“Okay,” Kate said, closing the door. “You can come out now.”

Brock slowly slid out from under the bed, his dark hair slightly tousled. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve hidden under a girl’s bed.” He smiled. “Makes me feel seventeen again.”

His smile made her stomach feel funny. “Glad to know I’m not your first.” Kate held out her hand to help him to his feet, her heart skittering at the way his big hand closed around her fingers.

“Thanks,” he said, straightening to his full height.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, automatically reaching up to brush the dust bunnies out of his hair. Suddenly she realized just how intimate her actions were and drew back her hand as if she’d been burned. “Sorry.”

“Me, too,” Brock said huskily. “I’m sorry you stopped.”

Kate swallowed, the tone in his voice making her skin tingle. It’s the skirt, she reminded herself. Brock wasn’t really attracted to her. He was just reacting to the skirt’s magnetic qualities.

But after seeing how good he looked in her bedroom, Kate was tempted to take Brock any way she could get him….

Dear Reader,

Do clothes make the man, or in this case, the woman? Most people think so. As a poor college student, on the first five dates I had with my future husband, I actually wore clothes I borrowed from friends. I really wanted to impress him, and I was sure that nothing I had in my meager closet could do the job. And I wouldn’t be surprised if young women today were having the same problem. Wouldn’t it be great if there was a special store that sold clothes guaranteed to attract men?

In Seduced in Seattle, Kate Talavera doesn’t find the store—but she gets The Skirt! And she’s determined to use it to catch the man of her dreams. Only, when she meets sexy Brock Gannon, her dreams begin to change….

I hope you enjoy the third installment of the SINGLE IN THE CITY miniseries. Cara Summers, Heather MacAllister and I had so much fun writing them! And the fun isn’t over yet! To find out more about our ongoing series, check out our Web site at: www.singleinthecity.org.

Enjoy,

Kristin Gabriel

Books by Kristin Gabriel

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

834—DANGEROUSLY IRRESISTIBLE

HARLEQUIN DUETS

7—ANNIE, GET YOUR GROOM

25—THE BACHELOR TRAP

27—BACHELOR BY DESIGN

29—BEAUTY AND THE BACHELOR

61a—OPERATION BABE—MAGNET

61b—OPERATION BEAUTY

Seduced in Seattle

Kristin Gabriel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is for Brenda Chin—editor, adventurer and friend.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Prologue

FATE WAS CONSPIRING against Kate Talavera. There could be no other reason she found herself locked in the ladies’ room of the reception hall the very moment the bride was scheduled to toss the skirt.

“Let me out of here!” Kate pounded on the bathroom door, hoping someone could hear her over the loud music reverberating from the reception hall. The strong odor of pine-scented air freshener was giving her a headache.

When her fist grew sore, Kate leaned against the sink and debated her options. Staying stuck in the ladies’ room wasn’t an option. Not when an event that could change her entire future was about to take place.

She glanced at her watch, noting that it was almost time for the bride, Gwen Kempner, to toss the bouquet. But Kate didn’t care about that. She wanted the skirt. The secret weapon that had snared husbands for all three of her old college roommates.

The skirt came from an island hidden deep in the Caribbean and a rare, powerful thread ran through it. A thread that drew men to the woman who wore it and entranced them forever.

Wearing the skirt, which she had caught at Torrie’s wedding, Chelsea Brockway had found true love with Zach McDaniels and been married at Christmas. Kate and Gwen had both been bridesmaids, only Gwen was the one lucky enough to catch the skirt that night. Shortly afterward, Gwen had met Alec and this morning, on Valentine’s Day, she had become Mrs. Alec Fleming. Now it was Kate’s turn.

If she could get out of the bathroom.

She looked around the small lavatory for some kind of tool that she might be able to use to pry the door open. But all she found were some extra rolls of toilet paper and an empty tube of lipstick. This couldn’t be happening. Not when she’d finally found the perfect man.

Todd Winslow, her former next-door neighbor and the current owner of one of the most successful home shopping channels on cable television. He was smart, successful and, best of all, single. In two weeks, he’d be coming to Seattle to attend her parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary party.

That’s when she planned to snag him. All she had to do was catch the skirt, then catch Todd. She’d waited so long for true love that she wasn’t about to let a locked door stop her now.

Kicking off one shoe, she whacked the three-inch heel against the edge of the sink until the small rubber tip on the end of the heel came loose. She pulled it off, then rubbed one finger over the sharp metal point. She’d chisel her way out of here, if necessary.

A knock sounded on the door, sending a rush of relief flowing through her. Kate dropped her shoe and ran to the door, pounding as hard as she could on the solid wood. “Please, help me! I’m stuck in here.”

“Kate?” Chelsea’s familiar voice drifted through the door. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Have I missed it yet?”

“No, but Gwen’s been stalling until I found you. She can’t hold off much longer. Alec is more than ready to start their honeymoon.”

“You’ve got to get me out of here!”

“Okay,” Chelsea replied through the door. “Hold on and try to stay calm. I’ll get Zach and see what he can do.”

Kate paced back and forth across the porcelain tile floor. She had to catch the skirt. At twenty-seven, she’d kissed more than her share of toads in search of a prince. And endured yet another Valentine’s day without a date. It was time to take her future into her own hands.

“Zach tracked down the manager,” Chelsea called through the door. “He’s getting a key.”

“Tell him to hurry.”

“I can’t believe this is happening to you,” Chelsea said, laughter bubbling in her voice.

“I can.” Kate slumped against the door. “This kind of thing happens to me all the time. I find a decent guy, then fate steps in and snatches him away.”

“I think you’re exaggerating just a little.”

“Then how come the last guy I dated got transferred to Hong Kong? And the one before that got hit by a car?”

“That’s terrible,” Chelsea exclaimed. “Was he killed?”

“No. The car was only going five miles per hour. But he fell in love with the emergency room nurse who treated him. They were married six weeks later.”

The door was finally opened by a grinning Zach. Chelsea pulled Kate toward the reception hall. “Let’s go. Hurry!”

Kate kicked off her remaining shoe, then rushed out into the decorated hall, noting the excited group of women gathered in the center of the room. She could see Gwen standing on the balcony above them, her new husband next to her.

Elbowing her way through the crowd, Kate did her best to ignore the growls of displeasure and dirty looks all around her. Gwen gave her a relieved smile when she finally saw her, then tossed the skirt high in the air.

Kate watched it float toward her, almost in slow motion. She boxed out her competition, just like her big brother had taught her to do when going up for a rebound in basketball. Adrenaline and hope fueled her leap as she reached up to snatch the skirt out of the air. She pulled it down. The unusual fabric felt soft and silky in her hands.

Victory.

Until the woman standing next to her, a buxom blonde wearing a gown with huge shoulder pads, tried to grab it. “That skirt should have been mine.”

“Sorry, it’s mine,” Kate said firmly, tightening her grip on the skirt. “I caught it.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” the woman said through clenched teeth, giving it a hard tug.

“Be careful!” Kate exclaimed. “You’re going to…”

The sound of tearing fabric made the words die on her lips.

Chelsea arrived, her eyes wide with horror. “What happened?”

The blonde dropped her end of the skirt, then pointed accusingly at Kate. “She tore it. Now it’s probably ruined.” Then she stomped away.

Kate held up the skirt to survey the damage. “It looks like it’s just ripped a little at the side seam. All it needs is some mending.”

Chelsea nibbled her lower lip. “I’m not so sure, Kate. It’s the thread that makes it special. I don’t know what will happen if you mend it with plain old cotton thread.”

“Don’t worry.” Kate squared her shoulders. She had the skirt and that’s all that mattered. “I’ll think of something.”

1

BROCK GANNON walked into Dooley’s Bar and looked through the smoky haze. He didn’t feel any of the old excitement at embarking on a new mission. Maybe turning thirty had something to do with it. Or the fact that nothing seemed to challenge him anymore. He specialized in recovering stolen goods that the police couldn’t, or wouldn’t, find. Of course, sometimes the clients didn’t want to involve the police, especially if a relative was involved in the theft.

Working as a mercenary had taught Brock to suspect everyone and trust no one. It was a cynical attitude, but it had kept him alive and well for the past eight years. His occupation was a dangerous one, since it often brought him into the company of thieves and other lowlifes. But it had made him a very wealthy man and had taken him all over the world, including exotic places where few civilized people ever ventured. But somehow, he always found his way back here to Boston, to Dooley’s, although he didn’t really have anywhere that he could call home.

Brock’s boss worked out of this bar, owned it in fact, having retired from the mercenary field himself. Now Sam Dooley simply supervised the missions, assigning the best man or woman in his employ to the job, and taking a small percentage of the fee for himself.

A haunting Irish melody emanated from the jukebox and two men sat at the long oak bar, each of them staring into his mug of dark beer. The sound of a woman’s laughter drew Brock’s attention toward the back of the bar. A billiard game was in progress and he spotted the snow-white hair of his boss as he bent over the table to rack up the balls.

Brock ordered a beer, then ambled over to an empty booth to wait until the billiards game ended. He wasn’t in any hurry. He’d spent enough nights in empty hotel rooms to appreciate the change of scenery.

Thirty minutes later, Dooley approached the table. “Well, hell, Gannon. Why didn’t you let me know you were here?”

Brock nodded to the two women at the billiards table. “Looked to me like you were busy.”

“You could have joined us.” Dooley sat down across from him, raking his shaggy white hair off his forehead. “Made it a party.”

Brock shook his head. “I have to catch a plane early tomorrow morning. Although you didn’t mention where you’re sending me this time.”

“Seattle.”

Brock picked up his beer and took a long swallow. He knew Dooley was watching him, waiting for a reaction. Too bad he’d be disappointed. Seattle was now just another pit stop in a long line of cities. London, Chicago, Toronto. They all blended together after awhile.

He’d grown up around Navy bases in different parts of the country, including Whidbey Island. His mother was a Navy groupie, taking dead-end jobs in towns near a base in hopes of enticing an enlisted man into marriage. She’d caught five, but thrown them back when they’d failed to make her happily ever after. His own father hadn’t even bothered to stick around long enough to see Brock born. Dooley was just one of the four stepfathers who had tried to fill the void. His favorite one.

“Speaking of Seattle, I talked to your mother on the telephone yesterday.” Dooley motioned to the waitress for another round of beers. “She told me she received an invitation to the Talaveras fortieth anniversary party. You’re invited, too.”

Brock nodded, though he had no intention of going. He’d cut all ties with Seattle the day he’d left twelve years ago. Dooley knew all about the Talaveras. Knew how close Brock had been to them before he enlisted in the Navy in the middle of his senior year. Tony Talavera had been his best friend the three years Brock had lived in Seattle. Tony’s family had opened up their home to him.

He stared at his empty beer mug, remembering Sid and Rose and Katie the Pest, Tony’s little sister. She used to have her nose buried in those gothic romances, escaping to her room whenever Tony would tease her about them. It all seemed like such a long time ago.

Their waitress approached, breaking his reverie. Brock sat back and waited until she had set the frosty beer mugs down in front of them and walked away again. “So tell me about this mission.”

One corner of Dooley’s mouth twitched. “It’s a little unusual.”

“Then it sounds like my kind of job.” Brock’s special skills as a military tracker had made him one of Dooley’s best operatives.

At first, Brock had thrived on the recovery work. The travel to exotic locations. The one-night stands with beautiful, mysterious women. But somewhere along the way, his job had lost its allure. It all just seemed so pointless.

He’d thought about quitting, since he didn’t really need the money anymore. But then what? Brock knew he was at a turning point in his life. Unfortunately, he had no idea which direction to go.

He leaned back against the booth. “Who’s the client?”

Dooley took a swig of his beer, then wiped the foam off his upper lip. “A native of Calabra.”

Brock knew about the tiny island nestled in the Caribbean. The people liked to keep to themselves, never exploiting their beautiful beaches or tropical forests for the hordes of tourists that flocked to the other, more well-known islands. Few people even knew of Calabra’s existence.

“This woman is one of the candidates in a special election there,” Dooley continued. “Apparently, she believes recovering the item will win her votes. She promised to pay top dollar and kept emphasizing the importance of keeping this transaction confidential.”

Brock arched a brow. “Don’t we always?”

Dooley nodded, then picked up his mug and grinned. “But guess what she wants?”

“What?”

“A skirt.”

Brock waited for the punchline, but Dooley just kept grinning at him. “A skirt?”

“That’s right. And get this…I received another inquiry about obtaining the same skirt. Only this customer was too skittish to give his name and quickly backed off when I quoted him our usual fee.”

Brock held up one hand. “Wait just a minute. What the hell are you talking about? What skirt?”

“A woman’s black skirt. Made out of some weird kind of black fabric with a zipper in the back and a slit up the left side. I’ve tracked the skirt from New York City to Houston and now my sources tell me it’s reached Seattle. Your mission is to secure this skirt and turn it over to our client in Calabra as soon as possible.”

Brock stared at him for a long moment, then laughed “Sully put you up to this, didn’t he? He’s still peeved because I found that old Egyptian papyrus after he’d been searching for it for eight months.”

“This is legit, Brock.”

“Come on, Dooley. Give me a break. A skirt? Now, if I was supposed to find a woman in a skirt, that might be a different story. I do have certain skills in that area.”

“And you might need them for this job. I told you it was bizarre.”

Brock stared at him over the rim of his mug. “You’re serious.”

“Damn serious. Apparently, there is a rare thread that the natives of Calabra believe has special powers. This thread is woven throughout the fabric of the skirt. It was never supposed to leave the island.”

Brock still wasn’t buying it. “Special powers? Are we talking about voodoo?”

Dooley shook his head. “More like a love charm or some such nonsense. According to this client, whenever a man sees a woman wearing this skirt, he’s entranced forever. The client’s afraid of the havoc the skirt could wreak on an unsuspecting public. Or at least, that’s the story she’s telling.”

Brock grimaced. “A skirt that binds a man to a woman forever. Sounds like my worst nightmare.”

Dooley chuckled. “It’s all a bunch of superstition. I’m still amazed at what people will spend their money on. But apparently this client has tried other avenues to secure the skirt and failed. I promised her that you could get the job done.”

“I’ll admit I’ve been called a skirt chaser a time or two, but never quite this literally.”

“It gets better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. I have to find matching shoes for the skirt?”

“No, but you do know the woman who has it. Kate Talavera.”

Brock stilled. “Now you have to be joking.”

“Afraid not, Brock.”

He leaned forward. “Are you telling me Kate stole the skirt?”

Dooley shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s been passed through several people since it was smuggled into the country.”

Brock breathed a silent sigh of relief. He didn’t want to think of Kate, or any of the Talaveras, involved in something ugly. Their warmth and friendship was one of the few memories he had that was untarnished.

Brock pushed his beer away. “Why didn’t you tell me the Talaveras were involved right from the start?”

“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t hear me out.”

“You were right.” He stood up. “You’ll have to find somebody else to do this job.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Dooley asked as Brock headed toward the door.

He slowly turned around and moved back to the table, his jaw clenched. “I’m not going to steal from the Talaveras. I’m not going to lie to them, either. And you know I’d have to do both to do this job.”

“I know it,” Dooley said bluntly. “And I know they’re important to you. Hell, that’s why I came to you first. You know better than anybody that I don’t tell my people how to do their job. If someone else goes out on this assignment, then it’s completely out of my control. They’ll use whatever methods are necessary to get the skirt. And you know what that means.”

Dooley didn’t have to spell it out. Brock knew all too well that Kate or any of the Talaveras could possibly be hurt in the process. Kate’s home could be ransacked. Or worse.

“Hell, Dooley.” Brock raked one hand through his hair. “I don’t want to do this.”

“That invitation to the anniversary party is the perfect opening. Make a vacation of it. Catch up with some old friends.”

Brock shook his head. “No way. I’m going to find the skirt and get out of Seattle. If I’m lucky, none of the Talaveras will even know I was there.”

“Does this mean you’re taking the mission?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Dooley squinted up at him, his head cocked to one side. “You always have a choice. You can just walk away. Pretend I never even brought it up.”

But Brock knew that would be impossible now. “Do I have any competition to worry about? Did the second caller go looking for a better deal?”

“It’s possible,” Dooley said slowly. “Did you know the Weasel is going solo now?”

Brock nodded. “I heard something about it.” The Weasel was a mercenary who had worked for a top agency in London. But he was too volatile, so they’d let him go. Now he was working out of the U.S., making cut-rate deals to drum up business. The Weasel didn’t care who he hurt to accomplish a mission. Brock didn’t even want to think about what would happen if Kate Talavera got in the Weasel’s way.

All his old memories about the Talaveras came flooding back. Part of him wanted to see them again, although he knew Tony was in Brazil now, working for an export company and recently married. How would Tony feel if he knew Kate was in possible danger? And that Brock had turned his back on her?

Brock picked up his mug off the table and drained it. “I’ll take the mission.”

“Good.” Dooley held up his beer. “To success.”

Brock had never failed at a mission yet. The key was proper planning and keeping a cool head. Tomorrow, he’d catch a plane to Seattle. Then he’d scope out the territory. The first item on his agenda was locating Kate’s residence. Hopefully, she’d be in the telephone directory, making his job a little easier. If not, well he still had a few contacts in Seattle. He’d find her place one way or the other.

After that, his job would be simple. He’d wait until the house was empty, then search the place until he found the skirt. If he was lucky, and he’d depended on luck more than once in this job, he’d be on an airplane to Calabra by tomorrow night.

So why did Brock have a sinking sensation that his luck had just run out?

2

KATE STOOD in front of a long mirror in her old bedroom, staring at the new secret weapon in her fashion arsenal. The skirt she’d caught at Gwen’s wedding fit perfectly. She turned to the side, thrilled that the mended seam was invisible, thanks to her mother. The thread she’d used was almost an identical match. Almost.

The question was, did the skirt still work?

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that it was her lunch hour. A meeting planner for one of the biggest hotels in Seattle, she normally munched on leftovers from business brunches. But the hotel was full of prospective models today, interviewing for a local talent agency, so the catering menu had been limited to baby carrots, assorted dried fruits, and bottled spring water.

A diet she’d endured herself during her college years, trying to shed all those unwanted pounds she’d carried around as a teenager. A combination of low self-esteem and an Italian mother who loved to cook had led Kate to balloon up to almost two hundred pounds by the time she was fifteen years old.

Now she was a perfect size ten, the same size, ironically, as her petite mother, who never gained an ounce from the high calorie meals she made. Kate smiled to herself, remembering how Rose had entreated her to move home again after Kate’s apartment building had been sold to a condominium developer. She’d gained five pounds just thinking about it. So instead, she’d chosen to stay in a suite the hotel made available to its employees.

But she didn’t intend to stay there much longer—if the skirt still worked. She smoothed down the silky black fabric, the key to winning the man of her dreams. Todd Winslow had been the golden boy at her high school—football captain, senior class president, National Honor Society. He’d been her next-door neighbor since they were both in elementary school, and was always unfailingly polite to her. Not like so many other boys who heckled her about her weight.

But he’d never really noticed her either. And she’d forgotten about him after high school, when he’d moved to California. Until six months ago, when Todd, who owned a successful home shopping network, had invited three of his most influential teachers to appear on the show. Rose Talavera, a retired high school math instructor, had been one of the three.

Upon her return, Rose raved about both the trip and Todd Winslow. Gushing over the courteous way he’d treated her and hinting broadly to Kate that he was perfect husband material. Kate had seen Todd on the show and agreed. He was even more handsome now than he had been in high school. With her mother’s glowing recommendation ringing in her ears, Kate had made an impulsive decision to invite him to the anniversary party. She’d been shocked when he’d accepted the invitation. Especially since he would have to travel over eleven hundred miles from Los Angeles to attend.

Todd had sent his RSVP via e-mail, and they’d been corresponding that way ever since. His messages were both funny and flirtatious. Kate had never thought that she could attract a man like Todd—but now she had the skirt. The altered skirt.

How could she find out if it still worked? The sound of a jackhammer pounding the pavement outside gave her the answer. She’d stroll the sidewalk and see if the construction workers noticed. Of course, a few of them had made catcalls and whistles when she walked into the house so it might be hard to tell. But it was still worth a shot.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and opened her bedroom door, running straight into the man who stood on the other side of it. Lurching back, she screamed as he reached out and caught her by the shoulders.

“It’s all right. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s me. Brock Gannon.”

Her heart beating wildly in her chest, she took a deep breath, trying to subdue the adrenaline rush. “Brock?”

It simply couldn’t be him. Brock Gannon was a skinny teenager with a black leather jacket. This man wasn’t skinny. And he wasn’t a teenager. He stood well over six feet tall and his broad shoulders almost spanned the doorway of her room.

“Brock,” she said again. “Is it really you?”

He nodded. Then his gaze dropped down her body, rising ever so slowly again until his gun metal-gray eyes met hers once more. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just stood there, staring at her with a look of stunned disbelief on his face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her mind whirling. Brock hadn’t been in the house for over a decade. At one time, he and her brother Tony had been inseparable, sharing a love of fast cars and even faster women. He’d certainly never given Kate, a chubby teenager with pigtails, a second look.

But she’d been a little wary of him anyway. He’d always dressed like a tough hood, with clothes that never seemed to fit his gawky body. He’d never talked much either. And she knew he’d gotten into his share of trouble. It all culminated when he got in a fight his senior year in high school—with Todd Winslow of all people—and had been expelled. Brock had joined the Navy the next day and she hadn’t seen him since.

How ironic that the boy he’d beaten up was the man she’d been fantasizing about just a few minutes before. She wondered if Brock even remembered Todd Winslow, or knew how well he’d done for himself. But judging by his expression, Brock didn’t even remember her.

Then a slow smile curved his mouth, transforming his face into one of the most handsome she’d ever seen. “Katie the Pest? Is it really you?”

She took a step closer to him, surprised to feel a slight wobble in her knees. She held out her hand. “It’s just plain Kate now.”

“Hardly,” he breathed, grasping her hand and pulling her toward him for a hug.

Kate sucked in her breath at the hard strength of his body. Brock Gannon had definitely grown up. She felt the scrape of his whiskers against her cheek and the contour of his finely honed biceps beneath her fingertips. At last, she stepped away from him, a blush warming her cheeks. From the way he was staring at her, she wasn’t the only one disconcerted by the unexpected reunion.

Then it hit her. Brock was looking at her like that because of the skirt. It obviously still worked. But rather than relief, she felt a twinge of disappointment. Brock probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance except for this skirt. The adrenaline rush she’d felt at his arrival began to fade away and the question she had when she first saw him standing outside her bedroom door came back.

“How did you get into the house?”

He hesitated a moment. “The door was open.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe I forgot to lock it.” She must have been so excited about trying on the skirt that it had completely slipped her mind.

“I just walked right in.” He smiled. “I guess old habits die hard.”

She knew her parents’ house had once been like a second home for Brock. His own home life had been less than ideal, according to her brother Tony. The tiny apartment he shared with his mother was in a seedy part of town, most of their furniture and clothes secondhand. His mother worked nights as a cocktail waitress, leaving Brock to fend for himself. Which was why he’d spent most of his time at the Talavera’s house.

But that was over a dozen years ago. She found it a little odd that he had just walked right in and up the stairs to her bedroom. “What brings you to Seattle?”

He hesitated a moment. “I came for the party.”

“Oh.” She’d sent an invitation to his mother, asking her to pass it along to him, but hadn’t heard a word from either of them. “I never got your RSVP, so I just assumed you weren’t coming.”

“I hope it’s not a problem.”

“No, of course not…” The sound of voices emanating from the living room made her grab his arm. “It’s Mom and Dad! They can’t see you here.”

His brow furrowed. “Why not?”

She pulled him into her bedroom, then swung the door shut. “Because then they’ll know something is up. I’m throwing them a surprise anniversary party. If you suddenly show up after all these years, I know they’ll suspect something.”

“Do you want me to climb out the window?”

“You’ll break your neck if you do. I’m on the second floor. Just stay in here until the coast is clear.” A knock at the door made Kate jump.

“Katie, can I come in?” Rose Talavera asked from the other side of the door.

“Just a minute, Mom.” Kate whirled toward Brock. “Get under the bed!”

“How about the closet?”

“There’s no room in there.” She pushed him down toward the floor, then watched him scoot under the bed.

Her father’s voice emanated from the hallway. “Why are you standing out here, Rose? Where’s Katie?”

“She won’t let me in,” Rose replied.

“Are you all right in there, Katie?” Sid Talavera called through the door.

“I’m fine,” she shouted as she straightened the bed ruffle to conceal the six feet, two inches of male hiding underneath. Then she sat down on the edge of the mattress. “Come in.”

The door opened and her mother and father entered the room. Sid was a building contractor, his burly frame a testament to his profession. Rose was a head shorter than her husband, with full, pink cheeks and a ready smile.

Rose looked around the bedroom. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

“Just myself.” Kate stood up and twirled around. “Thank you for fixing the skirt, Mom. It’s perfect.”

Sid frowned. “It’s a little short, isn’t it?”

Rose smiled. “So, some men like to see a bit of leg. What’s wrong with that?”

“All I’m saying is that there’s not very much material there. And I don’t know why both of you have been so excited about this skirt. I was expecting to see sequins or something a little more dazzling.”

“It’s subtle.” Rose reached out to brush at a small spot near the hem. “Men like subtle. And they like legs. It’s a good combination.”

“I still say my Katie doesn’t need some magic skirt to win a man. They should be falling at her feet like flies.”

Kate’s cheeks burned as she thought of the man currently laying in the proximity of her feet. She never should have told her parents about the skirt. Or it’s effect on men. But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had to find a way to get Brock out of the house without her parents seeing him.

“Well, some men need a shove before they will fall,” Rose said, rising to her daughter’s defense. “And if the skirt can help give them that shove, what’s the harm?”

Sid still didn’t look happy about it. “So what exactly are you planning to do, Katie? Stand around in shopping malls and cruise the aisles of Safeco field during a Mariners game looking for men?”

“A Mariners game?” Rose shook her head. “Baseball season doesn’t even start for two months. I think she should strike while the skirt is hot. She’s been a bridesmaid in two weddings since Christmas, thanks to this skirt. Now it’s our Katie’s turn to be the bride.”

“Don’t worry, Dad,” Kate assured him. “I don’t plan to go trolling for men. I’ve got one picked already.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Who is it? Do I know him? What does he do for a living? Does he come from a nice family?”

Kate held up both hands. She’d already said more than enough. Certainly more than she wanted Brock Gannon to hear. “I know you’ll like him, Mom, but that’s all I’m going to say for now. He may not be interested in me.”

“If that’s the case,” Sid replied, “then he’s too stupid to be my son-in-law.”

“I need to change now,” Kate said, glancing at her watch.

Sid and Rose moved toward the door. Her mother turned on her way out. “Let me wash that spot out of the skirt. I was making cannoli while I was mending it and must have spilled a little dab on the hem.”

“That’s okay. I’ll take it with me and wash it out later. I’ve got to get back to work.”

Rose looked disappointed. “I was hoping you could eat lunch with us.”

“Sorry, Mom. There’s a big meeting of investment bankers scheduled later this afternoon and I need to check in and make sure everything is ready.”

Sid rubbed his hands together. “So that means more cannoli for me.”

Rose tutted under her breath as she followed her husband out of the room. “You get one cannoli, Sid Talavera. I mean it. And don’t try to sneak one past me like you did last time…” Her voice trailed off as they moved down the hallway.

Kate walked over to the door and closed it. “Okay. You can come out now.”

Brock slowly slid out from under the bed, his dark hair slightly tussled. “It’s been quite awhile since I’ve hidden under a girl’s bed.” He smiled. “Makes me feel seventeen again.”

His smile made her stomach feel funny. “Glad to know I’m not your first.” She held out her hand to help him to his feet, her heart skittering at the way his big hand closed around her fingers.

“Thanks,” he said, straightening to his full height.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, automatically reaching up to brush the dust bunnies out of his hair.

He took a step closer to Kate as her fingers rippled through the short, silky strands of his hair. She suddenly realized how intimate it was and drew her hand back as if she’d been burned. “Sorry.”

“Me, too.” He said huskily. “I’m sorry you stopped.”

She swallowed, then turned around. “I need to change clothes, then I’ll find a way to sneak you out of the house. Do you have hotel reservations somewhere?”

“Every place I checked was full. I was hoping I might stay here.”

She turned to face him again. “That won’t work. Not if I want to keep this party a surprise. And you’re right about the hotels. February is a busy convention month is Seattle. I work as a meeting planner at the Hartington.”

“So I heard.”

She nodded, aware that he’d heard every word of the conversation with her parents. She wondered why he hadn’t asked about the skirt yet. After all, even she would admit it was a little bizarre to believe a skirt could find you the man of your dreams. She’d still be a doubter if she hadn’t seen the effects for herself. On the other hand, maybe Brock was used to desperate women and wanted to steer clear of the subject.

“Most of my time at the hotel is spent coordinating business meetings and conferences, but I also organize parties and receptions. That’s where my parents anniversary party will be held.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Which is still two weeks away. What do you plan to do in the meantime?”

He shrugged. “See the sights. Take a trip out to Whidbey Island. Reacquaint myself with the city…” His gaze lingered on her. “And old friends.”

It was the tone of his voice more than his words that made her skin tingle. It’s the skirt, she sternly reminded herself. Brock didn’t really want her, he was just reacting to the skirt’s magnetic qualities.

“I might be able to squeeze you into a room at the Hartington,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “We usually have one or two last-minute cancellations.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Good. Then I’ll just change clothes and we can be on our way.”

“Need any help?”

Kate blushed, a little surprised at the obvious strength of the skirt’s seductive powers. “I’m old enough to change clothes all by myself now, Brock.” She gathered up the linen pantsuit on the bed and headed toward the door. “But thanks for offering.”

She opened the door, then closed it again. “Can you believe it? My parents are still out there arguing about the cannoli.”

He moved up behind her. “I can see Sid’s point. Your mother’s cannoli is incredible.”

His warm breath caressed her neck, sending a delicious tingle throughout her body. She swallowed hard, then peeked again through the crack in the door. “They just disappeared into their bedroom. Their door is closed. Now is your chance to make your escape. I’ll run interference if they come out before you make it to the front door.”

“Okay,” he said, moving into the hallway. But his gaze was still fixed on her.

“Go,” she cried, giving him a shove. “Before they see you. I’ll meet you this evening at the Hartington Hotel on Yesler Way.”

He smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”

3

BROCK FOLLOWED Kate into the lobby of the Hartington Hotel, his eyes glued to the sexy sway of her hips. She wore a pantsuit now instead of that skirt, but he could still envision the long, slender line of her legs. The way the silky fabric of the skirt had molded to her sweetly curved rear end. He imagined himself fitting his hands there, her body moving against him…

He mentally shook himself. Brock had been attracted to women before, but he’d never let it affect his mission. And his mission was simple. He had to get his hands on the skirt. Unfortunately, it looked as if he’d have to get close to Kate to do it.

That wasn’t part of his plan.

Whenever possible, he tried to avoid contact with people during a mission. It tended to make things too unpredictable. And potentially dangerous. His normal routine was to research the object he’d been hired to recover, map out a strategy for obtaining it, then leave the vicinity before anyone was the wiser.

Only nothing had gone right with this particular mission from the start. His research hadn’t turned up an address for Kate, so he’d decided to search the Talavera house for information. Picking the lock on the front door hadn’t been a problem, but the last person he’d expected to find inside was Kate.

Especially since she was nothing like he remembered.

When had she turned from a sweet, chubby kid with a crooked smile into a sweet, sexy woman with a luscious mouth that could drive a man wild? Not to mention her big brown eyes, generous curves and legs that went on forever and a day.

The sight of her had turned him from a coolheaded professional into a man who could barely think straight. He’d almost blown the mission and now found himself in deeper than he ever wanted to be.

It was time for a new strategy.

Kate conferred with a clerk at the front desk, then turned to face him. “Looks like we’re full tonight, but there should be a room opening up tomorrow. So I guess that means you’ll have to stay with me.”

His pulse picked up a notch at the implied invitation. Business, Gannon, he reminded himself sternly. Keep your mind on the mission. He took a deep breath. “Are you sure that won’t be too much trouble?”

She smiled. “Not at all. I’m in one of the employee suites, so there’s plenty of room.”

It was a perfect setup. He’d be in the same room with the skirt. As soon as Kate was asleep tonight, he could grab it, then hop on the first airplane out of Seattle. Except…

She would know he was the one who stole it.

Usually Brock didn’t give a damn about what people thought of him. But somehow the idea of her believing he was a thief, as well as a liar, unsettled him. When he thought of Kate telling the rest of the Talaveras the story, his blood turned cold.

But what choice did he have? If he didn’t take the skirt, someone else would.

He followed Kate to the elevator, which took them to her third-floor suite. The door opened to a tasteful sitting area with a computer desk and fax machine in one corner. A small kitchenette graced the other corner of the room, complete with small refrigerator, microwave, hot plate and sink. Another door led to a bedroom in the back and a luxurious bathroom lay in between.

“This is nice,” he said, setting his suitcase next to the door.

“It’s been home for the past couple of months. We’ve been so busy at the hotel, that I’m working most of the time anyway, so it’s handy.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Where do you want me to sleep?”

To his surprise, he saw a pretty pink blush steal up her neck and settle in her cheeks. Was it possible that he wasn’t the only one having erotic fantasies about that king-size bed in the next room?

“On the sofa. It might be a little lumpy, but it should be long enough for you. I can have some extra linens and pillows sent up.”

“Sounds good.” Not as good as sharing a pillow with Kate, but a man couldn’t have everything.

She glanced at the computer. “Do you mind if I check my e-mail, or do you want to go straight to bed?”

“I think I’ll hop in the shower if you don’t mind.” He didn’t tell her it was going to be a cold one.

“Go right ahead.”

Once Kate was alone in the sitting room she phoned housekeeping, then hurried over to the computer desk and sat down. It only took a few moments for the computer to come to life and begin downloading her e-mail.

Most of the messages were related to upcoming conferences and meetings. But two of them made her sit up in her chair. They were both from Todd Winslow. Kate heard the shower running in the bathroom and did her best not to picture Brock standing under the stream of pulsating water. A naked Brock.

She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to the computer, clicking on Todd’s first message. The opening line made her smile.

Dear Kate,

It sprinkled here in Los Angeles today and I thought of you and that lovely Seattle weather. I’ll have to buy an umbrella sometime in the next two weeks. You wouldn’t believe all the things I have laid out to pack for my trip. It’s almost like I’m moving back home. Hey, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.

Fondly,

Todd

It was a typical e-mail from Todd. He made it a point to e-mail her every day now. Sometimes just to say hello. Once in awhile he sent along a joke or told her about a problem he was having at work. Over the past few weeks, his messages had become more personal. He’d mentioned several times how anxious he was to see her again.

Kate just hoped he had the same reaction as Brock when he saw her in the skirt. Just thinking about that flare of heat she’d seen in Brock’s gray eyes made her heart skip a beat. If the skirt could affect a man as implacable as Brock Gannon, it could work on anyone.

She clicked on the next message, surprised that Todd had broken his routine and sent her two e-mails on the same day. She was even more surprised when she read it.

Kate,

I’m normally not an impulsive person but it’s late and I’ve been thinking about you and I’m going to ask you before I chicken out. Will you go out to dinner with me when I get to Seattle?

Hopefully yours,

Todd

Kate stared at the computer screen, unable to believe her eyes. He’d asked her out. Todd Winslow. High school golden boy. Owner of one of the most successful home shopping networks on cable television. She planted both palms on the computer desk and took a deep breath. It was happening. It was really happening.

And he hadn’t even seen her in the skirt yet!

Once he did…anything could happen. Chelsea and Gwen were proof of that. In a few short weeks, it could be Kate walking down the aisle. She closed her eyes, picturing the moment. The glow of happiness on her bridegroom’s face. Her eyes flew open when she realized the man waiting at the altar in her imagination was not Todd Winslow.

It was Brock Gannon.

Flustered, she stood up at the same time a soft knock sounded on the door to her suite. She let the housekeeper in, then helped her make up the sofa. There was a perfectly logical explanation for confusing Brock with Todd, she thought to herself as she plumped a feather pillow. She hadn’t seen Todd in person for over a decade, just his image on television.

While Brock was in the next room. Naked in the next room. And she had to admit he’d turned into a strikingly handsome man. Okay, handsome might be an understatement. Just looking at him made her long for steamy nights and silk sheets. But any woman would be having fantasies about him. It was perfectly natural.

“Will there be anything else, Ms. Talavera?” the maid asked.

“No, thank you, Marva,” Kate replied, handing her a tip. “Wait a minute, there is one more thing.” She walked into the bedroom and pulled the skirt out of the closet. “Could you make sure this gets to the drycleaner for me? It has a small spot near the hem and I’m afraid to wash it.”

“Certainly,” Marva said, taking the hanger out of Kate’s hand. “It should be back on Friday.”

“I’m going to call the drycleaner tomorrow morning and give him special instructions, so I’ll probably make arrangements to pick it up myself.”

“Very well, Ms. Talavera.”

As soon as the maid left the suite, Kate marched over to the computer and sat down to accept Todd’s invitation. This was not a time for second thoughts. Not when her dream was about to come true.

She knew Todd was perfect for her. He was bright, articulate and successful. They’d practically grown up together. Not that she’d spent a lot of time with Todd back then, since they had run with different crowds. In fact, more than once she’d gotten the feeling that he went out of his way to avoid her. But she’d probably just been paranoid about her weight. Besides, they were both older now. More mature. She’d dated enough Mr. Wrongs to know a Mr. Right when she saw one.

Although, she hadn’t actually seen him, except on his television show. And she’d only recently begun corresponding with him. Seeing Brock again reminded her how much a person could change. He definitely didn’t seem like the same recalcitrant boy who had been in detention as regularly as he’d raided their refrigerator.

Kate smiled to herself, remembering how intrigued she’d once been by him. At fourteen, she’d just discovered gothic romances and in her mind, seventeen year old Brock Gannon had embodied the perfect gothic hero. Dark. Brooding. A little dangerous.

There was still an aura of danger around him, although it didn’t scare her. Just the opposite, in fact. Brock Gannon exuded a primal sensuality that was both daunting and exciting. It was in his stormy gray eyes and the set of his square jaw. The way he carried himself, with a cool confidence that made other men seem insignificant in comparison. Kate couldn’t deny that she found him fascinating.

“What am I doing?” she muttered to herself when she realized she was thinking about Brock again. Focusing her attention back on the computer screen, she hit the send button before she had time to talk herself out of it. Todd Winslow was the right man for her.

He had to be.

The sound of the bathroom door opening made her turn around in the chair. Brock emerged, wearing only a pair of plaid cotton pajama pants tied low on his waist with a drawstring. The dark hair on his chest still glistened with tiny droplets of water. The scent of soap and male permeated the air. His short hair was slicked back on his head and his feet were bare.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he said, moving toward the sofa.

“No, I’m all finished here.” She stood up, her mouth suddenly dry. Okay, so maybe Brock did have solid broad shoulders, a tight washboard stomach and bulging muscles in his arms. It’s not like she’d never seen a man’s naked body before. Maybe none quite as spectacular as Brock’s, but with all the same basic parts. Images of those parts flashed in her mind, sending a wave of heat through her.

She watched as he pulled back the blanket on the sofa bed, then lay down and settled back against the pillow. He pulled the sheet up to his waist so that all she could see was his bare chest. It gave the illusion that he wasn’t wearing anything. His flat nipples were a dusky pink and the cords of his neck stood out as he folded his hands behind his head.

She swallowed. “How was the shower?”

He hesitated. “Refreshing.”

Kate turned and switched the computer off. Maybe sharing a hotel suite with Brock wasn’t such a great idea after all. It put all sorts of crazy notions in her head. “I think I’ll go to bed. It’s been an exhausting day.”

“Good night, Kate.”

“Good night.” She practically ran for the bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and took a deep breath. Then another. Why did Brock Gannon have to show up in her life again? Why did he have to make her start doubting the perfect future she had all planned out for herself?

“Two weeks,” she said softly, slipping out of her pantsuit and hanging it in the closet. Then she took her favorite nightshirt out of the dresser drawer. It was a man’s striped pajama top that hung three inches above her knees.

She pulled back the quilted comforter and climbed into bed. “In two weeks, Brock will be gone and I’ll forget all about him.”

If she was lucky, in two weeks she’d be planning a wedding. Mrs. Todd Winslow. It had a nice ring to it. But when she closed her eyes, she still saw Brock Gannon standing at the altar.

BROCK WINCED as he turned the doorknob leading to the bedroom. He hoped the slight squeak hadn’t awakened Kate. Moving stealthily into the room, he paused until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. After a few moments, he could make out Kate’s long slender form on the bed. He could hear the steady rhythm of her soft breathing. See the shadows of her silky curls spilling over the pillow. She lay on her side, both hands tucked under one cheek. Her pink lips slightly parted—looking so very kissable.

He turned toward the closet before he forgot the reason he’d come in here. It was time to get the skirt and get the hell out of Kate’s life. Putting over three thousand miles between the two of them would be better than a cold shower. At least, he hoped so.

Brock padded silently to the closet, then slowly pulled open the accordion door. He quickly sifted through the row of dresses and pantsuits hanging there, searching for the skirt. He froze when he heard Kate roll over in bed, a soft, breathy sigh escaping her lips. The sound made his body instantly harden. It was a sound a woman made when he touched her in just the right place.

A sweat broke out on his forehead as he turned back to the closet. Where the hell was that skirt? He sorted through the clothes again, more carefully this time. At last he stepped back and closed the closet door. It wasn’t there. Hell.

He turned to look at Kate, wondering if she’d hidden it. But where? At that moment, she opened her eyes, then gasped aloud when she saw him. She bolted upright in bed, struggling with the tangled bedcovers.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, realizing this was the second time he’d scared her in less than twenty-four hours and hating himself for it.

“Brock.” Her voice was husky from sleep. She twisted to switch on the table lamp. Light flooded the room, making them both wince at the brightness. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“I heard you cry out,” he improvised, moving closer to the bed. “I thought you might be having a nightmare.”

“Oh.” Another blush suffused her cheeks and she didn’t quite meet his eyes. “No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was just a dream.”

Torture. That was the word for this mission. Kate lay in bed, not two feet away from him. Her hair was tousled and her cheeks rosy. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. His entire body throbbed.

Brock sat down beside her on the bed to conceal his uncomfortable, and no doubt visible, condition. He reached out one hand and tipped up her chin with his finger. “Are you sure?”

She stared into his eyes, then licked her lips. “Positive.”

“I’m glad,” he said huskily, then he leaned forward, unable to help himself. He was already in this far. And a man could only take so much temptation. He closed the distance between them until his lips met hers.

She tasted even better than he had imagined. Like a spring rain on the parched earth of his soul. His hands found her waist as he deepened the kiss, nipping lightly at her lower lip. She made that sound again, that soft sigh that instantly sent his body into high alert.

At last she pulled back and stared at him, her beautiful brown eyes wide and confused. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He completely agreed, but asked the question anyway. “Why not?”

“I’m involved with someone,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Sort of involved. I don’t want any complications in my life right now.”

“The man you told your parents about,” he guessed. “The one who is supposed to see you in that skirt.”

She nodded. “I think he’s the one.”

Brock wanted to change her mind. And he knew a dozen ways to do it. Ways that could bring them both to the pinnacle of satisfaction. Ways that could induce her to tell him anything he wanted to know. But something made him pull back. A nagging sense of integrity that he’d never let affect his work before.

He straightened and stepped away from the bed. “Then I’ll say good night.”

“Good night, Brock.”

He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He wanted the skirt. He wanted Kate. But he didn’t have his hands on the former and couldn’t have his hands on the latter. This mission was becoming more complicated by the moment.

He headed into the bathroom for a second cold shower.

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