasn’t quite sure she’d seen.

When he leaned in, she did, too, her gaze snagged on that sensual mouth only centimetres away. But it was his scent that made her tummy flip in a completely different way.

Lord, he smelled wonderful. She took a deep, shaky breath, just to make sure. Yes. Oh, yes. She closed her eyes. Ginger, peppermint. Hint of bergamot. And …

“Are you sniffing me, Beth?”

Her eyes sprang open, her face hot. “I … uh …”

His mouth curved. “We’re in the air, by the way.”

“What?” She yanked away and whirled to the window, heart reverberating in her throat.

“You don’t need to look.” He recaptured her hands, forcing her to turn back. “Just keep focusing on me. Just breathe. And tell me about your work.”

“My work?”

“Well, how did you get your own business? Did you go to university?”

“No.” She swallowed, allowing his eyes to command hers. “I did a course at my local college. Four years and I had my diploma in massage therapy. I—”

The plane banked right and Beth tightened her grip.

“Go on.”

She swallowed then continued faintly, “I did a few business courses, worked a bunch of jobs. And here I am.”

“Why massage therapy?”

“Because I’m good at it.” And I like the idea of taking away someone’s pain.

“Your family?”

She bit back a familiar sliver of sorrow. “None.”

His gaze softened. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “What about yours?”

“My parents died when I was fifteen.” She noticed the tightening of his expression, the tiny twitch at the corner of his jaw. “Robbery gone wrong.”

“That’s …” Sad? Awful? Terrible? Beth paused. Any word she chose was inadequate.

Luke took pity on her. “Yeah. Gino and Rosa took me in until I was eighteen.”

Beth flicked a nervous glance out the window, to the clouds floating by, then back again. “You were a gifted child, right? Graduated from a seven-year university degree at nineteen.”

He moved uncomfortably in his seat. “Yep. I’ve been working for Jackson and Blair since then.”

Despite the air-conditioning, she felt the slow trickle of sweat meander down her back, coming to rest at the base of her spine. She shifted, the heavy echo of her heartbeat drowning out the engine’s gentle drone.

After a moment or two, he said, “It’s like a roller coaster.”

“What is?”

“Flying. You start off real fast, take off and roll with the dips and turns. It’s over before you know it.”

She smiled suddenly. “I liked the Tarantula better.”

“The what?”

“You know, the ride that swoops up and down and in and out as it spins?”

Luke grinned. “Gotta say, I’ve never tried it.”

“Really? You do not know what you’re missing.”

“Tell me.”

Beth took one look at his serious expression, debated for half a second then continued.

“My mother used to take me to the annual Bathurst Show. The guy who operated the Tarantula always slowed it down in the middle of your ride and called out, ‘Do you wanna go faster?’ And of course, we all screamed, ‘Yes!’ and he’d yell back, ‘Let me see your hands!’ and then we’d wave our hands above our heads like crazy while he cranked it up, faster and faster.” She sighed. “We flew and it just stole your breath, like being out of control but in a good way …” She paused at his grin then added a little self-conscious one of her own. “Aaaand I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It was.”

They remained that way, held only by their smiles, until Beth sensed something more, something … kind of dangerous and yet somehow comforting lying just below the surface.

She stared. A shot of desire hit the pit of her stomach and spread, heating her body. His gaze slowly slid down to the swell of her bottom lip and she was too late to steel herself. Her breath stuttered out. As he continued his slow scrutiny, her skin began to tingle, an irritating yet anticipatory buzz that spread up from her legs to her belly in seconds flat.

Arousal—hot, dark and unwanted—body-slammed her, stealing her breath, eliciting a small gasp of dismay.

She dragged her hands from his and leaned away, swallowing a murmur as the plane began to descend.

“We’re nearly there,” Luke said as he pulled his phone from his jacket and began scrolling. “You did well.”

“Thanks.”

An intimate, almost tangible silence fell as the plane swooped in for a landing. Beth refused to break it. She couldn’t bear to vocalize what had nearly passed between them.

Because there was no way she was going to succumb to the charms of Luke De Rossi, simple as that.

Five

The landing was a gut-clenching, lip-biting affair, but she managed to make it through without completely losing it. A gray limousine—one of Surfers’ most common modes of transportation—was waiting for them as they disembarked.

At least it’d provide much-needed anonymity, space and distance from the roadblock in her life that was Luke De Rossi.

She settled in the soft leather seat, buckled up and prayed for the forty-minute drive to be over as quickly as possible.

“Drink?”

She glanced up and he nodded to the bar fridge laid into the dash. “Mineral water, juice, Coke …”

“Tequila?”

He didn’t bat an eye. “Sure.”

She smiled humorlessly. “Mineral water’s fine.”

She waited until he’d finished playing host, until he handed her the drink, poured himself a Scotch on the rocks then settled back.

She pointedly turned to the window and drew the icy glass across her cheek with a sigh.

First those cameras, the frenzied questions, everyone pushing and shoving. Then the scary, gut-wrenching flight that felt as if her stomach had been sucked out with a straw.

Yet she’d made it.

Triumph curved her lips in the tinted reflection. She’d done it. With Luke’s help, she’d taken that first step into the unknown and conquered some of her fears.

The victory lingered briefly, until the inevitable memories began to seep in. And slowly, she watched her mouth flatten and her eyes harden.

She’d been eighteen—just a kid. Too young to know better, too weak to hold on.

Frustration snaked its way under her skin, making everything achy, her breath like jagged pieces stabbing her throat on the way in. Those months after the crash had been mind-numbingly tough, her desperation for privacy tested by the public’s morbid fascination with every gory detail. On the very first anniversary she’d caved and given an interview, naively assuming the reporter would keep her personal details anonymous. In the ensuing press avalanche, she’d gone off the grid, working a dozen different cash-in-hand jobs, living in near squalor in Sydney’s far west before reinventing herself. All had been worth it to finally get through night college and earn her TAFE certificate in remedial massage.

She could’ve joined the other survivors in their class action suit but that would’ve involved too many questions, too much publicity. For so long the crash had been her first and last waking thought, consuming every hour, every day, every dream and horror-filled nightmare until she’d somehow managed to leave the past behind and focus on her future.

Stop. You can’t go back. Only forward.

Beth rubbed at her eye sockets until her face ached, until she managed to shove those memories away and her shoulders slowly relaxed.

When she softly exhaled, the window misted. She wiped it away. Now was not the time and place to lose it, not when she needed all her wits and strength to deal with the here and now.

Through the window’s reflection she glanced at Luke, but the melting ice in his drink had his rapt attention.

He handled millions, no, billions, on a daily basis, rubbed shoulders and dealt with clients who made ridiculous amounts of money. The sheer scale of the league she was now in blew her away.

“Do you still think I’m your uncle’s secret mistress?” she asked quietly, still staring out the window.

He paused, but when she turned to face him, he shook his head. “No.”

“Good.”

Another moment of silence passed as they studied each other like wary opponents unwilling to concede.

“I’m serious about my offer to buy you out,” he said suddenly. “I can make it worth your while. You can start over in a new place, something closer to Surfers—”

“Let me tell you something.” She shifted, crossed one leg over the other and gave him her full attention. “Imagine someone gives you a car—it’s old, it’s worn, there are a few bumps and scratches on it and a bit of rust. But still you can see the potential behind all that because up until now, all you’ve ever had were total lemons that weren’t even roadworthy. You spend years on improving that car, banging out the dings, replacing the tires, giving it a new paint job. You sweat and obsess because it gives you a purpose, transports you from your studies, from your crappy waitressing and cleaning jobs, and shows you the possibilities that come with a little hard work and determination. It becomes more than just a project—it becomes a part of who you are. And finally, when you’ve got it running perfectly and that sweet feeling of pride sings through your veins, a guy shows up and demands you turn it over to him. Yes, legally I know I’m just a tenant,” she added quickly just as he opened his mouth. “But, Luke, I put my heart and soul into that place when I had absolutely nothing else. Can you understand that?”

After an interminable silence, a faint ring permeated the air. Without a word he pulled out his phone. Beth sighed and went back to staring out the window.

“Connor. What’s up?” Luke said by way of greeting.

“I heard about the commotion on the 10:00 a.m. newsflash.”

Luke ground his teeth and muttered a curse. “Yeah, we lost them on the way to Brisbane airport.”

“Where are you now?”

“Surfers. Pacific Highway.”

“What? And who’s ‘we’?”

Luke glanced at Beth staring out the window then brought his best friend and boss up to speed.

“I see,” was all Connor said when he’d finished explaining. Luke cringed. He could just picture the dark, impassive expression on Connor’s face.

Luke clamped down on his jaw, grinding his teeth hard. Gino was his uncle. Everything he did reflected on Luke, which in turn reflected on Jackson and Blair. And because of that, good men and women had suffered the fallout. Like Connor Blair. The court case may be over, but the securities commission was still determined to put Jackson and Blair through an internal inquiry.

No wonder Connor was on edge.

“So what’s Gino’s connection to this woman—Beth Jones?” Connor finally said.

“No idea. I called Dylan.”

“The ex-con?”

“P.I. now. The guy owes me a favor.”

“You’re supposed to lay low. In case you missed it, that wasn’t a request.”

Luke ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “And I can kiss that promotion goodbye if I don’t get my name cleared.”

“You will. You made a statement and the majority of the Board is behind you. I’m working on the rest of them. Now it’s up to the commission next month.”

“But—”

“You’ve never second-guessed yourself before, Luke. Why now?” Luke remained silent until Connor broke it. “Your cousin still pissed at you?”

“Yep.”

“And this Beth Jones. She’s not a criminal?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“She an ax murderer? A hit man? A reporter?” He could barely keep the contempt from his voice.

“What—?”

“Do you have a natural disaster about to open the ground? A flood? A bushfire that will raze the house? Because these are the only things I’ll be looking for if I see your name in the papers.”

“Mate …”

“I don’t want to hear it. This latest news flash is the last straw. The company’s under an internal investigation and my soon-to-be vice president is accused of money laundering only because he shares blood with Gino Corelli. Unless your life’s in danger, you are going to wait this out.”

Luke thought of a dozen comebacks, none of them adequate. “How long?” he finally said.

“Take the rest of the month. I’ll give you a call when you need to come in for the hearing.”

He could hear a faint sound in the background, which meant Connor had grabbed a pen and was tapping the end on the desk. Luke could just imagine the accompanying facial expression—a mixture of weariness and caution.

“Okay,” Luke conceded.

“Oh, and Luke?” Connor said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“Get a massage. Otherwise you’ll get a headache.”

Luke cut the call then settled back in the seat. Beth was on her phone, pressing buttons. “I missed a called from the agent and she texted me,” she said. “We can call her back in an hour.” She returned the phone to her pocket. “A bit pointless now, though.” She sighed and changed the subject. “So you’re up for a promotion.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the job?”

“Vice president of international investments.” He tapped the phone against his knee, thoughts churning.

“Think you’ll get it?”

“Right now, I have no idea.”

Silence fell. Then, “This is not good, is it?” she asked softly.

Luke finally glanced over and their gazes met.

There it was again, that odd vulnerability. It jarred deep inside, stirring long-buried feelings that set his whole body on alert even as he tried to quash it. He’d given up on that dumb compulsion years ago. But now, looking into Beth’s face with those wide green eyes and that guarded expression, he felt the familiar overwhelming urge to protect her from all the world’s wrongdoings.

She doesn’t need you to look after her. You need her out so you can sell that house and give Rosa the much-needed money. Then things will go back to normal.

“Well,” he said slowly, “it’s not all bad.”

“And what’s your definition of ‘bad’?”

“No one got hurt and we have some answers.” He settled back in the seat and laced his fingers behind his neck. “On a scale of one to ten it’d rank at about seven.”

“Including the press ambush?”

He arched one dark brow. “Now you see why I wanted to fly solo? The press would eat you alive.”

Beth swallowed. How little he knew. And why was he picking her apart with that look? She needed the Luke of last night—arrogant and argumentative—so she had a legitimate reason for disliking him.

For one heartbeat Beth wondered what it’d be like to have all that long-lashed, dark-eyed charm smiling only for her.

She stared at his mouth. A delicious-looking mouth with a full bottom lip. A totally kissable mouth that a woman with half a brain would fantasize about.

Don’t even think about it. Luke was definitely a “love ‘em and leave ‘em” guy. Unpredictable, career-devoted and an attention magnet. Attention she had spent years avoiding. Getting involved with him—however superb the encounter promised to be—was the last thing she needed.

She looked away even as her skin began to tingle annoyingly. “What’s our next move?”

“So you’re determined to stay?”

“I still have a lease, in case you’ve forgotten. Legally—”

“Look, if you were in any position to call a lawyer you would’ve done it hours ago. Right? So if you’re not moving out and won’t consider my offer, it leaves with me with only one option. I’m moving in.”

Her mouth gaped before she snapped it shut. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking. I’ve got reporters camped out at my apartment, so I can’t go back without leading them to the house. And—” He stopped abruptly, but she already knew what he’d been about to say.

I still don’t trust you.

Well, fine. She didn’t trust him, either.

“Take it or leave it, Beth. Do we have a deal?”

As the moment stretched in the cool silence, Luke tried to ignore that wide-eyed stare, the frustration and indignation playing out so clearly on her face. Tried, but somewhere inside, something tugged annoyingly on his conscience.

Finally, she said, “Why are you doing this? There’s nothing more to find out and the house will be yours in three months.”

“Because I’m involved.”

“You want to make sure your name stays out of the papers.”

“Yes. And because, a long time ago, there was no one there to help me or my family.” He deliberately avoided those accusing eyes, lingering instead on her mouth.

Damn. Bad move.

“You were told the owners were overseas, right? So why would they lie to you? Plus, there’s the mater of your missing money.”

Luke watched her expression go from shock to resentment, her cheeks twin flaming spots of frustration. He could practically see the steam coming from her ears.

“Get on board or leave, Beth.” He added, “I can help with your bank problem—”

She pulled out her phone and dialed while Luke remained in frustrated silence.

“So a woman came in claiming she was a friend of the owners requesting the tenant be ‘preferably female, single, nonsmoker, employed or owning own business.’”

She nodded, studying him as he proccessed that information. “It’s time to pay my aunt a visit.”

Luke must have let something slip in his expression because a small frown marred her forehead as she studied him.

“You don’t want to see her,” she said slowly.

He shrugged. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, the scowl, the tight jaw. The way you’re narrowing your eyes right now. Plus the lawyer told you in no uncertain terms you should.”

He remained stubbornly silent until he finally said, “I haven’t seen her since Gino’s will reading two weeks ago.”

“So why—”

“It’s complicated.”

“I see.”

And still she continued to sit there, watching him in silent scrutiny until frustration seeped warmly from his skin.

“First this inquiry, then Gino’s heart attack, the funeral. She’s been through a lot.”

“So have you.” When she tilted her head, a blond curl slid across her cheek. “All that anger isn’t good. You should see someone.”

“I don’t need a shrink.”

She brushed the curl away. “I meant a physiotherapist or masseuse.”

“It’s nothing sleep can’t fix.” He stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankle before eyeing her speculatively. “You know, we’re more alike than you think.”

“Really?”

He ignored the sarcasm. “We’re both work driven, handling a lot of stress, and now we’ve got this situation messing up our lives. Which brings me back to my original problem. What’s our connection, Beth Jones?”

“I know as much as you do.” She glanced out the window as they passed the sign to Sunset Island.

“Sure.”

“So you think I’m hiding something.”

“I’ll bet my fifteen years at Jackson and Blair.”

“And in fifteen years you’ve become a master of avoiding a question,” Beth pointed out.

“What question?”

“Relaxation? You’ve got nothing to lose. Unless you like having a sore neck.”

He gave her a look. “Sounds like you want this for me more than I do.”

She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Ignore the expert.” Yet he couldn’t miss that fleeting look of concern as she turned back to the window.

He paused, allowing the events of the last day to press oppressively down. If he watched his back, he could hide out until the press frenzy blew over. Maybe. If luck was on his side.

But there was one big problem. A blonde, beautiful, hostile problem.

“Okay. A massage,” he said suddenly. But when she turned back to him, a small smile blooming, he added, “A massage for some background information.”

She blinked. “Some things are personal.”

“And we’re in each other’s faces, which is about as personal as it gets.”

The silence was absolute, a stark and obscene contrast to the noisy thoughts warring in Beth’s head.

Damn Luke and his steady chip-chip-chipping away at her defenses. She needed space, much more space than this luxurious interior would allow. Like another continent’s worth.

“Look,” she finally said, “I’m tired of arguing.”

“Then don’t.”

For one crazy second, Beth thought about walking away and letting him deal with the mess. Quickly, she rejected it. He’s prepared to fight for this. So am I.

“I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this, Beth.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“And I can pull my weight around the house. I can clean, fix that loose pantry door. I even make a mean lasagna.”

A vision of Luke cooking in her kitchen jolted her. Another quickly followed—only this time he was stripped to the waist and teasing her with those come-to-bed eyes.

As if reading her thoughts, he grinned. “You’re tempted. The thought of a home-cooked lasagna got you, hey?”

The fantasy scattered. Confusion and pleasure battled for the lead until irritation won out. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing with that seductive smile and I’m-so-charming routine.”

His smile dropped. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to—”

“And don’t insult us both by denying it.” She scowled. “You really think that’s going to work on me?”

Instead of being insulted, that sensual smile just got wider. “You know what I think? I think you’re just trying to pick faults when there aren’t any. That you’re irritated because you desperately want to dislike me. That—” he held up his hand when she opened her mouth to interrupt “—that despite this weird situation you’re actually attracted to me, cara.”

She floundered for a second or two, trying to wrap her head around his bluntness, her cheeks flaming at his obvious amusement.

“Rubbish!”

He winked. “You sure?”

If a man could purr, Luke would be doing it right now. Coupled with that look and the memory of heat on her skin where his fingers had caressed her, he personified danger with a capital D. And he was about to move into her spare room and share her bathroom.

“Positive.” She turned away as her body hummed, a low throb reminding her that impending danger was only a couple of feet away.

She sat back in the luxurious leather, trying to put her thoughts in order. Yet she kept returning to the same conclusion. She might not like his methods. His mere presence may set her pulse racing and her internal alarms on high. But short of a miracle, she needed help finding Ben and sorting out her bank mix-up.

Plus, his staying with her was a perfect chance to convince him to sell.

Her mouth tightened as she turned back to him. “We need to set some ground rules.”

One eyebrow rose. “Okay …?”

“One. We share whatever information we find.”

Luke nodded.

“Two. No physical stuff. I mean it, Luke,” she warned as his eyes crinkled. “No touching. No smiling. Definitely nothing else.”

“So I can’t smile at you now?”

“You know what I mean. No Mr. Charming. Stop it!”

Luke, to his credit, tried to swallow the offending grin. “I can’t promise that, cara. But I will keep my distance if that’s what you want. However,” he added, his mouth kinking up, “if you should change your mind …” Her heart beat a little faster.

“I won’t be asking.”

“Really.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you doubt my willpower?”

“No.” He grinned. “Just questioning why I get you all flustered in the first place.”

The arrogance of the man! Beth looked away as the car finally pulled into the driveway and she leaped out as if her life depended on it.

He followed her up the front steps. “Running away won’t do any good, cara.” His liquid voice dropped to a husky rumble. “You tell me I need to relax, but look at you. You’re a bundle of nerves.”

Welcoming the cold indignation that started in the pit of her stomach, she whirled on him.

“You ever think maybe it could be you stressing me out?” She jammed her keys in the front door and managed to break a nail in the process. Cursing, she glared at him. “I’ve spent the better part of ten years getting my life just the way I want it and suddenly it’s snatched away. Do you know how damn frustrating that is?” She tightened her hands into fists and placed them on her hips, the keys forgotten, dangling from the lock. “It galls me to ask for help but yes, I need it. But let me get something straight—I don’t need fixing or saving or anything else. And I’m not going to be your project, so you can get that out of your head, too.”

She paused for breath.

“You finished?” Luke asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Good. You got the wrong guy. Playing the knight in shining armor isn’t my thing. All I want is to clear my name and get back to my job. And we both want to keep this out of the papers.”

The keys suddenly fell from the lock and they both bent for them. Their hands collided. Then their gazes. Luke was so close he could smell her—lemons and freshness and rain—could nearly touch those soft curls that framed delicate earlobes. Could even feel the slow heat humming through her skin.

The woman was a baffling mix of “back off” and steely determination. She didn’t want him around, yet she wasn’t going to leave. He’d never felt more confused.

She was the first to straighten. She did it so smoothly and with such aplomb that he almost missed the shadow of regret clouding her eyes.

Finally, Beth managed to open the door. Touching is supposed to be a major release for stress, she reminded herself as she walked down the hall. It boosts your immune system, it eases tension. It releases endorphins to help you relax.

Whoever thought that one up obviously hadn’t been touched by Luke De Rossi.

She glanced back. Luke stood in the doorway, looking very large, very male and totally in charge.

The expression on his face made her nerves backflip. “Trust me, Beth, I’ll get to the bottom of everything.”

Yeah, that’s what she was afraid of.

Six

Beth fought the overwhelming urge to pack up her things and drive away until this horrible situation was a distant memory. Instead, she went into the kitchen and watched Luke through the window as he made a few phone calls.

Oh, how she desperately wanted to demand he get a lawyer and she’d see him in court. But that would be supremely stupid, not to mention inflammatory.

Remember who he is and what he could do.

Luke De Rossi. In her home. In the bedroom next to hers.

Letting him in was a mistake. Luke was a very smart man, not to mention determinedly single-minded—and she had so much to lose, so many secrets to guard.

She watched him pace her front yard, phone still attached to his ear as the sun glared down, bathing him from shiny head to toe.

Her stomach made a weird little lurch.

You sure your secrets are all you’re worried about?

With a snort she yanked open her cupboard. He could deny it all he wanted—Luke was a white knight. He obviously believed they would sort everything out, the bad guys would be caught and justice would prevail.

She did not.

It would be better to think of him as a self-absorbed, perfectionist career junkie instead of the truth—that beneath the tough exterior was a man who wanted to spare his family further heartache, no matter how tainted Gino Corelli’s reputation had become. Who held her hand to distract her during that interminable flight.

Who wanted to make her lasagna.

She banged a cup on the countertop with a satisfying crack.

How long since a man had touched her? Wanted her? And he felt so good, smelled like a gift straight from heaven. Celibacy did that to you, made you forget what it was like to need someone.

Oh, boy.

Yanking open the fridge, she pulled out a carton of juice.

Why now, after all those years of denial, all those years spent carving out a life, did she have to start thinking of sex? And with someone like Luke De Rossi, a man whose mere presence could ruin everything?

Because you’ve got a good-looking guy up close, and you know that abstinence has been too much.

Beth poured the juice with an unsteady hand. She didn’t even like him.

She glanced out the window just in time to see Luke bending down to take an overnight bag the driver had retrieved from the trunk. His pants stretched tight, outlining a set of perfectly formed buttocks, and she groaned, turning away.

She would just have to focus on the problem at hand and not on that smooth-talking, dark-eyed, divine-smelling, soft-lipped … distraction about to settle in the guest room so unnervingly close to hers!

As Luke walked in, she downed the rest of her juice, muttered, “I’ll make up the spare room,” and left.

The room that served as her office was a mess. Aromatic oil bottles and bags of fragrant leaves littered every available space on the windowsill and bookcase. She grabbed up a box and stashed them in the wardrobe. Then she put the scattered accounts folders back on the shelves, drew the curtains, returned a pair of sneakers to her room. Even as she pulled out the sofa bed and started to make it, she still couldn’t get that flight out of her head. The soft caress of Luke’s fingers, the feel of his breath, the burn of want in his eyes. And his pure male smell, all warmth and promise. It took her breath away.

As if on cue, Luke appeared in the doorway. “Need a hand?”

“No.” She fluffed up the last pillow and tucked in the sheets. When she looked up, she caught the tail end of his scrutiny … and a sudden undeniable flame of heat flickering in those dark depths. But the second he realized she was looking, it was gone.

Beth straightened. “Look. I know I’m … I’ve been a bit—”

“Overzealous? Unbending?”

“Defensive. I like to be self-sufficient. And, well …” She shrugged. “You’re obviously a take-charge guy.”

The corners of his mouth kicked up. “In many things. Not all.”

If he sought to embarrass her, he was hitting the right notes. Picking up an empty cup from the desk, she turned to leave. He crowded the doorway—nasty habit of his—so she had to make a good impression of ignoring that broad chest as she brushed past. Especially ignoring those nerve endings that let up a cheer at his proximity.

“I’m going for a run,” she muttered. “Make yourself at home.”

Ten minutes later she descended the stairs dressed in a T-shirt and running shorts, her curls tucked under a worn blue cap.

With arms crossed, Luke watched her charge down the hall and slam out the front door.

Just what are you playing at, mate? First that thing in the plane, then the flirting. Now you’ve moved in. Next, you’ll be kissing, and you know where that’ll lead.

He swiped back his hair with a quick jerk. No. She had told him loud and clear she wasn’t interested. Except … he found himself wanting to believe that the surprised desire in those expressive eyes wasn’t just his imagination.

He thought about her mouth, how soft it had looked. How her skin felt, as smooth and unlined as the downy softness of a newborn. And how those mossy-green eyes had tugged at his common sense, dragging him under like a floundering swimmer at the beach.

Luke shoved those thoughts away and went to the foot of the stairs. Work and career had always been his prime objective, even before this mess. Even before he’d entertained the thought that he might make VP one day.

Before Gabrielle?

The faint twinge twisted low before he forced it away. Yeah, even before then. His brief disastrous marriage just proved his theory: you couldn’t have a demanding career and keep a relationship alive. One always had to suffer.

No, he liked his life just the way it was. And if he needed sex, he could always rely on a few willing female colleagues who were just as focused on their careers.

No-strings sex. Yep. Nothing like it.

If Luke had been looking in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, he would’ve been surprised to see a dark scowl blooming across his face.

Now he stood in the middle of the living room, casting an eye over the spread and cataloguing the details. There were two entrances: one from the short hallway and one via the kitchen. The faint aroma of coffee lingered, mingling with some fresh lemony, floral fragrance. Sunshine streamed through the huge bay window ahead, illuminating sunflower-yellow walls, two overstuffed couches and a coffee table in the center of the room. A small TV, open fireplace, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and an exposed-beam ceiling completed the comfy look, with colorful rugs spread on polished wooden floors.

This place held nothing of Gino and everything of Beth, which made his mistress theory an even longer stretch.

Luke went over to the photos he’d noticed on a bookcase yesterday. Beth and another female grinning outside a storefront. A shot with beach scenery. And an old black-and-white studio portrait of an icy blonde with a come-hither smile.

In thoughtful silence he picked up an unusually shaped candle in a blue glass holder and sniffed. Beth. Quickly, he replaced it.

He’d left his high-rise Brisbane apartment—a three-bedroom homage to every technological advancement—for this. Despite his perfectly decorated rooms, the massive plasma-TV screen and the appliance-ridden kitchen he only used for entertaining clients, there’d been no soul to the place. No warmth, no garden, and now, thanks to the reporters camped on the block, no privacy.

And for the second time in his life he was in a house Uncle Gino had provided.

But you’re not fifteen anymore. Not an angry, sullen teenager torn apart by the fury of his parents’ pointless struggle and the guilt of hating them for it.

He tilted his head and read the book titles on the shelves. Handbook of Aromatherapy, The Healing Body, The Small Business Owner’s Guide. The Complete History of Cartoons. And a bunch of sci-fi novels, their spines bent and cracked from use.

He cast another eye around the room and a vague, warm feeling settled over his shoulders. This was a home. A lived-in, occupied home. If all his stuff went up in smoke tomorrow, it could all be replaced by day’s end.

Disturbed, he let that uneasy feeling sit there for a second before shucking it off. It wouldn’t do any good to start getting off track. This was just a place to lay low until he met with the investigators next month. The situation would be resolved and he’d be back at work. Simple.

He wandered from living room to kitchen. He never let emotion distort his decisions, yet he’d chosen to share his space with a woman who was full of emotion, who had let an abundance of it shape and change her life. Case in point—her can’t-get-away-from-you-quick-enough dash when they’d got out the car.

He walked outside and sat on the porch swing. All around, the air was still and warm, no traffic, no urban noise to pierce the silent bubble of the perfect spring day.

Peace. Quiet. Stillness.

He breathed in deep and closed his eyes. Grass. Salty sea. The lemon tree at the end of the driveway.

Beth.

The moment stretched into a handful, until he finally opened his eyes and glanced at his phone.

Thirty minutes had gone by. Thirty minutes in which he hadn’t been making a deal or negotiating with clients or worrying about what Gino would do next to screw up his life.

Had Marco’s little psych evaluation at Gino’s funeral been right? “You care too much about what’s past and what you can’t change, Luke. You hold a grudge for way too long. Take it from someone who’s been there—you’re on the fast track for a spectacular crash if you don’t slow the hell down.”

And as he delved into the waters of self-doubt, he didn’t like what he saw.

With a soft sigh, he reached for his phone and started to make the first of a handful of calls.

Beth didn’t run because she enjoyed it, although sometimes she actually did. She ran because exercise effectively cleared her head like nothing else. And today, she needed the clarity of movement, the pure and honest motion of running.

Even though the afternoon heat embraced her like an exuberant relative’s hug, she picked up the pace. She ran all the way to the end of the street then turned east. Trees flashed by; she noted her progress by counting the cats’ eyes hammered onto the white guideposts flanking the road. When she got to the small park with the duck lake, she pounded over the footbridge. The sun sparkled off the water in blinding shafts, the air hummed with the noise of the distant highway. Eventually all she could hear was her heaving lungs.

Nearly an hour later, when she finally turned back, her whole body ached from exertion. Sweat pooled in the small of her back, her scalp itched, her T-shirt clung and her legs sang. But the effort had been worth it. Her thoughts had been Luke free.

She got to the top of her street and stopped long enough to stretch her hamstrings, then continued at a brisk walk before pausing at the end of the driveway.

The lawn edges needed trimming. The orange trees were begging for a good prune, too. The porch also had to be swept and that second step was in sore need of a nail or two.

She breathed in a deep sigh, reveling in the warm, perfect stillness of the day. After drifting from one impersonal crowded city to another, this was heaven on earth. Solitude and independence had brought that to her life.

A breeze interrupted the air, tickling along her damp skin.

She loved this place. Giving up and walking away would be like wrenching off a vital piece of herself. It would be like erasing every good memory she had made these last ten years.

If Luke wanted to do that, he was in for a fight.

Determination added steel to her step as she walked in the front door. She didn’t have much time on her side, but Luke was obviously not a patient man. After a week or two, he’d get sick of waiting and take her up on her offer. They’d agree on a price, sign on it, and she’d eventually work off her debt.

She was extremely good at waiting.

“Hey.”

Beth jumped as Luke appeared from the kitchen. “Can’t you make some noise instead of sneaking around?” At his look, she sighed. “What?”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “We need to talk.”

Beth’s flushed face suddenly felt like a thousand burning knives. “I have to shower first. I’ll be down in fifteen.”

“If you’re not, I’m coming up to get you.”

Beth turned and practically ran up the stairs. He wouldn’t dare barge into her bathroom. Would he?

Seven

Ten minutes later Beth stood in the kitchen in a T-shirt and army-green cargo pants, her hair slicked back into a damp ponytail. Luke watched her refill her glass from the kitchen sink, glance across at him then gulp down the water.

Still, he let the silence do all the talking, a technique that not only allowed him to observe her under pressure but also showed she was extremely uncomfortable with his singular scrutiny.

“Is the room okay?” she finally asked.

“Yes. Thanks.” Then he added, “Nice house. Lots of space.”

She nodded with a small smile. “That’s why I chose it. It’s the first place I’ve actually felt at home.”

A small pang of guilt twisted in his gut. Not a good sign, considering the snooping he’d done minutes before.

He’d rummaged through her filing system, her desk and behind the books in her living room, before quickly going through her bedroom. With reluctance dogging every step, he’d been about to give up until he’d hit the back of her wardrobe.

Just who was Taylor Stanton and why did Beth have her birth certificate buried in an old shoe box?

Before he could change his mind, he’d called his P.I. Dylan and relayed the details. Now, with Beth sitting across the table, his conscience took that moment to flare.

That’s stupid. It could mean nothing—in which case, she’d never have to know.

His neck began to ache again, sharp darts of pain stabbing his muscles.

First, he’d been suspended from his job then hounded from his apartment. He’d been rendered ineffective, like an illegal vehicle banned from the road. And now he’d resorted to spying. Unease sliced across his chest, but he clamped a lid on it, wrapping his fingers around the cup of coffee he’d prepared moments ago. The scalding heat was a welcome distraction.

“You know you’ll have to make a formal statement to the bank eventually,” he said.

She sighed. “I know.”

“And I made a few calls,” he said. “Unless we get the police involved, the real estate agent isn’t legally obliged to pursue this any further. So I’m getting a copy of the deed from the titles office, which should take a few days. In the meantime, I need to talk to my aunt.”

Beth made a noncommittal sound to cover up her nervousness. This would not do. As badly as she wanted him gone, he was equally determined to keep digging until everything was wrapped up to his satisfaction. But as she watched him brush back his hair with stiff fingers, a wave of reluctant sympathy swelled at the expression on his face. Something was going on here.

“You’re not happy about that.”

“Gino’s investigation may be over but not the fallout,” he said slowly. “Everyone’s running crazy—the lawyers, investors, my family. I’m not exactly Australian of the Year right now.”

“But you are innocent.”

His expression remained impassive. “So you don’t think I colluded to launder drug money from the casino through Jackson and Blair.”

She snorted. “No.”

Skepticism riddled his frown. “Why not?”

“Because of what I’ve seen today. You may be a pushy, overconfident alpha male—” she smothered a grin at his scowl “—but ironically, your ethics work in your favor. There’s no way you’d knowingly sabotage your reputation.”

If that brief look of surprise hadn’t spoken volumes, his silence did. She couldn’t help smiling now.

“I see,” was all he said.

Then he shook his head and swept a hand through his hair again, a gesture Beth was beginning to equate with pent-up frustration. The coal-black strands stuck up in spikes and she had the urge to smooth them down. Especially when she saw that flash of emotion in his eyes.

In that instant, Beth realized she’d just caught a glimpse of the real man behind the veneer—how his perceived failures ate at his pride, how much his status meant. How totally ineffective he must be feeling.

No wonder his reputation was perfect. He was a driven man and driven men often set impossibly high standards for themselves. And when they failed to live up to them, they frequently crashed to earth.

Something inside her shifted. She had to help him, even though he had something she so desperately wanted. Her compassion, her training, demanded no less.

“I can stop that ache in your neck, you know.”

He barely gave her a glance. “Can you?”

There it was again. More than anyone, Beth could understand his frustration. But right now he didn’t need empathy—he needed stress relief. She ticked off the telltale signs one by one and knew she couldn’t ignore his discomfort any longer.

She stood, reached over and firmly removed his hand from his nape. “Let me help you.”

The sudden heat flaring in his eyes disappeared as quickly as it started, yet despite that, it still had the power to warm her belly.

“It’s my job,” she clarified. “You’re no good to anyone burned-out, and I can help you relax.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes, I do. Let me do this, Luke. Please.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Luke glanced away with a shrug. “Okay.”

And, dammit, her pulse began to pick up the pace.

“Go into the living room,” she said in a too-thick voice. “I’ll get my things.”

She hurried up to the spare room, determined to outrun the doubt dogging her footsteps. Right now was not the time to take a close look at her reasons for offering her help. She was a professional and she could do this, no matter that the body she was about to lay her hands on was six foot four inches of hard, warm male.

Beth returned with her oils and pulled the curtains closed, casting the room in half shadows, then pulled out a massage table from under the stairs and unfolded it.

He watched it all in silence.

“So I take it you’ve never had a therapeutic massage,” Beth said.

“Once, ages ago. Now I don’t have the time.”

“You should make time.”

“Before or after I solve world hunger?”

Her mouth tilted. “Take off your shirt and lie facedown.”

He did as he was told, settling his face into the cutout oval of the padded table. Now that his body was within her grasp, she would get to feel every contour, every crevice. A deep breath was needed.

Maybe another.

Pouring some oil onto her palms, she rubbed them together and began.

Her thumbs started gently at his lower back and Luke nearly leaped off the table. “What the hell …?”

He twisted, but Beth placed a restraining hand on his back. “Lie still.” She stifled a smile.

“But it hurts!”

“Stop being a baby.” She pushed him down and tried again, this time easing back on the pressure.

“You’re doing this on purpose!” he accused.

“I’m trying to get the tension out, so yes, I am.”

She went as softly as she could, warming up his muscles. She had to hand it to him, he managed to bite his tongue even though a few grunts made their way through his tight control.

“Do you get migraines?” she asked.

“No.”

“Panic attacks?”

“You think I get—”

“Performance problems?”

“No.”

She bit her lip, swallowing a chuckle at his indignant reply. “Lucky. They’re all symptoms of a high-stress environment.”

Luke stifled another groan. She was good. In fact, if they gave Oscars for massage, she’d win hands down. She had handfuls of his muscle and used pressure from thumbs, palms and all fingers.

“So how is it,” she began, digging deep into his back, “that some lucky woman hasn’t already snapped you up?”

A slice of memory twinged, but he thrust it back. “A demanding career and relationships don’t mix.”

“That’s a bit of a broad statement. Maybe you just haven’t met the right woman.”

“Trust me, I know.” He grunted, swallowing a groan as she shifted her hands. “And I meet plenty of women.”

“I see.”

She continued in silence, and pride demanded he keep it that way, but when she caught a particularly tight spot, a hiss escaped his clenched teeth. And through the somewhat painful movements, he could feel himself getting aroused.

It was the thought of her standing over him, touching him with her firm, skilled hands that stirred his blood.

Then she reached his shoulders and silence flew out the window with a ragged gasp.

“You’re pretty tight up here,” she said, concern threading her voice.

Luke muttered something and tried to shake off the pleasant fantasy of Beth naked and massaging him all over. She shifted to stand at the head of the table, her body bent forward over his shoulders while her palms stretched and rubbed down his left arm. Her toes came into view—long, elegant digits with nails painted a soft coral, strapped into well-worn sandals. He also noticed that her second toes were longer than her big ones and the one on the left bore a silver ring with a green stone in the center.

Sucking on those toes would be …

He squeezed his eyes shut as she dug around for such long, agonizing seconds that he wondered if his circulation would cut out. Finally, she took pity on him, easing off until he relaxed with barely disguised relief.

“You should do this more often. It’ll hurt less.” She gently squeezed his trapezius and was rewarded with a sharp hiss. “See what I mean?”

He grunted.

Beth patted his shoulder. “Don’t try to talk. I know it’s a big effort holding all that groaning in.”

“I’m trying to maintain a dignified silence.”

She chuckled, bending close to his ear. “You don’t have to. Let it all out.”

Her whispery breath sent a shock of heat to his groin. Now all he could think of were their sweaty bodies, Beth groaning beneath him. And above him. All he could feel was the soft brush of her cotton shirt against his hair. And her hands touching every part of him. He itched to reach out and grab a handful of her luscious, rounded butt.

She was driving him crazy, as if punishing him for something.

He felt punished. It was retribution for letting the past weeks build up, for not seeking professional help sooner, just like Beth said.

She walked around the table, returning to his lower back, fingers trailing across his skin. Lust tensed him up. She must have felt it because she said, “No, no. Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Tighten your lower back. Here.” Her hands began to knead the troubled spot. Luke groaned. It was a different kind of pain this time. His tight groin pressed unbearably against the unyielding table while his mind ran riot. And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“You finished yet?” He finally got out.

“Hang on, I’ve still got to—”

“Thanks. That’s okay.” He pulled himself up, grabbed his shirt and yanked it over his head.

After a moment’s fumbling with the lower buttons, he took a breath, then another, before he got his body under control. And now with his untucked shirt hiding any lingering evidence, he turned back to face her. She looked astonished and confused while he ached uncomfortably. Dammit.

“I should go and get a shower.” Yet he made no attempt to leave.

“Okay.” Beth wiped her hands on a towel and tried not to let her disappointment show. He was uptight again and that pretty much kicked all her good work out the window.

She glanced at him, intending only to linger a moment but instead ended up staring. A faint sheen of sweat hugged the shirt to his chest, a chest sprinkled with dark hair that tapered down until the buttons hindered her view.

The breath she swallowed dried her throat.

He was a very large, very muscular man in a pair of crisply cut pants and a creased shirt that probably cost more than a week’s wages.

A dark, dangerous-looking man now focused right in on her as if she was some kind of last meal, the musky smell of his sweat and a faint, woodsy aftershave mingling with her oils.

“Beth?”

“Yes?” Her voice came out as an unfamiliar croak.

“If you’re going to stop me, do it now because I’m about to break rule number two.”

She swallowed as he took those few steps toward her, reached out and slowly tugged her to him, giving her time to protest. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She could pull away if she wanted, but resistance felt as appealing as wading through a pool of honey. It was as if he had her hypnotized and all she could do was let him drag his fingers through her hair. Sweep his thumbs over her jaw.

His eyes held hers, unwavering, hypnotic. His thumb pad deliberately caressed her bottom lip, rubbing against the soft contours.

The heat from his body curled into her like a flame. His mouth—so close, so kissable—feathered a warm breath over her bottom lip. Teasing. Testing. Beth felt the full blast of hot, urgent desire and wanted to groan aloud because it felt so good.

She felt like melting right there on the floor when he flicked his tongue out and touched the tip to her slightly parted lips. Every muscle in her body started to sing with anticipation. Her lungs couldn’t get enough air and her mind shorted out as pleasure-induced confusion flooded in. His mouth focused on her jawline, placing gentle nips along the length then sliding down into the hollow of her throat.

Oh, sweet heaven.

He nipped at her jaw, following the trail left by his fingers. She let her eyes close in pleasure.

“Is this so bad?” His rough voice against her neck was doing a serious number on her nerves.

“No.” Not bad … so very good.

“So you have no objections to this?” He reached the base of her throat and gently nuzzled her flesh. She groaned. “Or this?”

His hand slid up her body, past her waist, over her ribs. When he reached the swell of her breast, she released a hiss.

Every tingling pulse rushed through her veins, making it impossible to fight the feeling. She realized she didn’t want to fight it. Maybe it was because she’d been alone for so long and had missed the physical side of passion. Maybe she needed to be touched after an eternity of nothing. Maybe she was secretly wishing he would make love to her.

Maybe it was his hot breath whispering in her ear, the urgent press of his groin against hers.

Beth could taste him in every pore. Like a fire that had started in the pit of her belly, her body was hot and molten—and then she was wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him flush against her heat. She could see him behind her eyelids, could smell, feel, taste him.

It had been so long since she had been kissed.

Been wanted.

No one had touched her like this, in a way that she forgot all reason.

He was caressing the length of her back now and her skin itched for his fingers to touch her all over. Her breath came in short and irregular gasps, barely an inch away from his teasing lips. Was she whimpering like a love-starved virgin? She must be because Luke skimmed his bottom lip lightly over hers and whispered, “You want me to kiss you?”

“Mmm.”

Slowly, inch by aching inch, he covered her mouth with his.

Luke De Rossi not only looked like a kissing master, he was hands down one of the best. Her breath merged with his, stirring a long-forgotten ache deep inside, flaring up to lick her body in need. It attacked the part of her mind that controlled rational thought, eating away at her reservations.

He stroked his hands down her arms, creating shivering goose bumps in his wake.

“You want me to stop?” he muttered against her mouth. “I will if you want me to.”

She wanted to give in to him, so much that it made her chest ache. “I …”

She wanted him. For the first time in her life she wanted to leap on in and damn the consequences, grab everything he offered—every no-strings-attached kiss, every blood-boiling caress.

But that would mean giving something in return. Something she’d worked ten years to protect.

With a groan, she snapped open her eyes. Luke continued his assault on her neck as she tried to pull back, gasping as his teeth nibbled at her flesh.

Frantically, she pushed. “Stop.”

He stumbled but regained his feet quickly. The arousal in his heavy eyes held a shot of confusion.

“Beth—”

“We shouldn’t …” She cleared her throat. “This isn’t professional. My life is good. I’m happy. I don’t want—” She swallowed thickly. “I don’t do casual sex.”

“There’d be nothing casual about it.” His husky timbre sounded like a promise. It made her insides quiver.

“No.” She hated the way her denial came out breathy, almost expectant. Anger at her weakness gave her voice more strength when she said, “No. We’re in the middle of a crazy situation and I don’t need another distraction. Not now.”

“Is that all this would be—a distraction?”

“Yes.” She glanced away, wrapping her arms around her waist. She could still feel his heat, still smell his scent on her clothes. She still wanted his mouth on hers.

When he didn’t respond, she chanced a look.

He was shaking his head, a frown creasing his brow.

Her restraint faltered and she let out a breath. “Look,” she said, shoving a loose lock of hair back behind her ears with an efficient sweep. “What we’ve got is a basic physiological reaction to a stressful situation. It heightens senses and emotions.” She smiled tightly. “When there’s a sense of danger, the body’s response is to procreate.”

“Really.”

Beth shrugged. “Hey, it’s physiology.”

Luke studied her intently, but she just stood there, a firm smile on those lips he’d been devouring not twenty seconds ago. Hell, he ached for her like he’d been celibate for five years and not just three months. So it had to be something.

He ran a hand through his hair, wishing it were hers.

“So, no more kissing,” he said.

“Right.” Beth nodded.

“Yes.”

“Mmm.”

Luke watched her gather up the oils and refold the table as if she were performing groundbreaking brain surgery. She wasn’t bothering to deny their attraction anymore and that should’ve pleased him. But it didn’t. Far from it.

He might have been fooled into thinking she delivered mind-numbing kisses often, ones that chewed up a guy’s insides and sent his heart racing. Until he caught a vague look of disappointment as she turned away. Sure, she could rationalize it all she wanted, but Luke knew the truth.

He wanted her. And she wanted him right back.

Beth Jones was unlike anyone he’d ever met. She didn’t disguise the fact that she wanted him out of her life. Yet she was physically attracted, an attraction they both sensed every time he got within arm’s length. When every other woman would have told him loud and clear how they felt, she hid it behind a biology lesson. Her blatant denial intrigued him.

Yeah, but you’ve gotta think with your head, Luke. Your career is everything, always has been. And that’s the way you like it. Face it—you’re a disaster when it comes to relationships.

And he didn’t want to hurt Beth.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Luke finally said.

She remained silent until he raised one questioning eyebrow.

“Towels are in the cupboard above the sink.”

He took the stairs two at a time and Beth managed to keep her composure. But when he disappeared into the bathroom, she collapsed into the couch with a mutter of dismay.

His skin, the play of his muscles beneath her fingers, had been better than she imagined. A scar in the shape of a circular constellation marred the perfection, along with another silver slash of puckered skin low on his waist. She’d bitten her lip to stop from leaning down and gently kissing away the massage oil.

Beth heard the shower turn on … and an image swam into her mind of Luke naked, water running over his chest, abdomen …

Stop it. Stop it now.

With a grievous sigh, she stood and headed off to the kitchen, unsure and unsettled.

Much later that night, after she’d eaten a quick chicken sandwich alone in the kitchen, Beth ran herself a bath and sank into the warm bubbles with a relieved groan.

Behind her head, scented candles flickered on a small shelf, their reflection bouncing from the huge, gold-edged mirror opposite and ending in a subtle play of light on the water’s surface.

The bathroom was her thinking space and she loved it best of all—from the high whitewashed ceiling, the Grecian tiles framing the doorway, the hanging green plants, to the skylight that showed off a clear starry night.

It should have been a haven tonight. But escape was impossible. The house was still and quiet, but an underlying anticipation hung in the air, as if it was waiting to see what changes the newcomer would bring.

Luke dwarfed her spare room, just as he was dwarfing her life, helping himself to a part of it as if she was an amicable participant. She took a deep breath, her lungs filling with steam and scent, and exhaled in a rush.

Luke had to know how out of place he was here, how much he disrupted her sense of order. She’d told him straight what she wanted. Now she had to persuade. She’d show him she belonged here, that her stamp was firmly on this place, in every book, every cup, every comfy cushion. It was her task to convince him, so when he went back to work, he’d soon forget whatever attraction this place held and take her up on her offer.

Peace and sanity would return. Even if it meant working long hours for the next twenty years to pay him off, she’d do it.

Yet why did that give her such an unsatisfied feeling in the pit of her stomach? The cooling water washed over her breasts as she shifted in the tub. She shivered and quickly stood, then slowly stepped out.

She had to do this. Getting hysterical or wishing the situation could be different wouldn’t change anything. At her mother’s funeral she’d made a solemn eighteen-year-old vow: never give in to the dark well of depression and self-doubt her mother had suffered, thanks in part to her father’s infidelities and mind games.

Well, she wasn’t going to crumble, Beth decided as she padded into her bedroom. She stood strong and fought for what she wanted.

It was just a matter of waiting it out.

After she put on her pajamas and lay staring at the ceiling for ages, exhaustion that came with thinking too much finally claimed her.

Eight

“Hey, Beth, can I catch a lift with you this morning?”

Her store assistant, Laura, sounded flustered. Beth balanced the phone at her ear as she smeared peanut butter on her toast. “Car troubles again? Have you called the mechanic?”

“Yeah. They won’t be here until after ten.”

Beth watched Luke walk silently into the kitchen, clad in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. Memories of yesterday’s kiss came flooding back and with it, heat to parts of her body she didn’t want to think of him touching.

“No problem. See you soon.” She hung up and poured a glass of juice. “Morning.”

“Morning.” His all-seeing eyes swept over her, sending her pulse rocketing. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “You?”

“Like a log for once. And I don’t have that nagging ache here.” He cupped the back of his neck.

“I told you it’d work. Now all you need is a couple more days’ rest and you’ll be as good as new.”

Luke helped himself to coffee, looking much too at-home as he leaned against her counter.

“Going to work?” He nodded, taking in her business shirt, short skirt and flat sandals.

“Yep.”

“Is that wise?”

A hell of a lot wiser than being cooped up here with you, no buffer zone in sight. “I have paying clients. And anyway, you can relax better without me around.”

Luke looked dissatisfied with her reasoning. “You got something I can do around here?”

“No.”

“What about that?” He nodded in the direction of the pantry, where the door was off its hinges and resting against the stove.

“It needs sanding then the hinges need to be realigned. I can do it.”

“So can I.”

“I’d rather you not—”

“Don’t make me pull rank on you, Beth.” His words were soft but his eyes firm. “I own the place, remember?”

Beth felt her face flush, but shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Fine. Do what you want.” Now she sounded petulant and that annoyed her more than anything. But it irked her that he had every right to paint the place in pink polka dots if he so chose.

“I got a call from Dylan last night,” Luke said. “He accessed your runaway’s cell-phone records. Plus, he’s also checking flight schedules.”

Beth’s heart skipped a beat. “He could’ve left the country?”

“What would you do if you’d stolen half a million?”

Beth exhaled slowly. “So the money could be gone forever.”

“Not necessarily. Let’s see what turns up.”

She nodded absently, her head whirling. More waiting. She’d be a world champion by the end of it.

“I’ll get started on that door, then chop that firewood in the backyard.” He massaged his shoulder. “Need to keep busy.”

“Not used to being idle, huh?”

“Hate it,” he admitted, and as she gave him a small smile, the lines on his face softened. “Lying on a beach with a book was my idea of hell.” He put his elbows on the counter and leaned back. “Until that massage.”

She knew he wanted to add something more, make some comment about their kiss, but he let his eyes do all the talking.

“I’ve got to go,” she muttered and beat a hasty retreat.

Luke watched her leave, wondering for the umpteenth time since yesterday how one woman could be so damn frustrating.

Connor would say it was because his obsession with fixing things had encountered a brick wall. Marco would add, “Because sometimes things can’t be solved with a charming smile, bro!” with a wink and a grin.

Maybe.

He grappled with the real reason, as if by wrestling with it he could reduce it to ashes. But he was plumb out of luck. The answer was purely selfish.

Attraction.

She wasn’t his type—too secretive, too stubborn, too take-charge. He liked everything straightforward, out in the open, no surprises. Yet there was something about her that got his blood pumping anyway.

He missed having a woman in his life. Missed the way they felt, their smell, their laughter. Their softness.

It was strange, having a woman refuse his help even when she was so obviously neck deep in problems. But Beth had made it clear she could function perfectly well without him and would continue to do so long after he was out of the picture.

So why did that rub him the wrong way so much?

Beth refused to spoil her day by thinking about her former bookkeeper. Instead, she focused on what she could control: namely, her attraction to Luke De Rossi. So when she picked up Laura she was on the receiving end of a one-sided conversation all the way to work. As she nodded and responded in the appropriate places, her conscience held up its end.

Be honest—you want him. What do you have to lose if you succumb to temptation for once? If you let him kiss you, touch you?

Her control. Not to mention her professional ethics and privacy.

Ha. You were interested long before that massage. And no one can take something from you you’re not willing to give.

Sure. It’d only take one eager reporter, one mistake, and your whole life could be exposed. Again.

She focused on the road with exaggerated concentration just as she tried to convince herself she wouldn’t care when Luke was gone. She’d be glad. Glad.

A hand waved in front of her face. “Still with me here?”

“Huh?” Beth blinked.

Laura rolled her eyes. “The light’s green. I asked if we need to do a double order on our cranberry oils for Christmas.”

“No.” Beth tempered her abruptness with an apologetic smile and pressed the accelerator. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

Laura shot her a sideways glance. “Anything to do with that sneaky little rat Ben?”

“Got it in one.” She smiled weakly.

“Well, thank me for clearing your morning appointments today. I rescheduled everyone so we could go through yesterday’s new shipment. Oh, and Jack Benson says he hopes you feel better.”

Ahh, Jack, her plantar fasciitis retiree. “Am I sick?”

“Nope. People just assumed anything else wouldn’t keep you away.”

As the traffic ground to a halt again, Beth gave the younger girl her full attention. Her employee had the kind of personality and looks that could coax a smile from a statue—she’d be dangerous if she were self-centered. But Laura was the nicest person she’d ever known.

“Do you think I’m a workaholic?” Beth asked.

“Weeeell … You are. A bit.”

And honest to a fault. “I see.”

“The last time you took a day off was … Actually, you’ve never taken a day off. Since when’ve you had the chance to just lie on the beach and veg? Or come to think of it, been out on a date?”

Beth snorted. “And why haven’t you said anything before?”

Laura shrugged. “You never asked before. And you like working. The weird thing is you’re our target market, but you don’t practice what you preach.”

“And you think I need a man.”

“No. I think you need a little fun.” Laura grinned again. “And a little sex wouldn’t hurt.”

They pulled into the parking lot and Beth wound down her window for the ticket, effectively cutting off Laura’s train of thought.

If someone had told her a week ago she’d be sharing a house with Luke De Rossi, running from reporters and hunting down an ex-employee and a missing half-million dollars, she would’ve laughed in their face.

A shiver shot down her back. Yes, Luke seemed to be helping with her Ben problem. And she was attracted to him. But the issue wasn’t physical, it was mental. She didn’t want to let him into her life, into her secrets. Her head screamed danger every time she laid eyes on him.

Even if her body screamed the opposite.

At exactly nine-thirty, Beth and Laura walked down the mall toward a darkened shop front.

“Smell that,” Laura said softly as Beth unlocked the doors and whooshed them open.

Beth took a deep breath, punching in a security code as Laura flicked on the lights. “Frangipani, lavender. Lemongrass.”

“I can smell coffee,” Laura singsonged, dangling a bag of gourmet beans between two fingers. They both grinned.

“You fill the pot and I’ll fix things up here,” said Beth. She selected a key and switched on the cash register, straightened the flyers on the counter, then placed an errant pen in a cup.

Casting an eye over the familiar interior, she breathed in again with a smile, loving the crazy mix of scents that hit her senses. The place wasn’t huge, but she’d made use of every available space. A giant oak tree mural decorated the walls, each branch a protruding glass shelf that displayed various jellies, lotions and powders. Bath bombs, frothies and bottles of shower gel were divided in four tiers on the trunk and a small white sink sat discreetly in the wall, a half-empty body-wash tester bottle on the side.

As usual, everything was in its place.

This was her reality. It was just another normal day.

Please.

Crossing her fingers, she turned to the office, drawn in by the delicious coffee bean and mocha aroma.

Laura turned from the kitchenette and held out a packet of cookies. “Biscuit?”

“This early?”

“It’s never too early for Tim Tams.”

Beth grinned, plucked out a chocolate-covered cookie and munched slowly. “You want to check out the stock while we eat and drink?”

“Thought you’d never ask. I’ve got my eye on those new bath bombs.”

Beth made good use of the internet on her lunch break, searching for anything and everything on Luke De Rossi and Gino Corelli, then making a call to the titles office and local legal aid. Armed with new knowledge, she felt the rest of the day fly by until finally, at five-thirty, she dropped Laura off at her apartment then made her way home.

The sensationalist articles were no surprise. But what she hadn’t expected was the absence of Luke in the society and gossip columns.

She sighed, reluctant admiration warring with self-preservation as she pulled into her driveway. Despite how she personally felt about him, Luke was the quintessential high achiever and proud of it. A perfectionist. A man who was doing everything to protect his career. Who still reminded her of every arrogant, demanding suit she’d met, despite the man’s overwhelming charm.

Yet he’d still ended up poking holes in her prejudices. He could’ve stepped back and called in his highflying lawyers but he hadn’t. He could’ve left her on the airport tarmac. And he could’ve escaped that reporter crush alone, but instead he’d shielded her from the cameras, even offered to help her with the missing money. For all his alleged faults gleefully detailed in the press, actions spoke louder than tainted words.

And Beth felt like a certifiable ingrate.

As she slammed the car door and strode up the porch steps, the mouthwatering smell of garlic and onions hit her as soon as she swung the door open.

With a thick swallow and deep breath, she walked into the kitchen then peeked in the oven.

Lasagna.

Her smile stretched as she caught sight of the newly hinged pantry door, then the clean sink, the dust-free countertop….

And a bunch of potted gerberas in the center of the kitchen table.

Luke had certainly made himself at home.

“Luke?” She walked slowly into the living room only to finally notice the ominous silence.

“Hello?” She went to the back door and looked out. The silence was so thick she could have walked on it. Despite her quiet reassurances, panic slowly bubbled to the surface.

She was about to race up the stairs, but opted to explore the backyard further. It sloped down toward the riverbank and could obscure her vision of a fully grown man.

Sure enough, when she strode over the rise there he sat on the grass, his back to her, reclining on his elbows, his face accepting the late sunshine in lazy worship.

Beth had to take another inward breath to calm her pounding heart, gently tugging on her necklace as the beat gradually slowed.

Luke must have sensed her, because he turned, sending her a smile that heated her quicker than a January summer’s day—and her heart picked up again. “Hey, there.”

She swallowed, shading her eyes with a hand. “Hi.”

He turned fully this time, sprang to his feet with all the fluid motion of a man who kept his body in perfect shape. “You cooked,” she said faintly.

“I did promise you lasagna.”

She returned his smile, clamping down on the sudden surge of need. Nervously, she rubbed one palm against her leg.

Luke shoved his hands into his back pockets and the T-shirt pulled taut across his chest, leaving her breath in a hitch as muscles strained against well-worn cotton.

“How was work?”

“Good.”

“No phone calls, no problems?”

“If you don’t count the usual ‘where’s our money?’ call from the bank.”

He frowned. “I can fix that.”

Beth shrugged. “I’ve handled much worse.”

“Yeah, but they’re not allowed to harass you. Let me deal with it.”

Suddenly tired of fighting, Beth nodded. “Okay.”

His eyes arrowed in on hers, surprise flaring.

“Why are you so quick to distrust everyone, cara?”

She closed her eyes briefly and considered dancing around that question. Honesty seemed less draining.

“Look, my dad was a serial cheater. He left when I was five then came back a year later. My mum took him back and for a while, it was good … until I turned ten and he left again. Mum finally had enough and we moved away and got on with our lives.”

If he sensed more to her story, he didn’t let on. “And all this—me, your runaway employee—isn’t helping, right?”

“Right.”

Her gaze skittered away, telling Luke there was more but she wasn’t about to share.

The sudden urge to throttle someone flared. Irrational, absurd, yeah, but he felt it nonetheless.

“My parents moved from Italy to Australia when I was six,” he said instead, shifting his weight to the back foot. She blinked but said nothing, and Luke continued. “They struggled all their lives to make a living. I mean, really struggled—we lived in a small rural town, trying to survive on the takings from their small fruit-and-veg store. But with the cyclones, drought and rain, plus the huge supermarket chains pushing us out, we were frequently without power and water. It was—” he dragged a hand through his hair, pushing back all those old memories “—frustrating. And after they died, I started to hate them for that.”

“Why?”

“Because they never told me about my mother’s brother, Gino. Apparently, he’d offered them money, a house and a job when they first got here, but they refused. They were deeply proud and deeply religious, and gambling was a huge sin. So when they died and Gino and Rosa suddenly appeared, it just gave me two more people to blame.”

Beth bit down on her lip, watching him shift uncomfortably then glance away. She wanted to go to him, to hold him, to connect and soothe and comfort. She’d even started to move, rolling her weight forward in anticipation, until he suddenly turned to the house and she stopped dead.

“I should go and check on dinner,” he said with a half smile over his shoulder. “Coming?”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, feeling foolish. “Yeah.”

And then she followed him inside.

They ate dinner in a strange, uncomfortable silence, almost as if Luke had regretted sharing and was waiting for the right moment to take it all back.

That kiss had started it. Since then, their simmering attraction had cooled to arm’s-length standoffishness, and despite the good talking-to she’d given herself, Beth felt oddly disappointed.

But instead of meeting the challenge when she felt his eyes infrequently graze over her, she focused on the tabletop, at the small knots and flaws in the heavy pine, at the scores of marks worn into the wood over the years.

Finally she finished her food, and with an inward sigh of relief, stood. Luke followed.

“Let me clear up,” he offered.

“There’s no need.”

“I want to do it.”

She clamped down on her frustration. “Okay. You can stack the dishwasher.”

They let the mundane task of clearing away the table fill the void, until she went for a plate at the same time as Luke.

Once again their hands met, then their eyes.

Beth didn’t know where to look. If she stepped back, he’d know she was nervous, and if she stayed where she was, he’d think she didn’t mind him touching her. But the truth was, she was minding less and less.

“Sorry,” she muttered and relinquished the plate.

As he stacked the dishwasher, she busied herself with the coffee.

You’re hopeless at trying to pretend he isn’t affecting you, that his kiss was no big deal.

And for every good reason she came up with for keeping her distance, she had only one very strong one why she shouldn’t.

You want him.

“I called Rosa,” Luke said suddenly. “I’m seeing her Sunday night.”

“Just you?”

At his nod, she shook her head. “Oh, no. You are not leaving me out of this.”

“Beth …”

“No, Luke.”

He scowled, and finally his eyes revealed something more—anger. “This is personal. To me. Okay?”

Great, throw her words back in her face. “And what about our promise to share information?” The heat from his scrutiny made her cheeks warm, and for a second she stood there in guilty silence, thinking he’d call her on it. “Look, we’re in it together. Right?”

Those seductive eyes were blacker than a starless night and revealed nothing. “I don’t want you involved in my family disputes.”

“A bit late for that. And anyway, just how are you going to stop me?”

Luke’s gaze bored into hers, but she refused to back down. Frustration, anger, irritation all flashed in those dark depths, along with something else she was more than familiar with. Guilt.

“I’m stronger,” he growled.

She put her hands on her hips and braced her feet apart. “But I can kick.”

His eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

She gave him a small, deadly smile. “Oh, I would.”

For a second they both froze, eyeing each other up in adversarial silence until his sudden bark of laughter broke it. His amusement transformed every worry line and tense muscle into something so compelling that it made her heart jump.

She returned the smile, but realized too late his closeness, his darkening eyes. His sensuous bottom lip.

Time passed. The blink of an eye. But to Beth it stretched, lengthened, heated, teasing out the moment until the lick of flames in her belly flared up and bathed her in a desperate need she could no longer ignore.

Gently, almost wonderingly, she placed a tentative hand on his cheek. The rough one-day growth rasped over her skin, reminding her that this was no dream. He was real and hard, the look in his eyes half warning, half wanting, and she couldn’t help herself.

“Beth …” Her name was like a groan on his lips, his eyes devouring her. She paused, her hand still cupping his face.

She wanted to feel the contours of his mouth, touch him, kiss him.

She was going to.

Every muscle in his body flexed and tensed as she edged closer and pressed her legs against his, her hip bumping his groin. She heard his breath catch, the low rumble in his throat barely audible.

“What are you doing?” he said quietly.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Luke swallowed. “You have any idea what you’re doing?”

“No,” she muttered, her lips hovering close to his, hesitant, waiting.

With a soft groan Luke leaned in and captured her mouth.

There was heat again, that gut-sucking, toe-curling heat licking him from head to feet. She was kissing him back, her mouth sweetly opening underneath his, her arms wrapping around his neck.

They moved up against the counter and his back hit the warm humming dishwasher door. Her damp hands tangled in his hair, her breasts pushed into his chest. As he slid one knee between her legs, he felt himself go hard.

He placed small kisses on her mouth, teasing her bottom lip. He was so deeply intent, transfixed by her smell and delicious taste; her tiny moan of pleasure sent his pulse skyrocketing.

Beth jumped as Luke started exploring her waist with his fingers, then drew his lips along her cheek, grazing it with kisses.

“You smell like that face cream in the bathroom,” he murmured, inhaling deeply. “Lemon. Nice.”

She shivered with pleasure as his mouth feathered over hers then began a slow descent down her neck.

At some stage he must have hiked up her skirt, because suddenly she felt his hand on her bare thigh, easing up, up, until he was cupping her intimately through the thin cotton of her panties.

She gasped. It felt so good. So reckless. So unlike her sensible, perfectly ordered life.

She wanted more.

With a soft murmur, she eased her legs apart and moved her hips, urging him to continue. And without hesitation, he did, his fingers working under the elastic until suddenly they hit her damp, aroused flesh and she gasped aloud.

He stilled, his eyes black with passion boring into hers. Between their clothes she felt the urgent pounding of his heart, the sear of heat and the rise and fall of his chest.

His breath grazed her cheek. “You want me to continue?”

She stared right into his eyes and fell over the edge. “Oh, yes.”

With a low guttural moan, he pulled down her panties, cupped her bottom and slid her onto the countertop. She hissed as the warm top made contact with her sensitive skin, the dishwasher vibrating gently on her calves. Then heat engulfed her as Luke eased her knees apart and slid his finger inside her wet core.

So tight. So hot. Luke’s breath hissed out, simultaneously echoing her own ecstasy. His groin was rock hard and throbbing, but he ignored it, instead taking delight in her intimate flesh wrapped around his finger, her arousal as he scraped his palm against her swollen nub. He withdrew then plunged back in, again and again and she threw her head back, a groan of pleasure rolling deep within her throat.

He grabbed the back of her head and dragged her back for a kiss, a deep, soul-searing kiss full of hot passion and desperate longing. She murmured beneath his mouth, her tongue tangling with his as her arms snaked around his neck. Her musky smell, her hot wetness, her murmur of enjoyment surrounded him, infused his skin, burrowed inside until he could feel the pressure build and build. Still he continued to taste, to feel, to tease until she began to tremble and whimper beneath him.

He dragged his lips down her neck and gritted his teeth, begging for control as he finally felt her go over the edge.

The orgasm ripped through Beth, stealing her breath and her control in one thundering swoop.

Joy. Pure unadulterated joy singing in her veins, heating her blood, skyrocketing her heart. It had never, ever been like that before. She felt as if she could take on the world, run a marathon, fly for hours and hours.

She waited out the trembling, until her breath became slower, until her heart calmed and an inevitable wave of uncertainty slowly flooded in.

What on earth had she done?

“Beth.”

Her name stirred the damp strands of hair on her cheek, sent a shiver across her skin. He slowly eased his finger from her and she couldn’t stop her small disappointed murmur as cool air rushed in. But when he gently closed her legs, reality came crashing back in one disastrous wave.

“Beth,” he said again. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly she opened her eyes. His were dark and unreadable.

“I … ah …” She paused. Dammit, how could she focus when he’d taken her on the dishwasher and he’d seen her fall to pieces beneath his hand? With a heated flush, she slid from the counter and scooped up her abandoned underwear. “Okay, so that was a bad idea. We’ve both been under a lot of pressure and—”

His hands on her shoulders stopped her midsentence, but she refused to meet his eyes, instead looking down.

She drew in a breath, hard. Bad mistake. The telltale bulge in his pants was all too obvious.

With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to meet his, but when he went to place a gentle kiss on her cheek Beth pulled away.

“Look, Luke,” she began and stepped back, trying to regain control. “What happened here …” She felt her face flush but forged on. “I think it’s just … We had a …”

“A purely physiological response under stress.”

She blinked, astonished. “Exactly.”

Except he now knew what she tasted like, felt like. And she still desperately wanted her house more than ever.

“So let’s just focus on what we need to do,” he added, then turned back to the table and began stacking the place mats.

She stared at him, her stomach a confusing mixture of uncertainty, relief … disappointment?

He glanced up with a smile. “Right?”

“Right.” Nothing had changed. He still wanted to sell her home. And she still couldn’t afford it.

But how exactly could she focus on talking him around after that?

Nine

As she drove to work the next day, Beth made a firm decision. Avoid Luke whenever possible. There was way too much at risk, a risk that could have the potential to end in disaster.

With new resolve, she got through the day with barely a stray thought to the night before. Yet when she returned home and found dinner warming in the oven and Luke nowhere to be seen, it took all of a few seconds to realize he’d come to the same conclusion.

She wasn’t disappointed. No. That would be ridiculous. And anyway, she still saw him later that night, even if it was just in passing, where she couldn’t meet his eyes as she awkwardly thanked him for the meal. He nodded with a brief smile and kept right on going, gently closing his door with a soft click.

Still his presence overwhelmed, from the faint cologne that made her senses growl, to the cooked meals and painfully clean state of her kitchen. And with each passing day, the tension wound inexorably tighter until she was itching for something—anything—to happen.

Then it was Sunday night and they were both on their way to the Corellis’ in Beth’s car.

“Dylan called.” Luke finally broke the silence as they drove south on the Gold Coast Highway. “Looks like Foster withdrew big at a Coolangatta ATM then flew down to Melbourne.”

“Is he still there now?”

“As far as I know. He’s looking into it.”

Her stomach swooped, hope fluttering, but with a firm swallow Beth reined it in. Things were far from over. She shifted gears, trying to ignore the brush of her knuckles along Luke’s thigh. Her small car did nothing to maintain that distance she’d so determinedly forged these last few days. More irritating, the closer they got to the Corelli estate, the more her body hummed at the thought of Luke in touchable distance for the night.

They’d taken the Ashmore turnoff and were driving along Cotlew Road when Luke pointed to a parked news van ahead.

“Reporters. Take a left at the next corner.”

She did, and they passed a few double-storied houses, then a few gates until the road curved again.

“Here.” Luke nodded.

They parked on the side of the road and switched off the lights. The street was quiet, streetlamps casting a dim glow in the evening’s warmth as upper-class suburbia sprawled on the opposite side. Next to the car, a long, high, brick wall stretched down the road, flanked by trees that swayed and rustled, a ghostly whisper as the wind picked up. All around, the vegetation muttered and moved in the night. Above, black clouds rolled in like waves on a beach. A storm was brewing.

“This is the back end of the estate. We can get in over there.” Luke pointed to a large tree. “But we need to climb. Feel up to it?”

Beth looked down at her tailored pants and soft sparkly shift top and nodded.

As they picked their way through the grass and uneven ground, Luke automatically took her hand, tightening his grip when she stumbled. She barely had time to catch her breath before he let her go and began boosting himself up into the tree.

She looked up skeptically at the outspread branches. “You sure this is safe?”

“Who do you think hammered the wooden rungs into the trunk? Frankly, I’m surprised Marco hasn’t chopped the tree down. Or at least taken the steps off.”

He held out his hand, wriggling his fingers in encouragement.

It seemed perfectly natural to put her trust in him. They climbed the tree slowly, finally reaching a branch that overhung the wall. He placed one foot on the brick surface then turned to her.

“Come on,” he gestured. “Come over.”

Beth took a deep breath and went for it.

Her heart pounded as she broke out in a sweat. Then she took that step into thin air, just before he grabbed her and pulled her tightly to him.

She took a couple of gulping breaths.

“You okay?”

Beth nodded into the warmth of his chest, breathing in his smell. His arms were a reassuring harbor and slowly her panic petered out.

“I’ll go down first, then you jump and I’ll catch you.”

Beth glanced around, seeing a large estate with glowing night-lights sprawled on the crest of the hill, the perimeter dotted with security lamps. Then she looked down and choked out a nervous laugh. “I’d like to see you try that one.”

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

A man stepped out of the shadows, accompanied by two beefy security guards.

Luke, to his credit, looked unflappable. “Be a sport and help us down, Marco.”

The man laughed sharply then took a drag of his cigarette. “I don’t think so. I want to see you manage this one.”

Luke gave Marco a scowl, muttered something under his breath then said to Beth, “Hold on. I’m going down.”

He lowered himself until his legs were dangling over the edge, then tested the brick and concrete below with his foot. Finding a hold, he settled his toe into the worn hole and slowly picked his way down until he was nearly to the ground. With one push, he jumped the rest of the way.

Beth released her held breath as he landed solidly with both feet. He gave her a grin and a thumbs-up. “Jump down and I’ll catch you.”

She shook her head. “No. You can’t.”

“I will,” he said, exasperated. “Just jump.”

“Come on,” Marco said as he ground his half-finished cigarette underfoot. “We haven’t got all night.”

Beth sighed. “I warned you.” And she squatted on her heels, took a breath and jumped off the wall.

With a whoosh and a grunt, she landed on Luke. He stumbled, wavering, and she tightened her arms around his neck.

His legs buckled and they ended up sprawling on the grass.

Marco roared with laughter and gave a slow clap. “Well done, Luke! Super catch!”

Beth had a death hold on Luke’s neck, her eyes squeezed shut.

“You can look now,” Luke murmured.

Her eyes flew open. “Thanks.”

“You got a problem with the front door?” Marco was asking as Luke helped Beth up.

“No. Just a problem with the reporters.” And he started toward the house.

Marco nodded a dismissal to the security guys then followed Luke, matching him stride for stride. “So the press are finally getting to you.” His voice held the gruff resonance of frustration. “Now you know how it feels.”

Luke gave a noncommittal grunt. Marco, meanwhile, slowly turned to peruse Beth with hooded eyes.

The eyes and height were Luke’s, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Marco Corelli was dressed in a light linen suit and cotton shirt, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail that emphasized a stunningly beautiful angular face, complete with sharp cheekbones and sensual mouth.

Beth blinked, frowning. “You look familiar—have we met before?”

“Pretty sure I’d have remembered, bella.” Marco winked.

At Luke’s sharp look, Marco laughed. “Relax, mate. I’m just winding you up.” He turned back to Beth and grinned, offering his hand. “Marco Corelli. And you are …?”

“Beth. Beth Jones.”

“Marco plays football for Manchester United,” Luke said.

“Played. I’ve retired.”

Luke’s eyebrows rose. “Since when?”

“Four weeks ago. Too many injuries.” He shrugged and kept right on walking, his expression neutral.

“No, that’s not it,” Beth insisted, frowning. “Have you been on TV or …?”

Luke snorted, choking back a sudden grin. “Underpants.”

“Sorry?”

“Marco’s the face of Skins. You know, the expensive guy’s underwear?”

Of course! She stared at Marco, who was now scowling at Luke in earnest. Tanned, ripped abs, seductive smile, stacked set of y-fronts. He totally sizzled on that huge Gold Coast Highway billboard.

Marco stuck his hands in his pockets. “So where did you two meet?”

“None of your business,” Luke retorted before Beth could open her mouth.

“Huh. Always secretive, especially where women are concerned,” Marco said. “Ever since Gabrielle—”

“Don’t.” Luke stopped dead in his tracks, the air crackling with sudden tension. “Don’t go there, Marco.”

Marco’s expression turned dark as he met Luke’s angry glare with one of his own. With an inaudible mutter, he shrugged and resumed walking.

“How’s Rosa?” Luke finally said.

“Better.” Marco kept right on walking, and Beth could just make out the tightening line of his jaw. “Not that you’d know. You’ve avoided her calls for days.”

They emerged from the line of trees, and whatever response Luke gave was lost on the coastal breeze.

The gleaming three-story mansion, all cream-colored pillars, shiny glass and strategically placed downlights, screamed wealth from every nook and cranny.

The immaculate gardens were resplendent with palm trees and native gums. A gently cascading fountain sat in the middle of the circular driveway and behind that, a stucco path led to a pair of huge glass-and-oak doors.

She stood there, admiring the beautiful simplicity, until Luke’s gruff voice broke through her thoughts.

“I didn’t start this,” he was saying.

“But you could stop it.”

“No, I can’t. I’ve been suspended, remember?”

Marco snorted. “Last time I checked, you were flavor of the month at Jackson and Blair. Today you can do nothing?”

“It’d only make things worse.”

“How in hell could it get any worse?” Marco growled. “Gino is dead, for chrissakes, Luke! He can’t defend himself and you won’t defend him.”

“I. Am. On. Suspension,” Luke enunciated clearly.

Marco snorted. “That didn’t stop you from barging in to see Gino the night he died.” At Luke’s look, he said, “Yeah, I know all about that.”

There was a long pause before Luke said cautiously, “What do you know?”

“Employees talk. And you were there when the medics arrived, so you can’t deny it.”

“So?”

“So I got to thinking—”

“Marco …”

“I wondered why you would risk your precious reputation that night of all nights.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” Marco’s eyes narrowed, his hands going to his hips. “It was the same day Gino’s story hit the papers. You went to give Gino a piece of your mind, didn’t you? You were furious, that I know. You’ve always had a problem hiding your anger, Luke. My bet is you and Gino argued, Gino had a heart attack and Lucky Luke hides behind his precious reputation.”

“Marco! Lucio! That is enough!”

They all turned in unison to the small round figure framed by the huge glass doors. And when she stepped outside, into the full light of the patio, Beth gasped.

“Oh, my God … Connie?”

“Beth?”

Luke frowned. “You two know each other?”

“Yes.” Beth shoved her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed as a whirling dervish of questions and suspicion started to swell. “She’s one of my clients and her name is Connie Lisone.”

Ten

“What?” Stunned, Luke stared at Beth then whipped back to his aunt.

“What are you doing here, Beth?” Rosa said, her face full of bewilderment. “What—”

“What’s going on?” Marco said behind them.

“I have no idea—Connie? Or—it’s Rosa, right?” Beth retorted.

Rosa took a sharp breath, her eyes rounding. “The house. Caro dio, the house!”

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Marco yelled behind them.

Luke glared from Rosa to Beth, his jaw tight. “Go on then. Let’s hear it.”

Rosa pushed the doors wider with a shaky hand. “Come in. Please.”

Unbelievable. Un-fricking-believable. The anger in Luke simmered as they followed Rosa down the plush hallway, past the familiar blue-washed walls, the classic works of art, the stylish furnishings, before they stopped in the living room.

“Please, sit.”

Beth perched on the edge of an elegant Louis XIV chair and crossed her arms. Luke chose to stand.

“Stop glaring at me, Lucio, and sit.” She waved to the sofa. With a soft snort, he finally sat.

Rosa sighed, smoothing back her salt-and-pepper hair. “You all know the kind of attention the Corelli name attracts. So for many years I’ve been using a fake one—for appointments, for bookings.” She shrugged. “It allows me a small freedom I wouldn’t normally have.”

“And what’s your connection to Beth? Besides being a client?”

Rosa clasped her hands and turned to Beth. “Remember when you first started your business, bella? You mentioned that awful shared apartment you were renting?”

Beth nodded.

“You didn’t say much, but I could see how tough things had been for you.” She tapped her cheek with a small smile. “It’s the eyes, bella. All your emotion is locked away behind those green eyes.”

“So you set her up?” Luke interrupted.

“No.” Rosa looked offended. “I just steered her toward Crown Real Estate. That house had been empty for years and needed a little love and attention. A word in the right direction and you had yourself a new home.”

“So the story about the owners living overseas was a lie?”

Rosa shrugged. “Just a little one.”

“You were the ‘family friend’,” Luke interjected tightly. “And Costas Holdings is one of Gino’s?”

“Yes.” Rosa turned back to Beth. “You needed help, but were so proud and determined. You’d never have taken charity—” She raised a hand as Beth opened her mouth. “Yes, in your mind my offer would have been exactly that. And I also knew you’d never take the house if you knew who I was.” Her lined face creased in a gentle smile. “You reminded me so much of Lucio’s mother, in a scary new world and in desperate need of help. How could I not help you?”

“Hang on,” Luke interrupted with a frown. “How do you know what my mother needed?”

She gave Luke a tender, sad look. “Every month I drove two hours to see Melina and gave her a little something to meet the monthly bills. Your father never knew.”

In stunned silence Luke tried to digest this new revelation. But no matter how many times he played it out in his head, he came up with the same answer.

More lies. More secrets. Dammit, when would they ever end?

His gazed remained unwavering, fixed on Rosa. “So let me get this straight,” he said calmly—almost too calmly. “Instead of one simple phone call, both of us ended up racing all over town thinking it was some kind of conspiracy theory?”

“You are such an ass, Luke.”

Luke whipped around to face Marco’s bristling anger. “You’ve been ignoring our calls,” he continued tightly. “And then Gino’s PR guy advised us to lay low for a few weeks but that obviously didn’t cross your mind after you were spotted—”

“Boys, please …” Rosa interrupted, her expression torn with concern. “No fighting.”

Luke sprang to his feet and began to pace.

Rosa glanced helplessly at Beth, then back to Luke. “I know you are pazzo at me, Lucio—”

Angry? If only it were that clear. But Marco was right. Damn guilt got him every single time.

When he finally turned to face his aunt, the soft love mingled with abject worry on her familiar features hit him like a runaway train.

Rosa had tried to be a mother to him, but he’d rebuffed her time and again. Oh, there’d been times when he’d allowed small intimacies—a hug on his birthday, a kiss at Christmas. She’d also mediated the blazing fights between him and Marco and had encouraged him in his studies.

And remained loyal when the reporters had come clamoring for a quote.

He knew she would never deliberately hurt him, just as he had total faith in the honor code he lived by.

The power of that thought stole away his accusations, turning them to dust on his tongue. With a barely audible groan, he sank to the couch and rubbed his temples.

“You know how hard I’ve worked to get where I am, Rosa.” He glanced up, frustration clouding his voice. “How I’ve fought for every promotion, made sure I was beyond reproach, because of Gino’s reputation. So why did he drag me into this?”

“Lucio. He did not do this to hurt you,” came Rosa’s soft declaration. “Things have been so crazy around here and I completely forgot about the rental, Gino’s bequest to you.

“He had always planned to give it to you,” she continued. “It was the house he originally offered your parents when they first came to Australia. Your father turned us down flat.”

Luke’s gut twisted at the barely hidden grief. The woman had lost her husband, the man she’d loved for over forty years and here he was getting all worked up about a bunch of misunderstandings.

Death had a way of putting everything into perspective.

Rosa’s dark eyes, creased with years of life and love, now holding only concern and worry, humbled him. He flushed. She wasn’t to blame for the inquiry, or the way the press had focused so thoroughly on him.

“I am so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Rosa went to Beth and took her hands. “You must have been so confused, thinking you’d been kicked out onto the street.” Just as Beth opened her mouth, Rosa added, “I would never do anything to hurt you, Beth. You know that. Don’t you?”

As Beth sat there, staring into the earnest woman’s big brown eyes, she remembered the moments they’d shared—the laughter, the little gifts on her birthday, the snippets of life advice Rosa had offered. Beth had liked talking to her, had liked her.

“You warm this old Italian woman’s heart, Beth,” Rosa continued. “You, bella. You’re smart. You’re good here—” she put a hand on one expansive bosom “—you deserve to have someone look after you.”

Beth gently extricated herself. “You lied to me, Rosa.”

“And what would you have me do, eh?” Rosa’s brows shot up. “Sit back and watch you struggle every day? Pah!” She snapped her fingers. “You’d never take money from me, so I did the only thing I could.”

“After all this time why didn’t you say something?”

Rosa shook her head. “I was going to. But you were so happy to finally have a place of your own, and I know how you feel about lying. What if you’d never speak to me again?”

But my lease is up in three months, she was about to say. I will be out on the street. But the look on Rosa’s face had her choking back the words. Her issue was with Luke, not Rosa, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to add to the woman’s already heavy guilt.

Suddenly, Beth’s heart wasn’t in it. She sighed and glanced up at Luke, who had remained oddly silent.

Rosa straightened and turned back to Luke. “Lucio, I know Gino had his faults and you and he never really got along. But he was so very proud of you. As am I.” She blinked as her eyes began to tear.

“Rosa …”

“No.” She put up a silencing finger, “Your uncle was a proud man and those terrible accusations hit him hard, but he understood what you had to do. He loved you so much.” She grasped his hand and squeezed, a bittersweet smile hovering on her lips before she pulled a key from her pocket. “He left you something in his desk drawer. Please, go take a look.”

Luke closed the office door firmly behind him and scanned the room. Everything was still in its place, from the large antique desk to the rows of books lining the walls. The faint aroma of expensive cigars and brandy still lingered on the air. He almost expected Gino to be sitting behind that desk, puffing quietly away. Instead, the empty chair matched the hole in his heart.

Quickly, he shoved the key in the desk drawer and unlocked it. The white envelope was addressed to him and the contents yielded a DVD.

A frown furrowing his brow, Luke slowly closed the drawer, went over to the DVD player that sat in the bookcase, shoved in the disc then picked up the remote and clicked on the TV.

He took a seat behind the imposing desk, his finger hovering over the play button.

A clean blotter sat square in the middle, a fountain pen perfectly one inch from the top. Luke picked up the pen and twirled it idly in his hand, a small smile hovering on his lips. Gino was old school, preferring fountain pen and ink for all his correspondence.

Luke replaced the pen, screwed up his eyes and pinched his nose high on the bridge.

Gino’s desk at Aphrodite’s was identical—same layout, same pens. Same scent of leather, polished wood and cigar smoke.

Every little thing was determined to remind him of that night, even while he’d been trying to forget it. Like a convicted man accepting his fate, he let the memories flood in.

The board had expressed their displeasure earlier that day and Luke had been in a white-hot fury. Regardless of the warnings issued to keep his distance from Gino, he’d stormed into the casino spoiling for a fight. Security had wisely kept out of his way, and frustrated as all hell, he’d slammed into Gino’s office.

Luke grunted, remembrance flooding in like waters over a burst dam, too late to stop it.

Those sharp accusations he’d flung at Gino had been like a red rag to a bull, and his uncle had never been one to turn down a fight.

“Dammit all to hell, Gino! Are you using the casino as a money-laundering front?”

Gino shot to his feet, his face flushed. “No! You of all people should know that!”

“Should I?” Luke’s eyes narrowed. “I heard the evidence is before the Director of Public Prosecutions. And if he thinks that’s enough for a trial then there’s probably enough to convict.”

“I know the law, Lucio.”

“Apparently not enough!”

Gino matched Luke’s dark look with one of his own, his breath coming in heavy puffs. “I will not have you stand there and accuse me of breaking the law! I will not!”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Luke shoved his face in Gino’s. “Because right now, I don’t give a damn if you’re fiddling with the tables, cooking the books or ripping off the bloody queen of England. All I care about is that stink rubbing off on me.” He slammed his palms down on the desk, his voice deadly calm. “And no one messes with my job.”

Every time he relived those few moments, it never got any better. Luke recalled every heated word, every frustrated gesture.

And the outcome was exactly the same every time. Midargument, Gino went bright red, clutched his chest and collapsed.

With a vicious curse, Luke shot to his feet.

The doctors said nothing could have saved him, even if he’d had a heart attack right in the middle of the emergency ward. Still, the guilt had eaten at him until Luke could hardly think straight. CPR was futile; the medics had had to pull him off Gino when he’d refused to believe his uncle had been dead for ten minutes.

Guilt had kept him from seeing Rosa before the funeral. Even then he’d defied a direct order and attended the service, for all the good it did everyone. It had been pure torture. A couple of reporters had been thrown out, Marco had erupted in a rage and all the while Rosa’s red-rimmed eyes drilled into his very soul. Still, she’d said nothing, accepted his lame condolences with good grace and said not one word about the argument or Luke’s lengthy absence. Which made him feel doubly worse.

Marco had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the service, but every time his eyes settled on Luke, they’d been bright and angry. Afterward, he’d let it all come spilling out and Luke had deserved it, had welcomed it, even. It was his cross to bear.

Now he focused on the television screen and the remote control he gripped.

He pressed Play and began to watch.

“You and Lucio—you are friends?” Rosa began after she sent Marco off to get drinks then took a seat on the couch beside Beth.

Beth choked down a laugh. “Hardly. I made an offer on the house, but he refused it then moved in. No.” Her gaze drifted to the archway where he’d disappeared. “Definitely not friends.”

“I see.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “But he told you about Melina and Salvatore. His parents,” she clarified.

“Yes.”

Rosa was shaking her head, the pain of remembrance etched in the lines around her eyes. “My brother and his wife were very proud, very strict and devoutly religious. When Lucio found out about us, he blamed Gino for not making an effort, for not coming to their aid when they’d been struggling for so long in near poverty. Stubborn, just like Marco.” She smiled, but it quickly disappeared. “Lucio lived with us for nearly three years, holding on tight to that grudge every day. He was such an angry, scared boy, trying so very hard to be a man, and anything we did just pushed him further away. But he was a gifted child and he threw himself into his studies, then his job. It gave him strength, gave him the control and security he needed. And I’ve seen him barely a dozen times since then.”

Rosa’s voice broke, but she valiantly held on to her composure. “And now he’s living with you.”

“Not living with me. He’s in the spare room.”

“So he trusts you.” When Beth shook her head, Rosa said, “He does, bella. If he didn’t, you’d have been out within a day.”

“It’s not trust that’s keeping him there, Rosa. It’s suspicion. He thought I was Gino’s mistress.”

Rosa choked back a laugh. “Really?”

“Yes.” Beth bit her lip to stop a smile from escaping. “We both agreed to work this out together and not get the police involved.”

“Ah.” She tapped a finger on her chin in thoughtful silence.

“Look, there’s nothing—”

Marco returned then with a bottle of wine and four glasses, cutting off Beth’s protest.

She took the proffered glass, determinedly avoiding Rosa’s scrutiny.

“So you’re living with Luke, huh?” Marco began, grinning over the rim of his glass as he perched on the couch arm.

Beth swallowed a sigh. “Not that way we’re not.”

His eyebrows rose. “But you share a house.”

Ah, yes. The house. “For the moment, yes.”

“There you go.” Marco took a swig, rolled the wine around in his mouth then swallowed. “Significant milestone, I’d say.”

“You both look good together,” Rosa interrupted. “I can see there’s something else there than just friends. Sì?”

“No!” Beth cleared her throat and tried again. “No, there isn’t.”

Rosa made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “You need a good strong man in your life. I may be old but I know amore. Love, it will make your problems go away. It will make you trust again, eh?”

She took Beth’s still hands and squeezed. “I know how much you guard your secrets, bella. Lucio, he has a few of his own.”

Beth blinked, looking from Rosa to Marco grinning behind his wineglass.

Since when had the evening turned into a “what Beth needs is a man” discussion?

She recalled the times Rosa had mentioned her family. On the massage table, clients opened up and talked about the most intimate details of their lives—family feuds, career woes, relationships. Rosa’s favorite subject had been her family. She’d boasted of their virtues nearly every session, how talented her son was, how her handsome nephew needed a good woman to slow him down, make him appreciate life more.

Luke suddenly appeared, interrupting Beth’s response.

“You found it, Lucio?” Rosa asked, drawing away from Beth.

“Yes.” His eyes were expressionless, unreadable. “We should go.”

Rosa looked surprised. “You are not staying for dinner?”

“Sorry. Beth?”

Beth threw Rosa an apologetic glance and stood. “Maybe another time?”

“Sì.” Rosa kissed Beth on both cheeks, her eyes full of unanswered questions. “Ciao, bella. Drive safely.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.