“You’re beautiful,” he said in a throaty voice that sounded like sex

Harley braced herself for Mac’s next move, expecting to feel his hard body against hers. But he stood, tugged her up and lifted her into his arms. She was forced to hang on, to bury her face against his shoulder, as much to avoid their reflection in the mirrors as to avoid that hungry, almost gentle expression on his face.

She could stand up to his challenges, but it had only taken a few orgasms to learn she couldn’t bear up under his tenderness. At least not when she was feeling so raw herself.

“I’m no threat, Harley.”

But he was a threat. A bigger threat than she was prepared to admit. She said nothing.

Mac carried her to the bed and lay her out before him wearing nothing but his bracelet and his wedding band. He stood above her, so terribly handsome with his hair gleaming in the candlelit darkness, his expression so intense.

“What happens now?” she asked, needing to hear a voice, even her own, to fill the silence.

He sank to the edge of the bed, all fluid muscle and grace.

“I find more ways to pleasure you.”

Dear Reader,

All too often the path to love turns out to be a bumpy jaunt down a pothole-filled street rather than a smooth ride over new asphalt. But sometimes those bumps can help us learn things about others that teach us important things about ourselves.

Harley and Mac travel such a rocky road. She’s a woman who faces life with her chin squared and her eyes fixed on the future. But it’s learning about her past that helps Mac see how much he must grow to win this special woman’s heart. And realizing he has the strength of character to take an honest look inward helps Harley find the courage to trust him, and herself.

Blaze is the place to explore red-hot romance, and I’m delighted to be among the ranks of the wonderful Harlequin authors who share their journeys to happily ever after. I hope With This Fling brings you to happily ever after, too. Let me know. Drop a line in care of Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9, or visit my Web site at www.jeanielondon.com.

Very truly yours,

Jeanie London

With This Fling
Jeanie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my mom, Bonnie-Jean Hickman, for always being a wonderful example and an inspiration… a Cinderella story without the mice.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Prologue

THE INSTANT MAC GERARD touched her, he knew he’d made a big mistake. Awareness caught him fast and hard like a sucker punch, and he didn’t want to walk away from their argument as much as he wanted to kiss her.

So, God help him, he did.

Her eyes widened a split second before his mouth came down on hers and he steeled himself for her reaction—knowing this woman, she’d likely draw her gun and shoot him.

But something happened, some thing he’d never felt before.

Not run-of-the-mill desire. Not even hot-under-the-collar passion. This was need. Sharp. Potent. Consuming. He wanted to absorb her, press their bodies close until they fused into one.

He didn’t seem to be the only one experiencing the phenomenon, either, because she didn’t go for her gun, she melted against him, all her curves catching him in exactly the right places. Her lips parted on a gasp and she slipped her arms around his neck to pull him harder into their kiss.

Mac caught the taste of her with his mouth, drank in her scent on a breath. He kissed her with an urgency that was closer to making him lose control than any argument they’d ever had at work. And that was saying a lot. He wanted to inhale her through his pores, feel her body unfold around him, underneath him, with an intensity that shocked him to the core.

This was Harley Price…the gun-toting, karate-kicking, too-competent private investigator who’d been making his life hell ever since he’d walked through the door of his new job.

Then it hit him, and Mac finally understood the real problem between them. It wasn’t just a clash of personalities or a power struggle between two strong wills.

They were attracted to each other, big time.

And as the feel of her body imprinted itself on his, as the taste of her sweet mouth filtered through his senses, Mac knew he was in more trouble than he’d ever been in his life.

Because the only way he could fix the problem was to get this woman naked in bed.

1

“WITH THIS RING, I’d be dead,” Harley Price whispered to no one in particular.

She’d once heard that the best reason to get married was the promise of around-the-clock orgasms. While she understood the appeal, an orgasm would have to register double digits on the Richter scale before she’d suffer this kind of torture.

This torture was the reception line at a wedding. As one of the very last guests to pass through, she greeted the new Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Sinclair, side by side in their first official performance as husband and wife.

They looked giddy. Every happy cliché she’d ever heard applied to them, from the way they seemed to be floating on air to the way they glowed. They smiled in unison and acted as though every guest at their wedding was a close friend.

The fact that the new Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Sinclair looked as though they’d stepped off the cover of a romance novel might have had something to do with the impression, too. They’d dressed in costumes reflecting the fashion of two centuries earlier. Admittedly, the costumes worked with the surroundings, as this wedding was taking place at an antebellum plantation.

“Best of luck,” Harley said, wishing the newlyweds a lifetime of around-the-clock bliss. Technically she wouldn’t have even come to this wedding if her boss hadn’t insisted she make an appearance as a professional courtesy. But she’d come. She’d wished them well. Now she was out of here.

Moving beyond the reception line, Harley unscrewed her smile and fled for the nearest exit. Veering away from the tables, where gleaming china and exquisite floral arrangements beckoned guests, she slipped out of the ballroom.

She emerged in the hall, an octagonal rotunda that rose three stories above her, all curving staircases and high-luster balustrades. A crystal chandelier graciously illuminated her way to the exit and she measured her paces so her heels didn’t tap loudly across the wooden floor.

She hadn’t made the front exit when a female voice called out, “I told Josh you’d run for it if we took our eyes off you.”

Harley groaned at the sight of the red-sequined bridesmaid emerging from the ballroom. Unfortunately, this wasn’t just any bridesmaid—this was Lennon Eastman, her boss’s wife.

And just her luck, her boss filed out the door right behind her. Josh was scowling and Harley scowled back, disliking his wife intensely at the moment—no easy feat considering Lennon was an absolute doll. Well-bred, confident and poised, she was also tall, blond and beautiful—as close to Harley’s ideal of society perfection as any woman could possibly get.

And there was nothing like standing in the shadow of a socialite to make her feel underdressed, no matter how stylish her gown.

“You didn’t drive all the way down here to sit through the wedding and miss the fun?” Josh asked.

“You told me to attend the wedding. I did.”

Josh exchanged a glance with his wife and Harley knew trouble when she saw it. As a licensed private investigator, her observation skills were more developed than most, but she could have been blind in one eye and still recognized that these two meant business. The big question was why? What difference did it make if she showed up at the reception or not?

Better not to ask. She was already treading thin ice with her boss. A dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, Josh Eastman seemed more at home getting down and dirty with the bad guys than he did tuxed up in his Garden District persona. At least to her, anyway. Harley had known him for nearly seven years—long before she’d come to work for him.

The investigative agency she’d contracted with after college had been the one he’d used for additional manpower, and she’d been assigned to him while learning the ropes. Josh had impressed her with his do-whatever-it-takes investigation technique. He didn’t mind getting his hands dirty and that had earned him her respect.

She’d apparently earned his, too, because he’d requested her services regularly and after he’d married Lennon and expanded his operation, he’d offered her full-time work. She’d accepted, thinking luck had been going her way…until he’d brought their newest investigator into the fold.

The thought of Mac Gerard reminded her that she’d pushed her luck enough for one day.

“All right, I’ll rethink my plans,” she said.

Josh only inclined his head, but Lennon grabbed her arm and led her back toward the ballroom. “You’ll have fun. I had Ellen seat you at a table where you’ll know some of the guests.”

“Thanks.” She tried to force some enthusiasm into her voice. “But shouldn’t you be dancing with the wedding party?”

“We got out before the dancing started,” Josh said. “Lucky thing Lennon saw you slip out when she did.”

Lucky? That was a matter of interpretation. Especially when Lennon motioned to a table across the room.

“Your seat is over there,” she said, looping her arm through her husband’s and steering him onto the dance floor.

Harley took one look at the empty seat at her table and knew she’d been set up. Sitting right beside that empty space was the one man she didn’t want to see again in this lifetime.

Mac Gerard.

She couldn’t have missed him if she’d tried. Even among three hundred-plus guests, Gerard stood out. She wasn’t sure what it was…perhaps the superior attitude that screamed, Here I am! or his deep-throated laughter that commanded the attention of everyone within earshot.

Maybe it was how the custom-cut suit sat on his broad shoulders. Or the masculine features that were so sculpted he almost didn’t look real. Especially with the way his thick brown hair and tanned skin combined to make his quicksilver eyes look startling in his face.

This man was too damned attractive to be allowed, and that was his biggest flaw as far as Harley was concerned. Appearances could be so deceiving. Gerard looked as if he should be Mr. Wonderful—intelligent, sexy and charming. If he hadn’t been so ridiculously gorgeous, it might not come as a shock that he was such an idiot.

And she got to sit beside him today. Lucky her.

Sweeping toward the table, she slipped into her chair before Gerard could clear his and do something civilized like stand. Mr. Blue Blood was nothing if not socially graceful and she wouldn’t give him an edge when he already had a clear advantage—the world of upscale social events was his, not hers.

Along with Josh, Lennon and the groom, Gerard was one of “the Garden District Gang,” a group of friends who’d been reared together in the exclusive neighborhood along New Orleans’s Rue St. Charles. Though the Garden District wasn’t far from where Harley had grown up, the city blocks had separated her upbringing from these blue bloods like a galaxy.

“Heard you couldn’t get a date,” she whispered.

His quicksilver gaze caught hers, eyes so clear beneath a thick fringe of black lashes that Harley felt his glance as a nearly physical pull straight to her toes.

“You’re wearing a dress, Harley. And a tight one. Where’d you hide your gun?”

“No place you want to know about.”

“Don’t be so sure. I didn’t bring a date because Lennon mentioned you weren’t bringing one.”

Now that wasn’t what Harley had expected. But then, when did this man ever do what she expected? “What difference does it make whether or not I brought a date?”

“This is the first social event we’ve been at together since we attended the corporate training.”

“So?”

He flashed her a smile that made her heart race on cue. This man’s looks really were his greatest flaw. “I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to socialize with you. I can handle you differently when we’re not at work.”

“You can’t handle me at all.”

“Wrong. I’m looking forward to handling you.” He leaned in close and whispered for her ears alone, “We need to figure out how we’re going to deal with being attracted to each other. Today’s the perfect opportunity to discuss the problem.”

Before she could respond to that, Gerard sat back, turned to the other guests and introduced her, cutting off any reply and making her feel stupid in the process. She supposed she should have acknowledged the others when she first sat down.

Several guests had attended the same corporate training session as they had, so she forced a smile. The others at the table were strangers, except one—Stuart, Gerard’s grandfather.

At first Harley thought she was destined for an afternoon of torture—dealing with two generations of Gerard men couldn’t possibly be a good thing. But the elder Mr. Gerard quickly proved that the boorish, arrogant genes had skipped at least one generation in the family.

A very distinguished looking man, he had a head full of wavy white hair and the same quicksilver eyes as his grandson. But there the similarities ended. The elder Mr. Gerard smiled easily and didn’t raise her hackles with stupid remarks.

“So you’re the skilled investigator I’ve been hearing so much about,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young lady.”

If he’d been hearing about her from his grandson, Harley would bet money skilled wasn’t the only adjective used to describe her. “You, as well, sir. I know someone on the force who says you should have a square named after you for cutting back plea bargaining while you were district attorney.”

“Nice to know I’m still remembered. It’s been a few years since I retired.”

“You dropped the percentage of plea-bargained cases from eighty percent to ten,” Gerard said. “Impact like that lasts.”

Stuart smiled graciously. “Fortunately the numbers are holding under the current administration.”

No thanks to Stuart’s grandson. Harley knew that Gerard had left his career with the district attorney’s office and ditched his fiancée to indulge in an early midlife crisis. Rumor had it that his family and friends thought he’d lost his mind, and she sincerely wished that he’d continued in his grandfather’s footsteps so he wouldn’t have wound up working for Josh.

Keeping that thought to herself, she dodged the sudden silence by reaching for her water glass.

Gerard caught her hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s dance,” he repeated. “You’re wearing a dress.”

Leave it to the whiz kid to notice the obvious. And he didn’t look fazed in the least that half the table was hanging on his every word. Arrogance truly was an amazing thing.

“You don’t want to dance with me any more than I want to dance with you,” she whispered.

“Here’s a classic example of how you think you have all the answers but don’t.”

“If Josh put you up to this, don’t worry about it. I’ll tell him to butt out. Making us come to the wedding was one thing, but he’s out of his jurisdiction here. He can’t assign us this much trash work.”

A slow smile spread across Gerard’s face, making Harley realize she spent so much time avoiding looking at this man that she’d never really noticed his mouth before. Wide, full lips. Straight white teeth. A hint of a dimple in his left cheek.

Then, in a move she was too distracted to see coming, he looped his fingers around her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. He brushed those lips against her palm, a warm press of skin against skin that sent a sizzle straight up her arm.

“Josh has nothing to do with this. I don’t consider dancing with a beautiful woman trash work.”

They were putting on a show for the whole table and Harley wished she had her gun. Unfortunately, it remained in the trunk of her car where she’d left it, but if she’d been armed, she’d have drawn and told him to let go. While she might not be as clean a shot left-handed, she was just as fast.

“Forget it, Gerard,” she resorted to a verbal protest, which didn’t have nearly the same impact. “This isn’t my thing.”

“What’s not your thing?” With his mouth still brushing her palm, he leaned close and whispered, “The bartender will serve bottled beer if you ask nicely.”

Now here was the Mac Gerard she knew and didn’t love. Exhaling a breath that should have dispelled all those tingly feelings, Harley said more firmly, “I do not dance.”

“You took me to the mat in defense training yesterday. Not an easy thing to do since I outweigh you by a hundred pounds. Trust me, you can dance.” Then with that iron grip still clamped around her wrist, he dragged her out of her chair.

Short of causing a scene, there was nothing to do except be tugged onto the dance floor. With his broad shoulders and long strides, Gerard cleared a path through the couples. He moved effortlessly for such a big man, then drew her around to face him. Holding her hand in a death grip, he dropped his other to her waist, drawing her too close for comfort.

“It’s easy. Just loosen up and trust me.”

Trust him? Right. He was breaking rules here, forcing her to deal with him in a way they hadn’t dealt with each other before. And it didn’t help that the band played a slow song, which meant he tucked her so close she could feel each shift and flex of muscle as he led her through some slow steps.

“See, Harley, you move fine.”

Moving just fine would have meant heading back to the table. Or better yet, New Orleans. Being forced to stand in his arms while her body reacted to their closeness—no matter how hard she willed it otherwise—was just plain torture.

She could deal with Gerard being an idiot, but she couldn’t deal with being attracted to him. This chemistry sweeping through her, this rush of awareness so strong she half expected to feel wind whip around them, shouldn’t be happening. Worse yet, she wasn’t the only one feeling it. Gerard’s gaze grew smoky, a look that hinted at moon-soaked nights and sex.

This was ridiculous. They really couldn’t stand each other. The man went out of his way at work to challenge her. His ego had a rough time dealing with the fact that she—a woman who hadn’t had the benefit of his privileged upbringing—had more experience on the job than he did. This blue-blooded man who was used to his pedigree paving his way.

“I don’t like dancing with you,” she said.

“I do. You feel nice.”

To emphasize his point, he tightened his arm enough to tilt her off balance and press their thighs together. She had no choice but to arch against him and neither his slacks nor her gown did a damned thing to shield her from his hard muscles smothering her. Every nerve ending ignited with the contact, tempting her with an awareness so intense that she’d never felt the like, that she didn’t want to feel.

“Knock it off,” she muttered. “Or I’ll drop you right here.”

“You might have gotten me yesterday, but I wouldn’t exactly call it a sure thing.”

“The only thing saving you is that you’re not worth losing my job over. Josh will have something to say if we cause a scene.” She tried to put some distance between them, but he only tugged her closer. “You’re holding me too close, Gerard. We look like we’re doing something obscene.”

“We’re dancing. And I enjoy being close to you without having to block any punches.”

Resting his cheek on the top of her head, he fell silent, leaving Harley to guess what he was trying to pull. “Why this sudden crush to hold me?”

“This is much more fun than you trying to kick my head off.” His clear eyes flashed, a look that emphasized their closeness. “I want to explore our chemistry. It’s become a fantasy of mine.”

Harley’s mouth popped open and it took Gerard’s flashing dimple to bring her to her senses. “You’re kidding?”

He shook his head.

“If you’re trying to freak me out because you know I’m unarmed, you’re doing a good job.”

“A compliment. That’s a first.” He guided her away from a couple dancing within earshot. “And I don’t trust that you’re unarmed. Knowing you, there’s a weapon hidden somewhere—”

“Which I couldn’t reach without flashing the room.”

He let his eyes flutter shut and inhaled deeply. “Now there’s an image to keep me awake at night. I want to see you naked, Harley. That’s another fantasy of mine.”

“You’re really pushing it—”

“Refreshing to see you two engaged in something other than combat for a change.” Josh’s voice filtered through the moment with the impact of a cooling rain on a summer day.

They swirled around to find him dancing with a smiling Lennon. Harley didn’t smile back. She managed to squeeze a little breathing room between her and Gerard while letting Lennon know with a narrowed gaze that she disliked the seating arrangements.

“We promised to play nice for the day,” Gerard said.

Harley didn’t offer reassurances. Josh believed in actions over words and she wasn’t someone who liked to waste her breath. She’d play nice as long as Gerard didn’t do anything stupid—no guarantee with all his talk of fantasies.

“Getting away from the office is a good thing,” Lennon said, daring Harley to disagree.

Harley didn’t reply to that. Not with Josh peering down at his wife with one of those expressions, a look that wouldn’t change even if Lennon turned blue and started gibbering in an incomprehensible alien tongue.

Harley had witnessed this phenomenon firsthand more than once, a phenomenon that never failed to take her by surprise. She’d watched Josh draw down on a gang, without blinking, to extract information on a missing kid, yet he softened around the edges whenever he gazed at his wife.

“Don’t harass her, Mac,” Josh said. “Or she won’t make it through the reception without drawing her gun.”

Gerard laughed as Josh danced Lennon away. “He thinks you’re armed, too.”

“Keep harassing me, and you’ll find out.”

With undisguised amusement, Gerard leaned into her, forcing her into a dip. She had no choice but to bend or fall on her butt in this tight dress.

“I’d rather be dancing and holding you close.” Looking down at her, eyes smoky with promise, he pressed his thigh between hers, so she had to hang on to keep her balance.

Heat pooled deep inside and she fought the impulse to ride against that hard muscle, feed the ache awakening inside her.

“Gerard,” she growled.

He held her for another beat, two, just long enough to prove he had the control, a petty power play that convinced her he was very aware of how she reacted to him. And he made his point loud and clear when he lifted her out of the dip and brought her against him so hard she gasped.

His body enveloped her as he moved her around in the dance, his strong arms too solid, his hips anchored against her much too close for decency. They swayed together so erotically that she imagined they must look like two lovers who needed a room.

She knew he wanted to provoke her and she refused, absolutely refused, to give in to an almost overwhelming desire to fling him off her and knock him on his ass for good measure.

“The pulse jumping in your throat is very attractive,” he said, and to her utter horror, he lowered his mouth to her skin.

Flames licked in the wake of his touch, making her insides tremble with excitement. Damn man. Damn dress. And she’d even questioned the low cut of the neckline.

“Just stop it,” she said, and Gerard smiled.

“I’m not harassing you. I’m being honest.”

It took a moment to manage her breathing and find her voice. “Honest? You expect me to believe this three-hundred-and-sixty-degree change of attitude isn’t anything but harassment?”

“I would understand you feeling that way, except for the fact that we kissed.”

“It wasn’t a real kiss, Gerard. It was being here at the plantation. That ridiculous murder-mystery corporate training. All that rich food and stupidity about pirates falling in love. We got…caught up. Let me remind you we agreed to forget that inexplicable lapse of impulse control ever happened.”

“You suggested. I never agreed. I liked kissing you.”

He might have been smiling, but there was nothing amused about his expression. His jaw set in a hard line, his gaze as no-nonsense as she’d ever seen it. The man wasn’t lying and that realization came at her sideways.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you, Harley. You’re haunting my dreams.”

“Get over it.”

“Come at this from a purely pragmatic standpoint.” He ground against her, enough to share the growing erection he hid inside his expensive suit. “We’re attracted to each other. Ignoring the way we feel isn’t working. Our feelings are interfering with our jobs.”

The instinct to deny his claim hit her hard, but Harley didn’t do denial. No matter how much she might want to. She was attracted to him, and everyone within a twenty-mile radius of Eastman Investigations knew they didn’t get along. Josh had even set up the teamwork training session exclusively to help them work together as a team.

“It was one stupid kiss!” she said.

“It was one awesome kiss.”

“Did Lennon put you up to this?”

He lifted a silky dark brow as if daring her to think anyone could possibly make him do something he didn’t want to do. Well, no argument there as she’d had daily proof.

“We need to work through these feelings, Harley, so we can get on with our lives. It’s the only thing to do.”

She would have disabused him of that notion, but he chose that exact moment to bend her back over his arm again when the music slowed to a bluesy tune. Her heart countered by mimicking the tempo with lazy, aching beats.

“We need to explore this attraction to get it out of our systems,” he said. “We need to have a fling.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No. I want you, me, in bed, naked.” His smoky gaze raked over her face as intimately as a caress.

“Just because you want something doesn’t mean it will become reality.” She arched upward, desperate to get away.

He wouldn’t let her go.

Short of throwing him off balance and causing a scene, she had no recourse but to wait until he decided to pull her out of the dip, which didn’t look like it would happen anytime soon. “Forget the damn kiss, Gerard. End of discussion.”

“Let me sweep you off your feet. You’ll like it.”

Unfortunately, she might, and Harley couldn’t live with herself if she did. “Who do you think you are, Prince Charming?”

“You won’t be able to resist me.”

She could only marvel at the man’s arrogance, and his luck. He was beyond lucky that she wasn’t armed. She honestly didn’t know if she could have controlled herself.

“I will resist, trust me. You aren’t Prince Charming and I’m not Cinderella. If I were, you’d turn back into a mouse and this ball would be over.”

“Hello, Ms. Price, Mackenzie,” a deep male voice said. “Enjoying yourselves?”

They both glanced around to find Gerard’s grandfather and his bright-eyed dance partner, Quinevere McDarby.

Gerard had the grace to pull her out of the dip and she sucked in an audible breath that made Miss Q, as she liked to be called, smile.

“Of course they’re enjoying themselves, Stuart,” she said. “If you could just see yourselves, my dears, you look as if you were made to be together.”

As Lennon’s great-aunt and Josh’s great-aunt-in-law, Miss Q had diplomatic immunity from Harley’s opinion. But Gerard, unfortunately, never knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been telling Harley,” he said. “She’s a tough sell.”

“What’s to sell?” Miss Q raked those big baby blues over Gerard approvingly. “Look at him, Harley…he’s perfect.”

For what? To use as a practice target?

She kept her mouth shut. Not only were she and Miss Q clearly of two minds regarding the definition of perfect, but like her great-niece Lennon, Miss Q was one of those impossible-not-to-like types. Hands down, she was the most outrageous woman Harley had ever met, which said a lot since she’d met some real characters in her twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight years.

The way the talk on the street went, Miss Q had been responsible for matchmaking not only Lennon and Josh into their current marital state, but also the new Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Harley didn’t know the details. She didn’t want to know. But when she looked at Gerard and remembered that he was another of the Garden District gang…

She smiled at the elderly couple, a real smile. Lady Luck must have glanced down after all, because if Miss Q took an interest in Gerard’s love life, she just might find a woman to distract him from wanting a fling with her. With Harley’s lack of pedigree, she certainly wouldn’t be on the short list of contenders for the job.

“Miss Q, would you mind if I cut in?” Harley asked, more than willing to suffer another dance to escape Gerard and give this little matchmaker a chance to pick his brain about his preferences. “I was hoping to talk with Mr. Gerard about his work as the district attorney.”

“Of course not, my dear. I never turn down a dance with a handsome man.”

“The verdict is still out on whether or not you’re armed,” Gerard said with a frown. “Should I be worried about my grandfather’s safety?”

“Nothing to worry about, Mackenzie.” Stuart motioned him off. “Your Ms. Price is charming.”

Gerard had no choice but to let her go, but being the man he was, he couldn’t resist a parting shot. His voice was low and silky when he whispered in her ear, “I’ll get you in bed, Harley. Trust me.”

She bit her tongue and made her escape. Stepping into Stuart’s arms, she let him steer her into a dance, his grandson’s threat still echoing in her head.

“So you wanted to talk about my work, young lady?”

Between the question in his voice and the dubiously arched brow, Harley got the impression he didn’t believe her. She decided to be up-front. “To be honest, sir, I wanted to get away from your grandson. I see him all week at work. I need a break on the weekends.”

“My good fortune then. After meeting you, I’d hoped we’d get the opportunity to chat.”

“Really, sir? Why?”

“I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“I do hope you’ve heard more than your grandson’s opinion. If not, I’m sunk.”

Stuart might have been old, really old if she was to guess, but his strong features had weathered the time well. When he smiled, she recognized his grandson in his expression and suspected that one day Gerard would look a lot like this man.

“I have,” he said. “In fact, that’s why I wanted to talk. I like to form my own opinions and the only thing my grandson has said is that you’re a very good investigator. He told me he’s been learning a great deal.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He sounded decided, and Harley liked that he was playing as straight with her as she was with him. “But I suspect that you’re not sure whether to believe me, Ms. Price.”

“Call me Harley, please.”

He inclined his head. “If you’ll call me Stuart.”

“Okay, Stuart. What makes you think I’m not sure?”

“I spent my entire adult life prosecuting criminals. That constitutes a lot of years. I pride myself on having become rather an expert at reading people.”

“That’s a handy skill in my line of work, too. And I don’t question you at all,” she assured him. “I’m reassessing the situation. If that’s all your grandson has said and you still need to formulate an opinion, maybe it’s everyone else’s opinions I should be worried about.”

“Not at all, young lady. Although I must tell you I’m fascinated by the stories. I’ve always found my grandson easy to get along with and, to my knowledge, he hasn’t had problems on the job in the past.”

“Oh, I’m sure he hasn’t. He’s the poster child of patience and ability. I’m the rogue element here.”

“Touché.” Stuart laughed. “I’m biased where Mackenzie is concerned. He’s my late wife’s namesake—Julia Mackenzie Gerard. As I’m so fond of him, I do hope you’ll forgive me. But in order to correct my mistake, I’ll need your take on the stories.”

“They’re nothing more than urban legends,” she said dryly. “Your grandson and I get along fine. Not to worry.”

Stuart shot a glance toward the grandson in question and his matchmaking dance partner. “I’m not worried at all. I believe my grandson may have finally met his match.”

Gerard’s threat echoed in her memory. I’ll get you in bed, Harley. Trust me.

The man had met his match. She just hoped he was as smart as his grandfather to realize it.

2

MAC HAD NO APPOINTMENTS scheduled this morning, but when he arrived at work shortly before nine, Melissa, Eastman Investigations’s office manager, tipped the phone receiver fastened to her head and mouthed, “Your grandfather’s here.”

“In my office?” he asked, surprised.

She shook her head. “Josh’s office, and Harley’s with them. They told me to send you in when you got here.”

Mac strode through the reception area and down the hallway. After knocking on his boss’s door, he found Josh seated behind his desk, his grandfather in front and Harley half sitting on the side, contemplating him stoically.

She was back in black today, the narrow-legged slacks and blazer drawing his attention to the way her body stretched away from the desk, all graceful lines and sleek curves.

He nodded in greeting, then slipped a hand over his grandfather’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

His grandfather glanced up with a somber expression. “Good morning, Mackenzie. I’ve been explaining to Josh and Harley that I seem to have a thief loose in my house.”

Mac sat down beside his grandfather, frowning. The house in question was the house he’d been reared in, a Garden District mansion where both his grandfather and parents still lived.

“What’s missing?”

“Your grandmother’s wedding rings.”

“No chance they were accidentally moved or misplaced?”

His grandfather shook his head. “You know I never move them. I suppose I should keep them in the safe, but…” He trailed off and shrugged.

Mac knew those rings stayed inside his grandmother’s jewelry box on her dresser, where his grandfather could look at them whenever he wanted a reminder of the woman he’d loved for most of his life, and had so recently lost.

“Grandmother’s jewelry should be safe in the house. What did you do after noticing the rings missing?”

“Took a thorough inventory of everything of value I don’t lock up and asked your parents to do the same. All their things are accounted for, but I’m missing my father’s pocket watch and your grandmother’s pearls.”

“You keep the pocket watch in your armoire?”

His grandfather nodded.

“So you’re missing several items from various places. Narrows down the suspect list.” He thought of the few employees who had access to his grandfather’s private apartment. “Have you reported the thefts to the police yet?”

“Apparently there’s a problem with that,” Josh said, and Mac guessed by his tone that he wasn’t happy with this problem, whatever it was. “That’s what we were just discussing.”

After so many years as a district attorney, his grandfather knew enough people in the police department that an investigation should have happened immediately. “What’s up?”

“As I was telling Harley and Josh, once I discovered these pieces missing, I wrote a list of everyone with access to the house. Seemed to be a safe place to start.” He gave a wan smile. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Mackenzie, that list is small. James and Pearl have been with me for years and I trust them implicitly, which leaves me with the cleaning and lawn-maintenance services. As the lawn-maintenance people don’t usually come inside…”

“You’re left with the cleaning service.”

“Right. But I’ve used the same service since your grandmother hired them nearly sixty years ago. You can understand I’m wary about making accusations without proof.”

Mac understood his grandfather’s concern and agreed with his assessment of the house staff’s trustworthiness. Pearl had been stuffing the family full of her Deep South specialties for as long as he could remember and James had spent nearly twenty years trying to direct Mac and his siblings’ activities outside of the house, where the aftereffects were less noticeable.

“I know Mrs. Noralee’s daughter is still running their business, Grandfather, but she has turnover with her staff. It’s possible she’s hired someone she can’t trust.”

“I agree, which is why I called some friends who use her cleaning service to see if they’ve had any problems.”

“Good idea. What came of it?”

“Five other clients with similar losses.” Harley reached for a document in front of Josh, handed Mac what turned out to be an inventory list. She was cool, professional, nothing in her expression letting on that they’d ever discussed a fling during the wedding. “They’re all missing small, high-ticket items that usually aren’t noticed immediately.”

Mac scanned the list, recognized the names. He glanced up at Josh. “Miss Q’s been hit, too.”

Josh nodded. “Basically we’ve got Nice and Neat as the commonality, with a staff of twelve who regularly service the Garden District on rotating schedules.”

Mac turned to his grandfather. “I don’t see why the police can’t investigate, so we can start attempting to recover the stolen items.”

Unfortunately, the chance of recovery was slim, and one look at his grandfather’s expression told Mac he knew it. Which left Mac to vainly question why, out of all the valuables in the family home, his grandmother’s rings—irreplaceable for their sentimental value alone—had been taken.

“That’s why I’m here, Mackenzie,” his grandfather said. “We want to move quickly. We’ve all lost things that mean a great deal to us. We’re pooling our efforts and hiring Eastman Investigations to investigate.”

“I’m still missing something here.” Mac cast a sidelong glance at Harley, found her watching him with an expression that revealed nothing.

“We can’t go to the police because of Noralee,” his grandfather said as if that explained everything. “She’s a good friend. She started Noralee’s Nice and Neat over sixty years ago. Those were different times, Mackenzie. Most women didn’t run businesses back then, especially African-American women.”

Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his hands before him, looked thoughtful. “Noralee was the Eastman’s housekeeper until she approached Josh’s grandfather about investing in her business. He backed her financially and Quinevere used their social contacts to help her find clients. She ran her business successfully until passing it along to her daughter when she retired. Evalee runs it now and has been training her daughter to take over. Nice and Neat has become a family operation with a sterling reputation that we don’t want to damage.”

“Someone is stealing.”

“I agree but until we know if Noralee’s daughter and granddaughter are involved, we’d prefer to handle it quietly. You’ve met Noralee, Mackenzie. She’s older than I am and has worked so hard. We don’t want to see her reputation harmed for no good reason. You need to find out what’s going on. If her daughter and granddaughter aren’t involved, the situation can be handled internally, quietly. If they are, well, at least we can warn Noralee before going to the authorities.”

“What are your thoughts on this?” Mac asked Josh, who rocked back in his chair and shot him a narrowed glance.

“I’ve been backed into a neat corner,” he said.

“Really?”

“Really. Your grandfather has been reminding me how instrumental my grandfather was in starting Nice and Neat. He believes that makes me invested in the outcome.”

“And…” Harley leveled her gaze at him. “Your grandfather threatened to sic Miss Q on him if he doesn’t take the case.”

Mac glanced at his grandfather. “I’m surprised you’re playing the personal card here.”

“Why should you be? It’s one of the few cards I have to play today and I want you to take our case.”

Harley chuckled and Mac looked back at her, even more surprised by her amusement than he was at his grandfather pulling rank. Laughter brightened her eyes and softened the edges of her beautiful face, an unexpected and welcome change from sarcasm.

His grandfather returned her smile. “I want you all to give it some thought before you decide. We’ll pay your professional fees and expenses and in addition, we’re offering generous cash rewards for the recovery of any of the stolen items.”

“I appreciate cash bonuses as well as the next guy, Stuart,” Harley said. “But I see a problem.”

Josh leaned back in his chair, watching her as if he knew what was coming. All eyes fixed on her, waiting.

“We can run background checks on the Nice and Neat employees, but we can’t conduct an investigation any more quietly than the police. If we don’t explain ourselves when we ask questions, we won’t get the answers we need. Now you’re looking at inside surveillance.”

“Which dramatically increases the time it’ll take us to get information,” Josh said.

“Which decreases our chances of recovering the stolen items,” Mac added.

His grandfather waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll work it out. I have total faith in your abilities. That’s why I’m here.”

“Give us twenty-four hours to do some research and discuss the case, Mr. Gerard.” Josh rose, effectively bringing the conversation to an end. “I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know what we come up with. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” his grandfather said.

Mac stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

Leading his grandfather outside, he waited until they were in the parking lot of the upscale professional plaza that housed Eastman Investigations before saying, “I’m sorry they took Grandmother’s rings. I know how much they mean to you. And me, too. I’ll do whatever I can to get them back.”

To Mac, his grandfather looked much the same as he always did. His hair was whiter, his face more lined, but he still stood tall, a proud man with an easy smile. And when he slid his hand over Mac’s shoulder and squeezed, the gesture felt the way it always had—a vote of unfailing confidence.

“I know you will, Mackenzie. I’m counting on it.”

Mac watched his grandfather drive from the parking lot and disappear into traffic, while he considered the various ways to tackle this case. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the elegant diamond and platinum rings in his memory.

“My father used to say my engagement ring was as big as an ice-skating pond,” his grandmother had once told him. “So I’d ask him when he’d ever seen an ice-skating pond, since he was born and bred in New Orleans.”

“When had he?” Mac had asked.

“He hadn’t. He was only teasing me, dear. He could never decide if your grandfather had bought such a big diamond to prove his worth or because he liked to show off.”

This accounting was so different from the grandfather Mac knew that he’d asked curiously, “Why did he?”

She’d gazed lovingly at her rings with one of those expressions that usually warned Mac it was time to dodge a hug. “Your grandfather wanted an engagement ring to always remind me of how much he loved me. He said this was the biggest he could find and it wasn’t nearly big enough.”

Mac had been twelve at the time and remembered feeling uncomfortable with all the talk about love. But as an adult he remembered her words when he thought about his future—he, too, wanted to settle down with a woman he loved with the same devotion his grandfather had shown his grandmother.

And somehow his grandmother had known. After her funeral services, his grandfather had pulled Mac aside and pressed the rings into his hand. “She wanted you to have these, Mackenzie. You were her namesake,” he’d explained. “She wanted to look down from heaven and know you loved someone as much as I loved her.”

Mac had been touched by his grandmother’s regard, but he hadn’t taken her rings that day. He’d known his grandfather would appreciate hanging on to them a while longer and, as Mac crossed the parking lot, he realized his reluctance to give his ex-fiancée those rings should have been his first clue that all hadn’t been right in their relationship.

On some level he’d known his ex hadn’t been his special woman. Fortunately for them both, he’d finally figured out what the problem was before getting himself and a very nice woman involved in a marriage destined to suffer from the same nagging discontent that he’d felt in so many other areas of his life.

He’d spent his whole life maintaining the status quo—thirty-three years of living up to the standards of old-moneyed New Orleans families. He had the education, the portfolio, the toys, the power and the social status to prove it…and a restlessness that had refused to go away.

Until Mac had decided he’d had enough.

Part of his decision to point his life in a new direction was a need to be challenged—by his work and by his pleasures—a part of life he’d ignored for way too long. He’d left his job with the District Attorney’s office and washed his hands of the premeditated mating game he’d been playing since becoming marriage-marketable by society’s standards. He wanted the thrill of the chase and long, hot nights with women who weren’t focused on social standing, prenuptial agreements and gene pools.

What he’d gotten was a hard-on for Harley Price.

Yes, she was beautiful, intelligent and so accomplished as an investigator that his own inexperience had been hammering at his ego. But she was also cynical, impatient and so far removed from her emotions that she had to be the worst possible candidate as a companion to exploring life’s pleasures.

Get over it, she’d told him.

He’d been trying. And while Harley might be willing to live in this state of edgy limbo, he wasn’t. He needed to help his grandfather, not obsess about this woman. He wanted her out of his system, and all he had to do was convince Harley she wanted the same thing.

THE WEEKEND FROM HELL was barely over, and from where Harley sat—the driver’s seat of a friend’s car—the week was shaping up to be just as hellish. Not that there was anything wrong with the antique Firebird. It was a sweet ride—all showy red paint and polished chrome—despite the so-called power steering that was developing her biceps every time she turned the wheel.

The real problem with the Firebird was that she’d rather not have been driving it at all. Her own car had started acting up on her way home from the wedding, the transmission slipping while still on the plantation’s oak-lined driveway. She’d pulled into a gas station to refill her fluids and—hopefully—resolve the problem. No such luck. This morning she hadn’t been able to back out of her driveway.

Anthony had sent a tow truck.

Now she wheeled the Firebird into the busy parking lot of Anthony DiLeo Automotive. She parked in his reserved space and headed inside for the verdict, not looking forward to finding out how much worse the week could get.

A sixty-inch television broadcast a daytime talk show in the waiting area, where several customers sat, eyes fixed on the screen, waiting. The whole place had a still-new-around-the-edges feel to it that wouldn’t hold up long under the daily traffic of grease-covered mechanics. Especially now that Anthony had more than doubled the size of his staff with the recent move into this larger facility.

Forcing a smile, she greeted the receptionist behind the service desk and asked, “Anthony in his office?”

“He’s got your car on a lift.”

Harley nodded and headed down the narrow hallway. Organized chaos was the only term to describe the garage. With twenty bays, and mechanics engaged in all manner of auto maintenance and repair from simple oil changes to major engine rebuilds, the place screamed thriving business. Harley had her fingers crossed these bays stayed filled, because Anthony had gambled everything on this move. He had some grand plans for his future and was accomplishing them one step at a time.

This move had been a big step.

She spotted her gray sedan and made her way back, waving at several of the mechanics who greeted her along the way.

“Hello, princess.” Anthony DiLeo, the owner of Anthony DiLeo Automotive, stepped out from beneath the lift, where she got a bird’s-eye view of her car’s dismantled underbelly.

Harley had known Anthony since she’d been six years old, and her dad had rented the DiLeo family’s garage apartment to live above the shop where he’d run his electronics business.

Anthony had been eight at the time, the middle son in a family of five boys and a girl. He hadn’t known she’d existed—until his younger brother Damon had mistaken her for a target to practice his Bruce Lee moves on.

She’d convinced Damon of his error with a bloody nose.

Anthony had stepped in to break up the tussle and for some reason that Harley still couldn’t explain, some twenty-plus years later, eight-year-old Anthony DiLeo had seemed everything the perfect boy should be. With his olive skin, tawny hair, golden brown eyes, he’d grown from perfect boy into perfect teen into perfect man, a man who—hopefully—had some good news for her.

“What’s the verdict?”

He held out a grease-stained palm filled with metal shavings. “Your tranny’s shot.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I can replace it.”

Oh, this was just getting better and better.

Grabbing a rag from a nearby tool caddy, he wiped his hands. “When did you say it first started slipping?”

“Saturday. And if you’re going to tell me you could have fixed it if I’d brought it in sooner, don’t.”

He didn’t miss the significance of that statement. “Didn’t go well with the exterminator?”

Harley shook her head.

“Charlie,” he called out. “Get the princess’s wheels down and Iovocozzi’s Navigator up. Put Sal on it and tell him I promised to have it done by five.” He turned to her. “Come on.”

She walked at his side, waited when he stopped at a sink to scrub his hands. Then he slipped his arm around her neck, felt for the outline of her holster and led her into his office.

“Sit,” he said, then disappeared back out the door, returning a few minutes later with two cups of coffee. Pressing one into her hands, he half sat on the desk in front of her.

“Thanks.” Harley felt her frayed edges begin to smooth out.

“What did the exterminator say?”

Lifting her gaze, she felt her throat tighten at the concern she saw in his. “I’ve got termites big time. No surprises there, since they’ve been falling on my head. But the damage, Anthony…” She swallowed hard to continue. “The exterminator said there’s a lot. I met with him on my lunch hour and now he’s coming back with a contractor this afternoon. They’ll give me an estimate.”

“It might not be that bad.”

She nodded, sipped her coffee, her heart beating so fast she felt dizzy. Just her luck that she’d finally bought her own home, a real home like she’d wanted forever, and bugs were eating it from the inside out.

Anthony recognized how upset she was because he set his cup aside and leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of her head. She wasn’t surprised by the intimacy. Technically they were in an off-again phase of their relationship—ever since she’d met Craig the cop and he’d met Rachel in retail.

Craig had taken a hike, but Rachel hadn’t gotten her walking papers yet. As soon as she did, Anthony would be knocking on Harley’s door again. As always, she’d welcome him. He’d taught her an orgasm was the best cure-all for whatever ailed her, and she could use a good one right now. She had termites, a shot transmission…and Mac Gerard in hot pursuit.

What a week!

Brushing hairs away from her forehead, Anthony smiled down at her. “Let’s tackle one problem at a time here, princess.”

“Transmission.”

“Done deal.”

“I don’t have the money for the parts.” She barely had the money for her next meal, but she wouldn’t tell him that. School loans had strapped her finances tight for too long, but once she’d bought the house… “I’m having heart palpitations about what the exterminator and contractor are going to say.”

“No problem. I’ll cover the parts, but it’s going to take me about a week to get them. My suppliers put me on C.O.D. ever since the move. They want their cash up front until they’re sure I won’t crash and burn the business.”

He didn’t have to say another word for Harley to know he was offended. He’d been doing business with his suppliers for nearly ten years. She also knew it was the first of the month, and since he’d only made his third mortgage payment on this high-square-footage property, his cash must be really tight.

“Is everything all right?” She set her coffee cup on the desk. “Are your mom and Damon doing okay?”

“I covered Damon’s share of the mortgage again this month.”

She’d figured that would happen. Anthony DiLeo Automotive comprised one third—albeit the largest third—of what had become a DiLeo compound. Anthony had bought the huge property, then renovated the space into his new garage, his mother’s new hair salon and his brother’s new dojo.

Until Damon got his martial arts studio off the ground and built up his client base… “I can put in a plug with Josh. Maybe he’ll consider moving Eastman Investigations. The place we’re training in now is a dive.”

Anthony smiled, one of those blinding, white-toothed grins that had been taking her breath away forever. “That’d help. I’m going down to talk to the bank about modifying the mortgage now that the rates have dropped again. Until then, I’m screwed. Next to nobody pays cash and the credit card companies hold up my money for six weeks. But the banks cover the debit transactions every week, so I’ll get your transmission then. Okay?”

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Anthony reached for his coffee, looking satisfied. He always liked when she fed his ego—a full-time job even when he wasn’t saving her ass.

“Well, that’s one problem off my back, thank you very much,” she said. “Now I have to figure out how I’m getting around. What’s your loaner situation?”

“Not good. I’m taking on twice the business with only two spare vehicles.”

“What are my chances of talking you out of the Firebird?”

“How about the chopper? I’m on Mama detail this week. We’ve got a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, a casino cruise Friday night and a wedding on Saturday.”

Harley was genuinely flattered that Anthony trusted her to drive his pride and joy. “Are you sure? Would you rather let Damon borrow the chopper? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending me his car. He barely leaves the dojo anyway.”

“Damon is not driving the chopper.” He leaned across the desk to slide open a drawer. “I’ll only trust you, princess.”

“You’ll kill me if I ding the paint.”

He scooped the keys from a drawer and held them out to her, catching her gaze above his hand. “Then don’t ding the paint.”

She plucked the keys from his fingers and smiled.

Looked like her day had finally taken a turn for the better. Now if her luck just held through the afternoon…

3

MAC USUALLY ENJOYED an occasional night gambling at Harrah’s. It was a new pastime in his repertoire, one that Josh had introduced him to. Josh had also been the one to insist they drop by the casino tonight, after returning to the office after-hours to find Mac still working.

While Mac appreciated the attempt to take his mind off the case, he finally left Josh in the Blue Dog Poker Room to walk off his restlessness in the fantasy world that made up Harrah’s. His head was cluttered with questions about how best to recover the stolen items and he was struggling to think clearly while suffering a bad case of Harley on the brain.

So he wandered beneath the starry sky in the jazz court and tried to distract himself when the dueling pianos played music that reminded him of how good she’d felt in his arms when they’d danced at the wedding.

He finally made his way to the VIP lounge to get away from the music. Flashing his ID, he greeted the doorman, then stepped inside to savor the quiet…and find the very woman who’d been haunting his thoughts as if she’d materialized straight from his imagination.

Harley.

She sat alone, contemplating the drink she held with both hands. Gone was her requisite black—she’d dressed in cream leather, a formfitting pantsuit that molded her slim curves.

She presented him an unfamiliar opportunity to observe her without having to think on his feet or dodge physical blows. He simply admired the way the color emphasized her skin, how her delicate profile peeked through the tumble of red hair.

She seemed different tonight. Something more than the wardrobe change. Then he recognized what that difference was. Though Mac hadn’t made the connection before, hadn’t realized she functioned with shields up against the world, he suddenly understood now, when those shields were so noticeably absent.

Something about the slump of her shoulders. And the way she’d hooked her feet around the chair legs to lean forward, as if she needed the table to support her. She seemed somehow unguarded, all alone in the world.

This was Harley uncensored. The Harley he needed to seduce. They were making each other crazy with this unrequited lust and he didn’t understand why she couldn’t see that, why she fought him so hard. All they needed to do was satisfy their hunger and go their separate ways. It was simple. Inevitable.

Mac didn’t hesitate. Covering the distance, he slid into the chair across from her. She snapped her head up and blinked those deep blue eyes.

“You’re not seeing things, Harley. It’s me.”

She brought a shaky hand to her forehead. “I’m in hell.”

“No, you’re in Harrah’s.”

“No, you’re here. I’m in hell.” She dropped her face into her outspread hands and Mac thought he saw her shudder.

That was his second clue that all was not business as usual. The first had been her reaction to him—normally after she’d made the nasty comment, she would have taken off and left him to chase after her.

“Is everything all right?”

“Why are you here?” Her voice was muffled behind her hands.

“I came with Josh.”

That got her attention, and she lifted her head. “Josh is here, in the casino?”

Mac nodded but he didn’t get a chance to gauge her reaction, because she slid the chair back and got to her feet, treating him to a head-to-toe view of slim curves enveloped in leather.

That sensation clenched low in his gut again as he took in those curves, so beautifully shaped and well toned for her obsession with the marital arts. Leather hugged her long legs like a second skin, outlining the length of her thighs and the sweep of her calves. Her shoes were stylish, but the heels low enough to run in. She was ever ready for trouble.

“I am so out of here,” she said, staring down her nose. “Do me a favor and tell Josh you didn’t see me.”

Mac considered the logic of that statement and recognized his next clue that all was not right with Harley.

She was unsteady on her feet. Just the slightest waver, but enough to convince him that the nearly full drink she’d been nursing hadn’t been her first.

“Allow me,” he said, standing.

“I don’t need your help.”

She pulled away and there it was again. She wove a bit to the left like a ship listing in a breeze.

“I’m not offering my help.” Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he steered her away from the table. “I’m trying to cop a feel. I have a hard time getting dates, so I haven’t felt the real thing in a while.”

Miracle of miracles, she didn’t resist, just leaned into him so her shoulder fit neatly under his arm and her gun dug into his ribs. His next breath comprised of clean hair mingled with some spicy scent and Mac inhaled deeply, amazed and amused by the way the fragrance chased through his senses. He forced his legs into motion.

“You told me you didn’t have problems getting dates,” she said. “You said you went to the wedding alone because of me.”

“I lied.”

Tipping her head back, she lifted those big blue eyes to his. “Really? So you don’t want to sleep with me?”

Steering her past the buffet, he angled his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “There’s no want. I intend to sleep with you as soon as I can convince you to get naked.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I get it now. You’re desperate. You could have picked an easier mark, Gerard.”

“True, but I don’t want easy. I want you.”

He couldn’t have explained and didn’t bother trying, not when bracing himself for her comeback. But to his surprise, she only gave an exasperated huff and kept walking.

Mac took advantage of the moment and buried his smile in her sweet-smelling hair. Alcohol might not outwardly impair her much but it certainly made her chatty.

Guiding her toward the door, he told the doorman, “Nigel, please get word to Josh Eastman that I was called away.”

“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Gerard.”

He led Harley onto the floor where hundreds of slot machines flashed and beeped for attention. She blinked against the sudden glare.

“Sure you want to run off?” he asked. “It’s still early.”

Glancing at the slots, she said, “The night’s over for me.”

A cryptic remark from a woman who lived to be blunt? Mac suspected here was yet another clue that all was not well, although the fact she’d been drinking already confirmed it. The teamwork training session they’d attended had lasted a full five days, and during that time she’d declined even a sip of wine at dinner. He’d assumed her devotion to the martial arts meant she didn’t drink alcohol—an assumption reinforced at the wedding when she’d toasted the bride and groom with lime-laced water.

He should have known not to assume.

A doorman swung the door wide in the front lobby and Mac led Harley to the valet. “Where’s your ticket?”

She rummaged through her purse, bracing herself against him for support, before handing over her ticket.

The feel of her body pressed close did amazing things to his. He felt each smooth curve as a promise, the clothing separating them a reminder of the bare skin below. Pressing another smile into her hair, he treated himself to a breath filled with her faintly spicy scent, enjoyed a calm moment with a woman with whom calm didn’t usually factor into the equation.

She finally tipped her head back, and those blue eyes searched his, the color of midnight in the glare of artificial lighting that threw the night-dark city into shadows beyond. She must not have liked what she saw because she pulled out of his arms and said, “Will you stop—”

The rapid-fire rumble of a motorcycle’s engine drowned out her protest.

“Would you look at that,” Mac said, admiring the Harley-Davidson chopper the valet pulled into the driveway. Sleek lines of highly polished chrome showcased a bright red body and a low-slung front wheel that was much sparser in design than any hog built today. A very well-maintained classic.

The valet left the bike to idle and slid off in front of them. He must have noticed Mac’s interest because he shot him a smile and said, “It’s awesome.”

Mac watched in surprise as he handed the helmet to Harley. She accepted it, tipped the guy and turned to him.

“Harley on a Harley. That’s just priceless, Price.”

She ignored him, so he grabbed her hand. “I’ll drive.”

“It’s a one-butt ride.”

“It’s a two-butt ride unless you’ve decided to spend the night in this casino.” He brushed her aside, slid onto the smooth leather saddle and couldn’t stop a low whistle. “I had no idea you were a closet biker. My opinion of you has just jumped several notches.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m only baby-sitting it for a friend. He’ll kill me if you ding his paint.”

He’ll kill me.

Well, here was unexpected info that fitted another piece of the puzzle into place. “I won’t hurt the bike.”

“You’re not driving the chopper, Gerard.”

“Neither are you, Harley.”

The valet shifted his attention between them, understanding finally dawning. Mac had to give the kid a lot of credit when he faced down a scowling Harley and asked, “Miss, would you like me to call a cab?”

She exhaled sharply, obviously not alcohol-impaired enough to miss that she’d lost this battle.

“No, thanks. Looks like I’ve got a chauffeur.”

The valet retreated and Mac kept his mouth shut as she tugged on the helmet and climbed behind him. His pulse kicked when she slipped her thighs against his and threaded her arms around his waist. He put the bike into gear, leaned into the throttle and steered onto the street.

Well, here was another perk to broadening his horizons. Mac hadn’t ridden a bike since college. And never a ride as sweet as this or with a girl so tempting. He wiggled backward to make her spread her thighs wider.

Mmm-hmm. The heat of her body contrasted nicely with the cooling night air. The bike maneuvered silkily, tires chewing up the road beneath a steady rough-velvet roar of engine. Mac maneuvered through the streets toward the Garden District, enjoying the whip of the wind, the way it snapped his clothes against his skin.

The only negative tonight was learning there was someone who might interfere with his plans for Harley.

He’ll kill me.

Who was he? Mac knew Harley wasn’t married. They’d worked together closely for the past five months and he hadn’t heard anything about a boyfriend or any sort of companion. He’d assumed Harley wasn’t involved.

Another reminder never to assume with this woman. But he was finding out more about her tonight than he had since they’d first met and he wasn’t about to retreat now. Not with a chance to find out what might be holding her back from a fling.

“Which house?” he yelled over the roar of the engine when he’d turned onto her street.

She directed him down several blocks then into the driveway of a mansion, only dimly lit in the glow of antique ironwork post lamps. Mac took in the pristine white facade, the huge classical pillars of the portico, tried to see if the mansion had been divided into apartments—the unfortunate fate of so many Garden District homes.

“Let me off,” she said, and he brought the bike to a stop in the driveway. “I’ll get the garage door.”

She slipped off and headed up the drive unsteadily. He walked the bike behind her, prepared to catch her if she went down. He parked beside two high-ticket sedans, neither of which were Harley’s cars. Plucking the helmet from her, he strapped it to the tail bar.

“Can you call someone to pick you up?” she asked.

He glanced at his watch, but couldn’t make out the time in the dark. “Don’t you want to invite me inside?”

“I’d rather you didn’t even know where I live.”

“Getting to know each other will help us get along.”

“Or make us dislike each other more.” Her bravado was slipping around the edges and he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around her shoulder and steer her out of the garage.

“That way.” She motioned to a flagstone walkway leading away from the house.

Clouds separated, allowing moonlight to illuminate the neat lawn and a sizable cottage on the north corner of the property that had likely begun life as a guest house.

He helped her up the steps and waited while she fished through her purse for keys. After unlocking the door, she flipped on the porch light and he glimpsed the interior, an open floor plan, sparsely decorated and very neat. He recognized the lines of antebellum architecture and the gleam of wooden floors.

“Are you going to call a cab?” She swayed slightly before leaning against the doorjamb for support.

“Are you okay?”

A beat of silence passed before she admitted, “I don’t usually drink.”

Opportunity knocked again and Mac didn’t hesitate. He scooped her into his arms and kicked the door shut.

“Gerard—”

“Hang on or I’ll drop you. You’re heavier than you look.”

She made an unladylike grunt but did as he asked, wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. He navigated through the cottage easily in the darkness and found her bedroom off the living room. He reached for the light switch but she grabbed his hand.

“No light.”

“You want the bathroom instead of the bed?” He’d already passed one but saw another doorway across the room that might lead to a private bath.

“No. My head is swimming. The bed.”

He’d been fantasizing about hearing those words and it figured that when she finally said them she wouldn’t mean them.

But he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and took the opportunity to observe her inner sanctum. For a woman who made weapons and leather a fashion statement, her bedroom was surprisingly feminine. Tester bed with a lace canopy and a surplus of equally lacy pillows tossed over the matching comforter. Floral wallcovering. Filmy sheers on the windows.

So there was a real woman behind the shields. Wasn’t Harley just full of surprises?

Depositing her gently on the bed, he watched her curl up and close her eyes.

“Come on. Off with the jacket.” He lifted a boneless arm and tugged off the sleeve. She didn’t resist until he tried to move her to get at the other.

“Leave me alone,” she insisted. “Just let me sleep.”

“After I get some of these clothes off you.”

“You wish.” She gave another of those unladylike snorts, her sarcasm firmly in place.

“No surprise there. Now come on, give me the gun. You can’t sleep with it digging into your back.”

“I can.”

“No, you can’t.” Sinking to the edge of the bed, Mac lifted her into his arms to strip the jacket away. The instant he brought her up against him, awareness kicked in. She was a nice armful, much more appealing than when she was attacking him during training.

She helped him by shrugging off the jacket and each brush of her bare arms sharpened his awareness that they were sitting on her bed, at night, with the promise of skin between them.

He drew a deep breath. Another.

After dropping her jacket on the foot of the bed, he unfastened the holster. More contact with skin as he followed the leather straps down her back, around her waist. She shifted against him, her breathing growing shallower. He knew she must be aware of his hands hovering just through her clothes, because when he started on her one-piece pantsuit, she tried to brush him away and said, “Don’t.”

“Shh.” He swept her hair away from the zipper. “I want to put you to bed so you can sleep comfortably.”

Alcohol dropped her shields more than he’d realized, because she didn’t resist. Or maybe she was just as paralyzed by awareness as he was, a sensation that had grown almost palpable.

Resting her face in the crook of his neck, she let him peel away her bodice. He eased the sleeves away one-handed, his blood heating dangerously when he realized she wasn’t wearing a stitch below. Not a bra. Not a camisole. Not a thing to hide all that creamy skin.

She gave a shuddering sigh as he eased her back against the pillows, gifting him with a view of her full breasts and blush-colored nipples, delicate shoulders and the contour of her graceful neck up close and personal.

Just where Mac had longed to be. He couldn’t ever remember being broadsided by the sight of a woman before, had never known the sort of anticipation that arced his body from zero to sixty in less than a heartbeat that throbbed so hard it hurt.

His hands actually shook when he maneuvered the leather over her hips and he revealed her sleek curves, her long, long legs with a reverence that was so entirely unfamiliar.

Her cream-colored thong came as a surprise for a woman who went braless and loved leather. Mac wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the sight of that lacy scrap of silk wasn’t it. He had to force himself to keep dragging the pantsuit away because he so didn’t want this show to end.

“Why are you fighting me so hard, Harley?” he asked, his voice raw in the late-night quiet. “You can’t tell me you’re not attracted to me. I know you’re feeling what I do.”

He shouldn’t reveal so much. She’d only use his need against him, but with her stretched out before him, all gleaming skin and sleek curves, his need made him reckless.

“I don’t want to feel anything for you.”

“But you do.” He couldn’t resist the urge to prove it. Trailing a finger up her shapely leg, he touched her warm skin.

“Gerard…” Her voice trailed off, breathless.

“Why not, Harley? A fling makes sense.”

He continued tracing a path up her thigh, a light touch that heightened the anticipation, a small defiance designed to entice the truth from her. Or maybe just entice her.

He wanted her to feel as reckless as he did right now.

Dragging his fingertip beneath her thong, he followed the lacy edge around her hip toward the juncture of her thighs.

She trembled.

He smiled.

She frowned. “Why won’t you take no for an answer?”

“Because I want you. I want you to admit you want me.”

Simple. Honest.

“What difference will it make if I admit it? I still won’t sleep with you.” Raising her arms above her head, she stretched, a languorous display of skin, a move meant to tempt him with the very thing he wanted.

Her move pressed her smooth abdomen into his fingertip, and he knew she was teasing him, inviting him, a boldness inspired by alcohol. But Mac couldn’t resist the opportunity to touch her. Rounding the mound of her sex, he tested her heat through the scrap of sheer silk.

She was hot, moist, definitely aroused.

“You want me.” He bent forward, pressed his mouth to that lacy triangle, breathed a hot breath through the silk.

Her muscles contracted sharply. “I do, but it doesn’t make any difference.”

Hearing her admission was such a bittersweet relief that he almost laughed at the irony. He wanted this beautiful woman sprawled before him more than he’d ever wanted before. His erection throbbed so hard he ached and he couldn’t even test her claim, tempt her as much as she tempted him or try to change her mind.

Because Mac knew she meant what she said.

She might want him, but it didn’t make a difference. She wouldn’t let it. Not when she was sober. Not even now when those heavy-lidded eyes, so lazy with arousal, reminded him that she’d been drinking.

It was over. No matter how Mac came at this, he was pushing the limits of polite behavior. Harley might be arching that smooth body against him. She might be rubbing her sex against his hand and purring breathy little sighs, but her actions didn’t change the fact that had she been clearheaded she’d probably be pointing her gun at his head.

Dragging his fingers from between her legs, he grazed them along her smooth stomach, a safe zone amid all that skin. Then with disappointment bitter in his mouth, he motioned her to roll over so he could pull the comforter out from under her.

She complied without argument, another reminder that she wasn’t in her right mind, and burrowed her face in the pillow. Her red hair waved around her face like a vision from one of his fantasies and he covered her, feeling a sense of loss wildly out of balance with anything he’d ever known before.

“Another question, Harley, and then I’ll leave you alone.” When she nodded, he continued. “What upset you tonight?”

“What makes you think I’m upset?” Her eyes shuttered closed.

“You let me drive you home. If you hadn’t been upset, you’d have drop-kicked me and told me to take a hike.”

She gave a sleepy laugh. “I don’t like you.”

“I know. I don’t like you, either.” He paused. “Well?”

“Bad news. Now go away, Gerard.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “And you were…decent.”

He wondered if she realized just how decent he’d really been. Gazing down at her sleepy expression, he figured probably not, so he accepted her thanks and retreated from the bed. “Sweet dreams, Harley.”

But Mac didn’t go away. Walking from room to room, he searched for clues to help him understand this woman. He wondered what sort of bad news would drive her to drink.

He didn’t have a clue. Companion problems? Ill health? Financial disaster? Death in the family? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t recall ever hearing she had a family. Amazing how two people could work so closely together, butting heads at every turn… He’d have to find out a lot more about Harley’s life if he intended to slip past her defenses.

And he did. Tonight had only fueled his resolve.

Flipping on a table lamp in the living room, he took in an elaborate computer system and a low-slung leather couch. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked an arbor that appeared to back up to the wall of the property. There was expensive music equipment housed in a unit on one wall, but no television.

Given the obvious age of the architecture, Mac suspected the walls had been recently refinished to their pristine condition and the wood beam floor had been brought back and polished to a gleaming luster.

The kitchen appeared to be a work in progress, with partially bald walls half stripped of dated wallpaper. And something about the way a wallpaper scraper and trowel sat side by side in the drainboard with coffee mugs and water glasses made him suspect Harley had been doing the work herself.

Another surprise—he wouldn’t have pegged gun-toting, black-belt, chopper-riding Harley for the home-improvement type. Which went to show how much Mac needed to find out about her before he stood any chance of convincing her to let their attraction make a difference.

While checking out Harley’s desk, Mac felt the first flutter against his cheek. He swatted away the offending critter and, as it was Louisiana in September, just assumed he’d left the door open too long when he’d carried her inside.

It wasn’t until the third bug dive-bombed at him that he took a closer look. Grabbing the lamp from an end table, he noticed a spray of spider veins along the seam of one of her nicely refinished walls.

He hoped that whatever bad news she’d received today hadn’t pushed her too close to the edge, because she was facing even more if she hadn’t already figured out that she had termites.

Making his way back into her bedroom, Mac sat down and considered his best course of action while he watched her sleep.

A headstrong woman with household pests. Well, he’d wanted a challenge.

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