 
# Can't Buy Me Love

### Right Side of Wrong

## Rin Daniels

### Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Thank You!

Don't Let Me Go

Copyright

# 1

Katherine Harris froze in the doorway, a blast of cold air ruffling her bangs. Compared to the sticky heat outside, the foyer to her own personal hell was ironically cold.

A silver-haired man in a host's neat black suit watched her from a podium. Was she coming in? Leaving? His expression radiated patient welcome tinged with expectation.

Kat was pretty sure _she_ radiated manic. And nervousness. And _outsider._

Uh-uh. No way. Not tonight.

Maybe next time _._

Nope, nope, _nope_.

Smiling a crooked, awkward apology to the host whose eyebrows lifted, Kat took a step backwards—one step closer to muggy freedom.

A hand at the small of her back shoved her two steps in. "Don't hog the air conditioning."

Kat turned, resisting the urge to wipe her sweaty palms down her short cocktail dress. "I just remembered that I have to feed my cat."

Nadine Sherwood blocked the exit, both arms spread wide and a glint in her baby blues that said she wasn't buying. "You don't have a cat," she replied, her red lips curved up into a fierce grin. "And your mom can feed herself. You're going in there, Kat Harris, and you're going to shake that moneymaker 'til they fall at your feet."

Kat laughed weakly. "By 'they', you mean clients, right?"

"Or Bennies," she replied, winking. "Diamonds. Champagne. Crude oil. Gold bouillon. Whatever."

The visual nearly stopped her heart. "God, no," Kat breathed, hooking one foot behind the other leg in protective horror. "The last thing I need is _anything_ falling on these shoes." Her palms smoothed down the black fabric flaring out from her hips, despite her efforts to keep the nervous tic under wraps.

She'd chosen this dress for the event primarily because the structured waist and high lace back made her look elegant and fashionable. It didn't hurt that the low neckline, as her mother had gleefully pointed out, did _amazing_ things for her _eyes_.

The vivid fuchsia sandals Nadine had insisted she wear added four inches to her five-six height, which only partially made up for her nerves. She'd never say it was like on walking on clouds.

More like strutting along piles of money.

Nadine laughed, waving a hand in front of her face. Her nails were a matte turquoise blue, scoring a colorful arc in the air. "Girl, if it nets you clients, you can do whatever you want in those shoes."

Kat's eyes skittered to the impassive host. Did his mouth just twitch at one corner?

He met her gaze without comment.

Heat rose to her cheeks. "I'm not planning on it," she muttered, adjusting the hammered gold fashion cuff on her wrist. She'd chosen her jewelry to be understated enough to accentuate but not alienate. She wasn't here to compete with the women at this party. She wanted to _target_ the women.

Wait, no, she wanted to befriend the women. Coach? Convince? Still not right.

_Get it together._

Butterflies tumbled in her stomach.

"Hey." Nadine looped her arm through Kat's, tugging her towards the podium. "Relax. It'll be fine."

Fine. Sure. If by 'fine', Nadine meant that Kat would successfully walk away from this high-class party with enough clients to keep her upcoming hair salon going for the next, oh, say, forty years. Maybe include a few bricks of cold, hard cash?

And an older rich guy with a taste for married women whose felon husbands were in jail. That should get her mom off her back. Level of hotness flexible.

Money always made a man look good.

And that was her mom talking. Now this was getting ridiculous.

Kat pressed her lips together, took a deep breath through her nose. She could do this.

By sheer instinct, her lips widened into the kind of smile her father had drilled into her. Feminine. Innocent. Confident.

_Too_ confident.

It was a con artist's smile, too much of a habit. She abruptly softened its curve before her friend noticed. "It's just mingling," she assured herself. Too much desperation, now. Great. She dialed that down, too. "I can make some contacts."

That was better.

"You got this." Nadine shrugged out off her filmy white shawl like she didn't care what happened to it. Even watching her hand it casually to the waiting host gave Kat mental hives. The shimmery piece had to be worth Kat's entire outfit, minus the shoes she'd already borrowed.

Five years ago, it would have been the kind of item that mysteriously vanished from the coat checker's inventory. Most anyone would recall would have been a blonde causing enough of a fuss at the front door that the poor guy manning the coat check would have rushed to send her off.

He'd have been so flustered that details would have been easily forgotten. Maybe a wealth of bleach-bottle blonde hair would have stuck in his mind, or maybe the fact that he'd given her the wrong item twice, adding to her fury until he'd found the right piece. Relief to see her go would only have been eclipsed later when the rightful owner came back for the stolen item.

An alteration of the change raising game. Hound them to the point of distraction and walk away with practically anything.

Five years ago, Kat was a very different girl.

"Love the LBD," Nadine added cheerfully, breaking through an unwilling trip down a memory lane Kat didn't want to dwell in. "Way hot. You need a necklace, though."

"I tried," Kat admitted, rolling her shoulders self-consciously. The solid black material of the dress dipped lower in back than the front, with a black lace panel stretched from shoulder to shoulder. It wasn't couture, but if no one looked too hard, she could fake it.

"Tried?"

Kat winced. "The end of the trailing clasp got caught in the lace and I had to nail polish the snag."

"No," she laughed. "Tell me you didn't."

"I did."

Nadine's eyes sparkled with amusement. Her heavily highlighted blonde curls had been twisted into a deliberately messy bun, leaving strands around her cheeks. A subtle hint of pearlescent blush gave her a sculpted elegance Kat only wished she could mimic. "Trust me, girl. Nobody's going to be looking at the back of your dress." She paused. "Well, probably not that high up."

Kat's smile flipped into wry. "I'll take that as a compliment from you."

Nadine Sherwood dressed like she had her own personal closet genie. She didn't. Kat had asked. What Nadine had was a sixth sense for clothes, in the same way that Kat had a talent for people. Only Kat collected suckers.

Nadine collected couture.

Tonight's dress was a diamond blue cocktail number, shockingly pale against her friend's suntanned skin. With a Grecian shoulder and a pencil hem a few enticing inches above her knee, she looked like she belonged on a red carpet. Not in a prettily lit foyer patterned by a sprig of small lights in the shape of willow branches.

Kat knew money. Maybe she didn't know what it felt like to roll in it, but she'd been raised to identify the signs, and Nadine oozed wealth. Kat couldn't help the way she noticed it—couldn't help how much she felt like an intruder in her friend's social sphere.

The question she didn't want to ask herself was how much it mattered.

Frankly, Nadine should have had better sense than to hang around the Harrises of the world. Kat always felt a step away from pointing this out, except then she'd have to explain why she thought so. Seventeen year old Kat, never more than a shadow away, didn't want to tip her hand.

All of that was ancient history. Kat was twenty-two years old now, an all-new woman. With all-new plans for an old dream.

And those plans did _not_ include lying. Or stealing. Or taking advantage of anyone else's weaknesses.

Or catching someone else in a compromising position.

Or blackmail.

_Hit it and quit it_. Her new motto. All she had to remember was how to meet people, make an impression, and get out. Don't linger to drive home the con. Don't game the system. She could do this.

"Kat?"

She blinked. "What?"

Nadine's smile slipped into a worried line. She had eyes like a porcelain doll, wide and blue. That perfect blend of sparkling and flirty. Men probably fell into those eyes.

They fluttered now. "Are you all right?"

Kat wanted to hug her. And then find the bathroom so she could throw up her anxieties. "Nervy," she confessed.

"Don't be. You're super talented." Confidence oozed from every scrubbed pore. Even Nadine's makeup looked fresh and clean, while Kat wondered what kind of virginal sacrifice she'd have to make to look that effortless. "Your hair is amazing, just like always. I'm beyond jelly you can do that."

Comments about her hair should have been easy to handle by now, but Kat still struggled to remember why they bothered. She'd changed it drastically, cutting off most of her bleached and dried ends and returning to her natural dark chestnut. She constantly surprised herself when she looked in the mirror. The fringe of sable looked like it belonged to someone else.

Even the vamp red streaks she'd layered through it didn't look like her own. As a hair stylist, she'd thought it would be a good idea to stand out a little bit more from the rest. Kat's classes had been full of stylists with sleeve tattoos, piercings, colored hair and wild makeup.

A few red streaks seemed appropriate. From bleach-bottle blonde to dark brown and bright red. No one would ever know.

She almost ran her fingers through her hair, except she'd worked hard at the double French braid pulling her angled bob from her cheeks. It was loose enough to drape artful tendrils by her temples, a blend of careless and styled. The kind of trendy look a woman would expect from her stylist.

_Set the scene, lay down their expectations._

Just like she'd been taught.

Her mouth twisted.

"Don't give me that look," Nadine laughed, tugging Kat down the narrow hall. Dark wood trellises marked the way to the party site, and the dull murmur of conversation already filled the air. "I'm a trophy wife waiting to happen. _You_ look like someone I'd want to give money to."

Kat almost flinched. Almost. "Well, let's hope that rubs off on everyone else," she said, willing herself to be cheerful. This was a cheerful party. A real event. Some kind of commemoration for one of Sulla Valley's wealthy elite, which meant lots of people with very deep pockets.

And, if Kat was lucky enough, a need for a hair stylist of her caliber.

Her new life was a mere, if chilly, vestibule away.

"You got this," Nadine said again, lowering her voice as the foyer opened underneath a stained wood trellis archway. "Just stick with me, I'll introduce you and then wander off if it's going good."

Kat knew the drill. Hell, she knew about three different short cons she could pull with her unwitting accomplice, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that Kat needed to be here. Now. And she needed to walk away with people interested in what she had to offer.

And she had to do it all without anyone recognizing her.

She'd done the research. The odds of discovery were so low that she felt stupid worrying about it. She looked different. Her name was different. And aside from one stray, she'd never dabbled with Sulla Valley's elite.

That stray wasn't in the Valley right now.

The vestibule opened into a wide hall, rustic stone and wood but too modern to be anything but expensive. Lights twinkling in the vaulted ceiling decorated faux willow branches twined around the rafters, while tastefully procured lamps hung on wrought iron chains. Elegantly arrayed seating tables had been set up for those who preferred to sit, while drinks were ferried out on trays carried by staff in long black aprons and pristine white dress shirts. Soft rock plucked out of the eighties peppered the ambience, as out of place in the elegant décor as Kat felt.

Rich people did weird things. She'd have chosen classical, or jazz. Or even a live band.

Then again, she wasn't wealthy enough to shrug off expectations like they didn't matter.

Or wealthy at all.

Kat had no doubt exactly what kind of class she strolled into. The amount of privilege gathered under the twinkling lights would probably make her parents weep tears of joy. The women wore Van Cleef and Chanel. The men wore Hugo Boss and Gucci. They mingled like old rivals with long histories and enormous bank accounts.

This time, when she felt the smile tug at her lips, she let it ride. Her lipstick matched her borrowed shoes, a shade of fuchsia bright enough to compliment her dark green eyes. She had the look. She had the walk.

She was sure she had the talk.

All she had to do was make a few contacts, and there was nothing wrong with that. People did it every day, even without running an angle.

If she told herself that enough times, it'd make it true. Right?

At her side, Nadine brightened, her slim back stretching as she rose up on her tip-toes—balanced precariously on gladiator heels taller than Kat's—and waved to someone Kat couldn't see. "Come on, there's your first target," Nadine whispered, tugging on her arm. The language was entirely too familiar.

Resigned, but oddly comforted, she let her friend guide her towards what Kat could only call a swarm of money.

"Kira!" Nadine's smile upped by about a thousand watts. Even Kat had to blink to clear stars from her eyes. Whoa, the girl was a weapon. Jack Harris would have _loved_ to meet her.

Mold her, more like.

"This is Kat," Nadine announced to the crowd. "She's, like, the best hair stylist you will ever in your life know."

How was that for an introduction? No freaking pressure.

Kat reached across the small circle of girls that looked closer to her age and shook Kira's hand. "Kat Harris," she offered.

"Kira Dawson." A tall brunette with a shock of purple through her short hair, she wore a Versace blazer paired with an edgy leather pencil skirt and black pumps. Stylish.

Exactly the kind of client Kat wanted.

"This is Holly and Mikaila," Nadine added, and Kat dutifully shook hands with a cultured blonde and a dyed redhead. Not a bad job, she noted critically, but a shade too warm for the girl's complexion. She'd have softened it with a cooler base.

"Nice to meet you," she said brightly. "Don't let Nadine con you, I'm only, let's say, the second best."

Kira's mouth twitched as she gave Kat the kind of once-over only the really well-off managed to deliver and make it seem like standard operating procedure. Kat's grin widened when they hooked on her shoes. " _Love_ the shoes."

"Thanks." Score one for Nadine. Her fingers closed around the fruity pink cocktail her friend pushed into her hand. "I was just admiring your skirt. Is that Edgar Dane?" She knew it was, but she needed a yes. A few of them. A series of positives turned into a friendly foundation.

_Keep it cool_.

"You know him?" Kira's surprise played out as expected.

The fact she asked if Kat knew him, and not _of_ him, was telling enough. People didn't just _know_ designers.

Except people like this.

Fortunately, Kat knew a little about a lot—enough to pull facts out of thin air and jam with just about anybody on anything. It was a handy tool in the business, and something her father drilled into her. A whisper of guilt nudged her now. She tamped it firmly down.

This was _mingling._ People found common ground all the time. _Right?_

That small voice in her head wouldn't stop asking.

"Totally a fan," she replied. "I've been dying to see his designs out of LA. Is that a spring line piece?"

"Show her the back," the blonde said, and Kira turned obediently, holding her tumbler to the side in studied grace.

Ballet? Maybe. Kat filed that away for later.

The pleats in the back of the skirt drew all her attention. "That. Is. Adorable."

Kira chuckled, patting her hip. "It's possible I may get married in this skirt."

Kat laughed with the others, but her mind had already clicked ahead. The ability to score a piece from a new fashion line from a rising star? She was so far out of Kansas, even Toto had dollar signs in his eyes.

Good ground to be in. She had this.

Kat gestured to the other girl's hair. "Your hair is badass, by the way."

As expected, Kira's fingers slipped into her short hair. "I need to redo the color."

"Sticking with purple?"

"Maybe." Not a yes, but not a shut-down. "It doesn't hold up well."

Nadine nudged Mikaila, the curvy redhead, and asked about her last date—casual talk. The blonde couldn't stop herself from watching the crowd, her expression intent. Looking for a specific face, probably.

Kat focused on Kira as the social leader of the three. "It's gorgeous. Do you have a hair stylist for that?"

"No, I do it."

Surprising. Rich girls didn't usually do their own color.

As if aware of her train of thought, Kira's mouth tightened a fraction at the corner. Whatever her reasons, she didn't want to be asked.

Fair enough. "It's sort of a hassle, isn't it?" Kat's smile slipped to rueful sympathy. "Especially the reds and purples."

"Yeah." The edge to Kira's features softened. "You do your own?"

"Every chance I get," Kat said. "My mom is always like, 'Oh, good, you're coloring your hair _again_.'" A small fib. Her mom barely noticed. But the calculated act scored a win. Kira brightened.

"No doubt," she laughed. "It drives my grandmother insane, too."

In for the kill. Er, the close. "You know," she said, "I've got like a million ways to stretch out your color without all the maintenance. You want me to email you?"

Kira's eyebrows lifted. "Totally." Kat caught Nadine's smug grin in the corner of her eye as the girl added, "Nadine, give her my contact info, okay?"

"Okay," Nadine confirmed cheerfully. "Wait, wait," she added to the redhead, who hid her face behind the rim of her cocktail. "He wanted you to do _what?_ "

_Hit it and quit it._ That was enough of a positive start to ensure a foundation—one in the bag. If she made a good impression with Kira, she'd tell her friends.

Word of mouth. In Sulla Valley, it moved faster than the internet.

Kat cradled her wide martini glass in her palm, gesturing towards a random direction. "I have to go talk to someone, I'm sorry. It was nice meeting you all."

"Yeah," the slender brunette replied. Real warmth. Everybody had a hook. Kat just needed to find it. "Call me, we'll do lunch."

And become a lady who lunched? She almost laughed out loud, but swallowed it and nodded instead.

Ladies who lunched needed their hair done, right? She so had this.

Kat extricated herself, confident Nadine would find her again. All she had to do was set up on a sideline, close enough to look like she was mingling, but not so close that she'd inadvertently tromp all over everyone else's conversation.

_Listen, Kitty_. The smooth cadence of her father's voice filled her head. _There's comfortable, and there's filthy rich, and they don't think alike. Never grift the filthy rich._

Kat shook her head. Whatever his rules, and Jack Harris always had them, they didn't apply here. She wasn't out to scam anyone.

And he hadn't listened to his own advice.

Kat found a place near a wooden support beam wrapped in more of those delicate fairy lights. The drink she sipped was too sweet, exactly the kind of sugary rush Nadine would find palatable.

Kat had learned to hold her booze by fourteen. She had gotten over the syrupy stuff about the same time she'd given her last stuffed animal to a neighbor kid.

She leaned against the pillar, tucking her free hand under her elbow and holding the dangerously pink concoction with care. She kept having visions of spilling the stuff over Nadine's shoes. Like she needed more anxiety.

Her gaze roamed over the loose knots of people rubbing elbows with their own kind. Women tended to band with women, businessmen with other men. Couples lingered here and there, but the real power seemed focused around the far right table. A handful of loiterers all but fawned over two older men, a cool blonde Kat mentally designated a trophy wife, and a younger guy—a son, maybe, or heir apparent. Whatever they called their scions.

Kat could practically graph the social dynamics at work. Pluck one string, and watch it ripple.

When a seated collection of women turned as one to look at the wide arch entry, she idly sipped at the saccharine drink and studied the pair of men who joined the scene.

Designer suits, no surprise. Armani and... What, Ralph Lauren? Black Label, of course. That seemed par for the course. The older of the two had sandy hair trimmed short, a navy blue pinstripe suit with a pale blue shirt and a patterned charcoal tie. A glint of silver was probably a plain tie tack. Classy. Understated, but expensive.

Her brain ticked through a list as second-nature as breathing. The guy's posture was excellent, but not commanding. He held a small leather-bound case in the crook of one arm—a tablet, she figured, or maybe an old-fashioned notebook for note-taking. Older than his companion, but probably an underling of some kind. Definitely a successful one. He'd have his own staff, she figured, while he answered directly to the boss.

Which made the guy he spoke to in lowered tones, his face turned away to hide his words from prying eyes like Kat's, the boss.

His carriage practically screamed _elite_. His suit was light gray, and his shirt a shade lighter and one step towards blue. Definitely not the kind of outfit men of Kat's acquaintance knew how to put together without help. His tie, dark blue and shot through with thin diagonal stripes in baby blue and aqua, looked tastefully trendy and equally as expensive.

His lean shoulders, set with unmistakable confidence, struck her as the athletic kind developed in a swimming pool; he obviously cared about his appearance, enough to work for it. He had brown hair, longer at the top and swept back from his face. No choir boy middle part for him.

It was just long enough to give him playboy good looks, she guessed, edgy enough to wear in a board room while showcasing his manly business acumen. The one tanned hand he slid into the pocket of his slacks said he feared nothing from anyone here. He probably thought himself way too cool to be played.

She doubted that. In her experience, everybody was a potential mark. A good grifter just needed to find the right vulnerabilities to exploit, and the confident ones were usually the easiest.

Of course, only the terminally deranged would go after this crowd. Money wasn't the issue when it came to the filthy rich. Dollars were just numbers to them—but numbers were a way of keeping score. People like this hated to lose.

That's why Jack Harris stayed away from the filthy rich.

Why they'd moved so suddenly from Sulla Valley five years ago.

_Never stay where they know your game_ , he'd said as they drove away.

Yeah, right. More like _pissing off a billionaire is bad for your health._

Kat wrinkled her nose. How long would it take before her brain stopped going there?

Probably as long as it took her father to teach her, she guessed, and sighed. Going legit was super hard work.

She glanced again at the men as they approached an older couple not far from Kat's fortified pillar. The boozy syrup she sipped was starting to mellow out her taste buds, thankfully. While the drink suited her look, one part trendy and a little bit ditz in an unthreatening way, she'd have preferred more citrus. And something other than rum.

"Laramie," boomed the older man. "You made it."

A blistering burn of alcohol trickled down her windpipe as she sucked in a startled breath—and then expelled it on a choking cough she couldn't stop.

Adam Laramie—billionaire's son, wealthy entrepreneur in his own right, routinely on top of every woman's Most Want to Lick All Over list _and_ ex-mark in a failed game—shot her a curious glance from around his companion.

She held her breath.

No recognition flickered in his chiseled, handsome features. Just mild concern. Absent study.

And then his gaze focused with acute intensity. Not on her face.

On her legs.

Abruptly reminded that she was mid-choke, Kat turned away, covering her mouth with a hand as she hacked with as much circumspect dignity as she could manage. The pillar mercifully blocked her view.

It didn't help.

Even through solid wood and sparkly lights, she felt the powerful weight of his eyes. Brown, but the shade of brown that warmed like a light behind stained glass. She'd spent a lot of time staring into those eyes. Flirting. Laughing.

Laying down a game.

Falling hard.

Her heart pounded in her chest, forcing more than damp chills into places that hadn't thought about Adam Laramie's intense scrutiny in a long time.

Why was he here? He was supposed to be in Seattle or New York or some other enormous city making billions of dollars with his brilliant mind. She'd _checked_.

In her perfectly planned world, he wouldn't come back until her salon launched. Until she was flush with clients and her own money—not rich, no, but comfortable. Confident. With roots that she could rely on, independent from the need for his money—anybody's money but her own, hard-earned income.

Nothing like the bleached mask of a girl she'd been before.

She was supposed to have _time_.

Damn. _Damn._ She flattened her back against the pillar, closing her eyes as she swallowed the rasp of her rum-abused throat. If she'd known he'd come back this early, she'd never have risked it. Never have gone back to the scene of a con gone wrong. Breathing the same air as the man she had already failed to win over seemed like the worst idea she'd ever had.

_Hit it and quit it._

The motto stuttered against the remembered warmth of those candle-lit eyes, collided with the memory of his wide, masculine mouth as it hiked up at one corner and hoarsely rasped her name.

So much for plans.

Adam Laramie hated these things. Ordinarily, they never made sense to him—what was he supposed to do? Show up and make a point to congratulate the focal character of whatever pony show his assistant signed him up for, apparently. Play nice, smile, shake hands, laugh with the old men making bad jokes, flatter the women.

Pretend like he had nothing better to do than waste time listening to bad music and boring stories he didn't care to hear.

Same old, same old.

Except this time, everything counted on doing just that.

"How's the party?" He clapped Jeffery Woodhauser on the shoulder, always surprised by the meaty resistance in the old man's carriage. For a man in his sixties, he still looked more like a linebacker than a financial genius on the cusp of retirement. Not that he'd ever commit.

Like most of the men Adam knew, he suspected Woodhauser of planning to die in the chair.

"Not enough drinking and too many old men," boomed Woodhauser, smiling so wide that his eyes vanished underneath bushy gray eyebrows. "Speaking of which, your old man here?"

Think of the devil.

Of course, Woodhauser was used to seeing Adam's father at scenes like this. Unlike him, David Laramie enjoyed the social demands of the CEO position, leaving Adam to his preference—his torrid love affair with his own work in the research and development division.

Hell, Adam hadn't even thought about taking over as CEO until he was much older. Way more experienced. Now, thanks to his dad's predilection for anything in a skirt and subsequent resignation, Adam had no choice but to suit up and play the intracompany political game.

The fact he hated it didn't matter.

He'd play. He'd even play by the rules, if that's what would earn him the win. If the conservative board got their way, they'd have him relegated to the sidelines—claiming his youth and inexperience—while instituting some other jackass as keeper of the keys. Keys that belonged to Adam's castle.

No matter how he felt about his dad's behavior, he'd be damned if he watched the board drive Laramie Industries into the red. If that meant he had to step into the social arena, well, let the blood flow.

Metaphorically speaking, anyway.

"Sorry," Adam replied, easily enough even though his stomach clenched at the reminder. "Dad sent me in his place. Said you'd never notice the difference."

The tycoon laughed, a thunderous report that earned a long-suffering sigh from his wife.

Adam smiled at Petunia. "You look stunning, Mrs. Woodhauser."

"Oh, stop, now," she demurred, waving him away with nails done up in a pale pink. Her cheeks colored up to match, stark against her white bob. "You're as bad as your father."

_Not_ a compliment. The fact everyone around him thought it was set his back teeth to grinding. Laughter peppered the small circle.

And a muffled cough rippled through a pause in the retro soundtrack.

His head tilted. A glance over his shoulder revealed only an innocent support beam and colorless lights. Unless he missed his guess, a brunette with magenta lips hid on the other side.

Was she still choking? Did he remember how to do the Heimlich?

A quiet clearing of her throat suggested she wasn't ready to pass out any time soon.

Too bad. There went his excuse.

"Have you seen Goldberg yet?"

The fact that Woodhauser made an effort to lower his voice told Adam exactly how much gossip had overlapped Laramie business. His jaw locked, but he managed to force a smile as he drew his eyes back to his companions.

Playing it cool was all part of the game. Even if the subject made him want to drink. Heavily.

It was no secret that David Laramie got caught with his hands in a twenty-one-year old cookie jar. Ordinarily, that would barely qualify as sideline gossip to this set, but not this time. That cookie jar called Rudy Goldberg, the Laramie Industries board chair, _daddy_.

Which complicated everything.

"Not yet," Adam replied. "I figured I'd wait until after the speeches before I corner him with my abundant charm." If it didn't come out as amiably as he hoped, the sympathy on the Woodhausers' features said they didn't hold it against him.

Everybody knew everybody's business in Sulla Valley, and it wasn't the first time David's antics had made social headlines.

Adam was used to it. It was all part of the curse. Women flocked to the Laramie men like ants to honey, and Adam couldn't even say it was _all_ about the money. The name came with more than its fair share of raw charm. Three stepmothers and an endless stream of girlfriends had taught him that David Laramie wasn't going to slow down anytime soon.

At fifty-six, the man's potency hadn't dwindled.

Another muffled cough scraped from behind the pillar.

Woodhauser's voice cracked through Adam's wandering curiosity, forcing his attention back to the topic he wanted to forget—and couldn't afford to. "Goldberg's tough, but fair," the old man said, lowering his voice to a dull boom. "You impress him with that mind of yours, and everything else is just paperwork."

If only it was that easy.

"Thanks," Adam said, but his eyes flicked to the right as a slender figure in black slipped away from the pillar. Long legs. Much longer thanks to the eye-catching shade of her ridiculously tall heels.

"Goldberg knows you've got the innovation and determination to drive Laramie Industries," Woodhauser was saying. "I've heard you talk, kiddo, you're cutting edge out here."

Adam could only nod as he watched the gleam of flickering lights slide down smooth golden legs. He liked women in heels. He liked women out of heels.

He liked women who wrapped their heels around his back.

Of course, the things women liked about _him_ had less to do with Adam than it did with the family's monetary worth. Now that he was gunning for CEO, taking his father's place, he couldn't imagine anything changing.

This wasn't the place to make those kinds of introductions, anyway.

"Only problem you'll face is the monetary problem," Woodhauser mused, stroking his thick mustache. "Your dad holds a steady ship, but it's risks that succeed in this world."

Adam looked away. "If you look at the trends," he said, forcing himself to focus completely on the topic, "it's not as high risk as it seems. The modern American is sinking more money and more time into technology. Middle-class families aren't stopping at phones. At this point, it's dangerously shortsighted not to invest."

"See, and that's why I think you'll do fine," Woodhauser said, draping an arm around his wife's shoulders.

He missed the fact that Adam's searching gaze kept sliding around him.

Probably better that way. He didn't know what he'd say if the old man asked him what the hell he was looking for.

All right, so maybe Adam had a bit of the Laramie eye himself. He could appreciate a passing woman without making it a big deal. He'd never claimed otherwise. He just didn't make it a habit to put a woman in front of his work, was all. Possibly the only Laramie man to ever think that way.

Except... Except something about that mystery girl wouldn't let him go.

Was she familiar? He didn't remember what her face looked like. Just dark hair, pink lips.

And legs. So he'd always been a leg man.

A waiter paused to offer a tray filled with beverages—most looked like a candy unicorn vomited pink sugar into a martini glass. A few tumblers of amber liquid suggested whiskey. Maybe bourbon. He couldn't see a damn thing in the pretty but useless lights.

Was she going to go freshen her lip gloss? Women did that. Obsessively, he thought. He didn't mind, except when they tasted like chemical strawberries or bubblegum.

Adam almost turned the waiter away, but then found himself plucking one of those pink glasses from the tray. And a second tumbler. "Excuse me," he said abruptly.

Woodhauser raised his eyebrows at the prepared offering, then crinkled his eyes. "See you soon, son. We'll talk later."

His wife, taking her time selecting a drink from the tray, beamed up at Adam with clueless kindness. "Do give your father our regards."

Those legs vanished under the far trellis. What had she been wearing? Black? Her and every other would-be sex kitten in the area. But she'd gone for magenta lips, not red or bare. Shockingly deep pink, like summer flowers.

A whisper of excitement, of something almost familiar, curled in his chest.

"I will," he promised, and extricated from the group.

His assistant casually angled his body to block Adam's exit. " _No_."

He couldn't help his grin. Jordan was never not serious, but Adam had learned to differentiate exasperation from professional intensity.

Exasperation came with the Laramie curse, too. And he'd known Jordan for most of his life.

He could practically recite word for word his assistant's constant stream of cautionary warnings. Jordan Weber was convinced that Adam hovered one bad decision away from a Hollywood finish—messy and media-hounded. Not because he had a habit of dating hot messes, which he didn't, but because he cut off the women he _did_ date without warning.

In his defense, that was usually around the time they started playing those coy little games that demanded he fund their interests. If there was a woman alive who didn't try to flirt her way into his bank account, he hadn't met her yet.

But whatever the details of Adam's personal life, he never let it interfere with work. _Never_.

Except this once. It was just an introduction.

Just getting a name, a face, so he could get that nagging sense of familiarity out of his head.

Adam gestured to the far trellis with his whiskey. "I'll only be a moment."

"You have better things to do," Jordan replied mildly. "And better places to do whatever you're thinking."

Adam's amusement faded. "I'm not going to corner Goldberg until he's had at least three drinks," he said, his voice carefully even. "The alcohol will soften the impact of the dollar signs when we discuss the future of the wearable technology industry in a broad scope. More importantly," he added, "I have no intentions of doing anything stupid, I'm not—"

_I'm not my father._

A refrain he hadn't said aloud since everything fell apart around him.

Jordan held his eyes, his own steady blue and more than a little concerned. He'd been David's assistant first—a fact Adam was painfully cognizant of. The older man should have been lining up for the CEO vote, not Adam.

Of the two of them, Jordan had more experience. More hands-on training. More everything, and Adam knew it.

"Christ," Adam muttered, unable to hold that stare. "Who am I kidding here? Why don't you let me chase the skirt, and you go convince Goldberg to hire you."

"You and I both know it won't happen," Jordan replied, as unflappable as he always was. "I happen to like where I'm at."

And even if he did want the position, he'd never get it. He wasn't money. Not like Sulla Valley knew money.

Adam didn't like that it mattered. Not in his company—his father's company. Didn't like that blood still held out over brains, dedication, and loyalty. But this was the life Adam had been born into, the mantel he'd take on. CEO at twenty-five, and then radical new ideas to the table.

He had the vision. But that didn't stop him from feeling guilty.

He'd practically grown up with the guy.

"I'm not saying you can't go mingle," Jordan said quietly, angling his shoulder to mask the conversation from anyone else close enough to overhear. "But you _are_ here for a reason."

Which meant Adam had no time to spend chasing that skirt.

It was totally inappropriate of him to even try. Exactly the sort of thing his father would have done. Which irritated him.

So he had no idea why he found himself saying, "Ten minutes."

"Who is she?"

Adam hesitated.

"Adam—"

"I don't know," he admitted, cutting off the low warning. "I thought I recognized her, but I'm not sure."

"An old fling?"

His mouth quirked. "I'm not such a manwhore that I can't remember my exes, Jordan."

"Thank God." Jordan sighed. "This is a delicate time, Adam. Don't get tangled up with a weird girl now."

Adam lifted the pink martini in a toast. "Relax," he said. "I can handle this."

# 2

They'd hidden the restrooms behind a framed faux terrace that separated a small section of the dining area from the rest. It was a pretty alcove, but too dark thanks to the ambiance laid out for the event on the other side of the trellis.

The fact that Kat was hiding in the shadows annoyed her even beyond the nerves that had clamped around her spine and sucked the confidence right out of it.

She wasn't a wallflower by nature.

Then again, she wasn't exactly the sort of people this party welcomed, either. She could pretend, but she knew the truth—and Adam Laramie knew the truth.

One of these things could get her ousted. Or worse.

She sat on a small table tucked at the far left, listening to the vintage music piped in through a speaker set over her head, and stared at her empty glass.

There wasn't nearly enough alcohol in it to make her nervousness go away.

Oh, man. An hour ago, she would have sworn upside and down that she was emotionally older than when she'd left Sulla Valley, much more mature. That she could look Adam Laramie in the eye and not just apologize for her role in her father's scam, but confess that she'd liked him since the first moment she'd seen him five years ago—hunched over a book at the park, scribbling in the margins.

She'd delivered a shot at his defacing behavior.

He had looked up, squinted like he needed glasses, and then gifted her with the kind of smile that went right to a girl's sensitive bits.

Every moment of that smile was a memory she held close.

And had, she could admit it, for five long years. She didn't even know why. Once the Harris family left a city, they never went back. One of Jack's many rules. Sulla Valley was supposed to be in her past—buried, over, locked away.

Except she'd come back to try again. For a new life.

And maybe, if he let her, with him.

Only this was way too early. She wasn't even remotely ready to meet him, and not on his own turf. Why in hell had he come back so soon?

Kat lifted the glass to her lips, then frowned into the slick interior when she remembered it was empty.

"Care for another?"

The voice that slipped out of the fairy light and shadows scraped against every nerve she didn't know had been exposed until she shuddered. The impact of it forced her hand to the table, the glass to clatter as she gripped the table edge and stared hard at the barely distinguishable silhouette.

Five years _had_ matured her—but not enough. As Adam stepped into the faint light streaming through the window beside them, she felt seventeen again, overwhelmed by the sheer charisma he _really_ needed to bottle up and sell.

It'd take him past billionaire and straight into gazillionaire.

He filled the narrow space. Objectively, she knew that all she'd have to do was sidle around him. There was plenty of room. He wouldn't block her exit if she really tried—that wasn't his style. She could leave the party, and more importantly, leave him and her memories behind forever.

Maybe it wasn't too late.

Except of course it was. She'd already put all the money her father had left in the salon—into her one chance to make this work. She'd thought she had time, she banked on that time. If she left now, everything she had worked for in the past three months would be forfeit. She'd have to start from scratch.

She'd have to admit to failure.

Her mother would never let her live it down.

She'd never forgive herself for giving up—on _everything_ —just because things got a little tough.

So this wasn't according to plan. Whatever. A good grifter always had a back-up.

Kat forced her spine straight, raising her chin. She smiled like a part of her hopes and dreams didn't hinge on him. On _them._ Not that there was a them to hinge on anymore. "Are you offering me the candy or the whiskey?" she asked lightly. It sounded so much less lame than _hello_.

He looked down at the glasses in his hand, weighed them both. "That depends."

"On?"

"Which one will make me look manlier?"

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, surprising her. She swallowed it down to a chuckle as she turned her head. "Um."

"I mean," he continued thoughtfully, "I could sling you the whiskey and sip at this fruity pink thing like I hang out with unicorns every day, but I'm very afraid I'll go into sugar shock."

"Mm." Kat leaned back on the table, crossing her legs at the knee. "Pretty sure unicorns only swing by when there's virgins around." His eyes slid to her bare legs. The weight of that stare seared a trail of heat to her ankles. And much higher.

"That's true," he said, his voice dropped to husky velvet. "Virgins are in short supply around here. You don't happen to know any, do you?"

"Why?" She cocked her head, hiking a playful eyebrow under her bangs. "You want the cocktail that much?"

"Point." Adam frowned down at the glasses he held in each hand. "I could give you the weird pink stuff and sip at the whiskey, outlined by these delicate little lights in masculine beauty."

Amusement simmered through her, easing the fringes of her nervousness away. Or was that the booze?

Whatever it was, she'd take it.

"Tough call," Kat acknowledged. "You know, when I think of you, I always think 'beauty'." His eyebrow twitched. She resisted the urge to shift her weight when his gaze lowered to the drape of her dress. Then to the hem.

She pressed her thighs together as a pulse of warm awareness curled between her legs. Damn, he still had it.

Or maybe it was her that hadn't had it for too long.

Virgins? Not even close. Neither of them.

Their first time had been in his car. She hadn't planned it. She'd hoped to tease him along a little longer, make him go for the grand gesture—dinner, flowers, the whole nine yards.

_Get in good with that Laramie boy_. That was the plan. Bait him, hook him, reel him in. They'd be set for life.

Kat hadn't minded. Adam Laramie was gorgeous, rich, charming—everything a fairy tale prince was supposed to be. She could be his Cinderella.

Except she'd been the one drawn by the bait. So hooked on his lure that she'd forgotten everything that humid, rainy night when his lips touched hers in the shadowed interior of his car. Somehow, she'd ended up sprawled across his lap, sweat-slicked and uncaring of anything but the feel of him inside her. His breath on her neck, the way his low voice groaned her name—her fake name.

Did he still think about it the way she did?

When his eyes met hers, they gleamed wicked amber. Sharp enough to cut, and hot enough to leave her gasping if she just let him close enough. _Oh, yeah._ She definitely remembered.

Did five years teach him anything new?

"Right." A husky acknowledgment. He lowered both drinks. "I vote for a third option."

Her damp palms stuck to the table she perched on. "What's that? Going to put out an APB on virgins?"

"No." Adam closed the distance, but slowly. Deliberately. "Virgins don't interest me."

"Me, either," she said, breathy as hell. That sounded like an invite, even to her.

Was this going to be that easy?

Was she?

She watched his shoes as he paced across the wooden floor, watched his slacks go taut over the muscles of his thighs.

Watched his hands as they balanced amber and pink in each.

He should have stopped a step away.

He didn't.

His thighs brushed her knees. Kat's breath caught in her chest as he set each drink on the table on either side of her. The faded light caught in the whiskey, sending gold filigree over the artistically scarred wood.

His hands flattened beside them.

Kat looked up, her heart pounding. His eyes were so close, now. Too close. He'd always had pretty eyelashes, almost too long to wear sunglasses with. They were a little darker than his hair, the same shade as his eyebrows.

They lowered as his gaze slid to her mouth. "I saw you earlier."

The pulse in her chest skipped hard. "So you came after me."

His mouth curved at one corner, and a shaft of heat splintered where her heart thudded. She sucked in a breath she'd meant to be silent; his eyes flared at the telltale sound.

Approval slid into his gaze. Arousal. "Isn't that what you were hoping for?"

Kat reached for the closest drink. The pink one. Not her best option, but he'd put that one closest to her right hand.

She couldn't even summon the attention span to care. A gulp of the syrupy rum did nothing to quell her juddering nerves, but it gave her something else to look at.

At least until long, strong fingers closed over hers.

He could have run those fingers under her dress, and it would have changed nothing about her response. Her body twanged like a violin, finely attuned to the man she'd thought hated her.

She was ready for that much, at least. She hadn't expected him to feel anything but anger, bitterness, betrayal. When her father had packed them up and hit the road again, she'd known that the game was up—that Adam or his family had figured them out for the scam artists they were.

Even if what she'd felt was real. Even if what she'd wanted was Adam in the end.

What mattered was what Adam thought. If he hated her for the fact that she'd worked her way into his life, his bed, and lied every step of the way.

It was an uphill battle, but one she'd been prepared fight to get back into his life. From her new hair style to her salon to the fact she wanted to make Sulla Valley her home, she'd planned on waging war against Adam Laramie until he folded like a house of cards.

Instead, he practically invited himself to her lap, war notwithstanding. Maybe the dress was arsenal enough. Maybe it was the heels.

Maybe he wasn't as angry as she'd expected.

"Are you drinking because you're nervous?"

"Maybe." Kat's chin lifted. "Maybe I'm drinking because I'm that kind of girl."

"That's okay, too." His gaze arrowed again to her mouth. His free hand lifted, but he hesitated a mere inch from her face. She could all but feel the searing heat of his skin. Close. So close.

How long had it been? Five years felt like a lifetime.

"Your lipstick is making this really hard," he said, eyebrows knotting.

She laughed shakily. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm not. I like a challenge."

Behind her, separated by a narrow trellis weave, the music twined through conversations she couldn't focus enough to unravel. Shadows danced as party-goers passed between the lights and the alcove.

Kat was painfully aware of the narrow margin between right and wrong, was trying hard to stay on the right side of life—but right now, right here, wrong felt like a brilliant idea.

His index finger touched her bottom lip.

Kat couldn't even explain why she opened her mouth. Why she closed her lips around the tip of his finger.

His eyes darkened. The faint smile faded from his mouth, and his throat reflexively jumped as he swallowed hard.

She drew his finger into her mouth and relished the way he bottled back a groan. She sucked gently, then harder, wrapping her tongue around his finger like she would around his cock, if he'd only let her. God, she hadn't realized how badly she wanted him until he showed in the flesh.

And she wanted that flesh.

No angle. When it came to Adam Laramie and the nearest bed, the only angle she'd ever thought about was standing up or lying down.

Maybe a little of both. Or a lot of both.

When he plucked the glass from her unresisting hand, she didn't notice. Barely even registered it when he set it back down beside her. She nipped at the tip of his finger and he muttered a ragged curse, followed it with a hoarse chuckle as he withdrew from her lips.

A smear of magenta stained his skin. Marked her existence. _Kat was here_.

She blushed so hard, the tips of her ears burned.

Adam's eyes lifted from the startlingly pink smear. Met hers, crackling with barely repressed arousal.

Her panties hadn't been made with this kind of workout in mind.

"Ten minutes," he muttered, cocking his head to one side.

She made a show of checking over her shoulder. "Are you talking to someone?"

His teeth flashed. A fast grin. "No."

"No bodyguards waiting to jump me if I put a hand on you?" she pressed, her tone light. Just a little shaky, but she couldn't help that.

"Trust me. The only person here waiting to jump you is me." Her insides twisted up so hard, she suddenly couldn't breathe. Didn't care. Kat watched, skin prickling with anticipation, as one long hand curved over her knee. "And every other sucker who watched you walk by."

The burn in her cheeks increased.

"Now is the time to tell me no," he whispered.

A booming laugh echoed from the gathering hall. Mere inches kept them from discovery. One wrong turn to find the restrooms, and it'd be all over.

But, oh, it was _so_ worth it.

She shook her head mutely.

"Is that a no?"

Kat's fingers curled into the edge of the table on either side. "That's not a no."

His hand skimmed up her thigh. "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Even with people just behind you?" he whispered.

Oh, God. The rush of wet need that curled between her legs should have scared her. Was she actually that kind of girl?

His fingers edged to her inner thigh. She uncrossed her legs.

_Oh, yes_. Kat was exactly that kind of girl.

His free hand planted on the table beside her. A nudge, a twist, and he coaxed her thighs wider. The material of her black dress draped over them, a teasing fold of cloth.

She bit back an impatient growl. "Touch me, already."

His laughter shuddered over her skin. "Needy, aren't you?"

Only where he was concerned. Kat sucked in a sharp breath when his fingers brushed the silk of her black panties. Let her head fall back when they traced the hem. Her stomach clenched as he drew a finger down the center of the material, found her clit and skimmed it gently. She jerked.

He made a sound like approval in his throat. "How far will you let me take you, sweetheart?"

Her hips tilted. Kat closed her eyes. "I didn't..." Another touch. Another lightning bolt sizzled through her. She gasped. "I didn't bring a condom." Hadn't expected to need one.

"Mm." Laughter, husky and a shade ragged, filled the dark alcove. "Neither did I."

She didn't know what he intended when he withdrew his fingers. Her eyes fluttered open, she took a breath to suggest they leave, go somewhere else—stop by a corner store for all the condoms they had in stock—but then he sank to his knees in front of the table, closed his hands over her hips, and dragged her to the edge. Kat startled, legs splaying to balance her weight.

He clamped both hands around her thighs, imprisoned them over his shoulders.

He looked up at her with eyes like molten gold.

Her whole body burst into flames, and that was even before he pulled her skirt aside. "Hang on," he ordered, but before she could decide what to hang on _to_ , his mouth closed over the fabric covering her sex.

Kat groaned, caught herself before it escaped into the dark corner and clenched her teeth around it. One hand curled into his collar, the other wrapped around his head, fingers buried into his hair, as her body opened up for him like it never had for anyone else.

It had always been Adam Laramie for her. Even if he wasn't her first lover, he'd been her first real orgasm. A hell of a prize at seventeen.

Hell, for her, he'd been that kind of blind crush that confused lust with love and never really went away.

She didn't know much of that held up, but as he nuzzled between her legs, his tongue dragging across the wet silk, it became abruptly obvious that an orgasm would be the _least_ of her concerns.

She hissed out a breath, barely muffled against clenched teeth, hunching as it built in her belly. Her spine. Flowed up to her head, her heart.

Never in a million years would she have expected this kind of welcome.

The fingers at her thighs bit hard. His tongue lingered over her clit. His breath was hot, his shoulders taut beneath her knees. Some part of her warned her to give this up, to end it before it got messy—before someone came in to see her legs hiked over his shoulders, her butt on the table, and his face buried between her thighs—but Kat didn't care.

Somehow, they'd skipped kissing and gone right to oral, and she was more than a little okay with it.

He jerked her hips closer to the edge, at the same time pressed against her sex with lips and tongue, and even her mental faculties lost it.

Her orgasm surged from a place she didn't think she'd ever find again—all-consuming, all-devouring. It flooded her body, her mind, her voice, shuddering out of her on a gasping rasp she couldn't stop.

Adam licked and laved and pushed her farther than she'd ever have thought possible in public.

Thought possible for _her_ in public. Or anywhere.

His tongue pressed against her, lips taut against her sex as she trembled in his grip.

She climaxed hard and fast and tingling from head to toe.

"Yes," he whispered. "That's beautiful."

"Ha." A shaky rejoinder. When the sparks cleared from her vision, Kat didn't know if she was supposed to be reasonably embarrassed or unreasonably happy.

Was there a middle ground?

Reasonably happy and not even a little embarrassed?

A burst of cheering from the other side of the tightly woven trellis jarred her senses solidly back to earth. Based on the location, she'd guess somebody was getting down on the dance floor—much to the amusement of everyone else.

At least it kept everyone else occupied. The kind of going down happening in this corner wouldn't be half as funny if they were caught.

Not that she currently cared.

She blew out a steadying breath. "So," she managed, going for light and barely achieving intelligible.

Adam reached around her to disengage her hands from his head. His eyes lit with his smile. It contrasted the taut color in his cheeks, with the arousal thick in his voice. "So." He stood, and Kat's gaze went to the fastening of his slacks. The hard-on beneath the tailored fit looked painful.

Maybe she could help with that. Would he let her? A little tit for tat?

Okay, maybe a little more than that?

She opened her mouth to offer, reached out to hook a finger into his waistband, but before she could, Adam dragged a thumb down the side of his mouth and asked, "Before I invite you to my place, I think we should get something straight."

No nonsense _now_ , huh?

Her heart kicked, but not in anticipation—what was the opposite of that? Oh, right. _Fear._ Wary resignation.

She shifted, easing her feet back to the floor, and tugged her dress back into place. "Right," she murmured. "I guess it had to be sooner or later."

His head tilted. "Sooner, I think."

"Yeah."

He offered a hand to help her stand. She took it, afraid if she didn't, her wobbly knees would give out on the sky-high heels. Wouldn't that just be perfect, she thought glumly.

Need to avoid a tough conversation? Just fall over, ass in the air, and let embarrassment do the rest.

As a con, it'd fly.

As a precursor to the relationship she wanted with Adam Laramie, it wouldn't.

"First," he said, and her stomach clenched. "What's your name?"

She froze, her fingers stiff in his. "What?"

"Your name, sweetheart." The half-smile he gave her had always been ridiculously sexy. Even now. "I'd like to know who I'm going to be sleeping with, for my protection if not yours."

_Protection._ His own?

After the moment they'd just shared?

Kat didn't think. As the remainders of her orgasm popped and fizzled in her system, as temper lit the last of her fuse, she grabbed the whiskey glass on the table and flicked her wrist.

The golden liquid twinkled as it soared through the air. Adam's smile vanished an instant before the alcohol splashed over his chest, splattered up his cheek and turned the fabric of his suit to cloudy gray.

He cursed long and hard as she strode away from the scene of her crime. She didn't stop to talk. Didn't know what she could say—how to say it. Anger and disappointment and—and...

And _fury_. So much of it.

She'd banked on not being recognized. Well, good for her. She got what she wanted.

Was she angry at herself or at Adam more?

Both. Equally. Herself for falling into that stupid fairy tale headspace that kept thinking she'd ever have a Cinderella moment, and him for... for...

For having that kind of sizzling connection with _anyone._ A perfect stranger.

Somebody he didn't know was her.

She left the party without looking for Nadine. She'd apologize later—would probably have to apologize a lot, if Adam found out she'd come with Nadine and dragged her friend into it.

Regret kindled under her anger.

Kat had always been good at showy. Whatever else she had going for her, she knew just how to make an exit.

Hit it and quit it, huh?

Well, she'd done that.

Two hours later, Kat's phone vibrated. She stabbed her spoon into the carton of rum raisin ice cream and checked the screen, her stomach knotting. A quarter of a carton had helped take the edges off her nerves—and her temper—but she didn't for a minute think Adam Laramie would let this go.

What if he suddenly remembered who she was?

Bad enough he'd seduced her in public without knowing her identity. Would he blame her for lying to him? For targeting him?

Hell. She would, if she were in his ridiculously overpriced shoes.

Kat sighed at the text on her screen.

_What happened?_

What was she supposed to tell Nadine?

Before she could decide anything, the phone in her hand buzzed again. She flopped back against the couch, carton cradled between the bare feet she'd drawn up onto the cushions, and accepted the call.

"Okay, so," she began, only to wince when Nadine interrupted fiercely, "Are you all right?"

Nadine's concern, the obvious edge to her voice that said she was ready to go to bat for her friends, was still new enough that Kat didn't know how to respond to it. She wasn't used to friendship without strings.

Or without her dad's parameters.

"I'm fine," she replied firmly. She muted the TV, though it wasn't all that loud to begin with. She didn't want to wake up her mom. "I'm totally okay. I just"—she thought fast—"started to feel queasy after that weird pink drink." Her conscience twinged at the lie.

What were her options? Confess that she ran into Adam Laramie, an old boyfriend from a part of her life she'd never talked to Nadine about? _Oh, and by the way, up until a few months ago, I was a con artist and my dad's in jail for scamming people like you._

Never. She'd ice cream herself to death first.

"Ohmigod." Nadine's voice softened in relief. "Girl. Let me know, at least."

"I'm sorry," she said, miserable—at the lie _and_ at the fact she'd made Nadine worry. "But I'm fine now." She'd gone home, stripped out of the dress and kicked it into her closet, put on her rattiest pajamas, and settled down with ice cream and a reality TV hate-binge.

Watching total strangers make complete asses of themselves helped distract her from the fact she'd done just that—and more.

"How'd the rest of the event go?" Kat asked hopefully. "Did you have fun?"

"Nah." Her friend muffled a yawn. "Kira and her gang kicked off around ten, probably hit up the clubs. I didn't feel like it. But hey, I'll text you her info."

Warmth filled her. "Thanks, Nadine. You're a peach."

Nadine made a gagging sound.

"Smothered in chocolate," Kat added, digging her spoon into the softening ice cream. "With cherries on top."

"Better." In the background, a door closed. "The next big thing isn't for a while. I'll keep chatting you up to everyone."

"Thanks." Kat didn't know how else to phrase it—how else to say that she'd never had a friend like this to lean on. To rely on. She picked a raisin off her spoon and stared at it blankly, trying to put it into words.

Her friend laughed. "Whatever. Get your salon up and give me a killer rate."

"Deal."

"You ever decide what to name it?" she asked, effortlessly changing the subject. "I like the Looking Glass Salon."

"Too wicked stepmother," Kat replied. "I'm afraid it'll subconsciously irritate the older crowd."

Nadine snorted. "Mirror, mirror, in Kat's store, who's the creakiest frigid who—"

"Stop," Kat said, horrified laughter filling her. "Oh, God, don't, I'll never get it out of my head."

"Serves some of these old hags right," her friend replied primly. Then softened. "Okay, well, I've got a party tomorrow and then Mikaila's folks are having a beachfront bash, so I'll keep working them. You want to come to the beach?"

Visions of Adam Laramie danced in front of her eyes. So did the sparking remnants of the pleasure he'd coaxed from her. Kat stabbed the spoon into the ice cream like it might psychically deflect some of that aggression onto Adam. She wished. "I'll pass," she said tightly. And then, aware her friend had gone quiet, added, "I have a lot of work to catch up on. I need to make sure the contractors are on budget, and I still need to find an artist to fill the salon."

"Seems fair." Nadine smothered another yawn. "Let's do lunch at the Rooster in a couple days. I'll share my notes."

The Copper Rooster was Nadine's favorite lunch spot, with a menu that wouldn't break Kat's bank too badly. And their fry baskets were killer. Kat brightened. "Deal," she said again. "Around one?"

"Okay. Night, girl." Nadine's voice softened. "You looked great tonight. Good job."

Yeah. If only Kat had the nerve to explain exactly how bad a job she'd really managed. "Night," she replied. When the phone went dark, she stared at the screen, at the blurred images reflected off the TV, and wished like hell she had the courage to tell Nadine the truth.

But she couldn't. Not yet. Not until she had that client list, until she had a working salon.

Until she was sure Nadine wouldn't hate her.

Which was, Kat realized glumly, the kind of thing her dad would say. _Set it up just right, and a mark will forgive almost anything._

Except she wasn't trying to use Nadine.

Wasn't trying, but somehow it felt like she was using her friend anyway.

For two days, Kat tried not to let it bother her. Nadine texted her the occasional selfie, a greeting from Mikaila's beach party and some cheerful encouragement. Kat sent back photos of art she found around town, and the occasional shot of a bowl of ice cream. Now, as she sat in the shabby kitchen and stared at her silent phone, she wondered if she'd ever run out of breezy messages __ that didn't say anything at all.

There was so much she _wanted_ to say. To Nadine.

To Adam.

But he'd gone and ruined her opportunity, hadn't he?

But oh, wow, was it hot to watch him do it.

Her forehead thunked against the fold-out kitchen table. The small stack of business books—marketed for dummies like her—tilted over.

"Don't slump, sweetie, it'll ruin your posture." Her mother sashayed into the kitchen, empty mug in hand. "Is there any coffee left?"

"Mom, it's after noon." Kat straightened by habit, rubbed at the throbbing spot on her forehead. The irritable glance she gave her mom earned her a lifted eyebrow.

Barbara Harris had always been striking, with a statuesque figure and a wealth of blonde hair she now maintained with highlights—which Kat did for her. Age had been kind to her, but then, so had a rigorous moisturizing routine.

Kat looked more like her father, with her heart-shaped face, dark brown hair and green eyes, but she'd inherited her mother's allergy to the sun. Their pale skin burned on a mild day. Self-tanners were a Harris family staple.

As was coffee. Despite it being bad for her mother's nerves. And temperament.

Wrapped in a long silk kimono, Barbara looked like she'd stepped out of a trailer for a Hitchcock movie—elegant, perfectly put together, and charmingly neurotic. She wore the role like it was tailor made for her. It was one of her more harmless quirks.

Barbara plucked the coffee pot from the burner it rested on, swirled the dregs and peered through the glass. Just like the first time she'd done it, less than an hour ago, she made a face and put the coffee pot back on the burner.

She did it with juice containers and wine, too. The garbage can was, after all, an entire three steps away.

Leaving her empty mug by the machine—where it'd be ready when Kat got up to make more coffee, she supposed—her mother strolled to the table. A cloud of fragrance rolled up with her. "What has you so grumpy, Katherine?"

She fought the urge to cover her list with a hand. "Agendas." Her nose twitched. "Are you wearing perfume?"

"You like it?" Barbara waved a manicured hand. The full force of something too strong and probably expensive hit Kat in the face. Like overpriced soap and a shot of vanilla.

Kat didn't like perfume. It smelled like chemicals to her.

A view her mother failed to understand. "It's from the new collection of that designer I like."

"Which one?"

"Oh, whichever." Barbara smiled indulgently. "I can't remember her name."

Kat narrowed her eyes. "How much was it?"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that." Barbara waved again, but this time, Kat recognized the intent.

She flattened a hand on her list. "Mom—"

"Enough, Katherine." Her smile faded, replaced by a sharp line. "It's the last of the money your father gifted me, I'm being very careful with it." She crossed her arms, shoulders rounded. "I just wanted something nice. God knows we've given up everything else."

Kat braced her forehead against her palm, closing her eyes. "I told you, it's only temporary. Once the salon takes off—"

"Yes, yes." Her mother sighed, abandoning her sullen posture for a brief, one-armed hug. "If only your father was here."

And that stung, too. Kat stood abruptly enough that the second-hand chair scraped against the battered linoleum. Her mother's arm dropped to her side. "He's not," she said sharply. She dropped her pen to the half-finished list. "Dad's not here. Jackie isn't here. Nobody else is here, Mom."

Barbara angled a silk-clad hip against the table. "Don't take that tone with me, young lady. I'm well aware of where your father and brother are."

_No, you aren't._ Kat sealed her lips around the rejoinder, turning away to snag the coffee pot. She dragged it under the faucet, focused on loosening the sludge gathered at the bottom.

Barbara was a lot of things, but accepting of her current predicament wasn't one. Kat had already run herself in circles trying.

Her mom hadn't exactly turned a blind eye to her family's behaviors. While she wasn't a career con like her husband, she'd never been what anyone would call morally upstanding. She liked money. She liked what it got her, what she could do with it. What she could pay for with it.

If it meant that she uprooted her life at any moment to follow her husband somewhere else, then that was a small price to pay.

She didn't understand Kat's need for roots. For a business of her own, a way to make real money and real friends. She didn't see the salon as anything other than an anchor.

She wouldn't until shown just how much good came with a real life.

Kat sighed as she cleaned the pot. "I'm meeting Nadine today to go over some potential clients," she said over her shoulder. "Will you be okay here?"

Barbara twitched aside one of the lists, studying the bulleted points with a skeptical eye. "Is there any wine left?"

"It's box."

"It's fine. I'll have that for lunch."

Kat let that slide—her mother wouldn't really, she just liked to pretend she was the mimosas-for-breakfast type. It fueled her 'shabby chic' delusions.

Kat tipped the clean pot over into the drying rack and snagged the towel from the refrigerator door. Drying her hands, she turned to find Barbara seated at the table, features determinedly solemn.

Kat hesitated. "What?"

"Sit down, sweetie."

"What?" she repeated, frowning. She sat when her mother pointed to the only other chair. They'd rented the small house already furnished, but the furnishings hadn't been chosen with an eye to comfortable living. They got the job done.

It was enough for Kat, at least for now. Later, when she had an income, she'd look for a better place for them.

Maybe, if she made a _lot_ of money, she'd get her mother her own condo. Condo living would probably suit her mother better than puttering around a house.

Pipe dreams, mostly. Kat had plenty of steps to focus on before she started mentally spending money they didn't have.

Barbara laced her fingers together. "I know you're busy, but..." Her pale green eyes lowered to the table.

A knot gathered in Kat's stomach. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"It's...Well, I have bad news." She took a deep breath, and the front of her kimono gaped to reveal a black silk camisole beneath. The fine gold chain her mother always wore glinted. The locket on the other end vanished into the collar.

She'd told Kat that it held pictures of Kat and her brother when they were fresh-faced and little. Jack, Jr. was two years older, already well on the way to inheriting their father's malleable charm when Kat came along.

As far as Kat knew, Jackie had dodged jail, but he'd stormed out when she was sixteen. She hadn't heard a lot from him since then. An errant call now and then. Sometimes asking for money.

Now, her throat ached as she asked, "Is it Jackie? Is he okay?"

A flicker of annoyance flashed across her mom's carefully adopted frown. "Don't interrupt, Katherine."

Kat's lips pressed together.

"As far as I know, your brother is still pretending like he sprung fully-formed on this earth," she added, striking another dismissive wave. "But this does have something to do with your father."

Kat gripped the table. "What happened?"

"Money." Barbara reached into her kimono sleeves and pulled out a letter, folded into thirds. She passed it to Kat with a tight smile. "I'm sorry, honey. We borrowed pretty heavily after his arrest. Lawyer fees, you know?"

The paper crinkled in her hand. "He waived his right to a lawyer," Kat said evenly.

"Well, court fees." Barbara shrugged impatiently. "You know, all that legal stuff."

Fair enough. Barbara wasn't the type to pay attention to details. Kat glanced at the paper. The letterhead claimed Wallace & Roane, Financial Enterprises. She skimmed the brief contents.

The table rattled as she slammed the letter under her palm. "You borrowed from loan sharks?"

Barbara's eyes narrowed. "Don't raise your voice at me, young lady."

"Mom!"

She pushed back from the table, rising and jerking her robe back into place. Her long hair swung, waves bouncing around her shoulders. "We didn't have a lot of choice, Katherine. Your father was going to jail, they froze all the accounts. All we had was the money he kept in that box of his." Her voice trembled, shoulders rounding. "Do you know that they extend your jail time if you can't pay the fees?"

Kat bit back her sharp words. Couldn't bring herself to consign her father to a lifetime of prison, no matter how much less stressful things were without his everyday schemes to rock the boat Kat desperately wanted to bolt down. She crumpled the notice in her fist.

"Dipping into that money would have left us bankrupt," her mother said, raising her chin as she turned. The gesture was well-timed. She looked perfectly dramatic.

But her eyes welled with tears. "I had to choose between taking care of us and taking care of him. How do you think I felt?"

Classic guilt trip. Even so, as obvious as that was, Kat couldn't give voice to the hurt it caused in her. Emotion dictated that she shed responsibility for Jack's choices, but logic demanded she recognize the truth in her mother's words. It was a tough call.

No matter how much she wanted to lecture her mother, Kat couldn't. Not this time.

But that didn't solve the problem.

She gestured at the innocuous paper. "They're demanding payments _now_. Where are we supposed to get the money?" She paused, frowning as her mother's eyebrows climbed. "How did they find us? We're miles from Washington!"

"I don't know." Barbara dragged a hand through her hair—a habit Kat had picked up early—and blotted at her eyes with the end of her kimono. "That just showed up in the mail."

Kat's chest squeezed. So they'd followed them from Washington? For twenty thousand dollars, she couldn't blame them.

She rose, leaving her books and papers where they'd scattered, and stalked out of the small kitchen. "I can't deal with this right now."

"Well, that's fine," her mother said to her back, following her up the narrow stairs. "I'm sure they'll be _reasonable_ loan sharks."

"Mom, I'm serious."

"So am I."

Kat made a sound halfway between a growl and a snort as she stepped into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Barbara lounged in the doorframe.

"They're going to need something," her mother pointed out.

"Give them your locket," Kat retorted around a mouth full of toothpaste. "Real gold should sell for something."

Barbara's hand flattened over her chest, and the locket beneath. Her eyes widened.

The hurt welling in them scored a direct hit to Kat's conscience.

"Kitty Harris, you take that back."

Her father used it as a pet name. Her mother, contrary to the end, used the nickname as a weapon.

Kat flinched, paused to spit toothpaste into the cracked porcelain sink and focus on something other than an immediate retort.

It wasn't her mother's fault the Harris men had abandoned them.

Mostly.

Running the water, she wiped at the side of her mouth and said sullenly, "Why didn't you tell me about this before I dropped all of that money into the salon?"

"Because," Barbara said, frowning down at her nails, "if I did, you'd have put all that money into the loan instead and wouldn't have a salon."

Kat went still in front of the mirror.

Her mother withdrew a swirl of blue silk and blonde waves. "Whatever. It's very obvious I can't do anything right for you," she said over her shoulder.

Kat flinched. "That's not fair," she shot back. "And don't call me Kitty!"

"Please." A door closed. Kat braced a hand on the bathroom doorjamb, counted to four. Hinges creaked on the fifth. "Where are you going today?"

There just wasn't enough wine in the world to deal with this kind of frustration. She leaned out from the cramped bathroom and said levelly, "The Copper Rooster."

Her mother's nose wrinkled. "Are you eating at a farm?"

"Did you want something or not?" Kat demanded.

"Oh." Barbara smiled, as radiantly as if she hadn't just dropped enough bad news in Kat's lap to sink a ship. "Whatever is fine. I don't feel like cooking today."

Kat returned to the mirror, adjusting the clips holding her chin-length waves from her face. "You never do," she muttered.

"I heard that, young lady."

Kat bit her tongue before she said something else.

Loan sharks. Not all of them rolled like a Hollywood film, but the one thing they all had in common was the desire to get paid. If this company—and she used that term loosely—had tracked them from Washington to Sulla Valley, then they meant business.

Honestly, she wanted to be surprised, but couldn't muster up the energy. Her mom was right—what was done was done. All she could do now was press forward. That meant cement her income.

A _legal_ income.

Say what she wanted about her flighty mom and criminal dad, they'd taught her how good life could be when things went right, and she desperately wanted things to go right.

They were just a little fuzzy on what _right_ meant.

Kat wasn't. She knew what she wanted, how she wanted to get it, and who she wanted to share it with. None of this had included payments to a loan shark.

But what else was she supposed to do?

She fluffed her hair, shook her head to swing out the waves, and pulled a round brush through her bangs. The girl in the mirror looked like any girl next door—or what Kat thought the girl next door should look like. Her black and yellow polka dotted blouse made her feel like summer, and it didn't look like the second-hand find it was. Her skinny jeans were fashionable enough for any company. The red streaks in her hair gave her a trendy vibe.

Kat returned to the kitchen, grabbed her oversized sunglasses from the counter by the refrigerator, her keys from the hook by the back door, and mentally crunched her numbers.

If she ate light, she'd be able to buy Nadine's meal as an apology for ditching her at the party, and still come back with dinner for her mom. There should be enough in her checking account to cover the next few months, not including any cash her mom kept hoarding like a starving squirrel.

Until she spent it. Like a starving squirrel with a gambling problem.

That was a conversation she didn't want to have.

One thing at a time. Tomorrow, Kat would visit the salon and check on the progress. The contractor promised he'd have it done in three more months, but the budget was starting to creak. All she could do now was keep working on prospective clients, keep her fingers crossed, and hope that everything worked out in time.

It had to work out. There was no other way to live, much less achieve Kat's dreams. Not without scamming somebody, and she was so tired of living that way. Everything _had_ to fall into place.

Thinking any other way would only force her into a panic attack.

First thing in the morning, she'd call to discuss the terms of this so-called loan. Illegal or not, everyone in the field of money played by a certain set of rules. She just had to figure out what their game was.

And what she could bring to the table until her salon started making money.

# 3

The Copper Rooster wasn't a famous hangout for the elite, or for the groupies who liked to go where the elite went. That made it ideal for a low-key dining experience.

And a frequent meet-up for the Laramie men.

Adam liked the look—dark woods accented by rustic lodge décor and copper fixtures. The staff was friendly and laid-back, the menu varied.

His father liked it because he could keep an eye on whatever game he'd bet on for the season.

The clientele didn't seem to care what side of Sulla Valley their fellow patrons came from. As long as none of the gossiping kids from the east side stumbled across the place, Adam could enjoy a few hours of solitude now and again.

Or a few hours of uninterrupted strategy planning with his dad.

Well, partially uninterrupted.

Adam raised a hand above his head to capture David's wandering attention. Eyes a shade lighter than his own dropped to his in sheepish apology. "I think my team's phoning this one in."

Adam only cared about sports inasmuch as the red-blooded man in him demanded he had to. He was too busy for armchair coaching and didn't bet—not like his dad did. "How much this time?"

David draped his fingers loosely around his glass, tipped the scotch in it to one side. "Fifty."

"Thousand?" Adam whistled. "You should have checked. They always get lazy mid-season."

"Yeah, but this is early, isn't it?"

Adam shrugged.

His father centered his attention back to the topic at hand, and the tablet that had gone dark between them. In the comfortable ambience of the Rooster, he looked like nothing more than a retiree with salt and pepper hair and laugh lines by his eyes and mouth. No one would ever believe the man wearing a battered blazer and old denim was the patriarch of a multi-billion dollar enterprise.

Aside from the color of his hair, Adam had been told often enough how much like his father he looked.

Only he'd never taken to a pinky ring.

The gold band with the imprinted eagle on it winked as David tipped the scotch into his mouth. On a rasped exhale, he said, "So, where were we?"

About three steps into hell and off the beaten path already. Adam sighed. "You were explaining exactly why Goldberg doesn't want to confirm me."

David set the glass down. "It's not you, son. It all comes down to one thing. Profits."

"I know how to garner profits, Dad."

"It's not _you_ , is what I'm saying," David replied patiently. He tapped the tablet between them. "Your granddad dragged this company into the future, kicking and screaming, but Goldberg's a remnant. Innovation is what we _need._ God knows I never had your gift."

Praise made Adam uncomfortable. Especially off-hand praise delivered like it was no big deal.

He reached for his own glass. The ice inside clinked as he sipped at the Irish whiskey he preferred to his father's harsher scotch. "So," he said when the burn cleared his mouth. "What you're saying is that I need to kidnap Goldberg and hold his vote for ransom."

David's crack of laughter earned them a few stares from the busy restaurant. "Stubborn old goat's mean enough to starve to death while you wait. No, boy, you're going to have to do it the old fashioned way."

"Sleep with his daughter?"

It was a low blow, a nasty sucker punch, and as soon as the words left his mouth, Adam regretted them.

His father leaned back in his chair, rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. A wry slant shaped his sculpted mouth—a family trait. They all tended to have a strong Cupid's bow and a pliable lower lip. That, the bone structure, and a routine listing in Forbes pretty much guaranteed a Laramie was never starving for company.

How his mother ever coped as long as she did, he'd never know.

It certainly wasn't for love. She'd made that much clear when she left ten years ago, taking enough alimony to set herself up for life, and never looked back.

"Well, now, son," David replied ruefully, "I wouldn't recommend that option."

"Given she cost you the company?" Adam snorted out something that could have been a sigh. It muffled the words he _wanted_ to say.

"She didn't cost me the company," David countered. "Just the CEO position."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Adam intended to grab that chair and stay in it for a long time. Much longer than the fourteen years his dad helmed the ship.

That title meant success in Adam's world. It belonged to him. He just had to convince the board of it.

His father looked down into his glass, tilting it like something more interesting than alcohol waited inside. Adam plucked the tablet, swiped it on and pretended like the columns and figures he stared at made any sense.

Ordinarily, they did.

He was just a little distracted.

In all honesty, Adam had a lot of other things he'd wanted to do before he claimed the position. Like travel. Earn another degree, something to accompany the business and economics field he'd majored in and the computer science minor that bolstered his college resume. He wanted more hands-on experience in the software engineering department and his own side projects.

There were about a thousand things he'd thought to do before he'd put his hat in this ring, things he thought would make him more palatable to the public at large, but screw that. Let the world doubt him as a young CEO, Adam was committed to proving them wrong.

The copper chimes at the restaurant door rung out, a dulcet melody as another patron stepped in. Adam looked up from the tablet by habit, caught his dad staring past his head at the television again.

The hostess greeted the brunette, exchanged the usual pleasantries and walked her past the copper rail separating the bar from the seating area. The sun streaming through the skylights picked out fingers of fire engine red through her hair.

Numbers and figures and strategy dropped out of his head.

"Damn," David sighed, jerking Adam's attention back to him. "If they pull this one out, it'll be a miracle."

No, a miracle would be if he got out of here before the hot-tempered sex kitten with mile-long legs hidden behind tight jeans noticed him.

Would she cause a scene?

He pictured the spray of whiskey as it splattered against his chest, remembered the burn on his cheek, and couldn't stop a smile from edging his mouth.

The hostess seated her at a table for four. She slid into the booth, pushing a pair of sunglasses up onto her head, and gave the waitress a sunny smile.

Her lips were lush and wide without lipstick to darken them, expressive enough to make him want to smile in kind.

And weirdly familiar.

Of course, she'd wrapped those lips around his finger like it was a lollipop and she had a sweet tooth, so there was that.

"Adam?"

He glanced at his father. Frowned when David followed the line of his stare and whistled a low note. "Hot damn," he added for emphasis.

Adam shifted in his seat. The last thing he needed was his dad scoping out his abnormal lust obsessions. "Let's get back to—"

David lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "What the hell brought her back to the Valley?"

"Brought her back?" Adam's frown deepened as he studied his father's weathered expression. Mischief? No. _Interest._ Like he thought. He huffed out a bitter laugh. "Back off, old man. I've already been there."

"I know."

The chimes jangled again, and the hostess moved to intercept two men. They scanned the restaurant over her head, gestured to the seating area.

Adam blinked. "What do you mean you know?"

David's gaze turned back to his son, filled with as much confusion as Adam felt. Until it suddenly cleared on a surge of sharp amusement.

He braced his forehead against his palm, elbow on the table. "Oh, for crying out loud. Son, you've got no eye for women."

"I don't want to hear that from you," Adam snapped under his breath. Not under enough.

The hostess smiled the two men through.

David's subsequent laugh caught an inquisitive glance from the scruffier of the two, a lean man with what Adam figured was a permanent five o'clock shadow and sun-streaks in his shaggy surfer hair.

They passed the bar area, and the high table he occupied with his father.

David leaned forward. "That," he said clearly, low enough that it wouldn't carry, "is Katherine Harris."

For a moment, he didn't get the reference. Then it splashed over him, a frigid wash of recognition. Adam's spine turned to ice.

Katherine Harris?

_No_ , he thought as his eyes returned—like the traitors they were—to her table. He'd known her as Lindsay Fisher. Just out of high school, with long blonde hair, a wide mouth tailor made for his fantasies and...

Dark green eyes. _Christ_. How had he forgotten those eyes?

The taller man with longer hair slid into the booth across from her, startling her gaze from the menu she pored over. Those eyes Adam now kicked himself for not recognizing widened.

Narrowed just as fast.

Her lips moved—too far away to hear what she said.

A date? No, not with two men, unless her habits had seriously spiraled.

A fist curled in Adam's gut.

"How long has she been back?" his father wondered.

He hadn't even been aware she'd _come_ back. What for? A second chance at his money? At lying her way into his bed, hoping to trap him into some sham of a relationship?

Did she target him in that party?

Did she really think he was _that_ stupid? Slow, sure, but stupid?

Hell, he felt like it. Five years ago, he'd been twenty and home for summer break. Adam had lived by himself because he wanted to feel like a normal college student, even if he didn't have to worry about things like rent and bills.

He'd thought the feisty blonde he'd met one day in the park had liked him for him.

An idiot assumption.

The investigative report his dad had ordered on Lindsay Fisher's all-American middle class family still occupied a dusty corner of his home office. It had stripped away all the pretty lies she'd told him, left him exposed as the idiot he was.

So the con artists had come back to Sulla Valley. Ballsy. What was the goal, this time?

Besides money.

"Adam?" His dad snapped his fingers. "Earth to Adam."

The stockier of the two men leaned over his partner, planting a hand on the table. It allowed him to loom over Linds—over Katherine. Forced her to tip her head back to maintain eye contact.

A dick move.

Whatever he said to her, a low rumble Adam couldn't make out, obviously pissed her off. Her shoulders went rigid. The menu hit the table between them.

The guy with the dark whiskers on his jaw ran a hand over them, looking around idly. His eyes met Adam's. Tilted some in a rueful smile emphasized by a shrug. As if to say _what can you do?_

Most people would smile back, Adam reasoned. Leave personal matters alone.

Most people probably wouldn't have noticed when the color leached from Katherine's face.

He did.

"Facts are facts, is what I'm saying," the man with the wide shoulders said, leaning over Kat's table like he was just checking in.

_Nothing to see here, restaurant patrons, be about your business._

The second man, handsome in a laid-back and scruffy kind of way, pointed out, "Nobody needs to get hurt over this. I'd hate to see it happen."

"I agree," Katherine shot back, her voice taut with the strain she couldn't show. She hadn't expected this. Maybe she should have—her luck wasn't holding up in Sulla Valley. "But I'm telling you that we're going to have to come to some sort of terms."

"Terms need a deposit, sister."

She snorted before she could help herself. "Too many mob movies, right?"

The shorter man's features darkened.

The other elbowed him in the planted arm, forcing him to ease off the table. "Funny thing," he said lightly. "Johnny here is legitimately descended from honest-to-God Italians. Isn't that right, Johnny?"

Johnny grunted.

"Just decided to wander into the family business?" Kat asked sweetly.

Another grunt, but this one bit.

The loan shark seated at her table sighed. "Don't get cute, little girl." Now it was Kat's turn to bristle. "Family is exactly the problem here, isn't it?"

Out of the mouths of loan sharks. She looked down at the table, her face flaming in embarrassment. In anger. She'd never been so grateful for Nadine's tendency to run fifteen minutes late. She couldn't imagine what her friend would say.

Nothing good.

"How'd you find me, anyway?" she asked.

"We have ways," the guy said, flashing a smile like he knew exactly how trite that sounded.

It didn't take the edge off.

"Fact of the matter is," he continued, "you owe—"

"I don't owe _anything_."

"Your mom, then," he amended good-naturedly. "She owes, and it's due. So your options are pay up, or we're going to have to get our money some other way."

God. This was so stereotypical, it was almost worth laughing outright. Which probably wouldn't help.

Neither would laying her head down on the table and crying.

She clenched her hands under the table. "Why are you hassling me?"

"Because I'm squeamish," the scruffy one answered lazily. "Going to an old lady's place to hassle her, well." He spread a hand on the table. "Not my favorite part of the job."

"I don't mind," Johnny volunteered.

Kat's stomach knotted. She didn't have to watch the movies to read between the lines. Money was money, and if they could squeeze it out of her, they would.

And if they couldn't? They basically just admitted to knowing where her mother lived.

"Fine," she said tightly. "Fine, I get it. I can't give you anything now, will you give me a few days?"

"Well, now, I might—" the loan shark began, amiably enough, but faltered when a deep voice cut in, "Is everything okay here?"

Kat jumped in her seat. Cringed when her knee hit the table, rattling the condiments at the inside edge.

The face that accompanied the question drained what was left of her will to live.

Of course. _He'd_ be here. And why not? Her luck wasn't getting any better.

Adam didn't look at her, didn't even spare her a glance. The focus of his intensity blinked up at him, owlish in his slow regard, and then flashed a grin that Kat would have called fine—if it didn't remind her too much of the shark he was channeling.

"Everything's good," the guy replied.

Johnny blinked slowly. When he bent down to murmur in the other guy's ear, Kat shot Adam a sidelong peek.

He'd tucked a hand on the back of her booth. The other in his pocket, like he wasn't worried about anything at all. It made for a hella possessive pose, and she'd bet everything left in her bank account that he knew it.

The hucksters across the table knew it, too.

"I'll call your office," Kat said, deliberately pleasant—desperate to ensure Adam didn't hear anymore. How much had he heard?

Any of it?

God, _all_ of it?

The friendlier of the two studied her face, then Adam's. His smile was slower this time, and lacking most of the edge. He made up for it in creepy.

Kat just wanted him gone.

"Got it," he said, and scooted out from the bench. "Come on, Johnny. Let's leave the lovebirds to their lunch."

"We aren't—"

That hand braced on the back of her booth covered her nape, cutting off her protest. "Have a good day," Adam said evenly.

Waves of heat curled all the way to her toes, radiating out from the possessive weight of his fingers on her skin. Kat didn't dare speak.

She wasn't certain she wouldn't squeak.

When the loan sharks had left, the door chimes fading to the usual buzz of ambient conversation, she waited for Adam to let her go.

He didn't.

Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. "You can go away now." _There_. A semblance of normal. If tense.

His thumb dipped into the curve of her neck. Skimmed over the pulse she wondered if he felt throb under her skin. "Are you in trouble?"

Trouble, he asked. Not if she was okay, but if she was in trouble. Typical.

She shifted, reaching for her glass of lemon water. His hand finally dropped away. "Please go away."

He didn't. He sat down in the booth vacated by the huckster his presence had helped shoo away, and clasped his hands on the table like he was in for the long haul.

_Yeah, right_.

His gaze pinned hers. "Do you need money?"

She almost choked on her water. "What? _No_. God."

"You say that like it's totally out of character," he pointed out. His mouth—damn, his mouth—shifted up into a half-smile. "Katherine."

Oh, come on. _Now_ he knew?

Of course he knew. He'd probably had her investigated after that fiasco of a meeting.

Kat looked around the restaurant in vain hope for rescue. She found none. Nadine was only five minutes late. There was plenty of time before she caught up.

Adam watched her with all the patience of a cat toying with its food.

Kat wasn't sure what it was like to feel like food. If it was anything like how he'd made her feel at that party, she wasn't positive she'd hate it.

And that was the problem.

She wrapped her hands around her cold glass. "How'd you know?"

"You didn't really think you could come back and no one would recognize you, did you?"

She had. Admittedly. "You didn't," she said, saccharine sweet.

Color stained his cheeks. "So, what's your plan, Lindsay Fisher? Cute name, by the way. Fisher. Made a whole lot of sense, after."

She winced. "It wasn't—"

"What?" he taunted softly. "Your idea? I'm sure. How's dear old dad?"

Her jaw shifted. So he hadn't investigated her circumstances, after all. "In jail."

"Who'd have thought?"

"I did," she retorted, and shifted back in her seat until her shoulders pressed against the booth. It didn't give her all that much space, especially when he just scooted forward, cupping his chin in his palm like he had all the time in the world and she was the highlight of his day.

He'd only gotten more handsome. Leaner in the face, but sharper in the eyes.

Too sharp. Where his gaze touched, she felt the urge to rub it until the tingling went away.

Thank God he couldn't look beyond the table's edge.

Her heart hadn't mellowed over time, she hadn't matured. Just the opposite. Her pulse skipped now when he asked, "So, what's the scheme, Katherine?"

"Kat," she corrected sharply. "Only my mother calls me Katherine."

"Okay." His lips curved at both sides, now. "Kat. How much money do you need this time?" Single-minded focus.

"Stop it." She crossed her legs, bit back an apology when her foot nudged his leg under the table. His jeans were soft against her bare toes, well-worn.

Adam Laramie in a suit was divine, but in a casual button-down and well-loved denim, he was entirely too approachable.

Did he wear undershirts? A-line tank tops?

Or was it nothing but skin beneath dark purple Ralph Lauren?

She didn't realize her gaze had fastened on the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, tracing the vee of tanned skin at his throat, until he ducked his head to meet her stare. "If you need money," he said, "you can pay me back."

Nothing about that sounded generous.

She blinked rapidly. "What, as an escort?" she asked before her internal filter could rein it in.

His voice roughened. "That depends. Are you offering me a date?"

The fluttery sensation in her belly spread to a warmer bloom. She shifted. "I don't need your money, Adam."

"Everyone needs money."

"I don't," she insisted. She lied through her teeth and she knew it, but the hell with Adam's money. That wasn't why she'd come back.

Not this time.

"Does this mean your offer is off the table?"

Her fingers closed on her water glass, slid in the condensation. "What offer?"

"I'm talking about a date, Kat."

Her lips parted.

His gaze slid to her mouth.

She licked her suddenly too dry lips and managed an extremely clever, " _What_?"

This time, when he smiled, there was nothing halved or rueful about it. It nailed her right between the eyes, a wicked curve designed to carve through feminine resistance like a yacht through ocean waves.

All high class and supreme power.

She shouldn't have found it attractive.

She _totally_ did.

"I want to take you on a date," he said, leaning in. "You, Kat Harris. And me. Together. Do you get it?"

"Why?"

"Hell if I know," he replied, with that same forthright ease. Like they were talking business or sports or, oh, anything but this.

She frowned at her glass. "Is this water?"

Adam's chuckle ruffled things low in her body he'd already handled—and how. She fought the urge to squirm. "Why, are you planning to throw it at me?"

Apology flitted over her tongue.

She refused to deliver it. Not that one. He deserved what he got that night. "I'm not sorry. Not for the whiskey."

"You have something else to apologize for?" His voice lowered to a dangerous level. Soft in volume, but predatory in the extreme.

She winced. She didn't even try to hide it—what use would it do? "If I apologized now for five years ago," she asked quietly, and his eyebrow twitched like it wanted to hike up, "would you believe me?"

"No."

She nodded. It hurt, but she'd expected that. "I didn't think so."

"Is that why you're here?" he asked, so bluntly that she couldn't stop herself from laughing in mingled surprise and embarrassment.

Was she that obvious?

His eyes darkened. "Did you come back to see me, Kat?"

_Yes._ She looked down at her glass again. It wasn't any safer. The condensation clinging to the smooth sides contrasted the clammy nerves dampening her palms. "I'd hoped for a better setting."

He didn't say anything. He just waited.

The words felt like lead on her tongue, heavy and unwieldy. Kat had planned to apologize, but she'd hoped to wow him first. To make him look twice at her, to think of her like an equal—or at least, given his billionaire bank account, like no threat to his money.

This was backwards in every way.

Her heart pounded in her chest, echoed in her ears, as she took a small breath. "Okay," she said on the exhale. Her voice squeaked. Just freaking great. "I'm sorry for lying to you."

"What?" He tipped his head to the side. "Were you apologizing to your glass?"

Kat's mouth tightened as her gaze flew up, but she wasn't expecting the amusement that danced in his tawny eyes. Or the lazy curve to one side of his mouth. She stiffened. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Yes." He leaned over the table. "I actually didn't come over here to ask you out."

"You could have fooled me," she muttered.

His grin deepened. Like he knew what she felt—what she was thinking—and was pleased by it. "Did you think about me, Kat? After you left, did you remember the things we did in my car? In my bed?"

Heat suffused her whole body. Her glass clicked against the table. "Did you even hear me? I said I'm sorry." She glared at him. "You know, for everything."

"Everything?" he repeated, so full of innuendo that she was pretty sure her toes curled up in her sandals.

"What, you still expect me to apologize for the other night?" she shot back, then wished she didn't when his eyes gleamed in triumph. She huffed out a dismissive sound. "That's not _my_ apology to give."

"You're right." Adam's fingers drummed on the table. "I'm sorry for failing to recognize you after five years and a total makeover. The orgasm I gave you was wildly inappropriate and I'm extremely ashamed of the fact I only gave you one." His lashes lowered as her cheeks caught fire all over again. "Let me make it up to you."

"You're a menace," Kat whispered. "Why aren't you angrier?"

"I was." He leaned over the table. "I'm five years past angry. You want to apologize? Then prove it. Go out with me, Kat."

_No._ There was no reason to do it. Sure, they had the kind of chemistry that made a meth lab look like child's play, but like a meth lab, one wrong turn, and she was pretty sure they'd blow up spectacularly.

He was a player.

She was an ex-grifter.

He seduced strangers at parties in dark corners.

She'd carried a torch for him for five years.

This was never going to work.

"I can't," she said. Damn, it hurt to force through her aching throat. She should have been jumping for joy, but she couldn't. She wasn't ready for this. "Not yet."

"Not yet?"

"It's complicated," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm going legit, Adam. Forget my family history, forget five years ago, I'm—"

"Bullshit." Her eyes flew open. His jaw hardened, even if his mouth hadn't lost its curve. "I'm not forgetting anything _._ You recognized _me_ the other night. I may not have realized it was you, but it was you that let me touch you, sweetheart. You still want me."

"Ass," she shot back, mortified as she darted glances at the other tables. No one seemed to be taking undue attention, but his voice wouldn't take much to carry.

"You want me," he repeated. He touched two fingers to her wrist, to the pulse fluttering there in manic fury. "You say you don't want my money. Fine. But you want _me._ God only knows why, but I still want you. Let's try a date."

Kat pushed her water to the side, which tugged her wrist out from under the touch that seared her skin. "I don't understand why you aren't threatening me with a restraining order."

"Because." Adam leaned back in the booth. "I can't touch you if I order one."

"Lame excuse."

"But true." His eyebrows lifted. Flat out challenge. "Go out with me, Kat."

It was the dumbest idea in the world.

And she was turning out to be pretty dumb herself.

"Fine," she groaned. "One date. But," she added when his grin widened in obvious triumph, "I'm taking you out. As an apology," she added when his eyebrow hiked high. "And I get to choose the place."

"Sold," he said, surprising her. "You can choose the place."

"And I pay my own way," she added, but Adam was already sliding out of the booth instead of listening. "Adam—"

"How does Thursday sound?"

"Fine," Kat replied, frowning, "but I really will—"

He held a small card out to her. "I'll call you."

She looked down at it. A private card. His own phone number. Was that a thing? Did people really have separate business and private cards?

She closed her fingers over it. "You don't know my number."

Adam held on just long enough to make a point. "I will," he said simply.

He left her staring after him, the card creased in her hand.

_I will._

Well, score one for the rich and powerful. Kat had zero doubt he'd find everything there was to know about her.

She didn't know whether that worried her or turned her on. Maybe she'd go with both.

# 4

An electric saw whined as Kat ducked under the tarp protecting the front door and the wide shop front window from the construction dust filling the air. She coughed, waving at the thick motes dancing in front of her face. "Dale?"

"Yeah, one sec!" The smooth, slow baritone of her contractor boomed out of the enclosure Kat had designated for private guests. Right now, it wasn't much more than a rectangular hole.

Sunlight streamed through skylights in the roof, and electric lamps had been strung up to provide the workers enough light to see by. She noted one guy in the rafters working with wiring. To the left, a wrench flew out of a hole in the floor to clang against the cement. The tile wasn't scheduled to get laid for another month.

Dale Simmons stepped over the discarded tool, flicking an irritated glance down the hole. "Watch it, Tabby."

"Get out of the way," the team's only woman shouted back.

Dale's full mouth twitched at both corners as he adjusted the hard hat he wore over his buzzed head. His dark skin was coated with plaster, but he beat one hand against his pants before offering it to Kat. "Ms. Harris. How're you?"

"Good," she lied. Her problems weren't her contractor's. She shook his hand like she always did—he was a man who believed in the power of a handshake. His hand was large and callused from the job, and his grip firm. "How're things here?"

"On schedule," he replied.

"Son of a bitch!" Tabby's shout distorted.

Dale sighed. "Mostly."

That didn't sound good. Kat winced. "How bad?'

"We found a crack in the floor," Dale said, beckoning her away from Tabby's station. The electrician in the rafters, a portly man with a pale pink hard hat protecting his head, glanced down with a distracted smile. "When we went to repair it, we realized it went all the way down to the foundation."

Kat knew just enough about these things to see dollar signs flash in front of her eyes. "Oh God. How much?"

Dale hooked his thumbs into the tool belt slung low on his hips. His camouflage cargo pants dipped. The man had the kind of physique that all the men wanted and all the girls drooled over. Kat hadn't picked him for his muscles, but she'd admit to appreciating the view.

It made bad news a little more tolerable. "Roughly five to seven grand."

Kat crunched the numbers in her head. "We're still in budget."

"If," Dale said firmly, "the foundation can be repaired. If not, it'll have to be torn out and replaced. Costs could skyrocket as high as thirty."

"Oh, God," she said again, and covered her face with her hands. "When will you know?"

"Soon as Tabby's done."

On cue, another curse fractured the dappled air.

Kat felt sick. Thirty thousand on top of the twenty thousand the loan sharks wanted. Impossible. She didn't have that much money.

"Don't worry, Ms. Harris," Dale said, clapping his hands together. A cloud of plaster dust erupted from his palms, swirled through the air. It wasn't so thick that she needed a mask, but she noted the one hanging down his back. Working in the stuff was probably much harder than visiting.

"Okay." She fished a notebook out of her bag. "Let's assume worst case scenario."

"I'd rather assume best," Dale replied, flashing even white teeth in a smile she couldn't help but think of as supportive.

What a sweetie. Her contractor was reassuring her.

It felt good. Optimism had dwindled abysmally low in the Harris home. Kat sighed. "Okay, you're right." She gave him her best smile—the one that radiated sunny sincerity. "You're awesome, you know?"

He looked up at the ceiling. She couldn't be sure in the light, but she thought she saw a stain of color on his cheeks. What a doll.

"Let's assume best case," she said, grinning. "How long will it take to fix the foundation?"

"The average repair takes about two days." Dale lifted his voice. "Soon as Tabby's done, we'll have that all hammered out, but"— his voice softened again—"frankly, I don't expect it to take more than one day."

Another clang of metal scraped against cement. "Fuck you, Simmons!"

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, ma'am."

Kat laughed, making a note in the figures she'd already painstakingly calculated. "It's fine." The knot of worry in her chest eased. "So, we're in budget if we're looking at an average repair."

"For time and cost," Dale confirmed. He plucked a pair of rough gloves from his back pocket. "Keith hasn't reported any electrical issues, so we're go, there."

Something fragile, something warm and altogether like hope wriggled in her chest. She forgot to breathe, just in case it winked out. "So," she managed. "When can I start putting in the appliances in storage?"

Dale pulled the gloves on. "If all goes well? Six weeks." He hesitated. "My sister runs a cleaning business. I'll ask her to come help."

"Oh, no, I—"

"Let's call it a service," Dale added, grinning down at her with slow, easy affability.

Way too nice.

Kat swallowed hard. "Tell your sister I'd be pleased to offer her discounts at my salon when it's open."

"I will, then." He hesitated. "Have you decided what to call it?"

Kat shook her head ruefully. "Not yet."

"Screw you, you measly son of—" Tabby's voice cracked into a shouted, "Dale!"

Kat winced.

He sighed, wide shoulders rolling. "It's never as bad as it sounds," he assured Kat, and called, "Coming!"

"I'll get out of your hair," she said, and made good her exit before anything else went wrong. Once she pulled the tarp back into place and let herself out the front door, she stood in the sunshine pouring down into the boutique shopping center she'd chosen and tried not to let her worries overwhelm the delicate thread of hope she clung to.

Dale seemed optimistic. Maybe that was his job, to sell her on needed work and force her to pay whatever it ends up being, but she couldn't think like that. If she started assuming that everyone thought like she did, Kat would never leave the house.

No, she chose Dale and his crew because the online reviews were good, and mostly by locals. They trusted him, which meant she would, too.

Her livelihood was as much in his hands as her own.

But thirty grand extra?

"Please," she muttered, tipping her face to the wide blue sky. The sun warmed her face, humidity wrapping her in a stifling cloud. "Please only be five thousand."

She didn't know if there were any gods of construction, but just in case, she threw a little prayer for them, too. At this point, she'd try anything.

Her phone vibrated in her back pocket. The sound of glass shattering earned a sideways glance from a few shoppers passing by.

She smiled sheepishly, shrugging, and checked the text from her mother. _Stop for ice cream and wine._

"Seriously," she sighed, and pocketed her phone again. They needed more than that. She'd get enough for dinner for a few days, too.

Cracked foundation or not, they'd have to eat.

Almost immediately, her phone thrummed in tandem with a pop song. It wasn't her mother's ringtone. She pulled the device out, half-turning away from the stream of shoppers milling by. The number on her screen was unfamiliar. She thumbed acceptance for the call. "Hello?"

"Hello, Kat."

The foliage climbing the brick side of the salon swayed gently in a breeze that softened the worst of the heat. It did nothing for the sudden warmth that blossomed under her skin. "Adam. I thought you'd forgotten about me."

"Never," came the reply, low enough that she regretted her choice of words.

Was that a threat or a reminder?

She angled her phone against her shoulder and dug in her purse for her sunglasses. "What can I do for you?"

His chuckle surprised her. "I can think of a lot of things." She'd just bet. "I can't talk long, I've got a meeting in five." The line crackled. "Be there in a minute, Jordan."

She frowned, sliding her sunglasses on. The alley she faced dimmed to a soft blue hue. "Are you calling because you missed my voice?"

"I'm calling because you promised to take me out," he replied, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Where are we meeting on Thursday?"

Shoot. She'd forgotten that part. Mostly. After he didn't call the first day, she'd consigned that whole conversation to the same hell as the deliciously dirty dreams she'd entertained the night before.

Adam had no business toying with her.

So, why'd he have to go and track down her number? She sighed. "MacKinnon's," she said shortly, peering down the sidewalk leading deeper into the shopping center. The restaurant was one of her favorites, the kind of hole in the wall place the locals hid from tourists. She'd stumbled across it a couple months back and had fallen in love. "Seven o'clock. Do you—"

"I'll find it," he said, cutting her off. A masculine murmur filled the line behind him as he added, "See you in a couple days."

The tone was too brisk to be anything like the promise her insides were determined to make it. She managed, "Okay," before he ended the call, leaving her staring at her phone in bemusement.

So Adam had found her number. She wondered if the sandy-haired man she'd seen him with at the party had been the one talking to him in the background. Busy, huh? Too busy, obviously, to flirt with her in front of his big business cohorts, anyway.

Kat slid the phone into the back pocket of her shorts, shaking her head.

She couldn't decide which part of her life annoyed her the most. Her mother's bad habits? The cracked foundation in her salon? The loan sharks?

Or Adam freaking Laramie?

Pared down, her only real problem was deciding what priority to assign everything. The loan sharks wouldn't wait forever. Her mom had a little money stashed away, but she couldn't ask her mom to sink everything she had left into Kat's dream.

And Dale's team needed to get paid, in theory from the money earmarked for just that. No matter what, if she used it to pay the loan, then she'd default on the work Dale and his crew did.

Unacceptable.

That left one real option—beg the banks for a loan. A legal one.

An illegal loan wouldn't show up on any credit history. Even if her mother had listed her as a guarantor, it wouldn't matter. That's not how these things worked.

Then again, she wasn't sure what _would_ show up. Kat didn't have a lot of credit history. In theory, that should at least give her enough impetus for a starter loan. Granted, most of those were only a couple thousand, but that could be all the difference between eating and not.

Borrowing money at all left a sour taste in her mouth. It triggered every deep-seated issue Jack Harris had forced in his daughter— _loans are just free money_ , he'd say. _Only an idiot ever gets one._

Which was why he used the names of other idiots.

But that wasn't the real world. Loans were part of life, right? Part of growing up. As Kat walked away from the site of her future, she set her shoulders.

Banks existed to loan people money. Maybe they were every bit as corrupt as Jack Harris always said, but it didn't matter. She'd apply for loans over the next couple of days.

The sick feeling in her stomach didn't go away. Had she bitten off more than she could chew?

Yes. As she sat on her bed and stared at her closet two days later, Kat admitted that she'd bitten off _way_ more than she could chew. And the killing bite tasted like Adam Laramie.

Her first impulse was to call Nadine for dating advice.

Her second was to put the smartphone down before she dialed.

Her third was to stand in front of her closet and stare at the row of colorful dresses she'd picked up over too many cons gone terribly right and think about all the ways this was going to end painfully.

The past couple of days had been something of a blur.

Through sheer strength of will, she'd managed to put everything aside but the necessity to swallow her pride and beg banks for money.

And cement a few clients, while she could. In between things, she'd emailed Kira a list of methods to stretch out her color, and suggested a few alternate styles that would really make her model bone structure pop.

The former Kira could do herself. The latter, she'd need a stylist's help.

No idiot, Kat had included her cell phone number.

She'd also visited the two large banks in Sulla Valley and was denied immediately. Not enough credit, in theory. But they hadn't allowed her to drum up a co-signer, either—not that she had one to rely on.

Her mother wasn't exactly a sterling example of good credit, and she refused to ask Nadine to put her credit score on the line. Her friend still lived with her parents, and she didn't work. Kat didn't know a lot about the Sherwood house financials, but she was pretty sure Nadine's income depended on her mom and dad.

In a way, Kat envied that. It was the opposite of her own life.

Well, she had a few applications out to some online banks. There was still hope.

Nadine had sent her the numbers for two more friends looking for a good stylist, and a list of local "hair artists" that would be her prime competition when it came to any elite clientele.

She'd scoped out one already. No problem. The girl was nice enough, but conservative.

The other, a guy who worked out of his house, had a good reputation but only worked part-time to supplement his college courses.

Either way, not really a serious threat.

The other places didn't cater to the upper echelons, and people like Nadine didn't just wander to the mall for a trim.

Dale had eventually sent her an email with the revised scope. The news wasn't great, but it wasn't thirty thousand dollars worth of bad either. The final estimate for the repairs hovered around eight thousand.

She had no other choice but to approve the repair. Any more issues, and she'd be over budget.

These days, Kat felt like her heart lived in her throat.

She leaned against the closet door.

She'd avoided the guys from Wallace & Roane so far, but only because she hadn't pulled together any sort of deposit yet. There was nothing to pull from, not if she hoped to pay rent and utilities this month.

That hadn't stopped them from taping notices to her front door.

Her mother might have been able to offer a deposit, but asking Barbara to part with money for something other than a new _thing_ was like prying a favored toy from a screaming toddler. Kat had enough anxiety already. She wasn't prepared for that fight.

She didn't have enough ammunition for it.

They were in this together. Barbara had borrowed to keep Kat from spending all her money. Maybe it wasn't the most logical decision, but it meant a lot. She couldn't ask her mom to give up everything else for her.

Fact was, the money was already stretched thin.

As legacy went, her father didn't leave much.

Kat didn't know where all the money he'd ever stolen had gone. She didn't like to assume her mom had spent it all over the years.

Even if she had, it's not like they hadn't helped.

They'd all spent. And moved, and grifted and spent more, and moved again.

Kat rubbed at her forehead, dragged her hand down her face and fought the urge to put on her pajamas, blow a little extra money on a tub of ice cream and crawl into bed.

She had a date.

A stupid, totally bad idea of a date.

"Oh, to hell with this," she muttered, and pulled Nadine's contact card up on her phone. Maybe her friend would be too busy.

Maybe Kat could call Adam and beg off on account of suddenly regaining her common sense.

The line picked up. "Hey, cupcake, what's up?" Crystal clear, sunny. No sign of activity in the background.

"Are you busy?" Kat said, gently but routinely thumping her forehead against the closet door. _Say yes._

"Not even a little. Just hanging in my back yard." Nadine's backyard looked more like an oasis, with a curved pool, two different hot tubs, and a cabana.

Minus the cabana boy. Nadine's family home wasn't into _tacky_. Kat felt like an outsider every time she visited. "With a margarita," her friend added impishly. "About the size of my head."

"Is it five yet?" Kat asked, momentarily lulled into a wash of amusement.

"Somewhere," Nadine replied cheerfully. "What's up?"

"Okay." Kat straightened, glaring into her closet again. It was a small space already, but her clothes made it look tighter than it was. "Hypothetically speaking, say I have a date."

"Ohmigod," Nadine cut in, all of her lazy warmth narrowed in like a laser beam. "With who?"

So much for hypotheticals.

Kat hedged. She didn't want to outright say, not yet. What if it went horribly?

What if it didn't?

What if anything Kat did ruined something for Nadine? This wasn't her circle. She didn't have to live in it.

"A guy I met," she said slowly, knowing it wasn't much.

Nadine's squeal pierced the line. "No way! When did you meet? How? Is he fine?"

Kat pictured Adam's wicked smile.

Her belly fluttered. Nerves, definitely.

Then again, the memory of what that mouth had done to her lingered way too closely for her peace of mind.

"Totally fine," she admitted. "Way gorgeous. Probably too good for me."

"Knock that off, Kat Harris. You're just nervous."

And then some. "So," she said, deviating away from any topic of who and what and—oh, man. Anything at all but clothes. "I need to wear something. What do I wear?"

Nadine's voice barely contained its inherent glee. "Where is he taking you?"

" _I_ ," she stressed, "am taking _him_ to MacKinnon's."

Nadine let the semantics slide. Kat just rolled her eyes at her friend's thoughtful hum. "Okay, so, that's the place by your shop, right?"

"Yeah, the one behind that alley." It was, Kat had learned, a local haunt, but not a famous one. The kind of place a girl like her stumbled upon, and fell in love with. Hipsters and all.

She couldn't think of any other place to take him. He'd be used to the expensive places, and she couldn't afford that.

But the odds of Adam bajillionaire Laramie knowing about MacKinnon's seemed slim. And she kind of wanted to impress him with low-key.

She could admit that much.

"Got it," Nadine said abruptly. "Not black."

So, not that dress again. She'd figured, but Kat shoved it to the side of her closet. "What about pink?"

"Hot?"

"Baby," Kat said, fingering the airy material of a dress she'd worn once. At a social function her father had infiltrated. A badger game gone all too right, thanks to the fact that most men didn't look past a pretty blonde in a short dress.

"Ugh, and look like a bridesmaid?"

"Point." She rifled through her dresses. "I could just wear—"

"If you say 'jeans', I swear to God, I'm coming over."

Kat shut her mouth.

"What about the teal thing you wore last month?" Nadine asked.

Kat found it plastered between two black numbers and pulled the dress out. It was short, like most of her dresses, but she studied the diaphanous hem and cringed. "It's..."

"Perfect?" The smug note in Nadine's voice said she'd already made up her mind.

Kat laid the dress on the bed in silence.

"Honey, that dress makes you look like a movie star," Nadine said firmly. "He won't know what hit him."

She suspected Adam had more than a few run-ins with movie stars. Probably wouldn't be the same.

"Maybe if I pull my bangs back," she mused.

"Oh, _yes._ Like the sort of pinned puffy thing."

Kat sighed. "Okay, I'll wear it."

"What about shoes?" Nadine asked, and Kat rolled her shoulders.

"I have shoes," she promised. "Black strappy things with killer heels."

Nadine didn't ask brand. "Good. When's the date?"

"Seven."

"Get on it," her friend yelped, real alarm coloring the line. "Call me if you need any help."

Kat bit back a laugh as Nadine rushed her off the phone. She appreciated it. The extra time spent taking care of her appearance would help take some of her mind off her nerves.

Or would have, if she didn't spend too long eyeing the dress like it had turned into a snake on her bed. She put it back twice. Took it out again.

Thought about jeans.

Took a shower, made it through her usual routine of moisturizers and foundation makeup. Added bronzer and desert rose blush for color, and weighed eyeliner versus plain eye shadow.

She compromised with a little bit of both. Something to make her eyes pop.

By the time she'd dried and backcombed her hair, pinning her dark fringe back and curling more wave into the rest, she couldn't avoid it any longer.

The dress was a dark teal, formfitting from the straight hem at her chest to the waist, where it swung out like turquoise water. Transparent fabric at her shoulders and at the filmy hem glittered with shiny beads in striped lines. The way it contrasted with the red in her hair already made her feel too vampy, so she refrained from red lips.

_Your lipstick is making this really hard._

Adam's voice reverberated low in her body as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Okay, so what if he kissed her?

What if she kissed him?

Or something kind of like kissing but way more inappropriate?

Ugh. Why was she even torturing herself about this? There was no way Adam would want to dive right back into that kind of relationship now that he knew who she was. This whole date thing was some sort of weird, backwards apology. He probably wanted closure. She just wanted to apologize.

She already felt like she was dressing up to run an angle.

A knock on the door interrupted her silent, failing pep talk. "Katherine, are you done in there? For heaven's sake, there are other people in this house."

She jerked the door open, sidling past her mother's critical stare. "Sorry, I'm done."

Barbara's eyebrows climbed her forehead. She wore red silk pants, today, and bare feet. Her toes were painted gold. "That's quite a look," she said shrewdly.

Kat didn't want to get into it. The last thing she needed was her mother's well-meaning last-minute advice on, of all things, a date with the same guy she'd tried to scam once already.

Oh, God. She stopped dead in the hallway, the flirty material swinging.

She hadn't even thought about that.

What would Barbara think about her reintroduction to Adam Laramie?

She could guess.

The door closed behind her mother. "Where are you going?" she called through it.

Kat made a face. "I'm going out with Nadine," she lied.

"Dressed like that?" Skepticism didn't care about obstacles like doors. "You look like you're going fishing."

"It's a nice place, Mom. I'm dressing up to fit in."

"On what side of the bar?"

Kat sighed, ignoring her mom's casual insensitivity the way she'd learned to ignore everything else. "I'll be back late. Don't wait up."

The toilet lid clattered, followed by a flush, and the door slammed open. Barbara frowned at her as she washed her hands. "It's only six-thirty. The sun hasn't gone down, so you're not going out with your friends." The water shut off. "Katherine, I may be your mother, but I am not stupid."

"Thanks for that association."

Her mother wasn't that easily distracted. She followed Kat to her bedroom, watched as she hunted on her closet floor for the shoes Kat wanted to wear. She crossed her arms over her pale yellow boho tunic. "Are you going on a date?"

Kat waved that away with the same ease Barbara waved away everything else she didn't want to deal with. "I already said I'm going out with Nadine. We aren't dating," she added deadpan.

"You're a riot," Barbara replied dryly. "What kind of teenagers go out before the sun goes down?"

Kat unhooked a coral heel from the straps of the black one she found. "We're not teenagers," she said. "And we're going out to dinner, not to dance."

"What's your strategy?"

Kat took a second to close her eyes. Then fished the matching shoe from a nest of ballet flats she'd forgotten she owned. "No strategy tonight."

"Pfft." The sound was a familiar one in the Harris household. "Don't be naïve. You're dealing with money, here, of course you need a strategy. You want everyone to remember you, don't you?"

And that was half the problem, right there. Everything came down to money and strategy with her mom.

The fact Barbara assumed no one would remember Kat without a game hurt. Explaining that wouldn't net Kat any resolution.

Kat pulled her shoes on, wrestled the tiny straps into place, and studiously ignored looking at her mother. "Not tonight, Mom."

Barbara tossed her thick braid over her shoulder, following Kat back down the hall. "What's your long-term plan, then?" she asked sharply. Kat could practically feel her pale stare locked on the back of her head. It judged. Hard. "What's the scheme to pay off those loan sharks? Are you going to keep trying to borrow from banks that won't ever lend to someone like you?"

Her fingers spasmed. She smoothed them out as she tucked lip gloss and her phone into a small black clutch. Her identification, check. Debit card to pay? Check.

"Katherine—"

She snapped the purse shut and said sharply, "I don't know, Mom, why don't you tell me how much you can put towards the loan?"

Her mother stepped back. Her light green eyes wavered, a suspiciously watery shine. "That's not fair."

"It's perfectly fair," Kat said tightly, jamming the clutch under her arm. "Maybe if you didn't spend money like water, we wouldn't be in this position."

Her mother's face crumpled. "Oh." She pressed a hand against her chest. "Oh, I see. You're right, of course." Barbara's gaze fell. Looked everywhere but at Kat. "Maybe if I'd told you about the loan right away, you could have fixed it."

Thereby costing Kat her dream.

Guilt washed over her.

Damn it.

This life was hard for both of them. As much as she wanted to shake her mother by the boat-neck of her silk collar, she couldn't.

It wasn't her mom's fault that her dad had catered to her every whim. Barbara was struggling, too. Making the best decisions she could under the circumstances.

It had taken Kat a very long time to figure out what compassion was for, and exactly why a good hustler didn't have any. She didn't want to be a good hustler anymore. Now that she knew what it was to feel for someone, it didn't seem right to push empathy away. Even if her mother sat on her last nerve.

Kat tucked the clutch beneath her arm. "I will be back tonight," she said, and put a hand on her mom's shoulder to brush her cheek with a close air-kiss. "We'll talk this out later, okay?"

"Okay, but I'm not waiting," she replied, dabbing at the skin under her eyes with the back of her hand "I'm going to my yoga class before my heart explodes."

Her mother paid up front for three months, and only attended once every couple of weeks. It was an old fight she didn't want to have.

Kat gave in as graciously as she could. "Have a relaxing time."

"You, too, sweetie." She watched as Kat collected her keys off the hook by the door. They had two cars, but that didn't say much. Both were old, needed a lot of work. At the very least, it gave her mom a sense of independence.

The papers attached to the front of the door fluttered when Kat opened it. Two, today. That was much better than the five yesterday. One for every hour they'd been at it, she figured.

Reminders of a past due account.

Reminders of _their_ presence.

Kat tore the papers down. What would her neighbors think?

The fact her head pulled that out in her mom's voice only annoyed her.

"Don't forget to eat," she said, setting the notices on the back of the couch. "There's leftover pasta in the fridge."

"Again?"

"Mom," Kat warned, door braced half-open. "Just eat it, okay?"

Barbara sniffed. She didn't say she would. Didn't wish Kat any luck. She just turned and vanished back down the hall.

Kat set her jaw. Very gently, resisting the urge to slam it, she closed and locked the door behind her.

The night promised to be another hot one, but a cooling breeze that smelled like the ocean helped take the weight off the humidity she could already feel attach to her skin. Her skirt fluttered.

She flattened a hand over it.

Maybe a drink would help her mood. And her confidence.

And maybe some ice cream, too.

# 5

MacKinnon's was the kind of place its patrons found once by accident, and kept coming back. Kat loved the ambience, the murals painted on the walls, the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling in a remarkably close imitation of the summer stars over Sulla Valley.

The music they piped in ran a gamut from vintage to modern, and tonight's was her favorite—husky-voiced chanteuses crooning smoky lyrics of love gone bad. The atmosphere enfolded her as she stepped inside.

She was fifteen minutes early. Adam was already there.

Like a gentleman, he pulled out her chair for her. "You look incredible."

"You should have seen me holding the skirt down in the wind," Kat replied dryly.

His eyes dipped to her glittery neckline. "Maybe I'll get the chance."

Confident, wasn't he? "How was your meeting?" she asked. There, a safe enough question.

"Held over until tomorrow," he replied. "Nothing to worry about."

Definitely confident. He'd sure dressed the part, anyway. The clientele at MacKinnon's varied from denim to chic, but it didn't matter. Whether everyone was draped in furs or trash bags, Adam would stand out.

He'd foregone a tie for the night, but his charcoal slacks and black blazer undid whatever casual vibe he'd been going for. Matched with a blue, black and gray plaid button-down, and it was like he'd walked off the runway for the effortlessly rich.

She couldn't place the brand, but the tailored lines said money. The shirt said Gap.

That was the difference between old money like Adam Laramie and newer money without the legacy. Men like Adam didn't have to prove they were wealthy by draping themselves in name brands head to toe. Taste mattered even more than brands.

Her mother would have swaddled herself in Prada or something ridiculous.

Then again, she wasn't sure anyone else could wear what Adam wore. Drop-dead sexy wasn't strong enough a description, and yet, Kat was very much aware of the sidelong glances the women around her gave them.

She couldn't decide what bothered her more—that the obvious attention made her feel somehow lacking, or that she wanted to reach over the table and run her fingers through his hair.

She hid her smile behind a sip of her water glass. Lemon, again. Everyone here put lemon in their water.

Adam's eyes settled on her mouth. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, you know." Kat set her glass down, opened her menu instead. "I'm pretty sure I'm the envy of every woman in this place."

"Looking like that?" He whistled softly. "Hell yes, you are."

"That's not what I mean."

"What did you mean, then?" he asked. He tucked a finger over her menu, tugged it back down to the table.

Her eyes flared when she recognized the heat in his. Powerful as he'd always seemed to her, that look made a claim she wasn't comfortable acknowledging. It was direct, sexy. Effortlessly aware of her. Of her thoughts.

She wet her suddenly dry lips. "Um. Just that you look really good."

He accepted that like it didn't matter. "You make me look better."

Kat's nerves eased on a half-laugh. "Stop that," she scoffed. "You don't have to roll out the flirt and pony show for me, you know."

His eyebrows shot up. "That's—"

"Excuse me," interrupted a waitress in a white summer dress and brown cowboy boots. She smiled brightly, order pad at the ready. "Do you know what you'd like to order? An appetizer, maybe?"

Adam didn't wait to see if Kat would speak. She stared at him, mouth parted on a stalled protest, as he ordered for them both.

Ordered exactly the meal she wanted.

How did he know?

When the waitress had gone, taking the menus with her, he shot Kat a simmering eyebrow. "What?"

She sighed. "You just ordered for me."

"Was I wrong?"

"Not in the choice," she admitted, and wished she didn't when the smug gleam in his eye sharpened. "But I can order for myself."

"But why?"

"Because—" Because it made her feel independent? Because she found it weird to sit quietly at a table while the man spoke for her? She shook her head. "Because I can."

Adam tipped his head. "Okay. Noted."

She'd half expected him to argue with her. That he didn't gave her pause. "Noted as in you heard me?" she asked. "Or as in you let me talk and now you don't care?"

He grinned. "Which would you prefer?"

"To be heard."

"Then I heard you," he replied without missing a beat. "I'll refrain from ordering for you in the future."

That seemed suspiciously easy. "How did you even know what I wanted?" she asked, unfolding her napkin to lay over her lap. The air conditioner blew gently, ruffling Adam's hair as he did the same.

He didn't look up as he said, "You said seafood Portofino was your favorite dish."

"No, I—" When his eyes met hers again, drilled down to a focus so fine it took her breath away, she remembered.

Five years ago. MacKinnon's wasn't here, or she didn't know about it. They'd preferred open air cafes to restaurants, and when they didn't feel like going out, they stayed in at Adam's apartment.

It had taken place in his kitchen. He hadn't known much about cooking, and what she knew then could be bottled down to easy pasta recipes and tacos. She'd been seated on his counter, bare legs swinging as he obediently chopped cilantro. They'd been talking about, oh, everything. Those early stages of a relationship so fragile, she'd all but held her breath through it.

And when she had reached over to pluck a fleck of cilantro from his chin, he'd trapped her against the counter and made her forget about food. About her identity. About everything but him, and the questions he'd peppered against her skin. _I want to know everything about you._

Afraid the magic would end, she'd only given him the bits that wouldn't blow her game.

And for all that, even five years later, Adam had remembered an off-hand comment. A shuddered answer between the gasps his fingers coaxed from her.

What else did he remember?

Her heart fluttered in her chest.

_Stop it._ He was a business man, an entrepreneur. She suspected he kept lists of everyone's likes and dislikes. His secretary probably reminded him before every meeting.

Or date.

The thought of Adam seated across from other women, in other settings, twisted something mean and spiteful in her stomach.

They'd be pretty and polished and from his world. They'd wear dresses that didn't come from the clearance rack at a department store, and heels that anyone would recognize from a runway show.

They wouldn't be ex-felons.

Kat reached for the wine their unobtrusive waitress delivered and took a healthy swallow.

"What's wrong?"

By sheer habit, she gave him a breezy smile. "Nothing."

A smooth voice drifted from cleverly concealed speakers, crooning about a man who'd done wrong. Adam braced his elbows on the table. "What were you thinking about? Your mouth just did this little flirty downward line before you tried to razzle-dazzle me."

Kat huffed out a laugh. "Why is it you think a frown is flirty?"

"I'm contrary."

"You're totally backwards."

"That, too." He leaned back to give the waitress a place to put the bread basket and pats of warmed, soft honey butter. Though he gave her a smile of thanks, his words—and his eyes—remained for Kat. "Were you sitting there thinking that you shouldn't be here with me?"

Yes. But probably not for the reasons he thought.

But if she explained _that_ , she'd be the one to open the door to the past, and she didn't want to go there, either.

She broke off a bit of bread and said hastily, "I was just thinking that this music is full of heartbreak and cheating."

His mouth tipped. His amusement, dry as it was, made him even more gorgeous. She didn't have to look to know that other women had noticed that, too.

She fought the urge to shrink into her chair.

"You think it's a sign?" he asked, mock-serious.

"No." A beat, and she shrugged a shoulder. The light caught on the beaded stripes. "Maybe."

"Maybe you're right." He sipped at his wine, cocking his head as if it'd help him hear better.

Kat watched the way his throat worked as he swallowed. As he talked.

"I hear heartbreak and nostalgia," he said. "But you know what else I hear?"

Would he taste the same as he did back then? Feel the same?

"What?" she asked throatily.

He lowered his stare to her face. Touched on her lips. "I hear sex. The kind that scorches the sheets and leaves both parties scarred forever, even after it ends." His voice deepened. Roughened. "You know?"

Oh, God, she knew. But acknowledging that meant acknowledging the betrayal she'd handed him five years ago, and she didn't have a direction to steer this. Not without delving into her world, or his.

Kat didn't want him to think she was here because of his money. She wasn't.

But saying so would net her nothing but more suspicion.

Sex? Sex was a good angle.

Always, with the angles.

She tore her gaze from his, peered into the pale contents of her glass. White wine for the seafood, she understood. She didn't know a lot about these things, but she remembered something like that.

"Kat, you know I—"

"I thought about you a lot," she blurted.

He froze in his chair, shoulders locking. Very carefully, his hands came down to rest on the table's surface. "You did."

Not phrased as a question, but she knew it was.

She nodded, cheeks heating. The spike of awareness she felt simmered all the way to her belly. Even lower.

She remembered a lot more than she wanted to. Or had wanted to, in the intervening years. Now she wondered how much about him had changed.

"I mean," she said, then had to clear her suddenly too-dry throat. "Sexually speaking."

His jaw hardened, an edge carved into his sudden stillness. "Sexually speaking." A rasped echo.

Kat almost laughed, except it wasn't funny. The way he stared at her, fiery gaze pinned on her face, left her nowhere to hide. Or think.

"You know, instead of—" Instead of his money? She let go of her glass to cover her face with one hand. "God. They make this look easier in the movies."

"Tell me."

Her hand jerked. Slipped over her mouth as she asked, wide-eyed, "Tell you what?"

"Everything." He leaned back in his chair, a stain of color on his cheekbones. That lazy curve that touched one side of his mouth did nothing to soften the things his husky demand did to her. "Did you go out with anyone else after me?"

Her eyebrows rose, even as she took in a shaky breath. "Is this the part of a date where we drop all that courtesy crap?"

"I dated women," he said, as if she hadn't ignored the question. "I imagined you did."

She blinked. "Date women?"

Adam's smile flitted through the heavy-lidded burn of his eyes. "Men, mostly, but you can tell me if you dated any women." She wanted to laugh. She couldn't get enough oxygen for it. "Five years didn't change anything, Kat. Not where this is concerned. I want to know everything about you."

The words echoed with her memories, threw five years of emptiness between them. The blood drained from her head. She reached for her glass with a shaking hand.

What should she say this time?

She looked into the wine. "I dated men."

"Good." He reached over, clinked his glass gently against hers. The wine in her hand sloshed. "I like experienced women."

Holy hell, she was going to drown in her drink. She took a deep swallow, in vague hopes she'd do just that.

He watched her. "How much of what you told me was a lie, Kat?"

"Now?"

"Then," he replied. "I'm trusting you, right now."

She swallowed with effort. "My name." Kat breathed a shuddering laugh, cradling her glass against her chest before it tilted over. "Most of where I grew up, and my parents' jobs."

"And me?"

"I didn't lie about you," she said fiercely. "I liked you." Still did, but she wasn't ready to go there.

His eyes drilled into hers, made her feel like he reached across the table and peeled back all her secrets. Exposed her for what she was.

A scam artist afraid she wasn't anything else.

"Tell me what the end goal was," he said quietly.

"Money." The word felt dirty on her lips. She looked away, caught herself and forced her gaze back to his. She owed him that much. "At first, my family thought it'd be great if I could make you like me. I mean, who doesn't want a rich in-law?"

Adam's throat worked as he swallowed. "And that night in my car?"

It took her a moment to realize what he asked. Kat flinched. "I was _never_ expected to sleep with you for money. They never told me to do it. I just..." Her voice stalled, caught on a dry rasp.

He set his napkin on the table. "Wanted me?"

No use denying it now. He'd already seen how easily she responded to him. Kat nodded. "Pretty much from the moment I met you."

"You could have told me." He ran a hand through his hair. "You could have told me everything about your parents."

She laughed. It strained on the verge of disbelief. "Seriously?"

His gaze snapped. "I would have given them money without the lies."

Without the betrayal.

Shame filled her. For her role in that, and for the secrets she still sat on. He could say all he wanted, the fact of the matter was, no amount would have satisfied Jack and Barbara Harris. She shook her head. "That's sweet, but—"

"Any amount," he said quietly.

The intensity shaping his taut expression went straight to her heart. Worse, to her sensitive bits. The same bits he'd put his mouth on.

She downed the last half of her wine.

His chuckle scraped across her skin. "So you thought about me. Tell me what about. What you remembered when you were alone in the dark."

She clamped her bare thighs together. "No way."

"Did you remember how we couldn't keep our hands off each other?"

"No," she persisted, shaking her head. She propped her chin on her palm, using her fingers to mask the color she knew bloomed on her burning cheeks. "We're in public."

His smile tugged wider. "That didn't stop you before."

If she caught on fire, it would be his fault.

He moved his wine to the side. "If we weren't in public," he asked, "would you tell me?"

She shook her head, embarrassment throbbing through veins that now seemed too sluggish.

Every part of her warmed.

Challenge lit his features to a wicked glow. "Is that a dare?"

Kat's lips parted. "Maybe." Her voice purred, a low sultry invite she didn't remember giving herself permission to make. But now that it was out, laid out like a gauntlet between them, she didn't want to take it back.

His chin lifted, head tipped back like she'd surprised him. Then he grinned. Slow, deliberate.

_Hungry_.

"Here we go," the waitress began, only to halt in confusion when Adam stood, digging into his pocket. Kat managed half a protest that he ignored, plucking a few bills free from a matte leather wallet.

The waitress stared at the cash, eyebrows high as he laid it on her platter. Two plates of seafood Portofino steamed gently. "Wrap it up," Adam said. He reached around the table, caught Kat by the wrist. "I'll send someone to get it."

"Wait, but—!"

"Adam," Kat hissed, horrified as he pulled her firmly to the exit.

More than a few eyes pinned on their wake.

"I'll make it up to you," he said without looking back. An edge had entered his voice, a velvet rasp that made her shiver. "There's no way in hell I'm letting this pass by me."

Kat was pretty sure she blushed all the way to her knees. The hostess didn't try to hide her laughter as the door closed behind them.

The wind had picked up, sweeping through the narrow alley with a sigh of rustled foliage. It did nothing for the heat boiling inside her.

He didn't pause until he'd guided her away from the restaurant lights. The cute little shopping center had been built with nostalgia in mind, relying on wrought iron fixtures and lots of trellises to take advantage of the usually warm weather. Flowers bloomed everywhere, gates between shops hung with honeysuckle vines and morning glory. The fragrance of the square was thick and heady, dulling Kat's already fuzzy sense of right and wrong.

On the one hand, she probably shouldn't have let Adam walk them out of there before they ate. Or let him pay. That was part of the deal.

On the other, he stopped in the middle of the path and captured her face in both hands. "Sorry," he said tightly. His features remained shrouded in shadow, but his voice trembled. "Can't wait."

"Wait?" she managed.

"Kiss," he replied. "You. I want to kiss you. Right now, Kat."

His breath touched her lips. She blinked. "Here?"

"Here."

Kat's fingers touched the material of his button-down. Soft, crisp. They tucked into the open collar.

Skimmed over his throat.

Warm.

Her heart launched a rapid-fire beat she couldn't breathe through.

Oh, God. It had been too long.

"Kat," he whispered. Another question.

How did she know that?

Because she knew him. Only a little, but it was enough.

"Okay," she answered.

With a hard groan, Adam cradled her head and drew her mouth to his. It wasn't as deep as she'd expected right away, not as punishing as she felt she deserved.

But it lingered.

His lips brushed against hers, rubbed gently and hitched. She darted her tongue against his lower lip.

The fingers in her hair tightened.

A couple of girls hastened past them, giggling behind their hands.

He drew back. "Yeah," he breathed out. Her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dim lighting illuminating MacKinnon's secret path. His gaze reflected back the light in a wash of whiskey and gold. "Come with me, Kat."

Her head spun. "Where?"

"There's a hotel across the center." He laced his fingers with hers. Like it was normal. Natural.

Him, a wealthy entrepreneur, and the daughter of the con artist who'd tried to scam him.

Kat stared at their joined hands.

Her body demanded she agree. Go with him, jump his bones like she'd wanted to the second she saw him again in that dimly lit party and ride him all the way home to fantasy island.

Her brain wondered if she'd had too much wine.

A single glass? Not even close enough for a buzz. That was all him.

"Maybe we should get out of here," she whispered.

"Jesus, yes," he growled, and pulled her the wrong direction down the path.

"Adam, wait, that's not—" She caught at his arm, and he swore something she suspected was foul and impatient under his breath. It tickled her, even grabbed her in dangerously sensitive places, that he was so wound up.

For her.

He modified his stride. She had a long-legged pace naturally, but in the dark on four-inch heels, she wasn't feeling all that confident.

"Shortcut," he said. An arm slipped around her waist.

His large hand burned through the thin material of her dress.

Her sex tightened, and he hadn't even _touched_ her yet.

Anticipation coiled through her like a spring already wound too tight.

He navigated them through the back alleys she knew because she intended to work in this center. How did he know them?

"Wait," she whispered breathlessly.

Adam halted immediately, letting go of her waist to curl a hand under her elbow instead. A gentlemanly gesture, for all it was way too late for gentlemen. "Are you okay?"

No. She wasn't. She was... out of her damn head.

"Yeah. I just need to catch my breath," she said, flattening a hand on her chest.

The breeze felt good on her damp skin. It curled under her skirt, and it felt good there, too, where her body had already responded to her own eagerness. The wet heat trapped against the material of her underwear only made it all feel so much more...dangerous.

Though frustration pulled his features tight, he let her go—paced three steps away, hands in his pockets like a little boy in trouble, and stared blankly at a wide brick wall with ivy clinging to it in lush green rivulets.

The lamps the center studded near the single-story rooftops were old-fashioned, cage lights that turned everything into a golden glow. It gilded his hair, his shoulders.

The side facing of her salon.

Kat muffled a laugh.

He turned. "What?" A curt sound, but one modified by the wry smile he gave her. "Don't tell me how ridiculous this is. I know."

"Not even half," she chuckled, pressing the backs of her fingers against her lips. She gestured to the wall behind him. "That's mine."

"What is?"

"That store. Salon, really," she amended.

His eyebrows climbed. "Yours?"

She nodded. "I told you I'm going legit, Adam."

"But you're a..." He hesitated. "Hair stylist?"

"I got my license a year ago."

He stared at her, his face half-shadowed and his expression unreadable. Was he surprised? Skeptical?

She wouldn't blame him for either.

She took a breath to ask, but the words died on her lips when another breeze rolled through the corridor. It swept up her legs, caught the filmy material of her skirt and tugged it high.

She yelped, pushed the unruly material back down over her thighs. "I told you," she laughed. The wind tugged hard.

Adam played the role, but he wasn't a gentleman. His gaze dropped to her legs.

To the nude-colored lace thong she wore beneath her dress.

The hunger that filled his features scored through Kat's body like a physical caress. Her laughter died, drowned in a sea of intense longing.

What did it say about her that she wanted him to make a move?

That she wanted to pin him in this alley, against her own wall, and taste him?

Five years ago, they'd flirted with that line in his car. It was night, the street had been empty, but it could have gone so badly. That should have been Adam's first clue, she thought wildly. Good girls didn't screw boys in the front seat of a car.

And she thought she'd matured? The fact she'd let Adam put his mouth on her with only a trellis to separate them from the rest of Sulla Valley's elite proved otherwise.

Was she addicted to this? Or just to him?

Adam crooked a finger at her. "C'mere."

"Maybe not so much," she hedged, but it shook. One look, one windy revelation, and her knees wobbled.

"Come here, Kat."

How could she not obey that silken command? Maybe it was the seductive promise inherent in his voice. Maybe it was the night, thick with sweet floral perfume.

Maybe it was him.

And her.

His hands closed over her waist and pulled her against his body. Just like that, she knew he was as ready as she was. The hard ridge of his cock against her dragged a shuddering gasp from her chest, which felt too tight and hot.

"Tell me no and I'll stop," he murmured against her ear. His wide hands mapped her back. Her ass. Delved into the material bunched around her thighs.

Every touch, every squeeze and caress, sent another wave of longing through her—of outright arousal. _Need._

She wrapped her hands into the front of his shirt and licked at the cords outlined in his throat.

He groaned roughly. "Sorry," he said, a ragged edge of need tight in his voice. He bent, caught her in one arm, and lifted her. Before she could ask why he apologized, he'd turned and braced her shoulders against the ivy-softened brick.

The way his hips fit into the cradle of her legs stole whatever was left of her common sense. His cock dragged against the center of her body and she forgot about the night, the air. The location.

The cry she made muffled against his lips. His hands bracketed her hips, slid under her dress and burned against her bare skin. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly—not like a starving man, but a man who'd been made to wait too long for a delicacy he'd wanted forever.

He made her _feel_ like a five-star meal.

She wrapped both hands around his head, locked her ankles at the small of his back, heels braced against the firm muscles of his ass. As if that was all the signal he'd been waiting for, he ground against her, fitted his cock to her sex so firmly that every fuse in her body lit to a vivid inferno of lust, of wickedly inappropriate want.

The warm breeze slipped over her skin as she shuddered, already wet and, God, more than willing.

Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm echoed from a far lot. Laughter drifted on the night, slipped into the darkened corridor.

She didn't care.

His groan as he nipped at her lower lip, as he swept his tongue into her mouth and took her air, was all that mattered.

The feel of him, hard and so deliciously good, wasn't enough.

She pulled at his hair.

"What." A hard sound.

She licked her lower lip, damp from his kiss. "Pay attention," she said hoarsely.

His eyes glittered into hers. "Hell, yes, I am."

Another sharp tug made him flinch, and he tilted his hips, dragged himself along her sex in determined payback.

She gasped. "Again."

He obliged.

Kat's head fell back against the wall, ivy leaves bending beneath her. Her fingernails dug into his nape.

He growled, raw approval. "Damn it. Hotel. Bed. Kat—"

"Fuck me." Her voice shook, need and embarrassment and—whatever, she could admit it. She wanted him so much, she was ready to come just from the fit of him against her panties.

But it wasn't enough.

The hand cradling her ass tightened, fingertips digging into her flesh. "Are you sure?" His voice deepened. Dark, barely in control. "There's a bed... Privacy—"

He couldn't see her nod, so she added, "I'm sure. Adam, fuck me here. Right now."

"Jesus Christ." And then, hoarsely, "Hold on to me."

She did. He braced her against the wall, swearing when the loss of his warmth against her throbbing, aching flesh made her suck in a hard breath.

Fumbling in the dark turned into the sound of a zipper lowering, foil tearing. A condom.

Then warm fingers slid into the lacy edge of her panties. Tugged it aside, exposing her bare flesh to the night.

She arched her back, closing her eyes.

Yes. Finally. _Yes._

"God," Adam hissed between clenched teeth. His fingers smoothed over her shaven skin. " _Kat_."

"Now," she gasped, and his fingers drew back, replaced by his cock as he drove into her so fast, so powerfully that her back flattened against the wall. Her wall. Her salon.

Where anyone who came by could see them.

Kat's arms tightened around his shoulders as she sobbed out something she'd meant to be encouraging. He filled her, stretched her, stroked her in all the ways she was desperate for. His breath hitched. Locked.

When he slid out, she tightened her thighs around him.

He laughed, a knotted sound, and pushed into her again. Hard. Deliberate.

Ivy rustled around her.

She pressed her mouth to his throat, to his jaw, sobbing out her pleasure as he drove into her again, and again. "Show me, Kat," he grunted. "Show me how beautiful you are."

She shook her head, one hand fisting into his collar. "You first," she gasped. "I—Oh, God. More. _More._ "

He gave her more, hips rocking her against the wall, arms holding her, straining with the effort. His breath washed hot and damp over her cheek, her neck.

Her body clamped around him, her orgasm simmered so close—so far. It rippled out from the flesh he filled. So. Close.

She laughed shakily, hitched in the middle of it as he cursed again.

And then he caught her by the waist, took a small step back and helped her tilt her hips until every stroke of his cock dragged across the spot that sent fireworks through her vision, her senses. She flattened a hand against the wall, grabbed a handful of ivy when she couldn't breathe for the force of her spiraling need.

"There," he groaned, and braced one hand just over her shoulder. His features tightened, eyes squeezed closed. "God. Kat, I...I'm going to—"

Not alone. As a woman's voice trickled through the corridor, as another answered her back in a shared joke, Kat's body stiffened. Her mind snapped back into awareness, then promptly fractured into a thousand shards of glittering pleasure sharpened by sudden, intense alarm.

Too much.

She screamed.

He wrapped a hand over her mouth, smothering her cry against his palm, and muffled the sound of his own shuddering groan against her shoulder. His hips drove hard against her, faltered. Lost the rhythm entirely.

It didn't matter.

Her orgasm tore her fear of discovery from her, spun the insanity of what they did into a brilliant spike of pleasure. She clung to his wrist, wide-eyed and still blind as her body shuddered violently against his.

Adam gasped into the curve of her neck. His heart slammed against hers, legs trembling. She could feel it.

Feel him.

Her knees ached. Hips throbbed. Her shoulders hurt from trying to help him support her weight, and from giving that up entirely to angle her body for his taking. The elastic from the underwear he'd pulled aside had etched a groove into her hip. It hurt faintly.

And the breeze carried with it a smattering of conversation from the people a mere storefront away.

She couldn't help it. Laughter bubbled up from her chest, spilled from her lips in a helpless fit. Of all the reckless, ridiculous things she could have done? This was up there. And for all the danger, the irresponsibility of it, she felt... _free._

Best. Date. Ever.

Adam's amusement merged with hers, shoulders shaking as he sagged against her, pressed her tighter against the wall. They laughed together, clinging to each other helplessly as the wind rustled through the ivy, slipped over her exposed flesh.

Husky, voice still thick from lingering arousal, he said against her damp skin, "Tell me you don't have to go home."

She unhooked her ankles, let her legs slide listlessly from his hips. The muscles in his arms went taut as he held her upright. Her knees wouldn't lock.

She was pretty sure her smile looked like it had been made out of silly string. She felt crazy. Utterly sated.

With effort, she firmed her knees. "I... am hungry." Not as cool as she'd hoped, but her stomach—now aware the show was over—grumbled in complaint. She was starving.

For food. For more of him.

Oh, she was in so much trouble.

"I'll feed you," he promised. "Room service. Order in. Anything." He took care of the condom, tucked himself away, half-angled away from her.

"Anything?" she repeated.

The shape of his jaw went taut. "Anything at all," he promised hoarsely.

Kat tugged her underwear back into place, hissing softly when the flesh between her legs throbbed. Not enough. Not nearly enough. She smoothed her dress into place. "I want that seafood Portofino," she said huskily. "And then I want dessert."

"Name it," Adam rasped, holding a hand out to her. "Anything."

She slid her fingers into his. Melted when his larger hand closed over hers, held on tight. "You. I want you again, Adam."

"Oh, God," he groaned, and added tightly, "Walk fast, sweetheart."

She walked fast.

# 6

The hotel was one of those boutique resorts, with enough charm to star in a fairy tale and all the modern courtesies to suit Adam's taste. He kept a hold of Kat's hand as the doors opened soundlessly for him.

She tugged at his grip.

His fingers tightened. "Where are you going?"

"I can walk without holding hands," she said, but her face remained tilted away.

The curve of her cheek all but glowed red.

He couldn't help himself. He grinned, tugged her closer and wrapped an arm hard at her lower back. It bent her body into his, pressed her firmly against him—against the part of him already eager to have her again. He'd turned into a maniac.

He didn't question it.

Her gasp echoed in the lobby. Her gaze slid to either side, but he caught her chin in one hand and tipped her face up to his. "Hey."

"The people," she began.

His thumb smoothed over her bottom lip. She'd gone without lipstick tonight. He'd liked the pink, loved the way it had looked around his finger that night, but this was better. This meant he could kiss her until he lost his goddamn mind.

He nuzzled her lips with his, licked a long, slow line over her bottom lip. She shuddered against him.

Maybe he wasn't playing fair. So what? What was that saying? All was supposed to be fair in love and war, and while he didn't know which side of things Kat Harris had entrenched on, he'd take what he could get.

And then some.

Her breath warmed his mouth as her lashes fluttered over hazy eyes. "Wow."

"There's more of that where—" The phone in his interior jacket pocket thrummed. Adam stiffened.

She shook her head faintly. "You okay?"

Nobody he knew would bother calling him this late. Except... His jaw locked. "I'm sorry," he said. "I have to—"

"No, go ahead," she said, disentangling herself with a fluid step back. Her dress swung around her thighs. Bare thighs, he thought. Warm and silky. His body ached for her. Still.

Muttering a hard word, he checked the screen, swore somewhat less than under his breath and angled his body away as he answered the call. "This better be good, Jordan."

"Given the amount of menace in your tone," his assistant replied, "I apologize for interrupting your date. We have a problem."

Adam nodded briefly to the concierge waiting patiently behind the registration desk, but couldn't keep his gaze from straying to Kat. She waited a few steps away, either sincerely interested or faking interest in the colorful painting hanging on a large stone wall. The colors in the painting suited her dress.

Suited her.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Make it fast."

His assistant complied. "Something went wrong in the server room. The technicians are working overtime, but half of today's data is gone."

Adam's fingers clamped on the phone. "The cloud?"

"Only saved half."

He closed his eyes, a wash of icy resolve freezing out the remnants of heat Kat had left in him. "Glover's work?"

"All gone." Jordan's voice didn't so much as crack, but it didn't have to in order for Adam to get the scope of the problem. Most of what the employees did on an average day wasn't usually the critical stuff, but Adam and his team had chosen today to compile most of their proposal.

Kat turned, her hands smoothing down her skirt. When she realized he watched her, her head tilted, mouth curved in a smile that demanded nothing of him. Just a smile. For him.

He closed his eyed, fighting the urge to groan. "What caused the surge?"

"Don't know."

"Foul play?"

"You watch too many procedurals," Jordan replied. "No, the techs are sure it's just a glitch."

Adam relaxed a fraction. "Compile the team," he said grimly. "We'll work all night if we have to."

"Already done," Jordan said.

"I'll see you in ten." Adam disconnected the line, frustration tight along his shoulders. Kat's long legs closed the distance she'd created between them. He wanted nothing more than to grab her, caveman style, throw her over his shoulder, and vanish into a hotel room for at least two weeks.

Life just wasn't going to play nice.

"Bad news?" she asked softly.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket. "I have to go back to work. There was an accident."

Her eyes widened. "Is everyone okay?"

"Data accident," he clarified, but his chest warmed. He caught her cheek in his hand. Smoothed a thumb over her temple. "Can I rain check this?"

"I don't know." She circled his wrist with long, delicate fingers. "It depends on how generous I'm feel—"

Adam firmed his grip on the side of her head, jerked her another step close to fasten his mouth over hers. Her flippant response died on a muffled sound as he kissed her hard and hungry. The taste of her beneath his lips, the feel of her breath against his skin, wasn't enough.

"Another date," he said tightly. "A complete one."

Kat flattened a hand against his chest, pushed him gently away. "Maybe."

He took two steps backwards. "Can you get home safe? I can drive you."

"My car is just across the center," she replied, shaking her head. "I'll be fine."

Damn it. None of this date had gone according to plan.

He stopped at the door, turned to glare hard at her. "Tell me one thing," he called. His voice clipped through the lobby.

Two women milling through the gift shop paused to peer at him.

Kat blushed like she was a natural redhead, chest to hairline. "What?"

"Did you miss me?"

Her head tilted. The corners of her hair swung at her chin. "Yes."

Victory surged through him like a lightning strike. _She could be lying._ That was a hard lesson he'd learned.

Then again. Maybe she wasn't.

Adam let out a long, slow breath, shaking his head as his eyes trailed down the long length of her legs. "Rain check," he said hoarsely.

"Get to work," she shot back. "Slacker."

The women in the gift shop murmured as he grinned and made his way back out of the doors.

It was probably the shortest date in his history. Second only to the aborted attempt he'd made that night five years ago. That had begun and ended in his car.

A sense of déjà vu dogged him as he made his way back to his office.

She'd never done a Walk of Shame before. Her sexual adventures happened far away from her own house, and never overnight. Even after she'd turned eighteen, there was always her family to worry about.

When it came to boyfriend material, her father had two rules: nice boys were suckers and bad boys were assholes. Neither were suitable for his little girl.

Unless she was in on the scam. Then she could draw them in with whatever hook she wanted.

As Kat pulled up the cracked driveway less than three hours after her date, she couldn't help but think that she'd lost her chance at her first Walk of Shame.

And how easy it would be to hook Adam this time.

_If a man loses all common sense and engages in behaviors that will get him in trouble down the line, you're on to a good thing._

Jack Harris's voice filled her head in the silence left by cutting the engine.

Adam had lost his head all right.

Problem was, so had she.

Public indecency? Check. And how.

The feel of him—warm, so very forbidden in so many ways—still made her pulse thrum.

Her body ached in ways it hadn't for too long.

Kat rested her forehead against the wheel, closing her eyes. It was barely ten, but the house was dark. Maybe her mother had gone to bed—or her yoga class had turned into a night out with the people in it. Given the lack of her mother's car, she'd guess Barbara would be out for a while.

She couldn't exactly complain. She'd lied about her date, after all.

The date Kat was supposed to pay for, and didn't actually get to eat. Adam had steamrolled right over her, leaving money with the waitress for food they didn't even get to eat.

Part of her preened, a selfish little voice that insisted there was nothing wrong with a man spending money on her.

The rest of her didn't like the feeling.

She _could_ take advantage of him. She didn't _want_ to.

Which was why she'd stopped for take-out, feeling more than a little out of place in her dress, and eaten half of it in the car. At least she wasn't still hungry, even if her mouth kept salivating at the thought of those abandoned Portofino dishes. Next time, she thought.

And next time, she'd pay before Adam got the chance.

_Next time?_

Okay, so maybe she was counting on a second date.

If the thought made her feel giddy, she tamped it down before she did something stupid. Like conga dance in the front yard.

Kat wrestled the old car door open, shut it gently behind her. Heels hanging from one hand, she padded barefoot to the front door. Without dancing.

The house remained dark as she made her way up the stoop. The door was unlocked, which gave her pause but didn't surprise her. For a woman intimately familiar with criminal behaviors, Barbara didn't remember the little things—like locking doors or putting her jewelry away.

The living room was empty. So was the kitchen. The house remained quiet as she locked the door behind her, and made her way to her own bedroom.

She peeled off her dress, pulled on her pajamas, brushed out her hair and fell into bed. Her body hummed, happily buzzed on more than just a glass of wine. If Adam was a drug, she'd gladly take more of him.

Poor guy. She only got the vaguest sense of what happened, but going back to work didn't seem like her idea of a good time.

He was some kind of boss, obviously. That made sense. He probably headed some huge division within his company, being his dad's son and all. She wondered if most billionaires went back to work after hours when things went awry. She always assumed they hired people to fix everything for them.

Did that make Adam Laramie an exception or the rule?

Kat nestled into her pillow, replaying the events of the night.

Next time, would he let her order for herself?

Would they even make it to dessert?

She expected to remain awake, to mull over the night, but Kat was more tired than she thought. She fell asleep, wrapped around her pillow, and slept like the dead until the phone she'd set on the nightstand buzzed the next morning.

Sunlight streamed around the curtains by her bed.

A text from Nadine, asking about her date. She peered at it blearily.

Past eleven.

That was late. Later even than her mom, who didn't usually wake up before ten.

Which reminded her. When did Barbara get home?

Yawning, she jotted off a vague reply, promised to call. Her eyes crossed with the effort. God, she felt good. Bleary, but good.

Her stomach growled as Kat rolled out of bed. The house was still suspiciously silent. The bathroom was cool and steam-free, no sign of a recent shower. She pinned her bangs back and washed her face of last night's traces. A tender spot on her neck made her blush all over again as her fingers brushed across it.

Adam Laramie had given her a hickey. When? A vague memory of his mouth against her neck while she came apart in his arms filled her mind.

Oh. _Yeah_. That seemed about right.

She dabbed makeup on the red spot just by her collar bone. It wouldn't escape the sharp eyes of her mother, but if she was careful with her shirts, she'd be able to hide it until it faded.

And in the meantime, she got to walk around with a sign that she'd shared a sexy moment with Adam.

Kinky. And a little bit disconcerting.

By the time she made it down the stairs, she didn't know what to expect. And like a guilty kid, she froze as her mother's blonde head rose from the magazine she leafed through.

Barbara, wrapped in her customary kimono, greeted her with a wan smile. "Good morning, Katherine. How was your night?"

"Um." _Don't blush._ "Fine."

"Oh, come on." She gestured, a flutter of folded paper she held in one hand, and set the magazine pages-down. "You're allowed your own life."

That didn't sound right.

Kat's head tilted. "It was...nice." What a fail term for it. It was spectacular. Sexy. Utterly mind-blowing.

She was possibly ruined for life.

And this was just after a frantic moment pinned against a brick wall. Maybe there was something seriously wrong with her.

"That's great," her mom said. She stood, her mouth tilted up but her eyes worried. The circles underneath looked deeper today. Didn't she sleep?

"Let me get you some coffee," Barbara began, but Kat caught her mother's arm and turned her before she could pass in the hall.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

The woman's gaze settled on the front of Kat's bunny-patterned T-shirt. "I should make coffee."

Kat's frown only pulled at the dull ache she hadn't realized thrummed in her head.

A thousand what-ifs tangled in her head.

What if her dad had called from jail, even though he always said he never would? _I'll be out in six years, max. Don't worry about me, girls._

But then, he'd known how much they relied on him. How much his wife adored him.

Maybe she'd called _him._ Told him about Kat's plans. Wait, what if her mom had _another_ money problem?

What if this was nothing at all, and Barbara was just feeling lonely?

God, she hadn't thought of that. Kat had never brought up dating to her mom, never suggested she was inclined. She'd never even really had friends to hang out with until Nadine.

What if Barbara took last night as a sign that Kat was going to abandon her, too? Just like everyone else.

Man, that made her feel terrible.

"Come on," she said gently. "I'll make the coffee." She led the way to the kitchen. Her mom took a seat at the table, the papers clutched in her hands, and sighed so loudly that Kat couldn't help but roll her eyes a little bit.

Genuine or not, her mom appreciated drama the way Kat appreciated a good exit.

It was a family thing, maybe.

Kat scooped the grocery store brand grounds into the coffee filter and set the machine to brew. "Now," she said, pulling two mugs from the peeling cabinet. She set them by the machine. "What's so depressing that you look like you stayed up half the night pacing?"

"I didn't stay up all night," her mom protested, but gave in at Kat's lifted eyebrow. "I just... Well, look."

Kat took the folded papers she handed over. They'd been creased a few times, like Barbara had read and re-read them. Hitching her faded sweatpants up, Kat perched on the other chair and unfolded the letters.

Two of them, each bearing a different letterhead.

The verbiage didn't differ all that much. Loans denied. Vague reasoning. No offer to locate a co-signer.

There would be no money coming.

Kat's throat closed around a sudden, suffocating knot of anxiety. "You opened my mail."

"Only because they'd come from the banks." Barbara got up to pour the coffee—a concession that told more about her worry than anything else. Usually, Kat served. Especially the coffee.

The one thing they all had in common, every last Harris, was a habit of drinking coffee without cream. _Drink bad coffee black_ , Jack Harris always insisted, _and you can eat anything, drink anything, anywhere._

That mattered, those days nobody was sure where the next hot meal would come from.

"I was trying to come up with other ways to get money," Barbara confessed, setting an old ceramic mug in front of Kat.

"Join the club," Kat sighed, and then regretted it when her mother failed to respond with her usual acerbic wit. She looked up to find Barbara looking down at her own mug, clasped tightly between her hands.

Her nails had been painted a brilliant sunset pink. Acrylics. Nothing less for Barbara Harris.

Yoga class, huh?

"Well," Barbara continued, a hedging word if Kat had ever heard one. "After class, I was feeling kind of out of sorts, so I went walking downtown. Cleared my head." She plucked an envelope from the pile she'd clutched. "Here, sweetie. It's not much, but maybe it'll help."

"Mom." Kat frowned. She didn't get the connection. "Is this the money dad gave you?"

"No," she replied, looking away. "I sold some jewelry."

By instinct, Kat's gaze went to her mom's throat. The gleam of gold there relieved her in ways she couldn't explain. The locket meant less than nothing to Kat, but she still couldn't help it.

It was, all things considered, the only tie she had left to her brother. She suspected her mom felt the same way.

"Just a few pieces," Barbara added, pushing the envelope at her. "It's not a lot."

Kat wordlessly took the envelope, peeled it open to count a few bills inside. It _wasn't_ a lot, not really. A few hundred.

But maybe it'd buy some time from Wallace & Roane.

_What's the catch?_ The words hovered on the tip of her tongue.

She swallowed them. "Thanks, Mom," she said quietly.

"I was thinking," Barbara continued, rotating her mug like a child who couldn't sit still. "What if I just gave you everything else your dad gave me?"

"No," Kat said, quickly cutting off the stream of generosity before it led somewhere dangerous. She didn't know if she should be suspicious or if she should feel any more guilty than she already did—couldn't decide what kind of awful daughter that made her. "You've done enough, Mom, it's okay. Keep your money, you'll need it if things go bad."

Her mom managed a laugh. "You mean things could get worse?"

Harris optimism tended towards the sarcastic.

Kat wanted to put her head down on the table. Instead, she sipped at the bitter liquid in her cup, set the envelope down on the table, and tried to think about the next move.

Wallace & Roane wouldn't wait forever, and aside from a propensity to leave politely threatening letters and hunt her down in public venues, she didn't know about their methods—or ethics. They could very well start laying down some hurt. Would a couple hundred buy them some leeway?

Hollywood movies or not, people got twitchy about money. Especially about money in bulk. Twenty thousand dollars may be small change to a man like Adam Laramie, but to her—and to most financial firms—it represented a hell of a payday.

_Adam._

He could make it all go away. She could beg him nicely enough, explain everything and, if she had to, get down on her knees—albeit in an entirely different way than she'd hoped to.

But even as the thought it, her heart and mind joined in shouting her down.

She didn't need his money. Didn't want it.

She would not make the same mistakes she made back then. She was an all-new woman now.

Very carefully, she folded up the rejection letters and tucked them with the envelope of money. "Okay," she said, aiming for cheerful.

Her mother's eyebrows rose, manicured slashes colored by her usual beauty regimen.

"This isn't the end of the world," Kat continued. She smiled at her mother's stare, pale green skepticism over the rim of her black mug. "This should buy us a little time. Thank you."

"What do we do if it doesn't?"

"We can find another way."

"Do you have a kidney you don't need?" Barbara asked dubiously.

Only half a joke. The black market organ trade was alive and well, and she had very little doubt that someone in her father's list of contacts knew how to finagle a buyer.

She wasn't _that_ desperate.

"No," she said, setting her mug down. "But I can squeeze some money out of an investor."

"For what?"

Kat wished her mother's cloud of doubt didn't sting quite so much.

She took a deep breath. Then, on the exhale, said quickly, "I'll find someone who wants to go into partnership for the salon."

Her mother's eyebrows knotted. "That—"

"If I offer a reasonable buy-in," Kat said over her, forging on as the knot in her chest sharpened to near-pain, "I can take half the money I'd set aside for the salon and give it to the loan sharks. It won't be all of it, but it's a chunk."

"But that doesn't—"

"It's okay," she cut in again. "Really." Kat couldn't bear to listen to her mother's protest. Whether it fell in Kat's favor or not, encouraged her to remain a solo act or sell out for more, she didn't want to listen.

No matter the consequences, she was afraid she'd dig in, hold on to her dream and wait. Buy her own lie that everything would find a way without sacrifice.

Harrises didn't sacrifice, as a rule.

But she couldn't live on luck.

"It'll take me longer to get solid profits," she said, frowning down into the ink-dark coffee. She'd made it a little too strong for the sale blend. "We'd wait a little longer before we could really be comfortable, but the initial investment should buy us the time we need to start making payments."

And it would take from Kat the ability to operate independently. She'd have an equal partner at the best—at worst, she'd be a lesser collaborator in her own salon. It depended on how much money a prospective partner would want to offer, and what they wanted in return.

And she needed someone interested in such a thing.

No small chore, not when she was already struggling to build a client list.

Barbara leaned against the counter, her mouth pursed in a line that drew grooves on either side. "You're pinning everything on the success of this salon, Katherine."

"I know." What else could she do?

Her mother gestured with her cup. "Have you considered that eighty percent of independent businesses fail in the first year?"

A shaft of pain splintered in her chest. Kat sighed. "If it does," she pointed out, "that first year will help clear out your debt."

Her mother's frown tightened. "I can just sell more of my jewelry."

"It's fine," Kat snapped, surprising even herself. Then, as the words slapped the air between them, she pushed away from the table, taking her mug with her. "Thank you, Mom, but it's fine. I'm going. I have things to do today."

Barbara let her go in silence.

Relief and guilt and resentment tangled up inside her as Kat made her way up the creaking stairs and into her small bedroom. The bed took up most of the space, and a dresser ate up what was left. She didn't have a lot of room for clutter.

She closed the door behind her, set the mug down on the bare dresser top, and fought the tightening tension at her temples. She couldn't cry now. If she did, she might lose whatever determination she had to see this through.

Her mother had finally broken down and sold some jewelry. Most of what Barbara owned was fashion jewelry, but she'd picked up some finer pieces over the years. Kat didn't know how many she'd sold off already.

She'd done her part to bring in some money. Maybe it wasn't enough, but it was more than Kat had expected. Now it was her turn.

This wasn't the end of the world. Kat was sure of it. So she'd have to find a partner. It wasn't like she was the only independent business owner to do it.

Others had made it. She could, too. Regardless of what obstacles stood in her way, this was Kat's dream. She was a big girl, more than mature enough to handle setbacks like this.

She flopped back on the bed and wished she was back in that hotel room they'd almost gotten, snuggled up to Adam's warm, lean back. At least then, she could have enjoyed the contentment she'd felt for a little while longer.

Then again...what was stopping her?

She reached under her pillow and felt around before she found the small card. Adam's name, slightly raised against her fingertips, brought a smile to her lips.

Was it Friday? It was. Would he be working?

Of course. He had that meeting today. But how early? Before or after lunch?

She wondered if he took lunch breaks.

Forget ice cream and a drink. What she needed now was a little bit of Laramie charm.

The photos filling up his monitor were dark, colored black and blue thanks to the camera's nighttime filter. Given the slightly grainy quality, Adam would guess a smartphone.

Given the subject matter, the contents of the email they came with didn't surprise him.

He was going to have to end it with Kat.

Whatever _it_ was.

Jordan's fingers drummed on the surface of his tablet. "It came through your general email early this morning," he said, his face and voice level. No judgment. That wasn't his job.

Adam appreciated that.

Right under the inappropriate and incredibly stupid crack of jealousy.

Jordan had seen the photos. Seen _her_ , the curve of her hip as she clung to Adam's waist with her long, long legs pale from the filter and bare. Kat's expression, smudged somewhat thanks to the lighting, radiated raw pleasure.

So much so that Adam's hands twitched against the desk. His body hummed a hungry note bordering on obsessive.

Somebody had caught them in that back corridor. Caught them, photographed them, and knew enough about him to send them as blackmail material.

But not enough to know his private email.

Jordan's gaze dropped to his handheld computer, and the file he held under it. "I wiped it from the server, but we have no way of knowing how many copies are out there. Or whether the, erm, young lady in question is aware of it."

"By that, you mean behind it." His voice barely undercut a growl.

Jordan wisely said nothing.

Damn it. He'd known better. He knew exactly what kind of family she came from. What if she'd set this up herself? Threw herself at him until he lost his mind and thought pinning her up against a wall in public was _such_ a good idea?

Adam leaned back in his chair, dragging both hands over his face. He'd felt so good when he'd finally dragged himself to bed last night. Alone, sure, but that couldn't be helped. He wasn't done with her yet.

Granted, it wasn't the first time he'd invited a woman out for sex, but it was the first time he'd done it so... openly. He'd usually tried not to abandon them mid-way.

Not that Kat had seemed to mind. In his experience, some women liked to cling and others liked to go.

Kat was, well, not a clinger. But was she a blackmailer?

It didn't feel right.

Of course, nothing did when it came to Kat Harris. Or maybe he meant that everything did, and that was a problem.

He stabbed at his keyboard. The screen went dark. "It doesn't matter," he said flatly. "Pay it."

His assistant's eyebrows slammed up. "Are you sure?"

"Pay it," he repeated. "It's just ten thousand. Maybe it's some kid who thought he had a good thing going."

Jordan's expression eased from surprise to wary resignation. "Or," he countered mildly, "it's not."

"We'll find out if they ask for more." He rose, his leather-padded chair rolling back on slick wheels. He tucked his hands into his pockets, not because they shook but because the energy that filled him made him feel like he wanted to grab something, someone, and work out this frenetic energy.

His personal trainer was on vacation. His pool was a car-ride away.

Jordan wasn't his type.

Adam smothered a laugh, dry and a shade too far into angry. His gaze focused outside the wide windows of his office, scraped across the scenery. The sun dappled the eastern hills with brilliant shades of green. The flowers the Sulla Valley city commission insisted be part of the city's charm turned the streets below him into a riot of color.

The Valley's business district didn't hold a candle to the bigger cities he'd preferred to live in. Laramie Industries occupied the largest building at eight floors, flanked by shorter modern deco structures. Still, despite the city's relatively small size, the panorama from his seventh floor office usually calmed him.

Usually.

Somebody had breached his privacy. And, probably Kat's. He wanted to think so. If she'd known about the sneak photographer, he couldn't imagine that she'd have responded to him quite so...

Sweetly?

Openly?

God. Just looking at those photos threatened to land him with another hard-on he couldn't afford to work off, not now. Not today.

Maybe later.

"All right," Jordan said to his back. Mild again. It told Adam all he needed to know about his assistant's opinions on the subject.

Anger and arousal made for really uncomfortable bedfellows.

"Your three o'clock with the board has been pushed to half past three," Jordan continued. "We couldn't ask for any more time. Mr. Goldberg will be in attendance today."

Adam turned away from the window, mouth flattening. "I'm almost done with the new proposal. Has Glover checked in?"

Jordan swiped on his tablet. A quick scan later, he shook his head. "I'll drop by and ensure he's on time with his materials."

"Good. Any news on the lost data?"

"The IT team is working on nailing down the issue. They haven't been able to recreate the problem."

Damn it. On the plus side, that made it less likely that someone had sabotaged his work. Computers were his livelihood, but they still glitched. "Keep me posted. That's all."

His assistant hesitated. A fraction.

Adam sighed. He leaned against the edge of the large desk he'd had imported from New York. "What else?"

Jordan pulled the file out from under the tablet and held it out. "Data on Ms. Harris."

He reached for it, paused. Then took the file before he could convince himself not to. This bad habit he'd developed of wanting to trust in Kat Harris wasn't something he usually struggled with.

He didn't trust women, at least not the ones he slept with. Especially not Kat.

He was pretty sure he knew what that said about him instead of the women he did date, but Adam didn't let that bother him. Usually.

He was breaking a lot of 'usual' these days.

Adam set it on the desk behind him. "I'll look at it later," he promised. "That's it?"

"One last concern," Jordan said, but this time, a faint smile tugged at his mouth. For the first time, he scratched at his temple—a sheepish tic. "Mr. Laramie wants to know when you're going to quit dicking around and get yourself a proper secretary."

Adam's crack of laughter wasn't all humor. "Tell the old man to keep his nose out of my affairs."

"Yes," Jordan agreed, deadpan. "I suspect he hopes you'll engage in one if you have a pretty secretary."

"He can take his outdated views and shove them." Adam gestured to the door. "Get out, Jordan." He pulled his own tablet from the desk behind him, sliding it out from under the unlabeled folder. His gaze snagged on it. Narrowed.

The man he'd known for over a decade didn't bow or scrape. He simply inclined his head good-naturedly and crossed the office, snapping the cover on his tablet closed.

"I'll be back at two with materials," Jordan said over his shoulder, pulling the door open. "I should—Excuse me," he added, abruptly enough that Adam's gaze lifted, eyebrows climbing.

"Sorry," an all too familiar voice said quickly. "I might have the wrong office."

Adam couldn't be sure, but he thought he detected a note of resigned humor as his assistant said, "No, I don't think so. Excuse me," he added again, and sidled past her.

Kat's sudden appearance, framed in his office door, shouldn't have hit Adam like a fist to the chest.

It did.

_She_ did.

The weather app on his tablet claimed the temperature had risen to eighty degrees already, with humidity at a hundred and ten percent. It was, all things considered, far too warm for the sunny yellow raincoat she'd belted around her waist.

Then again, the legs he couldn't get enough of were bare. Her shoes, tall spike heels and strappy, were orange. Gold buckles winked at her ankles as she hesitated in the door frame.

"Hey." Huskier than her earlier words.

Behind her, the door to the waiting room outside his office closed.

Adam's pulse flared like a drum solo. "Hey, yourself."

She'd done something with her hair, or maybe the humidity did. He'd never been sure what was normal for a woman's hairstyle. Artless was the fashion, and he knew they worked hard to achieve it.

Hers looked natural, like she'd finger-combed the sable waves, left her bangs to frame eyes like a cool, crisp forest pond. Mossy dark, gut-wrenchingly sultry as she tucked her hair behind one ear.

Did she come to seduce him in that raincoat?

Cliché as hell, but God, he wanted it.

"Come in," he said.

She did. And she shut the door behind her. Color stained her cheeks, as she leaned against it. One tall heel hiked against the panel.

The raincoat slid up her thigh.

That pulse knocked in his erection.

"Are you busy?" she asked, her gaze sliding to the window. No blinds. He didn't like them. The sun-treated glass filtered out the heat and the worst of the glare, but didn't do much for privacy.

Very deliberately, he set the tablet back on his desk. "No," he lied. What would she do?

Her lips curved into a grin. Feline mischief, stunning seduction even with the damned coat on. "Wanna be?"

"Well, that depends, Ms. Harris." Adam placed both hands on the desk he leaned against. Only he knew how his knuckles popped against the wood.

_Take her._ Again. Right here. Window be damned.

"On?" she asked.

"On whether or not you plan on keeping that coat on."

Her eyes lit, but whether it was laughter or heat, he couldn't tell. Objectively?

Forget it. He didn't have it in him to bother with objective. She turned him on with every breath.

Kat reached behind her and locked the door.

He gripped the edge of the desk.

Her fingers lifted to the first large yellow button at her collar. Hesitated. Fierce color washed over her face, took the heat already staining her cheeks and turned her skin rosy.

He held his breath as the first button slid free.

Then the second.

"Yes," he said hoarsely.

Her fingers hovered over the third button. Her tongue slipped out, wet her lower lip. "I... didn't expect this to feel so..."

"What?"

Her gaze fell.

"Tell me, Kat." A husky command.

She sucked in a quick, quiet breath.

Not quiet enough. Every muscle in his body locked as need knotted inside him. _Take her_.

He firmed his feet against the floor. "Show me."

Even from across the expanse of his bright office, Adam could see her fingers shake. She fumbled with the button. It caught.

Slid free.

The gap at her throat widened, sunshine yellow material framing pale skin.

Pale blue lace.

Jesus Christ, this was happening.

Adam's breath caught in his chest.

The final button unfastened, but her elbows clamped on either side of the slick fabric. The thinnest glimpse of light blue lace and pale skin was all she allowed him.

Was he drooling?

Adam ran a cupped hand over his mouth. His jaw. "Don't stop."

Her eyes met his. Her mouth hitched at one side, and slowly, achingly slowly, she pulled the coat off her shoulders. The bare curve of her shoulder, dusted with gold. But only faintly. The other shoulder.

His eyes pinned on the fragile dip of her clavicle.

Trailed lower.

Hadn't he just told himself to end this?

"So?" she asked huskily, hands bunched into the fabric barely hanging on over her breasts. Thin blue straps slid down one arm. "What do you think?"

'Think' might be overstating it some. Adam blew a low whistle. "Dangerous."

Her gaze flicked to the window again.

"Come here," he instructed.

Echoes of that moment last night stretched between them, but this time, there were no shadows to hide in. No greenery. Just a brightly lit office, the desk he perched on, various chairs he couldn't help but picture her draped over.

Hanging onto.

Himself, balls-deep inside her.

"Goddamn," he rasped, and couldn't help the throaty way his voice growled out. "Come here, Kat."

She didn't walk in those heels. She sashayed. Sauntered.

Her hips swayed.

Adam wanted her bent over his desk. Right. Fucking. Now.

Kat had other ideas. Ideas that flickered to life in his overheated brain the instant she sank to her knees in front of him.

His eyes fixed on her mouth.

"Kat," he warned.

She smiled. One hand touched his knee.

The coat gaped, revealing her slender body cupped lovingly in sky blue lace.

Both hands slid up his thighs, and if he'd intended to exhibit cool control, the sudden pounding in his rock-hard dick stripped that vain hope from him.

He flattened his hands over hers, bracketing his belt buckle. "At the risk of sounding like a complete wimp," he said tightly, "this is a bad idea."

"I know." Her fingertips edged under his waistband. "But I want to taste you, Adam."

Holy God, what lucky coin did he step on this morning?

When the pressure over her hands eased, she slipped his buckle free. The clink of the metal fractured through his unraveling grip.

The coat slid down her arms, caught at her elbows, and she was bare for him. Beautiful. The mark he'd left on her last night throbbed just over her pulse.

He wanted to lick it again.

Open his mouth over it and bite down until he could be sure that mark would never fade.

The savagery of that need shocked him.

And then the cooler air of the office slid into his open pants, into the dipped waistband of his underwear, and he forgot to be shocked. Forgot to be suspicious.

Forgot that he'd meant to end this before it got so far.

Kat's breath eased hot and damp over his bare flesh, and he shuddered, head falling back. He braced his weight back on his hands, palm flattening over the folder he'd left there.

Her lips brushed the head of his cock. He hissed out a breath.

This was dangerous. On so many levels.

And all he could think about was the fact that Kat Harris knelt in front of him wearing an open raincoat and blue lace and wrapped her lips around his dick in the middle of his own office.

He'd died.

He'd done something good for someone somewhere.

Whatever karma put him here, he'd take it.

# 7

He tasted musky, tasted like something illicit and sexual and so very exciting. Kat could barely believe she'd done it, that she'd come to his workplace wearing that cliché raincoat they always wrote about in erotica articles. She was positive that everyone she passed knew exactly what she'd been up to.

Even thought she'd seen a faint smile on the other guy's face as he left her to enter the office alone.

But it was so worth it.

His cock was, in a word, beautiful. Thick and hard, taut, hot skin jutting in an upward curve from a nest of dense brown hair. She wasn't much of a connoisseur, save in the sense that she liked what made her feel good, and this? This had more than potential.

It was a proven ride.

Adam jerked when she took him into her mouth, hissed out a ragged groan as she wrapped her tongue around his shaft the way she'd wanted to. Curling her fingers at the base of his cock earned her insensible encouragement, but when she took him deeper, widened her lips and eased him as far as she could, he said nothing but fisted both hands into her hair.

She didn't mind. He didn't try to pull her down on him, didn't try to set the pace. Maybe another day she'd let him fuck her mouth the way he no doubt wanted, but for now, she relished in the fact that he let her taste him, lick him, breathe in his scent and take in more.

And she did it wearing nothing but a bra and panty set.

Oh, and fuck-me heels.

Kat felt like an all-new woman, all right.

His fingers cradled the back of her head as she dragged her lips and hand over his cock. His shoulders rounded, and he bent over her like the feeling she coaxed from him burned.

"God, Kat," he groaned. "Good. Fuck, you're beautiful."

If it weren't for the fact that her own body felt sensitized, that her panties were already soaked and she'd only given him her mouth, she might have rolled her eyes. A lady was always beautiful on her knees.

And he still made her believe it.

The hands at her head tightened. "Enough." A guttural order. He tugged her free of him, reached down and grabbed a fistful of that coat. She stood with his help, dragged a thumb over her lower lip to catch the traces of his own arousal.

He watched her do it with eyes that burned brilliant gold.

"How the hell," he asked hoarsely, "are you so sexy?"

She grinned. "Trade secret?"

"Fuck," he replied, and tugged her by the coat to his desk. He stood, his cock jutting hard from the open zipper of his slacks. He didn't lower them.

The look, erotic as hell, stole her breath. Her cohesive thoughts.

She wanted him. She always did, but this? This was different.

Wordlessly, he stripped the coat from her arms, left her standing alone and bare but for her lace bra and panties.

And those heels.

She'd obviously made a good choice. He knelt behind her. Ran his hands over the strappy orange ribbons. Over her ankles. His mouth pressed into the inner back side of her thigh.

She shivered. "Adam, wait, I wanted—"

"Be quiet," he ordered, and that, too, ghosted across the same spot. His teeth bit.

She gasped.

"It's my turn."

Adam nudged her feet apart. One hand slid up her right hip, the other skimmed gently up her calf. Dipped into the sensitive hollow at the back of her knee.

Kat's breath fractured. "Adam," she managed, just this side of begging.

Again, he nipped her, this time at the soft flesh of her ass. She squeaked.

He laughed against her skin. Licked the spot he'd nipped, and then placed slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses up her spine. Kat shuddered.

He splayed one large hand between her shoulder blades.

Bent her over.

"Hands on the desk," he instructed. She obeyed, biting her lower lip. She couldn't see him, couldn't tell what face he made, but the sheer hunger in his voice curled right between her legs and dug in.

She wanted him. Needed him.

_Now._

"Adam, please."

A hand curved over her ass. "Please what, sweetheart?"

To her embarrassment, her hips tilted, offering more of her to his fondling. He chuckled deep in his chest.

"Delightful though this is," he said reprovingly, "I don't hear you. Please what, Kat?"

She groaned in sheer frustration, in tangled need.

"Say it."

She didn't want to. She'd said it last night, but it was dark. They were both feeling it. She could hide her face.

Now she felt exposed, laid out for him like a naughty secretary.

_Oh, God._ The visual sent another wave of raw arousal through her. Her sex tightened.

The hand at her ass eased away. "If you're not going to tell me, I can't—"

"If you don't fuck me right now, Adam Laramie," she said, fast and needy and too breathy, "I will never, ever forgive you."

He shifted behind her.

His cock touched her skin. Hot, hard.

So close.

Kat laid her face down on the desk, barely aware she'd all but kissed one of his folders, and clung to the far edge in desperate hope. "Please," she sobbed. "Please, please."

He slid his fingers into the waistband of her French cut panties. "Good girl," he murmured, drawing them down. "Very good. You know what good girls get?"

A deliciously deep dicking, Kat hoped. The kind of ride that would drive everything else out of her head.

"Give," she panted.

Adam's hips fit against her backside so snugly that his cock slid against her cleft, and she bit back a demanding cry. So good. Even that much had her writhing for it.

He muttered something she didn't catch, but it cracked through his teasing edge. Foil tore, Adam drew away long enough to roll a condom over his erection, and then one hand caught her hip.

She held her breath.

The tip of him rubbed against her sex. Coated itself in the signs of her wild arousal and drove her steadily, wickedly insane.

But before Kat could summon the words to beg, to demand, Adam seized her hips in both hands and thrust himself fully inside her.

It was enough. It was too much. She'd hoped to last longer, to ride this out, but he'd teased her to the breaking point. The feel of him pushing through her body, sliding into her wet flesh, filling her, stripped her of whatever inhibitions she had left. She gripped the edge of the desk in tight fingers, shouted, "Yes!"

"Yes," he echoed on a growl, and rocked against her. The desk shuddered. He withdrew, filled her again, forcing a cry from her. Her elbow hit his keyboard, sent it clattering over the edge.

"Wait," she gasped, only for it to hitch as he thrust into her hard enough that her body lit up like the fourth of July. God, she hadn't even come yet, and she was trembling all over.

His fingers gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Leave it," he grunted, and then she couldn't think of anything else but him as he filled her, stroked her, slid inside her and stirred her up until she was crazy with it.

She couldn't breathe.

Her legs wouldn't hold her up.

Everything narrowed down to a fine point, that rhythmic pace as his cock buried itself in hers. The drag of his body against hers.

Adam's breath tightened. Quickened. His hands left her hips to slam against the desk on either side of hers, his body pinned hers to the surface as he drove into her again and again.

His breath shuddered against her cheek.

She opened her eyes.

The line of his jaw hardened, skin stretched taut over his cheek. Sweat beaded on his temple.

One hand left the desk. Flattened over hers, fingers entwined.

Too much.

Her orgasm welled up from the physical delirium he coaxed inside her body and cracked into a thousand glittering stars. It didn't rise. It _exploded_ , whipped through her like a storm. She threw back her head, slammed it against his shoulder and didn't even notice as he swore, hips pinned to hers.

Her cry echoed through the office.

His teeth locked over the curve of her shoulder, but not hard. Just enough to coax another shuddering sound from her, a gasped, "Oh, God!" as the pulse he sucked into his mouth spiked.

His hips jerked, slammed awkwardly against her—shoved her a little higher onto the desk. This time, when he came, he groaned her name.

She rested her cheek on the file folder and tried very hard to remember how to breathe.

Now that, she decided as Adam's weight pressed her firmly to the desk, was the perfect way to deal with a bad day.

Adam had done a lot of things—and some of them were even stupid—but he had _never_ screwed a woman in his office on a workday.

Especially not one he'd meant to dissolve all contact with.

His head spun. Her scent filled his nose as he took a deep breath; her skin smelled like soap and oranges. Delicious. Lickable.

Jesus Christ, he'd turned into his father.

She stretched underneath him, purring like a sated kitten, and the pulse in his gut turned into a reflexive kick in his cock. She chuckled, the soft line of her ass pressing back against him.

He hissed. "Whoa, there, happy."

"Me?"

"Not you," Adam replied, earning another smothered laugh. "That was, um..." What could he say?

It was way beyond anything he'd ever expected.

"Fast?" he offered ruefully.

"Mm." She eased out a breath as he stepped away, then ended it on a sigh that curled _his_ toes. "No complaints here."

Taking care of the condom and tucking himself back into his pants didn't take any sort of edge off. In fact, now that he'd gotten _that_ out of the way, his brain irrevocably flipped to grainy pictures and the blackmail sent with them.

He nudged the small trashcan back under his desk, slanting his gaze away from Kat as she knelt to pick up her discarded coat. Her cheeks, the curve of her shoulder, even the flesh cupped by French lace glowed a rosy shade. Embarrassment?

He opened his mouth, only to shut it again when the sound of glass shattering crackled through his awkward preamble.

What the hell would he say? _Hey, Kat, thanks for the awesome lay, but I think you're blackmailing me._

No way.

"What was that?" he asked instead.

Kat fumbled at the coat pocket, turning away to draw the coat back over her bare stomach. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "My mom's text tone."

He lifted a hand to indicate she should go ahead and check it, sinking back into the chair behind his desk.

The pleasant buzz of a damn good orgasm faded to a sick curl.

Did he really think Kat was capable of sleeping with him for money? That she could be an accomplice to the blackmail in his inbox?

If he did, what did that say about him?

_No._ He couldn't think this way. There could have been _anyone_ out there. They'd been in public.

Kat's eyes rounded. She jammed her phone into her pocket.

"Kat?"

The smile she pasted on didn't fool him. Neither did her patently false cheer as she said hastily, "Well, I'm sure you have work to do. Being an entrepreneur and all." She backed for the door, belting her coat.

Her gaze fluttered everywhere but at him. He stood, hand flattening on his desk. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Her smile widened. "Um, this was... All that?" A vague gesture. "You were incredible. Really. I..." She grabbed the doorknob, unlocked it. "Everything is fine, I just have to go and see my mom." She paused, staring at the door.

Adam's mouth began to twitch. He couldn't help it. She looked like a terrified rabbit, all ruffled fur and flat ears.

Kat turned again. "I want to see you again," she declared. Her eyes met his. "Lots of you. Maybe naked. No, wait, definitely naked—"

"Kat," he said again, an outright chuckle that slammed into a sudden knot of tension as a hard knock rattled the door behind Kat's back.

She jumped, clapped a hand over her mouth before she managed more than a startled yelp.

The person behind the door must have mistaken that for a offer to enter. The doorknob turned, pushed open.

Adam half-rose out of his chair as his life went to hell in front of his eyes.

Rudy Goldberg froze in the doorway, his bushy black and gray eyebrows beetled fiercely together as Kat righted herself on her wicked orange shoes. "Pardon me, young lady," he said in that imperious tenor that grated on Adam's nerves. It declared he knew what was going on here—and didn't like it.

Kat immediately smiled. Like someone flipped a switch. Gone was the fumbling, red-faced woman who'd backed out of his office faster than he'd screwed her in it. Her chin was high, shoulders straight. "Please, excuse me," she said brightly. "I was just leaving."

Sweat gathered on Adam's forehead. He set his jaw. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Patterson," he said, forcing himself to sound as cool and put together as he didn't feel.

He'd just been so deep inside her that his body still burned from the memory.

And she, bless her quick mind, got the gist in a glance. "Sorry again for my apparel, Mr. Laramie," she replied brightly. "I'll make sure to have that data to you by next Tuesday."

Warm sincerity radiated from eyes he'd watched cloud over with the force of her orgasm minutes before. She _was_ good.

Too good.

"It's my fault for calling you in on your day off," he replied. "Just do what you can today. Thank you."

"Pardon me, sir," she added to Goldberg, who stepped aside with suspicion clear on his face. "Have a good Friday!"

She left with an easy stride that belied the fact that she only wore underwear under her raincoat. If he hadn't seen it himself, he'd never believe it.

Her mile-long legs and summer orange shoes vanished from view.

Goldberg didn't come in. "Patterson, you said?"

"An intern helping me compile the data lost from yesterday," Adam replied, clipped to the quick. "Did you need something?"

The old man was built like a reed, tall and thin, but he held onto a cane Adam had never seen him use seriously. He couldn't decide if it was an affectation or there for those moments when Goldberg didn't have to hide his weakness.

Adam didn't much care. The way the man looked down his prominent nose at Adam pissed him off.

"Did we lose anything _important_ in the crash?" Goldberg asked, tucking the cane in the crook of his arm.

Adam met his gaze across the expanse of his office. Thank God neither he nor Kat had been overly messy. The board chair couldn't see the keyboard by Adam's feet. "No," he replied evenly, well aware of the significance of the man's less than subtle emphasis.

Golberg hummed an irritated note. "It's appalling. A multi-billion dollar company and it can't even settle its own technical issues." He turned away. "Don't waste my time today, young Laramie."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," Adam replied, every word thinned to the barest of courtesy. It didn't matter. Goldberg was already leaving.

Anger and adrenaline and the nerves peeled back by a near miss congealed in Adam's skin. He'd been stupid. Beyond stupid. Worse, he'd acted just like his father.

And Jesus Christ, it had been amazing.

As the far door closed behind the one man he needed to impress most, he gave up.

Sinking back into the chair, he laughed long and hard, until tears streamed from his eyes. Then he covered his face with one hand and sat in simmering silence.

Without looking, he tugged the folder Jordan had left him closer.

The keyboard by his feet slid down the chair rung, clattered against the floor.

God, he was an idiot.

Knowing exactly what kind of stupid choice it was, Adam tossed the folder into the trash.

# 8

The text had been clear. _Help me_ , her mother had sent, and a store name Kat knew. It was in the same center as her salon.

Kat's stomach roiled, nausea and fear bottled up by the show she'd put on for Adam's benefit. She couldn't even take the time to feel giddy after the stunt she pulled in his office. Such a cliché. A freaking stereotype—and she'd _loved_ it. Every second of it.

Except the exit.

Wow, so not the cool dame she'd hoped to be when she swept back out again.

She didn't know who the old guy was, but the sudden strain in Adam's features said he mattered. She'd done her best with the details she'd had.

Thank God he hadn't asked questions.

Her hands shook as she pulled into a parking lot.

The loan sharks must have gotten tired of waiting. Did they send someone to scare her mom? To hurt her?

The store was one of several boutiques clustered together, each sharing archways into the others. Kat ran across the sidewalk at a brisk clip, too afraid to actually sprint in the heels but goaded by the thundering pace of her heart.

Please, just let her mom be okay. She'd handle the rest somehow.

Shoppers milled along the sidewalks, arm in arm or meandering aimlessly in the humidity. Most had bags. She dodged them, muttering apologies, and pushed her way into the air conditioned store Barbara Harris had texted from.

Two sales clerks and a handful of shoppers all looked up in startled curiosity as Kat called, "Mom?"

One girl, the taller of the two, gestured back to the fitting room, just as Barbara called, "Back here, sweetie."

The first seed of doubt oozed into Kat's fear.

Summoning up what composure she could, she tightened the belt on her coat and made her way to the curtained fitting rooms.

Barbara pulled aside the curtain with a flourish. "Ta da!"

Jumpsuits were back in style. A certain style, anyway. The one Barbara chose did flattering things for her still trim waist and long legs. It was orange, a halter neck, and she'd paired it with a wide green belt.

The sweat on her skin hadn't even cooled yet, and Kat felt her temper roil into a full-on blush. "Mom," she began, stretching the syllable out with care. She grabbed the edge of the fitting room wall. "Is everything okay?"

Her mother twirled, and Kat noted green sandals with a kitten heel. "What do you think?" she pressed. "Isn't it fabulous?"

A crack of pain lanced through her temple. Kat unclenched her teeth. "You look like a pumpkin," she said quietly. "Don't pair orange with green accents. Mom, why am I here?"

Barbara studied herself in the mirror. Her mouth pursed, nose wrinkling, and she tugged the belt off. "You're right," she mused. "Maybe gold. Summer, do you have a belt in gold?"

"Coming up, Mrs. Harris," one of the sales girls called back.

"Oh, don't look like that," Barbara added, pulling her hair up in front of the mirror and turning this way and that. "I'm in desperate need of your help." When Kat only stared at her, she reached into her dressing room and pulled a navy blue romper off the hook. "I can't decide which is better for the season. Orange is so summery, but the sheen on—"

"Mom." Kat sank into the nearest chair, her knees giving out as the full force of the situation sank in. Her hands shook as she covered her mouth, eyes closed. "You can't text me for help like that."

"Why not?" Barbara held up the romper, frowning at it. "I need help."

"Context!"

"Don't raise your voice," her mother insisted.

"Your belt," Summer the sales attendant said. She flashed Kat a warm smile.

_Save it_ , Kat thought. She knew that smile.

She wasn't a customer. And neither was her mother.

As quickly as she fell into it, Kat surged up from the chair. "Put it back, Mom. We're leaving."

"Yeah." Barbara studied her reflection, turned and flattened a hand over her still trim stomach. "Let's try the other shop across the street."

Kat wanted to scream. Instead, she managed a very mild, "Mom, for the last time, we don't have any money. You can't buy these."

"Katherine." Barbara turned, blue romper tossed over her shoulder, and put both hands on Kat's shoulders. Her pale green eyes were solemn as she stared hard into her daughter's face. "Listen, sweetie. You know your father left me with some money. Not a lot," she added when Kat opened her mouth, "but some."

"Then we should—"

"Since you won't let me help you," Barbara said over her. "Let me give us a day. Just the two of us. Mother and daughter." Her mauve lips curved, and the smile softened her features. Etched lines where Kat hadn't seen them before. "Hair, nails, something pretty. Come on, sweetie. What do you say?"

She had a lot to say. A lot to argue.

But her mom's hands, warm and firm on her shoulders, squeezed gently, and her smile slipped into something Kat didn't want to think of as pleading.

One day. A few items.

A day trip.

They'd have to tighten up after this anyway.

And her mother had already sold some of her items for the loan she'd acquired for Kat's benefit. Now she wanted to spend money on a mother and daughter day.

The resistance melted out from her spine. Her shoulders slumped. "Fine," Kat sighed, regretting it even as she did. "But I'm going to have to buy some pants."

"Oh?" Barbara glanced at her bare legs. Her eyes narrowed. "Oh. Well. I can see you've been busy."

Kat refused to blush. "You sort of dragged me out here," she pointed out.

Barbara grinned, as unapologetic as she'd ever been. "I note you paused to buckle up all those straps on your shoes, though."

The flood of heat at her forehead, her cheeks, warned Kat she lost the fight.

Barbara laughed, pleased as punch now that she'd gotten her way. The bangles on her wrist jangled as she waved Kat back into the main store. "Go find something that fits. My treat."

Kat sighed. "Okay. But then we're budgeted."

"Yes, yes," her mom trilled, and vanished again into the curtained dressing room.

"Capris?" Summer asked, waving from a wall hung with all the season's latest colors.

Kat spread her hands. "I guess so."

To the girl's credit, Summer had an eye for color and fit, and sent Kat back into the dressing room beside her mother's to try on a handful of items. She wasn't stupid, either—Kat tried on complete outfits, top to bottom.

She'd end up with one of them, anyway.

With Barbara's encouragement, Kat chose a pair of coral capris folded at the hem, a sheer turquoise blouse over a lacy white tank, and her own shoes. Saying nothing about it, Summer folded the yellow raincoat into a boutique bag.

Barbara paid in cash.

Kat took the bag as Summer counted out the change in a twenty and three tens.

When the girl handed it over to Barbara, her mother asked, "Is it possible to get five tens for a fifty?"

"Sure," Summer said cheerfully, reaching for the touchscreen on her register.

"I was thinking," Barbara said, turning to Kat, "maybe we could stop for dinner, too. Summer, honey, do you have any recommendations?" She took the bills the girl handed over, paused, then added, "Oh, can I swap you ten ones for a—"

Kat didn't think. She didn't have to. The first step was get the change in hand, then ask for a different denomination. Get that money in hand, pass back the wrong amount and ask to break another bill into smaller ones. Keep a run of patter distracting the clerk. Swap again, into a different denomination. Do it until Summer, nice girl that she was, lost track of how much belonged where.

And Barbara would skate out with new clothes and the money she'd ostensibly spent. If not more.

Kat hooked her mother's arm in hers and said firmly, "Never mind, she doesn't need it."

"Oh, okay." Summer smiled, handing over the receipt and closing the register with a clang. "Have a good day, ladies."

"Katherine," Barbara protested, but didn't pull away as Kat tugged her out the door.

" _No_ ," she said when it closed behind them.

Barbara only sighed.

"No," Kat said again. "No short games. No scamming. Do this right or I'm going home."

Her mother sighed again, ensuring this one wobbled, and then grinned without a sign of repentance. She linked her arm with Kat's. "Fine. But only because I'm out with you, my little stick in the mud."

"I appreciate that," Kat said. She didn't touch the rest. That was a fight for another day.

She never would have thought it, not really, but as the day progressed, Kat _enjoyed_ the hours she spent shopping with her mom. Barbara, for all her irresponsibility, had a keen eye for fashion, and a shrewd bargain-hunter's skill. Just because she didn't _like_ to wear sales items didn't mean she couldn't sniff them out.

By the time night had fallen and the stores were closing, Kat had laughed and twirled and done a fashion run more times than she could recall doing so in her mother's company. Maybe not since she was a little kid.

Barbara had indulged in a few more clothes, moisturizer and organic makeup, and more fashion jewelry than Kat was sure she needed. Then again, she'd let her mom talk her into another pair of shoes, a stunning silver dress with a low draped back and straight sheathe hem, and a few more capris.

The air had cooled, but not so much that the humidity faded. As they walked out of the last shop to close, Kat tipped her head to the starry sky and inhaled deeply. Florals, something that reminded her of saltwater, and a smoky thread she figured came from the restaurants gearing up for a busy night.

Friday nights didn't thin out the traffic all that much. She eased to the side as a knot of teenagers laughed and shouted their way to the burger joint back the way Kat had come.

A dull ringing hammered at the air. Somebody's car alarm, maybe.

At her side, Barbara wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed tightly. "What a day, huh?"

"It was, wasn't it?" She caught her mom's wrist in loose fingers and smiled up at her. Barbara wasn't that much taller than her, but she'd splurged on new shoes. Her mom knew how to work a pair of heels. "Thanks, Mom."

"Oh, sweetie." An air-kiss was the closest her mother's makeup came to smearing. Kat didn't mind the little eccentricities. It beat mom lipstick on her face. "Thanks for indulging me."

The warm feeling in her chest glowed. How many hours had it been since they fought? Even Barbara's criticism of her daughter's taste had come tempered with suggestions that Kat actually liked.

It was like her mother was trying to _help_ , the only way she knew how.

She laced her arm around her mother's waist. "Come on. What do you say to kitchen margaritas?"

Barbara brightened. "Can we stop for cherries?"

"We can stop for cherries."

They headed back down the lane, stopping now and again to marvel at the prettily arranged windows now lit with delicate lights. Aside from the ongoing alarm bell, the whole center looked like something out of a summer picture book.

The smell of smoke thickened.

"Do we have a Cajun restaurant around?" Kat wondered aloud. Her brow furrowed.

"That sounds delicious."

"I know, right?" Kat glanced back the way they'd come, but no one else seemed worried about the bell. "If I could cook, maybe I would have opened a restaurant instead."

"Bite your tongue," Barbara replied hastily, waving that away. "More restaurants fail than stores."

Kat winced. "Mom—"

"I know, I know," she said. She paused by the brightly colored window of a kid's shop. Her mouth evened. "Sweetie, I want you to know that I may not always seem like it, but I support you."

Kat's chest squeezed. "Aw, Mom."

"No, don't get all fuzzy," Barbara said hastily. "It's just that I—" She froze.

"What's wrong?"

Her eyes widened. She peered past Kat's head. "Is something on fire?"

A sinking pit opened in Kat's stomach. "Where?"

Barbara spun her gently. "That's yours, isn't it?"

Roils of smoke licked at the dark sky.

"Oh, God," Kat said hoarsely, and took off down the sidewalk. She was dimly aware of her mother's voice behind her, but she couldn't stop to think. To listen. Couldn't do anything but sprint in her too-high heels.

One snapped out from under her.

It didn't matter.

She all but fell out of the lane and into a knot of clustered people. A man caught her by sheer accident, grunted when her elbow tagged him, and managed, "Careful!"

The fact that flame didn't erupt to the sky was small comfort. She could feel the heat of it even without the open flames that ate at the inside, pouring smoke out of every available exit. The ivy clinging to the brick wall on one side stirred in the draft.

"No." Kat clutched at his arm. "That's mine. That's my salon!"

The man looked over her head at the cloud of steam roiling out from a stream of firefighters' hoses. Two. It took two to get it under control?

"I'm sorry," he said.

Two words.

_I'm sorry._

She tugged her arm out of his steadying grip, forged her way through the crowd. They jostled and murmured and ogled, and it was all Kat could do to make her way to the front.

A firefighter in full gear spread her arms. "Stay back," she warned. "The wind's died down, but we don't want any injuries."

Kat gripped the crowd-control barriers in her way. "How bad is it?" she demanded. This close, she could hear the rush of the water, the crackle of the flame inside. The front window had been covered while they worked on it, but the tarp they'd used was peeling back. Melting.

"Excuse me," Barbara said behind her. "Pardon me. That's my daughter's store, excuse me, I need to be up front."

The woman's mouth slanted into a grim, apologetic line. "We're not sure, but it's not going to be good. I'm sorry, ma'am."

The ground abruptly slid out from under her.

Kat had never in her life fainted, but for a long, torturous moment, she thought she would. Her vision tunneled. She swayed.

"Whoops," Barbara said, and grasped Kat's arm. "Crouch right here, sweetie. There you go."

Her mother's voice came from very far away.

Kat stared at the ground a hell of a lot closer than it was a minute ago and couldn't shape her thoughts. Fire. Salon.

Money.

_Life_.

What was she going to do now?

All right. Adam would admit it. He was a very bad man. Not even a full twelve hours since he'd had Kat last, and he wanted her.

Badly.

The meeting had gone well enough, he supposed. Jordan had arrived on the dot with the requested materials, and Adam's proposal had gone off without a hitch.

Technically speaking.

Goldberg still didn't like him very much. That was made inordinately clear by the fact he failed to say a single word to Adam directly. Then again, he'd probably said all he wanted to in the impromptu meeting in Adam's office.

At least the rest of the board seemed to like him—or what he had to say. Spend money to make money, but make money doing what no one else in the industry was doing. The future of tech lay in wearables, but the limited avenue companies were currently adopting were too safe. Too obvious.

He saw a whole new horizon out there for the gadgets the world hungered to own.

Risky? Yes.

Rewarding? Adam could almost taste it.

At least, he had while he was talking about it.

Frankly, once the meeting was done, Adam retired to his office and promptly did a whole lot of nothing.

Kat Harris distracted him. Got under his skin in a big way.

Burying himself in work felt like a poor second to burying himself in _her._ And that seemed wrong, somehow. He was supposed to be focused on landing CEO, on his future as the man who would pull Laramie Industries onto the map. He saw partnerships with all the bigger companies, contracts with the brand names he wanted.

He saw growth, stability, and yes, money. Money to pour into research and development.

So why, he thought as he stared at his phone, was he sitting in his office at nine o'clock and considering a booty call?

There was no other name for it.

He'd become _that guy._

He should have been going over Jordan's detailed meeting notes, nailing down the places the proposal lacked and cementing the parts that Goldberg and the board had responded favorably to.

He should have been going home, getting some food.

He hadn't been a _Friday night, everything's all right_ kind of guy for a long time.

And yet...

Adam's fingers twitched.

He wanted her. In a bad, bad way.

Maybe if he sweetened the deal?

Like himself. Naked. Very naked.

Of course, she'd have to be naked, too. All was fair, and so on.

He picked up his phone. He'd made her a favorite contact.

And why not?

_Because she's a con artist._

Was. Was a con artist. She'd changed, right? Going legit? The salon and all that. Christ. A hair dresser. How'd he end up infatuated with a hair dresser?

Adam pressed the screen.

_Hi._ _I was thinking, want to meet for sex?_

Yeah, even if he was that kind of a bastard, it was a certain woman who responded to that, and Kat probably wasn't it.

Well, then again. The image of her in those killer orange shoes sauntered though his memory, and his cock stirred.

The line rang steadily.

_It's me. How does dinner sound?_

Like too much time between now and getting her naked.

Adam sighed.

Was she busy?

Before he gave up, the line clicked over. A dull roar filled the ambience behind the woman's voice that answered. "Is this the young man currently seeing my daughter?" she asked, as breezily as if she'd asked his name.

Adam found himself sitting straight in his chair. _Seeing?_ There was one too many 'e's in that word, and not enough 'x's. "Uh, yes, ma'am," he said.

"You'd better hurry," she said, an imperious command. In the background, he heard other voices. Chaotic ones. "Her whole life has just burned to ash in front of her eyes, and she's in desperate need of some sympathy."

He shot up from the chair, barked a knee against his desk and didn't slow. "Where?"

"Her salon," Kat's mother said, and hung up.

"Shit," he said to the empty line, and sprinted out of his office.

The crowd dispersed. The nice policewoman who had come to get Kat's statement shot her a sympathetic look as Kat stared at the blackened storefront that was supposed to be her salon.

Her chance at legitimacy.

The window was so black, she couldn't see anything inside. The building hadn't collapsed, and the firefighters had suggested that the structure was still sound. Only the interior had suffered damage.

But it wasn't the kind of damage a coat of paint and airing out would fix.

Everything had counted on this. Her mother's debt. Their future.

Her independence.

Up in smoke. Literally.

Her temples ached, fierce knots of pain. She was going to cry. If she didn't leave right now, she was going to break down in front of the two cops who'd come to take care of the details, the firefighters wrapping up their hoses, and whatever stragglers remained.

Strangers, all of them.

Kat didn't want to cry in front of them. If she had nothing left, she still had some pride.

Pride she'd have to swallow when she begged Wallace & Roane for an extension.

Her hands shook as she turned away. The smile she managed would have had Jack Harris pitching a fit, but it was the best she could do right now. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Hey." The police woman touched her arm. "Do you need someone to take you home?"

"No, I—" Kat looked around, every bone in her body feeling like lead. Where was her mom?

"Let me just tell my partner," the officer said gently.

Kat shook her head. It wasn't like she could get any lower. "No," she said. Her eyes burned. "It's fine, I'll just—"

"Kat!"

The achingly familiar voice that echoed across the small square drove the final nail into the coffin of her self-control. Tears welled up, and instead of turning to Adam—instead of responding to the worry and, damn him, the effortless command that shaped his polished tenor—she turned her back on him and buried her face in both hands.

"Hey, Adam," the police officer said, voice respectfully quiet. "Long time, no see."

"Sarah, hey."

Kat didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't the arm he put around her shoulders, or the splayed hand at her nape that encouraged her to hide her face against his chest.

He smelled like soap and expensive cologne that didn't reek of chemicals. He smelled clean, not like the smoke she couldn't get out of her nose.

And he simply ignored the stiff set of her shoulders to say over her head, "You have this all wrapped up?"

"Sure," Sarah the police officer replied. "Go on and take her home."

What about what Kat wanted? Ice cream, a vat of it—no, a _bathtub_ of it. And enough of that boxed wine to take the edge off. For a week.

Alone.

"I'll be in touch later," Adam said, and the police officer he somehow knew— _and why wouldn't he?_ she thought hollowly—made a sound of agreement.

Kat shifted, but Adam's fingers dug gently into her hair—like she was a cat in need a soothing hand. And the worst part was that it worked.

She shuddered, jaw locked, and squeezed her eyes shut against his jacket. One hand fisted in the back of it. "Hi," she managed, watery no matter how hard she tried.

"Hey," he said against her hair. "What say we go somewhere else?"

The fragile wall in her chest fractured. She took a shuddering breath. "Yeah." And then, forcing herself to do it, she uncurled her fingers from his coat and lifted her head.

She expected sympathy. Maybe some helplessness, in that way that men did around damsels in distress. What Adam gave her was a warm, slow smile, and a gentle press of his fingertips against her cheek.

"It's going to be okay," he said.

And, oh, God, she wanted so badly to believe him.

The dam broke behind her eyes, and she raised her arm to mask it as a sob fractured out of her chest.

Adam tugged her into the crook of his arm, and letting her cry against his shoulder, he navigated them both back out of the center. Kat didn't argue, couldn't summon the will to try.

Anywhere was better.

Anywhere with him.

Adam didn't usually invite women back to his house. It didn't seem fair to the date, who wouldn't be staying.

Or to himself, who wasn't much of a morning person and didn't handle cheerful morning-afters well as a rule.

And for all that, he shattered that rule on his own front step as he escorted Kat Harris into the one place she wasn't supposed to go.

His home was more of a townhouse, larger than he needed for his own single purposes but away from the main Laramie estate and closer to his work. The community was quiet, his neighbors usually traveling, and the terraced square behind it made for a pretty view from his bedroom patio.

A view he found himself wanting to share.

And that was weird.

Kat had stopped crying in his car, though she clung to his handkerchief like it held the secret to life.

Her eyes were red, her gaze focused a million miles away. The sad little curve to her mouth wasn't like any smile he'd ever seen from her—and it worried him.

Red-nosed and blotchy-cheeked, she was beautiful.

Another weird moment for him.

"This is..." Her voice trailed as he closed the door behind her.

Adam studied the foyer with a critical, if admittedly masculine, eye. "What? Too bare? Too dusty?"

"Too..." Finally, the shell-shock glaze to her expression shifted to something he hoped was warmer. He couldn't tell. She'd locked up so tight, he was afraid a wrong word would shatter her. "Too you."

"Is that bad?"

"No?"

"Why is that a question?" he asked dryly.

The shadows in her eyes withdrew a little bit farther. Something in his heart eased. A tickle. A breath.

Oh, man.

A smudge of soot shadowed her jaw as she tucked that fringe of hair back behind her ear. The feeling that gripped him at that small, vulnerable gesture wasn't anything as nice as relief.

He cleared his throat. "Let's get you cleaned up. Want a shower?" He shed his jacket, adding, "Come on in."

She hesitated. "My shoes."

"Leave them there," he said, waving that way. "I'll show you where you can relax."

He led her over the hardware floors, through the open-floor concept that he preferred. Modern structures were so much better than the closed-in mausoleums of the houses the old money of Sulla Valley preferred.

She lagged too far behind him. Behave, he told himself sternly. He backtracked, took her hand in his, and tried not to push her against a wall and have his wicked way with her when she inhaled a quick, not at all silent breath.

At least he managed to keep walking.

"Do me a favor," he said without looking at her. His fingers tightened over hers as he took the stairs. "Don't do anything to make me any crazier."

She bit off a laugh. "Adam, I—"

"I know," he said over her, frustration thick in his throat. "I know, you've just had a really, really shitty night. That's why I'm trying to be very good."

"What's very good?" she asked him, and damn, if her voice didn't drop an octave. "I'm not sure I want very good."

"Sort of good?"

"Maybe that's _not_ good."

The stairs passed the second floor, and topped out directly in the master suite. He winced reflexively, but the housekeeper had come and gone—his usual clutter was nowhere to be seen.

Bless efficient staff.

Ignoring her sultry invite—and he'd have to be made out of stone not to hear it—he drew her up onto the landing, turned her around, and pointed to the bathroom door. "There," he said gruffly. "That's your end goal."

"Are you sure?" She looked back over her shoulder. Head tilted to meet his eyes.

Her lips a breath away.

He couldn't help himself. He caught her jaw in one hand, held her still as he kissed the mouth she gave him—shuddered in barely restrained need as she opened her lips and invited him in.

This was somewhat out of his league. He could admit that. The women he'd casually dated were the self-sufficient kind. The worst things they ever had to deal with was a broken shoe. Which Kat had already suffered, and then some.

He hadn't asked her about her salon. Not even when he'd screwed her senseless against the side of it.

Regret touched his usually unassailable libido.

Adam let her go, easing his mouth away with a sigh. "You smell like smoke," he said softly.

The skin around her eyes flinched.

_Smooth._ He nudged her to the bathroom. "Let's take care of that."

# 9

Six hours ago, if Adam had called her up and said, "I have an idea, let's turn my gorgeously appointed bathroom into a mini-spa for your exclusive use, and I'll even wash your hair," Kat would have laughed herself into fits.

Now, as she sank deeper into the rich, foamy lather of bubbles and let Adam's strong fingers drag over her scalp, smooth away knots built on knots, she could only sigh in sheer bliss.

He sat on the porcelain edge, his slacks rolled up to his knees like some kind of business-class cabana boy, and bracketed her shoulders with his calves. The hair on his legs rasped pleasantly against her wet skin.

The firm way he rubbed her scalp sent tingles from crown to toes, and then shot them right back up to hover pleasantly between her thighs.

This. Felt. Marvelous.

The candles he'd lit, the lights he'd turned dim, even the murmuring sounds of encouragement he made as he coaxed her head to one side was enough to make her forget, or at least bury, her problems for a while.

Well, she didn't cry, anyway.

Without opening her eyes, she reached out a bubble-covered hand.

The cool edges of a glass slipped into her grasp. "Madam," he intoned, the very epitome of a movie star butler.

She giggled against the rim before she remembered that high-class women probably didn't blow bubbles into their expensive wines.

She took a swallow. Rich, fruity. That was about all she knew about wine. Oh, and red.

He took the glass back, set it down on the ledge beside him, and murmured, "Head back."

Kat obeyed, leaning back on her elbows. Adam's breath caught. Then, with a muttered word, he eased his hand beneath her head and cradled it while he rinsed the suds from her hair.

She cracked open an eye to find the bubbles had parted in front of her, baring a gleaming vee of pale skin. Her self tanner had faded, but Adam didn't seem to mind, if the way his eyes fixed on her bare skin was any indication.

Her mouth tilted up.

Before he could issue his next command, she turned over in the tub, sloshing water up the sides—splattering his slacks. "Hey," he began, then strangled on it as she pushed herself up onto her knees.

Frothy white bubbles skimmed down her body. Iridescent soap shone in the candlelight.

She felt sexy. Unstoppable.

A shade desperate, but her distractions were few and far between, and she wanted as much of this one as she could get.

Adam went still on the ledge, his feet braced on the tub floor like he'd push up and run away any second.

Or maybe shove her over the edge of it, pin her there and rock her world—and maybe the claw-foot tub, too.

The thought turned the tingling heat she'd reveled in to sparklers of anticipation.

She licked her lips. "Hi."

"Hi," he replied hoarsely. "You're beautiful, Kat."

She grinned. "Would it be really weird of me to say that you are, too?"

One dark eyebrow climbed. "I'll have you know that I'm masculine," he said, but his airy bravado rasped. "I'm the epitome of handsome, distinguished. Possibly," he added, mouth twitching, "gorgeous. I am _not_ beautiful."

"Details." She caught the edge of the tub in both hands, just on the inside of his thighs. His still clothed thighs.

Mildly damp thighs.

Her lips pursed. "I know for a fact there's a part of you that's beautiful."

He laughed hoarsely. "I guess that's _a_ word for it."

"Mm." Slowly, shedding bubbles, she flattened a hand on one thigh. Then the other.

The material soaked up the water clinging to her skin.

Adam's shoulders tightened. "Is this a thing where you're looking for a distraction?"

She edged closer. Soap slipped off her breasts, eased down her arms. The muscles under her hands clenched. "What if it is?"

"No problems here." His simmering stare tracked a large blob of white foam as it slid down her chest. Caught on her nipple and clung. "I'm feeling kind of jealous of soap right now."

"Oh, poor baby," she crooned, earning a sudden twitch of his eyebrow. His mouth, caught between a cringe and a smile, twisted. Then sealed when she closed the final space between them.

Her breasts, wet and slick, leaned into his shirt, soaked it. The heat of his skin seared through the material. One hand spanned the small of her back.

The other caught the back of her wet hair and held her still for his kiss—and it wasn't much of a nice boy kiss. Exactly the way she liked it. He fused his mouth with hers, a low sound in his chest ratcheting her playful teasing into something sharper, harder.

The water sloshed around her waist as she leaned into him, licked her way along his bottom lip and slipped into his mouth. His tongue touched hers, flicked and came back for more. She shivered.

Adam drew back. "Stay," he said firmly.

She muffled a surprised laugh. "I'm not a dog."

"I feel like one," he shot back, leaning away from her. He stepped out of the tub, stripped out of his shirt. His skin was suntanned, probably more naturally than her methods. A sprinkling of light brown hair spread over his pectorals, arrowed down to a fine line that she couldn't help but trace with her eyes.

Her imagination.

If she licked that path all the way down, she knew what she'd find—knew intimately what he tasted like.

She hummed a low note of approval. Folding her arms on the ledge, she rested her chin on her forearms to watch him strip.

His fingers hesitated over the waistband. "Can I help you?"

Kat couldn't help _herself_. But oh, God, could he help her. Her stomach fluttered, hope and longing and visceral pleasure, and her lips stretched into a hungry smile. "Yup."

His gaze seared into hers.

She loved his eye color. In daylight, it made her think of warm things—chocolate and the color of a dappled horse and other happy-inducing things. In here, in the humidity of the bath and the glow of the candled, his eyes looked like pure gold. Like sex and heat and promise.

When she didn't look away, his hands moved. Slowly, deliberately, they pulled his belt-buckle loose, tugged his belt free. He dropped it beside the soaking wet shirt he'd discarded like it wasn't expensive.

Her gaze followed the coil of black leather. Also expensive.

Everything in this bathroom spoke of money. Tasteful, elegant, and understated. She didn't belong here. Adam Laramie wasn't her world.

But here she was, about to have him in her arms. About to let him into her body.

A shiver raced down her spine.

When the faint pop of a button echoed in the huge bathroom, her eyes snapped back to him. To his waist, the muscles there delineated by every breath. No matter what he said, his body was beautiful. Trim at the waist, sculpted to perfection.

His slacks parted. Eased down his hips. He'd hooked black cotton with them, peeling it all off in one go.

Yeah. That trail of hair went all the way down, to the gorgeous shape of his erection. She just couldn't get enough.

He kicked his clothing aside and prowled to the edge of the tub. His finger jutted out into a hard point. "Sit," he said tightly.

She wriggled. "Or?"

"Or I bend you over this porcelain and make you scream," he said softly.

Not much of a stick. Hell of a carrot. She smiled slow and wicked.

"Sit," he said again, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl.

Curiosity drove her to obey. Well, that and the simmering arousal every command plucked in her belly, between her legs. Like he had a dial right in to her nervous system and knew how to make it thrum.

She stood. Water and soap slid down her skin.

So did his gaze.

"God," he rasped, and his eyes narrowed. "Kat."

She sat. The porcelain was cold under her butt, hard against her thighs.

He stepped into the water. Sank down to his knees. She stifled a moan of protest as the froth slipped over him, hiding his thighs, his erection, from her view. As she had to him, he edged between her knees.

But he didn't stop at flirting.

Adam's hands spanned her thighs, one in each palm. Cradling her gently, he loomed over her, caught her lips in a kiss that didn't linger. "Thank you," he breathed against her mouth.

She tried for a casual 'don't mention it', but couldn't get past the first syllable.

Not when his mouth touched her jaw. Slid over her neck. Nipped once, then licked a path to her clavicle. He ran his tongue over the fragile bones there, dipped into the hollow of her throat and tasted her suddenly pounding pulse.

She gasped.

His fingers splayed over her the outside of her thighs. Held her in place as he kissed the slope of her breast.

Her head fell back.

Adam flicked her nipple with his tongue. Caught it gently between his teeth and rolled his tongue over the sensitive flesh. She jumped, breath catching, a broken moan cracking as she laced her fingers in his hair.

"Oh, God," she managed. Barely. The feel of his lips around her nipple, the rasp of his five o'clock shadow sent pinpricks of light through her nerves. Slipped like a drug into her bloodstream and curled languid feelers through her body.

His hands refused to move. They held her legs, cradled her gently, but she shifted, and they tightened, held her still.

She arched her back.

Adam obeyed her silent demand, opened his mouth and took as much of her breast into it as he could. Her body pulsed like a live wire.

As he turned his attentions to the other, her hips shifted. Tilted subtly, silently pleading. One arm cradled his head, held him to her flesh, and Kat's breath shortened to panting gasps as his abdomen rubbed against her sex.

She closed her eyes.

"Good girl," he murmured against her skin. She shuddered. "Stay there." He licked her navel. Paused over her shuddering belly and kissed her damp skin.

She held her breath.

The water sloshed in the tub, slapped against the porcelain as he shifted lower. As his mouth touched the skin she'd shaved bare again that morning. He breathed out.

Kat grabbed the edge of the tub, her eyes flying open.

His hands finally moved, slid up her thighs to cradle her hips. Holding her still, he met her gaze, gave her a smile made of sin, and dragged his tongue through the wet heat of her body.

Her elbows wobbled.

The water splashed, bubbles erupting into the air as Adam wrapped both arms around her legs, trapped her in place, and delved deeper into her body. Nuzzled the overly sensitized bead of her clit, and licked her like she was his dessert and _screw_ dinner.

Or maybe she was dinner, too.

Kat's laugh broke on a sob as he tightened one arm around her, freed the other to slide two fingers into her body. His tongue flicked her clit, his breath fanned over her wet, swollen flesh, and her hips tilted in response. Writhed.

She rode his fingers like she wanted to ride his cock and he ignored her breathy cries, her wordless pleading, ignored the hand she wrapped in his hair and tugged with. Her body tightened around his fingers, opened for his mouth, until her thighs were wide and straining and she slammed both hands back on the porcelain before she fell off it.

Her body stretched, tightened, thrummed like a, God, like a song, like a spring, like everything that promised untold violence at the end of an aching spiral. "Please!" she gasped.

Adam's mouth left her. His fingers crooked, dragged over her wet flesh, and she let out a long, shuddering breath that did nothing for her tension.

He rose above her, stumbled out of the bathtub. "Shit," he growled, knelt to fumble with his discarded pants.

Condom. She laughed as he found it, tore it so far in half the rubber spilled into his hand.

He didn't even bother with gracious. Who needed it? He rolled the condom over his straining erection, snatched her off the edge of the tub and pulled her over his lap. Suddenly, she was straddling his naked lap, inches away from slamming his cock into her body.

And then she wasn't even that.

He filled her in one thrust, hands hard at her waist, shoulders straining under her arms. The sound he made was something between a groan and a guttural growl of approval, and she wasn't any better, crying out with so much relief and pleasure and _want_ that he lifted her by the waist and pulled her down hard again.

The way his erection naturally curved rasped the head of him across a spot that left her keening in seconds, panting for breath, sweaty and needy. "More," she breathed. "More, Adam, more!"

He didn't seem to care that she couldn't say anything else. She wanted to, wanted to tell him how much she loved his cock, how much he made her feel, how fucking amazing he was, but all she could pant was, "More."

He gave her more. Jaw tense, mouth shaped to a hard line, he guided her hips against his, took her weight and helped her ride him until cords popped in his neck from the strain and his eyes blazed with intensity she couldn't hide from.

Kat framed his face, sliding herself along him, reveling in the sound of flesh slapping against flesh as it echoed in the bathroom. She caught his mouth in a kiss that mingled their breath, their sweat; he swallowed her rising wail as her orgasm crested sharp and sweet and sudden. His arms banded around her, locked her hard against his shaft.

Everything she'd wanted to hide—all the feelings she'd buried for five years, masked behind ice cream and teasing and her so sassy façade—welled up inside her. He threw his head back on a strangled grunt.

Her body, her whole being, unraveled around him.

"Adam." She buried her face in the sweat-damp skin of his neck and couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. "I love you."

Adam cradled the back of her neck in one large hand, swallowing hard as her words reverberated in the bathroom—in his head. _I love you._

He shuddered against her, eyes closing as he fought to regain his breath.

It wasn't the first time he'd heard the words, not even the first time they'd come at him on the heels of sweat-slicked satisfaction. He'd heard them purred, gasped, said seriously over morning coffee—that one had been the worst.

Words were cheap.

Adam splayed a hand across her slick back, his thumb tucked against the edge of one shoulder blade, and couldn't get a grip on himself.

Three little words.

They lodged somewhere in his chest, sharp and hot and tight.

What the hell just happened?

His heart thudded as Kat sank against his chest. Her head tucked under his chin, and she inhaled deeply. "Wow," she exhaled, slow and sultry. "Just wow."

"Yeah." Adam rested his cheek against her hair. It was starting to dry. Strands clung to his lips and jaw.

One hand flattened against his abs. His muscles clenched. "Hey, Kat?"

"Mm?" Her lips brushed against his skin.

He eased out a slow, torturous breath. "One thing."

"What's that?"

"My ass is going numb on this ledge."

"My thighs are sympathizing with your very, very nice ass." Straightening, she hooked her hands around his neck. "Where to?"

Adam's gaze followed a bead of water as it slid over her collar bone. Traced the slope of one perfect breast.

The flesh still buried inside her stirred.

Her eyes flared.

"Executive decision," Adam announced. He wrapped an arm under her hips and lifted her, standing up in the cooling water.

She gasped. "Again?"

"Again," he repeated huskily. He stepped over the porcelain rim, sucked back a groan when her legs locked around his waist. Drew him tighter inside her. For a second, he saw stars. "And then again. Maybe until dawn." He couldn't stop, couldn't lock back whatever it was that felt like he was freaking _giddy_. "No, you know what? Stay for breakfast."

She chuckled, a velvety sound that stroked him from forehead to dick to heels and back again.

Jesus. What was wrong with him? Breakfast?

She twisted in his arms, laughed when he scraped his arm against the doorframe. "Have you learned to make breakfast?"

"Toast." His palm spread over the curve of her ass. "Eggs, maybe. Coffee, for sure."

Her breasts dragged against his chest. "Sounds delicious."

He rasped out a distracted, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, and splaying both hands on either side of his face, Kat pressed her mouth to his. They fell into bed together. Pillows scattered. She grabbed two fistfuls of the dark purple bedspread and arched as he drove himself deeper inside her.

# 10

Figured. Kat's first Walk of Shame was a Drive of Shame, and her one-night-stand was behind the wheel.

And not so much a one-night-stand.

Adam held onto the wheel, even though the car had stopped outside her house. The curtains were all drawn, but that didn't mean much. Her mom would live in a cave and complain there wasn't enough sun.

"So."

Kat's heart jumped at the sudden syllable. He'd been remarkably quiet the whole drive. "So," she echoed.

They'd woken up too late for breakfast. No, wait. Kat hid her face behind the shield of her hand as a blush suffused her cheeks. They'd woken up with plenty of time, but instead of eggs and toast she'd climbed on top of him and—

"I want to see you again."

"Sorry, what?" she said, blinking rapidly. Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. "That came out wrong."

"Smooth," he agreed. He turned his head to look at her, his eyes curiously intense. "No games, Kat. No cons."

She sat up straighter. "I'm not—"

Adam let go of the wheel to curl one hand around the back of her head. His fingers dug in gently, and shivers rippled down her back.

So close. Trapped in a car with the guy she'd wanted to scam so long ago. It was so familiar, like déjà vu, and yet, everything about this felt different.

Scamming him was the farthest thing from her mind.

Licking him? Now that was way closer.

"Let me see you again," he said, a low command.

Like he had to order her to see him again, just in case she got the idea to run off again.

Yeah. She got that. Kat leaned into his hand. "Okay," she said.

"I know there's a lot of stuff to talk about," he said quickly, in the tone of solemn agreement. "But I think that if you just let me—" She watched his mouth move, bit back her laughter as he hesitated. "What? Okay?"

"Okay," she repeated. She braced a hand against his knee and leaned in. "I'll see you again."

His smile started slow. His other hand finally came off the wheel and caught her face between both of his palms, framing her so gently that she couldn't help but catch her breath as he pulled her in for a kiss. It was so deep, so slow and sweet, that it kicked her heart all the way to happy land.

His lips rubbed against hers, his tongue dipped inside her mouth. Too intense to be flirty.

She tasted the same toothpaste on his breath that she'd used—he'd had an extra toothbrush for her. One of those electric ones that cost a small fortune.

Come to think of it, it was still in his bathroom.

Would he hang onto it for her?

Happiness swept over her. "Okay," she said breathily. A broken record.

"Okay," he repeated. He didn't seem all that better.

"I have to go."

"Yeah," he said, but he didn't let go of her. Instead, he leaned across the narrow car and kissed her again.

Licked her lower lip.

She moaned and pushed him away, fumbling for the door latch. "Seriously."

"Yeah." Adam blew out a hard sigh as he thumbed the electronic release. The door popped open. "Yeah, I'll call you."

Kat clambered out before he grabbed her again; her body thrummed so tightly, she wasn't sure she wouldn't jump him right here in front of her house. Catching her balance on the hood, she bent to smile at him. "Will you?"

He grabbed the wheel again, like somehow it'd save him. Or her. "I have some work to do," he admitted. "Huge meetings coming up. That old bastard you met earlier has my number. But..." His gaze snapped. "I will call you once it's over. Wait for me."

"I will." She shut the door.

Adam tabbed the window switch, and it hummed as it rolled itself down. He bent across the interior, grabbed the window ledge to look up at her. "Kat?"

If she could bottle that look in his eye, God, she'd have a retinue of extremely satisfied women. Her chest squeezed so hard, she backed away from the car, raised her hands in warding. "Go home," she laughed. "Before we do something really inappropriate."

He dragged a hand over his hair, messing it up from its already rumpled style. His mouth twisted into a wry line. "Yeah." Carefully, he straightened in his seat, buckled up again.

Kat raised a hand. "Talk to you soon."

Adam waved back.

But he didn't meet her eyes.

She watched as his luxury car eased away from the curb and down the street, flanked by parked vehicles that only made his look all the more expensive for it.

Talk about mixed signals.

Was he happy with her?

Did she scare him away?

The kiss in the car reassured her some, but then, he wouldn't actually look at her as he drove away—and maybe that was just because he was behind the wheel, but it's not as if he was actually driving and— _Oh, God._ She'd told him she loved him.

She hadn't meant to. It was too soon. _Nothing_ about her life was where she intended it to be when she'd planned all this.

Did she royally mess this one up?

Kat crouched where she was, burying her face in her hands. Her heart wouldn't stop kicking.

"Whoa." Nadine's voice drifted from the front stoop.

Kat's head whipped up to find her friend leaning against the rusted metal railing, her eyes huge.

"Dude," she said, wonder shaping the stretched vowels. "I came as soon as I heard about the shop, but... Was that Adam freaking _Laramie_?"

Kat burst into tears.

"Oh," her friend squeaked, and hurried down the steps. "My bad!"

Torn between comforting Kat and picking her brain for every last juicy detail about Sulla Valley's most eligible billionaire bachelor, Nadine raked her over the coals the way only a friend could.

Safely inside, over sale blend coffee, Kat explained how they'd met at the party. How they'd gone on a date.

Nadine dropped her forehead against her folded arms. "And here I was worrying that you wouldn't make any friends."

"Thanks a lot," Kat said wryly.

Fierce blue eyes peered up at her. "Is he good?"

She blinked. "What?"

"You know." Nadine sat up, leaning as far forward as the kitchen table let her. "Does he rock your world? Is he super hot? Does he make you drip with maidenly lust?"

Kat laughed, slapping a hand over her eyes as her cheeks heated. "Maidenly isn't the issue."

"Ah." Nadine hummed a knowing note. "He makes you scream like a jungle cat, huh?"

"Oh, my God."

"Pant like a—"

"Stop," Kat laughed.

"I'm just saying," her friend concluded with a satisfied smile. "You like him."

Yeah. And that was the problem. What was she supposed to do now that she'd revealed how _much_ she liked him?

How was she supposed to pretend like she belonged in his world?

"Hey, Kat?" Nadine's voice gentled. "Is everything okay?"

Oh, no. It was _that voice._ That tone that people got when they sensed something wasn't quite right about Kat's family, about her identity, about her life. It was concern and curiosity and prepared sympathy.

She slipped into that smile that her dad ingrained into her and hoped it was enough. "Oh, you know," she said airily. "My salon burned down and I may or may not be dating a billionaire bachelor, but hey."

Her friend reached across the table and covered Kat's hand with hers. "If you ever need to talk?"

"I know." She grinned. "But you just want to know all the dirty bits."

"I _so_ need to know the dirty bits," Nadine replied, eyes sparkling. "Is he into kinky stuff? Weird billionaire domination things?"

Kat laughed outright, but somewhere in the back of her head, she apologized to the girl who had so generously accepted her at face value.

Nadine had never asked about Kat's past. Never pried into her affairs. She'd simply gone with the flow. She'd never hinted that Kat didn't fit into the world of the social elite.

Kat didn't want to break that flow. Didn't want to explain how badly things had gone, how much worse they actually were. That she had no salon, no money to fix what burned, a debt looming over her head, and no more brilliant ideas.

Shame was burning a hole inside her that she couldn't admit to. So she teased Nadine, drank her coffee, and pretended like it didn't matter.

It got harder when eight days passed without a call.

Eight. Freaking. Days.

Kat understood busy. She'd gotten busy, too. Thanks in no small part to Nadine's efforts, Kat had scored a few clients to help take some of the strain off. Kira had wanted help with her color, and one of the matrons Kat dimly recalled from that event had requested her services.

Slowly, Kat was building a client list.

The fact that she had to wait for the insurance company to clear her fire insurance claim stung, but not so badly as long as she could make house-calls until then.

The insurance money would defray the costs of the salon. It was a setback, a small delay, but not impossible.

What was _impossible_ was Adam's inability to call for eight freaking days.

Kat slung her kit into the passenger seat of her car, flopped into her own seat, and then promptly felt bad about it. Carefully, she arranged her styling kit into what she figured was a safer position.

The tools in that kit were her livelihood. She shouldn't take it out on them.

Then she folded her arms over the steering wheel and buried her face in them.

"Stupid Adam Laramie. Stupid phone. Stupid _me_ ," she added on a groan. What was she, a teenager? She could call him just as easily as he could call her.

Or not so easy, given the fact neither had done it.

Everything about her life had become a waiting game.

She was waiting for the insurance company to push her claim through.

Waiting for her mother to stop throwing herself around like this was the end of the world.

Waiting for Adam to call.

Waiting for her life to _start_.

All she needed was her salon. Her place. He claim to legitimacy.

But she couldn't bring on a partner when it was so much smoke and ruin. Well, she _could_. It wouldn't be that hard, but she'd feel like she was selling her would-be partner a bridge in Brooklyn, and she didn't want to start a business relationship like that.

And then to hide that she owed money to loan sharks? Or should she admit it up front?

Neither of those represented a sound business investment.

And for the last three days, Kat had gone through her routine feeling like something had wrapped around her neck.

Like a noose.

Or her mom's emotional grip as she'd come home to progressively more hysterical antics.

Kat sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. A glance at her phone told her it was past three and her mother had texted fifteen times.

Varying shades of _the world is ending._

She didn't check all of them. She simply put her phone down next to her kit and drove home.

Barbara Harris was enough to drive a sane man to drink, and God knew Jack Harris had liked to drink. Despite his obsessive hobbies, he'd been fairly sane. Risky, but sane.

The weirdest thing he'd ever done was cut them off when he went to jail. But then, she kind of got that.

Her dad was a man who stood under his own power—even if that power was to divest others of their money. Maybe he didn't want them to see him in jail.

Maybe he didn't want to be reminded of the life they lived while he sat behind bars.

She didn't know. Barbara didn't talk about it. Just like they didn't talk about Jackie. Out of sight, out of mind.

As families went, she could have gone for something easier.

The gorgeous weather dimmed today. Seemed right for a Monday. The clouds hung low and gray, packing in as much humidity as the air could take, but it didn't cool. It just clung, thick and soupy, and smoldered.

The air conditioner had long since given up in the little car, so she drove with the window down and the crackling speakers rocking out. The wind in her pigtailed hair cooled the worst of the humidity, made her feel like some the pressure had been lifted.

By the time she turned onto her street, she was singing with the music. Her pay from Mrs. Johnstone was in her pocket. With her previous earnings, that made all of rent for the month, and a few bills.

Maybe she'd celebrate with tacos for dinner. Cheap and easy. Her mom liked tacos, especially with a little extra guacamole on them.

Probably the only food she'd ever seen Barbara eat with her fingers.

The front door opened as Kat pulled into the driveway. She shut the engine off, climbed out as flapping pile of letters fluttered over the narrow strip of yard.

Kat hesitated when a man stepped off the stoop, his hands in his denim pockets and boots treading over the discarded paper.

The door slammed behind him.

His gaze settled on Kat. The surfer guy. What was his name? Lucas something. His teeth flashed in his permanently scruffy but chiseled jaw. Nadine would probably like his type, if he didn't fall into her baby blues first.

She sighed. "I take it you met my mother."

"Nice broad." His eyes trailed over her outfit. "I can see where you get your spine." She'd gone casual chic, today, in a pair of white capris and a blousy pink halter. There was nothing overtly sexy about it, but his eyebrow hiked in what she supposed passed for smoldering in his world.

Not in this lifetime.

"If you're done," she said coolly, "you can leave now." She stepped aside for him, one wedge heel wobbling on the uneven grass.

He stepped to the same side.

Kat automatically moved to the other side, but he flanked her there too.

Her stomach pitched. He was much taller than she was. Lean, but confident.

A loan shark. That meant he was meaner than her, on principle.

"You know why I'm here," he said. Five words, but drawled so lazily a bystander would never imagine they carried such threat.

Kat understood. "Look," she said tightly, fingers clamped over her kit and phone. "I know you want your money, but you have to understand that there's things in the works. My salon has to open—"

"Yeah?" He whistled, rubbing the back of his hand across one scruffy cheek. "Heard that burned. Shameful."

She froze. The ice in her chest congealed to raw fury. "You son of a bitch."

"Whoa, now, little girl." He backed up a step, spreading his hands in unarmed goodwill. "Don't go getting any ideas. You told us you'd get money out of it, we're men of good faith. Why would we burn something guaranteed to give us our money?"

Kat trembled in place, but she couldn't fault the logic. Whatever else happened, people always wanted their money.

Which left her with a serious problem.

She stepped out of his way, relieved when he didn't follow her this time. "Look," she said quietly, "I am well-aware that you guys mean business, but you can't take what we don't have. Just give us a little more time, please?"

He tipped back his head, like a rich man inspecting the staff. His nostrils flared with his exhale. "How much?"

She glanced at the front window. The curtains hadn't twitched.

She was sure her mom was fine. Angry, no doubt, like a society queen whose authority had been questioned, but fine. She wouldn't have thrown out the papers if she'd been anything else.

The Harris family temper was slow, but hot.

Kat shook her head. "We're waiting for the fire insurance to come through. I can pay you a deposit from that."

"What, a few weeks?"

"Or as short as a few days," she said. It galled, but she had no choice. "Please."

He sighed again, a dramatic sound. "I'm a nice guy, Ms. Harris. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank—"

"Don't thank me," he cut in, a sheepish shake of his head masking his features as he walked by her. "Johnny's the one I gotta convince. Next step's to go after the cars. Jewelry. Whatever you've got."

Kat didn't argue. He walked away with that final warning, hands in his roughened denim pockets and whistling a country song she recognized. If he drove, his car wasn't nearby.

Knees shaking, she bent to collect the papers in the yard. The narrow strip of grass was dry, already browning in spots. She'd have to water it before the heat bleached it yellow.

By the time she collected the last piece, the loan shark was gone. She collapsed on the front step, braced her forehead against her clenched fists and didn't know whether to swear or hold her breath or cry.

The door opened behind her. "Katherine, are you going to sit out there all day?" The peevish inquiry didn't help.

The glass of wine with ice cubes in it did.

Barbara set it down beside Kat's foot, and settled to the stair beside her with a sigh. Her flowing skirt draped artfully to one side, trailing flowers down the cement.

Kat took the wine. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Oh, yes." She waved a folded paper at the yard. "I'm much too confident to let a punk like that scare me."

Kat's lips twitched. "You sound like a movie."

"As it should be, sweetie." Barbara's shoulder rested against hers. For a long moment, they both watched the quiet street. Not a lot of traffic in this neighborhood. Kids were in school or playing somewhere.

It was a quiet, shabby street.

She kind of liked it.

She sipped at her wine as her mother took what Kat instinctively knew was a preamble breath. She swallowed hastily. Just in case.

"I hate to be the bearer of more bad news," her mother began.

Kat's laugh cracked on a harsh note. She waved it away before it devolved to something worse. "Sorry," she managed. "It's okay. What's wrong now?"

Barbara eyed her thoughtfully. "It can wait." Then, before Kat could protest, she added, "Well, maybe not. Here, this came today." She handed over the tri-folded paper.

Kat took another fortifying drink of her fruity wine and set the glass down between them. She took the paper, heart in her mouth, and unfolded it.

The letterhead belonged to the insurance company.

The denial of benefits inside it stole what was left of her hope.

"Arson?" she squeaked.

Barbara nodded solemnly. "I looked it up on the internet. When they think that there's arson involved they won't cover it until the arsonist is caught."

The paper trembled in her hand. "But why?"

"Because if you're the arsonist," her mother explained, "you'd make off with the money. And if they never caught you, that company would be out of the money, see?"

"No, Mom, thanks," Kat said shortly. She thrust the paper at her. "I mean why would someone burn my salon down? I don't understand it."

"Delinquents, probably." Barbara took the paper. "Kids these days. Little vandals, all of them." She sighed. "It's awful, really. Arson cases can go years without closure." She patted Kat on the arm. "I read that, too."

She couldn't deal with this. Everything she'd come to Sulla Valley to achieve had gone south—everything except Adam. When would _that_ shoe drop?

Her shoulders shook as she dropped her face against her knees.

"There, there," Barbara said, rubbing her back. "It's okay, sweetie. Don't you always say it'll be fine?"

"That was when we had options," she said against her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Mom, they're going to take everything we own! What are we supposed to do?"

"They can't," Barbara said.

Kat scoffed. "Do you know what they'll do if we don't just hand it over?"

Her mother sighed again, rubbed Kat's back in slow circles. "It could be worse. They could burn the house down with us in it."

"Mom!"

"Well, it's just a theory," Barbara replied, unmoved. "We have to look at all our options left."

"There _aren't_ any," Kat said. She squeezed her eyes closed until sparklers went off behind them. "We're screwed."

"Katherine."

"Well, we are."

Barbara's hand stopped, flat on her back. "Sweetie, what about your boyfriend?"

Kat froze. Suddenly grateful for the fact she covered her face, she asked, "How do you know about him?"

"I answered your phone the night of the fire," she replied lightly. "How do you think he found you?"

Adam hadn't said.

Kat sat up, her mouth set into a flat line. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Are you sure?" Barbara's eyes widened. "He seemed so nice on the phone. I've been hoping you'd bring him by so I can meet him."

When hell froze.

Kat searched her mom's face, her innocent stare, for any sign of a con, but all she saw was mild confusion and worry. Her shoulders slumped. "I can't ask him to help me with this. It's a lot of money."

"No, sweetie." Barbara bumped her with a shoulder. "Just let him know what's going on. You may need a place to stay for a little while. It's a little early in the relationship, I admit," she added with a half-smile, "but Lord knows I moved in with your father in a matter of months."

This wasn't the same situation. It wasn't even close. Unless money was involved then, and somehow, Kat wouldn't put it past either of them.

She looked at the letter in her mom's hand.

Her gaze sharpened on swollen discoloration turning livid on her mom's forearm. Her breath caught. "Mom!"

"Hm?" Barbara followed her daughter's stare, then smiled wryly and tried to hide the mark against her stomach. "Oh, don't worry—"

"Did that asshole do this?" Kat took her mom's arm in both hands and stretched it out, running a thumb along the discolored line. It was longer than a fingerprint, but knotted underneath the swelling. "We should take you into the doctor."

Barbara's voice trembled a little. "No, it's not that bad. I just caught myself on the door, that's all."

Kat's teeth ground. "He tried to force his way inside, didn't he?" When her mother's gaze slanted away, her heart pitched hard. "Jesus, Mom, you should have called for help!"

"Oh, it's fine," Barbara said, pulling her arm away. "I'll just put some ice on it and take some aspirin."

No, it wasn't fine. 'Men of good faith', her ass.

To think he'd sauntered out of here like he'd only stopped for a drink. That low-down, dirty son of a bitch. Fury radiated through Kat—and on its heels, regret so sharp, she had to flatten a hand on her chest to remember to breathe.

She couldn't even imagine how frightened her mom had been.

Kat stood, wiping off the seat of her pants. "Go inside. Lock the doors, this time," she added firmly.

"What?" Barbara tipped her head, cradling her arm against her chest. "Where are you going, sweetie? Not the police?"

What could they do? A bunch of loan sharks grifting a pair of ex-grifters? They'd laugh her out of the station.

Kat shook her head. "I'll be back soon. Just stay inside and don't open the door for anyone except me, okay?"

"Kitty, really," her mom sighed. "You're making such a fuss."

No, she wasn't. In fact, she was going to do the exact opposite of that.

This fight was bigger than she was. She had to accept this.

Even if it cost her the last of her pride.

The car was still warm as she slid inside the driver's seat. Should she call? She reached for her phone, but Kat pictured Adam's face when she called to schedule an appointment and didn't think that would go over well.

He'd want details.

She couldn't share them on the phone. This was a face-to-face situation.

This was... God, she hadn't wanted this.

_I want to see you again._

The way he'd said those words, the way his voice had hardened to something just shy of an order, firmed her resolve.

He'd said he was getting busy. She trusted him. He'd call when his big meetings were over, but she couldn't wait that long.

Kat pulled out of the cracked driveway as her mother waved from the patio.

The next visit might end in something worse. Blood or tears or even—

Even an accident.

God, she was so stupid for trusting that shark of a man. Even a little. The bruise on her mom's arm didn't lie. The Harrises were so far over their heads, no con could help them now.

But that was the point, wasn't it? Kat wasn't after a scam.

Still, as she drove across Sulla Valley and into the business district, her heart wound tighter and tighter in her chest.

This wasn't what she wanted.

But what else could she do?

# 11

The first few days hadn't been that much of a problem. Adam had spent every waking hour embroiled in plans, strategic meetings about current projects, ongoing projects and future projects, and in crash sessions with Jordan and his father. The final vote would come soon.

Too soon.

Everything rode on his ability to impress the board—and most specifically, the board chairman. He had to proceed like his life wasn't upside down.

The past few days, though, was like having an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn't scratch. No matter how much he distracted himself.

He wanted her.

Worse, he wanted to just call her and hear her voice, to ask her about her day. He wanted to check and see that she was okay. That she'd picked up the pieces of her salon and taken care of all the details.

The fact that Adam wanted to swoop down and handle it all himself didn't help.

Kat wouldn't like that.

So every time he looked up from his work to reach for the phone, he talked himself out of it. It was too late at night. She'd be busy. He didn't have any time to devote to the call, and it wasn't fair to her.

Or to himself.

Because he didn't want to stop at just one call.

So when Kat came through his office door, Adam immediately stood up, relief and want and straight-up volatile domination hard on his mind. She looked bright and fresh and sunny in her pink and white outfit, and the wide headband holding her bangs casually off her face only made him want to tug it from her head and spear his fingers through her short waves.

The urge to claim her, grab her off her feet and hide them both away in some bat cave somewhere rode the caveman part of his mind.

He flattened his hands on the desk before he did something stupid.

Although having already bent her over his desk once, he wasn't sure how much more stupid he could get.

"Hey," he said. It croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry I haven't called."

This time, she didn't wear a raincoat. Although his heart probably couldn't handle it if she had, much less his reputation. She still liked her tall shoes.

Which worked out, because he did, too.

God, her legs.

His brain flashed to an image of those thighs wrapped around his hips and Adam sat back down before his immediate hard-on completely ruined the moment.

Kat's smile strained. "Hey. I'm sorry for interrupting."

"No, it's a good time." He gestured to the chair, one of two situated across from his. "How's everything working out?"

She sat, her hands clenched between her knees.

Adam's smile faded. "Kat? What's wrong?"

Her shoulders went tight beneath her frilly pink shirt. "Listen, I know you've been busy..."

Oh, Christ. Here it was. Adam braced himself.

"I don't mean to be a problem," Kat said softly, staring at his desk. "I...You know how much I like you."

"Holy shit." The words slipped out before Adam could stop himself. Her gaze jerked to his, clouded with so much misery that his chest squeezed in abject sympathy. "Whatever this is," he said, "can we talk about it tonight? My time is tight right now, but it won't always—"

"No," she cut in, raising her hands. "No, that's not— I mean, it's okay. I know you're really busy, you told me." She sucked in a shaking breath.

He needed to be nearer.

Getting any closer might just kill him.

He rounded his desk anyway, leaned against it. His knee nudged hers. "Just tell me."

She clasped her hands between her thighs, tight enough that her knuckles turned white. Whatever this was, it wasn't easy.

The first whisper of doubt curled inside his heart. "Kat?"

"It's my mom," she blurted.

Adam frowned. "Is she okay? Does she need a doctor?"

"What?" She shook her head jerkily. "No, she's okay. I mean, it's just a bruise and I—" She closed her eyes. "That's not what I mean. It's... money."

That doubt sliced a thin line through him. Adam went still. "What do you mean?"

"Twenty thousand," she said, staring at his chest. Not his face. Not his eyes. His tie. "We owe twenty thousand, and they're going to take everything we own, and I don't know what else to do. Is that..." She took a shaking breath, "Is that offer of a loan still open?" Her wide lower lip quivered, but she didn't cry.

No, crying would be overkill, wouldn't it?

That line carved through his chest bled. _I want to know everything about you._ How many times had he said it?

Too late to be careful what he wished for.

"I see," he said. How did he manage to sound so calm?

_Oh._ Right. Because this was old news. He wasn't even surprised.

No, that was a lie. He _was_ surprised. After all that crap about going legit, about not wanting his money, he'd bought it. Even after offering her money outright, he'd accepted it when she refused.

Of course it was a scam. A contrived _reason_ to force him to give her whatever she wanted. The only question he hadn't asked himself was _how_. She'd already tried getting under his skin as a flashy blonde, but this sunny, new Kat with her red-streaked sable hair and dreams of a salon and—

_Shit_. She'd played him since day one.

Was there even a salon to begin with? Was that even her place, or had she just assumed he wouldn't check?

Adam remembered the folder he'd thrown away and wanted to laugh. God, he was such a fool.

There wasn't anything new about _this_.

Something cold and hard lodged in his chest. Somewhere around his heart. _End it,_ his brain insisted, and Adam's arms unfolded, his palms braced against his desk. _End this before it gets worse._

But as he studied her heart-shaped face tilted just far enough that she couldn't hide the tinge of red at her cheeks, as he traced the way her airy blouse clung to the curve of her breast over her tightly folded arms, all-new words sprang to his lips.

"This is not a problem."

The words earned him a startled, wide-eyed stare. Or maybe it was his tone, cool and unruffled. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed. "It isn't?"

"It's not." A vise had clamped around his chest. How was he breathing? Talking?

Saying things he couldn't take back.

He couldn't help himself.

First they come with a smile.

Then they come, period.

And then, inevitably, they come for the money.

Well, he had money. And it was _just_ money. If she'd only taken it up front, it wouldn't hurt this bad.

It wasn't money at stake here.

He leaned over, caught the arms of her chair in each hand and bracketed her between them. It brought him too close, mired him in her fragrance—sweet and feminine and a little bit like flowers. Like the air they'd breathed in, drunk on honeysuckle and each other, that night against the building she'd _claimed_ was hers.

Despite everything, despite the eerie stillness in his mind, Adam's body stirred.

He wanted her. Wanted the little scam artist. _Still._

And that pissed him off.

Kat's chin tipped upward. "Adam," she said, a little breathlessly, "I didn't want—"

His finger touched her lips. They went still. "This is not a problem," he said again, but there was nothing soft about it. He couldn't do soft. Not now. His voice roughened as her eyes widened, wide and shimmering forest green. "You need money. I have money. You don't even need to resort to hidden cameras, this time."

Her breath eased hot against the pad of his index finger. Her eyes filled with confusion. "What—"

He took the opportunity to slip his finger into her mouth, silencing her. Her inhale shook. Her tongue touched his skin, and the heat that washed over him blistered on the wrong side of pain.

Adam wrapped himself in it. "Good girl," he murmured.

Her legs relaxed, easing open just enough that he knew she felt it, too—this thing between them, this connection she'd forged with her smile and her raincoats and her damned lies.

Had she somehow known Goldberg would show up at his office? Did she hope to catch him in a compromising position? Scam artists did that, too.

"It's just money," he continued, sliding his finger free. His skin crackled, palm tingling as he eased his fingers into her soft hair.

Something in him shook.

"It's a lot," she whispered, but the red tint to her cheeks had deepened, and her tongue slipped out to wet her bottom lip.

Whatever else she had going for her, she knew how to play him. Him and his willing body.

"Maybe to you," he replied evenly, and when her mouth opened, he closed the small distance between them, sealed her words with a kiss he could only call punishing—hard, angry, and so needy, it stole what was left of his breath.

She tasted like everything he didn't know he wanted.

She tasted like deceit.

Either he was a closet masochist, or she was the best con artist in the world.

Her gasp muffled against his lips, she grabbed two handfuls of his jacket and held on as he all but pushed her back into the leather chair. His tongue swept inside her mouth, rubbed against hers and deepened the kiss until she was gasping for air and he was burning up in a chaotic mess of anger and need and a bone-deep ache he didn't want to feel.

The door wasn't locked this time.

He didn't care.

His shoulders strained, arms trembling as he held himself over her. He pulled away, locking his teeth around a hoarse groan, and managed, "We've already talked about this." He tucked a finger into his tie, jerked it loose around his throat.

It didn't help.

"We—" She flattened a hand against her chest. "We have?"

"Don't you remember?" Every word killed him. "I've already offered you a way to earn however much money you want."

Kat blinked a few times. Then her beautiful eyes clouded.

"It's no hardship," he continued. He stripped off his jacket, draped it over his desk. "You feel good. I feel good. We've already proven how great sex between us is."

She stared at him, her mouth pressed into a slanted, trembling line.

Such a good actress. Did her mother teach her that?

It wouldn't surprise him. The imperious command in her mother's voice on that phone call had left no room for argument, and Adam had been swept completely into the net.

Kat stood up, but she didn't storm out. Didn't slap him, either. She simply hesitated where she was, her gaze flicking to the door. Back to him.

_There it is, sweetheart._ She could play all she wanted.

She wanted his money and he knew it.

He held out a hand.

There was something certifiably wrong with her.

On the one hand, Kat wanted to ask for a drink just so she could throw it in his face.

But on the other hand, he stood there in front of his desk, his gray dress-shirt lightly rumpled over his athletic chest, and brown eyes steady as a rock over his outstretched hand. He never failed to speak to her libido.

The problem was, he was putting strings on it.

She looked down at her clenched hands. Twenty thousand dollars. It'd be a clean slate. No more loan sharks. No more worries about her mom's safety. She could pay him back with a reasonable interest rate. He'd let her, right?

She was good for it.

Slowly, something painful twisting in her heart, Kat slipped her hand in his.

Adam's smile was all teeth. "Good girl," he said again, and pulled her hard against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist, unable to help herself from spreading her fingers over his back. It was warm to the touch, his body firm beneath her palms.

He caught her chin in cruel fingers and tipped her head up for another kiss that claimed—a bruising kiss, lips and tongue and disciplinary teeth nipping at her lower lip when she shuddered.

It was wrong. But it was good.

Whatever else, it was _so_ good.

She reached for the buttons of his shirt—his fingers closed over her hands, tugged them down to her sides. "No," he said against her lips, but didn't offer anything else. He simply tugged the bow of her halter blouse free. She stood, a little awkward and more than a little breathless, as he peeled the material down her body.

The nude strapless bra she'd worn wasn't the sexy kind, but Adam didn't seem to care. With unerring precision, he unhooked it, tugged it free and left it discarded on his desk.

The cool air in the office slipped over her skin, overly sensitized and tingling.

Where his eyes touched—her throat, her waist, and with a flare of wild amber heat, her nipples beading in the air conditioned chill—she burned.

And still, she fought the urge to fold her arms over herself.

She couldn't do that. She wasn't a virgin, she wasn't some hopeless girl to be swept along by a happily ever after. This wasn't her Cinderella story. She was Kat Harris, as strong and amused and untouchable as every woman he'd ever dealt with.

As if he knew, he slipped his fingers loosely around each wrist and held her arms away from her body. "You must know how beautiful you are," he said roughly.

The phrasing etched a line between her eyebrows. "I... Do I?" Wrong answer. She should have laughingly agreed.

Wasn't that what he expected from her?

"Oh, yes, you do." His lips hiked up in that sexy half-curve, but his eyes blazed like anger. Like recrimination.

Kat shivered.

Charming Adam Laramie was one thing, but this cool-on-the-outside, smoldering-within Adam Laramie was something altogether different. She didn't know if she liked it.

But God, it turned her on.

That didn't seem fair.

He reached out, skimmed his fingers over the slope of one breast.

She jumped.

His fingers spread over the center of her chest. Pushed. Gently.

She fell back a step.

Then another.

He prowled after her, guided her step by step until the leather couch she supposed was for office meetings hit the backs of her legs and she yelped in surprise, tumbling to the buttery soft cushions.

"Stay just like that," he ordered.

With her legs splayed in surprise and her hands clutching the black cushions on either side?

Kat looked down at herself, at the pink blouse bunched around her waist and the rosy tips of her own breasts, taut with anticipation, and was pretty sure she blushed from the roots of her hair.

Adam knelt in front of her, the planes of his face set in rigid lines. "God. Can you blush on command?"

She bit her lip, shook her head.

"I don't believe you," he whispered, a velvet slap, but she couldn't protest. Not when he bent, hands curved under her thighs, and pulled her ass further down the seat.

She squeaked.

His lips closed over her left nipple. Searing heat twanged from his mouth to her insides, slid a shocking pulse between her legs. The fabric of her capris, already fashionably tight, suddenly felt too confining.

He tugged gently, sucked and licked until her back arched, her eyes closed. She reached for his face—wanted to tangle her fingers in his short hair—but he caught her wrists again, held them at her side as he licked and kissed his way across her chest.

He gave her other breast the same attention, and the line of heat coiled between her skin and her sex tightened, ripened.

Sweat bloomed over her flesh, rippled through her body.

Adam lifted his head. His breathing was labored, she could feel it against her flesh. That she turned him on as much as he did her made all of this seem surreal. Weird.

Wrong, but so damned sexy.

Adam let her go to ease the button of her pants free. He pulled them over her hips, took the thong she wore with it. He hadn't bothered with her shoes. He didn't bother with them now, leaving her pants peeled to her knees and looking at her. Just looking. Half-bared, breasts and belly and that aching flesh between her legs.

"Christ," he said harshly, and leapt to his feet. He stalked away, left her shivering on his couch. He came back with a square foil packet in hand.

Kat sucked in a trembling breath. "Your clothes?"

"Don't worry about it." He took her hand, pulled her upright with such ease that she grabbed at his chest. He drew in a sharp breath.

Flattened one hand over hers, captured it against his heart.

His eyes closed. Mouth tightened.

Then his fingers curled hard around hers and pulled her away, turned her around and dragged her back against him. They fell back to the sofa together, his thighs hard under hers, his legs splayed to allow his erection to rub against her ass.

He reached around her to unzip his pants. She watched, hazy and hungry and trapped in her own wanting, as he rolled the condom on his cock. As he slid two fingers over himself.

She gasped as his hips tilted underneath her.

"Like this," came the order from behind her, thick and ragged. "Just like this."

Everything in Kat's body clenched. Her nerves. Her sex.

Her heart.

"Here?"

"Here."

"But the leather," she whispered. A feeble protest, and she knew it.

"Damn the leather," Adam said roughly, and grabbed her hips in his hands. His fingers bit. "Move, Katherine."

_Katherine._

He hadn't called her that since their first real reintroduction. He was angry.

And so very aroused.

Reaching out with trembling hands, she wrapped them around his cock, bit her lip when he hissed out a breath that might have been a foul word. He pulsed hard and hot in her palms, leapt involuntarily.

She knew this part of him, knew its taste and shape and what it felt like inside her.

She'd never really forgotten.

And as she eased herself over him, as the muscles in her thighs bunched and the slick heat of her body widened over the head of his cock, she knew that she never would.

Even if this was the last time she'd ever have to take him in.

Kat closed her burning eyes as she sank down against him. Her body shuddered, her breath escaped on a long, low groan as he angled his hips and lifted up to meet her, to drive himself inside her flesh. To brand himself on her, inside her, with the heat of his own body.

Kat understood.

And God, it hurt, even as it sent waves of pleasure through her.

Adam's breath shook with every thrust. She sat back hard against him, lifted herself up until her thighs burned and did it again. He bit back another word, swallowed it down on a groan that rattled Kat's senses and scraped her nerves raw—she wanted him, his voice, his encouragement.

Wanted his body, and his smile, and his intense stare.

She got his hands holding her wrists down by the cushions, his body angled so she had no choice but to hold herself up as he lifted his hips up, over and over, thrusting into her until the pleasure overwhelmed whatever discomfort the position demanded.

Until the pain in her heart dried up under a tidal wave of heat and hunger and overwhelming gratification.

She didn't know if he came. Didn't know if he said anything when he did. His hips slammed into hers, his fingers bit hard around her wrists, and she couldn't hold back a high, embarrassingly loud wail as her orgasm cracked through everything else to blind her, deafen her.

A brief moment of mindless bliss.

Adam panted for breath beneath her. She wanted to turn, to see his face—to meet his whiskey bright eyes and read whatever it was he felt in that unguarded moment—but he grabbed her waist, pulled her up and off him in a smooth movement.

She gasped as his flesh left hers. Grabbed at the couch cushions as he stood up, as he left her to strip off the condom and tuck himself back into his pants.

A chill stole into her thrumming nerves.

Adam bent behind his desk. She heard a cabinet open. Heard something else she couldn't define.

The sweat on her skin cooled, left her shivering.

No, it wasn't the temperature.

Kat's hands shook viciously as she pulled her pants back up, adjusted her panties. She cast about blindly for her bra—it was all the way on his desk.

She couldn't do it.

She wasn't sure her legs, her courage, would hold.

She pulled her blouse back up over her breasts, fumbled with the wide halter ties.

Adam rose again, his face a mask of cool appraisal. The curve to his mouth didn't reach his eyes, which fixed on her in a golden accusation.

Stacks of money tumbled from his hands, slapped the leather around her, fell into her lap. Against her feet.

Kat had gotten good at counting over the years. She'd never managed to learn how to count cards, but when high-rollers flashed money, she'd learned to estimate the amount.

It paid to know how much a mark was worth.

He'd overpaid.

The laughter that bubbled up in her chest tasted like acid.

"Come back for more," Adam said, in the same tone he'd used when he'd all but ordered her to go on a date with him.

Damn him.

She picked up the two stacks that fell into her lap. Two stacks of hundreds, ten thousand apiece. Her skin crawled.

The pleasure she'd found in his lap, in his arms—even in the past couple of weeks—crumbled.

Hit it and quit it, huh?

The hole in her chest threatened to swallow her whole.

She stood without his help. He didn't offer. She didn't ask. Her fingers cramped around the bills. "Thanks," she said lightly. Her smile felt frozen. Brittle. "But I don't think so."

Adam slid one hand into his pocket. "Take the rest."

She stepped over the fallen money—more money than she'd ever seen in one go, short of a casino carry. At least three hundred thousand.

Enough to buy a house out in the county.

Not enough to own her. Not enough to bring her into his world, no matter what sad little dreams she'd had.

Choice would only get her so far. She'd put the price tag on herself.

"I don't want it," she said flatly. "I can at least pay back this much." She was proud of herself when her legs carried her all the way to the door. She opened it with every intent to slam it behind her.

"Just take it," he said at her back. "Thirty thousand dollars won't cover you for long. You'll need more eventually."

She caught the door knob in her free hand. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to risk it. Her shoulders were straight, her spine firm. She knew she looked fine from the back. The very model of an untouchable woman.

But she wasn't sure her face wouldn't crack from the pressure.

So she clutched the money to her chest, closed her eyes, and said, "Go to hell, Adam Laramie."

Kat didn't slam the door after all.

She didn't feel like that kind of exit.

# 12

Somehow, she drove home. In retrospect, it was the stupidest thing she could have done. Kat didn't remember a moment of it.

She stumbled inside the house. Her mother's voice sailed out of the kitchen in off-key accompaniment to pop music on the radio.

Kat closed the door. She leaned against it, her temples throbbing in twin points of blinding pain.

She wouldn't cry. She couldn't.

It was over. And she'd brought it on herself.

The hole that opened up inside her threatened to take whatever was left of her resolution. She straightened, flattening a hand over her belly, and took a slow, shaking breath.

It didn't help.

A clatter from the kitchen drew her attention, sharpened her focus before she lost it right there against the front door.

Kat made her way inside.

Barbara shimmied, a ripple of bright blue silk wraparound pants and another one of the boat-neck tunics she loved. Her hair bounced in a ponytail that made her look younger than she was as she sang along with a song made for wild teenagers.

Kat's sudden presence earned a startled shriek, a dramatic whirl and hand pressed against her chest. "Good heavens, Katherine! Don't sneak up on me like—" Her pale green eyes sharpened on Kat's face. The twin stacks of money she clutched to her stomach. "Oh."

And then, as Kat's face crumpled, she added, "Oh, _sweetie._ Come here." She opened her arms wide, and for the first time in years, Kat let herself huddle into her mom's embrace.

But she couldn't cry. Her eyes burned hot and desert dry, her head thumped, but she couldn't.

Her mother cradled her, swaying back and forth, and crooned nonsense. She stroked Kat's hair. Patted her back. She did all the things a mom was supposed to do, but Kat rested against her mother's shoulder and couldn't even summon one tear.

"There, there," Barbara said against her hair. "It'll all be okay."

Kat stared over her in miserable silence. The pile of notices she'd picked up earlier from the yard were piled neatly on the table.

The money she held onto burned.

Kat straightened, shoved the stacks at her mom. "This is for the loan sharks," she said numbly. "Give them all of it."

Barbara's eyes widened as she took the money. "But, sweetie, what about your salon?"

"It doesn't matter." Kat wiped her hands down her pants. It didn't remove the grimy feel the money left on her skin. She didn't think anything would. "We can leave it." It meant walking out on the tab she owed Dale, walking out on her commitment—on her dreams—but what else could she do?

She had nothing else to lose.

It wasn't like she couldn't pay Adam Laramie back from anywhere in the country.

Her mother ran a thumb along the edges of one stack. The crisp hundred dollar bills fluttered. A critical line to her mouth eased into a smile.

Kat gave her a moment with the money. Twenty thousand dollars was a lot. She knew that.

She tottered to the kitchen table, sank into a chair and dropped her head to the surface. It thunked dully.

Maybe they could go further south. Start new somewhere.

Somehow.

"Let me make you some coffee," Barbara announced, sympathy oozing from every word. Kat didn't have to look to know that she still held onto the money. "Do you want some ice cream, too?"

"Sure," she mumbled against the table.

"Coming right up, sweetie."

Kat heard the sounds of the coffee maker, heard the freezer door open and close. Barbara fluttered around the kitchen like a colorful butterfly, humming along with the music drifting out of the radio on the counter.

Kat squeezed her eyes closed. "Do we have any aspirin?"

"In my purse," Barbara replied. "Now, I'm going to give you a double-helping of ice cream before dinner. Don't tell anyone, it'll be our little secret."

A faint smile tugged at her mouth. Her mom had defaulted into the tone she used to use with them when they were just kids, breezy and cheerful and a little bit patronizing.

She reached across the table, over the papers, and pulled her mom's Coach bag closer.

"I'll tell you what, too," her mom continued. "Whatever that man of yours did to make you look so sad, it's not worth sticking around for."

Kat flinched, but focused on finding the painkillers her mom carted around in those individual packets. The purse was one of those bags with a zillion pockets, shallow but wide.

"Why, if it were me," Barbara said sternly, "I'd slap his face good. I bet that would get his attention. Most women are too cowed to slap a billionaire, you know. Gives these men all sorts of ego."

"I wasn't going to slap him when he gave us the money," Kat said, irritated to find herself rising to Adam's defense automatically. He didn't need her defense.

He was a jerk.

But then, so was she.

_She_ was the one who said yes. It had been her choice, damn it, and it had cost her everything.

Twenty thousand dollars worth of regret.

She pulled out a mass of papers, a square packet of aspirin caught in the middle. "Clean out your purse, Mom. It's like a small army lives in here."

"I'll get around to it." Barbara padded across the kitchen, two bowls held in her hands. The smell of coffee brewing permeated the air. She set a bowl heavy with chocolate swirl ice cream in front of Kat with a flourish. " _Voila_. Dinner fit for a queen."

Kat peeled a wad of receipts from the papers tangling the painkiller packet, glancing over them by rote. Two from their day out. One from a coffee shop, another from an office supply store.

Barbara sat across the table from her, setting her bowl down with an air of finality. "Frankly, it's best you got to see his true colors now," she declared. "It's much easier to walk away before things get serious."

Her fingers smoothed over the office receipt. Printing fees.

What did her mom need printed?

"Katherine?"

Kat looked up, blinking. "What?"

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying? Really, sweetie," she huffed. "I'm trying to cheer you up, the least you could do is pay attention."

Kat set the bundle of receipts down, creasing the leftover painkiller packet between two fingers. "Sorry," she said. Habit, mostly. She didn't want to think about Adam Laramie. Didn't want to be cheered up.

Her body still ached in the places he'd touched, and there were parts of her inner self she didn't want to examine too closely in case it started bleeding.

Could someone bleed to death from a broken heart?

She didn't know. She hadn't bled when they ran five years ago. Was she even in love then?

Not like this.

Like a painful tooth, she couldn't stop herself from prodding at it.

"I think you'll be much better off," Barbara said briskly, waving a elegant hand as though that was that. "Now, where shall we go to next?"

Kat tore into the packet of painkillers, tipped the two pills into her palm, but she didn't take them. She stared at her ice cream as a dribble of chocolate oozed down one side.

Go?

She looked up, eyebrows knotting. "Why are you so eager to go?"

Barbara licked at her spoon. "Don't be silly, sweetie. Of course I want us to go. There's no reason for you to stay here with that creep." She huffed, ponytail swinging. "I can't imagine what he asked you to do for a mere twenty thousand dollars."

Mere. _Mere?_

That's right. It _was_ a mere twenty thousand, a paltry amount to a billionaire. Adam Laramie was a ripe vine, an oil deposit that her mother would have leapt at the chance to tap not all that long ago.

Ordinarily, she'd have been encouraging Kat to smooth this over, to go back to him, to keep her claws hooked nice and tight.

But not this time.

Kat was too familiar with her mother's ego to assume Barbara Harris had turned over a kinder maternal leaf.

She set her spoon down beside her bowl. "How did you know he was a billionaire?"

"What?" Barbara's nose wrinkled. "Oh, you'd mentioned it, didn't you?"

"I didn't." She hadn't so much as said his name.

"Oh, well." Another hand wave, and the spoon in her fingers glinted. "Then I must have read about him somewhere."

Plausible, if Adam had introduced himself the night of the fire.

Unlikely.

Kat very slowly set the painkillers on the table beside her untouched bowl. "How long?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"How long?" she repeated. Her voice rose an octave. "How long did it take you to figure out I was going out with Adam Laramie?"

Her mother's eyes flashed in annoyance. "Oh, for goodness' sake, Kitty Harris, don't be so obnoxious."

She swallowed the immediate retort, let the name slide. Instead, she slumped back into her seat, laughter frothing to her lips in a strained, painful surge. "Oh, God. I am so stupid."

"I—"

"Don't even." Kat cut her mother off with a savagery that caught them both by surprise. She stood, her chair scraping back, and flattened both hands on the table.

The receipts fluttered.

"How dare you?" she asked, voice shaking. "You knew. You _knew_ that I'd fallen back—" _In love._ She couldn't say it. Not now, when it all lay shattered at her feet. Not when she'd done it to herself and didn't even _question_ what put her there. "You knew I saw him again. When did you put the pieces together?"

The mask of put-upon concern slipped from her mom's regal features. She sighed. "Please, Katherine, you're making a scene."

She slapped the table. "It's just us, now. You and me. There's nobody to judge, Mom, so just tell me."

Barbara stirred her melting ice cream, studying her daughter with a critical eye. Then, with a small shrug, she said, "The night you wore that blue dress. The frothy number with the beads."

The first date.

Kat's eyes widened. Then narrowed just as fast. "You followed me."

"Well, I was worried," her mom retorted. She laced her hands under her chin. "You wouldn't tell me anything."

"Because it was _private_ ," Kat said, her voice rising. "I didn't want you to stick your nose in it! God only knew what you'd do—"

Her mother's eyes flicked away.

Kat froze. Her voice croaked. "No. What did you do, Mom?"

"Me?" The very model of wide-eyed innocence. It didn't sit right on Barbara's face. "I didn't."

Kat's temper cracked. "What did you _do_? Tell me, or I swear to God, I will walk out just like Jackie did and _never look back._ "

Barbara's mouth twisted. She dropped the façade, a flash of pain shattering her composure—so obvious even in Kat's high fury that her heart ached with it. "You wouldn't."

She would. And she didn't take it back. She refused.

She'd already lost everything else. All thanks to money.

_Thirty thousand isn't enough._

Wait.

Kat was a good estimator, but Adam lived and breathed money as a rule. He knew what he held in his safe—he knew what two stacks of bills added up to.

_Thirty_ thousand?

What was left of her heart sank into the pool of acid her stomach had become. "Oh," she breathed. Her knees wobbled. She sank back into the chair before they gave out on her entirely.

Her skin prickled under a wash of numbing cold.

"You didn't." Her forehead pounded. "Tell me you didn't blackmail him."

Barbara sighed. "It's only a little pocket money."

There was only one thing she could think of that Adam would have paid to keep quiet, one moment that night that would have given her mother opportunity to blackmail a man for money.

Kat had been an unwitting accomplice to a bona fide badger game. Entrap a man into a compromising position, then make him pay to keep it quiet.

No wonder Adam distrusted her. No wonder he'd treated her with such scorn.

It didn't absolve anything, but, oh, God, it explained so much.

She pressed shaking fingers into her aching forehead. "Why did you bring him down to the scene of the fire?" And then, with sudden clarity, she whispered, "Did you burn down my salon?"

"Oh, for crying out loud." Her mother threw up her hands. "So I'm the wicked stepmother, am I? The queen of every villainous plot?"

Kat flung a hand to the side. "Just answer me!" Her voice sheared through the kitchen. "For once in your whole life, Mom, be _honest._ "

Barbara studied her in cautious silence. Then, with a huff, she said, "That salon was doomed to fail—"

" _Mom!_ "

"I knew if he saw you at your most vulnerable," she said over Kat's wail, "he'd fall hook, line and sinker. You're very pretty, Katherine, and men like him can't leave a broken doll alone."

Kat flinched.

"I'd hoped that he'd actually commit, but I guess that didn't work out. So!" Barbara pushed her bowl of ice cream soup aside. "Since he can't be relied on, we have a little money to get by with and we can start new somewhere else. Isn't that what you want? A fresh start?"

The words rang hollowly in her ears. Kat stared at the pile of notices, the red ink and denials.

"The loan sharks," she said dully. "They're not from Washington, are they?" Barbara's silence said it all. "And the bruise on your arm?"

"In my defense," Barbara said hastily, "that boy tried to force his way inside. The edge of the door caught me."

It didn't help. "You borrowed that money recently, didn't you?" Of course she did. Her mother's eyes flicked away. "So even if we go somewhere else with this so-called fresh start, you'll just go borrow more money, won't you? You can't help yourself."

"Now, Katherine—"

"No." Kat's throat closed. She forced the words out anyway, gripping the edge of the table before the world spun out from under her. "Don't lie to me anymore. It's enough."

"Sweetie." Barbara rose, circled the table and bent over Kat's chair, resting her hands on Kat's shoulders. "Think this through. We'll just start somewhere else with the money we have, go where no one knows us. It'll be like the old days, don't you think? You and me on the road."

Without Jackie. Without Kat's father.

Just her and her mom and a mountain of regret.

Kat slid out from under her mom's grip, shuddering. "All my life," she said, choking on it. "All my life, you and dad stopped just short of selling me. Every badger game was a near miss, every entrapment game was one bad call from going so wrong, but you never made me feel like a whore."

Barbara's eyes narrowed. "Katherine."

It was a language warning. She cracked a brittle laugh. "Fuck that," she said, finding at least a fraction of joy when Barbara sucked in an indignant breath. "No more. Congratulations, Mom. You successfully turned me into your very own prostitute."

"Katherine!"

She stumbled away from Barbara's outstretched hand, spots of red and black flickering at the sides of her vision. "I'm done," she said. "That's it. I'm done with all of this. I'm done with _you_."

Barbara's voice called after her as she half-ran, half-staggered through the house. She couldn't remember where she put her purse. Couldn't remember what happened to her keys. She made it outside, slapped in the face with the muggy evening air, and immediately broke into a chilled sweat.

She couldn't stop.

Her purse was in the passenger seat of her car. She'd forgotten to take it in. The keys hung from the ignition.

Oh, God.

Hands shaking, she turned the keys, relief flooding her when the engine turned over. The front door opened. Barbara Harris spilled out of it like a supporting actress in an Audrey Hepburn film, all colorful silk and wild waving.

She called something Kat couldn't hear through the dull roaring in her ears.

As she drove away, her traitorous gaze slid up to the rearview mirror.

Barbara was gone. The front door closed.

She made it all the way to the first four-way stop before her body broke down. Trembling violently, she reached for her phone, stabbed Nadine's contact info.

Her friend answered on the first ring. "Hey, cupcake, I was just thinking about you!"

Kat couldn't stop herself. Her greeting dissolved into a broken, empty sob.

"Oh, jeez," Nadine said on the line, her cheer snapping into worry. "Where are you? I'll come and get you right now."

# 13

So that was it. Adam had done it. Four weeks of grueling proposals, countless tests of his temper and his patience and his intelligence, meeting after meeting, and he'd walked away the winner.

"Here's to you, CEO of Laramie Industries," his father cheered, lifting his glass of whiskey in toast. "I knew you could do it."

Adam clinked his glass against David's, but the hole in his chest didn't ease under the burn of his father's scotch. A new bottle, the kind his dad liked to save for a special occasion, and it tasted like rusted nails and acid to him.

The sunlight streamed through the terraced garden, outlining the patio they occupied in shimmering gold. The heat was intense out of the shade, but he'd grown up in this muggy environment—it didn't usually bother him.

Right now, he felt like he might choke on it.

"You did good, son," David said, resting his elbows on the railing. The yard below was crisp and green, watered daily by staff that came for a few hours and left. "I'm proud of you."

Adam chuckled. Even he realized how humorless it sounded. "All it took was dedication." And a need to bury himself in work until he couldn't draw even an ounce of energy to think about anything else.

Like Kat.

Like the money she'd left at his feet.

Or the money she'd taken.

_Go to hell, Adam Laramie._

Oh, he was there. And the check she'd sent a week ago wouldn't let him forget it.

David rotated the glass between his flat palms, a habit that had cost him more than a few good glasses over the years. It also tended to signal a subject guaranteed to get on Adam's nerves.

"You know," he began.

Adam braced himself.

"I'm a little worried about you."

There it was. David wasn't much for preambles.

Adam tossed back the scotch in his glass, hissed as it burned all the way down. "Don't be," he said shortly.

His father's shoulders shifted. His smile, aimed over his shoulder back at Adam, was wry. "And that's why. You look like you've been beaten to death."

"Hardly," Adam replied, bone dry.

"Emotionally, son." He turned, resting an elbow back on the railing, and thumped his chest with one fist. "Here."

"Oh, Christ," Adam groaned. "Spare me the father-son talk. I'm fine."

David swirled his drink, then sipped it. "Thing is," he said anyway, ignoring Adam's request entirely, "I don't think you are. You were like this after your mom left, too," he added. "Surly little bastard."

Adam didn't rise to the bait. "I wasn't," he said shortly. That was then. This was now. Totally different women. Totally different situations.

"Yeah, you were," his dad chuckled. "You buried yourself into school and extra-curricular activities until you barely had enough energy left over to eat. The staff all talked about it."

"It's fine." Adam rose from the lounge chair, reached for the bottle.

His fingers froze inches from it when David said mildly, "You were like this when Katherine Harris left five years ago, too."

Adam's hand fell to the table. His jaw shifted. "What are you getting at?"

"Me?" David smirked into his glass. "Nothing. Just reminiscing. Listen," he added without any further preamble there, either. "Talia wants to know if you'll be best man at the wedding."

Adam sank back into the chair. It creaked beneath his weight. Covering his eyes loosely, he laughed briefly. "I can't believe you're marrying a girl younger than me."

"Yeah, well." David tipped the contents of his glass into his mouth, swished once and swallowed. "She'll make an honest man out of me."

"And dear old Daddy Goldberg won't be breathing down my neck so hard."

"A side benefit."

Adam dropped his hand to glare at his father, eyebrow hiked high. "Admit it," he said flatly. "You bought her. Just like you bought my mom, and every other girl you dabble with."

He wanted a fight. Something sharp. He wanted to share this tangled nest of anger and pain inside his chest.

David didn't rise to the obvious bait. "Maybe," he said, setting his glass down and nudging it closer to his son.

Adam took the cue, bent to get the bottle and pour more of the heady scotch into both glasses.

"Maybe not," David added. He took the glass Adam handed him with a faint smile. "I can't say I know what's going on in her head. But I'll tell you this, son." His head eased back, face tipped to the sky. "The feeling I get when she says she loves me, well." His smile widened. "You can't put a price on that."

Adam's glass froze halfway to his mouth.

Somewhere in the cavernous emptiness of his chest, an ember flickered to life.

_I love you._

She'd said it once. Three little words.

What had he done?

He'd put a price on it.

But then, she'd lied, hadn't she?

Did it matter?

"Dad," he said slowly, glass winking in the sunlight. He frowned at it. "How do you justify it?"

David tilted his head. "Which part?"

"The women." He jerked his head to one side, unconsciously mimicking his dad until he caught himself and sipped from the glass instead. "Don't you know they're lying to you?"

His father's laugh surprised him. "Well, now, that's a pretty harsh view. How long have you felt that way?"

Forever. He stood, made his way to the railing to brace his forearms against it. The sun dappled over the yard, cheerful shades of green and yellow and the sparkling white patio.

He didn't see any of it. Not really. Moss green eyes shimmering with hurt stared back at him, his own personal ghost.

Unconsciously, he reached into his shirt pocket and plucked the folded cashier's check he'd been carrying around for a week. A hundred and twenty-five dollars.

"I mean," he said slowly, staring at the crumpled paper, "don't you ever think that Talia is just after your money?"

"Sometimes." His dad turned to study the same view, his shoulder brushing Adam's. "But what does it matter if I like her anyway?"

"But—"

"Adam." The older man cradled his glass loosely in his left hand, tilting it to the sunlight. "Look. You can make yourself miserable second-guessing every last person who enters your world, or you can decide who you like and go with your gut."

Adam snorted. "Is that what you do?"

"Yes." His dad slanted him a sidelong glare. "This Harris girl threw you for a loop five years ago. You ever wonder why?"

"She lied—" Adam fell silent as his dad waved his glass in dismissal.

"She wasn't the first to ever lie to you, son," David said, a note of amusement in his voice. "Wasn't the last, either. Never stopped you from taking a girl out. So why'd you flip your lid about her?"

"She lied to _me_ ," Adam muttered. The pain in his chest tightened.

"Well." His dad shrugged. "What'd she lie for?"

"Money."

"Yeah?" He turned, braced his elbow on the railing and looked Adam dead in the eye. "So what? It's just money."

_It's just money_. Adam had said it himself. He spent it the way he wanted, gave it away if he wanted.

She'd turned it away. The look in her eye when she had, he'd have sworn it was real. Pride. The same pride he'd watched shape her smile as she explained that she'd gone legit.

Had she lied?

His gut said no. But his gut remained way too close to his dick, which didn't care about anything but having Kat Harris.

How could he reconcile this?

He flipped the back of the check over. His dad eyed small, bright green post-it stuck to it. In Kat's looped hand, she'd written a handful of numbers. No greeting. No goodbye.

Just math and her name.

David cleared his throat. "Is that a payment plan?"

"Yeah." At a hundred and twenty-five a pop, it'd take her almost fourteen years to pay it off.

Fourteen years of monthly reminders he didn't want.

His father's voice strained, as though he was trying for normal. "Did she really include interest at three-point-five?"

Adam's fingers closed over the check. The post-it fluttered. "I know," he said tightly. She'd checked the federal rate.

The fact that no bank in the world would ever give an interest rate that low to someone like her made it funny to everyone else but Adam.

He slanted a hard glare at his dad as David covered his mouth with one hand.

It didn't help.

"Fine," he snapped, and shoved the check into his pocket. "Laugh."

David waved that away, managing to swallow his amusement down to a harsh clearing of his throat. "So you gave her money anyway. That looks like a good-faith effort to pay it back. What's the problem?"

Everything.

Nothing.

Oh, hell, he didn't know. It all seemed so much simpler when he could just be angry. Just be hurt.

Just...be himself.

When Adam said nothing, his dad bumped his shoulder. "Seems like you kids need to clear the air."

Maybe so. Maybe he wouldn't know for sure until he saw her again.

Maybe he was an idiot who couldn't resolve his own crap.

Fourteen years, huh?

The glass clattered against the railing. "Dad."

David's eyebrows winged up in streaked brown and grey. "Yeah?"

"I have to go."

His dad's mouth creased into a knowing smile. "Now?"

"Now," Adam said, his voice low.

His dad, altogether too shrewd for Adam's peace of mind and aggravatingly _right_ , tipped his glass in silent farewell.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," Nadine announced, gaze sliding between two similar pieces of stationary, "but I'm going to kill your mother."

Kat smiled as she pressed a line of her friend's hair into a swatch of foil, using the pointed end of her application brush to smooth the edges.

The words, harsh as they were, were Nadine's way of soothing the hurt. Kat got that.

The salon around her bustled with activity, peppered with conversations between the five other stylists and their clients. The front seats were full of walk-ins, and two kids ran around the busy gallery as their mom ignored them in favor of a moment of peace underneath the dryer.

Outside the front entry, the small Sulla Valley mall hummed with Saturday traffic.

Nadine was as out of place here as Kat had felt in the elite circles her friend was used to, and the fact she sat in this chair meant more than words could ever say. It was the only salon who would hire her without references.

It wasn't her own salon. Wasn't her own business. In fact, it wasn't anything like what Kat had hoped for, but it was a job. It meant real money, legal money, properly taxed and everything.

She was at square one, yeah, but that was okay. At least she'd found a job.

At least Dale had agreed to suspend work—and her invoice—until he could do his own investigation into the cause of the fire. It gave her some time to figure out what her next move was. He'd been sympathetic, way more than she deserved.

And she hadn't lost Nadine's friendship. Of everything else, that mattered so much.

She still had her dreams, even if they felt a million miles away.

And lacking in one Adam Laramie.

Nadine knew the story, now. She'd welcomed Kat into her home, fed her enough gelato to drown an army, and listened to her sob out her long and sordid history between bites straight from the cartons.

When Kat was done, she braced for anger, for recrimination—even for a well-earned, "You got what you deserved."

What she got was a long sigh, a warm hug, and, "I would have punched her."

The image of the petite, blue-eyed doll taking a fist to her mother's vintage movie star elegance set Kat into a fit of the giggles.

Now, all she could do was shrug as her friend pored over the two different letters. The letterheads were similar enough to be virtually indistinguishable at first glance, but a sharp eye could easily spot the differences. The text in one claimed a denial of insurance benefits due to an ongoing arson investigation.

The second and most recent letter declared the insurance coverage granted, and verified the checking account number the money was sent to.

It wasn't Kat's.

She didn't have anything left in her for anger. "I should have realized she had bigger intentions," she said, hands busy with her friend's hair.

"Yeah, but walking off with all the insurance money?" Nadine's voice trembled with rage. "That's harsh. Even for her. Did she actually have it burned down?"

"That's what she said," she said with a wry smile, keeping her voice down so the other patrons and stylists couldn't hear her. "But my contractor is running his own investigation. Either way, I think she saw an opportunity."

"Ugh," Nadine managed.

Kat agreed. "All I know for sure is that she took her things, and I haven't seen her since I walked out."

"And she just left you with loan sharks?"

"Yeah."

"That _bitch_."

Yeah. Seemed about right. Kat didn't know how to explain why she was so resigned to it all. How could she justify her mother's actions to a girl who'd never seen the inside of a scam? Barbara Harris had walked off with Adam's hush money, the twenty-thousand Kat had brought home, _and_ Kat's insurance money. Whatever she had left from the initial loan was just icing on the cake.

No wonder she'd had the money to blow on a mother-daughter day. The fact Wallace & Roane would still knock on Kat's door wouldn't even occur to Barbara.

"I would so call the police on her," Nadine fumed. "I'd call the FBI!"

Kat had thought about it. Then again, it was her mom they were talking about. Jack Harris already rotted in jail. Jackie hadn't been in touch in almost two years.

All Barbara had was Kat, and now she didn't even have that.

"Thanks," she said, smiling, "but no."

"I know, I know," Nadine groaned, folding the papers up and tucking them under the apron protecting her summer dress. "She's your mom."

"Yeah," Kat agreed, folding another foil in place. "She is. But more than that, she can't be alone. She's always had my dad or me to take care of her."

"So?"

"So," Kat replied, shrugging again because she didn't know what else to do, "now she's got no one."

Nadine's wide blue eyes met hers in the mirror. A wicked spark lit them to unholy glee. "She's going to be old and lonely forever, isn't she?"

Kat couldn't say. Knowing Barbara, she'd find some sap to take her in, but it wouldn't last. "Family forgives a lot," she said quietly. "More than we should. I don't think there's a sucker alive who'll let her get away with what she pulls."

"Kat Harris, you're so evil. I love it."

Somehow, it seemed enough. At least to get through each day. She had an adult job, with adult problems, and none of them included scamming, lying, covering for her mom, her past, or the money her dad had hidden with her.

And if she had to spend five minutes every month mailing a check to Adam Laramie, well, eventually her heart would stop hurting so badly when she did.

"Well, we'll take care of the loan sharks," Nadine said firmly. It was the third rehash of the closest they'd come to a fight.

Kat tweaked her hair. "No."

"I'm going to front the money and there's nothing you can do about it," Nadine replied, crossing her legs ever so primly on the chair. She lifted her nose in the air. "If you have such a problem with it, Kat Harris, you can pay me back with shares from the salon."

Kat raised her eyebrows in the mirror.

Nadine added, "Once you open it. That's still in the works, right?"

"I can't let you—"

"Oh, shut up and put me under the dryer," Nadine cut in over her. "You just focus on paying back that asshole that will not be named."

"You're a spoiled brat, you know?"

"I know." Nadine's smile beamed. "Wallace & Roane will get off your back. I promise."

Tears threatened to overwhelm her already fragile heart. Kat lowered her face to the floor, fighting to get ahold of herself before her workmates saw her.

Her friend reached over and caught her gloved hand. "Come on, girl. I can't wait to see what these new highlights look like."

Sniffing hard, she nodded and whispered, "Thanks."

"Mmhm."

Dodging the gleefully yelling kids playing tag across the floor, Kat led the way to an empty dryer and set it up. She bent to check the angle of the cap around Nadine's head, adjusted the bonnet.

The magazine Nadine had picked up dipped. "Um."

"Too hot?" She slid her fingers under the rim. The air was warm, but it didn't seem like too much.

A murmur rippled through the salon.

" _Um_ ," Nadine murmured insistently, and tugged at the hem of Kat's plain white T-shirt. "Kat."

"What?"

"Dude." Her wide eyes pinned beyond Kat's shoulder. "Put on your sexy unapproachable face."

Her what? "Why—"

"Kat," a masculine voice said from behind her.

Her heart abruptly stuttered.

Nadine's eyes telegraphed enough encouragement to bolster an entire battlefield.

She felt like she was in one.

Kat straightened slowly, turned with her breath held.

She didn't know what to expect. Not really. The sight of Adam Laramie ripped another hole into her calm.

Two weeks of emptiness conspired to make him look even more delicious than usual. He wore fashionably relaxed jeans, a button-down rolled up to beat the heat and vest that should have given him a hipster vibe and somehow only looked right.

His jaw was clean-cut, it always was—a part of her bristled that he hadn't even missed a shave or two on her behalf.

Not as though Adam with a five o'clock shadow didn't haunt her dreams.

God, she missed him.

The intensity of his light brown eyes sheared through the activity surrounding them. Cut the bustle down to a dull murmur.

Her throat dried.

She glanced at the people around her. The fringes still talked and laughed, the children squealed as they played tag across the entry, but the inner circle nearest to them were silent. They didn't look at her openly, but she caught sidelong glances and reflective scrutiny in the large round mirrors.

She spread her hands over her stained apron. "Adam."

"Hey, Adam Laramie!" Nadine cheerfully called behind her, and the eyes that hadn't spun in their sockets did now. The salon went dead quiet. Only the piped in pop music broke the silence, and the sudden shushing of the mother who'd caught her kids on a run-by.

Kat's face burned.

Adam glanced around as if he only just tuned in. His jaw shifted. "Do you have a break?"

"No," she said shortly.

The manager on duty stirred. "Kat, if—"

"I can't leave my client," Kat cut in, half-turning.

Adam took another step beyond the entry. "Kat, please."

She sucked in a breath. Nadine's eyes went wide beneath the dryer bonnet, flicking up in wonder.

A billionaire who said please.

Kat's hands curled into fists.

"Listen to him, girl," a woman called from across the floor.

Another stylist muttered, "Hell, if she don't want him..."

How could he stand there in total calm while everyone spoke about him like that? While he caused a scene?

Because pity was easy to give. Had he come to offer her more money?

Tell her that she was better than this place?

What a laugh.

"It's too late," she said tightly. "Go away before I call security."

Another ripple rocketed through the crowd.

Great. Her life had become a sideshow.

"Call them," he said to her back. Another smooth order. A dare. "I'll stand here and talk until they arrive."

"Margie, call security," Kat said sharply.

"But—"

"Just do it!"

"Go ahead, Margie," Adam said, and he flashed a smile to the curly-haired stylist behind the desk. "It's okay. I'll just stay here until they come."

Margie reached for the phone, mouth a wide 'O'.

"I give them about eight minutes," he continued. "Kat, at least turn and look at me."

She didn't want to. The reflection of him was bad enough.

Nadine kicked her in the ankle.

"Oh, fine," she snapped, and spun, arms folded tightly under her chest. A smear of red stained her forearm from an earlier client. His gaze dropped to it. "Speak fast."

"I will," he replied. He sauntered further into the salon. Kat watched their audience cluster in behind her, subtle shifts that gave them a better view.

Her teeth locked.

He halted in the middle of the floor. Hands in his pockets like he was too cool to scam.

Well, she knew better, didn't she?

His chin lifted. "I love you, Kat Harris."

"Oh, Lord," a woman in the back choked, and the resulting explosion of commentary did nothing to undercut Kat's shock.

Adam's mouth eased into a crooked line. "I've loved you for years. But I'm a Laramie, see, and we're too damned slow and stupid to see what we've got when it's under our noses." He freed a hand to rub the back of his neck, a sheepish move Kat was certain would claim every heart in the salon.

Her nails bit into her palms.

"I guess I'm slower than most," he confessed. His grin faded. "You had to walk out of my life twice before I figured out what I needed to figure out."

"Girl, take that man back." She didn't have to look to see that it came from Marc. He'd probably snapped his fingers, too.

Kat's heart thumped in her chest. "What do you want, Adam?"

"You." He held her gaze, raised a hand, palm up. "I get that we have a lot to talk about. You lied to me—"

She sucked in a hot breath.

"—But I wasn't exactly ready to hear you out, either." His gaze dropped to her mouth. "I want to hear it from you, Kat. Everything you didn't tell me, I want to hear it. And when you're done explaining all those things I didn't know how to ask you, I want _you_. Whatever else happens, happens."

She wanted to laugh breezily, to wave his charm away like it didn't affect her, but she couldn't get it past the knot in her throat.

Nadine, head tilted out from under the dryer so she could hear, chimed in, "Her mom blackmailed you for ten thousand dollars, then took all of Kat's insurance and ran away."

"Nadine!" Kat hissed.

Innocence shaped her studied, "What?"

Adam's eyes sharpened. "Why didn't you—?" He caught himself, shook his head in rueful understanding. "Never mind. I know why you didn't tell me. Not after that stunt I pulled in my office. I'm an asshole."

"Totally," Nadine agreed.

"Thanks, Nadine," he said, but his hand remained steady. His eyes gleamed. At Kat. All for her. The crowd surrounding them may as well have been statues, for all he seemed to care. "Do you want me to make sure your mother is found and charged?"

"No," Kat said sharply.

"Then I won't." A simple reply, as though she couldn't _see_ the struggle on his face. He could do it. She had no doubt he'd pull every string in his ridiculous black book to get it done. "Just like that. Whatever you want, Kat. Whatever you need, I will give it to you."

Her breath escaped on a hard rush. "I won't play that game again."

His hand lowered.

Kat wanted to crawl into a hole and die when the salon drew in a collective breath.

Adam's hand curled in to a fist. Then opened and lifted again. Steady. "I'm sorry," he said. Slow. Clear. "You'll never know how sorry I am for jumping to every wrong conclusion. I didn't listen to you. I treated you like..." His gaze finally flicked to the crowd. His mouth softened. "Give me one more chance, Kat."

"What if I said you had to beg?" Kat demanded. Her stomach fluttered, a nest of nervy butterflies as he looked down at the floor.

When he looked up again, his smile vanished. "Is that what it'll take?"

"Maybe."

"Then I'll get down on my knees right here."

The salon gasped. At the entry, two mall security guards sidled through, bending to talk to Margie, who gesticulated rapidly as she explained the scene.

Kat's ears burned. "Don't," she said.

Adam bent, as if he hadn't heard her.

"Don't!" Kat caught his outstretched hand.

A trap.

His fingers closed over hers, tugged her hard into his arms. "I love you," he said, flattening her hand over his chest. His heart beat hard and fast against her palm. "Forget all the lies. Forget five years ago, forget everything but the fact that I love you. Go on a date with me, Kat. Let me earn your trust again."

She pushed against his chest. His arms didn't so much as budge. "I don't," she said clearly, enunciating every word, "want your money."

"It's just money," he replied, and brought her hand to his mouth. "It's not what's important. If you want it, I'll give it to you. If you don't, I'll find a way to give you whatever you need."

It wasn't exactly a vow of poverty.

"I'll accept _your_ money, if that's what it takes," he said fiercely against her knuckles. "However much you want to give me, in whatever denomination you want." He turned her hand over.

His tongue flicked out over her palm. She shuddered.

"One date, Kat. Give me another chance."

"Oh, God," she managed, and sagged against his chest. "Fine. Yes. A date."

"What'd she say?" asked the mother of two, and Marc whispered, "I think she said yes."

"Yes?"

"Is everything okay here?" asked one of the security guards.

Adam ignored them. He slid his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back. "Then it's agreed. You'll go out with me."

"But I'll pay my own way," she said, her senses fragmenting under his touch. "I'll pay you back every dime."

His smile widened, eyes crinkling with it. "Okay."

"And I'll order for myself."

"Okay," he repeated, and tugged her close.

Just one date? No way. It'd never be enough.

Maybe she didn't fit into his world. Maybe he didn't understand hers.

Maybe he'd fight her on every check, every time.

She wanted that. Wanted him.

"Just so you know," she warned as she lifted up on her tiptoes. "We're going to have a _lot_ of dates."

His chuckle reverberated through his chest, filled her heart. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Fine," she murmured against his lips. "You win."

"Yeah." His eyes filled with sunshine, with warmth and promise and everything she'd always wanted from the man who'd kept her heart all those years ago. His grin deepened. "I always do."

The salon erupted into cheers, applause and whistles. Kat barely heard them. Her hands curled into the front of his vest, held on as Adam Laramie—billionaire's son, wealthy entrepreneur in his own right, routinely on top of every woman's Most Want to Lick All Over list _and_ the man she'd loved for five years—kissed her. Slow. Thorough.

Hit and quit it? No way. This time, she was holding on with everything she had.

# Thank You!

I hope you enjoyed _Can't Buy Me Love_. Thank you for reading!

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• This book is DRM-free, which means you can share it with a friend!

• I love reviews. Reviews help other readers find books they might love, and I am always grateful for anything you'd like to share. Thank you!

• This is the first book in the Right Side of Wrong series. The next book is _Don't Let Me Go_. I hope you enjoy returning to Sulla Valley!

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If you'd like to sneak a peek at the first chapter of _Don't Let Me Go_ , next in the criminally sexy Right Side of Wrong series, turn the page...

# Don't Let Me Go

_S exy mechanic Lucas Bourdin is everything Nadine Sherwood has ever wanted—except he's buried his secrets and friend-zoned her so hard, she's still seeing stars. How far will she go to prove that she's more than just an uptown girl looking for a bad boy fling?_

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

Despite the fact that she didn't dare tell him where she was or what she was doing, Nadine Sherwood gave in to the urge and called her best friend.

At least he was used to her random reach-outs—the line picked up on the first ring. "I'm busy," he said, which passed for his usual greeting. Lucas Bourdin had never been much of a phone guy.

That just made the fact he answered for her all the more special.

She'd developed an obsession.

"You're always busy." She propped one hand up on the steering wheel of her hybrid, leaning back against the headrest. Hearing his voice settled her nerves. Deliberately, she dropped her voice to a low, sultry purr. "So what are you wearing?"

Lucas's muffled reply might have been a laugh, but it clipped short. "Grease and coveralls, just like every day."

"Sounds edible."

"Yeah, that's what I think when I think of engine grease." The fact his husky voice graveled when he was frustrated plucked at places in her body he would have been horrified to know about.

This wasn't, she assured herself, a _bad_ obsession to have _._ Exactly. They'd known each other since high school. It wasn't weird.

Except it kind of was, and she knew it. Because somewhere around her sophomore year of high school, Nadine had stopped viewing her best friend as, well, a _friend_ and started wondering what his kiss would taste like. What kind of sound his voice would make when he was turned on.

Whether _she_ could be the one turning him on.

The kinds of things she wanted weren't the kinds of things she could tell him back then. Not when he'd friend-zoned her so hard, her heart felt branded by one half of a _best friends forever_ pendant.

But she couldn't stop thinking about it. Here she was, twenty-one years old and still hooked up on the one that go away.

Best friends didn't ruin things by getting all up in each other's naughty bits.

Well, that was his line. Nadine had a new and completely different version of intentions.

She laughed. "Anyone tell you that you're sexy when you're annoyed?"

"I must be doing it wrong."

"Or very right," she replied, closing her eyes as a delicious thrill curled deep inside her body. She nurtured that thrill. Held onto it.

Soon, all her teasing would pay off. She'd decided on A Plan. A very delicious and probably six kinds of wrong plan.

One that Lucas would never see coming. At least not until it was too late.

"Woody," he growled, sending fluttery little zings of appreciation over her skin, "do you need something?"

"Aw, don't call me that," she protested, pouting. "We're not thirteen anymore."

"You sure about that?" he shot back. " _Woody_."

She mock-growled into the phone, but when he only snorted at her, she let it go. Truthfully, she didn't mind the dreaded nickname. He reserved it for those not-so-rare moments when she annoyed him. At thirteen, she'd have punched him.

At twenty-one, she knew it for what it was—a sign that she'd gotten under his skin. She liked that, too.

"Whatever." Grinning, Nadine tucked her phone against her shoulder as she collected her favorite Fossil purse from the passenger seat. She stepped out into the blistering Sulla Valley sun. "I'm taking care of some business," she said, dropping as much of her teasing tone as she could.

It wasn't easy. Teasing the breathtaking, panty-dropping, _totally_ clueless Lucas Bourdin was an obsession, after all.

"And you called me..." He paused for emphasis. "Why?"

She tossed the length of her styled blonde waves back over her shoulder. The humidity fused to her flesh like a blanket. She should have done a ponytail today, got the heavy mass off the back of her neck. At this rate, she'd sweat into her hair. Super gross.

Fanning herself, she said tartly, "Because I want to come by and see you after I'm done."

"I'm busy," he said again.

"I'll bring lunch?"

"Busy," he repeated, stressing it pointedly.

"Beer?"

"You know what that word means, right?"

She knew. She just didn't much care. His version of busy usually involved a carburetor. She _liked_ carburetors.

Especially when Lucas Bourdin was the one cranking it.

Did one crank those? She wasn't sure, specifically, but she'd let Lucas get his hands on her carburetor any day of the week.

Not that he showed any inclination. Same old steps she'd she'd been dancing for years.

Things were going to be _so_ different. The time for subtlety had run out with her supply of triple-A batteries.

Today was go-day.

But maybe she'd take a shower first. Lucas wasn't the type to fall for a hot mess, and she felt like one right now. She should have time after her errand.

Nadine slammed the car door behind her and studied the shabby façade of the office building hiding what was, in her estimation, the scum of the earth.

Loan sharks. Her one adult agenda of the day.

Her grin widened. "Hey, I have to go. I'm gonna call you back, okay?"

"Don't," he demanded in her ear, "I told you I'm—"

She thumbed the connection closed, slid the Swarovski-studded case back into the outer pocket of her purse. He'd forgive her the whimsy. She often called him, since the jerk wouldn't return her texts. But he hadn't yet stopped picking up the phone for her. She took that as an encouraging sign.

Squinting up at the brilliant glare of the reflective windows, bright enough to sear through her shades, she took a deep breath.

Quick errand, quick shower, dress to kill, then she'd go haunt Lucas's garage. Bring him fried chicken.

Totally an ulterior motive. They both liked the greasy take-out, and she got a little extra thrill watching him lick his fingers.

Was that bad?

He'd probably think so. Unfortunately for him, Sherwoods came in two flavor—smart and determined. Nadine was both. _And_ she had a plan. The plan that was going to involve a whole lot more than finger-licking.

First, she'd tackle these so-called financial advisors.

Next, a sexy mechanic with delusions of chastity.

All in a day's work.

The elevator smelled like gym socks. The halls inside the office building were hot, picking up too much of Sulla Valley's humidity and turning it into something clingy and gross. By the time she found the right suite, she definitely __ needed a shower. Ugh.

At first glance, Wallace & Roane looked like any other office in any one of a hundred office buildings. Taupe carpet, dun curtains and colorlessly bland paint conspired with stale air conditioning and the tinny radio speakers set overhead to make it as unwelcoming as possible.

Exactly what Nadine expected from a bunch of criminals.

If it wasn't for the sign taped— _taped,_ for crying out loud—to the front door, she would have never stepped inside.

The blast of over-cranked air conditioning smacked her in the face. She paused as the frigid breeze streamed past her, sucked out into the stagnant heat. A sudden clatter, a masculine curse and a muffled grunt wasn't exactly the professional welcome she was used to.

Whatever. This wasn't exactly a _financial advisor_ 's office, either.

Nadine plucked her shades from her eyes, shoving them on top of her head, and firmed her grip on the strap of her bright turquoise purse.

The door remained open behind her. An easy escape, if she had to take it.

A single man leaned against what probably had passed for a front desk back when these offices hosted something more legit. He was taller than her, but most guys were, with a breadth of shoulder that made her think he'd played football once upon a time. High school, probably. In jeans, an old T-shirt and a leather jacket that didn't take into account the heat outside, he didn't look like college. He didn't even look like a good idea.

He looked like a... What did the murder mystery TV shows call them? Perps?

Unsubs?

_Mafia_ , she thought. Loan sharks were the type who broke kneecaps, right? All gold teeth and triple-knuckle rings? The guy had tanned skin she could easily associate with Italian heritage, with jet black hair and intense dark eyes, but no bling in sight. Not even a tattoo. Was that good or bad?

For the first time since coming up with this plan, nerves batted around in Nadine's stomach.

Maybe she should have let Lucas know _exactly_ where she was. That seemed the safer option, all of a sudden.

And _way_ too late.

"Yeah?" A gruff greeting, delivered with a belligerent stare. "What do _you_ want?"

The emphasis irritated her. What, was she classier than the usual loan shark clientele?

Maybe he was just like that. Somehow, she couldn't imagine him warming up to anyone. He had a scowl that seemed pre-programmed. He didn't even twitch when she smiled.

Most guys at _least_ blinked. It came with the genes. People took one look at her wealth of golden hair, her wide blue eyes and fresh-faced complexion, and decided Nadine could do no wrong. Her face was the family pride.

And she detested anyone who thought so.

"Hi," she chirped, forcing a bravado she didn't entirely feel. "Is this the office of Wallace & Roane?"

Of course it was. She wasn't the kind of ditz that couldn't read signs, but in her experience, big men like this guy tended to underestimate ditzes. She fluttered her long lashes, aiming the registered weapon of her Sherwood baby blues directly at him.

"Uh, yeah." His weight shifted. "You here to borrow?"

Charming. Nadine plunged a hand into the depths of her hobo-style purse, fishing for the paper she'd coerced from its rightful owner. She crossed the cramped sitting room. "I'm here on behalf of Barbara Harris," she said cheerfully. "To pay on her loan."

"Why the fu—" The words ended on a sudden grunt. His jaw shifted as he eased his weight to one side.

She lifted both eyebrows, softening her deliberate cheer with the vague vapidity of the stupidly rich. Harmless. She could channel harmless. "Sorry," she said sweetly, sliding the paper across the Formica. "Is there a problem?"

"No," he bit out. He didn't so much as glance at the letter. Maybe he didn't have to.

It was the company's usual, she figured. _Pay up or else the granny gets it_ , that sort of thing. They'd left them on Kat Harris's door for the past month. Never mind that Kat had nothing to do with the fact that her mother had borrowed so heavily and then took off with the money.

Loan sharks did that—offer money, then demand interest. When it came due, keep on demanding. Money, cars, homes. Assets.

Blood, right? Did it eventually come down to kidneys and stuff?

A shiver slipped down her spine as the man stared at her.

In defense, Nadine cranked up her smile. "I want to pay it all off," she said, flashing her newly manicured lavender nails as she waved at her face. It didn't help. It was cooler in here, but she could feel a thin layer of sweat creeping like nerves across her skin. "Can we do that fast? My boyfriend is waiting in the car."

That earned her more of a pause than she'd hoped. "Boyfriend, huh?" The man leaned more fully on the counter. His gaze raked her from the crown of her tousled blonde waves to the matching purple toenails wrapped in four-inch, bright yellow Louboutin sandals. Her capris were upscaled vintage, her Roman-style shirt the perfect shade of green to set off her eyes.

He noticed. A half smile shaped his mouth. "Been with him long?"

Ugh. Nadine barely refrained from rolling her eyes. What was it his business for? "Uh huh," she lied. "Like, forever. He's an MMA fighter, you know? So he gets kind of impatient." She plucked her phone from the outer pocket of her purse, and the dingy light caught on the rainbow of crystals. She checked the screen. "In fact, we have a date. So, um..."

The Neanderthal grunted again, but the hint of a smirk didn't fade. "Fine. Cash or money order?" he asked, stressing out each word with weird courtesy.

She wrinkled her nose, opening the back of her phone case to pull out a black American Express card.

His eyes went wide. "Are you serious?"

Her lips reshaped into a deep pout. "Is that a problem?" When he only continued to stare at her like she'd lost her mind, Nadine waved the black card under his nose. "I promise it's good for whatever the amount."

"Yeah, that ain't the issue," he said, on a snort that rumbled in mocking laughter. "Baby girl, are you aware of what exactly you're paying off?"

The pet name oozed across her nerves like the slarm it was. She repressed a shudder. "I do," she confirmed, forcing her smile into place. "It's cool."

The guy stared at her a little bit longer. When he shifted, a muted thud from the behind the desk punctuated his clipped grunt. "Fine. Okay. But so you know," he added, taking the card and pitching his voice louder—like she was deaf or maybe totally stupid, "this will show up on your credit bill."

"Uh." She tipped her head, lashes fluttering. "Yeah. Okay. It doesn't say 'Wallace & Roane, Loan Shark' on it, right?"

"No." But the jerk was still laughing as he reached below the desk. There was a bit of a clatter, a muttered, "Let go," at what Nadine assumed was an inanimate object. When he pulled what looked like a credit machine from a cubby, she clocked him in at the wrong side of normal.

Not that she could judge. She was the one sitting here in a loan shark office handing over a Centurion card.

He held it the machine awkwardly in one hand, swiped the card with his other. "How much are you paying?"

"What?" Her vapid mask slipped. She caught herself. "Oh, um, whatever. All of it."

He didn't double-check her. With lightning speed, he punched in the numbers with a thick finger. Then waved the card like a fan as he waited for the transmission. It didn't stir much air, and he didn't look like he needed it, but she'd bet it wasn't every day he got to cool his skin with a bona fide black AmEx.

Nadine appreciated the courtesy of his silence—even though it was probably just his way of ensuring the number didn't scare her out of the deal. Not that it would, no matter what kind of interest they stacked on it.

This was her gift to her other best friend. Her way of providing help where Kat's pride wouldn't let her ask for it.

Nadine liked helping her friends.

And sure, twenty thousand dollars was no small deal, but fortunately, the credit card didn't have a limit. Her dad had ensured she could always pay for the things she needed. It was just money, anyway, right? Friends were way more important, and friends like Kat didn't come around every day.

She hadn't considered what would show up on the register.

"Uh." The big man's stare pinned on her. Nadine wrinkled her nose. "What _does_ it say?"

"Where?"

"On the explanation of charges."

He thought for a moment. "Wallace & Roane, Financial Advisors."

Yeah. That wasn't going to look suspicious at _all_. Nadine barely refrained from slapping her palm against her forehead. She should have thought of that.

Then again, she couldn't just ask her folks for twenty-thousand dollars plus interest, could she?

No. Despite the anxiety cramping in her stomach, this was still the better choice. She could explain it to her parents later.

_If_ they asked.

She narrowed her eyes at the mafia thug lookalike. "Are you Wallace?" she asked. "Or are you Roane?"

This time, he shot her a grim smile. "Take your pick, sweetheart."

If she had to, she'd guess neither. Probably fake names all the way around. "Funny," she said sweetly. "You don't _look_ Irish."

His snort spoke volumes. Shaking her head, she waited for the charge to go through, working over her phone like she was texting her boyfriend.

Her non-existent boyfriend.

Not that this gorilla would know any better. As long as he continued to remain focused on the charge and not on her, she'd keep faking it.

Besides, if things ever got really bad, she could always call Lucas and ask him to play the jealous lover. He'd done it before.

Of course, if she called him, then she'd have to explain why she was in a loan shark's office, and what the hell she thought she'd do by herself if they got dangerous, and blah, blah, blah.

Whatever. She wasn't completely harmless. She had a sexy right hook.

To which she had zero trouble imagining Lucas's terse reply. _That guy is bigger than you and mean as fuck._

And then she'd make a joke about 'fuck' and he'd look at her like she'd just licked the oil coating his driveway and it'd be awkward.

She sighed.

The longer she considered things, the less sure her plan was starting to look.

The small machine beeped, pushing out a long strip of white paper. The man tore it off, handed it to her and pushed a pen in her general direction. "Where you headed?" he asked.

Nadine paused mid-scrawl, her gaze flicking up to him. "What?"

"On your date."

Her eyes widened, then lowered to the strip of white. _Ew, creeper._ "Oh, I don't know," she said, giggling because it'd be less offensive than gagging. "Lucas likes to surprise me." She all but slammed the pen down on the counter as the guy's smile edged into something closer to a leer. "We're done, right? No more loan?"

"You want a copy?"

"No," she said, turning away.

A dull thud rocked the counter. She jumped as he cursed, looked back to find him half-bent, shoulder rolling like he was rubbing his leg. "Take it," he managed, teeth bared. "For your records."

Nadine stared at him, at the innocent beige front desk, and what little she could see of the patchy carpet behind it. "Uh... Fine." She took the paper he all but threw at her. Her mouth pursed. "What was that sound?"

His brown eyes flicked left. "Office cat."

Okay, then. Creeper factor upped to eleven. Nadine smiled, nodded like she totally got it, and made her escape while she could.

* * *

Five feet and four inches of suicide by blonde strolled out of the office, and the back of Lucas Bourdin's skull hit the front desk with a rattling thud. He covered his face with one hand and didn't have to look to know Johnny was laughing his ass off.

"I should have punched you harder," Lucas muttered into his palm.

He'd had just enough time to duck beneath the front desk when Nadine came storming through wearing wide-eyed innocence and hellbent determination. The fact he'd rocked an elbow into Johnny's foot on the way down had only made everything worse. His butt hurt. His elbow hurt.

His head hurt.

"Already going to bruise," his partner replied, not even trying to hide his amusement. "But then, you're an MMA fighter, right?"

The fact she'd used his name didn't bother him. He'd known her too long to buy in to what was obviously a measure of self-protection. No girl with half a brain strolled into a loan shark office without some kind of security.

What bothered him was that he'd heard his name on her lips in the same context as 'boyfriend' and his entire being perked up like a goddamn terrier.

Johnny whistled when Lucas groaned. "What the hell was that, anyway?" his partner asked.

That's what _he_ wanted to know. But Lucas didn't know how to get answers from her without asking them, and asking them would make Nadine suspicious. Of everything _._ "Don't know."

"What?" Johnny's voice took on a breathy falsetto. "But aren't you her _boyfriend_ , Lucas?"

"Shut up."

A fresh bout of laughter scraped over Lucas' nerves. Gouging his eyes out, he figured, would do him no favors. "This time, I will punch you in the mouth," he warned good-naturedly, dropping his hands to deliberately not smile at the chortling man.

Johnny made an effort, at least. "Okay, okay. Did you know your rich girl was attached to the Harris account?" he asked, amusement fading.

Lucas didn't know. He should have, but he didn't. That kind of thing should have been noted—if for no other reason than because every avenue that led to money got processed with an account. If a debtor skipped, those avenues were paid a visit.

The fact that this particular avenue stemmed from big blue eyes and a mouth he'd sworn never to explore infuriated him.

Then again, if anyone could afford to pay off the Harris account, it was a Sherwood.

"No," he said shortly.

Johnny huffed out a sigh. "Okay. Well, it's no big deal." He offered a hand. "At least it's paid. She didn't even check the interest."

Lucas took it, wincing. "I can't believe she paid by credit. What the hell is she thinking?"

"What, she thinks?"

"Shut up," Lucas said again. "Did you up the interest?"

"And risk you climbing down my throat?" his partner asked evenly, lifting a thick black eyebrow. "You must think I'm stupid."

"Most of the time," Lucas said readily.

"Asshole."

Lucas wanted to laugh, but hell if he could. He wavered between outright fury and long-term resignation, which was par for the course when it came to Nadine Sherwood.

"So," Johnny said, waving the credit slip at him. "What were you saying about the future and money?" He whistled the Twilight Zone music, like Lucas was some sort of fortune teller.

Ha. Much to Lucas' chagrin, he hadn't been angling towards a paid off loan. He wasn't even sure a closed account would help the subject he _really_ wanted to bring up.

There were days when he'd swear the universe was out to get him. He'd spent all of this one trying to figure out a way to bring up the future to his partner in crime. He'd rolled through several intros.

None of them had felt right.

Just when he'd thought to blurt it all out, Nadine rolled into the office like a small blonde hurricane. Had he been even a second slower, she would have strolled right in to find him manning the loan shark office like he belonged—and the worst part of it was that he _did_. This was his job, his real job. The one he'd never told her about.

The second of his two secrets.

His heart twisted in his chest. "It's a gift," he managed.

"Hell of a gift to have. That account is closed, then," Johnny said, writing a note on a small legal pad. He jerked a thumb back at the abandoned cubicles behind them. "I'll go enter it into the computer. We gonna make a second offer to the Harris broad?"

Lucas shook his head, adjusting the collar of his skewed Henley. "She's skipped town."

"No shit."

"Word is," Lucas said as the cellphone by his foot thrummed. He nudged it with a foot, flipping it over to see the name on the screen. _Nadine._ Surprise, surprise. "Left her kid with the debt."

He should have known about Nadine's interest in the Harrises. Had she ever said?

Was it one of those times he'd tuned her out?

No way. He would have clued in if she'd ever mentioned Katherine Harris. If she had, he'd have moved heaven and earth to waive the account. Buried it so deep, no one would ever find it again. Eating the cost was nothing compared to what would happen if Nadine found out what he did for a living. Risking jail was the least of his worries.

Watching disappointment well into those blue eyes would kill him.

He bent and picked up the vibrating phone, running a thumb over the old clamshell device. He'd dropped it in his graceless flail to get out of sight, but it was tougher than most of the smartphones everybody else had converted to.

"Oh, hey," Johnny said with mock surprise, "is that your girlfriend now?"

Ignoring the other man's weighty stare, he flipped it open. "Guess what?" he snapped into it. "I'm still busy."

It didn't matter how many times he heard it. Nadine had the kind of voice rich old men would pay by the minute to hear on a phone line. Despite the ache in his head, the throb in his elbow, his body responded to it. _A freaking terrier_ , he thought again, scraping his fingers along his whisker-roughened jaw.

When it came to her, he wasn't any better.

As usual, she wasted no time ignoring him. "I'm coming over."

Johnny pushed away from the desk, crooning an off-key rendition of some stupid pop song. The chorus cracked.

Lucas cupped the mouthpiece before his partner's idiocy trickled over into the line. "Nadine, do you have a hearing problem or is it just me you don't listen to?"

"If I listened to you," she replied lightly, "I'd never see you again."

"Ever wonder why?" As soon as the words seared into the line, Lucas wanted them back.

This wasn't her fault. It wasn't her problem. The first of his secrets, the one that reminded him exactly what he was worth, wasn't her responsibility.

She didn't know about the night he'd watched Mr. Sherwood write a check to his parents in return for a promise to keep their teenage son from associating with pretty, popular, _perfect_ Nadine.

Moving across town forced him to change schools, change bus lines. Change everything. It should have been the end of it, but nobody had asked pretty, popular, perfect Nadine what _she_ wanted. Seven years later, and she still found reasons to come around—even if she didn't tell her parents.

Even if played havoc with _him_.

He wouldn't tell her. Not then, not now, not ever. She loved her parents. The fact that they'd put a price on _his_ family's pride, his worth, wasn't her problem. Far as he could tell, they only wanted the best for her.

Lucas Bourdin was never going to be that.

He'd just...suffer. Forever. Or at least until he'd managed to pull together enough savings to start a new life somewhere else. Somewhere without the stigma of the wrong side of the tracks, without the shackle of Sherwood money around his throat.

Without every day lived like a felon.

"I wondered," she replied, but with none of the hurt he'd expected. Instead, her tone turned husky. Teasing. "I just assumed my presence overloaded your manly sensibilities."

_Damn it._ He was overloaded, all right, but "sensible" had nothing to do with it.

Moving away, starting over, also meant a life without Nadine's endless, innocent torment—her breathy voice in his ear. Her smile.

If he was lucky, even a little, the aching images of her hand down his pants and the dreams of her hot tongue against his skin would fade.

Goddamn, he was tired of beating off to a high school fantasy.

His dick didn't agree. It never did. Lucas stifled a curse. "Seriously, Nadine, I'm—"

"Busy, I know," she cut in, huffing out a little laugh. "But, okay, joking aside, my car's shaking."

"Shaking how?"

"Like a lot." She made a little sound that he knew was supposed to be pitiful. "What if I get stranded? I'd have to walk home, and I don't think my feet would last in these shoes."

Low blow, and she knew it. He may be wise to her tricks, but even he knew he was every bit a sucker for them. He checked his watch, scowling. "Fine. Bring it around at four. Vibration can be a symptom of something deeper."

"Boy, does it," she returned, with an odd note to her sunshine voice he didn't recognize. Before he could ask, she added, "I'll bring dinner, okay? You get the beer." Typical Nadine, she didn't linger to say goodbye. She never did. The line went dead in his ear.

Johnny's heavy footsteps punctuated the silence left behind. "Girl's got you whipped."

"Dude, don't." Lucas snapped the phone close and slid it into his pocket. "I need to cut out early."

"You going to chew her out for coming here?"

"And how," Lucas asked, scowling at his smug partner, "am I supposed to do that?"

"I can think of a few ways," Johnny retorted, but waved it away before Lucas' scowl turned any blacker. "Relax. We scored a payday." He clapped Lucas on the shoulder with a weighty hand. "Pops would be proud."

Yeah. He probably would. Mario Aresco was a man who'd lived a life with no regrets, always surrounded by family. His personality could power the world, and he'd raised his son to do whatever it took to get a job done. Johnny did that, all right. He was good at it. But like his dad, he always put family first. When the Arescos had taken Lucas in, they'd treated him like one of their own.

He owed them a lot. So much so that when Mario's health deteriorated, Lucas had stepped in to help Johnny balance the business.

And that made it all the harder to cut and run. How the hell could he explain that he wanted out?

Lucas dragged a hand through his hair, pulling it back away from his forehead. "Close up at five. Your mom wants you home for dinner."

"Yeah, I'll balance the books first." Johnny leaned against the counter, watching Lucas stride through the shabby waiting area. "You know, Pops would be the first to point out that your girl's worth a hell of lot."

His heart slammed. Lucas's fingers cramped around the doorknob. _Chill_ , he thought, swallowing down an immediate surge of crackling fury.

Johnny didn't mean anything by it—it was just business. Money was good for business. Wallace & Roane's margins weren't so wide that they could afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.

But Nadine Sherwood was off-fucking-limits.

He opened the door, shooting a flat, wry smile back at his partner. "Trust me, bro. Nobody can afford her."

"You sure you aren't window shopping?"

Lucas's smile faded. He wanted to deny it, to argue, to retort something that would absolve him of everything—the wants, the fantasies, the lies. Instead, as it tangled on his tongue, all he could do was flip his partner a steady middle finger.

Another snort followed him out.

* * *

Want to know what happens next? _Don't Let Me Go_, out now!
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Rin Daniels: Can't Buy Me Love

Copyright © 2014 Rin Daniels

Edition: 2.0

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All rights reserved. Where such permission is sufficient, the author grants the right to strip any DRM which may be applied to this work.
