 
Without a Trace series

Book two

Crossing the Line

by

Ally Bishop

©2015 Ally Bishop

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Cover Design by Ally Bishop

Edited by Patricia D. Eddy

Proofread by Audrey Maddox

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

Author's note: All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
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To Nkanyiso Mpofu, wherever you are:

You believed I could write when I didn't.

There's no more precious gift than a true teacher.

Thank you.
chapter 1

What If?

I've always believed that we have a soul mate, and that when we meet them, inside, we'll know. Crazy, isn't it? Surely we'd have been born with some kind of homing beacon, something to lead us to them, if that were the case?

Yet I can't shake it. Every time I meet an old couple who've made it through the storms, or two people who have that unique bond where they finish each other's sentences and seem to live only in their shared world...I'm convinced I'm right.

And I want that—the connection that draws two people together and creates love to last a lifetime.

The problem: When you've already tried once and had your heart broken, how do you ever try again?

"You're sure you don't want to join us afterwards? Meet-and-greets only take a half hour, max." Noah glances at me from across our desks in our dining-room-turned-home-office. We run a dinner-theater company—Elementary—out of our apartment, and while we've got a ways to go before we're a success, we're finally in the black—enough that Noah and I can work for ourselves full-time, rather than have side jobs to pay the bills.

"I've got the meet-and-greet on the Upper East Side tonight, a marketing event in the morning, two meet-and-greets tomorrow, and last-minute planning for the party on Saturday." I look up into my brother's deep blue eyes, ringed with silver, just like mine. "I'm absolutely positive I don't want to meet you and Lux at some dance club or murky bar, wherein y'all will pick up bed partners and I'll come home alone. Weird how it just doesn't appeal to me, eh?"

He sighs dramatically. "Sister dear, you put a little bit more effort into that sexy secretary look you've got going on there, and you'll also be coming home with a little something warm for your very cold bed." He points a finger at my nose. "And you forget, Lux is off the market. She and Evan are doing the holy handholding."

My brother's skepticism around romantic commitments is legendary, though I know he likes Evan. The guy's nice enough, a sweetheart really, and a good submissive to Lux's dominant preferences. But he's not who I thought she'd end up with.

"My lovelies, I've arrived. Where's my party?" Lux waltzes in our front door, decked out for the night in patent leather pants and a crimson corset, her jet-black hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Did I mention she's a professional Dominatrix?

"Your party is about to start, Lulu," Noah greets, standing to buss her cheek and using his pet name for her.

"Any chance my favorite writer is joining us?" Lux pulls me out of my chair and hugs me, enveloping me in her soft, sensual fragrance.

I squeeze her back. "I wish I could. But alas, I have to work. Someone's gotta keep this business going." I wink at Noah, and he grabs his chest.

"I'm injured, dear sister. How could you say such a thing?" He slaps his laptop shut and reaches for his leather jacket. "I fear I'll need several libations to salve my wounded soul."

I roll my eyes at his drama. "Please. Some pretty, young thing will do the job just as well."

"Very good point," he agrees, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Sure we can't change your mind?"

"Evan's going to meet us there," Lux interjects. "And we'll no doubt need someone to keep your brother's seat warm between trysts."

Noah grins, perfectly happy with his reputation as a Don Juan.

"Nope. Already told Mr. Crane I'd be there at eight. So you two go. Tell Evan I said hi. And Lux, try to keep my brother out of too much trouble. I'd rather we not have a repeat of last weekend." I give my brother a pointed look.

Noah's grin fades a bit, and Lux winks at me. "I'll do my best, but he's your gene pool, darling. I have a feeling 'trouble' is in your blood."

I snort as they close the door. If that's the case, it certainly skipped over my DNA. I'm the furthest from trouble you can find.

I miss them as soon as the door closes behind them. They're probably heading out to Noah's favorite haunt, East-West. I'm pretty sure the bartender knows them on sight: Lux isn't exactly forgettable with her viper sexuality. And while Noah's my brother, I haven't missed the fact that he's hot with his dark curls and easy smile.

I've gone out with him and Lux often enough to know how these things go, and I love them both dearly. But I'm over the whole midweek night out. Because the three of us work non-traditional work schedules, Noah and Lux are convinced we must take full advantage of it on a regular basis.

As I pack my crossbody bag and double-check my makeup, my shadowed gaze reminds me again why I stopped "partying." A broken heart doesn't make for boisterous company.

Ian Crane lives on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, not far, thankfully, from the subway stop. One track was closed down, so I had to change trains three times just to get here. I left early enough that I'm just barely on time. I take the steps up to the front entrance, and the door opens as I'm cresting the last stair.

It's a good thing I'd already established my footing on the landing, as otherwise I might have tripped. One of the most stunning men I've ever seen stands before me: deep gold, too-long hair brushes his wide jaw in a way that you typically see in magazines, a perfectly cut suit sets off his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and dear God, all I can think is that Adonis must have been reincarnated into this man.

"Mr.—" My mind goes blank, and I have to stare down at the folder in my hands to read his name. "Crane?"

"Ian, please. You must be Ella Storm." He holds the door, beckoning me inside. "Come in."

Even his voice is sexy, with a deep, rich tone that makes me think he could read the dictionary and I would want to listen.

His house is...well, let's just say my Brooklyn apartment could fit in here five times and still have square footage left over. The rooms are spacious, well designed, and modern.

"You needed to see where we're going to have dinner, right?" He quirks an eyebrow at me.

The problem with incredibly good-looking guys is that I can barely function around them. I find my tongue and push the words out. "Yes—sorry." I pause, searching for something to say. "You have a beautiful home."

"Thanks." He meets my gaze with a warm smile, and I drop my eyes to my folder. I just have to get through this without embarrassing myself, like, say, slobbering over our new client.

He guides me to the dining area in the open floor plan, showing me how he hopes everyone can be seated and yet still take part in the show.

We're used to working in typical New York City apartments: cramped, overloaded with furniture, with little room to set up props. I say as much to him. "This will feel like we're on a Broadway stage."

With a grin, he offers me a seat so we can go over the itinerary. While his party isn't for another two weeks, I like to make sure all the details are in place long before the actual date. We're halfway through the food selections when he reaches for my hand. "This is stunning," he comments as he lightly rests his fingers on my knuckle.

The touch surprises me, and I swear, I can feel the electricity crackle between us. My cheeks flare with heat as I extend my hand so he can admire my ring. The wide, white gold band holds a chocolate diamond, the stark design softened with curved edges and a slightly buffed finish. "Thanks. It was my mom's wedding ring."

His eyes turn knowing. "Was?" When I nod, he continues. "I'm sorry. I lost my dad not too long ago."

"Then I'm sorry as well."

With a strange expression, he stands. "Can I show you something?"

"Of course."

"It's upstairs, if that's okay."

"The actors will need to get dressed somewhere," I point out as I follow him towards the stairs in the center of the room, the only divider between the dining and living room areas.

He leads me to a small room just off the steps. The interior has been softened with muted plum paint and comfortable furnishings. A large desk butts up to an expansive window overlooking the back courtyard, and to the right hangs a framed comic book.

"This was my dad's."

I lean closer. "The Amazing Spider-Man. Oh, it's the first issue." The edges are ruffled a bit from wear, and the ink has long since faded to a patina of washed out shades.

"It's my prize possession. My dad gave it to me when I was eight, and I've loved Spiderman ever since." His smile turns shy at his admission. "I have a lot of my dad's things, of course. But this...well, I'm guessing it's a bit like your ring."

I smile, appreciating his sensitivity. "Both my parents died when I was twelve. My brother was eleven. It was a car accident, drunk driver...you know the drill."

His eyes widen in sympathy. "God, I'm sorry. That had to be impossible. My dad passed a couple of years ago. One day he was fine, and the next day, he was gone. Heart attack."

It's an odd thing, the connection that shared sorrow offers. One moment you're strangers, and the next, you have some intangible link that brushes aside the unknown and allows deeper communication.

"What about your mom?"

"She's actually doing pretty good, now. I didn't know if she'd bounce back. No relationship is perfect, but they were one of those couples that just 'got' each other, you know?"

I nod. "I do."

"She finally met the right guy—they just got married a few months ago."

"That's great that she was able to find someone again."

"I'm happy for her. And he's great. Nothing like my dad, though, which...I don't know why I'm telling you this." He offers a wry grin. "I actually just got home from work. Must be the hunger talking."

I check my watch. "I'm sorry to keep you. It's getting late. Let me just show you one more thing..."

He touches my arm lightly as I step towards the door, and when I turn around, there's something in his expression that makes my insides curl with desire.

"Are you hungry?"

"Um..." I stall, not sure what to say. While I've had a client or two try to ask me out, I've never wanted to say yes...until now. Aren't there business rules about that somewhere? Still, I'm tempted. But I take the smart way out. "I haven't eaten yet, but I'm going to grab something on my way h—"

"There's a sushi place just around the corner. We could finish going over whatever it is we need to there, couldn't we?"

I'm not sure how we got from dead parents to eating raw fish, and I'm fumbling for an answer. "I guess we could. I—"

His smile widens, interrupting my train of thought. The man's got teeth worthy of a toothpaste commercial.

Within minutes, I find myself ensconced in a dimly lit restaurant, a cup of sake in hand, and a delicious man across from me. I really wish I would have worn my dress pants and high heels instead of jeans and an Old Navy sweater, as I'm pretty sure I caught Ian checking out my ass as I shed my coat when we reached our table. He was careful to meet my gaze when I sat down, though, so I'm not sure. I could be imagining it.

Don't get me wrong: I know I'm not bad to look at. I won't win any beauty pageants, mind you, but I have a symmetrical face, dark brown, curly hair, and typical Midwest features. I'm what most people refer to as "cute" or "pretty." Never gorgeous or stunning, like they say about Lux. I carry a bit too much weight in my thighs, and despite my efforts at Victoria's Secret, no pushup bra is going to make my B-cups into Ds. Still, I find myself warming inside at his possible notice.

Probably has something to do with the long swig of sake I just imbibed, too.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" he says, after we've discussed the last of the plans for his party.

His query surprises me, but I nod, curious what he might want to know.

"How did you get the idea to start something like this?" He gestures to the folder between us, enclosing his event details. "This is brilliant, but—forgive me if this is presumptuous—you seem very young to have committed to something this..." He struggles for words.

"Adult?" I grin when he looks uncomfortable. "It's okay. You aren't the first person to ask me that. I just look young." I toy with the napkin on my lap. "I'm actually twenty-seven, and this is kind of...a brain child between me and my brother. His idea, really, but we both fell in love with it."

He appears interested, so I keep going. "We were in college—our last year."

"I thought you were a year apart?"

"We are, but after our parents died...well, we've always been really close. So I waited to start college. We both wanted to go to NYU, and the expense of staying on campus...well, it just made sense for us to do it together." The explanation has become so pat, even I believe it.

"And you loved the city enough to stay, eh?" His sherry-colored eyes never stray from my face, and the attention heats my cheeks.

"Noah loves it here. He felt like he came home when we arrived. And I like it."

He chuckles. "But you don't love it."

"I don't. But I'm thankful I'm here. Where else could I start a business like this and have it be this successful in such a short time? Don't get me wrong—we've been working on Elementary for years now. We had the idea when we were in our last year of college, but it was a huge undertaking. We've only been officially 'in business' for the last two years, and my brother and I were able to quit our other jobs not quite a year ago so we could focus on this one hundred percent." I'm not sure if I should be telling a client this, but it tumbles out before I can stop it, and the admiration in his gaze makes my insides tingle a bit. Outside of Lux and the people who work for and with us, I don't often get to gush about my pride and joy.

"You work out of your home?"

"Most of the time I work out of a coffee shop. Just Call Me Joe—best organic Guatemalan dark roast in Brooklyn." I grin. "But yeah, between there and our dining room that we converted into our office, it's pajamas all day for the win."

"Incredible. Truly. When I was an undergrad, I was more focused on getting a new flat screen television for my first apartment. I hadn't even thought about going out on my own."

"You went to law school—that's no small thing."

We're interrupted by the server delivering our order, and we take a moment to get acquainted with the chopsticks and enjoy first bites before he takes up his tale again.

"Law school was expected. My dad was a doctor, my mom an accountant with her own firm. Everyone just assumed I'd keep going to school. And don't get me wrong, I love what I do. I'm well suited to being an attorney, and I've been privileged to have incredible opportunities with my firm, but I never gave it much thought. Not like you and—Noah, right?" He confirms before continuing. "What you two did, and that it's been successful...that's amazing." After a bite of sashimi, he asks, "So where do you get your mysteries? Is that something that you buy, or do you contract to have them written?"

I can't help the small smile that curves my mouth. "Um, I write them," I say softly.

He drops his chopsticks on his plate. "Get out. Really? I've heard awesome things about your stuff. A friend of mine—the one that referred me to you—he said it was like having a professional stage show put on in your living room."

"Noah acts in them, as well."

"You two are like the Wonder Twins. Write, act, manage a successful business." He ticks them off on his fingers. "Is there anything you don't do?"

I think about it a moment. "We both stink at cleaning our apartment."

He laughs, a deep, resonant sound that I want to lean into. "I daresay that won't be an issue when you make it big. You can hire someone to do that."

"I have it on my list as the first thing to do when we can afford it."

When we're finished, we are both slow to leave, so we set a relaxing pace back to his apartment.

"Where would you live if you could live anywhere?"

"Austin, Texas," I say without hesitation.

He glances down at me. "I'm betting that's home for you both? That accent is definitely not from the East Coast.

"Born and raised."

"Why didn't you go home after college? Why stay here?"

I don't want to get into my real reason with a guy I barely know, so I come up with the next best answer, which is also largely true. "Noah wanted to stay," I say simply. "There was no way he could afford it on his own, and we had the idea for Elementary, so it made sense at the time."

He nods, but by the way his gaze meets mine as we near his building, he seems to know that's not the whole answer. "Well, I'm glad you did. It looks like my birthday party is going to be amazing."

"It will be. No one's seen this mystery yet, so you're the very first one. And it's the best one I've written." All the actors told me when they read it that I'd outdone myself, and secretly, I agreed.

At his door, he glances from the entrance to me. "Would you like to come in for coffee?"

I can't get to my watch between my sweater, coat, and gloves, but I know it's late. "I should probably be getting back."

He nods, looking away. Then he meets my eyes with a charming grin. "I just got a new coffee maker from my aunt in Italy. I'm told it's one of the best in the world. You might regret missing out on experiencing a cup."

A shy laugh escapes me, and I hear myself say, "I wouldn't want that."

"Neither would I," he agrees and holds the door.
chapter 2

coffee and such

After the brutal cold of the night, his apartment feels welcoming and cozy. He takes my coat, his fingers brushing mine. The unexpected touch sends delicious shivers down my back. I don't know what I'm doing here—he's a client, and an important one. We've been trying hard to get into neighborhoods like his. Plus, he's friendly and seems sincere—I don't want to ruin anything for Elementary.

But there's something about him—and I don't mean the fact that he's stunning to look at—that makes me want to spend more time in his space. He's different. Most of the guys I've met here have been professionals, driven and goal-oriented. And they seemed to treat their romantic lives the same way. Ian feels more...relaxed. Maybe a bit impetuous? I don't know. But there's something here I haven't felt in a long time, and I've missed it.

We make small talk about his firm while the coffee brews. He's hoping to be made a partner in the next few years, and he mentions a case he just finished. He's loosened his tie, shed his suit coat, and when we relax onto his leather couch with our respective mugs, the conversation slows as we enjoy the aroma and flavor of the drink.

"My God, you weren't kidding." I sigh after I take another sip. "This is incredible."

"I'm not sure if it's the machine or the beans she sent, but I haven't been able to stay away from the damn thing since it arrived."

"I can see why." I imbibe a bit more before setting my mug next to his on the coffee table. There are several feet between us on the couch, and even though we were probably seated closer together at the Japanese restaurant, this feels very intimate.

"You said earlier that you never gave much thought to going to law school. Where did you think you'd end up?" The gas fireplace crackles, punctuating my sentence, or perhaps mocking me as I'm trying to ignore what's going on and why I'm still in this man's apartment.

"I never gave it much thought. Honestly, I was a stupid kid." His grin is a bit embarrassed as he stretches back against the couch cushions. "Between undergrad and law school, my father forced me to take a year off. When he retired, he'd decided to travel, but not in conventional ways. He visited friends working in third world countries and helped them treat those who couldn't afford medical care. So he dragged me along with him, as a payback for him paying for law school. It forced me to grow up...in a lot of ways."

"Wow. Your dad was hardcore."

"He was." He nods, his smile shrinking a bit. "But he taught me a lot. I grew up privileged. I had everything. And even though my parents tried to make sure I was brought up right and understood the world, you don't really get it until you see it. You know what I mean?"

I nod. "I do. We were the opposite. My parents...they did okay for themselves, and they were smart. They got life insurance, so when Noah and I turned eighteen, we had college money and a little bit of a cushion to survive on. But our grandparents were poor. So we grew up knowing the price difference between frozen and canned peas and watching the coupon pages in the newspaper. But we knew we had more than others."

"Exactly. We get comfortable in our lives here—and we should. That's part of living in this country. But it's dangerous when we assume everyone has that opportunity."

The intensity of the conversation turns the silence afterwards reflective. We sit quietly for a few minutes, each lost in thought.

"More coffee?" Ian nods to my cup.

"Sure." I follow him into the kitchen, noting how well his suit pants fit his ass and the way his shirt clings to his muscled shoulders. Yummy, indeed.

He's doing something with the coffee machine, and I lean back against the counter, trying not to stare at him. When he turns, he's just a bit too close, and then his mouth is on mine, soft yet demanding, and his hands slide up to my shoulders. It's a quick kiss, almost chaste, but the heat sears my lips.

"I really hope you wanted me to do that." He drops his hands to his sides, his tone pensive.

I bite my lip, still feeling his mouth. "I didn't stop you." My insides are turning to jelly, but all I want is to feel him against me again. So I do something I never do.

I make the next move. He's taller than me by several inches, so I draw his face down to mine, lips teasing over his as I ease us into the next kiss. His mouth is hungry, but his touch soft as his hands slide over my back, pulling me against him. I lean in, enjoying the sculpted length of him against my body and the light scent of his aftershave. When my tongue teases the edge of his mouth, he answers in kind, deepening the kiss, his arms tightening around me.

"Wow," I say when we come up for air. "That was..."

"Unexpected?" His eyes crinkle at the corners, his expression hopeful.

"Lovely, actually."

We forget about the coffee, getting lost in the excitement of skin and heat. When his hand slides beneath my sweater, moisture pools between my legs. I haven't felt this turned on in a long time, and for once, my usual caution seems to have evaporated. He lifts me, setting me on his counter as he continues his exploration of my skin. I wrap my legs around his waist, enjoying the feel of his hardness against me. His fingers release my bra, and when his palm skims my breast, I suck in a breath, letting his mouth drop to my neck as I revel in the sensation.

"I want to undress you," he whispers in my ear, sending a delicious chill down to my core. "It would be a lot easier in my bedroom." He pulls back so he can look in my eyes.

I barely nod, trying not to think about what I'm agreeing to, and yet knowing all too well. His kiss makes me forget all logic, and when he steps back and offers me his hand, I follow willingly.

Whether he has one bedroom or twelve, I couldn't tell you. All I want are his hands on my skin. His bedroom has a large bed, modern furnishings, but beyond that, I don't notice as he sits on the bed, positioning me between his legs. His hands guide my sweater over my head, my bra quickly following, and his mouth encircles a nipple while his fingers torture my other breast. I tangle my hands in his thick hair, surprised by the moans I barely recognize as my own. His tongue laves the pebbled tips, moving slowly between each sensitive nipple, and I'm nearly begging for release when he finally seeks out the top button of my jeans.

I shuck them off, boots joining them, standing before him in only green silk panties (and thanking God I wore my better underwear tonight). Gripping my hips, he adjusts me so I can straddle him. His cock pulses through his pants, and he pulls me down against him. I feel like I'm going to explode as I rub against his shaft.

When I reach for his pants, he stills my hand. "Not yet." His eyes are dark with desire, but instead of undressing, he shifts gently so I topple onto my back.

As his attention focuses between my thighs, I reach for him. "Don't. It's not really...um, something that, you know...works for me."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Really? Are you sure it's been done right?"

I laugh nervously. "I don't know. It just never...really, um...did much."

He looks thoughtful for a moment, then meets my gaze. "May I try? I won't if you don't want me to."

I've got a near stranger asking me if he can go down on me. The oddness of the situation combined with the intensity of my desire has me giggling. Yes, giggling. But I nod, hands shaking with nerves as he kneels between my spread legs and removes my panties. With soft strokes, he teases my sensitive folds apart. He takes his time, letting me acclimate to his touch. I've never experienced anything like this, and I find myself both relaxed and aroused. When his tongue finds me, I startle a bit, but rather than the direct approach I'm used to, he massages around the bundle of nerves with gentle pressure. My fear evaporates, and I widen my legs to give him full access.

His fingers slip inside me as I grip the comforter, crying out as his tongue offers no mercy. When I can barely take anymore, my orgasm breaks over my skin, a whirlwind of cold and hot across my senses. His hands hold my hips in place as I buck hard, unable to stop the waves of pleasure that push into me again and again.

When I'm finally spent, he sits back on his heels, a satisfied grin on his face. "Like I said, are you sure it's been done right?"

I lift my head so I can meet his smug gaze. "Point made." Then I fall back against the comforter.

Lost in my post-orgasm haze, I am vaguely aware of him undressing, the sound of condom foil ripping, and then he's beside me. He kisses me, his tongue sweeping in and possessing my mouth. I wriggle closer to him, letting him drape my thigh over his hip. I draw my hand down over his pectorals, the muscles shifting under my touch as I trail lower over the taut plane of his abs. His cock, hard and pulsating between us, twitches as I skim lower.

Despite my desire to dissolve into jelly after my delicious orgasm, exploring his body pulls me back into the maelstrom of desire. When I push him back against the bed, he goes willingly. He holds my hips as I balance over him, the head of his cock widening my entrance. He's thicker than I expected, and as I slide down, I have to stop and let myself adjust to him.

His thumb finds my clit, and I lean back, bracing myself against his thighs as the sensation overwhelms me again. I shudder in anticipation of yet another orgasm, but I'm determined to hold out, to make sure he can join me before I come again. Finally able to take his full length inside of me, I begin to move, feeling so full that the silken friction seems to hit every single nerve ending. I fall forward, finding his mouth, savaging his lips as I increase my pace. His palms cup my ass, forcing him even deeper inside of me.

"Oh, my God," I whimper into his mouth, shivering against the pleasure.

"Don't hold back, Ella." He holds my face, meeting my gaze. "Let yourself go."

And I can't help it. With hoarse cries, I come again, nearly mindless in the roiling heat. I barely notice our position changing. He's suddenly above me, his thrusts hard and furious. He spreads my thighs wide, pumping into me so hard, I feel as though I might come apart. The sensations are beyond anything I can describe, and as he's nearing his own climax, he drops his fingers down to my center. As he finds his own fulfillment, my muscles quake around him yet again, leaving me nearly unconscious with pleasure.
chapter 3

awkward beginnings

There is, however, the awkwardness afterwards...the downside to sleeping with someone you barely know. Which is, in large part, why I don't typically do things this way.

I must have dozed off for a while. I look around the room, dimly lit by his bedside lamp, trying to get my bearings. He's beside me, his eyes closed and his hand splayed over my stomach. Do I get dressed? Is there post-coital-requisite cuddling afterwards, particularly when you've just had the best sex of your life? I could use Noah as a consultant right about now.

Thankfully, when I chance a look at Ian again, his eyes are open. "I like the way Elementary does business."

My cheeks inflame, and I try to turn away. But he locks his arm around my waist, pulling my back against his chest. "I'm teasing. But that was pretty incredible. Watching you come is like seeing the skies open up with sun after a violent thunderstorm." He drops a kiss on my shoulder.

His words both thrill and embarrass me, and I relax for a moment, enjoying the feel and scent of him, but while I know he was joking, his comment is a crystal clear reminder of what I just did. Noah's never going to let me live this down. "I should get going. I'm sure it's late."

"I'll order a car for you."

He releases me, and I wriggle off the bed. My underwear has gone missing, and I'm hunting for my other winter sock when he holds out the small slip of silk.

"Looking for these?"

I stick my tongue out at his insufferable grin and snatch them from him. "Ha. Ha." He's slipped on a Cornell sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, and still manages to look like he's ready for a modeling shoot. Damn him.

Once dressed, I feel moderately composed, though perhaps only because I'm not naked. But when he hauls me against him and captures my mouth, I melt into a puddle of goo all over again.

Breathless, I flatten my hands against his chest, lightly pressing. "I've got to go." Though my sex drive has other ideas.

"You could stay a bit longer. I can think of all sorts of things to get you to make that little high-pitched cat sound again."

Now I shove him away in earnest. "Nice."

But he reaches for me again, his hand cupping my face so I'm forced to look into his eyes. "And I particularly enjoyed the breathy whimper you make when you're just about to climax." His thumb strokes my cheek. "And the way your breath hitches when I do this." His lips cover mine, soft, seeking, and then his tongue strokes against mine in an erotic dance that, dammit, has my breath catching. "Just like that." His hand slides down my back, over my ass, holding me against him so his erection is cradled between us. He presses a kiss against my forehead. "You're incredible."

When I finally pull out of his embrace, my skin chills apart from his heat, and even when I slip into my coat as I'm about to leave, the feeling remains.

A sleek sedan waits in the empty street—it's almost one in the morning. But rather than tuck me into the car, Ian joins me.

"It's my firm's car service, but I'd still like to see you home safely. If that's okay."

I duck my head in affirmation, and I'm glad he's doing so. Makes me feel less like a trollop. He takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. The act has such an intimacy attached, I almost feel like this wasn't just sex. But that's ridiculous, right? You don't meet someone, sleep with them, and then have that kind of connection. We sit in silence for much of the trip, as though trying to accustom ourselves to the other's energy and space. I'm berating myself for being so foolish, even though I thoroughly enjoyed myself. But while my brother can have a different flavor in his bed every week—hell, sometimes every night—I've never been like that. Worse yet, Ian's a client.

I'm lost in my thoughts when he squeezes my hand. "I think this is your street?"

I glance out the window and nod. "Yep, this is me." I pull my bag closer and slip my hand out of his to don my gloves and tighten my scarf.

"Any chance I could take you to lunch tomorrow?"

His request stalls my movement. "Tomorrow? Lunch?" I parrot back. "Um, I've got a pretty packed day." It's the truth, but even as I say it, it sounds like a brush off.

"Dinner then? Coffee, even?" He narrows his eyes.

Dear God, the man is beautiful. It takes everything in me to turn him down. But until his party is over and I can figure out what the hell I'm doing, I should keep my distance. "I'm really busy tomorrow." I offer an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

He nods, but there's confusion in his eyes. "Sure, I get it."

But when he walks to my door, there's a definite shift in the mood, and he brushes his lips against my cheek in parting. "In two weeks, then," he says, and steps back as I unlock the shared front door of my building.

"Absolutely." With a finger wave, I shut the door behind me and head for the stairs. But there's an ache in my gut, as though I just made a really bad move, and I'm not sure how to fix it.

As I fumble through a shower and slip beneath my sheets, there's a tightness in my chest. It's not just because I did something out of character tonight, either. I've spent several years walking around in a heartbroken haze, confident that life would never offer me something of value—not when it comes to romance. Tonight shook that belief, though. And while that might seem like a good thing in the abstract, the reality leaves me sleepless and unsure. What if I'm not a lost cause after all?
chapter 4

pants on fire

Damn the sun." My brother lumbers into the kitchen with his hands shading his eyes. "Can we shut the blinds?"

"Hung over, my good man, eh?" I fill my coffee mug, lace it with milk and sugar, and press it into his hand. "Go, sit. I'll scare the big, bad yellow ball away for you." He flops down on a chair at the table as I pull the blinds to shade him from the glare.

We must've roused Lux, who's been passed out in the living room. "Do I smell coffee?"

"Only if you get off your ass and come out here, you lazy wench!" I call to her, watching with amusement as my brother holds his head.

"Jesus, could we skip the yelling part of the morning?"

"What on earth did you two get into last night?" They didn't come home until well after four, so my secret tryst is safe. Who knew I'd turn into such a hypocrite?

Noah points to Lux, who's now joined us, her usually elegant black curls in disarray around her pale face. Her makeup is smudged, but she still looks like a dark fairy ready to steal a man's soul with her kiss.

"Don't blame me. You were the one who wanted to chase down scotch with tequila shots." She looks at me, shaking her head. "Where did you teach this boy to drink? I swear he doesn't know when to slow down."

"You're asking me? You two were the ones setting the city ablaze in college. I stayed home and studied. I believe you referred to me as 'Ella Egghead' in those days."

"With love, Ells," Lux insists, pouring herself a mug of joe. "You were the one with the better grades, too."

"Big shock there." But there's no sting in my words. Lux and Noah became friends in our freshman year, in large part because they had similar classes and a penchant for underage drinking. Given that I took a major with a focus in PR and marketing, rather than just a business degree, I was often working on different projects. Not that it would've mattered. Noah met his soulmate in crime when he met Lux. When we were younger, they were the crazy duo, out all night and sleeping most of the day whenever they could get away with it. If it hadn't been for Elementary—and my lack of a social life—I'm not sure what Noah would've ended up doing. And Lux...well, she always knew her calling, even though she spent a few lost years in bank management.

Despite all of their antics, Lux and I have managed to become quite close. She's a real person, despite her Dominatrix persona (she makes her clients call her Mistress Hathaway), and I don't know what we'd do without her friendship.

"So any scores last night? Perhaps some wild and kinky sexploitations to relay?" My stomach leaps at my teasing, as though guilting me for not sharing my own sexy details.

"A big fat nada," Noah says glumly. "I must be off my game."

Lux snorts as she tucks herself in at the table. "I daresay you were drunk off your ass. Probably scared all the pretty young things away."

"Where's Evan?" I ask Lux.

She sips her black coffee, then offers a small smile. "He knew when to call it quits. Plus, the band had an early interview and some publicity stuff to do, so he went home around one this morning." Evan manages bands and has an up-and-coming alternative band that takes up most of his time.

"How'd it go with the new client?" Noah's bloodshot eyes meet mine.

I've never been a good liar. Even when we were kids, Noah always knew when I was fibbing. If I have any hope of not spilling the beans about last night—and being mercilessly teased about it—I have to stick as close to the truth as possible.

"Good. Really good." I fight to keep my face neutral. "Great house—we'll have more room than we know what to do with."

"Upper East Side place? I would expect so. Any ideas on who else is going to be there? Anyone famous?"

"Famous? I don't..."

Noah rolls his eyes. "Ian Crane? The guy's one of the most well-connected attorneys in town. You didn't recognize his name?"

"I've never heard of him." My head starts to pound, the pressure tightening around my eyes. "Why didn't you say something?" I feel like I'm falling over the edge into an abyss. What did I get myself into?

"That's why I thought you were excited when he contacted us. I just assumed you knew. He dated that supermodel, Mia Tratori, along with a few others."

Lux slaps the table, earning a grimace from Noah. "Wait—that Ian Crane? The guy that was just on the news about that corporate espionage case?"

That sinking feeling? Oh yes, that's me, disappearing into the bowels of the earth.

"He's gorgeous, too, if I remember correctly." Lux eyes me with interest. "If you managed to keep your cool about you last night, I'm impressed. He's one of the city's most eligible bachelors, right up there with mega-star Mick Jeffries."

Lux disappears into the other room, returning with my laptop in her hands. A few moments later, I'm staring at Ian's stunning smile on one of those "top ten" lists. Sure enough, he and Mick Jeffries are side-by-side. Mick, his salt-and-pepper hair long and curling around his roguish face, is impossible to forget. He's been in a string of action movies that have all been blockbusters.

"Ha! Check this out." Lux moves the cursor over a sentence. "'Look out, ladies. Not only are these gorgeous hunks available, they're also best friends, so who knows? Two for the price of one? Sounds like a night made in heaven to me!'"

Noah turns thoughtful. "Damn. I knew I'd seen him on the same page with Jeffries before, but I had no idea they were so close." He turns to me, a faint light in his bloodshot eyes. "Maybe Mick Jeffries will show up at his party, Sis."

I swallow hard, barely hearing their words. I can't stop staring at the image of Ian. "Huh. Well, that just goes to prove I work too much. Never heard of him before." A cold sweat starts in my hands and quickly spreads to the rest of my body. "Speaking of which, I just remembered that I forgot to call Misha. I need to make sure she's got the dessert on the menu, and Ian mentioned that one of his guests is gluten intolerant, so I need to see if she can handle that." I stand, heading to my desk.

"Won't you need your computer?" Lux asks, peeking out of the kitchen.

"Yes. Yes I will." I'm so shaken, I can barely think straight.

She places it on my desk. "Hey, you okay? You look really pale."

"I'm fine. A little light-headed. I ate some leftover Chinese last night that might have been in the fridge too long."

She's not buying it, but Lux isn't one to push. "If you need any help, just holler."

Help? I'm way beyond that.

"Hey, sis," Noah calls from the door. "You got a delivery."

I'm still reworking a final total for a party request we just got on the internet, so any break from that is welcome. But when I meet Noah in the hall, I can't even see his face over the wildflowers in every color you can imagine. The blooms are artfully displayed in an elegant glass vase.

"Who's it from?" Noah inquires as I take the bouquet from him.

"Oh, who knows?" I turn my back so he can't see my flushed cheeks, and I take them back to my desk. I don't see a card, but I finally find it after maneuvering some of the flowers around. I snag the card and stuff it in my jeans, then return to the numbers I was crunching.

"You seriously don't know who sent you one of the most gorgeous flower displays I've ever seen?" Noah leans against his desk, his deep blue eyes seeing right through me.

I heave a sigh, hoping for once my dramatic skills will work. "It's from Ian Crane. He's thrilled with the plans for his party, and he probably wants to show his appreciation."

Noah narrows his eyes, his head cocked. "Really? So he sends a ridiculously expensive gift designed for a woman?"

My gaze is glued to my computer screen, as though these numbers are absorbing. "Who knows what he was thinking? Weren't you and Lux just telling me earlier what a ladies' man he is? Probably thinks I'll give him a discount if he's charming."

When Noah doesn't respond, I don't dare look up. Noah's many things, but he's never quiet when he suspects something is amiss. I hear him move around the room, go to the kitchen, then return.

"So your meeting with Crane last night...you said he likes our plans and everything?"

"Mm-hmm," I intone while trying to remember what I was adding together. Was it the cost of the dessert selection or the live band?

"What time did you leave his place?"

I swallow hard before turning to face him, forcing my guilt into an accusation. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He gives me his knowing stare, the one he pulls with women all the time. He may be my brother, but even I have to admit, he's got all the right parts in all the right places. So when he turns on the wicked charm that gets him just about anything he wants in life, it's impressive. "It means, sister darling, what time did you leave Crane's house? I tried to call you last night, as we ran into Mark and Jamie." Mark and Jamie were our housemates our junior year of college. "I thought you might like to come join us for a drink, but you didn't answer. And I know you weren't in bed. At least, not in your bed."

Of course, he's my brother, so I'm immune to his "tell me the truth" stare. Mostly. "I had my ringer turned off because I. Met. With. A. Client." I punctuate each word as though he might miss the point. "I haven't even checked my phone yet this morning. Believe me when I say Ian Crane clearly snags women because of his looks, because his personality is bland and uninteresting." I bury my nose in my coffee mug so he can't see the lie in my eyes. After a sip, I continue. "When I left Ian Crane's, I was exhausted, so I came home and went to sleep. Given what time you got in this morning, which I know because you woke me up with your drunken stumbling, I don't want to hear it."

A small, shit-eating grin plays over his lips. "My sister is keeping secrets. I'd bet on it. And while I know an asshat like Ian Crane would never grab your attention, I think someone did. And you aren't telling me about him for some reason. What might it be?"

Because I don't want this topic to continue, I don't ask him what makes Ian Crane an asshat, but I can't help wondering when Noah finally lets up and sits behind his desk. After a few minutes, he turns back to me. "You're keeping something from me, Ells. I know it. And I'm going to figure it out. But I sort of like this, though."

Now it's my turn to give him the stare designed to illicit confessions. "Why's that? And you know I tell you everything."

Liar, liar, pants on fire...

He sighs, then rolls his chair over to mine, taking my always-cold hands in his intensely warm ones. "Because you haven't had any fun in a long time, Ells. I tease and give you a hard time about not going out, but don't think I've forgotten why. And I know shit like that takes time to get over. But it's been years, and it's time. So if you're keeping some hot guy a secret from me because...well, I don't know why. Maybe you just want to have him to yourself for a while longer—I don't care. I just want you to be happy."

Damn him for being my awesome brother. My eyes mist up a bit, and I kiss his knuckles because he always knows what to say. "Thank you. And I promise, if I'm hiding anything, it's only because I need to figure things out in my head before I share them with you. Not because I don't trust you."

"I know that. You don't have to say it." He releases my hands and glides over to his desk, but then he looks back. "But I'm going to figure it out. Just because it's what we do—we figure out the culprit." He lets out a maniacal laugh, proving he's forever the actor in the family.

I shake my head and get back to work.
chapter 5

keeping secrets

My brother would never be caught dead in the house on a Friday night. So when we don't have a party scheduled on a Friday evening, he's hitting the bars. What drives him to be such a social butterfly and somewhat conscientious womanizer? I've got my suspicions, but I swear I got the introversion trait, and he the extroversion. It's never too late, too loud, or too crowded, and he thrives on the energy. As for the women...the only thing I can figure is that something broke in him when we were kids. Whether it was our grandparents, who were distant and strict, or the teasing we took as kids because he was into theater and I was a brainiac, I don't know. He's been that way for a long time. He's always straightforward and honest with women, as far as I can tell. And he's never been tied down by one for long.

I, on the other hand, have a new romantic thriller waiting for me by the couch, and once Noah heads out, this time sans Lux as she's got a client tonight, I head to my room to change into my pajamas. When my pants crinkle as I shuck them off, I'm reminded of Ian's flowers. I never got a chance to read the note. Between attending the marketing luncheon, two meet-and-greets, and Noah being around the whole day, it slipped my mind.

I dig out the envelope, flattening it against my thigh before ripping it open.

Dear Ella,

Last night was incredible. I'm sure my birthday will be as well, as your plans for my party look divine. I'd love for tonight to be just as memorable. I'll be waiting to hear from you.

Ian

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Dear God, the man is yummy. And charming. What if he does this with all the women he sleeps with? The man was with Mia Tratori, for Christ's sake. She was on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition last year—I only know that because of Noah's insistence on buying that issue. Not to mention, how many other hot, famous women was he with? Why on earth would he be interested in me?

Not to mention, Noah thinks he's such a jerk. Of course, he's basing his opinion solely on the media's depiction of Ian and his connection to Mick Jeffries.

Last night, though...I can feel my nerves trembling with excitement at the thought.

Bad idea. Totally bad idea. He's a client. I really shouldn't...

I already have his number, but he left it on the bottom of his note, so I dial it with shaking fingers.

"Ella?"

"Hi. Sorry. I just got your note. I mean, I got the flowers earlier, but I didn't see...the note." God, I sound like an idiot.

"It's fine. I thought...well, I worried I might have scared you off." His voice, deep and silky, sounds relieved.

I fight a smile. "Thanks for the flowers. They're beautiful."

He waits a moment, then says, "Can I see you? Just for coffee, if you want. Or dinner."

He sounds almost as nervous as I feel. "I—" What had I expected? Of course he's going to assume that I want to meet him. You called him, you dolt! "I can meet you...I just have to get dressed."

"I can come to you, if you'd like. I don't mind."

Stomach officially residing in toes. "You don't have to come all the way out here."

He doesn't respond right away. Then he says, "Well, technically, I'm already here. I've been with a client for the last two hours, and his place isn't far from yours." His embarrassment seeps across the line. "I might have been hanging out at a bar down the street, hoping you would call."

My heart embraces turbo power and thumps wildly. "Oh. Well. You know my address."

"I do."

He's at the door within minutes, ensuring I barely have enough time to brush my teeth. So electric blue, fuzzy sleep pants and long sleeve, bunny-covered fleece it is. Do I know how to do sexy, or what?

Ian, on the other hand, is divine. He's in a suit, black with a faint pinstripe. He's removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, so a hint of his collarbones peeks out. I'd forgotten how tall he is, and when he steps inside, I feel very small beside him.

"Hi," I say softly.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches for me, his mouth crushing mine as he lifts me nearly off my feet. His hands slip beneath my pajamas, one caressing the bare expanse of my back, while the other slides lower to grip the curve of my ass. His tongue finds mine, and I grip his hair, holding him so I can return his fervor.

"I'm assuming you have a couch or a bed," he whispers as he trails a path down my neck, his hand pulling aside the collar of my fleece so he has access to my shoulder.

"Both," I whisper, eyes closing and head falling back, as he blazes heat across my skin.

"I vote for whatever's closest." His mouth tickles the top of my breast.

We manage to make it to the couch, and he throws off his suit jacket before sitting and pulling me down on top of him. The fleece bunnies end up on the floor, his mouth suckling my nipple so hard, I nearly cry out. But the pressure only amps my desire, and my panties are already soaked. He switches breasts, teeth nipping and scraping the pebbled tip. I'm unable to make a sound, so lost in sensation that I can only hold onto him as fire licks across my senses. When his hand slips into my pants, between my legs, just a touch sends me over the edge. I grip his shoulders as the world spins out of control, my cries echoing in my ears as he doesn't let up, stroking me until I can barely sit upright, and yet I'm still quaking.

He removes his fingers when I'm finally spent, tasting them while meeting my gaze. "You are delicious," he says, his voice low and sexy. "And that's nowhere near enough." He helps me to my feet so he can remove my pants—and fuzzy slippers—along with my underwear. He stares at me as though I'm water in an arid dessert, and I lay my hands on his shoulders, enjoying his strength as he draws me to him. His knee separates my legs, his fingers venturing between my folds, and when he slips two fingers inside of me, I clutch him for balance.

"Do you like that, Ella?"

I can barely focus, much less form words, so I nod.

"Tell me, sweetheart. I want to hear you say it." His fingers press against a sensitive spot, making my knees buckle, but his hand braces me. "Tell me, Ella, do you like this?"

"Y-yes," I say, helpless against a whimper as he eases another finger inside me.

He fucks me with his hand, his thumb teasing my clit, until I can't stand upright. When he eases me down onto the couch, he kneels before me, his hands running over my body. "So beautiful, Ella. You are stunning."

I feel drunk, bleary-eyed, as I meet his gaze. I can't even be self-conscious in my orgasmic haze. When his fingers return, I buck hard against them, loving the fullness but wanting his mouth on me. He toys with me, rubbing my sensitive nub until I'm almost coming, before removing the pressure, only to let it build once again.

"What do you want, Ella? What can I do for you?"

I've never been talked to during sex. Certainly never asked questions. It's always been fun and intense, but never like this. The idea of saying what I want intimidates me, so I keep my eyes closed, hoping he'll take the hint. But he doesn't.

"Ella, I'd love to know what you want. What you'd like me to do to you. I can wait, if you need time to decide."

He removes his hands from me, and I want to moan in disappointment. When I don't feel him for long moments, I'm forced to open my eyes. He's got a small smile on his face, as though he knows I'm struggling with answering him.

Stroking the inside of my thigh, he lowers his gaze between my legs before looking back at me. "Is there something you'd like me to do?"

I groan and close my eyes. "Please." I shove the word out between stiff lips.

His thumb inches up my leg. "Please what?"

I throw my arm over my eyes, too embarrassed to answer. Why can't I say what I want? What is so awful about it? But as he teases my skin, never getting close enough to where I want him, I'm left with no choice.

"Your mouth," I whisper.

"Mm-hmm." I can feel his breath on my sensitive skin as his hands press my thighs wider. "What about it?"

He's going to make me say it. Goddamn it. I wriggle my hips, fighting actually getting the words out. How is it I'm a writer, but I can't use the very tool of my craft to get what I want? Achingly slow moments pass before I finally say it. "I want your mouth on me." I say the words on a breath. Then add, "Please."

"I can definitely do that." And then his tongue finds my center, swirling over the tiny bud, and he has to hold my hips to keep me still. He laves the tender flesh, his fingers working inside of me, over and over again until I'm senseless with desire.

When I'm barely able to handle any more, he undresses and dons a condom, his powerful arms lifting me up so he can take my place. Then I sink down onto him, amazed again at his erection and how stretched I feel as he guides himself inside. I'm so aroused, his entry sends little tingles of orgasm through my body. He caresses my face as I shudder, unable to do anything but close my eyes and be in the moment.

"You are so incredibly beautiful, Ella," he says as his mouth closes over mine, the intimacy of the moment stealing whatever breath I had left. He directs my hips, his fingers gripping. At first, I rock slowly, enjoying his expressions for a change as I focus on squeezing him with my muscles. Soon I have no control left, though, and I ride him hard, feeling his cock grow even more inside me as he nears his own climax. His hand slips between us, teasing my clit as he crests, and I join him as the light explodes over us.

We end up in my bed, if only because I don't want Noah to find us if for some reason he comes home early. Ian runs a hand over my curves, his palm stopping to tease my nipple. The light touch vacillates between tickling and arousing, and I can't hold back my smile.

"You are a joy to watch." He's propped on his side, looking down at me.

I open one eye. "Why's that?"

"Everything you feel shows on your face." He pinches my nipple, earning a yelp from me.

I glare at him. "That would make anyone jump."

"Maybe. But you are especially expressive."

With a groan, I cover my eyes with my arm. "Noah says I can't hide anything."

"He's right." He resumes his exploration of my skin, skimming his hand over my stomach, then down my thigh. "When you're ticklish, you can't help smiling." He traces a light circle on the inside of my hip, making me shriek in laughter.

"Which anyone would do!" I squeal as he takes the same light touch against my side.

"True." He presses me flat to the mattress again. "But when you like something, there's a little smile that shows up, right at the corner of your mouth, just on the right side..." His fingers trail between my legs, teasing the outside of my lips. "There it is."

I don't even care because right at the moment, the nerves I thought were done for the night are sparking back to life.

"And when I do this," he spreads his fingers, separating my folds, and bumps his thumb against my clit, "Ah, there's the head tilt and that little sigh I find intriguing."

"God," I breathe as he does it again, slipping against me as my hips rock against his hand.

"Hm, yes, that little sound I particularly like, too." He eases his fingers in as though knowing my flesh is a bit tender from earlier, and I can't help but follow his gentle rhythm.

I reach for him, pulling him down so I can lose myself in his mouth.

"I want you." I say the words quietly, between kisses, and he immediately stills.

"Are you sure? You seemed a little sensitive."

"I don't care. I need to feel you." Barely audible, I can see the effect my words have on him as he pauses, meeting my gaze with an expression I don't understand.

"I don't have another condom—"

"Second drawer of the nightstand to your right." While I may not have much of a sex life, I do try to be prepared.

He grins, then vaults off the bed to dig one out. His cock, hard and thick, makes me even hungrier for him, and when he settles beside me again, I crawl on top of him, wasting no time. But he's right, I am really sensitive, and I lower myself with exquisite slowness.

"I don't know if I can move," I say with a bit of wonder. I literally feel like I've been speared in two, but in every good way, and I may burst from the feeling of it if I shift an inch.

"Then don't. I like looking at you on my cock, Ella. You feel hot and tight inside, so all I need to do is..." He uses a finger to torture a nipple, no doubt enjoying the way my head drops back. Every touch seems to quadruple in intensity, and by the time he's finished with my breasts, I can't help tilting my hips, glorying in the discomfort and pleasure tangled together.

I drop my hands on either side of his head, holding myself over him. "Fuck me, Ian. Please."

And he does. I find myself on my back, his strokes slow, but at my urging, harder, until my cries are hoarse and my orgasm mind-numbing, but still he continues, driving me higher and higher until the world becomes a bright, shining light, and I don't know whether I'm whole or fractured apart.
chapter 6

it's elementary, my dear noah

I don't know the last time I slept so well. If I dreamed, I don't remember it. I wake to an arm snaking around me, securing me against a warm body.

"Good morning."

His velvet voice makes my toes curl. "Mm." I relax against him, enjoying his warmth. His finger makes lazy circles around my nipple, and I turn my head as he leans down to kiss me.

"Can I talk you into some morning sex?"

I chuckle softly. "Depends on how much talking you do."

He takes the hint.

Afterwards, we're spooned together in my bed, enjoying the silence. His fingers interlock with mine, and he's anchored me against him. What is this crazy emotional elation and hormonal overload that I'm experiencing? I know it's not love—it's way too soon for that. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

"As much as I want to stay here with you, I regretfully have a client appointment in a few hours. And I need to run home and change." He drops a kiss on my shoulder, holding me tightly before shifting to get up.

I'm mildly alarmed that my brother might see him when he heads downstairs, but it's barely eight in the morning. There's no way Noah will stir before noon. At the door, Ian kisses me, slow and soft, and I melt yet again.

"You are turning into a habit, Ms. Storm," Ian whispers against my mouth. "A very lovely habit."

I laugh when he releases me, then pull him back into me, exploring his mouth with my own. "Hm. Well, there are worse habits I suppose."

After he leaves, I manage a shower, and my stomach flutters every time I think about Ian's smile and the feel of his skin. Holy shit. What is happening to me?

"You are entirely too sunshine-y happy this morning. Who pooped rainbows in your coffee?" Noah grumbles as I hand him a mug.

I can't suppress a grin at his comment—it's something our mother used to say. "Nothing. I'm just feeling productive today. I finished all of our receivables this morning and scheduled two more meet-and-greets. You, my darling brother, are Mr. Lazy Bones."

He frowns into his coffee. "It was a crazy night."

I stare at him, daring him to meet my gaze. "Uh-huh. Why's that?"

He doesn't look up—it's our usual game. I play mother, and he gets to imitate a dejected college kid. "I hung out with Mark and Jamie. Damn, they haven't slowed down a bit. I swear, Jamie can drink any man under the table."

"Mm. Always could. Tell me you didn't try to keep up with her." I love my brother, but his drinking and bad boy behavior do wear thin after a while.

"God no. I'm smarter than that. But she's...something. And I definitely had too much. I vaguely remember going home with someone—a brunette, I think. Phenomenal ass, I'm pretty sure. But then I woke up here, so I'm not sure how all of that happened."

"Noah—"

He holds up a hand. "I don't need the lecture. I'll be more careful the next time."

If there is one person who fires me up within seconds, it's Noah. "Don't you dare act impatient with me. Did you use protection last night? Do you know where you were?" I could wring his neck, I'm so mad. "This is dangerous."

"I know," he answers softly, his voice rasping with exhaustion. "It was stupid, Ella. I'm not arguing."

"Then what are you doing? Why does there even need to be a next time? Why can't you just have some fun with people without getting so drunk you can't remember your own name?"

And as Noah always does, he makes me feel horrible for yelling at him. "I know, Ells. Believe me. I know I shouldn't have done it. I won't do it again."

"And I've heard that somewhere before. Oh, right, the last time you did this. What is wrong with you? We have everything we've ever said we wanted: a good business, financial stability, and lives we get to determine. Why are you trying to screw it up?"

He doesn't say anything. After a few beats, he shuffles out of the room. I hear the creaking of his desk chair as he sits. I want to follow him and lay into him more, but I root myself to the spot. My cheeks are flaming, my heart pounding, and my rage, which is usually pretty wrapped, could boil over at any moment.

I barely catch his next words, might have missed them if I'd made a noise. "We have what you wanted, Ella."

I'm pretty sure the echo of my grinding teeth can be heard in the grave silence that follows. Between deep breaths, I remind myself that he's my brother and I love him. Mostly so I don't round the corner and throttle him. After biting my lip so hard I can taste blood, I take a few steps to the edge of the kitchen. He's curled over, his elbows balanced on his knees, his mug held between pale, long fingers.

"That's not fair, Noah. We both wanted this. We sat down, we drew out a business plan, we made decisions and investments based on our shared goals. I didn't imagine all of that." I keep my voice low, controlled.

He draws in a ragged breath before exhaling. "I know. And I know you stayed in the city for me." He finally looks up, meets my eyes. "We both made choices to make each other happy, because no one else ever did that for us since Mom and Dad." He looks down at his hand, the silver band on his middle finger our father's wedding ring, just as I wear our mother's. "I wanted to take theater, Ella, in college. That's what I wanted to major in. But a business degree was more stable. So that's what I did. You wanted to write, and you are a magnificent writer. So this business...it made sense, too. And it let me act, which I thought would be enough." His eyes shine like mirrors, and I swear, I can see my heart breaking in them. "But it's not what I wanted. Not really. And it's my fault for agreeing to this. But I can't help wanting more. You ask me why I go out all the time? Why I get so shit-faced, I can't remember what happened? Because I live in a city of actors and artists, of people going after their dreams, and I sit behind a desk most days and put together numbers, and organize schedules, and bullshit with vendors to get the best prices."

The lump in my throat forbids any response from me, but I can't look away from him. To his credit, he flinches a bit, as though doing so since I can't. "I'm not ungrateful. I appreciate everything we have. I wouldn't change what we've done. But there's still a kid inside me that wants nothing more than to be on stage. And right now, even though I know it's unfair to you and what we've agreed to, I want nothing more than to quit and go after my dream. But I can't do that—I won't do that. And none of this is your fault. I'm not blaming you."

I swallow hard, tears burning my eyes. "Why didn't you ever say anything? Why didn't you—" I break off, emotion choking my words.

"Ells, look at me." He stands, but seems to question whether comforting me would be the right move. So he leans back against the desk instead. "You have been mom and dad to me since the day our parents died. You were there when our grandparents couldn't be bothered to show up. Always. You were there." His eyes are glassy too, and not just from the misery of his hangover. "I will never forget standing on stage my junior year, looking out in the audience, knowing that you were there, alone, just for me. No one else came. Just you.

"Do you really think I would walk away from something that could give you everything you've ever wanted? Elementary was a great idea, but it wasn't mine. I know you think it was, because I mentioned it one time as a 'hey, wouldn't this be cool' idea. But you're the one who latched onto it and started making plans. This is what you love. And the adult in me doesn't regret any of it. This has been amazing, and most days, I love what we do."

The silence draws barriers between us, but I dare to cross them anyway. "But you still want to act. On the big stage. Not just living rooms."

He sucks on his lower lip a moment. "Yeah, I do. And I know I'm good enough. Maybe not for Broadway or movies or anything. But I could do smaller stages, and I could definitely try for a traveling gig." There's a bit of dawn in his eyes, a glimmer in the shadows that lurk. Then it's snuffed out. "But I won't. Because we do this together. And Elementary's growing like crazy."

"And you hate it."

"No, I don't." He digs his hands into his pockets, his dark hair falling over his face.

Normally, I'd tease him about needing a haircut, and it occurs to me that I've been more mom to him than sister and business partner. For better or worse, that was my role. And maybe...just maybe, I've played it for too long.

"I don't hate what we do. I'm struggling because the dream I had as a child is dying. I'm committed to this, and now that it's really taking off, the likelihood of me ever doing anything more with acting is waning. And in some ways, that's fine. I think I'm good, but who knows? Maybe I'm crap." He holds up a hand when I try to interject. "I know—I get told all the time that I'm amazing. I know. I already know what you're going to say," his gaze holds a spark of mirth, "'down the road, anything could happen.' And you're right. But the more successful Elementary gets, the more my dreams get crowded out. And I need to figure out a way to reframe my thinking perhaps, rather than avoid it by partying too hard."

I'm not sure what to say. So I just nod my head and step away quietly, seeking the refuge of walls so I can release the emotion I don't want him to see.

It's an hour or more later when a knock vibrates my bedroom door.

"Since when do you knock?" I try for a playful tone, but fail. Not that it matters—Noah pushes the door open and slumps against the jamb.

"You going to spend the day in here?"

I look away, back down at the gift I made for Noah for his senior year.

He joins me on the bed and peers over my shoulder. "What's this?"

"The scrapbook I made for you during your senior year of high school."

He bumps his head with mine, then drops his chin on my shoulder. "I never saw this." He reaches for a page, turning to yet another layout of photos. He stars in every one, from the age of six months to eighteen.

"I didn't give it to you. I chickened out and bought you that leather jacket you wanted instead." I tap a photo with a fingernail. "This was when you were summer stock, that summer that Grandpap got the job at the paper mill and would truck you along with him. Do you remember that?"

He snorts. "Um, yeah. It was the first and only time I saw a girl naked until I turned sixteen."

"What? How did that happen?"

He shakes his head, his whiskers tickling my neck. "About the way you'd expect between two twelve year olds. A game of truth or dare gone very wrong—well, wrong for one of us."

"The secrets you've kept from me," I say with mock indignity, but the truth behind the words sucks the humor out.

He slips his arms around me, and I turn, nestling my forehead against his neck so I can hear the strong, steady thrum of his heartbeat. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you give me that book?"

I jab him in the ribs with a finger, and he twitches. "You first."

"Because as much as I've wanted to do other things, you know as well as I do, I don't regulate myself very well. You've always saved me, Ells. And I think—beneath all the angst and ridiculousness that goes on in my head—I know that."

"I don't want you to be unhappy, Noah. Maybe we could find someone to replace you in the office? In a few months, we should be able to bring on someone part-time."

He squeezes me tightly. "No. I may be struggling with accepting being an adult. But it doesn't mean I don't need to step up and act like one. Now, your turn. Why haven't I ever seen this book?"

I inhale him, the familiar scent of laundry detergent and Noah settling my nerves. While the boy that was always shorter than me is long gone, the heart of him remains. "Because I made this book thinking that it would be a memory piece, you know? A way to document everything you'd done. But I realized, even when I was nineteen and still stupid, that it was a gift that I would want, but not something you would have valued at the time. The leather jacket, on the other hand—"

He releases me and chuckles. "That jacket saw a lot of action. Remember that redhead our freshman year—"

I clap my hand over his mouth. "I don't want to know."

He grins behind my hand, his gaze devilish.

"Nonetheless," I say as I drop my hand cautiously, "that's what you wanted. Not a time capsule made by an amateur scrapbooker."

"I think it's sweet. But you're right. I probably wouldn't have appreciated it then." He reaches behind me and flips the album closed. "Can I hang onto it now? I'm sure there's some photos in there I haven't seen.

"And definitely some you won't want to show a woman until the third or fourth date." I pause. "Not that there's any risk of that with you."

He makes a face at me, then stands and picks up the book. "You never know." He checks his phone for the time. "I'm going to grab a haircut before we have to get packed up for tonight, okay? Be back in an hour."

He's at the door before I finally speak up. "Noah, wait." I push up from the bed, so I can look in his eyes when he responds to me. "I don't want you to feel trapped. If this is just about what I want, and you don't really want to be a part of Elementary, I can find someone to do your work. Seriously. It's not worth you being unhappy."

He faces me, his gaze clear. "I'm part of this, Ella. We've both put in crazy hours and given up pieces of our lives to make this successful. And while spreadsheets and business plans might not have been my first choice for a career, I'm good at them, and when I'm in the zone, I love doing it. Just let me deal with whatever it is that has me in a funk. And I promise you: no more blackouts or crazy drinking."

I nod. It's the truth, at least as far as he can see it right now. Whether it will be enough over time...I don't know.
chapter 7

getaway

The party goes on much longer than intended, but the results are astounding. Two people ask for business cards and schedule meet-and-greets with us to go over our event options, and Noah is, of course, complimented over and over again for his role. All of the actors are, but Noah's performance is of the highest caliber. Maybe I'm only noticing because of our conversation earlier, but he really is amazing. His timing, the small nuances of emotion he adds to both serious and funny moments, his ease of covering small flubs on occasion. The man can improv like no one I've ever seen.

I'm quiet on the way home, and when my phone buzzes with a text message, Noah glances at me from the driver's seat of our van. "Mystery man or wrong number? Who might it be, dear sister?"

I stick my tongue out at him but don't look. "Clearly a wrong number because no one who knows me would message me this late at night."

We drop the actors off at their subway stop, then make our way home. The upside to Brooklyn is that street parking is often free; the downside is that makes the spots highly competitive, so Noah lets me out at our door. While he circles the block, I slip inside our apartment to check my phone in private.

I couldn't stop thinking about you all day. And I already miss that little sigh you make when I'm inside you.

Despite the heat rising in my face, my insides melt. And I do something I've never done before: I sext.

Hm. Well, your cock was a lovely surprise this morning.

If my cheeks weren't already flaming from his message, they would be now.

Any chance I can offer a repeat performance tomorrow? Surely last night deserves an encore.

I bite the inside of my lip, start to respond, but then shove my phone in the bowl of apples on the table when Noah comes in the door. I pretend as though I've been cleaning up in the kitchen.

"I'm going to bed—I'm beat."

"I bet," I say nonchalantly. "You were great tonight. Really."

He grins, his handsome face haggard with exhaustion. "Thanks. I have my moments." But the topic is too sensitive to feel comfortable, and he disappears upstairs.

I dig my phone out of the fruit bowl.

What were you thinking?

It's seconds before he responds.

What if I picked you up in the morning and surprised you with our destination? Would you be able to stay overnight?

I snort. Who wouldn't want to be whisked away to a mysterious location for hot sex? Of course, there is a tiny voice in my head that reminds me that I don't know Ian all that well. But I ignore it in favor of my sex drive, which seems to be in overdrive the last few days.

I could probably arrange that. What time?

Ian shows up in a small Audi, shiny and dark. It's long before my brother will be awake, so I take the moment to enjoy our kiss on the sidewalk, the feel of Ian's strong arms around me enough to make me want to drag him into the house and tackle him on the couch. But the supple leather and seat heaters beckon, and I'm toasty as we head out of the city.

"Do I get to know where we're going?"

He flashes me a smile. "When we get there." He reaches over and takes my hand, our fingers meshing easily.

I can't get over how natural this feels. I don't think I've ever felt this way with anyone so quickly. And I keep reminding myself, I don't really know him. And what about his illustrious reputation in the gossip news about being a playboy? I'm pretty sure it's Mick Jeffries who's the player, but if we're known by our friends...

"So tell me about you."

I chuckle. "I was about to ask the same question."

"We have an hour. You first."

I wore leggings and a long tunic sweater, and the warmth of the leather seeps into my thighs. "I think I've told you everything." I ponder for a moment. "I love cupcakes, but I don't like cake."

He laughs and squeezes my fingers. "That's definitely important to know."

"Your turn. One thing you love, and one thing you don't."

He ponders, then answers. "Early mornings, and alarms. I love the sunrise, but I hate the abominable beeping of my clock." He mock shivers.

I nod in agreement. "One of my favorite things to get rid of when Noah and I started doing Elementary full-time."

"I'm very jealous."

"I love coffee, but I hate sweet creamers."

His grin turns bashful. "Glad I didn't add any to your coffee on Thursday evening."

"Let me guess: you love it?"

"Yep. The sweeter, the better."

"Ew! That's it. Take me home. I can't date you," I tease, crossing my arms.

He laughs but taps my knee with a finger. "Let's see if you can make sense out of this one: I love horses—my stepfather has a small horse farm—but I've never been on one."

"Scared?"

"Cautious. And to be fair, I was in every sport I could be growing up so there wasn't much time. He's determined that I'll ride one of his, but I've managed to evade his offers thus far."

I grin and pat his hand with my free one. "I promise: it's not that scary. I practically grew up on horseback."

"Really?"

"Yep. I, like many other little girls, wanted my very own horse. So I took lessons for years, then worked at the farm in exchange for riding time when I was a teenager and we couldn't afford lessons anymore."

He's quiet for a few moments. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Of course."

"I get the impression that after your parents passed away, you and your brother didn't have much else beyond each other. I might have just interpreted it that way—"

"No, you're right." I stare out the window as the highway rushes by, feeling like a vacuum is sucking the pleasure out of the air. "We didn't, really. My mother's parents filed for custody of us, rather than letting us go to our godparents, which had been our parents' wishes. Blood is thicker than water in the courts, and our grandparents won." I chew my lip for a moment before continuing. "They aren't bad people, and it's not like we were abused. But our mom didn't want us with them because, just as they were with her, they aren't loving people. They made sure we had clothes and food, but Noah and I shared their basement. Anything we wanted, we had to earn the money for and buy. And on one hand, that's a good lesson for kids. But there was no affection towards us, ever. To this day, we don't hear from them unless something is wrong, and even then...if we don't contact them, it's rare that they'll reach out. And we get blamed for not being more attentive every time we do try to talk to them."

He doesn't interrupt, and I continue after a breath. "Our parents weren't perfect—they argued a lot, in large part because they were both hot-headed, passionate people. Our mom was an art teacher at a community college, and our father was in marketing as a graphic designer. The two of them could go at it for hours." I shake my head at a particularly intense memory. "But they loved us, and each other, and even when they did argue, it was more...I don't know, more focused on the issue they disagreed over. Never about each other. They took us to see our grandparents on holidays only, and even then, it was for short visits. My mother hated going to see them." I shake my head to clear it. "Anyway, they weren't awful, and we weren't horribly damaged from it. But they weren't great, either, and I sound ungrateful when I say that."

He releases my hand and lays his palm on my knee. "No, you don't. It's honest, and you are, perhaps, a bit fairer than you should be. I have a friend—Casey—who had parents like that. They were in the same social circles as my own, but for some reason, they always thought throwing money at him would substitute for affection. And as he could tell you, it doesn't."

Something in his tone suggests it didn't end well. "What happened to him?"

"He tried taking his life twice when we were in high school, so he actually moved in with my family for a while. But for Casey, it's never enough. He made another attempt in college."

"Oh my God, I'm sorry." I trace his knuckles, wishing I could say something more comforting, but lacking the words.

He lifts a shoulder. "He's better now. Most days, at least. And he's a good guy—most days at least—no thanks to his parents."

We don't say anything for a few minutes, and then he speaks. "I love yogurt, but I hate it frozen."

His return to our game brings a smile to my face. "Frozen yogurt is a total cop out. Ice cream all the way."

We're nearing our destination when the road signs start to give him away.

"Connecticut, eh?"

He grins. "My aunt recently opened a bed and breakfast in downtown Greenwich, and I thought it might make for a nice night away." He waits a beat and then admits, "Plus, it's the only place I could get last minute reservations."

"Is this the aunt from Italy?" I ask as we take the next exit.

"No, that's my dad's sister. This is Aunt Ray, my mom's sister."

And when we pull up to a large Victorian home, a couple of streets back from South Beach Avenue, my breath catches. Though winter's barren landscape washes out the massive white facade, the beauty of the old architecture shines through.

"Holy buckets, this place is incredible."

He nods as he pulls into the small lot. "I thought you might like it."

When he opens my door, I step into his arms, enjoying the warmth of his mouth against the dire chill of the air. Then he retrieves our overnight bags from the trunk and takes my hand.

The interior is both quaint and luxurious, with period furniture that has been reupholstered with modern fabric and prints. I say as much to Ian.

"Aunt Rheanna wouldn't accept less. She's always had an eye for antiques, but to the annoyance of collectors, she likes to change things up and make them her own. My mother was thrilled when she finally decided to follow her dream and open this place. It's the perfect fit for her skills."

"Did Jesus finally send a good-looking man into my hotel?" A tall brunette glides towards us, her loose-fitting clothes and green, horn-rimmed glasses clue me in that it might be Rheanna. On a lesser woman, she might look a bit like a caricature. But his aunt has a way about her that is both elegant and confident.

"Hey, Aunt Ray." Ian hugs the woman, and she kisses his cheek, leaving behind lipstick.

"It's about time you got around to stopping in here." She steps back and sweeps her gaze over me. "And who is this lovely girl beside you?"

My cheeks heat with her compliment.

"Aunt Ray, this is Ella Storm," Ian introduces, slipping his arm around my waist.

She narrows her eyes at Ian. "Does your mama know about her, or are you keeping her a secret?" Her glance quickly moves to me. "I haven't heard about you meeting anyone, and this gorgeous woman I should have heard about."

I find it entertaining to watch Ian squirm. "Erm, well, not exactly. I haven't gotten around to—"

"We're still figuring things out for ourselves," I say smoothly, surprised at my ease. "But Ian's told me so much about his family. I feel like I know everyone already."

Rheanna seems mollified, but she's a sharp woman. I wonder how long before she has us confessing that we've only been...can you call this dating?...for a couple of days.

"You need some meat on your bones, my dear." She eyes her nephew's lithe form. "Let's get you to your room, and then you'll come join me for brunch." She gives Ian a look that brooks no argument, and I chuckle softly as we wait for our keys.

"Your aunt is something," I whisper when she's out of sight.

He shakes his head with a wry smile. "You have no idea. Growing up, whenever my parents were out of town, she took care of me. She's the best when it comes to creating pillow forts and coming up with unusual entertainment, but you don't want to cross her. She makes my mom look timid in comparison—and my mom's anything but."

Rheanna shows us to a stunning suite, resplendent with a four-poster bed and lush sitting area before a hearth, a fire already crackling and popping behind the grate.

"Make yourselves comfortable—food'll be out in about fifteen minutes." She fixes a ruffle on a curtain before making her way to the door. "And you better be prepared for a full update, Ian Crane. Don't think I've forgotten how long it's been since you called me."

He looks appropriately chastised, and she nods approvingly before snapping the door shut.

"Wow. What did you do?" I ask as I sink beside him on the king-size bed.

"Mom is vocal about her worry, and she'll call me nine times a day if she thinks something's wrong. But Aunt Ray is a bit more circumspect about her concern. And I had strict orders to keep in touch with her after..." He trails off, suddenly uncomfortable. "I was dating someone for a long time." He turns towards me, as though fighting the discomfort. "It didn't end well, and things were...well, I was pretty torn up over it." His eyes meet mine. "I went through a dark period for a while, and I didn't reach out. I got over it, but where my mom and aunt like to talk about their issues, I tend to stay quiet and work through it in my own way."

I nod and take his hand. "I know something about bad breakups." I offer a small smile. "They take their toll."

He squeezes my fingers. "Enough of that. We have a whole day to do what we wish. Have you ever been to Greenwich before?"

When I shake my head, he looks delighted. "Then we have a town to explore. Let's pacify Aunt Ray for a few minutes, and then we're off to see what we can get into."

I can't stop my grin from widening. "So you really did bring me here to do more than have sex?" While I'm mostly teasing, there's a part of me that isn't sure what we're doing, and while I want to be okay with that, it's not my usual M.O.

He stands and draws me into his arms. "I intend to take full advantage of this room tonight." His lips make a path from my lips to my neck. "But I'd like to get to know you a little better out of the bedroom, as well, if that's okay?"

Pleasure washes over me like a fresh spring rain. "Sounds perfect," I say as we link fingers and head downstairs.
chapter 8

facebook official

After a quick snack with his aunt, who's thankfully busy with the brunch crowd and only has a few minutes to spend with us, we wander Greenwich, finding little shops and the memorable spots small towns are known for. He takes my hand whenever he has an opportunity, and I find it natural to lean into him for a kiss. We walk quickly to keep warm, but despite the sharp chill, it's one of the best days I've had in a while.

It's long past the dinner hour when we finally return to the bed and breakfast for a late meal.

"I'm pretty sure we walked five miles," I say as I pop another butter-laden bite of a crusty roll in my mouth.

Ian nods in agreement. "We didn't miss much. Do you like the area?"

"Very much so. It's beautiful. Did your aunt live here before she opened this place?"

"Nope," he says before sipping his wine. "She and my mom are originally from Maine, actually. Portland area. But one year for a family vacation, we stayed here for a week. My aunt fell in love with it, and all she's talked about since then was buying a place here. When she and my uncle split up, she took the profits from their house and bought this place."

"I'm sorry to hear that it came at the expense of her marriage."

He shrugs. "Well, for most people, it would be a sad story. But they're pretty amicable. I think they just grew apart. They never had kids, so they could have just gone their separate ways. But we all hang out as a family on the holidays."

"That's amazing. I admire that." I glance over at Rheanna, who's talking animatedly to another table. "You're lucky to have such a close family."

He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. "I am. And I have to remember not to take that for granted."

The topic hits home hard, and my stomach roils. I need some space, so I excuse myself to use the restroom. It's a luxurious suite with a small rest area off the side. As I wash my hands, I stare at myself in the mirror. My dark hair has come loose from its ponytail, hanging down in messy ringlets around my face. My cheeks are still pink from the wind, my lips bright red, and to the world, I might look like a woman away for a romantic weekend. But inside, I feel like I'm playing a part—and while Noah loves doing that, I hate it.

I want to be okay with this—dashing away for a weekend with a new lover, hiding away in this coastal town—but it's the antithesis of who I am, and I feel like a fake.

I don't know how long I've been here, staring at myself with warm water running over my hands, when someone comes in.

Rheanna appears at my elbow. "Ian sent me to check on you. Is everything okay?"

Embarrassed, I shut off the water. "Sorry — I wasn't feeling all that well. Then I sat down on the chair, and I must have dozed off." When did I become such an easy liar?

Worry creases her brow. "You two did have a long day. He was just telling me about it. Can I get you anything?" She lays a hand against my forehead. "You feel a little warm."

I haven't been mothered in a long time, and while I don't know this woman, it feels...good. "I'll be fine." I aim for a smile, though I'm not sure I make it. "I might have overdone it today."

"Let me get some tea for you, and I'll send over some of Bets's home-made crackers and soup. Fix you right up."

Her concern warms me, and I manage a grin. "Thanks. That sounds perfect."

We're not quite in the dining room when she touches my shoulder. "Seeing you with my nephew does my heart good. He's had a rough year or so. The way he looks at you...well, I know the look of a smitten man."

I fight to keep my expression neutral, though my brain is reeling with her words. Smitten? A rough year? She pats my arm and heads off to the kitchen. If I'd driven myself here, I might make a run for the car, but instead, I return to the table, where Ian looks relieved to see me.

"I was getting worried. You looked a bit pale earlier."

"Just felt a bit light-headed." And still do. But I paste a small smile on my face and toy with my spoon.

I can feel Ian's gaze on me, even though I can't quite look at him.

"Ella, what's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. I'm fine. Really."

"No, you're not. It's written all over your face." When I refuse to meet his gaze, he heaves a sigh. "Let's get out of here."

He signals one of the wait staff and requests our food be sent to our room. Then we leave, the warmth of his fingers on my back a light propulsion. All I keep hearing in my head are his aunt's words. I know the look of a smitten man... What does that mean? It's been four days. That's hardly enough time to be "smitten." Or is it?

The waiter follows us to our suite, deposits the food on the dresser, then disappears, the brief respite from my honesty going with him.

Ian turns to face me, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. "Ella, what is it? Something's bothering you."

I debate claiming illness, but while the lie springs to my lips, I know it's pointless. I can't hide my feelings. "I've had a great time today, Ian. Truly. But what are we doing? Your aunt thinks we're 'together,'" even saying that makes my face heat up, "and all it makes me think is that I don't do things like this, Ian. I'm...responsible, a slow mover. I don't go away overnight with a man I've just met." My hands are clammy, yet my skin is cold, so I move closer to the brisk fire, staring into its orange depths. "You live in an area where I can barely afford a sandwich. You have a career and a close family and celebrity friends. I've got a business that's not quite in the black, and I live in an apartment that could fit in your kitchen. Your aunt said you had a rough year. I don't even know you well enough to understand what she means." I lift my shoulders in defeat. "None of this resonates with the person I know myself to be. We're crossing all sorts of lines I don't usually tread." I swallow and risk a glance at him. "What are we doing?"

He meets my gaze from his stance by the door. "Do we have to define it?" he asks softly.

"I want to be the kind of woman that can say no to that question, but I'm not." I pick my fingernail, wishing for all the world that I was anyone but me at this moment. Why can't I just enjoy time with a hot guy? Why does it always have to mean something? "I need definitions, Ian. I need to know what's going on."

Nodding, he joins me by the fire. He lays his hands lightly on my shoulders, drawing me back against him. "I meant what I said earlier, Ella. I want to get to know you better. I'm not sure what happened the last few days, but it's been wonderful. And being with you...it feels good. But I can't lie and say I know the future. You're right: we don't know each other that well. All I can say is this: when I'm with you, the world feels a bit brighter, and all I can think about is sharing space with you." He runs his hands down my arms, sliding his fingers through mine. "What can I do to make you feel more comfortable?"

That's the problem: I don't know. I never realized how traditional my beliefs around dating and relationships are, but while Noah and Lux can hop in and out of bed with people, I can't do that. "Could we try dating? In the traditional sense, where you ask me out to dinner, and I worry about what to wear?"

He chuckles. "Sure. Is that going to be enough?"

While I can't answer his question, I appreciate that he asked. "Maybe?" I turn in his arms so I can face him. "This is out of my comfort zone, and I feel off-kilter. That doesn't mean I'm not enjoying myself—I am. But I guess I'm nervous."

"Then dinner and a movie it is." He drops a kiss on my forehead. "Tuesday night?"

I nod.

"Let's see." He kisses my nose. "Dinner and a play on, say, Wednesday night?"

I grin. "Sounds good."

He brushes his lips over my cheek. "Lunch on Thursday?"

"Sure," I say breathlessly as his mouth travels down my neck.

"You probably have something going on with Elementary on Friday and my party's on Saturday, so I'm thinking breakfast Sunday morning?" He slides my sweater over my head, then traces my collarbones with his fingers.

"That will probably work."

His hands cradle my jaw, and he kisses me, his tongue finding mine. Then he outlines my face with his fingers. "By next week, we can be Facebook official."

I laugh, a giddy thrill warming me, along with his adventurous hands as they massage my neck. "Of course. It doesn't really happen unless it's recorded on Facebook."

He pulls back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hm. Then I better get my camera out."

I squeal when he tickles my neck, and I back away from him, hands ready to fend off any more tickle attacks. "No, no, no. We don't have to be that official."

He rushes me, throwing me over his shoulder and depositing me on the bed gently. He tries to kiss my stomach, but I squirm away. He smiles down at me, then starts stripping out of his clothing. "You—don't move," he commands when I start to do the same. He unveils his body, watching me the whole time, and I can't help but appreciate the flat plane of his stomach, the hard muscles of his shoulders, and the sleek lines of his thighs. When he crawls onto the bed, he presses me back to the pillows, crushing my mouth to his.

Then he withdraws, looking into my eyes with a sober expression. "I should warn you: 'Facebook official' means something different in my world than it does in yours." He tucks a stray curl behind my ear. "When you're Mick Jeffries' best friend, you don't get a lot of privacy, especially when you haven't gone to much trouble to stay out of his spotlight." He shakes his head. "I had no idea what I was getting into when it all started—what, ten years ago now?—and it's a little late to change things. At least, until his star burns out, which probably won't happen for thirty or so years."

I trace the line of his brow down to his jaw, enjoying the rough stubble against my fingertip. "Let's not worry about it now. We can be secret and forbidden," I tease, one eyebrow raised.

"Mm, I like the sound of that." He dips his head, his teeth catching my nipple. I gasp, the pressure both welcome and uncomfortable, and he grins at me. "And I like that sound even better."

He makes quick work of my inconvenient bra, tossing the offending item onto the floor and returning to my breasts. When I reach for him, he gathers my hands, holding my wrists above my head. "Relax, Ella. Just enjoy. I want to hear your pleasure."

His words make me shiver, and as his fingers explore my body, I can barely lie still. He traps my leg between his, nudging my other thigh out of the way. With slow strokes, he spreads me, eliciting noises I barely recognize. As his fingertips trace lazy paths around my folds, he presses a kiss to my mouth. I cry out when he finally touches my sensitive bud.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispers, staring down at me.

I can feel him watching me, even as I squeeze my eyes closed against the intensity. His fingers widen inside me, his thumb strumming my clit as though the music stretches out before him. I want to lose myself in his mouth, but he holds my hands firmly, forcing me to make sounds and moans that would embarrass me if I weren't floating in a haze of ecstasy.

He turns me so I'm on my side, my back to him. My muscles are wobbly things, still paralyzed from my orgasm. After a rip of foil and discreet shifting on the bed to maneuver the condom, he curls behind me. He inserts his thighs between mine, opening me as his cock nudges at my entrance.

"I have to hear you come again." He kisses my shoulder as his arms encircle me. When he pushes inside, I strain back against him to accept his length, reveling in his hardness. With one arm anchoring me to him, he uses his other hand to tease my breasts as his slow strokes serve to extend my delirious high. We rock in a rhythm that increases in tempo until he shifts so I can roll onto my stomach. As he slides into me, I lift my hips so he has deeper purchase. Forced to accept only sensation, thoughts disappear as my orgasm threatens again.

When he kisses my back, I raise my head. "Harder, Ian. God, please, harder."

He obeys, and the delicious friction sends me into a frenzy. I buck against him, squeezing his cock inside me until he groans with his own climax. Sweaty and spent, we collapse to catch our breath. Then he gathers me to him, and I leave the world, disappearing into sleep.
chapter 9

playing it close

Rheanna doesn't let us leave without promises of returning. "You don't get to keep this gorgeous girl a secret, Ian Crane." She raises an evil eyebrow at her nephew.

He has the graciousness to look guilty. "I promise to call Mom this week."

"No, no. Not this week. Tonight."

He hugs her and kisses her cheek. "Yes, warden."

She swats his shoulder, then pulls me in for a tight embrace. "It was a pleasure getting to know you, Ella. Come back anytime."

While Ian took an emergency business meeting in our room this morning, I wandered downstairs for breakfast and ended up sitting with Rheanna for over an hour, kibitzing about her bed and breakfast and Elementary. Despite her blustery exterior, she's actually very engaging and kind.

"Thank you, Rheanna. It's been a pleasure."

"You are one lucky man, Ian. Gorgeous, talented, intelligent. I approve." Rheanna winks at me.

I want to melt into the floor with her compliments. "I know, Aunt Ray. Lucky I found her, eh?"

The ride back to the city finds us both a bit quiet. When he reaches for my hand, I intertwine my fingers with his, then trace the line of his knuckles.

"What are you thinking over there?"

My thoughts have been tumultuous, between my conversation with Ian last night and my brother on Saturday. "Quite a few things, I guess."

"Want to share any of them?"

I glance over at him, his beautiful profile interrupted by aviator sunglasses, which of course, look fabulous on him. "Honestly, my brother and I are sort of at odds, which isn't a normal state for us. We always get along."

His full lips turn down. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

I take a deep breath, then tell him about our discussion on Saturday. "I never realized how passionate he was about acting, and I've been trying to blame him for not being more outspoken about it. But the more I think about it, I think he has been. I've just ignored the signs because they didn't line up with our goals for Elementary."

"Ella, you're human. And you two have a business together. It's easy to get lost in spreadsheets and business plans when your livelihood is on the line." He takes his eyes off the road for a moment, gauging my reaction. "Okay, clearly, that doesn't help you. What do you think would help?"

I shrug, slipping into the emotions that dragged me down on Saturday. "I'm not sure. He says he wants Elementary to be successful, and that he wants to be part of it. And a week ago, I would have believed him. But I saw it in his eyes, Ian. He wants a chance at acting, and he's good. I'm not just saying that. He's very, very good. I...I just don't know why I didn't see it before."

Ian doesn't say anything, and for a few moments, I fear I've shared too much. Nothing like knowing a guy less than a week before dumping your family drama on him.

Then his expression brightens. "How 'good' would you say your brother is? I know you're his sister and that biases you, but be as honest as you can—I'll never tell Noah," he teases, squeezing my hand.

"I'm not an expert on the subject, but I've always thought he had a gift few others did when it came to saying lines. He just knows how to express emotion in such a way that you can't avoid it. He's always been that way. He took some acting classes when we were in college—at a local theater school—and I know he got rave reviews from the productions he did with them. Obviously, I think he's great, but others have said something similar."

"Look, Mick's going to be at my birthday party, and you said Noah acts in your plays, right?"

I nod.

"If Mick thinks he has something, I'll talk to him about making some introductions. We'll see if we can get some attention on Noah."

My stomach thrills at the thought. "Seriously? Ian, that would be incredible."

He snorts. "Mick owes me a number of favors. You don't get to be a big shot celebrity without needing legal advice, and Mick has tapped the well many a-time. It's about time he pays me back."

"I don't know what to say." The idea of Noah being connected to someone as influential as Mick Jeffries...the idea floors me.

"You don't have to say anything. It will be up to Noah. Though I wouldn't tell him, if I were you. It might just make him more nervous."

I nod in agreement. While I've never known Noah to be nervous about much of anything, he always puts his best into his performances, so there's no point in mentioning it. And even less disappointment involved if Mick doesn't think Noah has what it takes.

Ian drops me off with a promise of tomorrow night's dinner and a movie. "Your pick."

I smile, unable to let go of his hand just yet. "Adventure or romance?"

He thinks for a moment. "Either. Whatever you think looks good. I'll watch pretty much anything." He nuzzles my neck before kissing me. "Of course, if you scare easily and think you might end up on my lap, I'm all for horror movies."

With a laugh, I shake my head. "Nope. I don't scare easily. I actually watched all of The Human Centipede one night, while Noah was hiding behind his fingers for most of it." I wink. "It was his idea, mind you. He hasn't been too keen on watching the sequel."

Ian shakes his head. "I don't even want to know what it's about."

"The title tells you everything you need to know."

We manage to squeeze out another five minutes, alone in his car parked up the street from my apartment. But he has half a day of work ahead of him, and I have some explaining to do when I get home. With regret, I leave the cocoon of his Audi, and with a final kiss, head home.

"I sent you a text message explaining I would be home in the morning."

Noah glares at me. "You've never done anything like this before."

I shake my head, a wry grin curling my mouth as this feels likes a reversal of roles. "Um, who are you to get all out of sorts because I chose to go away overnight? One, I'm an adult." I hold up a finger. "Two, I let you know that I'd be home so you'd know I was safe—which is more than you've done for me on many occasions." I add a third finger. "Three, it was one night. I wasn't gone for a week. It was one day, and one night. I'm home, the business hasn't fallen apart, and I'm in one piece." I shake my head at his annoyed expression. "You're just irritated because you didn't know all the details."

He drops into his office chair, a blend of irritation and respect on his face. "Maybe. You've never kept things like this from me. I'm glad to see you happy, Ells. But why the secrecy?"

His capitulation comes a bit too easy, and I'm still in the middle of feeling superior about my stealth. So it takes me a moment to come up with an answer. "I guess because I always watch from the outside, little brother." I join him at his desk, perching on the corner. "You and Lux are all about going out, meeting lovers, and being wild. It's kind of nice having my own little bit of crazy behavior that keeps you on edge."

He nods, grudgingly. "Fair enough."

"Besides, it's not like you sat around all night worried about me. I'm betting some sweet thing might have made you breakfast this morning, judging by the dishes in the sink."

One of our agreements has been that he keeps his one-night trysts to a minimum at home. He usually ends up at the girl's place anyway, as most women don't want to traipse over to a strange guy's apartment. But on occasion, I have seen a bit more feminine skin around our apartment than I care to.

"It was good, too. Eggs Benedict and fresh-squeezed orange juice."

I shake my head. "Do I need to Lysol the countertops before I make dinner?"

He makes a show of considering my question. "That might be wise."

I groan loudly. "Noah!"

His grin widens, and he waggles his eyebrows. "When you got skills..."

"I don't want to hear this." I plug my ears with my fingers while he chuckles. I stick my tongue out at him and drop my hands. "At least I don't give you the gory details."

"Very true. I'll skip those, but when do I get the scoop on the basics?"

"When I know this is more than just a flirtation." And Ian's party is well behind us.

He sits with that for a moment, then meets my gaze. "I will figure this out, Ells. I'm sneaky." But then he stands, as though unable to keep still. "But you threw me last night."

"Now you know how it feels," I say softly.

He snorts. "It sucks."

I can't help laughing, but I throw myself into his arms, squeezing him hard. "Yes, it does. I'm sorry I worried you. That wasn't my intent. But it was sort of nice to be impetuous."

He kisses my forehead and curls his fingers around my shoulders. "This guy—he's a good one? He's not going to hurt you?"

I direct my gaze to the floor, feeling the pressure of Noah's questions. "I hope not."

"Ella, look at me." When I try to withdraw, he squeezes my shoulders. "Hey, look at me." I manage to stare at his nose. I might be skating by with some lies here and there, but I still stink at it. "You deserve a good guy. You never asked for what happened to you. So don't you dare let some asshole treat you poorly. I'll beat the fucker up."

I laugh at that, remembering a time when he did indeed chase a suitor down and take a swing at him—back when we were in high school and crushes were confused with ever after. "Yeah, yeah, big talker. It'll be fine. And I have work to do, so go get your worry on elsewhere. Or better yet, can you help me with the plans for this Friday's party? Saturday's party is taking over my life." I say the words in jest, but there's more truth there than I want to admit.

We settle into our familiar roles, our desks across from each other. I can feel him watching me on occasion, and while I know I've got him wondering, it's more than that. I never realized how much I worried him over the last few years.

If there's one good thing about Ian Crane—and I can name quite a few, to be honest—he's certainly changed my tune about dating and relationships.

For now, at least.
chapter 10

Consulting with a dom

Dinner was lovely." I roll onto my back, enjoying the silky feel of Ian's bedsheets.

Ian smiles at me, trailing a finger down my arm. "But the movie might have been wishful thinking."

That it was, seeing as we never left his place. He made me a delicious mushroom risotto with red snapper, complete with chocolate lava cake for dessert. He admitted after the fact that while the main course he made himself, the cake had been purchased from a bakery downtown. And then we were supposed to leave for the movie.

We didn't get past the foyer.

"You were too tasty to resist," he teases as he playfully nips my inner arm.

I shiver, then snuggle closer. "Mm. Yes, I seem to recall no real effort being made to get out the door." I kiss him slowly, running my tongue along his bottom lip. "By either side."

With a chuckle, he turns and slides a leg between mine. "Why leave when everything I want is right here?"

My stomach flips at his words, and it must show on my face since he tucks me in closer to him and curves his hand around my jaw. "You're upset that we didn't go to the movies?" he asks with a gentle tone.

I don't know how to answer, but he doesn't let me glance away.

"Talk to me, Ella. What is it?"

I bite my lip, wishing my face could remain neutral instead of betraying me. I mumble something and try to withdraw.

"I didn't hear you. Say that again," he insists, his arm tightening around me.

I exhale, then force myself to stare at his eyelashes. "I said I don't know how you can be like this. Like...it's been five days. Five days. Yet you're so romantic, and you always say just the right thing. It's..."

"It's what?" His thumb strokes my cheek.

"Weird. I don't know. Erm..." My teeth sink into my lip even harder, a punishment for my inelegant response. "Look, you're like this crazy-good-looking guy who's dated supermodels and has a solid career. I'm nothing like that. Nothing like that. I'm barely holding it together some days, I've got family issues, a business that's struggling to make it—"

He interrupts me with a kiss, his tongue ensuring mine has better things to do than form words. When I'm breathless, he breaks off, looking me in the eye. "Ella, I'm hardly going to win any 'perfect guy' awards, as my mother will attest. And while I'm thrilled you think I'm so charming and handsome, there are quite a few people out there that would think otherwise. Ever since Thursday, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. And I know it's only been a short time"—he presses a finger to my lips when I open my mouth—"five days, I know. I heard you. But sometimes, things just feel right. You feel right. I'm not proposing we get married tomorrow. I'm not saying that we should talk about long-term commitments. But I'm open to exploring whatever long-term potential we might have, if you are." He dips down to my neck, pressing his lips there briefly and making me laugh. "Are you?"

I sink my fingers into his long, thick hair, enjoying the silky strands. "I do. That's why I'm here."

His sherry eyes search mine. "Then what is it? Who hurt you?"

Damn him for being so intuitive, although I guess it doesn't take a genius to figure out when someone's been damaged. I don't want to tell this story—don't want to even think about it. Not here, while I feel safe in someone else's bed. But Ian's patient inquiry deserves the truth.

"I was in a long relationship, and it ended poorly. Really poorly. It's taken me a long time to even get to a point where I was ready to date again." I gesture to the bed. "Or sleep with anyone." I offer a small smile to lighten the mood. "I'm a little gun-shy, I guess, and you seem completely uninhibited."

He chuckles at my statement. "Oh, Ella, not at all. Look, I went through some dark times the last year, and I'm fortunate that I have a great family and a good network of friends. They got me through it. Do you want me to give you all the warts and icky parts now?"

"Yes." I nod definitively. "Give me your worst, Crane."

"Hm, let's see: as my housekeeper will tell you, I rarely manage to get my clothes in the hamper. I'm a terrible baker—I've burnt every cookie my mother forced me to make. I sucked at basketball, despite my height. A huge disappointment to my coach." He smiles at the memory. "You could practically see him salivate when I showed up for tryouts. Such a letdown for the guy. What else? I'm a bit of an overachiever when I set my mind to something, but I can be a horrible sloth until then." He curls a lock of my hair around his index finger. "And I've struggled with depression on and off since my dad died. But I've been to therapy, and I'm told that's normal."

That serious note sobers my smile. "I'm sorry." I stroke his face, tracing the outline of his eyebrows and nose. "And it is normal. I went through that in my teens."

He kisses my fingers. "See? Not perfect. Not even close." He holds me, and for a few minutes, I listen to his heartbeat, strong and constant.

"Thank you for sharing that with me." I move so I can look at him.

Falling to his back, he tucks a hand behind his head, the other reaching for my fingers. "Ella, I don't know exactly what we're doing, and I don't want you to be afraid. But this is the most fun I've had in over a year, and I like you. A lot. So maybe we just start there? See where it leads? Would that be okay?"

And it is. I know that. But there's a part of me that's terrified of not having a super detailed definition...terminology...of not having the prerequisite number of dates before reaching first base. I push the fear aside, though, and decide to lose myself in whatever this is, for the moment, for the next day, for however long it lasts.

S.O.S.

Lux texts me back seconds later.

What is it? What happened? U ok?

With shaking fingers, I respond.

I need a sex consultant. STAT.

"This is not technically consulting about sex," Lux points out as we wander Shay's Sexy Suite, which looks more like a Victoria's Secret with battery-operated toys than what I've come to think of when I hear the phrase "sex shop." Nonetheless, Shay has it all, from spicy fragrances to hardcore BDSM playwear. I'm not even sure where to look.

"When it comes to me shopping for something sexy, it might as well be." I finger a collection of leather straps with the label "halter," but I'll be damned if I can figure out how or where it functions as such.

"Wrong room, silly girl." Lux grabs my hand and steers me away from the red-walled room and into a much softer, pinker space. "Let's start with some lingerie first, shall we? No point in scaring the guy with whips and handcuffs just yet." She snickers when I shake my head.

"I'll leave the leather to you."

She nods her agreement. "We'll have to set up lessons if you want to go down that road."

I shake my head firmly. "Nope."

"You and Noah...so vanilla." She sighs dramatically, then winks. "So this is the mystery guy that you won't tell Noah about?"

I roll my eyes. "I swear, men are just as bad as women when it comes to gossip."

She grins, her gray eyes bright. "You are just now figuring that out? Though in fairness to Noah, he was really worried about you when you disappeared the other night."

"I. Did. Not. Disappear. He's such a drama queen. I sent him a text. He just didn't know where I was." I'm flipping through hangers on the sale rack.

Lux grabs my shoulders and steers me to the corner of the room, where a display of corsets is arranged by size. "Which Noah is not used to. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but you two haven't been apart for more than twenty-four hours for the entire time I've known you."

"That's not true." I give her a look. "We've been apart dozens of times."

"Really?" She crosses her arms over her leather bustier. "Name them."

Faced between the choice of being honest about Noah and my attachment versus examining leather bodices, I choose the lesser of two evils. "What do you think of this one?" I hold out a black leather corset.

She laughs at me. "My point. And you aren't a leather kind of girl. Let's stick with embroidered cloth." She turns her expert gaze to the selection, and within moments, has three different corsets, complete with matching underwear, garters, and hosiery.

"You should be a personal lingerie shopper." I take the three sets from her, unsure if I can really pull any of these off. Don't corsets require a certain confidence and sex appeal so you don't feel like you're playing dress-up?

"Oh honey, I'm a sex fantasy shopper. Much more fun." She slings her arm around my shoulders and guides me to the dressing room.

After much debate—mostly mine—I settle on one of the three sets, and Lux treats me to coffee afterwards to celebrate my sexual liberation.

"I can't believe you've never bought lingerie before. I'm pretty sure you're a Guinness World Record holder."

I sip my latte, then level my gaze at her. "I have sexy underwear. What more do you really need?"

She snorts. "Plenty." She glances at the door of the coffee shop, where a huge line has formed to get their caffeine fix. She leans forward, her voice low. "So do I get any more details on the mystery man? Name? Age? Social security number?"

I laugh at her inquiry and shake my head. "Nope. This is just fun. I don't even know if it's anything worth talking about." I bury my nose in my mug again.

"This guy inspired you to buy your first corset. I'd say it's something."

My cheeks inflame, and I stare at the table's mottled surface. "I want to do something special for him. He's done everything so far. Even made me dinner."

"Nice! So when did you meet this delicious man?"

I have to be careful, as I don't want her and Noah putting two and two together. "A few weeks ago," I say breezily, telling myself it's sort of true. I met him last week, and this is now the next week. "We're just enjoying each other right now."

She raises an eyebrow. "Damn, look at you. Little Ella Storm is getting her casual sex on. It's about time, girl."

I recoil at her comment, but then again, what else is this? It's not like Ian and I have made any commitments. Nor should we, given the short time we've been...seeing each other? Sleeping together? Crap. I don't even know what to call this.

"You have to let me know how tomorrow goes, though. Gotta tell me if our outfit had the intended effect. Just send me a text with a number, one through ten—ten being the hottest—if it worked."

I nod, trying to push down the questions and concentrate on the moment. "Will do." 
chapter 11

special delivery

We manage a play and dinner on Wednesday night. He even got tickets to a sold out Broadway show. "It pays to have corporations for clients," he teases when we get our own box seats. It's no fault of the actors that we leave during intermission. Or the taxi driver when we can't keep our hands off each other on the ride to his apartment. And I'm pretty sure the driver who takes me home is on standby.

Dear God, who have I become?

When Thursday rolls around, I'm exhausted from lack of sleep, but wired from all the hormones. And Noah is giving me suspicious glares.

"I can figure out the password for your computer. You're forcing me to become a spy."

I shake my head, the strange butterflies in my belly batting their wings ferociously. "I don't ask you questions when you wander off at night."

"That's different. I disappear with different women on a regular basis. And I'm home the next day without fail. This is one person, every night, for almost a week. And you won't tell me his name." He narrows his eyes. "You're either embarrassed to admit he's a hunchback—for which I would not judge you, sister dear—or he's someone you think I won't approve of."

He's a bit closer to the mark than I want to admit, and I'm tempted to come clean. But I know my brother: constant teasing will commence. I hide my face in a folder before I answer. "You have an overactive imagination. What is so wrong with wanting a little privacy?"

He grunts something unintelligible but clearly not approving.

"Fine. I will tell you who he is next week. I promise. But I want to see if it's even going to last that long. That way, if it doesn't, I won't have to deal with the humiliation."

"What's so special about next week? Why can't you tell me today?"

"Because we'll be 'Facebook official' by then." I grin at him.

His eyebrow raises, very slowly. "You'll be what? What does 'Facebook official' even mean?"

Now it's my turn to look skeptical. "Really? You date so few people more than once, you don't even recognize the term?"

"If you'll recall, I'm not a social media guru. I let you handle all of that."

Which is true. I handle our Facebook, Twitter, and website, as well. While my brother is a whiz with spreadsheets and paperwork, he's not much for online interaction beyond emails. "When people are officially dating, they update their Facebook status to reflect that. It's...sort of a joke, really. As though 'Facebook Official' means something." And while my tone is joking, the truth lingers there somewhere, as much as I hate to admit it. There's something about publicly declaring your commitment to someone that speaks to my romantic soul. Not that a little over a week is near enough time to do that. I don't want Ian to do anything so overt. Yet there's a part of me...

"So you have to be announced online before your brother can know about it?"

Put that way, I feel terrible. "No, that's not what I mean. I just—" I break off, frustrated that I painted things in such a bad light. I turn away from him, staring out the small window behind my desk. "Can I just have this, Noah? Please? Let me have a little privacy. We share everything, and I love that. But this one time, I want something that's just mine for a little while longer. Next week, I'll tell you everything. I promise." And Ian's party will be over, so I can feel less sleazy about sleeping with a client.

"Of course. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." His tone sounds chastised.

"You didn't. I just—" But when I spin around, he's already left the room.

Having Noah upset at me makes getting dressed for lunch even harder. But I manage, despite the complications of corsets. Who knew these things had so many ties? The deep plum silk sets off my pale skin, and my curls fall loose over my shoulders. I add a bit more makeup than usual, and while I'm not typically one for fragrances, there was one at Shay's I couldn't resist, so I rub the body lotion on and spritz the matching body spray over my skin.

Since it's the middle of winter, I slip into yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, then add my long winter coat and stuff my heels into a small bag. Ian offered to meet me for lunch, but I said I wanted to treat him to a special place near his work. Which is, in part, true. I researched and found a little-known sushi spot that is supposed to have some of the best sashimi in the city that I'll pick up on my way.

All of which goes swimmingly until I'm in the foyer of his building. I need to find the restroom so I can shuck my clothing, but there's no one at the desk. My nerves amp up their chatter, and I lose my determination. This was a dumb idea. What if he's with a client, or worse, embarrassed that I tried to seduce him at work? This works so well in the movies, but the movies don't do it in the middle of winter.

I'm about to give up and wander up the stairs when a man returns, coffee mug in hand.

"So sorry! I wanted to heat up my coffee, and it boiled over in the microwave. Made a huge mess!" He takes a seat at the front desk, then smiles up at me. "Can I help you?"

Flustered, I fumble for words. "I'm here for Ian Crane."

He glances down at the bag in my hand. "Oh, food delivery. Excellent. You can just leave that here, and I'll get your tip—"

"No, I'm here for him. I mean, I'm here to see him." If I was red before, I'm probably crimson now.

Understanding dawns in the receptionist's eyes, a bit too much understanding. "Oh! I'm so sorry. Let me just buzz him—"

"Actually, I wanted to surprise him." I plaster a smile on my face, determined not to screw this up. Again. "We have a lunch date, and I got his favorite dish." Another easy lie, seeing as which I've only had raw fish with Ian once.

The receptionist doesn't register doubt about my statement. "Of course. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you then. Third floor, last office on the left."

I don't bother asking about a restroom. I'm too worked up to get the words out without stuttering. I take the elevator to the second floor, passing only one person as I step into the hallway. As I'd hoped, there's a conference room with the lights out, and I slip in. No lock on the door, but I leave the lights off, manage to peel off my winter clothing without falling on my ass, and shrug back into my coat. I fold my clothes into the bottom of my bag and don stilettos. When I get back into the elevator, though, I feel like I've just run a marathon. I take a few deep breaths in the short amount of time between floors, and then the doors open.

Showtime.

I tread softly, relieved to see that his door is closed. At least I can prepare myself in the hallway for a moment. There's also, thankfully, no one nearby, though I can hear a copier's buzz somewhere on the opposite side of the hallway. The sushi weighs heavy in my hand, and I lean towards his door, hearing the familiar rumble of Ian's voice. I listen for a few moments for another voice in the room, but based on the silence in between the sound of his voice—I can't make out the words—I'm guessing he's on the phone. I drop my bags beside me, and with a furtive look around, I slink out of my coat and tuck it around the bags.

Then I try his doorknob. It turns smoothly in my hand, making little noise so I can peek through a crack before swinging the door open. Ian's in his desk chair, his back to me, facing the windows that look out onto the street below.

"That's exactly what I told her, but you know how she is," he says into the phone pressed to his ear.

I slide in and close the door behind me, the slight click muffled. While not expansive, his office has ample room for his desk, a few visitor chairs, a refreshment bar with a coffee maker, and a small couch against the back wall. I stand there for a few moments, unable to make out what the garbled voice is saying to Ian. He must sense I'm there, as he turns slightly in his chair, craning his neck.

His eyes catch mine, then the rest of me, and his expression goes from work polite to stunned...to hungry.

"Carl, let me call you back in a few. Someone just walked in." He listens, but I wonder if he hears anything that's being said as his gaze never leaves my body. "Yeah, sure thing...sure...yep. Talk to you later." When he hangs up the phone, a grin curves his lips. "Hello."

As I step towards him, I feel like I'm moving to the heartbeat that pounds in my ears. "I brought lunch."

He leans back as I approach, appreciation radiating in his eyes. "I can see that."

"I thought you might like to eat-in." I stop just short of his knees. I can only imagine what he sees—the tightened corset that forces my small breasts into abundant cleavage and nips in at my waist. The matching garters and stockings that follow the curves of my legs down to the ridiculously high heels. Whatever nerves I have are soothed by the desire in his expression.

He reaches for me, but I step back. "No, no. My turn to play." My voice shakes a little, but his attention gives me confidence. Crooking a finger, I draw him to me. The heels give me just enough height that I can reach his mouth without resorting to tiptoes. I tangle my fingers in his hair, anchoring him so my tongue can explore his mouth. His arms wrap around me, but the minute he starts to pull me tight, I back out of his embrace.

"Hm-mm." I take his hand and tug him towards the love seat. He falls into it without much encouragement, his smile widening as I stand over him.

"My God, Ella. You're stunning." He breathes the words as I straddle him.

I can't help smiling myself, pleased that my plan worked. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Consider your mission successful," he murmurs as I cover his mouth with mine, and I loosen his tie as we dissolve into each other.

His hands roam my body, cupping my ass and curving his fingers between my legs. His touch is exquisite, but I have a plan, so I wriggle onto the floor. "No distracting me." I spread my fingers over his thighs, sliding them north until I stroke his erection through his trousers.

He tucks a stray curl behind my ear as he gazes down at me with such need, my breath catches.

I make quick work of his belt and pants, letting his briefs join the pile of clothing as I reach for his cock. While I've not had a large menu of sexual experiences, I'm pretty sure he's not typical as I wrap my fingers around his silken girth. I swirl my tongue around the tip, earning a groan from him, then widen my mouth around him. His hand rests on my head lightly, and as I torture the length of him with my lips, he fights to stay still.

He grips my hair finally, interrupting me.

"I'm going to come if you don't stop, Ella."

"That's the idea." I smile up at him, enjoying the war I see in his eyes.

He shakes his head, though it seems to pain him. "I want you to enjoy this as well."

"I am, Ian. Just lie back. Let yourself go," I say, remembering the words he said to me last Thursday night.

With little reservation, he obeys, and as he climaxes, I increase the pressure, pleased I can send him even higher. When his shudders fade, he reaches for me, hauling me into his lap and forcing my mouth to his in a kiss so intense, I can barely inhale.

"You are incredible." He lays his forehead against mine, his finger tracing my cheek.

I nip his bottom lip. "You aren't too shabby yourself, Mr. Crane." But his compliment has me soaring with pride.

His hand slides between my legs, his fingers slipping over my panties. "I think you might need a little attention, too, sweetheart."

I don't argue as his touch feels too incredible, and pleasuring him drove my own need. He maneuvers me so I'm lying with my back against him, my legs falling on the outside of his. He catches my mouth in a searing kiss while his hands travel over my body. Shifting my panties to the side, his fingers enter me, thick and deep. He spreads his legs, forcing me even wider as his other hand manages to extract my breast from the corset. With firm pressure on my nipple, he massages his thumb against my clit. I arch my back, moaning into his mouth.

He answers by adding another finger inside me and increasing his tempo. I don't recognize the guttural cries rising in my throat, muted only by our kiss. When I finally reach my crescendo, I struggle to stay quiet, the pressure proving nearly too much. I shudder with my release, falling back against him with heavy limbs.

"Very nice, Ms. Storm," he says softly, his fingers still caressing my breast. "The next time we plan a lunch, I'll have to dress accordingly."

I chuckle despite my exhaustion. "How? Skip wearing pants?"

I can feel his grin against my ear. "Mm. And make sure I have the entire afternoon free to devote to your pleasures."

My cheeks burn at the thought, and a little voice in my head wonders when I became a woman for whom a powerful attorney clears his calendar. It feels surreal.

When we manage to stand, he checks the hallway before snagging my bags. We sit on the couch and devour the food, him in just his shirt and underwear and me in my corset and stockings.

"I could definitely get used to this. Shall we do it again next Thursday?" He winks.

"I can probably arrange that. Though I might go with wearing jeans and sneakers and keep this getup for the evenings. The subway was cold."

He laughs. "I bet it was. You look beautiful, of course. But you look pretty hot in jeans, too."

I shove a bit of tuna sushi in my mouth to cover my embarrassment.

He reaches out and grabs my hand. "I notice that you get embarrassed when you're complimented. Is that just because you're a little shy, or is there another reason?"

His insight surprises me. "Why do you think there's another reason besides being shy?"

He gives my question some thought while chewing. "When my aunt commended you, I noticed how you seemed to want to disappear. It was more than your blush," he teases gently. "You physically seemed to shrink."

I get up from our smorgasbord under the guise of snagging another water out of the small refrigerator in the corner of his office. In truth, I need to compose my reaction. Most people just assume I'm shy, and Ian is one of the few who've caught on that there's more to it. I bite the inside of my lip, debating if it's too soon to air dirty laundry. Aren't we still in the honeymoon phase where everything is supposed to be perfect and set in a bit too-rosy a light?

When I return, I pull out my coat and sit on the floor, needing some space to speak. But I'm close enough to rest a hand on his knee when he looks down at me in confusion. "I was in a relationship for a really long time. Like, five years long. We were supposed to get married, have a family, do all those things people do."

I squeeze the words out between stiff lips, not wanting to even speak the truth that embarrasses me beyond anything else. "He's why I came to New York—we met online while I was back home. His name is Jonathan. He was a year younger than me—the same age as Noah. Originally, I was going to go to a community college back home, but when Noah wanted to go to NYU, it seemed like fate. Jonathan had already been accepted to Columbia, and he was perfect. So stupid me, I fell for him and decided to wait and go to college with Noah." I shake my head, still astounded by my foolishness. "I rationalized that a year of working full-time before going to college would give me real world experience. And it did. But I had no idea..."

He's stopped eating, his eyes never leaving my face. While I appreciate his focus, it's making me feel even more foolish, and I turn a chopstick between my fingers.

"Anyway, we were together through college, and everyone just assumed we'd be happily ever after. Even Noah, in the beginning. Though he saw the signs earlier than even I did." I closed my eyes, wishing talking about the experience didn't bring it to life in full color in my mind's eye. "He...we were...it's hard to describe. Everything remained the same to the outside world, but the longer we were together—when the bloom fell off the rose, I guess—he started making comments. Little things. About the size of my thighs, or that my breasts weren't very big. Stuff like that. And he'd say it like it was a joke, that he was just teasing, and then he'd tell me I was perfect and I shouldn't be so sensitive."

Ian takes the chopstick from me and links our fingers. "He mocked you while making it seem like you were the one with the problem."

I nod, glad he gets it. "Exactly."

"Ella—"

"Don't say you're sorry. And don't look at me like that. It's over." I try to soften my words with as much of a grin as I can muster. "I don't even like thinking about it. Our breakup was...brutal, and it's been awhile since I could even think about seeing anyone."

Understanding dawns in his gaze. "So I'm the first person you've been with since then?"

I manage a wry smile at his phrasing. "Yes. You're also the first guy I've fucked."

He chuckles at my bald language. Then he stands. "Come here."

I join him, unsure what to expect. But he pulls me against him, then tilts my face so I meet his eyes. "You don't deserve to be mocked. Ever."

"I know that now. But when you're in the moment, and someone makes it seem like you are being overly sensitive, it's easy to forget."

He holds me then, in the quiet stillness of his office, despite the echoes of honking horns and busy city life outside. We simply exist, and I can't imagine a more perfect moment than this.
chapter 12

Cat's out of the bag

We should do this every week," Lux says as we pass between stations at a high-end salon and spa. We're both in luxurious smocks, our hair drawn up in towels to keep it out of the way during our facials. While I agree that having a facial, a mani-pedi, and a hair treatment is the height of luxury, I have so much to do today I can't really relax. The downside to all my romantic entanglements this past week: I'm horribly behind, and Ian's party is tomorrow night.

On one hand, I'm looking forward to testing out my latest mystery on an audience, but I'm also anxious for it to be over—both because I want to know if this story is as good as I think it is, but also because I want to be able to remove the "client" label from my relationship with Ian.

Speaking of whom, my phone dings yet again.

Saturday can't come quickly enough. I miss your mouth. Your skin. Your little intake of breath right before you come.

We're seated at side-by-side pedicure chairs, and Lux laughs when my cheeks turn red.

"Wow. You definitely have it bad, love. How is the mystery man today?"

I refuse to look up; instead, I tap my response to Ian.

You mean "Sunday." While I do consider Elementary a one-stop shop for parties, we draw the line at live sex acts. That will have to wait until the next day.

I stash my phone in my jeans pocket and stare at the woman massaging my feet. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Lux snorts and shakes her head. "Ella, Ella. When will you learn that you can't keep secrets? Not with a face like yours."

I feel her gaze weighing on me, but I don't look at her.

She nudges my shoulder. "What if I promise not to breathe a word about his identity to anyone, including Noah? It'll be our secret."

Now it's my turn to scoff. "Please. You and Noah share the same brain. I won't be fooled by your attempts at subterfuge."

She chortles in merriment. "I'm not here as an emissary for your brother. Think of me as Switzerland. I'm only interested in figuring out your secret for my own devious happiness."

I can't help laughing. "Yeah, yeah. Always an angle."

She lets silence fall, which I'm sure she knows is the worst pressure of all. I close my eyes, trying to enjoy and embrace the soft, new age music and penetrating ministrations of the pedicure. But it's no use.

"Fine. I'll tell you. But you cannot—I repeat, cannot— tell Noah. Not until I've told him." When she nods solemnly, I rethink my terms. "And you can't laugh or tease me about it, either."

She makes a show of crossing her heart. "Promise."

I take a deep breath, both thrilled to have someone to share my secret with, and terrified of telling someone. "I'm seeing Ian Crane."

Lux's dove gray eyes, always expressive, go wide as saucers, and for the first time in the years I've known her, I think I've actually shocked her. Her mouth opens, but no words come out.

"Okay, it's not that improbable, is it?"

"No! That's not what...I just...he's a bit, um, well..."

"What?" I narrow my gaze. "Out of my league?"

She shakes her head emphatically. "Absolutely not. You're out of his league, Ells. You're smart and kind and sweet, and he's...well, he's a bit of a cad. I mean, that's what I've always seen when he's in the news with Mick Jeffries, at least."

I'm stunned at her assessment. "A cad? I thought you said he was one of the city's most eligible bachelors?"

"He is. I mean, come on, he's hot, has celebrities all around him, and he's a well-known attorney. But he's...well, who knows the truth, really? Gossip certainly isn't reliable."

"But what gives you the impression he's a 'cad'?"

She shakes her head, but I can tell she's holding back. "Nothing—I mean, really, it was just an impression. That much crap going on in the media, and normal people seem like something other than they are."

I press her to spill the details, but she refuses. "I'm not repeating celebrity gossip when you're clearly under a different impression. Besides, he's been in the columns quite a bit—you can look him up and come to your own conclusions. And I trust your instincts much more than TMZ." She smiles brilliantly, then continues. "So...tell me how this happened."

I make a face at her, but relieved to have an outlet, I tell her everything—all the sordid, sexy details. And I admit: I enjoy the admiration in her eyes. I'm used to Lux seeing me as Noah's quiet, semi-innocent sister.

"Damn. When you jump, Ells, you go all the way." She holds up her hand for a high-five. "Go you."

I slap her hand, though I know my cheeks are bright pink. "Go big or go home, right?"

"Oo, is he big? Like really big?"

I cover my face, my skin flaming, and giggle. Yes, I giggle. When I can compose myself enough to form words, I avoid it altogether and nod.

Lux holds her index fingers up. "Just nod when I'm close." She slowly draws them apart, wider and wider.

I finally nod, just to get her to stop, though it's probably pretty accurate.

Lux sobers and nods. "Damn. 'Go big or go home,' indeed. I have all new respect for you, Ells. I never thought you had it in you."

Though I grin, her words sit with me for several minutes. She's popped in her headphones, but I tap her arm.

"Hm?" She removes a bud and glances at me.

"What did you mean, 'I never thought you had it in you'? I'm not offended. I'm just curious what you mean. I feel like...this week has challenged a lot of the notions I've had about myself, and I'm curious how you view me." It's an honest question, but one that carries with it a lot of danger, I know. I can see it in Lux's eyes. "I'm not trying to trap you, Lulu. But I'm starting to see the last few years as a sort of...hiding place. And I want to change that fear that keeps me there."

She grabs my neck and pulls me over so she can kiss my forehead. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. Because I think you are brilliant and wonderful, Ells. Truly. I've never met anyone as smart or as fast-thinking as you are, and you get business and people. It's amazing. But I've always wondered if Jonathan broke you. Noah's worried about that, too—not that we've been talking about you behind your back," she quickly interjects, "but his concern over how long it's been since you dated anyone—"

"Over three years."

My interruption floors her. "Seriously? Wow." She takes a few moments to process the information, then continues. "So he had a point, I daresay. But yeah, it's been hard to watch, seeing you keep your light from the world, when I have no doubt, you are designed to shine quite brightly."

Her words—and the clear belief in her eyes—sober me. I've never seen myself as anything all that special, but I know I'm good at writing. And Elementary has done pretty well for a new business, which is in part both because it's a booming niche market—who doesn't want to come home and have a whole evening's food and entertainment arranged without lifting a finger?—and because Noah and I are good with people. Still...I've never stopped to think about how others might see the situation.

"Thank you. I needed to hear that."

She grins and stretches in the chair, careful not to move her feet.

"My turn: how's things with Evan?"

"Good, I think."

"You think?"

Lux shrugs and fingers the edge of the towel holding her hair. "I never know how to judge these things. While you are a serial monogamist, I'm anything but. I do better when relationships are fluid and open, but let's face it: that doesn't match the desires of most partners. So I'm trying. And Evan's great. And romantic."

"And submissive." I wink.

"True. That man definitely knows his place." She smiles a bit easier, but there's still a shadow behind her light eyes. "I wish I knew if this is how it's supposed to feel."

I give her comment some thought. "How what's supposed to feel? Moving in together? Or being in love?"

"Both? Either? What's it feel like for you with Ian?"

I don't hesitate. "Amazing. My stomach's pretty much vibrating with nerves 24/7 but in a good way." I can't help laughing, though there's no reason for it.

She grins a bit wistfully. "See, I don't think I've ever experienced that. With anyone. Maybe I'm just not wired that way."

"Maybe things just happen differently for you. Do you love Evan?"

She doesn't answer right away, but then she nods. "I think so. He's a good man, and I couldn't ask for a better match."

That she can't embrace her relationship with Evan fully makes me sad, but I don't want to make it worse. "Give it time, Lux."

"I know. And I haven't had a traditional relationship ever, so I'm being a bit unrealistic. Hell, I don't even work a traditional job." When she smiles now, it's a bit more "Lux."

"See?"

We're waiting for our finger and toenails to dry when Lux asks, "So when are you going to tell Noah about Ian?"

"After the party tomorrow night. Once Ian's not technically a client anymore, I won't feel quite so weird about the whole thing."

Lux grins at me. "And Noah will have slightly less to tease you about."

"Exactly."

Noah seems fine when I get home, and when I try to talk about the day before, he shrugs it off.

"Don't stress it, Ells. I was being a douche. You're entitled to have some fun in life, and you'll tell me when you're ready."

It's such a normal answer for Noah, I almost believe him. But something in his eyes is off, and I know it's my fault. But is it my secrecy, or his own demons surrounding his career that are bogging him down? I don't know, and that makes it hard to concentrate. But I call back prospective clients, double-check all the catering needs for a party this week, confirm the arrival of the live band, and review Noah's final invoice calculations.

Ian texts me later that day.

So if live sex acts are out, can you stay over? :)

I laugh to myself, thankful Noah ran out to grab food for us so I can enjoy the moment.

No, I'll have to clean up and help load. It'll look really weird if I stay. I promise to be there bright and early on Sunday.

After I hit "send," I rethink my message.

Correction: I'll be there on Sunday at noon. Not enough sleep, and I won't be much good for anything. ;)

After a few minutes, his response dings.

I'm happy to see to your *every* need, so you don't have to move a muscle. In fact, I might insist on it. Even if that means I have to tie you up. ;)

My stomach flips hard, and my whole body heats up. I've never played with restraining anyone, despite Lux's insistence that it can really rev up your sex life. Do I trust Ian enough—after barely a week—to let him have that much control?

Noah's key scrapes at the door, so I text back quickly.

Hm. We might have to explore that further. Talk to u l8r. xoxo
chapter 13

much ado about...

Adrienne! No!" The devastation in Noah's voice as he falls upon his beloved's inert body draws a hush across the room.

"You've killed her," he whispers into the deadly quiet, his face dropped to Adrienne's. "I will come for you, Maden. I will find you."

Someone darkens the lights, and the audience awakens from their thrall and applauds. As the lights return, a warm glow spreads across twenty people or so, all seated around Ian's huge dining table that was recently cleared of plates from a sumptuous meal where vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free, and soy-free options were offered. The food was praised, as I knew it would be, and I hope it made all of Misha's work worth it, as she really outdid herself, especially with so many food restrictions present.

I join in the applause, amazed once again by Noah's performance, as well as the other four actors who are present. They take a bow together, amid the hoots and whistles of their captive watchers. I eye Mick Jeffries' reaction, pleased to see his handsome face grinning. He claps the loudest, which gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd be interested in championing Noah's acting career.

When the actors head upstairs to change, I slip out, joining Misha in the kitchen.

"Sounds like you made magic again." Her sharp, angular face cheers with a broad grin. "Damn, Ella, you are good."

I fight to contain my smile. If she only knew just how good...

I slap her high-five before helping her assemble the last of the puffed pastries, strawberries, and dark chocolate drizzle. This evening is a coup: a wealthy client, celebrity clientele, and an opportunity for future bookings with the like. And it has gone off like a charm, which helps allay the nerves that have been climbing up my throat most of the evening. Not to mention, keeping my hands off Ian has been...challenging.

Dessert proves to be yet another high point, and though several party revelers complain that they are much too full, they manage to pack it in. Misha's creations are too tempting. As I leave to rejoin Misha in the kitchen, Ian catches my wrist.

"Ella, I cannot thank you enough. This was spectacular." His eyes meet mine, ebullient.

"I'm so glad you enjoyed it." I can feel a flush creeping up my neck.

"This has been the best birthday I've had in a long time."

"I'm glad." I give him a small smile, enjoying the feel of his hand on my mine and the way his fingers trace the pulse point below my palm. His gaze darkens as his eyes devour me, but we're interrupted by the actors as they return to talk to the guests and answer questions.

Tonight's mystery, Much Ado About Death, is one of a three part series that I wrote the end of last year. While each story has a stand-alone mystery—in this case, the lead characters must catch a thief who stole a priceless (fictional) first edition of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. They manage to nab the perpetrator, but one of them dies (or at least, she appears to...) in the process. If the attendees want to see the next installment, they have to book us.

I'm about to step away when Mick Jeffries calls out, "Hey, Ella, you have to tell us what happens next!"

I turn, unable to resist grinning at the stunning Mick. He's really as good-looking as he appears on a glossy magazine cover, maybe even more so. "You want to see more, you have to hire us for your next party." I say it with a wink and a flirtatious tone, and he laughs.

"Fair enough. You're hired."

While I know he's joking in the mood of the moment—and they're all a bit sloshed from the champagne and wine they've ingested, my heart still skips a beat. Tonight could put us on the map with the who's who of the upper crust. While I love putting on mysteries for anyone who comes to us, getting in with those who can afford to pay top dollar could change everything for Noah and me.

"I'm going to hold you to it," I return with a wide smile.

"You better. I have to know what happens."

Misha chuckles as I return to the kitchen to help her clean up. "Girl, you are too much."

"What does that mean?" I keep my face turned away from her, busying myself with gathering the dirty linen pile into a bag.

"Oh, please." She waits for me to turn around and look at her. She stands with her hand on her hip, eyebrow raised. "You are flirting with two of the best looking men in the city. Don't play innocent with me." She grins wryly.

I roll my eyes and set the bag at the front door to the kitchen. "They're drunk and having a good time."

With a snort, she returns to washing dishes. "Ian couldn't take his eyes off of you all night."

I am saved from responding when Noah peeks his head into the kitchen. "Do you need me to take anything out back? I'm going to grab our bags and throw them in the van."

I smile at him, thrilled for the interruption. "You guys did great. And you nailed that role."

His eyes reflect his weariness, but also his pleasure at the compliment. "Thanks. It seemed to go well." He covers his mouth as he coughs.

"Are you getting sick?" I eye him suspiciously. He didn't get in until late this morning, and he had to be up by noon to help me get ready.

He waves me off. "Stop being a mother hen. I'm fine." He smiles to soften his words, but I can see the darkness around his eyes. He's definitely getting sick.

I shake my head and wave to the bag of dirty linens. "Grab that one for me, would you?" I nod in appreciation to Noah as he ducks back out. A few minutes later, he returns, weighed down with the suitcase filled with costumes and props, as well as a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He disappears outside, and I pile a few other bins at the door for him to load.

"I need to freshen up before I go back out there to mingle. Be back in a few," I call to Misha as I head for the powder room.

The downside to putting on a show is that you end up sweaty and a bit of a wreck. I slip into the small bathroom behind the kitchen, thankful for a moment of near silence as the door closes off the din from the party. But only for a moment, as it swings open almost immediately.

"I'm in—" The word "here" dies on my lips as I see Ian staring down at me with a molten gaze.

With one step, he joins me, pulling the door shut behind him. Then his mouth crushes mine, his hands lifting me onto the sink's counter so he can situate himself between my legs. He tastes like red wine and chocolate with a hint of strawberry, and the intensity of our kiss has me moaning into him.

"I need to be inside you, Ella," he whispers against my mouth.

"But I should be out there..." I can't keep my thoughts straight as his lips blaze a trail over my collarbone, sending jolts of desire to my core. I wrap my legs around his waist, wanting to pull him even closer. His hand glides up my thigh, and I'm thankful I decided on a dress this evening. Even more so as he pulls aside the v-neck, teasing my breast through my silk bra.

As his fingers dip beneath my panties and find my center, I suck in air, trying desperately to remain quiet. His strokes, firm yet gentle, unwrap me from the inside, and as I crest, I clutch his shoulders, burying my face in his neck to avoid crying out.

He savages my mouth, and I return his fervor. When he pulls me from the counter and turns me so he can press his erection against my ass, I fall back against him, languid from my orgasm.

"I want to fuck you." He meets my eyes in the mirror, his hair mussed from my hands.

I hold his gaze for a moment before leaning forward, enjoying the surprise and lust on his face. "Go ahead."

He's prepared with a condom, and within seconds, he shoves my panties down and slides the head of his cock against my clit. I watch us in the mirror: the sight of him behind me, his penetrating gaze as he slowly guides himself into me, serves to heighten my arousal.

One hand grips the back of my neck as his other reaches beneath me to tug on a nipple. "God, all I could think about all night was how much I wanted to make you come."

Between his barely audible words and our reflection, I can't contain my orgasm, but I want to go with his, to enjoy our climax together. He has no intention of letting me, though, and as I squeeze my eyes closed, getting lost in the sensation, he plunges into me even faster. I bite my lip, tasting metal, as I struggle to stay quiet. Once I'm satisfied, he holds my hips, moving from his steady rhythm to a punishing one. "Tell me if I hurt you," he whispers, watching my face closely.

I shake my head, unable to say how good it feels, or how I've never experienced anything like this, but I'm starting to crave it. He deepens his thrusts, and I cover my mouth with my hand, determined not to moan. Since sleeping with Ian, I seem incapable of having just one orgasm, and the fury of his need makes me even hotter.

He drops down to the toilet and pulls me back against him. "I need to touch you," he whispers, his hand lightly holding my throat. In the mirror, his eyes meet mine as his other hand glides down to torture me, pinching and swirling over my clit. My muscles contract around him, and I'm unable to stop my climax, but as I constrict around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure buffets me, he clutches me tight against his chest and finds his own release.

We don't move for moments, and when someone knocks at the door, I nearly leap off him. The door knob wiggles, but the person walks away when it doesn't yield. I slap my hand over my mouth, holding in a bit of hysterical laughter.

Ian's looking at me with amusement. "You okay?" he mouths to me, meeting my gaze in the mirror.

I nod, hand still firmly over my mouth. The happiness in his eyes makes me want to melt against him, but there's work yet to be done. And people waiting for the bathroom.

We right our clothing, and then pause at the door.

"Should I go first?" I whisper.

He draws me to him, his arms anchored behind my back. "In a moment." He holds me, dropping a kiss on my head. "You are like breathing, Ella. I can't seem to get enough of you." He tilts my face so our gazes meet. "And it's not just this—it's all of you."

The sweetness of his statement shakes me, but there's something else in his gaze.

It can't be...not yet. But deep down, I know what I see, and it scares me as much as it thrills me.

After Misha leaves with our van and the actors, only the three-person band remains, and they play old blues and R&B hits while the guests converse.

Noah looks like he's about fall face first onto the table.

"Why don't you head home? I'll be right behind you. I want to do a little mingling with business cards."

He shakes his head, though weariness informs his every move. "No, I'll help you."

I glance at the room of mostly men, with a few wives or girlfriends present. I shake my head. "Somehow, I think I'm better suited." I grin. "Seriously, you look like death warmed over. Go home. I'll finish up."

It takes a bit more cajoling, but when I call a cab as I don't trust him to have enough energy to take the right train, he capitulates. With any witnesses gone, I can breathe a little easier, and when Ian gestures to the seat beside him, I accept it gratefully. He rubs my knee beneath the table, but it's more comforting than arousing, and the simplicity of it reminds me yet again how long it's been since I've enjoyed closeness with anyone.

Mick, his eyes bleary with booze, slaps the table near me. "Tell us about you, Ella! We want to know where you got this fucking brilliant business idea, and who does all the work, really, between you and Noah."

"Yeah, what's your story?" The follow-up question comes from Mason, known to the world at large as "Em Dawg," one of the up and comers on the R&B scene, though you'd be hard-pressed to tell he's reaching celeb status. He's as laid-back and friendly as they come in a football jersey, his dreads pulled back, and an easy way about him that's very engaging.

Another man sits to Ian's right, but he's much quieter than everyone else, seemingly taking in the environment rather than participating, so I'm surprised when he actually asks a question after I explain the story behind Elementary.

"You write all of the mysteries?" His tone isn't skeptical exactly, but there's definitely some disbelief there.

I nod. "Yep. Every single one. I've been writing mysteries since I was twelve, so it's sort of habit."

"You'll have to forgive Casey. He's very suspicious of anyone that claims to write full-time, given that he's a never-ending novelist," Ian teases, doffing Casey on the shoulder.

Casey laughs demurely and nods. "True. I'm probably just ridiculously jealous. But kudos to you for making it happen. This was brilliant," he compliments as he gestures to the room, which only hours before had been a stage. "If you ever need anything writing-wise, I'd be happy to help."

I remember Casey's name from the conversation Ian and I had on the way to Connecticut. There's a sadness to Casey, or at least, I interpret it that way, but he seems at ease, his smile relaxed. We talk about his writing, which is more along the lines of literary fiction, but he's also been working on a bit of genre fiction.

"You know, I've been thinking about working on a vampire mystery, something fun, and maybe a tad bit cheesy. I could use some consultation, if you'd be up for it."

Casey runs a hand through his short blond hair, clearly pleased at being asked. "That would be great. I have a friend who might be interested in something like you are doing here, so maybe we can help each other out." He grins, a blush brightening his cheeks.

I smile at him, appreciative of his offer. "Sounds perfect."

The evening ends with business cards passed out, Mick's promise that he'll be in touch as he must know the end of the story, and more compliments than I can answer without turning a bright shade of pink. If they notice Ian's arm brushing mine or our hands touching beneath the table, they don't say anything.

"That was a brilliant night." Ian wraps his arms around my waist, grinning down at me. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. You have lovely friends."

He kisses me, and I forget what I was even thinking, much less anything else I wanted to say.

"And thank you for throwing Casey a bone. He's actually quite good, though I don't know if he'll ever finish his great American novel."

"He's the one you told me about? With the wealthy, nonexistent parents?"

Ian nods. "That's him."

I hate to interject, but I have to ask. "Did Mick mention anything about Noah's performance?"

Ian grins. "I only had a brief moment to talk to him about it before dessert, but yes, he thought he was really something. He's directing a film in the next year or so, and he might have a small role for him."

What I mean to do is smile brilliantly and kiss Ian. What I do is yawn expansively.

"If that news didn't perk you up, I know you're done for. You're exhausted."

I start to shake my head, but I'm so tired, the effort of denial isn't worth it. "I'm sorry. I am. I need to get home."

"You won't stay here?" he asks wistfully.

"Next time. I promise." I kiss him, hoping he can feel my apology. "But Noah doesn't know about us yet, and I want to be the one to tell him."

"Fair enough." He pulls his cell phone from his pocket, but I still his fingers. "I can take a cab. I usually do."

"Nonsense. I'll call you a car. If I can't use the perk of my job, why have it?"

He's either made a good point, or I'm too far gone to care. He practically lifts me into the car before nestling into the seat with me. I fall asleep during the ride, and I'm pretty sure he would have tried to carry me into my apartment, but I manage to get my footing.

"I'm okay," I insist when he tries to argue. "I just need sleep."

He presses a kiss to my lips, and then waits for me to get inside before returning to the car. I watch him through the hallway window, wondering if I've dreamed the last week, or if I might have met the right guy at last.
chapter 14

the amazing spider-man

It's after lunch when I finally rouse. And only because someone is retching over the toilet.

"Dear God, what happened to you?" I find Noah clutching the commode, his face pale and his hair damp with sweat.

"I think I've got the flu. I haven't felt this bad in years." He tries to heave again, and I look away while laying a cool hand on his neck. I hate the sound of vomiting, but it's even worse when you're alone, so I stay there despite my wish to grab earplugs.

"Let me run out and get you some juice and medicine."

He slumps against the tiled wall. "I don't think I can keep anything down."

"Okay, well, crackers and rice it is. Do you want me to help you back to bed?"

His head wags. "I'd rather be close to the bowl in case I have to throw up again."

I tug on jeans and a sweater, grab my wallet and cell, and head out. I check my text messages on the way to the corner market.

I'm lying in bed this morning, your gorgeous smile and delicious body on my mind. My cock is so hard, all I can think about is being inside you again.

A ridiculous smile locks onto my face, and as I scroll through the next two texts describing in detail parts of my anatomy that Ian considers quite arousing, I have to slow my pace, if only so I don't embarrass myself in the store. The man certainly knows how to turn me on.

I nearly drop the phone when the ring startles me. "Hey."

"So when do you get here, and what do you want for lunch? Sushi? Pizza?" Ian's excitement over my arrival makes me grin. "Afterwards, we'll revisit our discussion from Friday about restraining you while I drive you crazy with my mouth."

I enter the market and head over to the health aisle, hoping my coat's hood hides my scarlet cheeks. "I'll be over in an hour or so. My brother's sick, so I have to get him what he needs first."

"He's okay?"

"I'm guessing it's a stomach bug, but we'll see. Could be the flu."

We make arrangements for me to come to his house, though I insist on taking public transportation. I've lived in New York for years now, and I'm quite proud of my ability to navigate a system that used to confuse the hell out of me.

After Noah's tucked in with crackers and tea, with a promise to call me on my cell if he needs anything, I pull the writer's excuse of needing to get inspired and write elsewhere. I want to tell him about Ian, but not while he's not well enough to rag on me about it.

He doesn't ask questions, both because he'll never understand what I do and probably because he's too sick to care.

An hour later, I'm at Ian's, my heart thumping wildly in my throat at the idea of being with him again. But when he opens the door, there's something in his eyes that cues me to a problem, and though his kiss is warm, it's short.

"What's wrong?"

He shuts the door behind me, takes my hand, and leads me to his office. "I discovered it when I came in here a few minutes ago."

Where his first issue of The Amazing Spider-man used to hang is nothing but a bare wall. It takes me a few moments to register what he's saying.

"You don't think someone stole it?"

"Is there any other answer?" His voice is low and pained.

"Oh God, Ian. I'm so sorry." Then everything clicks into place. "Last night? You're sure it was last night?"

"I was in my office right before the party. It was here then."

Any excitement I harbored over seeing him evaporates as a cold, leaden weight fills my stomach. "You don't think I—"

"Of course not. I was either watching you or with you all evening."

Which was true. Outside of our time in the bathroom... "You think it happened when you and I were..."

"That's my best guess. The actors used this room to change in, right? How well do you know them?"

The accusation hits hard, even though I know it's logical. "They would never do that. They're all full-time employees elsewhere; they only work part-time for me because they're hoping to make it into acting. They'd never chance something like this." But even as I say it, I know I sound like one of my characters, determined not to see the truth before them.

"Ella, I'm not accusing anyone. But I know everyone that was here last night, except your people. My friends have been to my house countless times. I'm not saying it couldn't be them, but I find it highly unlikely." He pauses. "Do you run background checks on the actors? Do you know for sure none of them could have done this?"

"I don't think they'd do it, but no. I don't run checks." I feel as though I've consigned one of them as guilty, even though I haven't a clue if that's the case.

"I'll call the police then, get a report written up, and—"

"Wait. Let me...let me look into it. I'll ask my actors and see if anyone saw anything." I don't even know what I'm saying, except that this could ruin Elementary, ruin everything Noah and I have worked so hard to build. "I can hire a private investigator. They'll work faster than the police. This won't be a priority. I've done enough research on crime and police investigations for my stories—I know how this works. If I hire someone to do it, we might be able to at least figure out where to start." It sounds logical in my head, but he's an attorney. Why would he not count on the law, when it's what he's given his life's work to?

"Ella, look at me." He holds my shoulders and waits for me to meet his gaze. "I'm not trying to hurt your company. You don't have to be afraid. I know you didn't do this, and I know you're not behind it. Really, if it was just the book, I wouldn't even care, but it came from—"

"Your dad. I know. That's why I feel so terrible about it. But let me do this. If in a week, we're no farther ahead, we'll call the police. But please let me try to make this right." My eyes plead when my words give out. I start again with a shaking voice. "I'd be devastated if I were in your position. And I know what this means. Let me do this. Please."

He doesn't look away, meeting my eyes for several beats before he nods. "All right. Let's wait a week. It probably won't make a difference. There've been too many people in and out of here in the last day to get prints anyway." He releases my shoulders and runs a hand over his face before looking at me again. "Are you okay?"

In truth, I want to dissolve in hysterical sobs, but I put on my big-girl panties and nod. "I am. I'm just really sorry this happened. Let me get in touch with everyone from last night, and I'll let you know as soon as I learn something."

His handsome face creases with worry. "Ella, I may not have known you very long, but I do know you. I also know when people are hiding their true thoughts. It's part of my job. Talk to me."

I want to go home, to curl up and cry out my emotions, so I can move past them and get back to logic and planning. I shake my head and wish I could force out a more sincere smile than the grimace I'm probably making. "It's fine. I just want to get to the bottom of this, as they say."

"We'll do it together."

"I know." I take his hands. "We will. But if this is my fault, I have to make it right. If you know anything about me, you know that's the truth. And in order to do that, I have to be proactive and start working on this. I'll call you tonight?"

When he hesitantly agrees, I practically run out of his house, hoping that I can keep it together long enough to get home.

Noah's sound asleep when I get there, so I tiptoe past his room to my own. Without removing my clothes, I crawl under my comforter, pull it around me, and let the hot tears fall. I let the emotions overwhelm me—fear, embarrassment, anger, shame, sorrow, heartbreak—until I'm hiccupping with exhaustion. I might even fall asleep for a bit, but when my eyes pop open, it's only seconds before I remember why I'm in bed in the middle of the day.

I reach for my cell and dial Lux.

"Help."

I meet Lux in Kearny, New Jersey—an easy train ride from the city—on the corner of Midland and Beech, and we walk together to the middle of the block.

"Thanks for this."

Lux kisses my cheek. "You're welcome. That's what friends do." She brushes a curl from my face. "You going to be okay in there? Do you want me to go in with you?"

"You said you had a friend to see around here anyway. I can do this alone."

She nods. "I'll be a couple blocks that way." She points south. "Cell phone will be on. Give me a heads-up when you're ready."

When she's out of sight, I'm still standing on the stoop of Diamonte's Pizza and Subs. It's not that I'm afraid to walk inside. It's more...there are parts of my life I'd like to forget exist. This next hour won't let me do that.

After a deep breath, I step inside, pass the pizza restaurant's door, and take the stairs to the floor above.

"F. Hamilton, Private Investigator" is etched into opaque glass, meeting the very stereotype I try not to write. Even up here, I can smell the peppery, greasy odor of the pizza joint. When I knock, I hear rustling before the door opens.

F. Hamilton is barely five foot, with bright red lips, blue-gray eyes, and a personality that practically shines out of her pores. Her strawberry blonde hair's cut short, with curls spilling everywhere in a sweet halo. She's wearing a t-shirt with Scooby and the gang on it, tight jeans, and cowboy boots. Lux informed me that "F" stood for Fiona, but she uses an initial so people don't make assumptions about her based on her gender.

"Hiya, darlin'! I was wonderin' when you'd get around to showing up. And here you are. Timin's everythin', ya know?" Her southern accent makes her words hard to understand. She steps back and waves her arm before me. "Entré, mademoiselle."

I'm from the South, and I've never met anyone who sounds like her. I step in cautiously, and she grins even wider.

"I know. I'm not what most people expect when they go to see a private dick, am I right?" She winks and drops down on her chair. "Sit, sweetie. We're going to be awhile, and there's no point tirin' out your stems."

I obey but can't quite relax. Her office is nearly the size of a closet, with a large metal desk that barely leaves enough room on the sides to skirt by. A beat-up filing cabinet sits in the corner beside a mini-fridge, and that's about all this tiny space can hold.

"Tell me your woes, sweetpea. We'll get to the bottom of it." She sits back, arms crossed, smile sympathetic. "Lux didn't say much, but if you're a friend of hers, I aim to help." She drops the intensity of her accent, confirming my suspicions that she amps it up for clientele.

I inhale deeply, then explain the situation. I don't mention that I'm sleeping with Ian—not that I will be after this fiasco—but give her all the other details.

"The problem is that I didn't do background checks on the actors when I hired them. I have no idea if one of them could have done this. But they're all friends of ours, so I have a hard time believing it." I clear my throat and meet her gaze. "The other problem with this is that my brother has a background. He was charged with conspiracy and theft when he was eighteen. So if anyone's going to look guilty, it's him."

She narrows her eyes, giving me a penetrating stare. "You sure he didn't steal the book?"

I nod. "I'd stake our business on it. Look, he didn't steal anything when he was a kid. He was with...a friend. But he still got charged." I rub my clammy hands on my jeans. "I know I sound like every other person who's in denial over their family member's guilt. But my brother and I have never kept secrets from each other," until this past week, " and he didn't steal anything. But I'm scared if the police get involved, he'll be the first one they look at."

The seconds tick by as she seems to debate my tale. I'm twisting my purse strap, trying to calm my nerves. This is the Sunday from hell.

"Was anyone in and out of the place while you were there?"

I sigh. "Everyone."

"Do you remember seeing anyone going out of the house with a large bag or package that could have contained the frame? You said it was framed, right?" Fiona pencils down notes, even as she asks questions.

"A lot of people were," I say, even as the image of Noah leaving with props and a large duffel presumably filled with costumes fills my mind's eye. That duffel was huge. Could he have...? I slam the lid down on that thought. "We had a caterer, a live band, there were guests, two of whom smoked so they went outside several times. It's hard to say."

She asks for a list of names of people who were at the party, as well as all of the actors. I don't know all the guests' names, so I give her the few I recognized as celebrities. I even give her Misha's name, though I find it hard to believe the caterer would do anything like this. We go over everything I can remember one more time.

"You get back to me on the complete guest list. Think you can do that by tomorrow? I'll do a little digging, a few background checks, and see what we can find out."

I nod my affirmation. "How much will this run?"

Fiona gives me a wry grin and waves her hand. "For Lux, I'll do the checking around for free. Anything more than that, and I charge by the hour."

"Fair enough. Thank you very much." I aim for a smile, hoping I get close.

She meets me at the door, but when I reach for it, she touches my shoulder. "Hon, this is pretty easy stuff, and I'll gladly do it. But you need to prepare yourself in case the reality is a bit different than what you hope. People don't usually get charged for crimes unless they had some hand in them. Maybe not the blame they got, but they usually did somethin'."

I've never considered myself tall, but next to her, I feel gargantuan. I look down and nod. "I know. And Noah wasn't doing what he should've been. But he didn't steal anything."

She presses her lips together, but opens the door. "I'll probably have something for you by Monday night or Tuesday."

When I'm finally back on the street, I take a deep breath, trying to excise the memories that have returned. All I want is to forget that year, but something always comes up to remind me.

I text Lux, but tell her to take her time. There's a small coffee shop down the block, but it's the kind from yesteryear that serves breakfast and lunch, wouldn't know a latte from a cappuccino, and stays open only until five for commuters. I order a coffee and try to rationalize the pressure enveloping my chest.

I can ignore all the signs, but my heart knows: I'm falling for Ian. He's kind, thoughtful, interesting, insightful...everything I've always desired in a man. Not to mention, he's gorgeous. But this...will ruin everything. Who would date a woman when he suspects her brother stole from him? Worse yet, if I don't tell him about Noah's past, Ian will never trust me again. But I can't tell him right now. I have to prove that Noah didn't do it, first. And not just to save any chance Ian and I might have.

I have to prove it to myself.

Honestly, there's a lot about my brother I won't deny: his womanizing in order to avoid dealing with his fear of intimacy; his tendency to put off addressing serious stuff in favor of a good time; the part of him that never really grew up after college and still wants to spend any non-working time bar hopping. I get all that, and I won't lie about it.

But he's not a thief. I have to believe that.
chapter 15

wherein there be woes

I spin my mother's ring around my knuckle, lost in thought, when Lux appears across from me.

"Earth to Ella." Her smoky grey eyes peer closely at me. "You still with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. Lost on a story idea." When did I become such a good liar? But she doesn't question it and flags down the server to order her own mug of coffee and a muffin.

"You know, as much as I adore my friend Cheri, I'm not crazy about her manicures." She holds out her hands to me, displaying bright red nails. "She's okay, but I'll stick with my regular girl."

"We just had manicures on Friday! You got another one?" At her sheepish smile, I shake my head. "And I thought you went to see a friend."

"She is a friend. She's also a manicurist." She accepts the coffee from the server with a small smile.

"You totally use her for free manicures," I tease, trying to inject some humor into the otherwise dour day.

Lux grins, but shakes her head. "Please. If you knew all the family misery I have to listen to just to get my nails done, you'd think she should be paying me. Felt like I was working. I'm telling you—half my job is playing therapist."

I ponder that for a moment. "I bet it is. You are probably one of the few people in most of your clients' lives who knows their darkest secrets."

She leans back, her leather jacket serving only to enhance her curves, rather than cover them up. "Very true. I'm amazed at the things people will confess to me that have nothing to do with their sexual desires, and everything to do with their emotional issues. Don't get me wrong—I have perfectly healthy clients who enjoy something their spouse or partner can't or won't offer. But I've had plenty who can't be honest with the people in their lives. Always makes me a bit sad, truthfully." She leans her head back against the booth, her eyes closing.

And the hole in my chest widens. "Can I be one of them?"

"Say what?" She opens one eye.

"Can I be one of your therapy clients?"

"Why? What's wrong?" She sits up straight.

"I'm fine. But I need to tell you a story."

So I do.

The call came around two in the morning, as they always do.

"Ells, it's me. I need you to come get me. Don't tell Grams, okay?"

Unfortunately, when Noah was charged, he'd been an adult. I scraped enough money together to bail him out the next day—one benefit to working during and after high school was having a savings account.

"I didn't do it, Ells. I swear I didn't," Noah said quietly when I picked him up in my beat-up Ford.

"That's what they all say, Noah." The heat of the morning made my truck feel like a sauna, and I leaned my head against the cool glass of the driver's side window. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

He knew I was mad. I rarely used bad language.

"Adam said we were just selling off shit that his brother found or was given by friends. It was no big deal."

The morning traffic had thinned, but we still sat in bumper-to-bumper gridlock at lights. "Seriously? A brand new Bose surround sound system? That didn't tip you off?"

He hung his head, but not before I saw the humiliation in his eyes.

It was my fault. At least, in part. I'd babied Noah, given him everything over the years. If he wanted something, I bought it. I'd been mother and father to Noah since our parents died. He'd always been the sensitive kid, bullied by classmates for his interests in theater. But he'd also been the handsome guy who couldn't quite fit, which often marked him as a rebel. As a result, he hung out with older kids, the kind that didn't go to college right away and whose parents let them live at home without rent. It became a status thing, and while I was concerned, Noah always insisted they just had beers and watched movies.

Yeah, right.

"Did they find Adam? Or Hunter?"

He looked out the window. "No. Not yet."

Of course, they eventually did. All three were charged, though Noah got a deal: no time served and probation for one year, as he was a first-time offender and witness against Adam and Hunter. I made him agree to it, though he fought me, saying he'd never be a snitch.

But the charge was still felony theft and conspiracy. That wasn't going away.

Lux runs a hand through her dark curls, pulling on the long ponytail that hangs over her shoulder. "Yikes. I knew about the charge, by the way. Noah told me that when we were in college."

"When you were drunk?"

She grins. "Of course. When weren't we drunk? But I didn't—and don't—care. You're right. He's not a thief. I can't see him actually stealing anything, and if the situation was as he told you, he didn't. Besides, he's had access to my wallet and credit cards any time we go out; not to mention, all the women he sleeps with? You better believe he'd be able to bilk them out of some cash. And no one's ever come back on him. I just don't see it."

Her confidence makes me feel better, though it doesn't solve anything at the moment. "Thanks. Now I'm just hopeful Fiona can figure something out."

"She will. She's been a friend of mine for a while."

"How did you meet her?"

Lux shakes her head. "That's a very long story, and we've got enough on our emotional plates for one day. Hell, not even Noah knows that story. We'll save that for another time when we're all present and can drink our way through it." She reaches for my hand, squeezing my cold fingers. "You going to talk to Ian about all of this?"

I shake my head. "No, I can't face him. Not until I have something to tell him. I'll wait until I hear from Fiona."

She peers at her nails again, then seems to come to a decision. "Fine. Then come back to my place so I can put some glitter polish on my nails, and maybe Evan can bring us wine and cheese."

"I'd go for beer and Doritos, instead." I offer a small smile. "I'll try to call the actors while your nails dry." When we stand, Lux reaches over and pulls me into a hug.

"This is all going to work out, sweetie. It always does."

I nod against her shoulder, fighting the tears that threaten.

"And look," she holds me away from her, looking into my eyes, "if he's half the man you think he is, he'd never give you up over something that wasn't your fault."

"What if I'm just a woman he screws? It's only been a week or so—"

She presses her finger to my mouth. "Doesn't matter. When you know, you know." A shadow passes over her gaze, but she shakes it off. "And he's crazy if he lets a gorgeous, brilliant, ambitious woman like you get away."

So with that, I let her guide me back to her place, where we drink too much and get daring with nail polish.

Noah's sound asleep by the time I get home. I can see evidence of his waking in the kitchen, where there are several glasses in the sink, but from what I can tell, he hasn't eaten much. I peek in on him and check his forehead like I used to do when we were kids. He's still running a fever, but for the moment, it's mild, and he seems lost to the world. I tuck the blankets around him, straighten his nightstand, and refresh his glass of water, then let him sleep.

My own room offers minimal comfort against the maelstrom of worries in my head. I take a shower, relishing the pounding hot water and trying ignore the fearful whispers in the back of my mind.

Once I snuggle down in bed, I reach for my book, hoping to drown my thoughts in suspense and romance, but it's no use. I check my phone, hoping for a text message from Ian. Then I remember that I turned it off the second I got home. There'd been a text message on the screen, but I'd looked away, refusing to read it when I felt so powerless and low. My finger hovers over the power button, but I drop the phone on my nightstand and decide to do something I don't normally do. I trudge to the bathroom and dig out the sleeping pills I bought for Noah a few months ago when he was having trouble sleeping. They're the non-habit forming kind, but I still eschew taking anything like this. But I swallow a dose, ignore my annoyance over my need for them, and try to fall asleep.
chapter 16

s.o.s.

Some days, things go from bad to worse.

Help. Again.

Lux calls minutes later. "What's up?"

"I sent Noah to the clinic up the street. He's got a raging fever, and I think he actually has the flu, and not just a bug. We've got two parties this week, I've got to call in understudies because of Noah, question all of my actors about the theft at Ian's, contact Ian about his guest list, finalize the details of two parties back-to-back this week, return invoice estimates to four new clients—"

"I'm in. Let me email you my free time this week, and you let me know where you need me."

I nearly sob with relief. "Thank you. Seriously."

"Mwah. Any word from Ian?"

I don't say anything right away. I turned my phone on this morning, but silenced the ringer and didn't look at the screen. "I don't know."

She blows out a breath, and I can practically feel her pity. "Sweetie, you can't hide from him. If he's as good a man as you believe him to be, he doesn't blame you for this. If he's otherwise...well, better to find out now."

I nod, more for myself than for her since we're on the phone. "I know you're right. I just don't want to face it if he thinks this is all my fault."

"Check now. I'll stay on the line."

I groan but pick up my cell. He's texted me four times.

Yesterday afternoon: Hey, just checking in to see how you are doing. Call me tonight?

At midnight: Ella, I'm worried about you. I don't want you to blame yourself for all of this. Let's talk in the morning?

This morning: I'm down at Just Call Me Joe.

Just a few minutes ago: I'm getting the impression you don't want to talk to me. I'm going to be here for a few more minutes. I hope you'll change your mind.

"Oh God."

"I knew it. What did he say?"

I relay the texts to her. "What do I do?"

"Um, hello, get your ass down there. The man loves you, Ella. No guy is that desperate for a woman he sees as just a fuck. Throw on some clothes and go get coffee."

We hang up, but even her command doesn't get me moving right away. I stare at his messages, fear coursing through me. What if I'm wrong about everything?

My phone rings in my hand.

"I'm dying."

"I highly doubt that, Noah. What do you need?"

"Can you get my medicine? I just want to come home and go back to bed."

"That's fine. Come home. I'll head up and get it in a few." Because I don't have anything else to do, I grumble inwardly, but it's not like I can blame him. He sounds terrible. "Do you want me to call you a cab?" It's only a couple of blocks, but that can seem like miles when you feel crappy.

"You're the best sister ever."

"Yeah, yeah. Hold tight. I'll make the call."

After I order him a cab, I grab my wallet and head out the door. The universe is pushing me to make a decision, I guess.

Just Call Me Joe is packed, which isn't surprising. It's nearly nine, and this place is always jumping with the rush hour crew. I gaze longingly at my favorite table, which is currently inhabited with headphone-wearing hipsters and their laptops. I stare daggers at their oblivious heads as I pass. Oh, for a normal day instead of the mess I'm in.

Ian sits on the massive couch in the upstairs lounge, his iPad propped on his knee.

"Hey," I say softly when I'm close enough to smell the faint citrusy scent of his aftershave.

When he looks up, his relief is obvious. I barely have time to register him standing before his mouth is on mine. The urgency of the kiss piques my own barely contained anxiety, and I clutch his shoulders to pull him in even closer.

Breathless, he rests his forehead against mine. "Here you are."

"Here I am." My voice cracks over the words. "What are you doing here?" I ask as though I don't know the answer.

"You mentioned they have the best organic dark roast ever. Figured I needed to try it." His thumb strokes my neck. "That client I met with last week—we needed to go over some notes this morning, and you spoke so highly of this place..."

He didn't come here for me. That's the first thought that pops into my head, and even though it's irrational—I read his texts—it's all I can focus on.

I step out of his arms gently, reaching for his hands instead. "I need a favor, for the private investigator." If you ever need a buzzkill, there's the phrase for it.

He looks a bit wounded, but he nods. "Sure."

"I need a list of all the guests who were at your party Saturday night. She's checking backgrounds and doing a little digging to see if there's any logical place to start." Other than Noah.

"Of course. I can do that right now."

"Great. Thank you." I check my phone, more for something to do than actual need. "I have to get going. Noah's really sick."

Ian tightens his grip on my hands. "What's wrong with him? Will he be okay?"

"The flu maybe? That's my guess. I'm sure he'll be fine, but the doctor called in a prescription—I have to pick it up."

Ian looks at me, his eyes holding mine. "I can walk with you."

I waver, wanting nothing more than to pretend that everything is okay, that I wouldn't love to feel him beside me, to take his hand easily like I did in Greenwich. I want to go back to Saturday and pay more attention. "I should get going. I have a lot to do today, and I'm sure you do, too. I'll call you as soon as I hear something from the private investigator."

When he nods and releases my hands, I feel even worse. There's a gaping hole where I just punched him.

"I'll email you the list."

We stand there for a moment, as awkward as strangers standing too close. I reach up and press a kiss to his cheek. Then I turn and hurry out, desperate for the damp chill of the street.

With Noah bedded down for the day, I turn my attention to the actors I tried to call yesterday. Only one answered their phone, and she couldn't remember seeing the framed book at all. I try the other actors, as well as the band members. I do my best to make it sound like we're just nailing down timing, not that we think they had anything to do with it. But the bulk of my conversations are spent assuring them of that. Only one of the actors has anything helpful to offer.

"Yeah, I remember it. Shit, my brother would kill for that issue." I can practically see Justin stroking his goatee.

"Do you remember if it was there when you went back up to change?"

He's silent for several moments. "You know, I think it was. I remember throwing my coat in the bag and saying something to Noah about it. But yeah, I think it was there when I went back downstairs."

A thrill quickens my heartbeat. "Do you recall if Noah went downstairs before you did?"

"Oh, yeah, I followed him down. 'Course, there were two more bags upstairs when I left, so someone had to take them down, right?"

Shit. "Right." I go over his memory of the evening one more time, but there's nothing else helpful. I thank him, reassure him that he's clear of blame, and remind him that he's working for us twice this week.

This is pointless. These actors are like family to us. We've known two of them ever since the beginning of Elementary. There's no way they did this.

But then, who did? It's not like Mick Jeffries needs to take something he could afford to buy a thousand of tomorrow. Everyone else there was friends with Ian. Of course, that meant there was a high likelihood that they knew about the book, too. But would they steal from him?

Hell, I'm a mystery writer. I make whole plot arcs out of coincidence. Could a stranger have snuck in during the party, stolen the book, and snuck out? Didn't he have a housekeeper? Possible guilty parties swirl in my head.

Fiona's number on my phone rouses me from my inventive theories.

"I have good news and bad news, sweetpea. Which d'ya want first?"

"How about alphabetical order?"

Fiona chortles after a brief pause. "I knew I liked you. But I only do A-B-Cs for a fee, so I'll just lay it on you: the butler did it."

Her cheesy joke forces a smile on my face. "Haha. Okay, give it to me straight."

"I ran a few quick checks on the list you sent me today, as well as the one you gave me yesterday. The good news is the folks you work with have clear records."

My heart sinks. "Which means Noah's the obvious suspect."

"I'm afraid so, darlin'. I'm going to do a bit more checking on the list you sent me earlier, as I didn't have time to do more than a cursory search. And I don't have in-depth details to begin with. But if I had to point the finger at someone to investigate..."

"I was afraid of that." I don't know what else to say, so we sit on the line, only the soft shush of cell phone interference between us.

Fiona breathes a sigh. "You know, my daddy had a colorful background. We'll say it politely for the sake of today's story, but trust me when I say, I know something about loving someone with a penchant for other people's things. One thing I did know was when he was telling me a tale. I didn't want to admit it, mind you, not for many years. And that man could sell snow to Eskimos, sweetpea, let me tell you. But hindsight really is twenty-twenty, as they say. And I knew, as sure as I know my little girl's sweet face, when he was telling stories."

I appreciate her attempt to soften the blow. "Don't get me wrong, Noah's given me reason over the years to want to think less of him." I bite my lip, pondering her words. "I might be blind to it. I can't say I'm always the best judge of character. But I really don't think he lied, Fiona. And it was eight years ago. There's been no indication of anything like that since."

"Fair enough. I don't envy your position, that's for damn sure. I'll let you know if I find anything else."

"Fiona," I say quickly before she hangs up. "I'll pay you to keep digging. Whatever the next step is: do that."

"Will do, sugarplum. I'm on it."

Regardless of what else Fiona finds, I need to have a conversation I really don't want to have.
chapter 17

friends don't let friends drink & dial

I wait until Noah stumbles downstairs in search of food.

"Hot tea?" I ask as he slumps at the kitchen table.

"Please." He crosses his arms on the tabletop and rests his head on them. "I feel like death."

"We could probably get you a walk-on role as a corpse on CSI this week," I tease.

He coughs, a racking, vicious sound that makes his chair squeak.

"Then again, maybe not." I turn on the burner beneath the teapot, then join him at the table with a pad and pen. "I need to talk to you."

He narrows a groggy eye at me. "That doesn't sound good."

I shake my head. "It's not good."

He pulls himself upright, though he still lists to the right a bit. "What is it? What happened?"

I inhale, wishing I didn't have to tell him right now—at all, really. "A valuable comic book was stolen from Ian Crane's apartment Saturday night. There's every chance it happened while we were there."

It takes a few moments, and then suspicion gathers his brows. "And you think I had something to do with it."

"No, I don't. But everyone will because of your background. So I need to know what you remember from that night."

He sits still for a moment, until a cough won't let him be pensive. When he recovers, he pins me with a hard stare and details his memory of that night. I take notes, trying to compare what he remembers to Justin's version. They seem close, though he thinks Justin went downstairs before him.

"I was getting sick, so I'm not sure." He shrugs, his voice emotionless.

I fix the tea, then rejoin him with a cup for both of us. "I'm not blaming you, Noah."

"You've said that already." Despite the rasp in his voice, the hard edge cuts me.

"I know. And I'll keep saying it. I don't believe you did this. But you are the only person who was present who has a background. I have to question you."

"Why you and not the police?"

I bite down hard on my inner cheek, determined not to cry. "Because I've been seeing Ian, and I asked him not to call, to give me a week to see if I could figure out what happened."

"Wait," Noah holds up a hand, "you've been dating Ian Crane? Seriously? The guy's a total asshole."

My lip is going to be bloody if I keep pressing my teeth into it, but I recognize Noah's mulish expression. He's already decided what he thinks of Ian, and it will take an act of God to change it. "I understand how you might have that view, but—"

"Don't act patronizing towards me." Noah bites off the words. "That creep's been all over the news with his shitty behavior. You haven't Googled him?" When I don't answer, he shakes his head. "Jesus, Ella. Haven't you learned? Do you really need this lesson? He's a goddamned two-timer. Why the hell do you think Mia What's-Her-Name broke up with him? That was on the front cover of almost every magazine."

My mind reels with his words, but I force rational thought forward and away from Ian. "Regardless, Noah, it's why the police aren't involved. Not yet, anyway. I have a private investigator doing some research for us. I need to know if there's anything else," I work hard to keep my gaze impassive, "you need to tell me."

He hacks again, his whole body shuddering with effort. Then he glares at me, betrayal hot in his eyes. "No, Ella. I have nothing to confess. I didn't take anything." He stands up, probably wishing he could move a bit more fluidly to add to his point, but instead he has to hold himself upright as he sways on his feet. "I'm not the one here who has anything to admit to. But clearly you need to have an honest conversation with Crane." He seems to lose his steam.

"Noah, you know how the gossip columns love to—"

"No, Ella. Not every paper, not when there are pictures to prove it." He wags his head slowly. "I don't get it. How can you be so damn smart and so damn gullible at the same time?"

His words smack hard. He leaves the kitchen, and I'm vaguely aware of his footfalls as he returns to his room.

I sit at the table, unable to make myself get up or go be productive. It's easy to forget the pain you put others through when you've moved past it. After all, it was your sorrow, and in the midst of our suffering, we are often at our most selfish, pulling all of our energies inward to comfort our misery. Despite our largely unequal relationship due to age and personality, it was Noah who had to nurse me through losing Jonathan. Despite Noah's hatred for him after the fact, Noah listened as I cried, held me when I vomited from the intensity of the emotion, and tucked me into bed when I'd been so overcome with sorrow, I was nearly comatose.

I don't handle breakups well.

So while his words smart, they aren't unfair. I should know better. Especially since I've been seeing someone who is in the public eye.

With mechanical movements, I go to my computer and pull up a search page. And with surprising detachment, I scroll through all the "news" about Ian. He's usually in the background, with Mick as the focus. But after a few clicks, I discover the images that Noah referred to. A gorgeous blonde—who might have been mistaken for Mia Tratori at first glance—straddles Ian, her long hair blowing in the breeze. The photographer got close-ups, proving that this woman was definitely not Ian's supermodel girlfriend. I would argue this woman is actually prettier, but I've never been a fan of Mia Tratori, even when she hit the big time. Every photo offers a different angle, different moments in time, as the two kissed, laughed, and touched each other.

I keep searching, finding every article I can on Ian and Mia's breakup. The stories detail their relationship, their common interests, the woman who drove them apart. Images of Mia sobbing pepper the articles, her statements about the situation—"we ask that the public respect our request for privacy as we work through the difficult end of our relationship"—and later, her reflections as to what went wrong—"we both worked long hours. Of course, I thought we could make it. I was in love, but for some people, love isn't enough to pull them through temptation."

Each word is like a dagger thrust right into my heart.

I down a shot of vodka—okay, two— before I have the guts to call Ian. Not that I should. I have plenty of other things to worry about, besides whether or not my soon-to-be-former lover cheated on his ex-girlfriend. But logic isn't running the show.

"Hey," he answers, his voice soft and sexy, though concerned.

"Why'd you cheat on Mia? Was the other woman really that much hotter? I mean, I'll give you she was more attractive, but really?"

"Ella, what are you—"

"And you knew you'd get caught. I know cheaters like to think they're so clever, and that the rest of the world won't catch on, but really, we do." The alcohol launches my temper higher and harder than I thought possible. "So why? I never really got to ask Jonathan that question, so I'm asking you: why'd you do it?"

"I'm not sure we should—"

"Answer. Me." I raise my voice, aware that I'm starting to sound shrill, but I don't really care. Score one for Grey Goose.

"Ella, I'd rather talk about this in person."

"Fuck that," I sneer. "I want to know now. How long until you do the same to me? I'm way more gullible than Mia. Promise. I never see it coming. I go along like a good little girlfriend, doing everything you ask of me, until you fuck me over—literally. So how long?"

"Ella, you're drunk, I can hear that. And you're upset over the situation. I understand that. Why don't I—"

"How long?" I scream into the phone, tears spilling over my cheeks. "What gave you the right? You son of a bitch. You couldn't just break up with her? Tell her it was over, and then go fuck whomever you wished? God. Men."

He doesn't say anything, and I don't even know if he's still on the line.

I'm sobbing now, hiccupping so hard I can barely get the words out. "G-go ahead: call th-the police. I don't g-give a f-fuck. My b-brother didn't st-steal from you. That I know for sure. I-it was probably one of-of your f-friends." I can't shake the image of the "other" woman sitting astride him, mouths slanting, caught in the heat of the moment by an ill-timed camera. "D-don't call me e-ever again."

I throw my phone across the room, satisfied by the sharp crack when it hits the wall.

Lux finds me passed out on our couch.

"Holy shit, Sherlock. I figured I better come check on you when no one answered my multiple texts."

I open bleary eyes as her cool hand rests on my forehead. "I'm not sick. Just drunk."

She picks up the vodka bottle, eyeing its contents. "I can see that. I think you downed half the bottle. Are you going to throw up?"

I nod carefully, already feeling the nausea crawling up my throat. She gets the trashcan to me in time, and thankfully, I didn't eat much today, so there isn't much left in me. Lux disappears into the kitchen, returning when I'm done retching.

"Try some of this," she says as she hands me a glass of iced ginger ale.

"The emergency stash has been breached," I joke weakly.

She rolls her eyes. "You're the only person I know that gets hangovers within an hour of drinking. You should never drink more than one cocktail. Ever."

I test the spicy soda on my tongue, debating whether or not I can keep it down. "I'm pretty sure I should never drink again, period." I swallow cautiously, giving it a minute before trying another small sip.

Lux holds up my phone, spider web-like cracks shattering the screen. "I'm guessing this happened while drunk?"

I groan. "Shit. I really, really shouldn't drink ever again."

"The good news is that if it's just the screen that's damaged, it's a pretty easy fix," she says, laying the phone on the coffee table.

"No. No, it's not." I stare morosely into the fizzing soda bubbles.

Lux sits down beside me and leans back. She must've been worried: she's in jeans and a sweatshirt, her face clean of makeup, her hair in a messy bun. I think she's even more attractive this way, if that's possible.

"I get the distinct impression this isn't about a cracked phone screen."

I shake my head.

"You called Ian while you were drunk, didn't you?"

I nod miserably. "After Googling his breakup with Mia Tratori."

"Oh." Her voice is appropriately somber. "How did that go?" she asks slowly.

"Not well. I might have screeched obscenities at him..." the memories return with unfortunate details, "... blamed him without letting him explain his side..." I squeeze my eyes shut, "...and told him to call the police because one of his friends probably stole from him."

"You didn't tell him about Noah—"

She breaks off when I nod. "Sort of."

"Oh boy."

"And the worst thing is that I feel like I just kicked an injured puppy. Ian's been nothing but generous to me the entire week—open, kind, funny. Which only makes me angrier. He's a cheater, but I can never spot it, Lux. Ever. I'm the idiot who trusts that people are who they say they are."

She puts her arm around me and pulls me into a hug. "Ells, you're a good person. You believe in people. That's what makes you, you. But don't..." She sits up and takes my hands, which feel numb with cold. "Listen, I work in an industry that doesn't allow for the truth to dominate in all relationships. Some people have to hide who they are to keep their families together, to keep their reputations, to meet a social norm in their private lives. Right or wrong, it's how things are. And there are many reasons why people cheat. Jonathan is an asshole. He chose his path, and I give him no excuses. He wanted everything for himself, and he didn't care who he hurt."

I open my mouth to interject, but she shakes her head. "Let me finish. I don't know Ian. I've never met the guy. And while you aren't always adept at spotting assholes, I do think you see the best in people, and you're usually right. So there's something to this guy that attracted you—and it wasn't just that he's hot." She winks with a small grin. "I'm not saying you should open yourself up to be hurt, but maybe you should hear his side of things. The media is...well, the media. And they have a tendency of shaping things in ways that allow only one interpretation. Maybe he did cheat on Mia, and maybe he regretted it. Or maybe there's another explanation. I don't know if I'd want the bright spotlight of newspapers on my every move, as I'm sure some of the things I've done over the years wouldn't paint me in a very good light."

I can't argue that. But it doesn't do much for the uncertainty in my gut. Did I just destroy something worthwhile, or did I just protect myself from getting hurt again?

"Are you going to be okay while I go check on Noah?"

I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine. Trashcan at the ready. But he's got the plague, so I wouldn't get too close."

Lux returns moments later. "He's out. And Evan's got something with the band tonight, so I've got a night free. So are we watching Buffy DVDs or Firefly?"

I manage a grin. "You pick."

But even the antics of Buffy and the gang aren't enough to soothe the ache in my chest.
chapter 18

and the truth shall...make you miserable

Lux sleeps in my room, as I wanted to stay on the couch. I doubted I would sleep, and I was right. Instead, I spend the night mulling over everything. About Ian. About Elementary. About Noah. I don't have any conclusions by the time the sun pushes through the curtains, and that leaves me restless. So I make a full breakfast with bacon, eggs, and toast, and though sullen, Noah joins Lux and me at the table.

"You look better," I say, despite his hair sticking up in all directions.

He grunts in my direction but stays quiet.

Lux rolls her eyes. "You know what, you spoiled brat, cut it out." She smacks his arm. "That woman has babied you, got your medicine for you, and made you a huge breakfast. Stop being mad at her."

By the dark look on his face, I think he's going to snap at her, but the corners of his mouth flicker with a hint of a smile. Then he sticks his tongue out at her.

"Only if you're going to use it." She makes a grab for his mouth, and he nearly falls off the chair avoiding her hand.

"Children, no playing at the table," I tease loudly. But my heart skips a beat. I can hardly stand when Noah's mad at me, and Lux is coaxing him out of it.

By the end of the meal, Noah's not staring daggers into my back, which gives me hope.

"I can do some work today," he says as we clear the table.

"Only if you feel up to it. I've a call out for your understudies, so I'm waiting to hear back from them."

He nods. "Yeah, I don't think I'll be up for a show until next week."

His voice rasps over the words, and I can't disagree. He does seem a bit better, but he's still pale and leaning on the chair to stay upright.

"Why don't you work on the invoices for this week, and then we'll see how you feel?"

He wanders to his desk, and I mouth to Lux: "Thank you."

She waves a hand and checks her phone. "All right, you crazy kids. Evan's texting me to find out where I've landed, so I better get home. I have a client appointment in a few hours anyway. But play nice. Stay out of trouble." And she leans close to whisper, "Maybe call Ian and hear his side of things?"

I shrug. "Maybe." The idea of calling him after my behavior yesterday sends shivers of anxiety through my core.

Just after Lux walks out of the house, my phone attempts to ring. The gurgled sound coming from its speaker is a poor representation of its usual ring tone. Thankfully, I can still answer it despite the ruined screen.

"Sweetpea, it's Fiona. I found something interesting."

The journey to Ian's office doesn't take that long, but I'm so worked up by the time I get to his building that my hands shake as I open the entrance door. The same receptionist sits at the desk, and he calls up to Ian's office to announce my arrival. While I can answer calls on my phone, I can't text or place calls, so showing up here was the best I could do. Email felt too...impersonal.

"He's with a client. He asked if you could wait?"

"Sure." But my stomach crawls up my esophagus at the idea of just sitting here. Nonetheless, I manage to entertain myself with a book I brought with me, and twenty minutes later, the receptionist directs me to Ian's office.

Unlike last week, the door's open, and he's standing at his desk when I step inside. He looks good, of course. He's shed his suit jacket, and his white button-down clings to his lithe frame and makes me itch to touch him. But when I dare to meet his gaze, exhaustion and caution greet me. He looks like he got as much sleep as I did last night.

"Hi."

He nods his greeting. "I was surprised to hear you were downstairs."

I chew on my lip for a moment. "I would have sent you a warning, but my phone..." I pull it out of my pocket to show him.

"I'm pretty sure I heard when that happened." He doesn't move from his spot, but I detect the tiniest bit of amusement.

I close my eyes, heat washing over my face. "I'm sorry. That was inappropriate of me to do that."

"You were upset."

"I was." I don't know what to say, so we both stand there in silence, the discomfort growing by the second. "I got a call from the private investigator today."

He gestures to the visitor's seating. "I'm listening," he says as he sits down in his own chair.

I'm not sure if I can relax with my insides vibrating so hard; I'm scared I'll be sick. But I manage to perch on the edge of a chair before I continue. "You see, my brother has a background."

"I know."

I startle a bit at his answer. "Oh?"

"I have a friend who works for the NYPD. I asked him to do a little checking around for me." He steeples his fingers. "It's not that I didn't trust that you hired someone, but I thought it might help if we had someone on the inside doing some digging."

I drop my chin in agreement, but it stings.

"Ella, he's a friend. It wouldn't make sense not to contact him, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't."

"He told me about your brother's background." He stays quiet for a beat, then asks, "Why didn't you?"

"Because I didn't want you to blame him." I sound pathetic, and I hate that.

He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. "Do you know how many people sit across from me with major strikes against them? I can't just assume because they have a background or a history of certain behaviors that they're automatically guilty of the charges. I'd never be able to do my job if I made those kinds of judgments."

Now I feel petty and small. "I'm sorry. I just..." I trail off, unable to come up with a decent excuse.

"You wanted to protect him. I get that. But it was going to come out, even with the private investigator. Or were you only going to give me the information you think I need?"

My guilt shows plainly on my face, of course.

More silence, and my heart feels like lead. I push out the words I came to say, knowing they'll only make the situation worse, not better. "Fiona Hamilton is the private investigator I hired. She did some checking on all of the guests that were at the party. My brother was the only one among my crew who had any background of issue. But your friend Casey Udall has several dismissed charges that came up when she did a broader search. She also discovered that he has quite a bit of debt."

His face is a mask, betraying nothing.

"She staked out his apartment last night and tailed him from one private poker party to another. You'll probably find that he's a bit bruised today from an altercation he had with one of the players after a game. From what she could overhear, the fight was over money that Casey owed the guy, and Casey insisted he didn't have it yet."

"Let me understand what you're saying: you think Casey stole from me?"

"I didn't say that. I am saying that I know my brother, and I know what happened when he was charged years ago. He was an immature, bullied kid who grew up an outcast. He hung out with the wrong crowd and did things he shouldn't have. He wasn't innocent—he watched while others stole property and helped them transport it. But he didn't steal anything himself, and he's not had a single other incident since then. I believe him when he says he didn't take anything." I lift a shoulder and soften my voice. "I know Casey's your friend, and I would want to protect him if I were you. But he's got current problems that might be pushing him to do stupid things."

He doesn't say anything, and I take it as my cue to stand up and leave. "I'm really sorry, Ian. About everything."

A brief nod of dismissal is all I get, and I feel as though my heart has swollen and is cutting off my air supply. With panting breaths, I race down the stairs of his building and out into the icy air, hoping that the snap of cold will ease the pain inside.

"How'd it go?" Noah asks when I walk in the door. He's on the couch, but he has papers and folders spread out around him, the laptop balanced on his thighs. He takes one look at my tear-stained face and drops his head. "I'm sorry, Ells."

I drape my coat over the coatrack and join him on the couch. "I didn't expect it to go well." I press my nails into my palm, anything to stem the tears that threaten at the back of my eyes. "I just didn't think it would hurt this much."

"I'd say 'come here,' but I don't want you to get sick." Noah looks at me sadly, his handsome face having a bit more color than earlier, but his voice still thick with his illness.

I shrug and curl into his side. He wraps his arms around me, letting me cry until I don't think I have any tears left. He hands me tissues as needed, then flips on the television so we can watch the Buffy episode that Lux and I started last night. And we lie there for a few hours, watching television, numb to the world.

Eventually, though, I remember all the work I have to get done this week, and I push off the couch. "I should try to make something productive out of this day."

"Is it worth it to try talking to him again?" he asks, his voice low.

I turn on my heel and stare at him. "You're the one that said he's a jerk and I shouldn't trust him. That I was being gullible by seeing him."

He closes his eyes as I recount his words back to him. "I know. I'm sorry. That was cruel of me to say. You aren't gullible."

"Yes, I am." I sigh.

He shakes his head. "No, you believe in people. That's not being gullible. That's being awesome and being you. And you saw something in this guy that...what am I trying to say here?" he asks more of himself than me. He sits up and braces his arms on his knees. "Look, I hate what I did years ago. It's embarrassing, and I'm humiliated that I stood by and let people get swindled and hurt. And I wouldn't want to be judged by that, even though people will do it every time."

Even your own sister.

"I'm not talking about you, sis," he says as though I've spoken aloud. "You had to ask. Even if you didn't want to. I know that. But everyone else will assume because of my record that I'm still that person. And I'm not. So all I'm saying is...maybe judging him harshly on one event isn't fair. Maybe you should get the whole story."

I shrug. "It doesn't matter much anyway. I just told him his childhood friend is probably the culprit. That didn't make him all that happy."

Noah nods, raking a hand through his curls. "I bet not."

"It's okay." With a sharp inhale, I shrug. "I learned something from all this. I had an incredible week, and maybe I'm ready to get back out there and live again, you know?"

He smiles, the slightest dimple forming in his cheek. "Good. And I quite agree."

"So let's get you better, and maybe I'll join you next week when you paint the town."

That makes him laugh, which then makes him cough. But at least there's a connection between us again. It's a small comfort, but for now, it's enough.
chapter 19

You wanna be a superstar?

One Month Later

Thank you for calling Elementary, the place where 'who dunnit' could end up being you. How can I help you?" Despite my brother's laughter over my greeting, I enjoy saying it when I pick up the phone.

"Ella?"

My heart skips a beat, but after a second, I know the tone isn't Ian's. My disappointment soars, but I rally. "Yes?"

"It's Mick Jeffries. I met you a few weeks back."

"Of course! How are you?" It impresses me that he doesn't just assume that I know who he is.

"I'm doing good. I've a lady to impress, and I thought having a whole show done for us might be the ticket."

"You just want to know what happens next," I tease, a bit breathless that Mick actually called himself. Didn't he have assistants to do this kind of stuff?

He chuckles. "Caught in the act. You intrigued me with your show. I have to see the sequel. So what do you say? Could you whip up some magic to impress my lady?"

"I'm sure she's already suitably impressed by you, Mr. Jeffries. But we can put something together that will suit." Despite my disappointment that it's not Ian on the line, this is huge.

Mega huge.

"Call me Mick, sweetheart. All my friends do."

A charmer, indeed. "Of course."

"Your brother will be in it?"

My insides thrum. Ian didn't spread the word about Noah's background, then? "He plays the lead role in this series."

"Perfect. He was fantastic. I look forward to seeing him again."

I manage to subdue my squeal. "Excellent. Let's figure out a date that works for your dinner, and we'll schedule a time to go over details." It occurs to me after the fact that this guy's a massive celebrity. He probably doesn't do meet-and-greets; he'll want things perfect the first time.

But he surprises me with his answer. "Sure. Let me check my calendar."

We haggle over dates—well, really, he gives me times, and I groan in frustration when each one is already booked.

"You guys need to expand your forces. You're too good to do it all yourselves."

"We're working on it." And booking a party for him will help, so the next date, I swear, I'm going to move heaven and earth to make work.

And thankfully, it does.

We make plans to meet this week for the itinerary planning, and he gives me his private home address, which alone feels elite.

I'm giddy with excitement when I get off the phone, and Noah stares at me with questions in his eyes. "We're putting on a show for the president?"

"Even better: Mick Jeffries wants us to do a private show."

His eyes sparkle. "Seriously?"

"Yep. And he asked if you were going to be in it again. He really liked your performance."

Noah's smile widens. "This is incredible."

While everything going south with Ian tore me up, I'd be lying if I didn't also find myself stewing on the fact I lost a shot at booking shows with his guests. Several of them expressed interest in contracting Elementary, so when I heard nothing, I just assumed he'd told them about the theft.

I haven't heard from Ian since the day I spoke to him in his office. What was there to say, really? We never heard from the police or saw anything about the theft in the paper. Fiona had sent me an email a few days later, linking me to a short article detailing the brutal beating of Casey Udall, suspected to be related to gambling debts. I followed the news on him after that, and apparently, he made a full recovery, but they haven't caught the perpetrators yet.

Ian, however, had been out of the limelight, perhaps because Mick's new love is by his side in every photo now. In fact, the only thing I find on Ian is a candid photo of him at one of Mick's movie premiere after-parties, a beautiful red-head on his arm.

So that was that.

Mick's Manhattan apartment is not that far from Ian's, which doesn't surprise me. After all, they are close. But where Ian's is relatively compact in comparison, Mick's place is massive and sprawling, the top two floors of a luxurious apartment complex.

Mick actually meets me at the door, another unexpected gesture.

He takes my hands and busses my cheek. "So good to see you."

"You as well. It's a thrill to do this for you." I hand him the folder with our logo emblazoned on the front—an artistic rendering of Sherlock's famous deerstalker cap set jauntily atop a wine glass—that contains all of the ideas and plans for the evening. Noah and I went all out, calling boutique caterers that only work for the upper crust, booking our favorite band, and even checking into unique props. We want to make this signature event personalized to Mick, so I'm hoping to get all the nitty gritty details today, as well as keep a few surprises up my sleeve for the actual dinner.

He makes us coffee, and we venture into a glorious corner room, surrounded by massive windows that look out over Central Park. Weak, early-March sunshine pushes through the clouds, and a roaring fire keeps us toasty. Sitting at a small table, we go over the plans, discuss the layout of the stage, and debate menus. While he's particular about the tone of the evening, he's open to ideas, and we end up laughing our way through a second cup of coffee.

"You are not at all how you appear in interviews." I say it off the cuff, not really thinking through how the statement could be construed.

He sips his Americano and shrugs. "The media never tells the truth. They tell a version that they think will sell." He eyes me, as though gauging his next words. "They did that to Ian, you know."

I stare down into my cup, my face warming at the topic change. Without meeting his gaze, I shake my head. "I don't know."

"Look, I probably shouldn't put my foot in this—it's up to you guys to work it out. But he told me a little about why you broke up."

"It's not really breaking up when you've only been together a week."

Mick waves a dismissing hand. "Doesn't really matter how long it was. The point is that it happened over a lie that the media has happily fueled." He sighs and pushes his cup between his hands. "And he won't tell you the truth because he's bound by a promise, and he's too good a man to break that." His chair creaks as he shifts his weight. "I'm not under any such obligation, however."

His tone turns hard, and I meet his sky blue eyes.

"Mia Tratori is gay."

I'm pretty sure my chin bangs against the floor. But since I'm still sitting here slack-jawed, I can't be sure. "You're kidding."

Mick wags his head. "Nope. Girl hasn't liked cock ever. Mind you, she puts 'straight' on like a fashion-forward coat. We went a few rounds in the hay back when she first showed up on the scene. We were both drunk, met at a party, and that's how those things go. But it wasn't much fun for either of us, the little bit I can remember. So when those two got together, I had misgivings, but Ian's a big boy. He can figure shit out on his own."

I'm too lost on the whole "Mia is gay" thing to even be amused by his bald language. "Wait, so she was never really into him?"

Mick leans on the table, the thick sinews of his toned forearms tightening. "I think they tried. Really. She's a smart girl, likable if you don't get in too deep. But she's living a con, and I think it started a long time ago. It's hard to be honest with those you love if you aren't honest with yourself."

"What happened? How'd Ian find out?"

"The way people always do. Found some sexy texts, blew 'em off. Came home early to surprise her and walked in on her with two other women. Other well-known models, as it turned out."

I shake my head, not able to get my head around the news. "Oh God. That must've been awful."

"Nearly destroyed him. He loved her. Not sure I ever could figure out why. But there was something vulnerable about her, something that spoke to a certain brokenness. Whatever it was, he lost his head over the whole thing. Nearly quit his job. Threatened to sell his house and move home."

"So that's what his aunt meant." When Mick looks confused, I explain how I met Rheanna. "She said he'd 'had a rough year,' and I just figured it was the break-up with Mia. I didn't know all the details."

"Oh, it was more than a year. He found out about her being gay about two years ago. They were pretending to be a couple for the last year of their relationship. I think they tried the 'open' relationship thing, which, while that can work for some people, doesn't work for Ian. He's not built that way. When he loves somebody, that's it. He's loyal to a fault."

"I'm assuming she took their 'open' relationship seriously?"

Mick nods. "Mind you, wouldn't come out publicly. Too afraid it would ruin her reputation, and she'd just gotten the cover for Sports Illustrated. No way was she going to risk that. So yeah, now that she had someone on the inside who knew the truth, she claimed she didn't have to hide from him anymore. She even tried to get him in on the act." Mick shakes his head, a bit of sorrow in his expression. "Most men getting in the sack with two women—dream of a lifetime. Ian? He was miserable."

I can only put myself in his shoes, and the devastation he must have felt... "Why are you telling me this?"

Mick levels those baby blue eyes at me, the ones that women swoon about on YouTube and Facebook. "Because he's in love with you. But he feels like he has no way to reach you because you believed the media over him."

"He didn't tell me any of this."

"I know. I told him that, too." He sighs, his frustration obvious. "He promised Mia he'd never tell anyone about her sexual orientation, and he feels that breaching that, even to you, would be wrong. I, however, am not under any such code, and my morality has never been up to Ian's snuff, anyway." He grins, and I get a private showing of what many never get to see of this handsome, charismatic man: who he really is. "Ian's my best friend. We grew up too privileged to know we were lucky. But he's never let that get to him. He's everything I wish I could be, and I'll be damned if I let him throw away a good thing because someone else used his goodness against him."

He excuses himself to brew more coffee, and I sit there, stunned and reeling. I've spent the last month regretting getting involved with someone who would only hurt me in the end, while still mourning the loss of any chance Ian and I might have had. But I thought I at least knew the facts. While I couldn't argue with Noah that judging someone by past wrong-doings isn't always fair, having had my heart ripped out once before, I couldn't take that chance again.

I'm lost in thought when Mick rejoins me and tops off our mugs, and I look up at him. "So the cheating with the woman on the beach, the one that made the press—that was all part of their 'open' relationship?"

He shrugs. "At that point, things were over anyway. It just hadn't come out publicly. And of course, Mia made the most of out of it, ensuring she looked like the injured party. And really, the media was good for her career. Nothing like a jilted lover story to bring around public sympathy and interest. Wouldn't do shit for Ian either way, so he let her have it."

My breakup with Jonathan was brutal enough; I can't imagine having to experience it with prying eyes and wagging tongues. "I don't know what to say."

Mick lays a light hand on my forearm, and his quick grin helps stymy my emotions. "Look, I don't know you. But I saw you two together...it was the first time in several years he looked happy. So I'm sticking my nose in here hoping something good might come of it."

"I get the impression he's already moved on. I saw the photo of him at The Last Man's premiere."

Mick barks a laugh, his eyes shining. "That's my sister, Ella."

I cover my nose with my hands. "Oops."

He chuckles. "Believe me—those two can barely stand each other some days. He just served as her escort that night."

My worry appeased, we sit for a few moments, sipping hot coffee, while the fire snaps and crackles beside us.

"Do you really want Elementary for your special dinner, or was this just a lure to talk to me?" I'd rather know than risk not living up to any romantic plans he would prefer for his current conquest.

"Fuck no. I want to know what happens to Liam and Adrienne—I refuse to believe she really died." He winks. "And I'm dating a woman who loves mysteries—can't seem to get enough of them. So this seems like the perfect thing to do for her."

I nod in agreement. "Fair enough."

We finalize a few details, both of us avoiding the earlier topic. When he sees me to the door, he surprises me with a bear hug.

"Sorry if I blindsided you with all that stuff earlier. I just thought it only fair that you knew the truth. If things aren't to be between you and Ian, well, then, so be it. But you should at least know the facts before deciding."

"Thank you." I summon up a sincere smile for this man that so many see only for his good looks and snappy lines. He's not at all what I expected, and I'm glad for that.

Maybe I've been too quick to assume I know everything about people based on biased sources. The question is...do I take a chance? Or play it safe?
chapter 20

subtle revelation

So let me get this straight: you are planning a private party for the mega movie star Mick Jeffries. In his home. With his new flame Isabella Kyle." Lux's gray eyes are wide with wonder.

I reach for the moo-goo gai pan and grin. "Did I mention that he's asked for the top caterers and band? We'll be rubbing elbows with people who charge more than our rent for a dinner plate."

Noah nods, his eyes having a bit more sparkle than usual. "And that's not all. I'll be meeting with Mick in the next month. He has a project he's asked me to consider, and I might even get a small part in a movie he's directing in the next year."

Lux wields her chopsticks with flair. "I'll be able to say I knew you when."

We're seated on the floor around Noah's and my coffee table. The weather's murky and cold, so we opted for take-out on the rare night when we're all around...and not out at a bar.

"So why did you and Noah stay in tonight? I was even going to join you for a wild night out on the town."

With a glance at Noah, Lux shrugs. "Ask your blood-relation. It wasn't my idea."

I cock my head at him. "And?"

"I remember now why I rarely order lo mein," he mutters as he wrestles noodles onto his chopsticks. "Too slippery." He manages a bite, takes an extraordinarily long time to chew it, until he finally sighs and drops his utensils on his plate. "Because I'm going to start going a bit easier on my nights out. Mind you, I'm not giving them up entirely. But perhaps a little more time spent with friends and less focused on what I don't have. Or think I want. Or...whatever. You get my drift."

He leaves our circle to grab a bottle of wine and glasses. "Of course, that doesn't mean we won't enjoy a few drinks." He meets my gaze. "Emphasis on the few."

When he returns to his seat beside me, I launch myself into his arms. "I'm so proud of you, little brother."

Noah hugs me back, and Lux makes cooing noises across from us. "Aw, aren't you two the cutest?"

I stick my tongue out at her as I return to my meal. "Where's Evan tonight? Isn't he joining us?"

She checks her phone, then lifts a shoulder. "He's running late from a gig. I swear that man lives and dies by this band's success. They don't pay him nearly enough."

"Things are good though? Between you two?"

She nods—a bit too fast, in my opinion, but maybe I'm being suspicious. "Yeah, it's going really well. Better than I thought it would. I suppose any man who can deal with what I do for a living has to be commended, right?"

Noah makes a face at her. "'Deals with what you do for a living'? What is there to deal with? It's your job, just like any other."

Lux snorts and shakes her head. "No, it's not. I deal in kinky fantasies and sexual activity. And I've never been sure that I'm cut out for monogamy and picket fences. Evan's...a change. A good one. But it's been...a learning experience for both of us."

I think about her words for a moment, then ask, "So you don't think you want to settle down? Get married? Or you don't want to be with just one person?"

She catches her full bottom lip in her teeth, and for a few moments, she doesn't seem like she's going to answer. When she does, her voice is low, her words hesitant. "I don't know how to answer any of that. I...care for Evan. A lot. And he's definitely a one-woman kind of guy. So I'm trying. He deserves to be happy."

"Yeah, and so do you," Noah says, his tone firm.

"I know." She nods to Noah. "I'm not saying I should be miserable. But being in a relationship means making compromises. On both sides. I've had more sexual partners than most people have pairs of shoes. It makes for some hard conversations."

"But Evan's a sub, right? He gets the lifestyle." At least, that's my logic.

"He does. And don't get me wrong—Evan hasn't asked me to change anything. With his schedule and mine, we don't have much time to worry about it, honestly. But I know he wants the fairytale. Well, the modern-day American fairytale. The little house and children and...pedestrian hobbies."

"Wait, the guy that manages one of the hottest up-and-coming alternative bands wants a quiet life?" I quirk an eyebrow.

"I know. It sounds weird. But that's not actually what he wants at home. He wants a really normal life. Well, as much as two kinksters are going to be normal, anyway. He's not about to give up his collar."

I hold up a hand. "T-M-I. I don't want that visual."

Lux chuckles, her laugh a melodious, raspy sound. "You get my drift. Anyway, enough about my love life. Anyone else have sordid details or secret trysts to share?"

Noah shakes his head. "Nope. I'm officially on the market to any buyer. For the night." He winks at me when I glare at him with mock outrage. "Okay, fine. Two nights."

Lux makes a face. "You are such a man-whore."

He shrugs, his expression innocent. "I can't help that women only want me for my body."

"Please, that scrawny thing? I'm convinced it's the hair," Lux teases.

And Lux is probably right on the last count. My brother's thick, luxuriously curly hair begs to be touched. And while I may only be his sister, I wouldn't call him "scrawny." Thin, yes, but he gets to the gym often enough—and was blessed with a metabolism that gives him a lot of leeway. Now, whether any woman can ever conquer his commitment issues...I don't know.

He makes several model-like poses, running his hands through his hair in dramatic slowness. Lux and I both end up giggling.

"How about you, dear sister? You like to keep secrets, lately. Any fair squires or handsome rogues catch your eye?"

I haven't told either of them about my conversation with Mick a week ago. I've wanted to, but I didn't know how. Or maybe that's just an excuse. So while I have both of them together, I blurt out the story.

"Whoa. Mia Tratori. Gay. I'm shocked." Lux whistles. "If there's one woman who always seems to be on the arm of every hot guy, it's her."

Noah wags his head. "Yeah, I didn't see that one coming. That's gotta suck for her...feeling like she has to live a lie."

We sit quietly, picking at the last of our Chinese food.

"So what are you going to do?" Lux asks.

"I don't know. I mean, I totally understand why he didn't tell me. But...we were only together for a week. Maybe that's all it was meant to be."

Noah shakes his head. "I saw the way he looked at you at his dinner party. I didn't know you two were an item at the time, but he was totally into you."

"But for what, Noah? It was just sex. I mean, that's...it felt like more. But what if it wasn't? I'm way out of his league—"

"Bullshit," Lux interjects immediately. "You are totally in his league. Maybe even above it. But the more important question is: do you care for him?"

I sink my teeth into my lip, the fear in my throat forcing me silent. I nod instead, annoyed as tears threaten.

"Then you need to call him. Talk to him. See how he feels about everything."

I can feel Noah's stare, but I refuse to look at him. I can't bear to see the pity that might be there. But when he brushes his hand over my shoulder, I risk a glance at him.

"You know, you get on me for my commitment issues. Maybe I'm not the only one."

I hate it when he's right. But I've wondered the same thing recently. I make a face at him, thankful for the break in emotion. "Regardless, I haven't decided what to do. And he might have already moved on."

Noah opens his mouth to speak, but a knock on the door interrupts us, and Lux jumps to answer it. Evan greets her with a kiss, then they join us on the floor. We change topics, thankfully, and talk about Evan's work. His blond good looks and easy manner blend seamlessly with us. He's so easy to like and be around, but as I watch him and Lux interact, I can see the cracks already. The parts where she laughs and makes a joke, and he doesn't quite know how to react. Or when he tries to snuggle closer to her, and she moves away a fraction of an inch before giving in.

Maybe it's tonight's revelations and my melancholy informing my impressions. But as I watch their stilted dance, it reminds me of how easy everything was with Ian, and how much I enjoyed simply sitting next to him. Perhaps I've placed too little importance on how rare it is to fall into that rhythm. What if I never find it again?
chapter 21

need...more...caffeine...

A Few Days Later

You're headed over to Joe's, right?" Noah pokes his head out of the kitchen as I pack my bag, digging through my desk for my computer charger.

"I don't know. I was thinking maybe I'd go for a change of scenery."

Noah's brow creases. "What's this? Disloyalty to your favorite coffee shop?"

I lift a shoulder. "I guess I'm feeling restless. Ready for a change. Maybe in a lot of areas of my life."

He thinks a moment. "Hm. Well, I was going to ask you to grab me one of their superior mochas, but if you aren't going there, maybe I'll run down. I wanted to finish this proposal this morning, though..."

I roll my eyes. "You do this just to manipulate me into buying you coffee so you can stay cozy and warm."

"Dear sister, how can you say such things to your loving and caring brother?"

Of course, he says this as he returns to his desk, no doubt pulling his small space heater closer.

"I promise to be errand boy for you tomorrow," he calls after me as I open the door.

"I won't hold my breath," I yell back at him. In truth, getting out of the house is just what I need today. I've spent the last week or so mulling over what Mick told me, and I'm not getting any further ahead. But I don't know. Ian and I were together a little more than a week. Maybe it was just infatuation? I hate thinking about those few days in that light, but I'm trying to be more pragmatic.

Just Call Me Joe is hopping, but it's early enough that I spy my favorite table empty. I drop my bag there and place my order. Coffee in hand and earbuds in place, I'm well into the next installment of my mystery series when someone taps my table to get my attention.

I glance up, then slowly remove my headphones. "Ian."

"Is this seat taken?" He meets my gaze, his warm sherry eyes cautious but friendly.

Shaking my head, I close my computer. "How did you know I was here?"

He takes a seat, then fingers his coffee cup before speaking. "Your brother." When I arch a brow, he continues. "He was quite adamant that we needed to talk. And he threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't show up."

I snort, though inwardly, I want to hug my brother...or strangle him. "I should have known this morning was a setup. And I've seen Noah fight. He's easy to dodge — just watch him, as he's a lefty."

A small grin appears on Ian's lips. "Good to know." After a swig of coffee, he sets his cup down, his hands flattened on the table on either side of it. "It wasn't just your brother's pressure, either. Mick got in on the act as well. And of course, I've been lecturing myself on all the reasons I should contact you."

My stomach flips at his words. "Why didn't you?"

He stares at the table, as though debating his words. When he comes to a decision, he meets my gaze. "I was afraid. You are...real. Sincere. Honest."

His proclamation of my attributes heats up my cheeks. "And you aren't?"

His long fingers steeple in front of his face, and after a moment, he peers over them. "One of the things I've learned, living in Mick's shadow, is that people want the façade. As long as the story looks real, they'll buy it and not ask too many questions. And I got sucked into that world, believing it to be reality. It sounds like Mick told you the pertinent details of what happened between Mia and me. It...changed me. Or at least, it changed how I thought of myself."

"Is that why your aunt said you had a 'rough year'?"

With a nod, he continues. "I lied to everyone around me. My mom. My family. Mick only knew because we live so close. I was...a mess. And because I still cared, I felt pressured to maintain the status quo, even when everything was falling apart." His shoulders lift a bit. "Looking back, I would have done things differently, of course. I'm not...I don't cheat, Ella. That's not how I'm designed. But—"

"You don't have to explain. Mick did." The shadows in his gaze tell the truth that belies even his words. "I understand, Ian. Really." I bite my lip, trying to figure out where to go from here.

"Ella, you were the first person in a long time with whom I felt like...me. I wasn't putting on a show, or being someone other than who I am. Part of it was because you didn't expect anything otherwise. You didn't know me and didn't know anything about my past."

"I understand, Ian. I do. But it was only a week...maybe we expected a bit too much from it." I rotate my ring, trying to figure out what to say. "I mean, on one hand, I wish you'd been the one to tell me about...things. But there wasn't much time."

"And maybe that's the point. I think had we known each other longer, learned to trust each other, we would have been able to say those things. You should have known that I wouldn't have assumed it was your brother who stole from me. Logic might have led me to him, but I wouldn't have immediately blamed him. But there was no way you could know that—you don't know me well enough."

We're both quiet, sipping our respective drinks and seemingly lost to each other.

"What did happen with your book?" I ask quietly.

He inhales deeply, as though dreading his next words. "Your P.I. was right. Casey had gambling debts, and rather than simply ask for help, he figured your team would get blamed. And, if we're being honest, I think he did it to get even with me."

"To get even?"

"My mom and dad were often Casey's only parental guideposts. While his parents aren't horrible people, they didn't really know how to do the job—or maybe didn't care to learn. It's hard to say. But there was always both an appreciation and a jealously when we were kids. Casey used to say that we were born to the wrong families because I took mine for granted, in his view." He presses his lips together, frustration etching his expression. "I think the plan was to pawn the book, but despite his motivations, he loved my father. And the idea of letting go of something my dad valued...he couldn't do it. Not that it would have yielded enough to pay his debts, anyway."

"I saw in a news article that he got hurt pretty badly."

Ian nodded. "Yes, he did. That's how I found out about it, though after you told me what the investigator had discovered...well, I could connect the dots for myself."

More awkward silence commences, and I'm not sure what to say. Seeing him across from me, sitting as though we're here for a morning coffee together, makes my heart ache for that to be true. But fear holds me in place, stops me from opening my mouth. What if I've been wrong about him? What if Mick's perceptions weren't accurate? What if...

"My ex cheated on me," I blurt out, surprised to hear the words coming out of my mouth.

Ian says nothing, just watches me curiously, waiting for me to continue.

"That's why I freaked out that night...the night I called you." My body flushes as I recall my drunken accusations. "I...we were..." I trail off, unsure how to explain. Then I decide to just jump in. "I told you about Jonathan before. A little bit, anyway." I can't look at Ian, for fear I'll lose my nerve. "We were together for five years. I was almost twenty-four when we broke up. He went on to law school upstate, after graduating, and we were supposed to make it work. I stayed in the city with Noah, which conveniently made it easier for my brother to afford rent, and Jonathan and I saw each other on weekends. At that point, I should have known it wouldn't last. Noah did—he saw it coming long before I did. But then the weekends started becoming every other, then once a month. He blamed it on his studies, which sounded legitimate. And one weekend, a couple weeks before his birthday...well, it's the same old story. I went up to surprise him, and I found him with someone else. It had been going on for months. Noah claims he was cheating even when we were in school. I don't know." I pick at a fingernail, the embarrassment and pain still ripe enough to taste. I can't look at Ian, for fear I'll see pity there. "Anyway, it...threw me off my game for a long time. I've always been the first to believe in people, to think that they're sincere and honest. And he broke that in me. I lost myself in my stories and building Elementary. That was easier somehow—to focus on things I couldn't control, necessarily, but knew I could at least do them without feeling foolish." Tears swim in my eyes, and I blink hard, fighting them.

"I'm so sorry, Ella." He reaches across the table, covering my hands with his.

"It's over. And I think I'm finally past it." His skin warms mine, and after a moment, I turn my palm up against his.

A small smile curves his lips. "I guess that leaves me with one question."

I meet his gaze, the intensity of it causing a small thrill up my back. "And what's that?"

"Can we try again?" His thumb brushes over my knuckles, his eyes looking deeply into mine.

"I would like that," I say without missing a beat. "I would like that very much." 
chapter 22

prelude to a wedding?

One Year Later

I can't do it. I won't do it." In my head, I'm screaming. But in reality, I'm probably barely speaking above a whisper. "You can't make me marry him."

Lux eyes me warily. "No one's making you do anything, sweetie. How much of that vodka have you had?"

"What...are you...talking about? I drop my head on my arms, the motion causing my brain to tip sideways.

"Hm." She must take the bottle off the table, as I can hear the contents sloshing around. "This wasn't a full bottle, was it?"

I ignore her accusatory tone, a sob ripping through me. "I can't marry him! Where's my phone? I need to call Ian and tell him. The whole thing—we have to call it off." We spot my cell at the same time, but for some reason, Lux moves faster than me, and my fingers slip off the smooth edge as she snatches my phone off the table.

"No, you don't. You need to sober up first." Lux tucks the phone into her jeans pocket before retaking her seat across from me at her kitchen table. "No calling your intended until you are in your right mind."

"I am in my right mind. It's wrong. All wrong," I wail, hot tears snaking down my cheeks. "Can't you see that? He's smart, successful, and ready to start a family."

"And you're not?" She hands me a napkin.

"Not yet." I sniffle into the rough paper, trying to stem the emotion that won't seem to let up. "We just hired people for Elementary, and we don't know if we'll be able to keep them on full-time for more than six months. Not to mention, what if I get pregnant? I'm not ready to stay home and be a mother. How can I continue to work on Elementary if I have a baby?"

Lux's eyes pop open. "Wait a second—Ian wants to have children right away?"

I wag my head. "No, I do. But I'm not ready. Not yet."

With a shake of her head, Lux tries again. "So let me get this straight: you don't think you're ready to have the children Ian isn't pressuring you to have, because of Elementary, which has grown in leaps and bounds over the last year? And despite the incredible success and increased celebrity clientele you've recruited, you don't see yourself as successful?"

A fresh course of tears pours down my face as I nod.

"You've definitely had too much to drink. Are we at the vomiting stage yet?" Lux heads for the small trashcan in the bathroom.

I don't answer her, too overcome with grief to explain my warring fears. And I'm starting to think I might have had a bit too much booze, as when I look down at my hands, I have more than two.

When Lux returns, she sets the waste bin beside me before leaning her hip against the table, looking down at me. "Sweetie, Ian isn't a 'barefoot and pregnant' kind of man. I have no doubt that he'll be just as involved with your children as you want to be. And God knows, you two can afford a nanny, so it's not like you'll be tied to the house 24/7 anyway. So when you want to have children—when you both decide it's right—I don't think you're going to have to worry."

"What if you're wrong? What if he's really traditional?" My face and hands feel like they're burning up, but an ominous chill surges from my belly.

"Only you can answer that one, babe. But let's keep that conversation for when you aren't ready to hurl."

Lux got the trashcan just in time.

Noah's face greets me, the sun streaming in the window behind him causing me to squint.

"You couldn't keep her sober for one night?" He glares behind him, where I presume Lux is standing.

"Hey, it's not my fault she turned into the lush in the family. Who knew you set such a shining example to follow?" Lux moves to stand beside my brother, peering down at me. "Besides, you could have skipped the bachelor party and hung out with your sister if you were that worried about her."

Brutal pressure pounds behind my eyes, and the effort of talking seems a bit too much. So I groan instead and roll over.

"Time to get up, Ells. Your beauty regimen and multiple stylists await for your big day." But even Noah sounds doubtful. "And after last night, they've got their work cut out for them."

I stick my leg out from the covers and aim for his crotch. I manage to clip his knee, and he stumbles, which cheers me considerably. "Take that."

He smacks my leg lightly. "All right, you're on duty, Lulu. She's your problem. I have to make sure the groomsmen aren't in the same state after the party last night."

After a bit of grumbling, I roll off the bed, pushing past Lux as I meander to the bathroom. Noah wasn't kidding, though. I have dark circles ringing my eyes, and my skin is pinched and sallow. I don't do hangovers well at all. "Ugh. I'm never drinking again."

Lux peeks in, then shifts behind me so I can see her in the mirror. "You said that the last time."

I narrow my eyes. "It's been at least a year since my last foolish drinking episode. And I mean it this time. No more." I lean closer to the mirror, mortified by my under-eye shadow.

"Don't worry—that's what concealer's for."

I stand up, not interested in whether I look perfect for my wedding. "Am I doing the right thing?" I ask softly, meeting her gray gaze in the mirror.

She wraps her arms around me and rests her chin on my shoulder. "Do you love him?"

I nod immediately.

"Then you'll figure out the rest. Does he know about your worry about having a family? Have you talked about it?"

"Sort of. I mean, yes, we have. And we agreed on it at the time..." I trail off, feeling ridiculous for freaking out over something that seems a bit trivial now. Ian said he was willing to wait to have a family until I felt like Elementary could survive without my constant involvement. We'd even agreed on having two children, raising them in the Long Island house we just purchased together. We discussed names and picked out ones for a girl and a boy. So why am I suddenly so irrational?

"Then you're just having last minute nerves. It will be fine."

But my gut won't stop roiling, even as we head out for the salon.

"I have to talk to Ian." I turn to her in the taxi. "I know I don't have time, and I'm going to miss my hair appointment. But I have to."

Lux squeezes my shoulder. "I can do your hair. Let's go."

I'm so thankful she doesn't say anything about the bad luck associated with seeing the groom before the wedding because right now, I don't care. The taxi whisks us towards Ian's place on the Upper East Side. I dig out my key, the one Ian gave me almost immediately upon our agreement to try again, and practically leap out of the taxi when we arrive. Still in my yoga pants and sneakers, my hair pulled up sloppily in a clip, I nearly topple Ian over when I explode through his door.

"What are you doing here?"

I curl into his arms, and he thinks better of asking questions.

From behind us, Lux interjects, "I'm going to go grab some coffee and food. Be back in an hour, okay?"

With gentle prodding, Ian eases me into the living room and sits on the couch, holding me in his lap.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I just...needed to see you."

He pulls me close again, smelling faintly of spicy aftershave and the delicious scent of him. I press my nose into his neck, inhaling deeply. "I thought you weren't supposed to see me before the wedding?"

"I don't care." My words are muffled against his sweatshirt. I hear his heartbeat, feel it beneath my ear, and the comfort it brings is instantaneous.

"Talk to me. What has you upset?"

His presence steadies me, reminds me of how reliable he is, something I've taken for granted this past year. "I got scared." I lift a shoulder. "What if we're wrong, and we're rushing things? What if we end up regretting getting married?"

"Where's this coming from, Ella? What has you so afraid?"

I slide off his lap so I'm sitting beside him, and I look into his warm, if confused, gaze. "I..." I wrap my arms around myself, desperate to explain, but feeling ridiculous. "I've been all I've had for a really long time, Ian. I mean, there's Noah, but we've always...I'm usually the one taking care of him. Not that I minded," I rush to explain. "He's always been there for me. But I've always known that I was it. If things fall apart, it's egg on my face, and mine alone. And now, I guess I'm just a bit...off-kilter." I hug myself tighter, unsure if I'm saying the right—or wrong—thing.

Ian watches me for a moment, then wraps his arm around me, pulling me into his side. "You've never had anyone else who can pick up the slack. Is that it?"

"Maybe a little." I shrug. "I'm used to being the responsible one, I guess. I've never been able to let go of that feeling."

He tips my face up so I can't look away. "Ella, I love you. I have since the first day we met, and you showed me what sincerity and empathy were. Whatever has you worried—we'll figure it out. Together. Do you doubt that?"

In his gaze, I see nothing other than truth and love. "No, I don't. Truly. I'm just scared."

He kisses me, with a passion so hot and purposeful, I'm left gasping when he pulls away. He leans his forehead against mine. "I'm scared, too, in some ways. But I think that's a good thing. This means something, to both of us. We don't take it lightly." He frames my face with his hands. "I will always be there, Ella. You're not alone anymore."

I'm thankful I didn't get to do my makeup yet as a tear escapes over my cheek. "I love you."

His lips find mine, and for a few moments, I'm lost in him, remembering why I agreed to marry him only a few months ago. The sweetness of his proposal—early December in Central Park, late one night, long after the holiday revelers had dissipated—and his belief in us swept me off my feet...but even more than that—his conviction and loyalty have been unshakeable from day one. What woman wouldn't lose her heart? I certainly did.

"I love you, too," he says, trailing a finger over my jaw. "Are we ready to do this?"

I nod. "Yes, we are."

"Feel better?"

We're in the limo, and I'm already ditching the removable train and flowered headpiece. We took pictures before the ceremony, largely so our guests wouldn't have to wait around for hours while we futzed with organizing group shots. Besides, we really wanted more candid images from before the wedding and during the reception. Not exactly traditional, I know, but when have I ever been tied to rules and conventions?

Don't answer that.

I lean in to kiss Ian. "With you? Always."

Our kiss turns into something a bit too scorching for a wedding dress to manage, and he glares at the tulle and taffeta separating his hands from where they want to be. "No chance this thing has an easy escape hatch like in the movies?"

With a laugh, I shake my head. "You should have seen Lux helping me get into this monstrosity. It's like a deathtrap of lace and seed-beading." Mind you, it's gorgeous—a dream design that I couldn't have been more pleased with...but the complexity of simply putting it on was daunting to both me and Lux—and she wears complicated clothing as part of her job.

"You do look beautiful in it, though. Of course, you're stunning in sweatpants, too." He slips his palm over my satin-trapped waist. "Or nothing."

"Hm. Right now, I wish it was nothing."

"You know..." His grin turns evil, and he buzzes the driver. "Can you take the long way, Tony? The really long way?"

"You got it, boss," Tony says through the speaker. "I know how these things work."

My cheeks are inflamed, but Ian laughs and examines my gown for weaknesses. "Aha."

"I'll never get back into it," I squeal, though if I'm honest, I'm not fighting him all that hard.

"I'm an attorney. I can get you into and out of just about anything, sweetheart." He gives me a crooked eyebrow and shady wink, and I dissolve into giggles. With some work, we're able to pry me out of the bodice, though my torso is fully covered by my bustier.

He goes for the foundation garment's back enclosure, but I shake my head. "No, no, this thing has about a hundred hooks. I'll never get it back on." I shuck my shoes, then give him one quick glance at the very skimpy g-string I wore before sliding that off and into the pile of matrimonial garb.

"What have you turned me into? I used to be a good girl with principles and proper behavior."

He brushes my shaking fingers aside and unbuttons his pants. "You still are. But I discovered those angelic eyes and porcelain skin hide the vixen beneath." He helps me straddle him, his mouth nipping my neck as I sink down on his lap. His cock trapped between us, I rub against him while he tugs at my bustier to free my breasts.

"You are breathtaking, Ella." He caresses my skin, his fingers teasing the hardening tips. Bending his head, he suckles the sensitive bud, and I drop my head back, my hands in his hair.

When I can't wait any longer, I barely have to tilt my hips, and he pushes into me. I sigh, loving the way he fills me. He continues his adoration of my breasts, letting me relax around him. Then he guides me into a slow rhythm, his mouth hungry on mine, our breaths turning ragged.

He slides his hand between us, finding me, and heat curls out from my core, encasing me in a wave of pleasure. My whimper turns into a moan, and he gently scrapes my nipple with his teeth. He continues his patient torture, and I have no choice but to follow each roiling current to the end. I've given up trying to silence myself, and when I feel him tighten inside of me, his own release near, he kisses me hard before urging, "Let me hear you, sweetheart."

I cry out as he shakes against me, the impact of his climax driving my own. When the pressure finally spirals out of control, I have no choice but to give into it, letting the well of sensation overflow.

I can only hope the limo driver's hard of hearing.

"I could watch you come for hours," Ian teases as he wraps his arms around me. "You're like some sort of goddess with your lusty noises and pink skin."

"Ian!" I smack his shoulder while hiding my face in his chest.

"What? You're captivating." With a knuckle under my chin, he makes me look at him. "I love you, wife. You're the most stunning, intelligent, sexy, captivating woman I've ever met."

"You forgot to mention 'noisy,'" I say in grumpy tone, though I can't deny being a bit thrilled when he calls me "wife."

"That, too." He mock shivers. "I love that throaty whisper you make when you're just at the edge, and when I touch you—"

I cover his mouth with my hand. "I don't want to know. Let me pretend that Tony couldn't hear us. Please."

Amusement crinkles his eyes, and he chuckles when I finally remove my palm. "Oh, sweetheart, I promise he heard you. While they do soundproof these cars, they weren't prepared for your fervor." He traps me with his arms when I try to hide again. "And I love it. So be as loud as you want to."

"I will then, husband," I tease, then kiss him soundly. "How long is the long way?"

"We have plenty of time." He turns me so I'm reclined against his chest, my legs stretched out on the seat beside him. "And I have a few more tricks up my sleeve—I should have told Tony to bring earplugs."

Before I can object, he captures my mouth in a searing kiss. And I don't have much more to say after that. Nothing that involves actual words, anyway...

"I'm not sure which was more amusing: when Noah dropped the ring, or when Mick tripped down the stairs." Lux hoots at the memory, and I join her. It's the wee hours of the morning, and we're all seated around the head table. Rather than leave our guests, Ian and I chose to stay and enjoy their company. Our wedding was perfect: wildflowers and lace, interspersed with silver accents; Ian in a crisp, well-fitted tux waiting for me with a huge smile on his face; and my brother and Lux standing as my attendants, their happiness mirroring my own. Our reception took place at a small hotel on the Upper East Side—it's an old library that's been converted, rather perfect since I wrote a mystery just for today, which included intrigue, romance, and books.

Despite all the perfection, there were a few faux pas.

"I think I've got a nasty bruise forming on my ass," Ian bemoans, then winks at me.

"That'll teach you to slide across the dance floor in your socks," I return, leaning into his side and enjoying his warmth. My wedding dress—which I'm still wearing—leaves me a bit chilled now that the revelry has subsided.

He dips down to press a kiss against my forehead. "Where's Evan?" Ian looks at Lux.

She's resplendent in a fuchsia dress, a simple cut that emphasizes her curves. She lifts a shoulder slightly. "We broke up."

The merriment of the moment evaporates, and I sit up. "What?"

"Don't be upset. It's been a few months. With the wedding and how busy you are, I didn't see the point in bringing it up." She meets my gaze, pleading for understanding.

Noah's surprise indicates he didn't know either. Of course, there's been a lot less partying with the increase of Elementary's business.

"Are you okay? Is it—"

"I'm fine. Really. Evan's a sweetheart. We're just not the right fit. Not like you two." She covers her emotions with a beaming smile, just a bit too forced to be real. "And it's too beautiful of an evening to waste it on sad news. And I'm fine, really. I promise."

We let it go, but a bit later, when we head to the restroom to freshen up a bit, I lay a hand on her shoulder. "You just haven't met the right guy yet."

She snorts. "Oh honey, I'm not sure I'm designed for true love. Besides, I like playing with others a bit too much to settle down." But there's sadness in her eyes, and I'm surprised when she meets my gaze, letting me see it. "You and Ian are perfect. I'm so happy for you."

I hug her hard. "I am happy. And I want that for you, too, whatever that might entail."

When we pull away, her eyes are glossy with emotion, and she runs her finger under each one. "Sounds good. But enough of that. We have, what, two more hours until the sun comes up? And since you and Ian won't leave to go consecrate your marital bed..."

My cheeks flame with heat.

"Oh. My. God. Did you two do it in the bathroom?"

"No!" Though that does bring to mind another time that we did... "But we might have told the limousine driver to take the long way here."

Lux squeals with laughter. "Always the quiet ones."

"We've decided to stay awake until our flight, where we can pass out for the zillion hours it takes us to get to Italy." Our gift from Ian's mother and aunt is a month-long tour of Europe, something I'd never imagined I'd get to experience.

"I'm going to live vicariously through you."

Back at the table, while Noah teases Ian about his lack of basketball ability and Mick joins in, I realize that for the first time, I have exactly what I've always wanted: a family. Maybe not in the traditional sense. But in the ways that matter. And Ian's family has welcomed me with open arms. Life doesn't get much better.

"Are we ready for a new adventure?" Ian asks as we get in our taxi that will take us to the airport.

"With you? Absolutely."

The end

The first book in the Without a Trace series!

Who am I if I surrender to him?

Worse yet, who am I if I don't?

What happens in love might destroy you...

Or remake you altogether.

I make a living offering men and women their ultimate fantasies...as submissives of the mysterious Mistress Hathaway.

I've never surrendered to anyone. That's not the way it works. Or rather, not the way I operate.

But when the gorgeous Fin MacKenzie shows up in my life, he throws everything out of balance.

Now I'm not sure who I am anymore, and I'm questioning everything.

What woman can turn away from a gorgeous Scotsman, especially when he sets her body on fire and her heart ablaze?

I have to stop it...us. I can't keep going like this. It will ruin everything I've worked so hard to build.

Who am I if I surrender to him?

Worse yet, who am I if I don't?

Inside the Lines take place after the prequel

Crossing the Lines, so read on for a sneak peek into Lux's sexy adventures with a hot Scot...

Inside the Lines

CHAPTER ONE

No Naughty Deed Goes Unpunished

This isn't my usual client.

Normally, they come to me. It's discreet and makes everyone's life easier. But for certain people, you make exceptions.

In the back of a sleek Lincoln Town Car, I relax into the leather as we enter the tunnel, heading for the famous Ritz Carlton. The car and driver are a courtesy of the client, and while it's not the first time I've had such treatment, I always enjoy it.

Deprived of scenery, I mentally review my gear, ensuring nothing is left to chance. Leather crop, purchased several years ago from a tack shop. Restraints in the form of scarlet cotton rope—silk ties are for movies and books. Entirely too slippery and time consuming. The usual detritus: blindfolds, clamps, rubber whips that range from noisy to pain-inducing. Sultry music, though I also brought a selection of classical entries on my iPad.

A quick check in my compact mirror assures me that the deep red lipstick I've fallen in love with provides the right contrast to my long, jet curls. My suit—pinstripe, skirted—fits my curves like a glove. Beneath, a dark leather and crimson corset meets a matching g-string, finished off with garters and stockings. Red stilettos complete the ensemble. The things I do for clients...

As we surface, I take a calming breath. There's always a bit of nerves right before an introductory scene. This client is new, and while I have a website with a photo gallery and specialties listed, each person's sexual desires are like snowflakes: while similar in appearance to others, each has their own unique intricacies.

Topping—or playing the Dom—requires you to know your bottom, or submissive. You can't push too hard or too far, as you risk injuring not only your client, but also the relationship, that's tenuous at the beginning. At the same time, if you go too light, or God forbid, too slowly, you lose future profits and referrals.

A balancing act. That's the best way to describe it. Sometimes, I wish I could be a submissive. A friend who enjoys playing the slave once told me that she loves turning inward, focusing on her own interests and pleasures, while the Dom does all the work. God, I wish I could let someone else run the show. But that's not the way it works. Or rather, not the way I operate.

Traffic in New York City is always brutal this time of day, but the driver gets a few lucky breaks. As he navigates the crowded streets, I go over my notes, replay my client's application video on my phone, and try to gauge his personality and true desires.

Creating—or recreating—someone's fantasies requires imagination and research, but it also relies on innate skills. For this client, I have a pretty good idea of what he wants.

Who am I kidding? I know exactly what he wants. Because in reality, all of my clients want the same thing.

To let go. To be in the moment. To escape life.

Sounds amazing, doesn't it? I envy them in so many ways.

The driver drops me off at the entrance. The Ritz Carlton isn't your average hotel — I probably don't have to tell you that. The lobby defines elegance, with sleek lighting, antique furniture with a modern flair, and a quiet confidence that bespeaks the well-to-do that venture here.

I visit the concierge on duty and receive an envelope from him. The elevator doors snick shut behind me, and I slip behind the crowd, falling against the back wall and closing my eyes. For once, my outfit doesn't draw hushed comments, as besides the skirt that barely covers my ass, I'm pretty low-key in a city of models and movie stars. Okay, maybe the shoes stick out a bit, too.

The elevator is empty by the time I reach the top public floor. Penthouse access requires a special passkey, and I extract mine from the envelope and slide it into the card reader. Then I wait while the elevator's silken glide ferries me to the penthouse floor.

Stepping onto the lush carpet, I have two doors to choose from. I feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland until I remember the room number the client texted me earlier today. With the Pixies' "Where Is My Mind?" forming an earworm in my brain, I knock.

A delicious man opens the door. Thick, dark hair, lightly threaded with silver, strong jaw with an aquiline nose, sultry eyes that take in the length of me. He wears an exquisitely tailored suit that cuts across his impossibly broad shoulders in a mix of elegance and power. When he smiles, even my jaded heart quivers a bit.

"Mistress Hathaway. A pleasure."

I level a gaze at him, knowing that my raven curls and gray eyes captivate my clients. "The pleasure will be mine, Charles. Naughty boys have to be punished."

As a professional Dominatrix, I follow three rules:

1. Never let them disobey you.

2. Never let them touch you.

3. Never have sex with them.

At least, I used to follow them...

Technically, that's the end of the sneak peek, but I couldn't leave you hanging without letting you get a glimpse of the sexy Fin MacKenzie.

So here's Chapter 3, too, so you can meet the red-haired Scot who just might be able to handle Lux's heat...

Chapter 3 Sneak Peek

You are never going to believe me when I say that I work out of a dungeon space I keep on reserve, but I swear that's usually the case. But in this specific situation, I am, once again, going to the client. Tonight is a very special evening.

I arrive at the Parisienne Hotel, one of the newest hotels in Soho. This evening's client wanted something romantic and chic, and the Parisienne Hotel fits the bill, while not breaking the bank.

Everything about the hotel is European, from the creamy decor to the extravagant chandeliers that line the ceiling. I'm early, as intended, so I check-in and head for the far alcove. My stomach drops in time to the quick lift of the elevator, and I swallow hard. While I usually have a bit of nerves before a scene, this one comes with complications.

I wasn't kidding about my three rules. They've served me well. Somewhere along the way, though, I started breaking the last one. Fuck it; I'll be honest. It happened after my relationship with Evan ended. He was—and is—a sweetheart. Good looking, submissive, kind, loving, talented...the list goes on. He's what every healthy, normal woman wants in a really nice guy. It wasn't enough for me. I wanted it to be—so badly, I wanted it to be enough. But I couldn't do it. He deserved someone who loved all of him, completely. And I couldn't do that. So I let go of him. Pushed him away, really, because he'd wanted to continue dating.

Something about that experience angered me. It created a resentment that's hard to describe. So when a long-time client of mine booked me to join him in a scene with another couple, I did something I never do: I got involved sexually. It was delicious, and I had an amazing time. Limiting your sex life to only what you can create with one lover when you consistently create sexual energy for others is draining. And that experience reminded me that I had this raw need inside, and that it could be sated.

The downside: I had sex with several people. And got paid for it. I didn't like the way that part made me feel. That hasn't stopped me from doing it again and again. With only a select few clients, of course. I'm not a prostitute, for fuck's sake.

But then...what am I?

The candescence of pink light softens the room. The hazy glow turns the blood red decor into a deep maroon. This hotel made a splash because of its "red suites;" they're swanky and beautifully styled. And for this evening's pleasure, they seemed like the perfect fit. I've remade the suite's bedroom with the softer bulbs, draping scarves, red boas, and a few well-placed, cotton restraints.

Someone knocks, and I hope it's Stephen. But when I open the door, it's Ari.

"Oh, God, am I too early?" Her blue eyes go round as she takes in my cut up t-shirt that falls artfully, exposing my shoulder, and stops just shy of my wine-colored skinny jeans.

"Well, it's not quite—" I check my phone for the time but also see a missed text, which makes me frown. "What the..." Apparently, I nudged the ringer off, and with setting up and moving around, I missed the vibration of a new text. One that says Stephen can't make it. "Un-fucking-believable. You asshole."

Ari stares at me, wide-eyed. Her white-blond hair shimmers in a short, wispy cut that frames her heart-shaped face. A professional dancer, Ari has the slight build of a ballerina, but with more softness and curve.

I shake my head. "Not you, love. Come in. You're about a half hour early, so I haven't changed yet. Come in," I say again when she pauses at the door. One of the ongoing problems with Ari is her hesitance. It's taken me nearly six months to get her to this point. I'm going to kill Stephen for ruining it.

I check the text so I can read the whole thing.

Sry, dove, I'm sick. And u don't want my snot ruining a sexy scene. Found a replacement, tho. Fin. Trust me, u will luv him. xoxo.

I receive a second text as I'm standing there.

Hi. It's Fin. Stephen sent me. I'm here at the hotel. What room?

Un-fucking-believable. I text him the floor and say I'll meet him. Then I return Stephen's message: you better die of this illness. Or I promise, you'll wish you did.

"Ari, I'll be right back. Make yourself comfortable. Remember what we talked about. Deep breaths, center yourself—"

"Envision, and repeat mantra." Ari's light voice finishes for me. "I know." She smiles, but the corners of her mouth flicker with nerves.

Inwardly, I sigh. Then I shower her with smiling confidence and step into the hallway, closing the door snugly.

When the elevator opens, another couple gets off, wheeling luggage behind them. The doors start to shut, but then a strong hand holds them open. The man that steps off is very tall, well over six feet, and when his aquamarine eyes meet mine, he grins.

"Lux, I take it?" His deep voice holds a heavy Scottish burr. He wears jeans and a nondescript black t-shirt under a black leather jacket, and if I weren't so mad, I'd be swooning. Dear God. His shoulders and chest are broad, but not thick. He's built more like a soccer player, with wavy auburn hair with hints of chestnut. He has a crooked smile, and when I stand there staring for a moment, I get a glimpse of perfectly straight teeth and a dimple.

Holy Christ. Stephen sent me an underwear model.

"I know you. You're the guy from that ad. Th-the new Monsieur line. You're on the goddamn billboard in Times Square in bikini briefs." Monsieur is a male clothing boutique on Fashion Avenue; they've been making quite a stir with their advertising of everyday men—e.g. not celebrities or models, though you'd be hard-pressed to find one that isn't ripped— wearing their new underwear line.

His cheeks blush, which on him, is highly attractive, and I get more of that uneven grin. "Aye, well, that might've been me." He scratches the back of his neck. "Stephen said ye needed a bit of help tonight."

And with that, I remember how pissed I am. "Stephen is a goddamn asshole. Do you even know what you're doing here tonight? Did he give you the details?" If there is one thing I'm sensing, it's a distinct lack of kink. Fin looks like he should have a blonde wife, 2.5 kids, and a house with a white picket fence.

"Well, he wasna very specific with details, but he did mention that ye needed a cock." His eyes crinkle even more at his bald language, his face turning brighter pink. "Seein' as which I have one of those, I should be able to help ye." His brogue thickens with his embarrassment.

"Christ. I'm glad Stephen narrowed the whole evening down to a male organ." I glare at Fin. "Men." I turn and storm away, leaving Fin to follow. I feel like I have an enormous shadow behind me, and I realize I have to have this conversation away from the room's door, or Ari will hear it. So I turn on my heel and confront him mid-hallway.

I crane my neck to make eye contact. "Never mind. Just go home. I'm canceling this nightmare before it gets out of hand."

He lays a hand on my shoulder as I turn away, his heat searing my bare skin. "Wait, now. Look." He drops his hand and stops a beat until I meet his gaze. "I ken I'm not the charmer Stephen is, but I ken a fair bit about what he does. I think I can handle it. And he mentioned that ye were a Dominatrix, and that ye'd be runnin' things, so ye can just tell me what to do." He bites the inside of his lip. "I'll do it."

The cheer in his eyes pisses me off. "This is a joke to you. You can barely keep from laughing." I shake my head at him, my temper undoubtedly turning my own skin pink. "This is not funny. The woman on the other side of that door," I point down the hallway, "is terrified of letting herself go. She has a hard time enjoying sex because of assholes who ridiculed and abused her rather than making her feel beautiful and aroused. I will be damned if I will let you anywhere near her. Not when you think this is some kind of goddamn joke. You are—"

"Lux, I'm sorry. I wasna laughing at ye or anything about this." He steps closer, and I get a whiff of some kind of creamy, spicy cologne mixed with...him, probably. And it's delicious. "But ye have a feather here," his hand reaches towards my hair and plucks something from it. "And it wiggles, the angrier ye get."

I glare at the offending feather and snatch it from him. It's from one of the props I brought with me, and the delicate fringe crushes easily in my palm. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. If I cancel this, Ari will be heartbroken. I've fielded half a dozen texts from her already this week, thanking me for doing this and asking nervous questions. After six months of meeting with her, we're finally at the point of fulfilling her deepest fantasy. And there are worse-looking men to have in your fantasy than this one.

"You cannot, I repeat, cannot fuck this up. You listen to me, you do exactly what I say, and you never step a toe out of line. Am I clear?" Even to my ears, I sound like a total ass, but surprisingly, Fin only nods.

"Aye."

"You will call me Mistress Hathaway, as none of my clients know my real name."

"Of course."

"You'll strip down to your underwear when we get inside, and you will not approach the bedroom or Ari until I say so. Got it?"

He nods, his face solemn, though I can still see the laughter in his eyes. "After ye, Mistress," he says with a small bow.

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The third book in the Without a Trace series,

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He's everything I swore I didn't want...

And the one person who might set fire to my soul.

They say love doesn't hurt.

But it's a lie. I promise you, love someone long enough, and they'll destroy your soul.

I've spent my life taking care of everyone else: my family, my ex-husband, my friends. Deep down, I know I should focus on myself, but how can I when I've got one sister about to implode while the other battles her own guilt?

The minute I met Kai Isaac, I should've run in the opposite direction. His business isn't one I want any part of, and I've got way too much drama in my life already.

But his kiss...those eyes...the raging inferno he creates when he touches me...I can't stay away. Life's reeling out of control, and he's my only refuge from the storm.

My sister Lux says trusting someone means not knowing everything about them and being okay with it...but what if not knowing the truth ruins everything?

Tracing the Lines is Book Three in the Without a Trace series, and takes place after Inside the Lines.

Zi Trace has got problems of her own, and they all start with one man, the sexy film producer Kai Isaac.

Tracing the Lines

CHAPTER ONE

One Kiss

Love doesn't hurt.

That's what they say. But it's a lie. I promise you, love someone long enough, and they'll destroy your soul.

I should know: with a little sister who's determined to self-destruct any day and an ex who cared more about his own needs than anyone else around him, I'm kind of over the whole "true love" bullshit perpetuated in chick flicks.

But I can't help wishing for something more, something that wouldn't require payment with a broken heart and tears. Does such a thing exist? I've no idea as I've yet to find it...and I'm not holding my breath.

"Wait—what am I doing?"

Lux shoves me through the glass door. "You're helping out a friend."

"But you said they're making a movie or something. I thought I was just here to tag along." We're in a lobby with quirky, colorful chairs and framed movie posters on the wall. I've never seen any of these films, however, and I stop our forward momentum and stare at my sister.

"Lux, what is this, exactly?"

Her gray eyes meet mine, looking entirely too innocent—and if you know my sister, she's anything but. "It's a favor for a friend. I had someone else lined up, and she got sick."

"So what am I doing then?" Lux talked me into joining her this morning because she said I'd get to see a live film set, which sounded appealing. It's not like I have many days off to spend with my sister, so I thought this would be a good time to enjoy her company.

I'm starting to have my doubts.

She grabs my shoulders. "Trust me—this will be fun."

But her amused gaze doesn't spark confidence, and I trudge beside her, suspicious. While my sister might like to pretend she's now a staid businesswoman, I know the truth: she used to be a Dominatrix, and her risk-taking side is much more developed than mine. Of course, today we're both clean-faced and in jeans and sneakers, our hair—hers black as night and mine blonde—pulled into ponytails, so no one would guess we both have our business acumen firmly planted in sexy industries. Well, sort of. Lux now runs an online dating site named Kinked, and I own what I like to call a "sensual pleasures" shop, mostly focused on lingerie and bra fittings...but the backroom offers a variety of, well, sex toys.

"Who's friend are we doing this favor for?"

She sighs and adjusts the strap of her pink tank top. "You know how Noah's friends with all these film people now? It's one of his buddy's friends."

"Hold on—we're doing a favor for someone Noah doesn't even know?" Noah is Lux's best friend, and he's an actor. And a business owner, come to think of it.

"Not exactly. I mean, he's met the guy. I think."

We're walking way too fast down a hallway towards something I have way too little details about. "Lux, what are you not telling me?"

She's saved from answering when a young couple, probably in their early twenties, exits a door just ahead of us. They're both smiling, looking at each other the way new lovers do, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

Before I can make my sister answer my question, she opens the door the two exited and ushers me inside.

It's definitely a film set. There's a screen against one wall around which cameras, poles with lights, and several people cluster. The rest of the room lies in shadow, in which Lux and I are standing.

"Answer my—"

"Lux! How are you?" A tall, thin guy pulls Lux into a hug.

She embraces him back with a huge smile. "Ger! Awesome to see you." When she pulls back, she introduces us. "Ger is the director on this film. Ger, this is my sister Zi, and she's here to fill in for Fiona."

He holds out a hand, his expression weary but cheerful. "Ah, our last victim. I mean, participant." He smiles warmly as we shake, and I'm wildly conscious of how cold my fingers are against his very warm ones. "We weren't sure if we had one more to go—the other party canceled, too."

"You don't need Zi?" Lux asks.

"No, no, we can use her. I'll get Kai to stand-in. Let me sound the alarm to get ready."

"Ready for—" My question dies on my lips as he turns away, bellowing at his people to get "set up." I turn to my sister, drawing myself up to my full five-feet-eleven-inches so I can glare down at her. "What am I getting ready for here?"

My tone brooks no excuses, and she lifts a shoulder with a heavy exhale. "They're making a promotional film for a movie series their doing. It's silly, fun, whimsical, sweet—"

"And what am I doing here then?"

"You're one of the cast."

If the idea of being filmed wasn't terrifying enough... "Doing what, exactly?"

Lux nibbles her full bottom lip. "Making out with someone."

"What?" My voice drops an octave.

"It'll be fun, Zizi Baby. It's a series of strangers connecting, kissing a bit, showing who we are at our most intimate." Lux seems to rethink her words. "Hm, okay, maybe that does sounds a little scary."

"No, absolutely not." I spin towards the door. "Not going to happen." But there's several people behind us now, doing God only knows what, so it's not like I can run out into the hallway. I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder, and Ger is back, a big smile on his lean face. "Zi, right? We're going to get you into hair and makeup briefly—just a few minutes—and then we'll be ready."

I glare at my sister. "Are you going to explain this to him, or am I?"

Lux takes Ger's arm. "We'll be right over."

Ger laughs and nods. "No problem. Kai's in a meeting so we've got a few minutes."

Lux doesn't even give me a second to yell at her. "Look, I know this is weird, and I know this wasn't what you expected. But you've been single for two years now. Not a single date...text...anything." She grips my arms, staring into my eyes. "You need to have some fun. Let loose a little. This is safe; these are nice folks, they're doing cool things, and you get to make out with someone for a few minutes without any repercussions. Maybe you'll rediscover your sex drive."

"I have a perfectly fine sex drive, thank you very much." But I can't deny her words. I've worked so much and so hard, and if I'm honest, it's been easier than even contemplating dating again. She knows why I haven't stepped toe on the field again, and she's probably right: if I'm not thrown into the pool, I might never swim again. But that doesn't mean I'm letting her off the hook. "Why didn't you just tell me what this was all about?"

"Because you'd never have come. And you need this, Zi. You need something. God, you're younger than me, yet you act like you're older."

I stick my tongue out at her. "Easy for you to say, Ms. Hottie-with-a-Scottie."

She grins, any mention of her love Fin MacKenzie turning her cheeks pink with delight. "Very true. And we need to find you your hottie, okay? But first, we have to get you in fighting condition. Today might be a good ice breaker."

I widen my eyes and blow out a breath. "I'm not sure making out with a stranger is going to fix anything."

"Maybe not." She steers me towards a door on the other side of the room. "But it can't hurt."

Here I am, makeup-ed and my hair spritzed and coiffed—the stylist insisted my long locks should be down in soft curls and used a surprisingly small amount of makeup—and I'm standing on "my mark," an "X" of black tape on the floor.

"Just do what comes naturally," Ger says, patting my shoulder. "We're looking for honest reactions."

"Don't I need another party for this?" I ask, my acidic tone a result of my nerves.

Ger chuckles. "You do. He's on his way."

I'm just hoping he's not a stunt double for a hunchback. Lux stands off-camera, chatting with a "grip," or at least, I think that's what the woman's called. A gaffer? I can barely remember my own name at this point.

In order to make me feel more comfortable, Ger introduced me to several of the people standing around in casual wear, some manning cameras and mics, others with clipboards. There's not that many people—maybe eight, total, but it seems like a lot in this small space.

"Sorry that took so long," echoes a deep voice behind Ger.

"No worries, Kai. Zi, this is our executive producer, Kai Isaac."

I'm not a short woman, but Kai makes me feel tiny. If the man didn't play basketball, coaches somewhere must've drowned in sorrow. His dark hair, wavy, in a rumpled, not-quite-styled look begs to be touched. Like the rest of the crew, he wears jeans and a t-shirt, and he moves with an elegance that belies his casual air. But I'm captured by his gaze. Smoky green and muted amber, with flecks of gold around the center, and when those eyes meet mine, there's a softness that steals my breath.

"Good to meet you," he says with a smile.

His hand feels huge around mine as we shake, and I struggle to find my tongue. "Y-you as well."

"Now that we're all here, we can get started." Ger steps back, leaving Kai and me facing each other. "Remember: we want this to be honest, so try to relax. We're going to roll tape, and you're going to get started when you're ready. And...action."

Suddenly, the room seems too small and too big at the same time. Kai looks down at me, his full lips curved with a small grin. "Are you okay?"

"We're not supposed to talk or something first?" I lick my lips, my mouth dry, and I'm wildly aware that I didn't chew gum after eating breakfast. God, is my breath bad?

"Not really. The goal is to show what happens when strangers lose themselves in another person."

I'm pretty sure I'm already lost. I trail my hand through my hair, nerves fluttering. How am I still upright? He steps closer, reaches for my hands. His touch is gentle, and he draws my palms up to his shoulders. "Pretend we're in a club, and I've gotten up the nerve to ask the most beautiful woman in the room for a dance. You don't know me, but there's something between us." He grins, both charming and teasing. His broad shoulders are hard beneath my fingers, and as his hands rest lightly on my waist, it's impossible not to melt against him, to feel his long, muscled body against mine.

"I don't know how to dance," I whisper, then want to kick myself. With my hormones firing like loose cannons, anything's liable to come out of my mouth.

"I'll teach you." With aching slowness, he lowers his mouth to mine. His lips are soft, curious, and as we explore each other, he tightens his hold around me, his fingers slipping into my hair. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, and he tastes of cinnamon with a hint of coffee. I can barely take a breath as I dissolve against him. His palm grazes my hip, seeking purchase as he presses me closer, and I can feel the hard length of him against my lower stomach. Some part of me is relieved: I'm not the only one getting turned on. A small voice in the back of my mind reminds me that I'm making out with a total stranger, but that doesn't seem to make much impact. Or maybe, that's the point?

Minutes—hell, it could be hours—pass, and we break away, both breathing heavily. I catch a faint whiff of something mildly spicy—aftershave?—mixed with him, and I want more. He holds my face close, his gaze seeking. Satisfied, his lips brush against mine. An invitation, and one I'm more than happy to oblige. This time, I guide our pace, mouths hungry and wanting, my hands exploring the hard planes of his back and shoulders. He answers easily but doesn't push. Instead, I take us deeper, dropping my hand to his ass and pulling him against me. His mouth trails to my neck, searing my skin with kisses and small nips. It's all I can do not to moan. His fingers slide beneath my tank, over the bare skin of my lower back, as his lips blaze a path over my shoulder and collarbone. My knees weaken, and I hold onto him as every nerve ending sparks with pleasure.

I'm ready to explode when he gently pulls back, drawing his hands up to my shoulders. "I'd love to enjoy you even more, but I'm not sure if you'd want that on camera," he says softly. He glances over at Ger, who calls, "Cut!"

Christ, I'd forgotten where we are.

Fabulous.

My skin inflames with embarrassment. "Good point." I force a grin against my stiff cheeks, stepping out of his embrace. "That was fun."

Those unique eyes of his—both green and gold—meet mine, a hint of confusion in their depths. But he masks his bafflement quickly. "It was. Thank you." He nods his head slightly, punctuating his words. Ger sidles up to him, and I use that as an opening to escape.

Lux grabs my hands. "Oh. My. God. That was hot." She smiles. "Who knew my sister had all that sexy Dom in her? Damn."

I'm too shaken by the experience to make jokes. "Can we go?"

She cocks her head, not sure how to take my reaction, probably. "Sure. Let me just say goodbye."

"Fine. I'll wait outside." I nearly run for the door, hoping I remember which way to turn to get to the exit. The bright morning sun offers a beacon, and I leave the building as though someone's chasing me. In the intense heat of my car, the sun beating through the windows, I drop my head in my hands. What on earth did I just do? I shouldn't berate myself: if a customer came into my shop and told me of a similar experience, I'd herald her as liberated and enjoying her sexuality. But it's been so long since I experienced lust and wanting, and some part of me feels wrong for enjoying it. Especially under the circumstances—a public display like that? Even worse, I can't remember his name. Corey? No. Casey? Crap. It had a hard "C" sound. Who makes out with someone and doesn't have something as basic as the person's identity memorized?

Lux joins me minutes later, interrupting my self-flagellation. "You totally floored them in there. I think Kai is still recovering."

That's his name. Kai. His name rolls over my silent tongue, the hard i worth savoring. I shake myself. "Good to know. Where to next?"

"What's wrong?"

"I just...I don't want to talk about it."

"No, no. If there's one thing I've learned from Fin, you talk about shit, even when you don't want to. Spill."

I roll my eyes, inwardly cursing her red-haired love, even if he's right. "I'm uncomfortable with what happened. It's...disconcerting, I guess." I stumble through the words, not sure how to describe the heavy weight that's centered on my lungs.

"Okay. I admit, it's definitely outside of your comfort zone. And you went over and above what they were expecting. I got to see some of the raw video while you were in makeup—most people just kissed for a bit and called it a day. You and Kai...that was something."

Given my sister's previous career and her love of sex clubs, she's seen plenty of sensual public displays. So if she thinks what happened between me and Kai was hot...

"Great. It's worse than I thought."

"Whoa. Where's this coming from?" Lux stares at me, her perfectly arched eyebrows drawn together. "There's nothing wrong with what you did. You had some fun. Blew off some steam. Enjoyed a very steamy make-out session with a delicious man—did you hear his drop-dead sexy voice? That deep timbre? Dear God. It's amazing women don't throw panties at him everywhere he goes."

Despite my angst, I can't help the grin that tugs at my mouth.

"You, dear sister, need to let your hair down more often." She fingers one of my loose curls, tossing it over my shoulder. "You spend too much time worrying about other women's sex lives, and not enough about your own."

I can't argue her there. "Maybe. But can we talk about something else? Like what we're doing today?"

"Aren't we supposed to be shopping?"

I'm not in the mood. "I have more clothing than any one person should own, and my shoe collection might need its own closet soon. Let's go for a movie instead."

Lux shrugs. "Works for me."

We opt for Taylor Made, a new action/romance film starring the hunky mega-star Mick Jeffries—whom Lux actually knows, no doubt courtesy of living in New York City. But the darkness of the theater serves only to insulate me with my thoughts. Lux might be right: it has been too long since I dated and had some fun. How can I, though, when something like today nearly paralyzes me with self-recrimination? Despite my confusing emotions, my mind won't stop replaying this morning's kisses...or the heat of Kai's gaze as he looked at me. When was the last time I felt that desired? And he definitely wanted more—hadn't he said as much afterwards? Or maybe he was just being a flirt?

Lux drops the popcorn in my lap. "Stop thinking so hard. I can hardly hear the movie," she growls at me in a hushed tone.

I make a face but shove a handful of popcorn in my mouth, trying to recenter my attention on the romantic tension weaving between exploding Greyhounds and racing eighteen wheelers in front of me.

But my thoughts keeps drifting back to golden eyes that sought mine so deeply, I could've gotten lost in them for hours.

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Acknowledgements

These are always the most intimidating pages to craft—perhaps even more so than the story!

Crossing the Line exists because of Lux and Fin from Inside the Lines. But the inspiration for this story came from all the writers who've helped me work through ideas and directions.

To my readers: we exist for you. Every decision we make is in some way influenced by your input—whether it be directly through reviews on our previous work, or the comments and recommendations you give to your friends. I made a tough choice in this book because I wanted to honor the genre you love—and I'm glad I did. As an author, my job is to tell a story you will adore, and I hope I was able to do so. Thank YOU for giving my stories a chance.

Many thanks to Rachel Borene for her hilarious commentary and encouragement. I'm sticking with the whole trolls from space erotica. This could totally be a thing.

Jane, who always thinks my writing is awesome and is the only person I let read it raw. You know I love you.

William Galaini (go buy his book!), who is always quick to make me laugh and actually read my first book. It's okay, my man, you're not required to read this one. Of course, I did put you in the acknowledgements, so... And next time, hit the damn pause button. That dragon isn't going anywhere. And go for Blondie. Trust me—you'll be glad you did.

Mike McNeff, who offers his criminal justice knowledge without hesitation, and I'm very thankful for it.

Patricia D. Eddy for her constant FB support and being prepared to discuss the importance of various and sundry things, like sexual positions, kinks, and debates over erotica vs. sexy romance. If we die, my friend, we need to make sure our FB conversations can never be unearthed. There's no gift like having an editor and friend who gets you, and I will never take that for granted.

Audrey Maddox, who never tires of listening to me drone about plotlines—or maybe she does. But she never says a word. You couldn't ask for a better bestie. Love you always, brave woman.

David McDonald, who offers his wisdom and humor to keep me going when I really don't feel like it. Writers are the best, and you are a true soul. Love you.

William D., lover of my heart and soul. You're the best, babe. More than I can promise.
Ally Bishop, Author

When you do something effortlessly and people commend you continuously, you have found your gift.

That's what I tell people all the time. And it's true.

I get story. I always have. I started writing when I was 8 on a Smith Corona (the electronic kind — I'm not THAT old). I wrote stories in every spiral notebook I had. Eventually, I graduated to a Mac (yes, I'm one of THOSE people). I imagined new worlds, emotional conflicts, and HEAs while I waited at stoplights or wandered the grocery store. But here's the thing: I didn't just dream it up and write it down — I critiqued what I read. I knew when ideas were good, and when they stunk. I ran writing groups, judged creative contests, and eventually got two graduate degrees in writing. That's right: I love it that much.

So here I am, years later, writing kickass heroines and devastating good guys, along with some mystery and vampires thrown in (I promise: THEY'RE COMING). And what's really cool? I do what I love. Wanna write a success story for your life: I promise you, that's it. Do what you love. And hopefully, you can make a living at it too. That's the golden ticket, Charlie.

And chocolate doesn't hurt, either...

Find me at www.allybishop.com, on Twitter (@allyabishop), and Facebook (Ally Bishop, Writer), and feel free to email me via my website (look for the "Contact" tab). You can also discover more of my talents at Upgrade Your Story.

Thank you so much for reading Crossing the Line! If you have a moment, please leave a review on your favorite book websites.
