“I do not want to stay married to you. Got it?”

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

“Try it,” she dared him.

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

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

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

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

Thank heavens some things never changed.

Dear Reader,

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

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

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

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

Until next time,

Jamie Denton

Hard To Handle
Jamie Denton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For my sisters,

Wanda, Stef, Frannie and Lois

I love you all!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

1

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lauren snickered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ever hear of speed dating?”

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not the trendy type.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I always hated that look,” Mikki muttered.

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

“Well?” Rory impatiently prodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’d laughed in his face as she held the door open for him, all because he’d kept pressing her for a commitment. She’d warned him she wasn’t into exclusive relationships, but he hadn’t listened. Why was the concept of a no-strings affair so difficult to grasp? Men did it all the time, but when a woman wanted to do the same, she was called coldhearted or worse. She’d already found and lost her one true love—if such a thing even existed—but it had ended badly and she had no desire to repeat the experience. Ever.

“Don’t you just love a good buffet?” Lauren said when Mikki reached their table, now laden with small oval platters, one of them heaped with various tidbits and a small sampling of the goodies from Rory’s shop—thankfully prepared by Rory and her competent staff. Rory had lightened up and hadn’t forced Mikki to actually keep her word when she’d arrived to help. She’d even added a prize of her own to the cause with a day behind the scenes at Lavender Field along with a month’s supply of baked goods.

“Who wouldn’t?” Mikki answered, carefully setting their drinks amid the array of food. “There’s always bound to be just the right combination to sate most any appetite.” She paused while handing Lauren her drink to blatantly follow the progress of a tall, athletically built Adonis with sun-kissed blond hair and a confident swagger striding toward the black-and-white-tiled dance floor.

Rory made a minor adjustment to the shimmering lilac shawl draped loosely over her shoulders before taking a tentative sip of her white wine. “I have a feeling she’s not talking about the food,” she said to Lauren over the din of conversation.

“Does she ever think of anything besides sex?” Lauren returned with a laugh, taking her drink from Mikki.

Mikki perched on the stool and carefully tugged down the hem of her short, black sleeveless dress. “Not really,” she said, before taking a sip of soda. God, what she wouldn’t give for a real drink. She’d even settle for one of Lauren’s favored frou-frou blended numbers—a sign of true desperation.

Lauren let out a weighty sigh. “Don’t you ever want more from a relationship than sex?”

“Sex is the only relationship I’m interested in, thank you very much.” A long and lean stud looked her way. She smiled at him and slowly lifted the delicate white-gold chain around her neck, the small suitcase charm Maureen had given her upon arriving swinging enticingly in front of her cleavage. His deep-set eyes filled with regret as he shrugged and displayed empty hands.

She let out a sigh. Damn. No key. Not every guest at Clementine’s had opted to purchase a lock or key ticket, although they had paid the rather steep entrance fee to the private party. The few moments she’d had to speak to Maureen upon arriving, her friend had been ecstatic about the money being raised for Baxter House. There’d even been a sizable donation from one of the wealthy and privileged Telegraph Hill set.

“Don’t you ever look at a guy—like him for instance—” Lauren inclined her head in the keyless stud’s direction “—and wonder if he could be the one?”

Mikki forced a laugh. She’d found “the one” once and, as a matter of self-preservation, she’d pushed him away. Hell would freeze over before she ever went there again. She had too many skeletons in her closet and preferred to keep them locked away, something a serious relationship wouldn’t permit, not when trust required a certain level intimacy she had no interest in exploring.

Keep it simple, keep it short, keep them from getting close enough to see what she kept hidden in the closet. That was her motto, and she was sticking to it—with the tenacity of a pit bull.

“The one to make me scream with pleasure?” she replied with her usual flippancy whenever Lauren started with the Cinderella propaganda. “All the time.”

“No,” Lauren said, her tone serious. “Settle down. Buy real estate.” She studied the creamy liquid in her glass, appropriately called a White Knight. “Have a family.”

“I don’t need a man for that,” Mikki said with more brittle laughter. “Just a better-paying job.” She let out a weary sigh. “I don’t have the intrinsic need most women do to nest. I’m a realist, Lauren. Not a romantic.”

Lauren lifted her clear hazel gaze to give her a pointed look. “What about a family?”

Mikki shrugged, but the unexpected weight settling on her shoulders refused to budge. “You, Rory and Mom are my family.” She downed a large portion of her diet cola. The sorry substitute did nothing to quell the sudden sharp craving for something a whole lot more potent than an innocuous soft drink.

“I meant a family of your own,” Lauren pressed. “You’d make a great mother, Mikki. I hope you realize that someday.”

No way. Not her. Never.

She knew exactly what her sister meant and she resented the reminder. She suffered with more sorrow than she’d ever admit to over her decision to never have children. But she couldn’t change the past. She was who she was—a Correlli. And the bloodline ended with her. Period. She’d learned to accept her fate—why wouldn’t anyone else?

But something deep in Mikki’s chest still caught and squeezed hard anyway. It wasn’t the sharp pang of longing. Or was it? Maybe it was another one of those annoying ticks from her biological clock that hadn’t caught on that Correllis had no business breeding. She kept hitting the snooze button, but every so often the what-ifs managed to sneak past her barriers to tweak her self-pity nerve. She couldn’t change who or what she was: the last woman who should ever consider having a baby.

“Motherhood doesn’t interest me,” she said a tad too snappishly. Guilt instantly slammed into her at the flash of hurt in Lauren’s eyes.

Shit. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but Lauren was hitting a nerve she didn’t appreciate having nudged. What was done was done. And she’d gotten over it a lifetime ago.

“You’re wonderful with kids.” Rory tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Just as long as they belong to someone else,” she reminded Rory. “When you two decide to start having babies, count on me to spoil them rotten. Now, can we please change the subject before I break out in hives?”

A server neared and Mikki signaled to place another order. She would have sold her soul and then some for a something strong enough to anesthetize her mind. She loved Lauren but, dammit, she had no desire to navigate an emotional obstacle course.

The server took his sweet time coming their way, giving the craving gnawing at her time to build. Her hands trembled, so she fisted them in her lap and attempted to concentrate on the rich red-and-gold, bordelloesque decor of Clementine’s. The need for a shot of bourbon only grew stronger. After four years of sobriety, it annoyed the life out of her that she still had to fight off such strong temptation for a drink—for several drinks—but she’d learned early on that some days were easier to get through than others.

She dug her nails into her palms as the server finally approached. “There’s a twenty in it for you if you’re back in less than five minutes,” she told him, placing an order for another two glasses of soda and another round for Lauren and Rory.

Opening her black silk evening bag, she pulled out her car keys and set them in front of Rory for safekeeping. “Just in case,” she said tightly. “It’s one of those days.”

Rory’s expression instantly filled with concern, but Mikki shook her head, signaling she didn’t want to discuss the war going on inside her. She’d get through this, just as she always did. One second at a time if necessary. Ridding herself of her car keys was merely a precaution.

Contrition clouded Lauren’s eyes. Reaching across the table, she gave Mikki’s hand a light squeeze. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

She looked at Lauren and tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but could only manage a slight grimace. “Forget about it,” she said with as much sincerity as she could muster. “I already have.”

A lie. A big fat one, but she wasn’t about to hurt Lauren’s feelings further or cause either of her sisters more worry. Mikki’s ghosts were her problem.

She knew they were only concerned about her, and with good reason, but she wasn’t about to blow all her hard work because of a silly reminder that she’d willingly chucked her own glass slipper out the window. She’d made her choices and, for the most part, was perfectly content with her life. She had a job she loved, a small but close circle of friends and her odd, mismatched family. If she needed a man, she found one to ease her frustration. On those occasions between lovers, she took care of her needs the way any woman with a healthy sex drive did—by making sure there were plenty of batteries on hand.

The server returned in record time. As Mikki paid him and included the bonus she’d promised, Rory said something she didn’t quite catch, but the urgency in her voice had Mikki looking up to follow her sister’s gaze.

There wasn’t enough alcohol in Clementine’s to numb her. Not when she found herself gazing at a pair of familiar dark brown bedroom eyes she’d never been able to forget, no matter how many vices she abused to banish them from her mind.

The buzz of conversation, the raucous beat of the music and the colorful changing lights from the dance floor faded. Rory’s hand settled on her arm, but Mikki took no comfort from the supportive gesture as she returned the stare of the one man she’d hoped to never see again—Nolan Baylor.

Her heart gave a sudden traitorous lurch. Damn.

The passage of time had been good to him. His shoulders seemed wider than she remembered and his biceps, emphasized by the snug fit of the sleeves of the dark, charcoal-gray polo shirt he wore, were definitely thicker. His waist appeared leaner, too, but he still possessed the same rugged good looks she’d always preferred.

A slow, sinful smile tipped his mouth. The lines of his face were more angular now, too, she realized. Sharper. Harder. Just like the challenging glint in his eyes.

Every step that brought him closer filled her with tension.

His smile deepened.

A flash of silver caught the light. Apprehension slid down her spine, chilling her. Dangling from her ex-husband’s long, tanned fingers was a small white-gold key.

2

MIKKI WAS EVEN MORE beautiful than Nolan remembered. Seeing her again had him recalling plenty, too. Not just how incredibly sexy she looked in that skimpy black dress clinging to her voluptuous curves, but the passion and how they’d never been able to get enough of each other. The laughter, the good times and, unfortunately, the arguments and mistakes made by two people who’d been too young and headstrong were equally prominent.

Mikki always did have a short fuse. One look reminded him of just how volatile she could be as her shock segued into apprehension, followed by a distinct flare of hot temper evident in those sapphire-blue eyes that defied her heritage.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Not the greeting he’d hoped for, yet no less than he’d expected, or even deserved, for that matter. “Nice to see you again, too, Mikki,” he said, tucking the key into his pocket.

“The name is Michaela,” she said with an unmistakable chill. “Only people I care about call me Mikki.”

A smarter man than he would’ve taken her icy retort as a signal to keep his distance. God knew they could be poison to each other, but that hadn’t ever kept them apart for long in the past. Probably because the makeup sex had always been phenomenal. Besides, when it came to the onyx-haired, curvaceous spitfire with contempt in her eyes as she stared at him, he never had been all that bright.

“Is that any way to greet an old…” He intentionally left her hanging. Behind him, his oldest friend, Tucker Schulz, muttered something about a death wish. “…Friend?”

Mikki shifted nervously on her stool, then issued a short, derisive bark of laughter. Her hand trembled as she reached blindly for her drink. The contents sloshed close to the rim and she shot him another frosty glare. “That isn’t the term I’d use.”

He chuckled. “No, I don’t imagine you would.” Any one of the choice phrases she’d occasionally hurled at him whenever he’d riled her hot Sicilian and fiery Irish blood were no doubt already hovering on her tongue.

Before the night ended, he thought, she’d have more than enough opportunity.

After the way they’d parted, with her calling him a selfish, egotistical bastard and him responding with equally hateful words he wasn’t exactly proud of, he hadn’t expected her to welcome him back to San Francisco with open arms. If she was this ticked off at just seeing him, she’d rupture something vital when she learned he’d moved back for good. And that was only the beginning.

He’d anticipated her anger, but he sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for the stirring of his blood. An unfortunate miscalculation on his part, he decided, because he really should have been prepared for nothing less. He might be older, but he’d just been handed proof he hadn’t gained an ounce of wisdom where Mikki was concerned.

The passion between them had always been white-hot and explosive, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough to keep them together. He understood now their relationship had been built on sexual attraction, which hadn’t prepared either of them for the day-to-day struggles of marriage, let alone coping with the problems that eventually led to their divorce.

“You remember Tuck,” he said, needing a diversion. He stepped aside in hopes of allowing his libido a chance to cool. Not that he actually believed it possible now that he was within touching distance of her again. She was the kind of woman that dug under a man’s skin. And stayed there.

“Oh, my God. Tuck.” A genuine smile softened her expression as she came off the bar stool and moved right past him to greet Tucker with a warm hug. “It’s been such a long time,” she said, stepping back. “You’re looking yummy. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“As little as possible.” Tucker gave her an appreciative once-over. “Since you and Nolan split, he’s taken to working hard enough for both of us.”

She made no comment, not that Nolan expected her to. Slipping her arm through Tuck’s, she steered him toward the table. “I don’t think you’ve ever met my sisters. Rory Constable,” she said, indicating a woman Nolan hardly recognized. Mikki’s older sister had matured into an elegant, Rubenesque beauty. The Rory he remembered had been a friendly frump in granny glasses and long hair, a golden retriever following on the heels of her Birkenstock sandals.

“And this is Lauren Massey.” She looked to her sisters. “Tucker Schulz. He and Nolan have been friends for…” She smiled at Tucker, studiously ignoring Nolan.

“More years than I care to keep track of,” Tucker returned with a dimple-deepening grin as he eyed Lauren. His gaze then skimmed over Rory. She stared into a glass of white wine, her complexion becoming ruddy.

Mikki cast a quick, nervous glance in Nolan’s direction before turning back to Tucker. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I was just leaving.” Rising up onto her toes, she reached across the table for a set of keys in front of Rory. The hem of her slinky black dress hiked up a good two inches to reveal her shapely thighs. More than his blood stirred as Nolan took in his fill.

Rory lifted her gaze in time to beat her to the keys. She slid them off the table and into her handbag. “Actually,” she said with a hint of a smile on her lips, “we’ve only just arrived.”

He didn’t miss the heated glare Mikki shot her sister or how Rory’s smile shifted into a distinct retaliatory smirk.

Lauren suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said quietly, slipping off the red-padded stool. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

He knew how Mikki’s mind worked. No doubt she considered Lauren’s abrupt desertion and Rory’s non-compliance as a betrayal, but one she’d easily forgive. When Mikki loved, she did so with her entire heart, no holds barred. He’d seen it in the way she’d always looked out for her sisters and in the little things she’d once done for him. Like the times she’d wait up for him to come home from whatever crappy job he’d been working to help support them, even though she’d had an early class in the morning. Or the time she’d skipped classes for a week and refused to leave the apartment because he’d been knocked on his rear end by a nasty flu bug.

Tucker took the stool Lauren vacated and caught the attention of a passing waiter.

Mikki snatched her purse from the table. “I have a sudden need for fresh air.”

“Good idea.” Nolan came up behind her, fighting the need to touch her, to skim his hands over the generous dips and swells of her bombshell curves. He fished the white gold key out of his pocket. “I’ll join you.”

She stiffened. “That won’t be necessary,” she said tightly.

He dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you wander outside all on your own at night?”

The scent of her cologne teased him, resurrecting another long-forgotten memory. They’d been in law school, a time when he’d rarely had more than a couple of quarters to rub together. He’d taken on a tutoring job to earn extra money to buy her a stupid bottle of expensive perfume for Christmas. He’d be a fool to read too much into the fact that she still wore the scent, but that didn’t prevent the razor-thin slice of satisfaction from knifing through his common sense.

“‘Gentleman’?” She pulled away and pinned him with her gaze. “I wouldn’t use that term where you’re concerned, either.”

Selfish prick, more likely.

“Ouch,” he said, gripping his chest in a mocking gesture.

Facing Tucker, Mikki said, “Good to see you again, Tuck.” She cast a look in Rory’s direction and mouthed something he couldn’t see but that sent Tuck’s eyebrows skyward.

Swiping one of the tall, narrow glasses from the table in front of her, she quickly drained the contents, then exchanged the empty for the full one to carry with her. She bolted toward the back of the bar to the outdoor deck with its inspiring view of the harbor. He admired the brisk swing of the black fabric covering her sweet, rounded ass. How could one woman have that much power? he wondered, feeling as if he were tied in knots he’d never unravel.

He let out a sigh and turned to Rory. “I get the feeling she’s not too happy to see me.” He’d always liked Rory, but he wasn’t about to hazard a guess as to whether she currently returned the sentiment. Rory’s devotion to her sisters was as fierce as Mikki’s protectiveness of them.

“Can’t say I blame her,” she said without an ounce of sympathy.

Neither could he, but after all this time he’d thought Mikki’s temper might have cooled. At least a little. Apparently all that hot blood in her veins ran deeper than he’d anticipated. He only hoped she hadn’t inherited her ancestral desire for vendettas or he’d be a dead man before midnight.

Tucker clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck, pal.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it.”

“You’ll need more than that when she finds out you’re back in town for good,” Tucker reminded him. “And why you’re here tonight.”

Tuck had a point. “Know where I can get a deal on a bulletproof vest?”

Now that he thought about it, full body armor sounded like a wise choice. And some riot gear. A few stiff shots of tequila to bolster his courage couldn’t hurt, either.

He left his friend in Rory’s capable hands and took off for the bar, placing an order for a Mexican boiler-maker, a double shot of Cuervo Gold with a beer chaser. As he waited for the bartender to return, a leggy redhead sidled up beside him with a smile that promised ample warmth against the evening chill. Once upon a time he would’ve taken advantage of the blatant come-on, but after Mikki, he just hadn’t been all that interested in other women. Besides, he hadn’t shelled out a sizable donation to Maureen Baxter’s pet cause to ensure he’d be given the key to Mikki’s locket because he’d been in a generous mood. He and Mikki had unfinished business.

“You look like you’d be a perfect fit,” the redhead purred, showing off the locket wedged between her impressive cleavage.

He wasn’t so much as tempted. “Sorry. This key is spoken for.”

She let out a breathy sigh. “Pity.”

He shrugged apologetically, unmoved by her practiced pout or her sleek curves wrapped in glittering electric blue. The redhead sashayed away, her attention already on another prospective key holder.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the highly polished wood of the bar, he debated the wisdom of showing up at Clementine’s. He’d always been more of an adventurer than a deep thinker, preferring instead to move on with the business of living. There were easier avenues he could’ve taken, and he almost wished he’d given his half-witted plan to catch Mikki off guard more thought. Unfortunately the pressure from the senior partners to tie up a financially hazardous loose end quickly before finalizing the partnership agreement hadn’t left him much time to carefully consider his options. And he did have a responsibility to the firm he couldn’t ignore.

Initially he hadn’t paid much attention to the buzz around the office about the key party until he’d happened to overhear a trio of paralegals mention that Maureen Baxter was the driving force behind the fund-raiser. He’d been fairly certain Mikki would somehow be involved in the cause, so he’d placed a call to Maureen. Not only had she confirmed his suspicions, but he’d impulsively purchased two key-holder tickets along with the promise of a very sizable donation if Maureen guaranteed him the key to Mikki’s locket.

At first Maureen had staunchly refused—and he did appreciate her alliance to Mikki—but when he’d upped the ante, her ethics had taken a back seat to the money he’d promised to add to the coffer. To insure she wouldn’t suffer second thoughts, he’d doubled his original offer and had his assistant show up at Maureen’s office with a check in exchange for the key he wanted. In return, he’d received a pair of keys, one clearly marked for his use; the other he’d planned to give to Tucker.

Fingering the trinket in his palm, he didn’t harbor an ounce of guilt for buying Maureen’s cooperation. He did, however, carry more than a doubt or two about why he’d gone to such extreme. Granted, the news he had to deliver would best be served in person, but it sure didn’t necessitate a donation large enough to cover a respectable percentage of the funds needed for the building of Baxter House. Mikki would be livid when she found out what he’d done and, worse, why he’d done it.

Convincing Tucker to come with him hadn’t been an easy feat, but when Tuck’s sisters and sisters-in-law had ganged up on him, his long-time friend hadn’t stood a chance. The irony of the situation hadn’t been lost on him. As Tuck had gleefully pointed out, the first time Nolan had ever used the money and influence he’d run from most of life, it was to guarantee him a night with a woman who’d rather eat ground glass than be with him.

The bartender finally showed up with the tequila and beer, and Nolan immediately threw back the Cuervo, followed by a hefty swallow of the ice-cold Dos Equis that failed to alleviate the burning in his gut. Whether the booze or his unexpected physical reaction to Mikki was the cause, he couldn’t be sure. Quite frankly, he doubted it made a difference. In the end, he’d probably never understand the emotional hold she had on him.

He polished off his beer and debated ordering another. Five years ago when he’d left the Bay area, he hadn’t expected to ever return, at least not for good. After making a name for himself in Los Angeles, he’d been offered the position of managing partner at Turner, Crawford and Lowe with the caveat that he head up the family law division in the firm’s San Francisco offices. As much as it grated his nerves, he understood he’d initially been hired by the prestigious firm because of the Baylor name, but he’d earned the partnership by working his ass off and consistently racking up more billable hours than any other associate in the firm.

Once the buy-in was complete, he’d be one of three managing partners running the Bay area office of the Southern California-based firm. He already held the responsibility of monitoring the caseload of close to two dozen associates, a quad of law clerks anxiously awaiting bar exam results and twice as many paralegals plus numerous support personnel. In addition, he still managed his own caseload, which ran the gamut from more high-profile divorce actions to adoptions, all the way down to custody matters, as well as support and visitation modifications. He loved it all, too, which was a helluva difference from the live-hard-play-harder-but-leave-a-good-looking-corpse philosophy he’d cultivated most of his life.

He left the bar and made his way to the deck in search of Mikki. He supposed in part he had her to thank for his success. When they’d separated, he’d honored the Baylor family tradition by turning into a classic workaholic. He’d buried himself in his work, using the law as a means of survival because it’d been preferable to facing the truth—that by walking away from his marriage, he really was no better than the bastard of a father he despised.

Another of his less than sterling moments.

The truth was even tougher to face: that he hadn’t had the balls to tell Mikki he’d never wanted the divorce in the first place. As much as he tried to convince himself he’d been young and filled with an overdose of foolish pride, a semblance of wisdom did blossom with age. If faced with the same set of circumstances, he liked to believe this time around he wouldn’t hesitate to make the right choice, rather than behave like a selfish prick all because she’d filleted his ego by adamantly refusing to have a baby.

Based on her reaction tonight, convincing Mikki he’d changed wouldn’t be easy. Not that it mattered what she thought of him. They were finished a long time ago. Or were they?

He paused near the open, glass double doors. Did it make a difference what she thought of him? Had he merely acted in his usual impulsive manner or was there another motive he hadn’t been aware existed for ensuring Mikki would be his date for whatever prize her locket held?

The answer had him taking in a deep, unsteady breath. He couldn’t possibly be thinking in terms of second chances.

Could he?

He hadn’t wanted the divorce, even if he had run at the first sign of trouble in their marriage. He blamed immaturity and pride. She no doubt blamed him—period.

Still, he thought with a twitch of his lips, in their time apart he had learned to appreciate the value of patience and determination. An asset he figured he’d be calling on in abundance tonight, because once he informed her their divorce had all the validity of a fake ID, she’d no doubt push him to the limit.

Provided she didn’t shoot him on the spot.

WHAT THE HELL was Nolan doing here?

Mikki rested her arms on the smooth redwood railing and clutched her glass of cola firmly in her hand. The need to indulge in something stronger hadn’t waned so much as a fraction.

Just one drink, she thought. One. That’s all she needed.

Except she knew better. One was never enough. That first bitter taste of bourbon hitting her tongue would only be the beginning. The soothing warmth sliding down her throat was as much of an addiction as was the welcoming buzz of alcohol hitting her bloodstream. She’d have another, and another, until she’d numbed herself into a drunken stupor.

She leaned forward and lifted her face to gaze at the stars blanketing the darkened sky over the Pacific, then took in a long, unsteady breath. Partially hidden behind the cover of a bushy potted juniper, she tried ignored the few couples braving the damp night air to cuddle together away from the crush of the crowd inside Clementine’s. A piercing stab of envy reduced her diligence to not think about how alone she felt in comparison to mere wishful thinking.

A tremor passed over her skin, but she didn’t hold the cold Pacific breeze culpable, or her own foolishness in venturing outdoors without the benefit of a sweater to ward off the brisk chill of the May evening. Oh, no. Nolan held that honor. His unexpected presence was responsible for the shock waves of too many emotions to articulate rolling through her.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d roll right up to the bar and order a shot of bourbon to add to her cola.

What possible motive could he have for being in San Francisco?

She struggled to keep her teeth from chattering as she moved deeper into the shadows. His return could have something to do with the probate of his father’s estate, except Nolan had never made any secret of the fact that he rejected everything his rich, influential father represented. When she’d gone to pay her final respects to her former father-in-law, whom she’d only met on two occasions, it hadn’t exactly escaped her notice that the powerful state legislator’s son had been notably absent.

And to think Nolan had once possessed the gall to call her coldhearted because she didn’t want children. The man could write a bestseller on cool detachment. She’d even gone to her own father’s funeral—and she’d hated everything about the man who’d molested his own daughter.

Out of habit, she immediately shoved that unpleasant thought back into the closet where it belonged. Opening the clasp on her evening bag, she searched for the pack of emergency cigarettes she always carried with her. She and Nolan hadn’t always been at each other’s throats or circled like wary hounds afraid to say the wrong thing. There’d been a time when they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other. She missed those lazy Sunday mornings they’d spent in bed, making love most of the day and only surfacing long enough to regain their strength. She missed how they used to debate case law or talk about the future—before he’d ruin it by bringing up the subject of family. At first she’d change the subject or remain noncommittal, but after a while he’d to become more insistent until she’d finally told him the truth—she wouldn’t ever have a child with him. She hadn’t offered an explanation beyond she wasn’t the mothering type.

She hadn’t always felt that way about children, and whether or not her fears were unreasonable, in her opinion, she had no business having babies when she was having trouble controlling her addiction to alcohol. Besides, she already had two strikes against her: an abusive father and a mother who’d abandoned her. Everyone knew three strikes and you were out.

Suddenly she felt much older than her thirty-two years. She slipped a long slim from the pack, then dug out the disposable lighter and lit up. She inhaled deeply, taking the smoke into her lungs, waiting for the familiar calm to wash over her to curb the need for a drink. But the substitute failed to provide on all counts. No vice in existence was capable of calming her rattled composure tonight.

Studying the reflection of the twinkling lights on the surface of the water below, she smoked her cigarette and listened to the sound of the rising tide. Not even the gentle lap of water against the thick pylons could sooth her.

When she thought of everything she’d thrown away to protect her secrets…the lies she’d told to the one person she should’ve trusted the most…

She let out a regret-filled sigh. She’d been twenty-three and at the start of her second year as law student at Berkeley when she’d met Nolan. With no interest in another messy romantic entanglement after her last disastrous relationship, she’d initially tried to ignore him. Except her dismissal had made him even more relentless. Only a woman without a pulse could’ve held out when he poured on the charm, and she’d caved. Within six months she’d fallen helplessly in love with him, with his tenderness, his gentleness and the way he’d made her feel safe and cherished. The fact that he’d enough sexual energy to power up the lights at Candlestick Park hadn’t hurt, either, she thought with a wry grin.

They’d moved in together within a year and midway through their final year of law school, they’d eloped. After graduation, they’d both worked as law clerks while awaiting bar results. Nolan had clerked for an appellate court judge and she’d been essentially downgraded from paralegal to law clerk at the legal aid office where she’d worked her last two semesters. Even after they’d both passed the bar exam, they’d been broke much of the time, but it hadn’t made a difference because they’d been happy. Or so she’d believed, until her past had reared up and bitten her so hard she’d panicked.

Regardless of how much they had loved each other, in the end she’d known it would never be enough. Rather than face her fears, she’d pushed him away with the determination of a defensive lineman out to sack the quarterback. She couldn’t blame Nolan, only herself, and she’d used the excuse of his accepting the job offer from Turner, Crawford and Lowe—one the state’s largest law firms—without consulting her as the perfect excuse to pick a fight. Rather than trust him with the truth about her past and admit she’d been lying to him all along about who and what she was, she’d told him to get out and to never come back.

Her life had spiraled out of control shortly thereafter. To numb herself from the pain of losing Nolan, she’d open a bottle of bourbon and start drinking until she literally could feel no pain. But the hurt had kept coming back and so she’d kept drinking until, almost a year later, she didn’t know how to stop.

One night after leaving a downtown bar at closing time, she’d made a serious mistake and climbed behind the wheel of her car. Luckily a cop had pulled her over before she’d driven more than a block from the parking lot and she thanked God she hadn’t hurt anyone but herself. She’d jeopardized not only her life and the lives of anyone unfortunate enough to be on the road that night, but she’d risked her career and shattered any remaining hope she’d secretly harbored of a reconciliation with Nolan because she’d never wanted him to have to live with the shame of having an alcoholic for a wife.

Mortified by what she’d become, she’d driven the final stake through the heart of her marriage when she’d called Nolan to insist he fly down to Mexico for a quickie divorce. They’d argued fiercely several times, until she’d finally lied and said she didn’t love him, that she didn’t know if she ever really had, blaming him because she’d been too young when they’d married. She would’ve gone to Mexico herself, but she’d been unable to leave the state since the judge had ordered her into rehab and placed her on probation for two years.

Two days before she’d entered rehab, Nolan had finally agreed to the divorce. The next day she’d hired the first attorney from the border town of Mexicali willing to make an appearance on her behalf on such short notice. Nolan, luckily, never found out that his wife had become an alcoholic. Twenty-eight days later she’d returned to her apartment and a notarized copy of their dissolution had been waiting for her amid a stack of bills, junk mail and periodicals.

Mikki flicked a length of ash and blinked back the sudden moisture blurring her vision. Who would’ve thought after all this time tough-as-nails Mikki Correlli could still tear up at the thought of a failed marriage? Sure as hell not her. She no longer allowed her emotions to control her actions.

She hadn’t always been so resilient. The truth was, if it hadn’t been for her family, she honestly didn’t know if she would’ve survived the aftermath of Nolan once she’d sobered up. When the strength she’d always prided herself on had come close to deserting her again, her sisters and mother were there for her, offering their support without judgment, even if they hadn’t agreed with the choices she’d made.

The urge to go home suddenly hit her hard. Not to her cozy apartment in the Marina District, but to the comfort of her mom’s place on Garrison Street near Haight and Ashbury.

Suddenly she craved the gentle scents of cinnamon candles and strawberry incense, the strains of the Grateful Dead, Joan Baez or the Doors lingering in the background. The solidity of the spindle-back oak chairs at the ancient oak table in the spacious kitchen decorated with chickens and roosters, where she could sit and sip one of her mom’s specialty herb tea blends and regain a proper perspective of her own role in the universe.

Tonight she wanted to listen to Emma reminisce about Haight-Ashbury, the Summer of Love, how she had traveled across the country in a VW bus to Woodstock and about the Oregon commune she’d lived in and where Rory had been born. Maybe Mikki would get lucky and recapture her own sense of calm. Although, she thought with a teary smile, she did often wonder if Emma’s always sage advice wasn’t peppered by the occasional acid flashback. Emma had experienced a few wilder moments in her free-love, mind-expanding days.

Her smile faded the instant she sensed Nolan’s presence behind her. Once again she wondered at his reason for returning to the city. The last she’d heard he’d been busy setting legal precedent in several landmark cases. Some rulings she had silently applauded, others she’d vehemently cursed when reading about them in the quarterly supplements to the California Reporter. Because she read the periodicals faithfully to familiarize herself with new decisions in regard to matters related to her area of expertise, it was difficult not to notice the Baylor name when it appeared with such regularity.

When he joined her, she quietly asked, “Why are you here, Nolan?”

Facing her, he rested his hand on the railing. He wore one of those rascal grins she’d always adored. “To unlock a few possibilities.”

She didn’t appreciate his humor. “I’m serious.” Thank goodness the odds of that happening were one in at least two hundred and fifty. More, possibly, judging by the size of the crowd that had turned out to support Baxter House.

His grin deepened, as if he knew something she didn’t. “So am I,” he arrogantly countered.

Not comfortable with all that cocky self-assurance aimed at her, Mikki’s defensiveness became more pronounced. “You never did know how to be serious.”

The smile faded and he let out a rough sigh. He pushed off the railing. “Can we sheathe the claws for a while?” He moved closer, eliminating the distance between them. “I came to talk to you, not fight.”

Unless she was prepared to climb over the thick round base of the planter to escape him, which she wasn’t—yet, he’d managed to effectively corner her. “So, now you’ve seen me,” she said with a careless shrug she had no hope of believing was real. “Curiosity satisfied?”

He swept the length of her with his gaze, his eyes lingering a moment too long on her breasts. The way he was blatantly staring at her with such unmistakable desire caused her nipples to bead and tighten.

Some things never changed.

“God, you look so good.” He took the remains of the cigarette from her fingers and tossed it into the Pacific before gently dragging the back of his hand down her cheek.

The lump in her throat tripled in size.

“But,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, husky timbre, “you always did.”

Awareness stirred within her. She stared at his mouth. “So do you.” The admission slipped out before she could stop herself. An overwhelming urge to kiss him gripped her—hard. She trembled.

He continued to hold her gaze as he tipped her face upward with the pad of his thumb. Anticipation sizzled between them. Just as it always had, she thought.

Slowly he lowered his head.

“Nolan.” Her soft whisper sounded remarkably reminiscent of an invitation rather than a protest. And honest, she decided. Regardless of how insane and stupid it was, she wanted him to kiss her.

The first feathery brush of his lips against hers instantly ignited her senses, taking her by total surprise. She hadn’t known what to expect, but she sure as hell hadn’t counted on her heart pounding or her insides turning to mush from an overload of sexual excitement.

She really did know better. With Nolan, indifference ceased to exist. He’d always made her feel too much. Too much love. Too much anger. Too much passion. Too much pain.

Damn you.

When he settled his mouth more firmly over hers and deepened the kiss, she tried to tell herself the only reason she responded, the only viable excuse for slipping her arms around his neck, stemmed from the shock of seeing him again. Clearly she wasn’t capable of thinking straight. Under normal circumstances, she never would’ve dreamed of plastering herself against him.

But she did and he tugged her even closer. He pulled her into a tailspin of sensation no woman who prided herself on calling the shots would ever dare welcome—or tolerate.

God help her, it wasn’t nearly enough.

In one step he had her up against the rough stucco wall, surrounding her with the heat of his body. Flaming, steamy memories flashed through her mind. His hands, his lips, the thick, hard length of him pulsing in her hands, in her mouth, thrusting relentlessly into her until the control she never could maintain with him shattered and she flew apart.

The insistent ache of desire dampened her. She wanted to recreate those memories with a desperation so fierce it left her as breathless as his hot, wet kiss.

No. She would not, could not, go there again. Ever. He was her drug of choice, her fix. She’d plummeted to rock bottom once and had barely survived the experience. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d risk that kind of pain again, not when she couldn’t be certain she possessed enough strength to crawl back the next time.

With every last shred of willpower she could summon, she planted her palms firmly on his chest and shoved him away. “No.” The command sounded as ragged as her breathing—and about as convincing. “This is not going to happen.”

Not again. Not ever again.

He took a reluctant step back, jammed his fingers through his hair and stared at her. She found no comfort from the fact he appeared as shaken as her by the heat that had flared up so quickly between them.

She prayed for numbness. Her body continued to hum defiantly with desire.

Just one more in a long line of unanswered prayers, she thought cynically. As if she should be surprised.

“What do you want, Nolan?” she asked him again. Her terse question fell short of rudeness due to the distinct tremor lacing her voice. Her trembling hands didn’t help much, either. “And I want an answer this time.”

He scrubbed his hand down his face. The wariness in his expression immediately filled her with dread.

“Nolan?” Her apprehension climbed with each passing silent second. “What? What is it?”

“When was the last time you were in Mexico?”

She frowned. Carefully she reached for the half empty glass of soda she’d left on the ledge of the redwood railing. She’d rather have a cigarette. Better yet, a drink.

“I’ve never been there.” He, on the other hand, had spent the requisite twenty-four hours south of the border, she thought, feeling the bite of old hostility and resentment for what she’d insisted on in the first place.

She shook her head. Holding him responsible when she’d been the one to demand the fastest method possible to put an end to their marriage was hardly fair or reasonable. “Why?” she asked cautiously.

“You never filed for a legal name change, either, did you?”

Icy cold fingers of panic slid around her throat and squeezed, threatening her air supply. “No,” she managed to say in a choked whisper. “There wasn’t any need to. You know that.”

She’d refused to take his name once they’d married, which had infuriated him. But she’d refused to budge on the issue, so he’d eventually conceded defeat, albeit with massive reluctance. Although he’d never brought the subject up again, he’d made no secret of the fact that he wasn’t happy with her decision to keep her own name. She hadn’t needed some antiquated tradition of assuming her husband’s name to know she was married, but in reality, as long as she kept her own name, she knew she’d never forget who or what she was—a Correlli. Not that she really held an ounce of admiration for her lineage, but she couldn’t allow herself the false sense of security of the Baylor name.

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her expectantly…waiting for her to put the pieces together. His eyes held everything she didn’t want to know.

“Oh, God. We’re not still…”

No, no, no. Not possible. Life could not be that cruel, could it?

“Married?” he finished for her.

She nodded because she didn’t believe herself capable of more than insane babbling.

A wry grin tipped his mouth. “Next time you hire a lawyer, Mikki, a word of advice—” he bent forward until they were practically nose to nose “—make sure he hasn’t been disbarred first.”

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