“Why?”

Garrett crossed his arms. “Why did you only want one date?”

Olivia shut her eyes. This was so horrible. She’d ruined everything. How could she ever have thought a one-night stand was a good idea? Bad girls had bad ideas.

“The truth,” he demanded.

Her eyes flew open. “I…”

“Did you plan to seduce me?” The question hit like a harsh accusation.

“It seemed the answer to my problem.”

“You mean the virginal Olivia Jacobsen problem?”

It was out there now, what she’d done, and it rang tawdry and crass. Which was exactly how Garrett took it. What could she say? How could she make this better?

The silence stretched. Finally he spoke, each word like a knife.

“Tell me, Olivia. Be honest just this once. How much of you is real—and how much is a lie?”

Dear Reader,

I am delighted to finally bring you Olivia Jacobsen’s story and finish the Jacobsen family saga that I started what seems aeons ago. For Olivia, being a “bad girl” is about as far out of character as this minister’s daughter can get. However, she’s not going to turn thirty-one without a fight, and she plans to liven up her boring life and have some fun, if only for one night. When sexy cop Garrett Krause kisses her breath away, however, she discovers that one night isn’t enough, and she wonders if she can turn one night into forever. But there’s this little matter of some lies she’s told that could ruin everything.

If you’ve ever dreamed of being someone else or pretended to be, if only for a moment, you’ll empathize with Olivia Jacobsen as she struggles to find true love. With some well-meaning meddling from Grandpa Joe, I can promise you the family saga comes to an exciting and satisfying conclusion.

It’s hard to say goodbye to these characters, and I hope you enjoy their story as much as I did creating it. The road to love is often paved with good intentions, but sometimes, as Olivia will find out, you simply need a little faith.

As always, enjoy the romance, and feel free to e-mail me at michele@micheledunaway.com with any feedback.

Michele Dunaway

P.S. Jacobsen characters are also found in Catching the Corporate Playboy (Darci), The Playboy’s Protegee (Harry), and About Last Night…(Shane).

Capturing the Cop

Michele Dunaway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Cornbread, WIL92, whose voice wakes me up each morning—kudos for all you do for our troops and for my hometown of St. Louis.

To Dale Earnhardt, Jr., you’ve given me a reason to discover NASCAR and become a fan. Thanks also to the Warren Brothers for proving that it’s okay to be barely famous. You’ve provided fantastic music to write by. Thanks to all of you for being inspirations.

Acknowledgment

Special acknowledgment goes to Officer Ed Ucinski, my personal friend, and to O’Fallon Police Department Detective Jimmy Klinger, who graciously answered all my questions regarding the Major Case Squad, of which he is a member. For information on The BackStoppers, please visit www.backstoppers.org.

Books by Michele Dunaway

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

848—A LITTLE OFFICE ROMANCE

900—TAMING THE TABLOID HEIRESS

921—THE SIMPLY SCANDALOUS PRINCESS

931—CATCHING THE CORPORATE PLAYBOY

963—SWEEPING THE BRIDE AWAY

988—THE PLAYBOY’S PROTÉGÉE

1008—ABOUT LAST NIGHT…

1044—UNWRAPPING MR. WRIGHT

1056—EMERGENCY ENGAGEMENT

1100—LEGALLY TENDER

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

Inside every good girl is a bad girl waiting to get out. Unfortunately for Olivia Jacobsen, she’d been waiting thirty years.

She studied herself in the mirror of the twenty-fifth-floor executive washroom. There was nothing “bad” about her appearance, in as far as she could tell. She had blue eyes. She had straight dark hair, a gift from her deceased Greek mother. Today Olivia had pushed her shoulder-length hair back with a pink plaid headband that matched her pleated plaid skirt.

The saleslady at the upscale boutique had insisted that head-to-toe plaid was the latest fashion, but now Olivia wasn’t so sure.

She scowled at her reflection. Fashion be darned. She came across like a pupil at one of St. Louis’s all-girl Catholic high schools. Olivia Jacobsen—thirty-year-old Miss Goody Two-shoes.

Worse, she was a thirty-year-old virgin Goody Two-shoes, the perfectly behaved daughter of Blake and Sara Jacobsen, world-famous evangelicals with an international ministry rivaling that of Billy Graham.

And she’d grown up hearing exactly what being bad got you.

Olivia puckered her lips, making another disgusted face at herself in the mirror. Being good was boring. Being good meant broken engagements because she’d gotten cold feet—well, that and the fact that kissing her two respective fiancés had been like kissing puppies. Cute and sloppy, but hardly satisfying. Being good also meant having a stepmother who watched your every move and a meddling family that constantly tried to marry you off to someone they deemed appropriate—someone bland and boring.

Being good meant never having a man touch your breasts, never once feeling the leg-clenching desire that Olivia read about in those romance novels her minister parents disapproved of but she devoured.

Just once, Olivia Jacobsen wanted to be bad. She wanted to sin. She shook her body to try to loosen it up. It was a pathetic attempt, and at that moment Olivia decided she couldn’t continue like this. Something drastic would have to be done.

No longer would she be lackluster Olivia Jacobsen, staid and sedate long before her time. That ended now. She reached for her plaid purse and strolled purposefully out of the washroom.

“Marilyn?”

Upon hearing Olivia’s voice, her secretary glanced up.

“I’m going to take the rest of the day off,” Olivia said. “Please reschedule all my appointments.”

If Marilyn seemed surprised that Olivia Jacobsen, vice president of corporate communications for Jacobsen Enterprises and the one with the flawless attendance record for the past five years, was ditching work early, she didn’t let on. “Yes, Ms. Jacobsen,” she replied with a neutral expression.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Not even bothering to return to her office, Olivia punched the elevator button and headed down.

Once-bitten, twice-shy DWM, blond-blue 6’3” HWP, 36 seeking a 26-34 HWP S/DWF for Ms. Right. Must understand erratic work shifts, must love kids, quiet family life and cats.

“I THINK YOU SHOULD mention that you’re Mr. August. Or at least a cop. What about ‘hot stuff’? Doesn’t that increase your odds?”

Garrett Krause glared up from the almost illegible handwriting he’d scrawled on a torn-out sheet of white notebook paper. Not only was his partner, Cliff, reading over his shoulder, but he was also laughing at him.

“And I think you should butt out before I snuff you out,” Garrett snapped, not at all surprised to hear himself growling like an angry bear. “It’s your fault I’m in this mess in the first place. As if I want to do this.”

Cliff simply laughed harder—a liberty only a good friend could take, especially when the laughter was clearly at his friend’s expense.

“You won’t snuff me out,” Cliff said. “We’ve been together too long. Besides, I know all the homicide detectives.”

That was true, Garrett thought wryly. He and Cliff were both detectives in the Division of Criminal Investigation, specifically the Bureau of Crimes Against Persons. Although Cliff was older, he and Garrett had been best friends since they’d met in Police Academy. After that, they’d been stationed together and they’d even both made detective within months of each other. Later, both had landed positions as investigators on St. Louis’s Major Case Squad.

Garrett often wondered if some of his career advancement had been due to Cliff—after all, Cliff’s family was rich, and powerful in St. Louis politics. But Garrett didn’t really care. He loved his job. He’d been a cop since graduating college, and cops shouldn’t be writing personal ads.

“Lucky for you and your occupation that you get to live another day,” Garrett snorted, not quite ready to let Cliff off so easily.

“Oh, I’m so worried,” Cliff taunted. Cliff knew he could push Garrett’s buttons—they had an eleven-year friendship, one that had included Cliff being best man for Garrett’s now-failed marriage.

“I’m sure I could commit the perfect crime if I wanted to,” Garrett threatened as he waved the paper. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Yeah, whatever. Besides, I’m always lucky,” Cliff said, cuffing his white shirtsleeves. He ignored Garrett’s scowl and reached for his mug. “I’d probably end up killing you in self-defense.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? An appointment?” Garrett asked, eyeing Cliff’s Cops Do It shootin’ expression mug. At least Cliff’s sip of java had ended his annoying laughter.

“Aw, come on, Garrett, lighten up,” Cliff said before taking another sip. “None of us means you any harm. We just agree that you should get back into dating. It’s been three years since that ugly mess with your ex.”

“Don’t even mention her.” Garrett’s scowl deepened. Although three years had passed since his divorce, he still hated dealing with his ex-wife, especially where their four-year-old son was concerned.

Cliff tilted his head to the side and studied his friend. “Garrett, really. What’s wrong with you? Everyone’s more than a little concerned about your hermit status.”

“I am not a hermit. I’m busy,” Garrett insisted.

Cliff shook his head. “No, you aren’t. You work hard, granted, but that’s not what’s bugging you.”

Cliff contemplated that assertion for a moment and then his expression changed. “I got it. You’re still smarting over that charity calendar. Come on, let it go. It’s been almost a year since it debuted, and all the hubbub has died down. In a few months people will throw the thing away and replace it with next year’s version.”

“Whatever,” Garrett said. As with his ex, he tried to avoid dwelling on that mistake, as well.

“Though I still think you’re crazy,” Cliff continued. “If I’d gotten one of those prime spots, can you imagine what I would have done?”

That was the last straw. “What—you’d have dated the woman from Potosi who sent me her underwear?” Garrett arched his eyebrow skeptically and studied his friend. It was now almost two p.m., and already Cliff needed to shave. Because Garrett was blond, his face wouldn’t show a beard until well after five.

Cliff shrugged, conceding slightly. “Well, maybe not that,” he said, retreating before going back for round two. “But some of those babes who dropped by the police station were hot. I would have taken the normal ones up on their offers. Wasn’t one a Rams cheerleader? Get real, Garrett. Just hop back in the saddle again. Being celibate this long just doesn’t suit a man. Makes him crack. God knows we see the results of that enough in our line of work.”

Garrett glared. His self-chosen celibacy had so far suited him just fine. Being celibate meant he’d make no more mistakes such as thinking he was in love and the time was perfect for him to settle down. That was how he’d come to marry Brenda. The only good thing to emerge from that tempestuous relationship had been their son. And that adorable four-year-old deserved his daddy’s full attention.

“Don’t knock celibacy. It’s the best alternative to marriage, that’s for sure,” Garrett said.

“Who said anything about marriage? Saddles are for riding in, buddy boy.” Cliff grinned, but his smile vanished when he saw the sour expression on Garrett’s face. “Oh, loosen up. At least none of us is trying to drag you out to strip clubs anymore under the guise of doing a stakeout.”

Thank God for small favors, Garrett thought. Exploring East Saint Louis’s “nightlife” was not anywhere on his to-do list, nor would it ever be. The Illinois city directly over the Mississippi River from the Gateway Arch was known for strip clubs and seedy bars—something he’d outgrown long ago. And since Garrett wasn’t a gambler, even Casino Queen river-boat, decent as that was, held little appeal. He shook his head, sending blond hair into his face. Loosen up indeed. As if he could.

He shuddered, revulsion shivering down his spine as he remembered some of the women’s letters and photos he’d received in the months following the appearance of the Hometown Heroes charity calendar.

Reading the letters and seeing the lengths women would go to to entice him, including those naked full-body shots, had not been pleasant. He’d felt like a pervert, so much so that he’d finally stopped opening the letters at all, or letting his cop buddies and Cliff raid his mail. Crime scenes were easier to deal with.

He winced. Hindsight was twenty/twenty. When the department asked for his cooperation last summer, Garrett had followed orders, not caring about the “honor” attached to being selected.

His mistake was that he hadn’t thought through the calendar’s aftereffects. Oh, he’d considered that he might get some recognition and second glances, but this was St. Louis and not Hollywood. St. Louisans were, for the most part, discreet—not rude autograph-seekers. Even professional sports stars were usually granted their privacy in public places like restaurants or movie theaters. The crazy attention paid to him and his fellow police, fire and rescue workers from across the metropolitan region had surprised Garrett, not to mention vexed him.

Today, it appeared, there would be no end to his weary annoyance. Cliff was on a mission he’d started this past weekend when Garrett lost the weekly Friday night poker game with the guys.

“Let me see that personal ad again,” Cliff said, getting back to the matter at hand. He snagged the paper from Garrett. “HWP. That’s good. You don’t want someone whose height and weight aren’t proportional. But, do you think it’s a good idea to tell them your measurements?”

“Earlier you wanted me to tell them I was Mr. August so that they could go ogle me. Why don’t I just include my address in the ad? Even better, how about I include my cell phone number and the note ‘Call Garrett for a good time.’” Irritated, Garrett wrestled the piece of paper away from Cliff. “This is a dumb idea. I’m not doing it.”

Cliff snatched the paper, ripping off a piece in the process. “Yes, you are. You backed yourself into a corner Friday night when Ben asked how long it had been since you’d had a real date. You even went double or nothing without chips—and lost. So unless you really want to eat crow—”

“I thought I had a good hand,” Garrett interrupted. Two of a kind should have been enough to win.

“Well, you didn’t, so even fate agrees you’re doing this. You’ll never live down the ribbing if you don’t. It’s a personal ad or a blind date.”

The last blind date Garrett had gone on had been an absolute disaster. She’d been five years older and around the block way too many times, and had boldly asked him if he knew any kinky ways to use his handcuffs. No more blind dates, period.

“Fine, I said I’d do this,” Garrett said with another growl to indicate that he still didn’t relish the idea. “One date with one woman. That was the bet, and that’s all I’m doing. Understood?”

Cliff’s smile widened and he gave Garrett the crumpled piece of paper. “Okay. One date. That’s the deal. But place the ad today. You’ll pass by the Monitor office on your way home.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes and glared. The Monitor office was actually out of his way, but Cliff, again intent on revising the ad’s wording, disregarded his friend’s displeasure.

“Don’t forget to add ‘no smoking,’” Cliff said. “Just in case you want to kiss her.”

“I won’t be kissing anyone,” Garrett snapped, but he did write down n/s on the paper.

Cliff’s laughter again echoed in the room. “No kisses? You never know, Garrett. You never know.”

“OLIVIA! OH, AM I GLAD to see you!” Chrissy Lambert said as Olivia entered the classified-ads department of the Mound City Monitor on Tucker Street. Located on the first floor, the office was open to walk-in clients until six o’clock. Chrissy buzzed Olivia through the security door.

“Hi, Chrissy. I wanted to check on you personally.” Olivia gave her best friend a quick hug.

“They were Braxton-Hicks contractions,” Chrissy said as she hopped on one foot, clearly needing to go to the restroom. “You’re a godsend. Lula called in sick today, which means she’s more likely at the stadium playing hooky, than on her deathbed. I’m here alone.”

Chrissy wiggled her very pregnant body. She was due any day now.

“Are you okay?” Olivia asked. She’d known Chrissy ever since junior high, when, despite their different socioeconomic backgrounds, they’d become best friends at Bible camp. Olivia’s family had viewed the month-long adventure as a natural extension of their daughter’s religious education; Chrissy’s family had hoped that discovering God would tame their daughter’s wild ways. The ultimate bad girl, Chrissy hadn’t truly reformed until she met Derek, fallen fast for him and gotten married.

Chrissy palmed her stomach. “I’m doing well except for the baby having stationed itself right on top of my bladder. Watch the floor for me, will you? Don’t worry, the bosses aren’t around. Since the Cardinals lead the Central division, everyone cut out early to attend today’s baseball game.”

“No problem,” Olivia said. “Besides, I know the paper’s owner.” Olivia’s cousin Darci was married to Cameron O’Brien. In fact, Darci and Cameron had first met when Cameron, the head of O’Brien Publications, had visited St. Louis to finalize the purchase of the Mound City Monitor and add it to the O’Brien Publications family.

“That’s great, ’cause I really gotta go. You know what to do, right?”

“You showed me last time,” Olivia said. “Remember? It was so slow here we filled out phone ad forms pretending to find me a date.”

“Yeah. Mr. B. Right at 4 M. Drives.”

A movement outside on the sidewalk caught Chrissy’s attention, and she paused for a moment. “Whoa! I don’t believe it. That’s really him. Too bad nature’s calling. But you’re about to get lucky. See that guy out there?”

Olivia glanced out the Monitor’s large storefront window. She saw the subject of Chrissy’s focus immediately.

The man standing just outside the glass doorway was gorgeous. Under the dark blue T-shirt he wore, well-toned muscles rippled and the golden hair dusting his arms glistened in that late-afternoon sunlight. He stood at least six foot three, and even his faded red Cardinals baseball cap added to his allure.

Olivia swallowed. What would it be like to touch a man like that? Unlike Chrissy, who had more skeletons in her closet than were in a graveyard, Olivia had never been bad enough to know. Her wimpy ex-fiancés had been physically small men whose presence wouldn’t intimidate a flea.

She fisted her hands, then stretched her fingers one by one in order to relax. The man seemed familiar, but Olivia couldn’t place him. “Chrissy,” she hissed as the man began to pull open the door to the office. “What are you talking about? You know him?”

“The calendar in the file drawer. He’s one of the ‘months.’ Oh, too bad it’s against the rules to get his autograph or hang it up.” Chrissy paused for one last peek before hurrying away.

Whoever the man was, he was now inside the office, and Olivia couldn’t help but gape as he approached the service counter.

Never had a man so filled the room with his presence. His dark blue Levi’s fit tightly and he wore boots. Olivia stood rooted to the floor as he approached, her only movements those of her fingers as they twisted the strand of cultured pearls her father had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday. Brad Pitt, Dennis Quaid and Robert Redford combined wouldn’t hold a candle to the Adonis before her. He must have come to place an ad, Olivia decided as she regrouped. Maybe he was selling his truck or something—although the Mound City Monitor really didn’t handle many of those kind of classified ads.

Yes, Olivia fantasized, he would be the type to own a big truck.

He was wearing Levi’s and boots and Olivia could picture him riding on the range, roping some cattle, coming home to his woman and making love to her on soft flannel sheets in front of the fire. He was the stuff of romance novels, the ultimate lover—which meant not her type. Besides, how could she handle a man like him? She wasn’t even bad enough to find something bad to do. After leaving work and playing hooky, the only “bad” thing she could think of to do was shopping. Her one last ditch attempt at badness before heading home to a freezer full of microwavable dinners and bad television shows had been to visit Chrissy. All in all, not a great start at becoming a bad girl.

“I need to place a personal ad.”

His warm baritone voice jerked Olivia into the present and her gaze connected with his. Since only a forty-inch counter and some Plexiglas stood between them, she could see that his eyes were a mesmerizing shade of blue.

Olivia had never understood what people meant when they said “time stood still,” but at this moment she swore it was happening. Her heart seemed frozen, although she could feel it beating and could hear it pounding in her ears.

“A personal ad,” he repeated, obviously irritated at her incompetence.

He drummed his fingers on the counter, the staccato sound forcing Olivia to regain her senses.

“Yes, of course. I’d be happy to help,” she somehow managed to say. She couldn’t have anyone complaining to the bosses about Chrissy.

“This is the ad I wish to run.” He slid a wadded piece of paper into the metal channel and underneath the Plexiglas. “Can you take care of it?”

If she were a bad girl, she’d take care of him in any way he needed. Be a bad girl, something unfamiliar inside her whispered.

She smoothed out the paper and turned her attention to reading his ad. She glanced up sharply. “You need a date?”

His blue eyes gleamed, and she swallowed. Just the power of his look held her attention. “I apologize. That was quite unprofessional of me.”

He didn’t agree or disagree; he just watched her. Years of PR training came in handy as she hid her trembling and presented a poised appearance. She reached for an advertising form and a pen.

“So. How long do you want your ad to run? Our best value, which I suggest, is five days at five dollars a day. If not you can—”

He cut her off. “That’s fine.”

Olivia’s forehead wrinkled and her headband itched. Something wasn’t right in Mound City. Her extensive PR experience had also taught her a lot about body language.

For someone placing a personal ad, the man standing in front of her wasn’t keen on the idea.

He came across like a man sitting in a dentist’s chair, waiting for a tooth extraction. But whatever his problem, she had an ad to sell. “We have three retrieval services, depending on what type of response you’d like,” she said, warming to her sales pitch. She and Chrissy had held a contest to see who could say it faster. “You can place a voice-mail ad, meaning the person calls a special phone number and presses your mailbox number. You receive a code to retrieve the messages. For an additional fee, we can set up a temporary e-mail account for you, meaning we act as your firewall. You can also go with the traditional snail-mail option, which—”

“Which one gets this over with the fastest?”

His blunt query had Olivia losing her train of thought and flubbing her sales spiel. “The phone messages,” she said as she recovered. “The people interested in you dial a nine-hundred number—you retrieve the messages using an eight-hundred number.”

“Fine,” he said with a curt nod that caused a lock of blond hair to fall into his face. “That’s what I want for the shortest period you offer.”

“One week.”

He didn’t smile. “Perfect.”

She pushed the contract under the glass. “I’ll need your contact information. If you could please fill this out…”

As he put pen to paper, Olivia couldn’t help but watch him, observing the way his muscles flexed even when he did something so simple as write. He’d barely finished printing his first name in the required block letters when he glanced up at her.

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Olivia said, the words escaping her lips before she could even think to stop them. “Why does a gorgeous man like you need to place an ad?”

His blond eyebrows arched. “For the same reason a grown-up woman like you dresses like a Catholic schoolgirl.”

“Fashion,” Olivia retorted.

His unexpectedly wide smile undid her. It crooked into two dimples, lighting up his whole face. She gripped the countertop.

“No, the obvious,” he said. “Because like everyone else who places these personal ads, I need a date. Just one, but a date nevertheless.”

As his gaze remained locked with Olivia’s, she inwardly melted. All those romance clichés fit. An invisible string tugged her insides and her toes curled. Blood drummed in her ears. The man had turned her into molten jelly with a mere glance. Made her feel wanton with only his simple, sexy manner.

At that moment, Olivia’s inner bad girl roared to life and took over. She wanted to experience life to the fullest, right? This man would make her feel full, that was for certain. Many women had no doubt propositioned this beautiful, sexy man, but the prodigal daughter didn’t care. He only needed one date.

She only needed one night.

She could atone for her many sins later.

Olivia turned on her best smile. Her baby blue-eyes with the outer rim of dark blue—the blue eyes that every Jacobsen family member shared—were her strongest feature, and she refused to blink. The husky voice leaving her lips sounded unfamiliar.

“So if you only need one date,” Olivia said, “why not save your money and just ask me?”

Chapter Two

Had he heard her correctly? Had she just propositioned him? Garrett surveyed the woman behind the counter. She’d finally blinked and glanced away, but Garrett knew his excellent hearing hadn’t failed him. The girl who was doing her best to imitate the cover of Britney Spears’s first album had just made a pass at him.

Was there a woman in the world who wouldn’t?

He continued to study her as she placed some pens in a holder. Admittedly, she seemed different from the others who had hit on him. Very classic. Very traditional. She wore a short-sleeved pink sweater and had pearls around her neck. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders. Her headband matched the pleated skirt he could see because of his height. She had high cheekbones, a straight nose that tweaked up slightly at the tip, and her eyes…those blue orbs were hypnotic. He’d noticed them the moment he’d walked into the office.

An urge stirred in his groin. Did he really want to reach through the glass and feel how silky those dark locks were?

She definitely wasn’t unattractive. Far from it.

But she had boldly propositioned him, and after this past year, Garrett was sick and tired of aggressive women. He couldn’t wait until December, when, he hoped, everyone would throw this year’s charity calendar away and instead ogle the people in the new one.

He couldn’t go back to the station without arranging for a date. One date, to be precise. And if he took her up on her offer, he could have that one date without having to place a silly ad, or ever having some silly ad traced back to him.

He also wouldn’t have to listen to any phone messages. He wouldn’t have to call anyone up and make idle conversation he didn’t have time for. Yes, the longer he considered asking out the counter girl, the more the idea appealed. Even better—since she was a counter girl, she certainly wouldn’t have the upper-crust St. Louis snobbery of his ex-wife.

Having had women throw themselves at him, he’d long ago learned to turn his sexuality down. Now he let every ounce of his male magnetism loose. He leaned on the counter, bringing himself down to her five-eight height and as close to the Plexiglas as he could without causing condensation to form. “You mean you’re offering to go out with me and be my one date? You don’t even know what it’s for.”

He was glad to see that she blushed, a delightful pink that spread across her face and almost matched her sweater. Miss Proposition wasn’t as sure of herself as she had seemed. His cop’s instinct noticed the incongruity and found it intriguing.

“I—” she began.

He didn’t give her the chance to back down. “Do you fit my criteria?” He reached under the divider and withdrew the crumpled scrap of notebook paper. “Let’s see, shall we? You appear to be between twenty-six and thirty-four.”

“I’m thirty,” the girl said.

She fidgeted with her fingers, and he noticed that she’d recently had a manicure.

“Thirty, huh?” He would have guessed she was much younger. Maybe because she didn’t have on much makeup and wore that infernal headband. Then again, unlike his ex-wife, adornments for her weren’t essential; she had a natural beauty, something internal, which he now knew Brenda had always lacked. He shifted his weight.

“Single or divorced?”

She coughed as she said, “Single.”

“Look at me.” She complied, and this time he decided her eyes were the most interesting shade of baby blue, even lighter than his. He tamped down immediate desire. Sure, he’d been celibate since his divorce, but his mission wasn’t about desiring the counter girl. He had a quest to complete. The sooner he got the guys off his back, the sooner his life would return to normal.

“So, how are you with erratic work shifts, kids, quiet family life and cats?”

Her chin lifted defiantly. “I work full-time, my sister has two kids and my brother’s baby is six months old. My family life is quiet and I had a seal-point Siamese when I was growing up.”

“Then you’ll be perfect.” Even he heard the hoarse undertone in his voice.

“Yes.”

Her chin trembled briefly, and the movement fascinated Garrett. Unlike the other women who’d propositioned him, she acted almost regretful. She was also cute and quaint, yet still downright sexy. Definitely kissable.

The paradox interested him. With her sweater and pearls she was a walking advertisement for prim and proper.

Somehow he couldn’t picture the woman in front of him even exposing her navel in public the way some women did. Yet despite her classic clothes and reserved demeanor, she was doing something to his libido.

The way her lips parted like that. Without even recognizing she was making the movement, her tongue flicked out and wet her bottom lip. Garrett groaned inwardly. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to break down the glass barrier between them and plant his lips on hers.

Maybe Cliff was correct. Maybe Garrett should get back in the saddle.

He pushed the Mound City Monitor classified ad form back toward her, the gesture providing his body some much-needed respite. “Since I need a date and you’ve offered, I guess I won’t be using this.” She blinked, and this time her long dark brown eyelashes held him captive.

“You won’t?”

He gave her his best bad-boy grin. “No. I’ll be using your phone number, instead.”

“Oh.”

Her face pinkened again, and Garrett’s body ignored his brain and went into overdrive. He’d never thought pink a sexy color, but darn if he wasn’t curious about what her body would be like naked and all pink from lovemaking, her flesh hot with the sheen of two bodies becoming one.

He inhaled a deep breath, trying to regain some control. Making love wasn’t part of his game plan. He didn’t need a woman in his life, or a one-night stand, no matter how sexy the counter girl was and no matter how long he’d been without. Cliff could keep his saddles-are-for-riding analogy. One date would get Garrett’s life in order and the guys on the force off his back. He gathered his wits.

“I guess we should properly introduce ourselves. I’m Garrett.” He put his hand into the slot.

“Olivia,” she said. She reached forward and touched his.

The moment their hands connected, a spark shocked him. Wow. Static in July? Her wide, beautiful blue eyes told him that she’d felt the spark, too. He dropped her hand and placed his in the back pocket of his jeans, the safest spot he could think of for the moment.

“Well, Olivia, as pleasant as this has been, I have to get home and feed my cat. He gets cantankerous when he’s not fed on time. May I call you so we can arrange our date?”

“Yes.” Her voice gave an enchanting squeak and she nodded. She grabbed a blank piece of paper, took a pen and scribbled down her first name and two phone numbers. She held the sheet out to him. “Home and cell,” she offered.

“Great. I’ll call you soon,” Garrett said.

“Okay,” she said, now seeming shell-shocked at the turn of events.

He hummed as he exited the Monitor office, deliberately leaving the handwritten classified ad behind on the counter.

OLIVIA WATCHED as Garrett moved out of sight. Had he really just asked her out? Had she really propositioned him? Surely this had been some daydream. Some fantasy.

Man, she hadn’t even closed her eyes. Would she look like an idiot if she pinched herself?

“So how did it go? Sorry I took so long. I stopped and got some candy. Did he place an ad?”

Chrissy’s return reminded Olivia that Garrett’s presence hadn’t been a daydream, and she snaked her hand forward and snatched the piece of paper that Garrett had left behind. She crumpled it and the ad form and dropped both into the wastebasket before Chrissy saw anything.

Olivia put on her best wistful expression as Chrissy returned to the counter. “He changed his mind.”

“Oh.” Chrissy sighed wistfully. “The good ones always do.” She dug into the file cabinet and brought out a calendar. “So what did he want?”

“Just some information,” Olivia answered vaguely. Her religious parents had raised her not to lie, but her PR training let her stretch the truth a little. He had wanted information. Her phone number.

The bad girl could do penance later.

“That’s too bad,” Chrissy said. “I bet he’d make some woman pretty happy. I mean, look at him.”

Olivia glanced at the calendar. Now her PR training failed. There, in full-gloss color, one foot on a police-car bumper, stood her man.

He made Erik Estrada in his CHIPs heyday look like a nerd.

Garrett wore his dress uniform and a come-hither smile that could melt chocolate. He dangled handcuffs from his left hand.

“He’s the only one not showing any skin, but he doesn’t need to, does he?” Chrissy blew out a breath of air. “He’s Mr. August, so I can stare at him all next month. And you should see some of the other guys.” Chrissy flipped through the pages quickly. “I had to buy this calendar—after all, it was for charity.”

She held up the photo of another guy, this one a fire-fighter, bare-chested and wearing suspenders and his firefighting pants. “Twelve months of yum.”

Chrissy turned back to Mr. August—Garrett, Olivia thought, remembering his name. He’d be on display for thirty-one days next month.

“He was just as good in person,” Chrissy continued. “If I wasn’t married I’d let him cuff me anytime. Heck, I’d put 911 on speed-dial if he showed up when I called. Wouldn’t you?”

Olivia giggled, her laugh due to from the hysterical combination of having a date with the man and Chrissy’s silly behavior. “You’re funny.”

“Yeah, I know,” Chrissy said with a grin. “Some things don’t change.”

Olivia knew that her friend would never cheat and that her words were all for show. Still, Olivia thought, as she took a final glance at the calendar, Garrett sure did make you aspire to commit a crime. And she had a date with him. One date. One night. If this was what being a bad girl got you, maybe she should have signed up earlier.

Panic suddenly roared in as the full impact of her brash actions hit her. The man was sex personified, whereas she hadn’t seduced anyone. He was excitement; she was boring. Exactly what had she gotten herself into?

Chapter Three

“So, did you do it?”

In the middle of opening the refrigerator in the staff lounge the next morning, Garrett stopped. Cold air swirled around him as he checked his watch. He punctuated his words with a low whistle. “Impressive. You waited all of ten minutes before you jumped me.”

“What?” Cliff frowned. He leaned against the doorframe.

Garrett retrieved a bottle of cold water, then he shut the refrigerator door. “I said, I was impressed that you waited a full ten minutes to find me once my shift started.”

Cliff grinned, his guilt obvious and unabashed. “Yeah, well, I had to stop for coffee. The stuff here is not that good when Cletus brews it, and Tuesday’s always his day.”

Cliff saluted Garrett with his coffee mug and pried himself from the door frame. He walked over to a red vinyl chair and sat. “And you still haven’t answered my question. Did you place the ad?”

Garrett took his time walking to the table. He made a show of opening the plastic water bottle and taking a long sip. Then he set the bottle down, and just to stall for more time, he ran a finger under his collar. Since he was headed into the field, he wore casual clothes: a blue polo shirt and jeans.

Cliff narrowed his eyes, indicating his displeasure at Garrett’s stalling. “Should I get Ben and Mason in here? They’re dying for information, but I told them that you might be threatened by all of us interrogating you at once.”

“Like, that’s probable,” Garrett said, taking perverse pleasure in Cliff’s being antsy. “As if Ben and Mason would intimidate me. You just wanted to be able to spread the news yourself.”

“That, too,” Cliff admitted with a sly grin. “So?”

“So what?” Someone had left the front-page section of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch on the table and Garrett pulled the newspaper toward him. The Cardinals had won again.

As for the deliberate delay, Garrett figured his best friend deserved some grief for his impertinence. That Garrett had lost a poker game and gotten himself into this situation didn’t matter; in life post-Brenda, Garrett was a man determined to control his own destiny as much as he could. And that meant making Cliff squirm. Call it part of the guy code.

“Even a few of us against one is intimidating to any man,” Cliff said lamely. “They were going to be here, but I stopped them.”

Garrett grinned, the image of the counter girl in her silly high-school outfit entering his head. He’d been thinking about her all night.

“But I’m not any man. I’m Garrett Krause, bachelor god. All women want me.”

Cliff practically spit out his sip of coffee he started laughing so hard. “Such ego. You’re a thirty-six-year-old has-been with only a cat to keep him warm at night. Now, did you place the personal ad or not?”

Garrett couldn’t resist. He gripped the edge of the table with both hands, leaned forward and stared Cliff in the eye. “No,” he said.

Cliff’s reaction was textbook. In the midst of another drink, he muttered and sputtered. His hand shook, sending hot java over the edge of the cup and splattering onto the white table. “Great. Not only did you wimp out, but I could use a paper towel.”

“Napkins are over there next to the fridge.” Garrett gestured magnanimously with his left hand. False concern laced his voice. “You didn’t nail the floor, too, did you? Who knows how often they mop that.”

“No, I didn’t get the floor. I got me, instead. Not that you’d care about that. Tell me why we’re friends?”

“Because we’re the only ones who can tolerate each other?” Garrett quipped.

“Ha-ha,” Cliff said, but a smirk had crept over his face.

Garrett took a drink of water before holding out the bottle. “Do you need some?”

Cliff set the mug down and began to daub the half-dollar-sized dark spot that had formed on his T-shirt. He accepted the bottle. “Yeah, I need some, or I’ll be a leopard all day. That’ll make me seem real professional when we go question the victim’s neighbors.”

“So did he do it?”

Cliff’s jaw dropped as some of the other detectives crowded into the doorway. “I told you they weren’t going to wait.” He turned to the other officers. “What do you think he did?”

“I think he’s a chicken,” Pete said. At fifty-something, he’d been on the force for over thirty years and married equally as long.

“Even I know how to place a personal ad,” Mason said, moving his six-foot-seven frame into the room. He towered over the rest of the men. “Come on, Garrett. How difficult can it be to fill out a simple form? Hell, we fill out paperwork all day. You had to be good at it, or they wouldn’t have made you a detective. No one wants to read a cruddy report.”

Ben simply stared at Garrett speculatively. “I don’t think Garrett’s that stupid,” he said. “He made a bet. I’m sure he followed through somehow.”

Ben was only one year younger than Garrett, but being the youngest didn’t always mean slow to catch on, Garrett thought. No wonder Ben had advanced to detective early.

“So what’s up your sleeve?” Ben asked.

Garrett made a show of studying his bare arms. “I didn’t place the ad,” he said.

“You admit you didn’t!” Pete slapped his hands against his thighs. “We had a deal. Boy, you’ll pay for this one. My wife even agreed you’re lame.”

“Moira said that?” Mason asked, his attention on Pete.

“She did,” Pete said. “Although, I didn’t tell her about the bet. Just that you refuse to date anyone.”

Garrett felt his mouth crook upward. Pete’s wife sent the guys baked goods weekly. She was everyone’s sweetheart. She’d disapprove of the bet.

“Pete, you can tell Moira that I am not lame. The deal was a date. Well, I got that. I will go on one date.”

Cliff looked at him in disbelief. “You didn’t place the ad. How?”

Garrett kept his face poker still. “The girl behind the counter asked me out.”

“You—” Mason stopped himself before the foul language he was about to utter spilled out. “You dog,” he said instead.

“That’s me,” Garrett said, grinning. “All I have to do is call her, go on one date and then everyone gets off my back and leaves me alone. Bet fulfilled.”

It was Ben who asked, “Is she cute?”

Garrett paused for a moment and then shrugged. The guys didn’t need to know that she’d appeared in several of Garrett’s dreams last night, forcing him to take a very cold shower this morning.

“The girl I met is fine,” Garrett replied, refusing to describe Olivia in any detail lest she become the subject of gossip. “Besides, it’s only one date. That was the deal.”

Four faces frowned their disappointment. “One date,” Cliff confirmed. “Yeah, that was the deal. Next time we’ll have a Legal Affairs guy sit in on our poker game to make sure the bet’s airtight.”

“You do that,” Garrett said. He retrieved his water bottle, capped it and arched it into the trashcan. “Now, don’t we all have work to do? Brainstorm the motives and possible suspects in the Sampson case or something?”

“The guy was missing two years before that dog found his bones. Five more minutes won’t matter. When’s your date?” Mason asked.

“I haven’t set it up yet,” Garrett admitted. “I’m supposed to call her.”

“Do you have her phone number?” This question came from Ben. “I’d like some verification. Not that I don’t trust you, but…”

“I don’t trust him,” Pete said. “We all know what happens to men who get cornered. Well? Do you have her number, Garrett?”

“Of course I do.” Garrett reached into his wallet and pulled out the piece of paper. He handed it to Pete. “Home and cell,” he said. “Her name’s Olivia.”

The men passed the paper around. Ben peered at it longest, then held it up. “This handwriting might be female.”

“It is,” Garrett said.

He reached for the slip, but Ben stepped back. Then Ben picked up the lounge phone and, before Garrett could stop him, dialed. He held out the receiver to the still-seated Garrett.

“It’s ringing,” Ben said.

SHE WAS LATE. Olivia drummed her fingers against the leather steering wheel of her Saab convertible. The clock on the dash read 9:05 a.m. Her two-hour weekly workout with her personal trainer had gone over, and she was running a half hour behind. She pulled up at a red light and frowned as a strange noise mingled with the music on her radio.

Her cell phone, resting in the cup holder, was ringing. None of her friends or family ever called her this early. Had they panicked at work already because she was always extremely punctual?

But when she picked up the phone, she didn’t recognize the 314 area code glowing on the caller ID display. She pressed talk. “Hello?”

“Is this Olivia?”

The deep baritone voice washing over her sounded oddly familiar, and she worked to place it. “Yes.”

There was a brief pause before the sexy voice spoke again. “Hi, Olivia, this is Garrett Krause. We met yesterday afternoon at the Monitor classifieds office. Remember?”

Oh, she remembered, all right! Butterflies took flight in Olivia’s stomach, and she ignored the car horn blaring behind her. A bad girl didn’t care that she was late for work, or that the stoplight telling her to go had turned green. A bad girl cared that the man who’d haunted her dreams last night was actually calling. Olivia had been betting he wouldn’t phone, and mentally preparing herself not to be too disappointed. But he had—and the next day, too!

“Garrett, hold on,” she said as she dug for the hands-free earpiece she had buried in her purse. She managed to find it and attach the cord to the phone at the precise moment the stoplight turned yellow. She stepped on the gas and waved her apologies to the irritated driver behind her, who was now sitting through another red light.

“Uh, hi,” Olivia said, adjusting the thick black cord as she pulled into the lane for the Forest Park Express-way.

His voice was warm and friendly. “Hi, yourself. How are you this morning?”

“Fine.” Inwardly she cringed at the lame answer. Come on, inner, bad girl. Don’t desert me now.

Another car honked at her, so Olivia put on her blinker and made a quick turn into a Washington University parking lot. Her concentration on driving shot, she idled her car across two spaces. Conversing while parked was safer. The convertible top was down, and a breeze played with the ends of her hair.

“I’m fine, too, even better now that I’m talking to you,” he said. Then he gave a little laugh, as if deliberately teasing her. There were murmurs in the background, as though a television was on. “So where are you?” he asked.

“Headed to work,” Olivia admitted. “I’m running late.”

Although, with him on the phone, she sure didn’t care when she arrived at the office. With him, she sought to be bad. Very bad. She turned off the radio. The only sounds now were the hum of the engine and the occasional passing car.

“I don’t want to make you late.” His bedroom voice sent a shiver through her.

Heck, she’d skip work if he asked her to. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, putting a pout in her voice. Talking like a seductress was easier when you couldn’t see the other person’s face. “You told me you work erratic shifts. If you’re calling now, this must be a perfect time to talk.”

“So are you perfect?”

Far from it, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. This man would be her one night, her one digression into forbidden territory. One taste—no more. Giddy with the moment, Olivia let her inner bad girl rule. “I’m perfect in some areas,” she said, congratulating herself on how teasing her voice sounded as she answered his question.

“So then tell me one thing,” he asked. “How come you’re still single? Shouldn’t a girl like you have been snatched up by now?”

Olivia’s stomach tightened. Though her previous answer had been heavy with innuendo, her words hadn’t been a lie. As for her string of failed relationships, she didn’t ever intend to tell him the full truth about those. But she hadn’t been raised to lie. “I’m still single because I don’t settle,” Olivia replied, this time making her voice a tad provocative.

She heard his chuckle. “I see.”

“Uh-huh,” Olivia said. Even though he couldn’t see her, she twirled a piece of her hair coquettishly so that her mood would flow through the phone. “And just so you know, I don’t proposition just anyone, either.” That was for certain. She’d never propositioned anyone before.

His tone turned serious. “Then I’m honored. So shall we set up our date? I’d like to continue this intriguing conversation in person. Phones just don’t work for me. You can’t see the person.”

Which in this case had been a good idea, Olivia thought. When it came to normal phone conversations with men, she was terrible. Heck, she was terrible with men, period. Her longest relationship had lasted fourteen months, her two engagements each less than that. Garrett Krause wasn’t her league. But she only needed one night….

“Let’s definitely get this date on the calendar. I’d like to see you again.”

“The sooner the better,” Garrett said, his sexy tone back.

Olivia’s forehead creased, but she reached for her day planner. This bad-girl stuff was new to her. Did all men respond this eagerly? She wasn’t sure if she liked it. She pushed her discomfort aside. “I’m ready with my planner now.”

“You have a planner?” His voice held surprise. Then he said, “Great. Have you ever been to Melanie’s?”

“Melanie’s?” She racked her brain but drew a blank. “I’m sorry. I’ve never even heard of it. I take it it’s good?”

“Despite being just a hole in the wall, Melanie’s has some of the best seafood on the South Side. It’s on Grand, south of 44, past Tower Grove Park. How about we meet there? Say, Thursday night at six? That’s only two nights from now.”

Olivia wrote the information in her planner. She circled July twenty-seventh. She couldn’t believe that July was almost over. Age thirty-one was getting ever closer. “I’m sure I can find it.”

“You can’t miss it. The name is on the awning.”

She decided she liked his voice. “Melanie’s at six,” she confirmed.

“It was good talking to you, Olivia. Until Thursday, bye.”

And with that, he hung up. Olivia hit the red end button on her cell phone and surveyed the call timer. Less than three minutes. But it didn’t matter that she’d never really held a phone conversation with a man for more than ten unless they’d been fighting. What mattered was that she had a date with the sexiest man she’d seen in a long time. “Sorry Sara,” Olivia said aloud, as if speaking to her pious stepmother. “But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. And I have to do this man.”

Anticipation shuddered through Olivia. He’d be the ultimate lover. Even though she had zero experience in that area, she just knew he would be. Call it female intuition. Olivia turned up the radio, and humming because Garrett had actually called, she headed to work.

GARRETT PRESSED the off button and set the cordless receiver on the table. He glared at the four men watching him. “Satisfied?”

Cliff grinned, and for a moment Garrett wished he could smack that knowing leer off his friend’s face. “More or less.”

“I am,” Mason said. “You handled that with sheer finesse, buddy boy.”

“I don’t know,” Ben replied, his skepticism obvious.

Garrett stood, glowering at Ben. “Come on, you just heard the whole call. I made silly small talk and asked her out, and she accepted. We have a date on Thursday. Until then I have two different murders to solve and a summer program at Matt’s child development center. So enough. It’s done. The date’s set.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t ask her,” Ben persisted, not at all intimidated by Garrett’s solid stance. His green eyes narrowed. “But how do we know that you’ll really follow through? That you won’t just wimp out, call her back and cancel. Worse, you might stand her up.”

“I would never stand her up. That’s Mason.”

Mason took a step back and raised his hands in protest. “Hey, don’t bring that blind date into this. That wasn’t funny. I had to run. Did you see her? Murder one ready to happen. I was concerned for my life. Didn’t want you guys to have to be rolling yellow tape around me.”

Ben flicked his eyes heavenward, then returned his focus to Garrett. “No one’s questioning your integrity, Garrett, or your principles. I want to make sure you go on this date. Cliff and Mason date all the time. I’m engaged. Pete’s married. But you…If nothing else, I want to see for myself that this woman exists, that she isn’t some friend of yours helping you get out of a fix.”

Garrett’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you’re insinuating I would do something like that.”

“No, but I would,” Cliff admitted with a grin as he warmed to Ben’s current thread. “And you know Mason would.”

“Maybe,” Mason said slowly. Then he laughed. “Okay, I would.”

“So you can understand our concern,” Ben added. “Since you didn’t place the ad, so we have no real proof of your serious intentions to fulfill the bet, a bet—I might add, that you lost to me.”

“I suggest we go along on the date,” Cliff suggested. “I agree with Ben. I’d like to see this woman for myself.” He paused and glanced over at Ben. “That is what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

“Something along those lines,” Ben said.

“Count me out,” Pete said. “My wife will kill me. I spend too much time with you guys already. She’s starting to harp on me to retire.”

“Count me in,” Mason said with a shrug of his bony shoulders. “I got nothing to do Thursday night.”

“I thought you were hot and heavy with what’s-her-name. Did you break-up with the latest one?” Ben asked. “I thought you were getting serious.”

“Not anymore. Now we just get together for occasional sex,” Mason said. “So I’m free.”

“No, you’re not,” Garrett said. He spoke so forcefully that all the men froze. “This is my date. You are not going. None of you. It may have been a while, but I think I can handle a date all by myself. A date is not like a car accident. I don’t require witnesses.”

Cliff folded his arms across his chest, and at that moment Garrett knew everyone had fully united against him.

“Tagging along is an excellent idea. We’ll sit at a table in the corner, have some lobster and crab legs, sip some beer, talk about our current cases—and monitor your progress. We work while you work.”

Garrett turned, but his six-foot-three frame failed to intimidate anyone. He needed only one date, and he’d prefer it to be alone. He had principles, for goodness sake. “You all are not going.”

Cliff smiled, and Garrett knew before Cliff’s next words that he was stuck.

“Yes, we are,” Cliff said in a tone that closed the matter. “Now, let’s get back to work. As you said, we’ve got multiple murders to solve.”

MELANIE’S was a little storefront establishment that Olivia almost drove by, until at the last moment she saw its name emblazoned on the kelly-green awning.

“Rats!” Olivia flipped on her blinker and ignored the honking from the Cavalier behind her, which had seen better days. Sorry, she mouthed to the irritated driver. Luck was with her and she found a convenient parking space on a side street. Steadying her nerves, she parallel-parked her car. The back tire ended up too close to the curb and she was between the lines, but—good enough. As she killed the engine, her phone rang. Thinking it might be Garrett, she answered before she checked the number on the caller ID.

“Olivia,” the familiar voice said. The voice of her conscience.

Olivia greeted her stepmother. “Hello, Sara.”

“I’m glad I caught you. I heard you left work early the other day. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Olivia said. That was the one thing about living at home. Everyone knew your business, even if you had moved out back to the pool house.

“So are you on your way here? I thought you could come up to the house for dinner. Blake’s at a meeting and I’m by myself.”

Just when was her parents’ next stadium tour? For people who were always out saving the world, they’d been home an awful lot lately. Olivia peered in the rearview mirror and checked her lipstick. A touch-up wouldn’t hurt. The ravish me red had faded. “I’ll have to pass on the invitation. I’m meeting a friend.”

“A friend.” Sara sounded a tad too bright as she hid her disappointment that Olivia had plans. “Do I know her?”

Olivia groaned. “Actually, Sara, no.”

“So someone new?”

“I’m going on a dinner date tonight,” Olivia admitted, since the truth was easier than dreaming up some quickie lie.

Sara seemed stunned. “You have a date?”

Without air-conditioning, the car was heating up quickly, Olivia squirmed. “Yes. A date.”

“With who?”

“Someone new,” Olivia repeated, agitation growing as the car began to bake in the July heat. “We just met. You don’t know him.”

“Olivia, you’re terrible with men. And how can I not know him? I’ve met everyone in your crowd. You’ve been hanging out with them for ages.”

Which, when one thought about it, was exactly the problem. Olivia drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. One of these days she’d learn to keep her mouth shut. That was what bad girls did.

Bad girls kept secrets from their stepmothers, even if, in Olivia’s case, the stepmother had really been the only mother she’d ever known.

Sara considered it her duty to get Olivia married, and to a godly and righteous man. As Olivia’s age edged closer to thirty-one, Sara’s maternal instinct had grown. What made Sara’s constant meddling worse was that Olivia had her grandfather to contend with, as well. He was the ultimate matchmaker.

Grandpa Joe had successfully gotten Olivia’s brother, Shane, and her cousins Darci and Harry wed. Figuring that if Grandpa Joe could bring on marital bliss, then she could, too, Sara had turned into a regular dating service for Olivia. The last man she’d introduced Olivia to had aspired to be a missionary deep inside Africa. His plans for their life had driven Olivia crazy after three minutes. No way was she sacrificing running water and electricity to help the less fortunate. Maybe that made her shallow, but not even her parents did that.

A bead of sweat formed on her brow. Time to get going. “Sara, I’m really sorry I can’t stop by tonight. I’ll come up to the main house for breakfast tomorrow. Give my love to Dad. I’ve got to run.”

Satisfied she’d said enough, Olivia disconnected before Sara launched into the lecture Olivia could tell was coming. Olivia began to put the phone in her purse but on further thought, placed the phone securely in the glove compartment. Knowing Sara, Olivia was sure her stepmother would call back, and nothing was going to ruin this night.

Heck, Olivia’s younger half brother, Shane, had sown a bucketful of oats before settling down. If Olivia even mentioned sowing a seed, her stepmother had the whole worldwide constituency out praying for her wayward, virginal stepdaughter. She’d been a fixture in her stepmother’s ministry column for years.

Olivia touched up her lipstick and opened the car door. As she stepped out, the St. Louis humidity instantly enveloped her. She smoothed out a wrinkle in her V-necked spaghetti-strap sundress. She’d wrestled all morning with her wardrobe, which had to go from work to her date. How she’d thought about wearing something bad, something black, sexy and oh, so “take me now.”

In the end, even if she had owned something like that, she couldn’t have done it. Instead, she’d settled for lace underwear, and had worn the sundress for its cleavage-enhancing abilities. She’d left the matching short-sleeved sweater in her office. She gripped her small white purse and began walking toward the restaurant.

As for the date, Olivia couldn’t remember ever being so nervous. She’d had enough blind dates in college to last her a lifetime. And then, of course, Sara had paraded eligible men through the endless social engagements that being Blake and Sara Jacobsen entailed. Both types of experiences had taught Olivia that she was terrible on her feet and lousy with idle conversation. She’d learned not to care, to pretend her inadequacies didn’t bother her, although deep down they did.

But tonight she worried. None of the men she’d met before had been as sexy as Garrett Krause. None of the men had seemed so ideal.

“Perfect for my project,” Olivia told herself aloud, much to the amusement of a passerby. Olivia walked on, voicing her thoughts only in her head. He’ll be my VITO boy. VITO was an acronym Chrissy had coined in high school—the letters being the first two of the words “virginity to.”

He’ll be the one I give my virginity to, Olivia thought. I’m thirty. It’s way past time to become a real woman, no matter what my parents say about waiting for marriage and Mr. Right. Olivia wobbled a little in the two-inch heels she wore. Garrett was tall, and she didn’t wish for him to tower over her too much.

Oh, who was she trying to fool? She never wore heels higher than an inch, and trying to be a femme fatale was as foreign to her as going to China. But tonight she hoped Garrett would find her sexy, invigorating, funny and beautiful—and slightly bad. She’d chosen him to deflower her, and she desired all that went along with the kiss and the promise of Mr. Right Now taking her to the edge and beyond. Darn it, she was long overdue. She was tired of reading about it—she wanted action. She was at the restaurant. Her fingers shook as she reached for the door handle. The moment had arrived.

CLIFF WAS ABOUT TO SIGNAL his waitress for another beer, when a movement at the hostess desk caught his attention. He lowered his hand and blinked just to make sure that what he’d seen, he’d seen clearly. He had. What was high-society Olivia Jacobsen doing in a place with zero star ratings, and alone?

Cliff squinted as some sunlight snuck underneath the awning and blinded him for a moment. When he could see again, his mouth immediately dried to a cottony texture. Garrett was greeting Olivia. She had the nerve to blush as Garrett pulled out her chair.

She was five minutes late, but the fact that Cliff had lost the “how late will she be?” bet with the guys wasn’t what upset him.

His best friend was about to have a date with Olivia Jacobsen, former fiancée of Cliff’s cousin Austin. Cliff’s parents had money and connections, but Austin’s had even more. However, the engagement had lasted only four weeks before she’d handed back the flawless diamond solitaire. Less than three months later, Olivia had been sporting another engagement ring, this one more ostentatious than Austin’s offering. Of course, that engagement also fizzled. Sure, Austin was now happily married to someone else, but in Cliff’s opinion, Olivia had toyed with his cousin’s heart.

So what was Olivia doing with Garrett, a man who couldn’t afford even a tiny engagement ring since his ex-wife had cleaned him out? This was not good. Garrett had always declared that he’d never date a rich woman again, yet here he was with Olivia. Cliff tossed his napkin on the table. He needed to get Garrett out of here—now. Cliff began to rise to his feet, but sat back down quickly before his partners noticed his erratic behavior.

Cliff clenched his hand to ease the overwhelming tension now consuming him. Had he really been about to confront Olivia? And what would he have said when he got there? He would have acted like a complete idiot. He’d have to trust that Garrett planned on doing what he had said—going on one date and one only.

Cliff frowned. Garrett had called Olivia the counter girl at the Monitor office. Everyone knew Olivia Jacobsen was vice president of corporate communications for her family’s company, Jacobsen Enterprises. She certainly didn’t work behind a counter, but probably in a lush, upper-story office with a fantastic view of downtown. Which meant, could this be a thing staged by Garrett to get the guys off his back?

Cliff took a deep, long pull of the cold beer that the waitress had placed at his elbow. Not only was Cliff a detective with sharp instincts, but he knew Garrett. The way Garrett was now toying with Olivia’s fingers meant that he didn’t have a clue who she really was.

In fact, now Cliff could view almost all of the picture, much the way he did when working a police case or puzzle. Garrett had needed a date to fulfill a bet, and somehow he’d found Olivia, probably at the Monitor offices. Why she’d been there was a mystery to solve later. Cliff would bet money that Garrett hadn’t asked Olivia her last name. Even if he had, he wouldn’t connect some counter girl with one of St. Louis’s most powerful families. He had no idea that he was out with a woman wealthier than his ex-wife.

Cliff drained more of his beer, his eyes narrowing as he saw Garrett laugh at something Olivia said. From all appearances, the date was actually going well, and as a friend, Cliff acknowledged he should be elated. Wasn’t this exactly what the guys had asked for? That Garrett be back out there on the scene? The deed done, Mason and Ben had already lost interest in Garrett’s date and were discussing how they liked the new Busch Stadium, which had opened last April.

Suddenly Ben asked Cliff a question, and Cliff turned his attention away from Garrett and Olivia. He consoled himself with one thing. If she hurt his best friend, Olivia Jacobsen would be dealing with him—and that was a promise.

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