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One T he shriek of the bolt being drawn in the cell block door shattered the sultry afternoon silence. Lilah jerked her head up. For a second, she remained frozen. Then she scrambled upright, scooted to the far edge of the thin mat that served as her bed and pressed herself back against the rough concrete wall. She braced herself as the door at the end of the corridor crashed open. Against a dim spill of light, a pair of jail guards staggered into sight. A man hung limply between them. His head lolled. His feet trailed in the dust. As the guards dragged him forward, Lilah stared at tanned, muscular arms, the hard biceps stretching the sleeves of a faded olive T-shirt. At inky hair that gleamed even in the murky illumination. At the trickle of blood beading at the edge of a determined mouth. With a long-suffering grunt, the jailers hoisted their burden a little higher. The prisoner’s head tilted sideways, allowing her a quick view of a straight blade of a nose and the strong clean line
Two Denver, ColoradoFive days earlier “H ey.” Dominic ducked his head into his older brother’s spacious office at Steele Security headquarters. “You got a minute?” Gabriel, who was seated at his granite-topped desk, glanced up, then resumed sorting through a stack of paperwork. “Sure. Come on in.” Dom strolled across the flagstone floor. Like all the offices in the ultramodern, low-slung building tucked away in the city’s warehouse district, this one boasted a wall of glass that looked out on an interior courtyard. Today, as befitted January in the Rockies, the outside world was a brilliant sea of white, courtesy of the foot of fresh snow that had fallen overnight. “Taggart says we’re turning down a case.” After Gabe, Taggart was number two in the Steele brothers birth order hierarchy. “That’s right.” Gabe’s tone was matter-of-fact. “The client’s coming in at two. I’m going to recommend she contact Allied.” He stopped, rocking back on the heels of his Italian leather boots. “Why?” “We
Three “S o you do this for a living?” Lilah’s eyebrows, shades darker than her pale hair, rose eloquently. “You—your brothers—are mercenaries?” Apparently he hadn’t explained things as well as he’d thought. Just as this particular rescue mission wasn’t turning out to be the cakewalk he’d predicted. That didn’t mean he had to stand here and let her get things wrong. “No,” Dom said flatly. “Mercenary implies no standards, no ethics, no values, no rules—and we stand for all those things. We don’t break U.S. law, we don’t work for anybody who isn’t one hundred per cent legit. Trust me. We can afford to be choosy.” He refrained from adding that, in his opinion, he and his brothers had a lot in common with the guy whose nickname they shared, the one with the red cape and big S on his chest. Like him, they believed in justice and cared enough to risk their lives for it. What’s more, unlike the majority of the populace, they’d all honorably served their country; every one of them was former mi
Four T he night breeze danced through the palm trees that fringed the small cove, while the moon played hide-and-seek with a flotilla of clouds. Still, the silvery orb provided sufficient light to guide Dominic and Lilah as they waded through the surf toward the shallows and the tiny sliver of beach beyond. “Easy,” Dominic said, as a wave broke early and Lilah stumbled. He reached out to steady her. “I’m okay,” she said instantly. It was one thing to be touched by him when fear was crowding everything else out of her mind. Without that distraction, however, she was suddenly aware of how easy it would be to step a little closer, allow herself to lean against him, give in to the desire to feel his arm around her— Rattled by her thoughts—get a grip, Lilah—she shrugged off his hand. “I’m just a little tired.” “Yeah, well, after the fall and crawl we just did, that’s normal.” Normal? For her. But for Dominic? She slanted a sideways look at him. Moving effortlessly through the thigh-high wat
Five A s a general rule, Dom considered kissing an art. There was something incredibly seductive about lazily exploring the curve of a woman’s mouth, savoring her taste, discovering what pushed her buttons. Kissing Lilah, however, belonged in a whole different category. Goodbye art. Hello full contact sport. It was annoying as hell. And more than a little humbling. But whenever he laid so much as a finger on her, much less his mouth, he seemed to go a little crazy. It had been that way from the beginning. Not too surprisingly, since he’d been barely out of his teens at the time, it had been his sincere and fervent desire to nail the pretty little rich girl that had first sent him striding across the million-acre lawn he now knew belonged to Abigail Sommers. His aspiration had grown a thousandfold after his and Lilah’s first face-to-face meeting. Up close, she’d been even more striking than he’d foreseen, a gloriously delicate blonde with an aristocratic air he’d expected—and an underly
Six “T hey’re getting closer, aren’t they?” Lilah gasped, as she and Dom scrambled up yet another shallow, bracken-covered rise. “Maybe a little,” he conceded, lengthening his stride as they crested a hill and the ground briefly leveled out. He didn’t see any reason to tell her that even though they’d exchanged a brisk jog for a dead run wherever the terrain allowed, experience told him the hounds would catch them sometime within the next half hour. That is, unless he could locate the source of the muted rush he could hear coming from somewhere to his right in the foliage-choked hills ahead of them first. After all, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t handle a few hounds, he thought grimly, as he ducked under a thick, trailing vine. If it became necessary he could and would take them out courtesy of the 9mm automatic wrapped in a waterproof pouch at the bottom of his pack, a weapon he’d purchased on a back street in Santa Marita. But he didn’t want it to come to that. Sure, it would buy him an
Seven I t wasn’t going to be bloodhounds or unpredictable weather or El Presidente’s men that was going to do him in, Dom thought. Nope. It was going to be Lilah, pure and simple. Every time he turned around, the woman did something that threatened to give him a heart attack. With a vicious curse as the drag of her weight vanished from the back of his waistband, Dom flung his pack at the river bank and wheeled around to search for Lilah in the churning water. For what felt like the longest moments of his life, he saw nothing. Fear, so foreign it took him a moment to identify it, ate at him. Recognizing it as the enemy, he shoved it away and concentrated. Where the hell are you, princess? Come on. Don’t you go and die on me now. We’ve got some seriously unfinished business to attend to. So give me something to work with. Anything. Come on, come on, come— As if she’d heard his demands, Lilah broke the surface some fifteen feet away. Relief nearly dropped him to his knees in the instant i
Eight D om lay sprawled on the tarp from his pack, which he’d retrieved in the last glimmer of twilight earlier that evening. Nestled in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his shoulder, Lilah slept with the stillness of complete exhaustion. She was entitled, he thought, absently rubbing his cheek against the silken crown of her head. Even he’d found the day physically challenging, so it was no great surprise she was worn out. Still, it was hard not to chafe at their slow pace. On his own, he would have hiked all the previous night and day and probably arrived in Santa Marita by now. But with Lilah, her stamina impaired by weeks of poor food and confinement, it just wasn’t possible. He had no choice but to do his best to pace their journey in a way that preserved her limited strength. Making adjustments to suit the situation was just part of the job, he reminded himself. Even if it gave him far too much time to think about matters he’d prefer to ignore. Because if he were sleepin
Nine “I won’t be long,” Dominic said, gently cupping Lilah’s shoulders in his powerful, long-fingered hands. “Just wait here, keep out of sight and I’ll be back before you know it. All right?” Lilah looked up into his compelling face. After walking for hours, they were standing on a slope above the narrow slash of the road, hidden from prying eyes by the combination of elevation and the thick foliage that continued to be both a blessing and a curse. Half a mile back down the road, out of sight but the focus of their current conversation, lay a cluster of tin-roofed huts. The meager village was the first outpost of civilization they’d encountered since leaving Las Rocas and if Lilah had been allowed a vote, she would have chosen to give it a wide berth. Dominic had a different plan, and it centered on securing them some sort of motorized transportation. “All right?” he repeated. She shook her head, deciding she had nothing to lose by being honest. “No. It’s not all right. What if someth
Ten T he pastel stucco buildings of Santa Marita were fading to silver and the rich midnight-blue sky turning to black as they finally rolled into town that night. Although “rolled” was a relative term when it came to describing the pickup’s ride, Dom thought caustically. Limped was more like it. Or maybe lurched…. It had been a long thirty miles. The radiator had overheated, the choke on the carburetor had stuck, they’d had one flat tire, a near-flat spare and he’d had to rig a makeshift air filter out of the tail of Lilah’s T-shirt. Add to the mix a road so narrow that for most of its length meeting another vehicle meant somebody had to back up until there was room to pass, and his too-late discovery that tomorrow was Santa Marita market day, which had meant the closer they got to the San Timotean capital, the more up to the fenders they’d been in bleating, darting, unpredictable goats. It was a journey he had no interest in repeating. Ever. About the only good thing, he thought, gla
Eleven “Y ou can’t be serious.” Lilah swiveled sideways on the pickup’s tattered seat. “We’re going to the presidential compound so you can steal Condesta’s plane? That’s the plan?” Dom felt her usually sunny blue eyes burning a hole in him and for a self-indulgent moment, allowed himself the luxury of glancing over and drinking in the sight of her in a temper. Then the sound of blaring horns refocused his attention on the morning rush hour traffic surrounding them and his mind settled solidly back on the business at hand. “You’ve got it.” “But that’s crazy!” He signalled, muscled the truck into a narrow opening in a stream of traffic in the far right lane and turned onto a cross street that would lead them past the government buildings and into the exclusive district that El Presidente called home. “Didn’t we have this conversation, or a damn similar one, back at Las Rocas?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen. “Maybe.” “And what did I say?” For a second she didn’t reply.
Twelve L ilah considered her reflection in the dressing room mirror. Not great, she decided, frowning at the faint shadow of exhaustion smudging her eyes, the angry-looking scab running down the ball of her shoulder, the still visible bruises on her arms courtesy of the Las Rocas guards’ rough handling. Then again, she didn’t look totally awful either. Her time in the sun had given her hair a streaky look that would cost a fortune to duplicate in a salon and enough of a tan that her eyes looked bluer than usual. What’s more, all the walking and running had added a pleasing touch of definition to the sleek muscles of her arms and legs. There was also nothing quite like a long bath, access to toiletries and makeup, plus ownership of a new dress worn over a red satin bra and matching thong panties, all hastily purchased at the hotel boutique, to give a girl a glow. She’d do, she concluded. And that was saying a lot considering that eight hours earlier she hadn’t been sure she’d live to se
Epilogue
One J ohn Taggart Steele stood motionless in the shifting shadows that edged the towering stand of evergreens. Snowflakes swirled in the icy air around him, swept from the treetops high overhead by a capricious wind. Narrowing his eyes against the October sun, he raised his binoculars to zero in on the tidy A-frame cabin in the clearing five hundred yards away, only to jerk the glasses away as his cell phone vibrated. Ripping it from the clip on his belt, he glanced at the screen and saw the call was from Steele Security’s Denver office. He hit the receive button and slapped the instrument to his ear. “What?” “Looks like it’s her, all right.” As calm as a summer day, his brother Gabe’s voice held neither reproach at the brusque greeting nor satisfaction as he delivered the long-awaited confirmation. Taggart said nothing, merely waited. “The truck was recently registered to a woman calling herself Susan Moore. The previous owner is a Laramie grad student who says he sold the vehicle thr
Two W ell, hell. Feeling a distinct stab of annoyance, Taggart launched himself after little Ms. Bowen, who appeared to be operating under the delusion that now that he’d found her, he might actually let her get away. He swallowed a snort. There was about as much chance of that as of him dancing in the Denver Ballet. She might be fast, but he was faster. Not to mention bigger, stronger and trained—by the US Army Rangers—to take down considerably tougher, rougher members of society than Genevieve would ever be. Although he had to admit, closing this case was going to make his week. Hell, who was he kidding? It was going to make his year. Catching up to her with ease, he tackled her, hauling her close as they reached the edge of the deck, crashed into the railing, flipped over the top and plunged toward the snowbank below. Instinctively—he wanted to take her into custody, not put her in the hospital, damn it—he twisted, taking the brunt of the impact as they slammed to the ground. He win
Three T aggart surfaced slowly. As he did, several things seemed noteworthy. One was that his head felt as if a stake were being driven through it. The other was that somebody—a woman, judging from her soft voice and even softer hands—was touching him. “Come on now,” she murmured, her husky voice tickling along his spine while her fingers sifted featherlight through the hair at his temple. “It’s time to quit fooling around. Wake up now. I know you can do it.” She knew he could do it. Her faith gave him pause. The first and last female to unswervingly believe in him had been his mother. Yet he knew damn well that the woman murmuring to him wasn’t Mary Moriarity Steele. She smelled entirely different, for one thing, like sunshine and soap instead of lavender and baby powder. Plus her hands were smaller and her voice was lower. Besides, his mother had been gone… How long? Drawing a blank, he struggled to punch through the fog hazing his brain. For a frustrating moment his mind remained sh
Four G ripping the bathroom doorjamb, Taggart glanced narrowly at the silvery twilight rapidly fading beyond the cabin windows. Terrific. Just frigging terrific. It was getting dark and there was still no sign of Bowen. He walked unsteadily to the bed and sank gingerly down on the edge. Careful not to jar his head, he unlaced his hiking boots and slid them off, then lay back and stretched out, letting himself stew as he scowled up at the plank ceiling overhead. Not that he was worried. At least, not much. While he still didn’t buy the concept that anyone could be as pure of heart as she was reputed to be, he was confident little Ms. Genevieve was coming back—and for reasons that had nothing to do with her supposed concern for his health. She had, for example, gone to considerable effort putting together whatever was simmering deliciously on the stove. Why do that if she didn’t plan to return to eat some of it? It sure as hell wasn’t as if he could reach it, he thought, trying to ignore
Five T aggart jolted awake. Muscles flexed, he braced for attack, his heart pounding painfully in the half second before reality rushed in and he remembered where he was. The mountains. Montana. In a cabin. With Genevieve. He sagged back against the mattress. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed away the images crowding him of another ink-black night, of another set of mountains in a country half a world away, where he’d found himself in a nightmare from which there’d been no escape. Don’t go there, he ordered himself. Think about something, anything else. The trip to Africa you’ve always meant to make. How pissed Dom is going to be when he finds out there’s a Steele Security pool on how long it’ll take him to make us all uncles. Or—what the hell—think about…Genevieve. Even she has to be a better choice than anything that pertains to Dominic’s sex life. Genevieve. Who, judging by the kitchen clock that showed it was coming up on 2:00 a.m., would soon be joining him for what would be the
Six “I ’m sorry.” Scrubbing at the tears streaking her face, Genevieve swallowed audibly as she slowly opened her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Lips compressed, Taggart stared down at her, careful to keep his expression blank. Outside, the weather had deteriorated. Wind buffeted the cabin, making the timbers sigh and creak, while sleet clicked against the window panes like a legion of skeletal fingertips. It had nothing on the turbulence swirling inside him. The waterworks had started just minutes after their mutual, mind-blowing climax. Oh, Genevieve had done her best to hide it, not making a sound except for an occasional shuddery breath. But twined together the way they were like two strands of the same rope, there’d been no way to miss the way her shoulders shook. No way to overlook the warm slide of her tears on his skin as she clung to him, her face buried in the crook of his neck. It cut. Unexpectedly deep. Clearly, he’d hurt her. Which shouldn’t be such a big surpr
Seven “S o how come this place doesn’t have a woodstove?” Seated at the kitchen table, Genevieve gave a start of surprise. Except for a few unavoidable utterances of “yes,” “no” and “thanks,” it was the first time Taggart had spoken to her since she’d climbed out of bed, dragged on her sleep shirt and trudged to the windows to stare forlornly out at the snow more than nine hours ago. In the interim, they’d both washed and dressed, shared a trio of meals and not much else. Deliberately rattling the chain that still tethered him, he’d made the bed, brooded, exercised, stared at the ceiling, paced, brooded some more. She’d reorganized the kitchen, hauled firewood, read an entire mystery cover to cover, hauled more wood and wondered how long it would be before the power, which had begun to flicker at midmorning, went out for good. She’d gotten the answer an hour after dusk, she thought, glancing at the oil lamp providing her with light, one of three currently staving off the darkness. At l
Eight G enevieve lay cradled in the curve of Taggart’s arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Despite the intensity of their lovemaking, she could feel the tension still thrumming through him. She wondered at its cause, but at the same time she understood him well enough to realize he was accustomed to relying on himself, on working through matters in his own time and way, and that it wouldn’t be wise to push. Besides, if he was feeling even half as unsettled as she was, his restlessness was understandable. Because something was happening between them, she thought, as she slowly stroked her fingers over the warm taut skin above his hip. Something beyond the powerful physical attraction that had them firmly in its hot-fingered grip. And it was happening fast—too fast for comfort or easy answers. In the space of mere days they’d gone from being total strangers to sharing a connection that was as strong and elemental as the storm that had stranded them together. It was daunting and more
Nine G enevieve jiggled from foot to foot as she rummaged through her duffel bag, searching for the bottom half of her long johns. She was dressed in nothing but socks, panties and bra, shivering in the room that had yet to warm from the fire she’d built up first thing after climbing out of bed. The cold, as brisk as it was, wasn’t the main cause of her inability to stand still, however. That had just strolled out of the bathroom and was standing a dozen feet away, one broad shoulder propped against the doorjamb, one jeans-clad hip cocked, both muscular arms crossed over his naked chest. She could feel Taggart’s gaze like a velvet touch, making every nerve ending in her body jump. Rationally, she knew her reaction was beyond foolish. They’d made love a dozen different ways the previous night; there wasn’t any part of her body that those big hands hadn’t touched, that hard mouth hadn’t tasted, those always hard-to-read green eyes hadn’t seen. She was nevertheless very much aware that th
Ten “T his is nice.” With a contented sigh, Genevieve shifted a little closer to Taggart as they sat on the couch by the fireplace. Apparently there was a technique for constructing a blaze that actually gave off adequate heat, she mused, enjoying the warmth on her face as she gazed into the softly dancing flames. It was a discovery she’d made not long after freeing the owner of the broad shoulder she was currently nestled against. In just a matter of hours, after first stripping her out of her damp outerwear, wrapping her in several blankets and depositing her in an easy chair with a book, John had put the cabin to rights, got the generator running, cleared the snow from the steps to the door, split a dozen logs into kindling and done his magic with the fire. That hadn’t been all. He’d put dinner together and done the dishes as well, and while Genevieve had found it all very impressive and endearing, his nonstop action had also driven home just how difficult being confined must have b
Eleven G enevieve watched through the kitchen window as Taggart chopped wood like an automaton. Feet spread, shoulders bunching beneath the clean denim shirt and dark-green down vest he’d retrieved from his bag that morning, he appeared impervious to the spectacular beauty of the day. Instead of taking time to appreciate the brilliant sunshine that made the snow sparkle like diamond dust, or looking up long enough to notice the lone eagle riding the thermals like a teenager out for a joyride, he wielded the ax with an unrelenting rhythm that was exhausting to watch. At the rate he was going, they’d soon have more kindling than logs. Not that she cared. Wood was wood, and whatever its size it would burn. She had far more pressing matters on her mind. Like whether John was out there for the exercise the way he claimed. Or if, as she suspected, his real goal was to keep her at arm’s length. Despite his reassurance of the previous night that he was fine, which he’d doggedly repeated again
Twelve “Y ou shouldn’t do that,” Taggart said quietly, his shoulders still heaving as he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. “Do what?” Genevieve said blankly to his back. He heard the sheets rustle and knew she’d sat up. “Say things you don’t mean.” “Like I love you?” There was a telling pause, and then she said evenly, “Pardon me, but I think I know my own mind.” Frustrated, he twisted around to face her. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her; why couldn’t she just acknowledge she’d spoken in the heat of the moment and let it go? “You’re wrong. You’re confusing great sex with…something else.” “Trust me. I know the difference between the two.” Her expression was serene as she met his gaze. “And I didn’t tell you because I was hoping you’d say it back or because I’m looking for a commitment, if that’s what’s bothering you. I just wanted you to know. Love, freely given, is a gift, John. Not a burden. Or at least it shouldn’t be.” How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? F
Thirteen “M y rig is where?” Taggart demanded, jiggling the keys to Genevieve’s truck in his hand. After a very short discussion, they’d agreed his was the vehicle of choice in which to make the drive back to Colorado. “In a barn about a mile and a half down the road from where you left it,” she repeated patiently. Pausing in the task of emptying the contents of the fridge into a garbage bag, she picked a piece of paper up off the counter and proffered it to him. “Here. I’ve written down the directions and drawn you a map.” Taking the sheet from her, he studied it a moment, folded it and slid it into his pocket, then looked back up at her and shook his head. “You walked through the snow, in the dark, just to hide it?” She widened her eyes, doing her best to look innocent. “I was keeping it safe for you.” “Yeah, right.” “Hey, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s—” He expediently cut her flow of words by the simple act of tugging her into his arms. “Spare me the pitch,” he murmured, lowering
Fourteen C lutching her coat, Genevieve stepped out onto the wide front steps of the Silver County Jail. After nine days spent inside, locked up in a ten-by-ten cell that had sported a single narrow, mesh-covered window, the afternoon sunlight was as welcome as it was dazzling. She drank in several long draughts of pristine air, took a moment to enjoy the briskness of the day, then squeezed her eyes shut and said a silent prayer of thanks for her freedom. Despite the assurances of her attorney, who had informed her he’d been engaged on her behalf by Steele Security, Genevieve still found it hard to believe that the nightmare that had consumed more than eight months of her life was finally over. Yet the reality was driven home as she heard foot-steps coming up the stairs and opened her eyes to find a familiar male face smiling crookedly down at her. “Seth!” For one incredulous moment she could only stare at her baby brother. And then joy picked her up and sent her flying into his arms.
Epilogue
One O nce upon a time when she’d still had a life, Mallory Morgan would’ve described Gabriel Steele as tall, dark and delicious. That was before he’d cost her everything. Now, as she opened her flimsy apartment door and found him parked in the dingy hallway outside, the words that came to mind were hard, heartless and not-to-be-trusted. “Mallory.” As always his voice was quiet but commanding, the perfect match to his lean, powerful body and reserved green eyes. “What do you want, Gabriel?” “We need to talk.” “Do we?” To her relief she sounded calm and in control, something that had eluded her earlier that day when a chance meeting between them at Annabelle’s, one of Denver’s trendier restaurants, had resulted in her behaving badly—and paying a price she could ill afford. “Gosh, let me think.” Tipping her head to one side, she pretended to consider for all of two seconds, then straightened. “No.” With a flick of her wrist, she sent the door swinging shut. It would just be too bad if it
Two I mpertinent. Infuriating. Impossible. And damn near irresistible. That pretty much summed up Mallory Morgan, Gabe thought blackly, as he stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk fronting her run-down apartment building. Flipping his coat collar up against the chill March breeze, he checked for traffic on the litter-strewn street, then strode across to his SUV parked on the opposite curb. He gave the vehicle a cursory look and handed a twenty to the sturdy little Latino kid who’d offered to keep an eye on it for him. “Thanks, mi’ijo.” Since their deal had been for ten upfront and ten if the boy stuck, the youngster’s delight was understandable. “Muchas gracias, mister!” Gabe inclined his head. “You earned it.” “Sí. So if you come back to Lattimer Street and you need anything, you ask around for Tonio, okay? I take very good care of you.” “I’ll keep it in mind.” “Bueno!” The kid flashed him a quick grin, then sprinted away as a bus stopped at the far end of the block. Darting around a
Three “A re you all right, Miss Morgan?” Mallory dragged her gaze from the rectangle of paper clutched in her trembling hand to stare blankly at the man seated across from her. “What?” Mr. Cowden’s thin, intelligent face softened. “You seem a bit shaken,” the owner of Finders Keepers, the search firm she’d been contacted by the previous day, observed not unkindly. “Can I get you something? A glass of water? Some coffee?” “No. I…It’s just…” Embarrassed to find herself babbling, she pressed her lips together and struggled for composure. “Please, could you explain to me again where this came from? You said it’s a behest from a relative?” “Yes. According to the letter we received, the funds originated with—” he glanced down at the paper centered atop his glossy walnut desk “—one Ivan Mallory Milton. Your cousin, it seems, although most likely a distant one since it states here he was ninety-one at the time he expired. The family connection—” he adjusted his glasses and scanned further down
Four “W ow.” With a murmured sigh of pleasure, Mallory stretched her feet toward the stream of warm air blasting from the SUV’s heater. “That second piece of pie may have been a mistake. I feel like a boa constrictor that swallowed a goat.” Gabe took his eyes off the road to glance over at her. Her heavily lashed eyes were closed, her shining hair tumbled, while her fine-boned profile was a perfect silhouette against the snow-lit night beyond the windows. She didn’t look a thing like the minx who’d hijacked his dinner, then devoured it with such hedonistic pleasure that at one point she’d even licked her spoon. Instead, she was a dead ringer for a patrician young queen who’d taken a night off from some palace intrigue. Or—his gaze flicked to her mouth—an ultra-exclusive, high-priced courtesan taking a break from the scores of men vying for her attention. The lust that had dogged him all night pounced, jaws snapping closed like a vise. He wanted to touch her, dammit. He wanted to skim h
Five “N ow let me see…” An insincere smile on her flawlessly made-up face, Nikki Victor-Volpe looked away from Mallory to contemplate her immaculately manicured fingertips. “You worked on Bedazzled in some capacity for how long…?” “Nine years,” Mallory replied steadily, even though she knew perfectly well that Nikki already knew the answer. Both of them had volunteered to work on the event during their junior year at the exclusive private prep school they’d both attended, where a public service stint was a graduation requirement. But even if Nikki had suffered a temporary brain lapse—not, Mallory supposed, completely out of the realm of possibility considering the amount of empty space in the blonde’s expensively coiffed head—the information was also in the extensive application she’d had Mallory fill out. The one visible in the opened folder on Nikki’s lap. Mallory reminded herself that being made to jump through Nikki’s little hoops didn’t matter, not compared to how much she wanted
Six “S o I guess you’re not speaking to me,” Gabe remarked into the silence that filled the SUV. Staring out at the distant lights as they drove back toward the city after dropping Lilah off at her home in the Denver foothills, Mallory parted her lips to say that’s right. Then she caught herself. No. She’d already been much more gracious than he deserved, chatting with Lilah about the fashion show debacle and exchanging ideas about what they might do about it, just as if she wasn’t perfectly aware of how he’d maneuvered her into accepting this ride. More to the point, it was clearly a trick question. Regardless of what she said, she’d be trapped into defending her answer. And once she did, she knew exactly what would happen. He’d say something charming or aggravating or arrogant or insightful. What, it didn’t matter. And she’d feel angry or enchanted or amused or alarmed, the particulars of which also wouldn’t matter. Because just like back at the party, the whole time they were talkin
Seven M allory surfaced slowly. Stretching languorously on whisper-soft sheets, she gave a sigh of pleasure at the firm resilience of the mattress beneath her and the perfect weight of the silk blanket enveloping her. Just for a moment, she thought she must be back in her own plush bed in the airy bedroom of the house where she’d grown up. Until she stretched again and the muscles in her thighs protested. Waking more fully, she went stock-still as she registered the unfamiliar tenderness at her core and the events of last night filled her head. And knew without a single doubt that she was in Gabriel’s house, in Gabriel’s room. In Gabriel’s bed. Her eyes snapped open. Taking one hurried look around she realized three things. It was morning. She was alone. And she didn’t regret one moment of what they’d done last night. Whatever you wanted to call it—and having sex seemed far too bloodless a term to describe the power, the passion, the tenderness she and Gabe had shared—it had opened her
Eight A fter seventeen grueling hours of travel, Gabe had every intention of going home, taking a long shower and getting a good night’s sleep in his own bed. What’s more, after nearly two weeks of his brother Dominic’s constant company, he planned to do all those things alone. So how he wound up standing rumpled and jetlagged in the deserted hallway outside Mallory’s Bedazzled office Friday evening was beyond him. Unless it had something to do with the fierce anticipation that raced through his veins at the sight of her. Not yet aware of his presence, she sat engrossed in something on her computer. Despite the lateness of the hour she looked fresh and professional in a pale yellow wrap dress that brought out the sunny streaks in the curling mass of her hair. Damned if he didn’t want to stride in, scoop her up, lay her down and— “Are you going to say hello?” she inquired, eyes still riveted to the lighted screen. “Or are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” He felt a stab of
Nine “C orrect me if I’m wrong,” Mallory said, making no attempt to hide her glee as the basketball Gabe had just launched at the hoop in his driveway hit the rim, teetered for an instant, then bounced back to the ground without going in, “but I believe you just added an E to H-O-R-S-E. Which means I win.” She smiled triumphantly. “Again.” Propping his hands on his hips, Gabe shook his head and did his best to look disgruntled. It was damn hard to pull off, however, while she was standing there looking so pleased with herself. With her face glowing, her hair drawn up in a ponytail and her slim, leggy figure displayed by a pale pink velour jogging suit almost as soft to the touch as her skin, she looked quintessentially female—soft, silky, seemingly too delicate to lift more than a pompom. Yet she’d just taken him two times out of three at the old match-me-if-you-can hoops game, a feat he’d never hear the end of if his brothers got wind of it. And he didn’t give a damn. He’d never spent
Ten “D ammit, don’t look at me that way,” Gabe said fiercely. Swallowing hard, Mallory said nothing. No matter what, she assured herself as he pulled her with an inescapable grip into the first deserted meeting room they came across outside the hotel ballroom, she was not going to break down. Not when she’d managed to keep a firm grasp on her composure while Anna and Eleanor DeMarco had fussed over her, smiling and patting her shoulder as they’d reiterated what she’d already heard them tell Gabe. How the ball was a smashing success. How exceedingly pleased everyone on the board was with what she’d managed to achieve in such a short time. And how, in light of her impressive performance, the board had agreed that the coordinator’s job was hers for the upcoming year if she wanted it. It had been her moment of triumph, the fulfillment of what only six weeks earlier had seemed like an unattainable dream. So she’d smiled and nodded, said thank you very much and yes, please, acting thrilled i
Eleven G abe knew instinctively from the insistent peal of the doorbell that whoever was pushing the ringer wasn’t Mallory. Yet apparently his heart wasn’t as certain as his head or he wouldn’t feel such a crushing mix of disappointment and despair when he strode down his front hall, yanked open the door and found Cooper standing there. For a second it was almost more than he could bear. Then he got a grip, reminding himself that he’d brought this on himself. And that he’d get through it since the only other alternative was giving up—and that was no option at all. Still, with the exception of his unfulfilled longing for one special woman, he was no more in the mood for company now than he had been for the past six days. Erasing all expression from his face, he considered his brother. “What’re you doing here?” “I came by to give you a report on the Landow search.” “Have we found him yet?” “No.” “Okay.” He inclined his head a fraction. “Thanks for the update.” Giving the door a firm shov
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