Star Crossed
Date: 2016-04-19 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Erotica; M F Romance; Contemporary; Contemporary Romance
Description: A.J. Hoyt is as cynical as she is badass, a former cop turned bodyguard. A lifetime of hard knocks taught her not to trust—a handy trait in her line of work. Given the right motivation, she knows anyone will betray their near and dear. Rather than let them betray her, A.J. keeps her shields nailed up. On the surface, Luke Channing’s life seems charmed. He’s a Hollywood action hero whose looks inspire fantasies. Known for being easygoing and kind to fans, his latest film made him a billionaire producer. Problem is his high profile has attracted a dangerous admirer. Threats like the one Luke fac

Star Crossed: The Billionaires

Emma Holly

Digital edition

Copyright 2016 Emma Holly. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission of the author.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This story is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. It includes sexually explicit content that is only appropriate for adults—and not every adult at that. Those who are offended by more adventurous depictions of sexuality or frank language possibly shouldn’t read it. Literary license has been taken in this book. It is not intended to be a sexual manual. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons living or dead is either fictitious or coincidental. That said, the author hopes you enjoy this tale!

Star Crossed: the Billionaires is an approximately 90,000-word novel.

eISBN-10: 0-9967718-1-6
eISBN-13: 978-0-9967718-1-8

Discover other exciting Emma Holly titles at http://www.emmaholly.com

Cover photos: istockphoto.com

Table of Contents

Title Page

Star Crossed . . .

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER TITLES BY EMMA HOLLY

THE ONLY “DESTINY” SHE BELIEVES IN IS THE CRAP KIND THAT BITES YOU IN THE ASS . . .

A.J. HOYT is as cynical as she is badass, a former cop turned bodyguard. A lifetime of hard knocks taught her not to trust—a handy trait in her line of work. Given the right motivation, she knows anyone will betray their near and dear. Rather than let them betray her, A.J. keeps her shields nailed up.

On the surface, Luke Channing’s life seems charmed. He’s a Hollywood action hero whose looks inspire fantasies. Known for being easygoing and kind to fans, his latest film made him a billionaire producer. Problem is his high profile is attracting a dangerous class of admirer.

Threats like the one Luke faces aren’t new. A.J. saved his life once already. Now he doesn’t trust anyone but her to guard him. With a deadly enemy lurking in the shadows, this star-crossed pair better pray A.J.’s skills are sharp!

*

Luke strolled into her kitchen with his muscular torso on display. A.J. should have been over the reaction, but her mouth watered regardless.

Shirt makers should have thanked his shoulders for stretching them, and never mind the favors his long legs did for those trousers. Though he had a not insignificant package, his hips were narrower than hers—and she was no J.Lo. His perfect skin was sun-browned, the hollow of his navel a magnet for fingertips to trace. His shaved chest should have curled her lip with scorn, but in truth she could barely focus on what she did.

No great chef, A.J. was browning chops in an old iron skillet.

“You’re a cop,” he said. He’d spotted the picture of her graduation taped to her fridge. God, she’d been excited to put those dress blues on.

“I was one,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.

Luke leaned his weight on the L of her prep counter. A tiny shiver bounced down her nape. For just a second his clear green eyes were weirdly familiar. “Did you quit?”

“I was fired.” She freed the pork chop from the pan with a vicious dig of the spatula. “Today, as it happens.”

“An amazing storyteller.”—BookAddict, The Romance Reviews

PROLOGUE

New York, 2001

DESPITE only being twelve, A.J. Hoyt knew how to tail someone. Her dad was a firefighter, but she wanted to be a cop. According to her mom, who was a lawyer, she was too young to choose. You have time, Valerie Hoyt would say. You’ll find a hundred jobs you like more. Preferably ones you won’t get killed doing.

A.J. understood why her mom wanted this to happen. Her mom hated that her husband might not come home one day. All the same, A.J. wasn’t buying her prediction. When a person had a dream, they had to go for it.

A.J.’s dream was to be an honest-to-God police detective. This meant figuring out the rules for undercover work.

Rule number one was blend in with your surroundings. Because school was out for the summer, and their hood in Brooklyn had lots of kids, A.J. had that covered. Her T-shirt and army shorts were boring. Ditto for her scuffed-up Converses. She wasn’t pretty and didn’t look interesting—even though she was. In the week she’d been following the lady from the creepy brownstone around the corner, her subject hadn’t noticed her even once.

On the downside, this made the lady seem less suspicious. According to A.J.’s dad, who had a street smart or two, paranoia and guilt went hand in hand.

At the moment, the lady was going into the Chinese restaurant she ordered takeout from every day. Prepared for this, A.J. ghosted after her, ninja-style. She and her dad ate here sometimes, so she knew none of the people behind the counter spoke English. The lady pointed out dishes on the picture menu—way more dishes than a person who supposedly lived alone could eat.

Was she counting on the fact that the staff could only tattle to other Chinese speakers?

When the lady got her order and turned around, A.J. acted like she was playing her Game Boy.

Rule number two of tailing: If you think you’re going to be spotted, have something less lame to do than tie your shoe. A.J. waited for a count of seven to obey rule three, which was never follow your person of interest too closely. By the time A.J. reached the street, the lady was a ways down the block, moving fast along the sidewalk in the direction of her house. The lady wore nice clothes—a skirt and blouse and shoes with heels. She walked like a rich person, nose in the air, like she was important and privileged.

If she was important, she didn’t have friends that A.J. could tell. Nobody visited her, and she only left the brownstone to run errands.

She is suspicious, A.J. assured herself.

The lady’s house had an iron fence around its tiny front area. It was a private house, not apartments. Once the lady disappeared behind the gate, A.J. wouldn’t be able to shadow her. She wouldn’t be able to observe her either, on account of her keeping the window shades pulled down.

A.J. held her breath, because she’d come up with a plan to get around that. It had cost her twenty saved-up dollars of her allowance, but if it worked it would be worth it.

Right on cue, her best friend Nigella’s brother came barreling across the street. Sam was fourteen and played football. He knocked the lady sideways with his shoulder and kept running.

The lady fell into the fence, bags flying from her hands just as A.J. hoped.

“Oh my gosh,” A.J. exclaimed, running up to make her pretend rescue. “Are you all right? That boy ran right over you!”

“I’m fine,” said the lady, though her hair had fallen from its clips. She’d also ripped the knee of her stocking, and the skin beneath was bleeding.

Ordering herself not to feel ashamed, A.J. handed her one of the takeout bags. “You’re shaking,” she said. “And your knee is scraped. Maybe I should help you inside.”

“No!” The woman picked up the second bag on her own.

Her purse was on the sidewalk, leaning against the iron bars with its clasp open. A.J. started to reach for it, thinking she might “accidentally” drop it again and spill out its contents. If she could get a peek at an ID, she’d have a genuine clue to investigate.

The lady foiled her hopes by snatching up the purse herself. “I’m fine,” she repeated crisply. “Now go away or I’ll call the cops.”

She opened her gate with an angry squeak, marching off inside and leaving A.J. frowning in frustration.

Now she’d never unearth the truth about the boy prisoner.

She’d told her dad she’d seen him peeking out a small window in the cellar. She was sure he’d mouthed “help” at her. She was teaching herself to read lips, and anyway anyone could read that. The boy was skinny and had green eyes with dark circles under them. Though he was kind of shrimpy, he could have been her age. His skin was pale enough to see through, his veins like blue rivers.

So what if she’d only spotted him for a second before he got scared and jerked away? A.J. hadn’t made him up. She’d swear that in a court of law.

Jesus, A.J., her dad had said. Remember when you swore Mr. Evans across the hall was a cat burglar? And when you ‘knew’ Nigella had been abducted by aliens?

I was eight, she’d huffed. Four whole years ago.

Her dad had refused to listen. Without hard proof, she’d never change his mind. He had friends on the police force. If he’d believed her, he could have taken the case to them.

Too bad she’d lost her best chance to find evidence. Even worse, the brownstone lady had seen her face. If A.J. got caught tailing her again, she really would call the cops.

“Way to break rule four,” she muttered.

She put her hands on her hips and scowled. Her dad should give her some credit. Hadn’t she held back her theory that the prisoner in the cellar was a vampire?

She was turning to go when she spotted a glint of metal in the grass, near where the lady’s purse had fallen. A quick check of the front windows confirmed that the shades were down and no one was peering out. She walked—nonchalantly—toward the spot. As she reached it, she bent her knees and grabbed what felt like the thing. She kept on walking until she could veer into the little walkway between the brownstone and its neighbor, where the meter thingies lived. With her back to the next building’s wall, she opened her fingers.

She held a key.

It wasn’t a normal key. It was long and fancy and made of bronze. Really old houses had keys like this.

And maybe secret prisons for boys who probably weren’t vampires.

Now that she had it, she didn’t know what to do. A key didn’t prove anything, and if she told her father how she got it, he’d ground her for stealing.

She crept to the window where she’d glimpsed the boy before. The glass was dusty and no lights were on inside. All she could see was a section of window ledge. The panes were too small to squeeze in or out of. The couple times she’d tried softly tapping on them she’d gotten no response. Now she noticed the caulking around the edges was extra thick. That gave her an idea.

Rule five was don’t leave home without your Swiss Army knife.

A.J. dug out her handy folding model—which she totally wasn’t allowed to have—so she could scrape some caulk away. Once she did, she still couldn’t see inside or open the window, but she had made a little hole. She could stick the key through and hope the boy would find it.

Assuming it would be any help to him.

No better course of action occurred to her. Into the hole went the strange bronze key, until it was too far for her to pull out again. It didn’t fall to the floor, which might have made it easier to find.

Shoot, she thought.

Then she remembered the window dust. She could leave the boy a message.

It had to be innocuous, so if his lady jailer saw it, she wouldn’t think it was anything.

A.J. gnawed her thumb and considered. Smiley faces were innocuous. People doodled them everywhere. Since she was still crouched, she drew one that had a wink. A fainter line with a crooked arrowhead pointed to the slit she’d pushed the key through.

She nodded in satisfaction. The arrow part could pass for a drawing accident.

She stood and wiped her dirty hands on her army shorts. If the boy actually existed, she’d done what she could to help.

As she slipped from the narrow passage, she admitted her dad might be right about her letting her imagination run away with her good sense.

CHAPTER ONE

New York, 2011

A.J. HOYT slapped her flattened palm on the door to the seedy bar. One firm shove took her from bright skies to a murky beer-scented room.

She paused while her vision adjusted.

She had enough self-awareness to know how she appeared. With her legs braced wide and her hands planted on her hips, she’d have made a decent recruiting poster for the precinct that had so recently expelled her. Her plain gray T-shirt was army crisp, her black jeans not decorated or close fitting. Her straight dark hair was scraped into a short ponytail. She wore no makeup and no jewelry except a watch. No girly stuff at all, though she was discernibly female. Her boobs were on the small side, but they were there. Overall, she looked trim, fit, and ready for anything.

Twenty-two years of active living had seen to that.

Out of habit and her now wasted training, A.J. scoped out her surroundings. To her left was a beat-up bar. A bored dishwater blonde stood behind it, half-heartedly cleaning used glassware. Two patrons sat on stools at the end: male, forty-something, and most likely Latino. They were speaking quietly in Spanish, probably enjoying man-time away from wives or girlfriends. To her right in the second booth was a pair of thin neo-Goths, looking more in need of sandwiches than alcohol. At the single table in the center, four union types bent toward each other around a shared pitcher, plotting who knew what offenses against management or maybe their own workers. The pool table at the back hosted a quartet of bikers in worn leather and ripped denim. They were drinking but not wasted. A.J. filed them under Not An Immediate Concern.

The drug handoff one bearded lovely executed with the busboy made her itch for her surrendered badge and gun.

Fuck it, she told herself. You are permanently off duty.

She and the blonde bartender were the only females there.

Satisfied no cop from her precinct would venture into this dive except to arrest someone, she took her five feet eleven inches of rangy muscle to the line of empty stools. She was no twelve-year-old Nancy Drew anymore, chasing every shadow that caught her eye. She’d trained to be quick and cool under fire. Her trigger finger was as steady as her amber brown gaze was sharp. She was courteous to the public, tough, and—according to her department file—had a knack for soothing fear and rage. In her brief tenure on the force, she’d earned a commendation for bravery.

None of that mattered when push came to shove from the higher ups.

Not relaxed enough to sit, she sidled between two seats to rest her elbows on the bar rail.

The bartender noticed and stepped over. “What’ll it be, hon?”

What should it be? It was barely four in the afternoon. Fuck it, she swore again to herself. It wasn’t every day a lifelong dream bit the dust.

“Whiskey. Two fingers. No rocks. Plus a half pint of Guinness or whatever you’ve got that’s close.”

The bartender supplied the drinks neatly. A.J. dug out a couple bills to pay, tossed the whiskey back in one go, then turned her beer glass in a circle while she waited for her eyes to stop watering.

“You’re not my usual sort of patron,” the blonde observed.

A.J. coughed out a ragged laugh. “Was it the rack that gave me away?”

“Nah. You just smell better.”

A.J. didn’t have the energy to smile. “You ever notice how doing the right thing can get you into worse trouble than being a corrupt dickhead?”

“Not personally,” the bartender said. “But that does seem to be the way of the world.”

A.J. took a swallow of beer and sighed. It was Guinness, she noted.

“You want another shot of Jim Beam?”

A.J. shook her head glumly. “If I wake up hungover, I’ll be even more depressed.”

“I could make your tomorrow a little brighter,” the blonde suggested. “You know, if you roll that way.”

A.J. looked up in surprise. She hadn’t seen that coming.

“Oh never mind,” the bartender said. “I can read that expression.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.”

The bartender smiled, looking less tired and more pretty. “You didn’t. I just figured I’d try my luck. You’re a tall drink of Tabasco. I’m Gina, by the way.”

“A.J.,” she responded, reaching to shake the offered hand.

“Bad day, I guess.”

“And then some,” A.J. agreed.

Seeing she wasn’t going to elaborate, the bartender left to serve the two older guys at the other end. She seemed to know them, exchanging quips in fluent Spanish like it was no big thing. This was obviously a local watering hole, rundown but familiar to the people who drank at it. A.J. wondered how Gina had ended up working here. It couldn’t be the worst place in New York City, but it was far from the best. Was Gina down on her luck? Maybe on the run from an abusive ex?

Cut it out, A.J. ordered. No one’s paying you to do social work now either.

She heard the drunken laughter before she saw the group it was coming from. The street door swung open, thunking the wall by the entrance. She turned from the bar to see, her hand moving to check for the sidearm that no longer hung at her hip.

“No, no, no,” protested a female voice, too amused for her refusal to be taken seriously. “Luke, we can’t go in there.”

“Chicken,” accused another woman.

“Oh, it’s brilliant,” declared a third in a plummy UK accent.

The glare of the light outside obscured A.J.’s view until the door swung shut behind the newcomers. As it did, a man stepped into the bar ahead of the three women. Despite being hard to shock, A.J.’s breath caught halfway to her lungs.

He was the most breathtaking specimen of maleness she’d ever laid eyes on.

Being tall herself, A.J. liked tall guys. This fellow was six and change—maybe as much as a nickel. Even without him in it, his suit was yummy. Bespoke was what tailors called clothes like that. No tie obscured his strong brown throat, and his collar was unbuttoned. A serious chest shaped the smooth white cotton, though not an inch of the cloth was strained. His shoulders were football broad, his trim waist circled by a dark belt.

A.J. had a feeling his trousers cut across his designer shoes at some mathematically ordained spot.

Despite the perfection of his apparel, as he looked around the bar he seemed at ease rather than prissy. He could have been gay, but her gut said not. He had genuine scruff on his cheeks, the bristle the only not-polished thing about him. Like an ad for a luxury an average Jane like her shouldn’t covet, he removed his sunglasses.

A.J. suspected they cost more than her severance pay.

His eyes were some light color, creased at the corners and observant. His mouth, which was slightly pursed, made her wish she were sitting down.

It was the sort of mouth any woman would dream of exploring.

“Shit,” the bartender said in an undertone. “This is not going to end well.”

For one stupid second, A.J. thought Gina was talking about her attraction to the guy.

She wasn’t. When A.J. glanced at her, she jerked her head toward the group of bikers around the pool table. They’d stopped playing to watch the newcomers.

“Hel-lo, ladies,” murmured the bearded one with the big belly.

Okay, A.J. should have noticed Handsome Man’s companions before then. She checked now and found three stunning, made-up, blown-out fashionistas in outfits too skimpy and eccentric for the joint they’d walked into.

None wore shoes she could have run two steps in.

A.J. didn’t know if it were wise or stupid that the group ignored the bearded guy’s greeting.

“We’ll have a quick one,” their male escort said.

“A quick one!” the Brit complained. “Luke, we’re celebrating.”

Luke chucked her gorgeous caramel colored chin, her jawline sharp enough that he should have cut himself. “This is my round. Don’t forget I’m poorer than you three.”

“Not for long,” sing-songed a willowy redhead who was almost as tall as him. “ITM frickin’ signed you today. You’ll be whipping out your black Amex before you can say Sean O’Pry.”

“That’s not all his fans will want him to whip out,” joked the final girl. Yet another six-footer, the curly haired brunette had a face as cute as a Kewpie doll.

Shit, A.J. thought, belatedly adding up the pieces. They were fashion models. Their clothes were eccentric because they were couture.

The man they called Luke smiled indulgently. He seemed less impressed over his good fortune than the women.

“Come on,” he said, herding his flock of beauties to the bar.

He nodded at A.J. as he reached it—but as if he’d been raised polite rather than like he’d noticed her. A.J. nodded back dazedly. He’d already turned away. He looked even better at close range. Younger, too. About her age, she guessed. His hair was light brown with gold highlights. The streaks weren’t natural, she didn’t think, but they complemented his clear green eyes. Her nostrils flared as she caught a whiff of clean man and nice cologne. He smelled totally delicious.

Maybe he felt her staring. He glanced at her again and furrowed his eyebrows. His gaze was like a laser, reaching all the way into her. A.J. had trouble breathing. That amount of focus couldn’t help but make a person feel singled out.

Special, she thought irrationally.

She shook herself at the foolish thought, forcing her attention away from him. She didn’t need to add herself to the countless gawkers he likely had every day.

Despite the scold, her eyes slid back the moment he looked away.

“Bourbon?” he asked his companions, who all nodded. “I’ve got a hundred,” he said to Gina. “Please don’t make me spend more or I’ll have to wash dishes.”

Gina nodded in the same dumbstruck fashion as A.J. Her cheeks were a hotter pink than before . . . though maybe not on Luke’s account. His companions were probably more her cup of tea.

“I’ve got some 14-year-old Wild Turkey,” she said faintly.

This was the good stuff. A.J. hoped Luke knew his hundred wouldn’t get them more than a drink apiece. He didn’t seem worried one way or another. He slid the bill across the bar like he wasn’t going to ask for change.

His girls appeared satisfied, though only the Brit paid attention to what she sipped. The other two were busy arranging themselves in not-casual poses, showing off their cheekbones or their necks or whatever body part they thought needed admiring. It was as if they expected a camera to materialize any second to capture their grace and style. Being that vain struck A.J. as exhausting. Then again, she couldn’t stop sneaking looks at them.

Naturally, this was true for all the bar’s patrons.

“All right,” Luke said as the final drop was tipped down the final throat. “That’s it for this pit stop.”

“Aww,” the redhead pouted, lounging fetchingly back against the bar. “I like this place.”

Crap, A.J. thought as the bearded biker with the belly stepped into the opening he’d no doubt been waiting for. He held the cue stick like he knew how to break bones with it.

“I’d be happy to buy the lady another drink.”

His voice was saying friendly words, but his piggy dark eyes were cold. A.J. knew—the way she knew her own name—that simply buying this silly hothouse flower a drink wouldn’t satisfy his effed-up, drug-dealing soul. Even if the redhead accepted, he’d find an excuse to do her harm. The model would wrinkle her nose, or laugh the wrong way, or refuse to blow him in the back hall. The reason wouldn’t matter. He’d make sure the beautiful, privileged girl never forgot him.

“That’s nice of you,” Luke said, “but I’m afraid we’ve made other plans.”

She supposed in some situations his politeness would have worked. She certainly gave him points for sounding calm and respectful. Unfortunately, no amount of good manners could squeak them out of this.

Bearded Guy grinned at him. “I have other plans myself.”

Luke started to open his mouth to speak.

He didn’t get a chance. Bearded Guy swung at him. The biker knew how to fight, on top of which the object of his assault wasn’t prepared to block. Fist slammed face and then knee slammed balls before A.J. could intervene. The models shrieked as their friend went down.

Bearded Guy’s buddies seemed to think he shouldn’t have all the fun. They advanced en masse to help thrash the pretty boy.

The fire in their eyes was as eager as their leader’s.

“Call the cops,” A.J. ordered the bartender.

“Bitch,” Bearded Guy took a moment to say to her. He drew back his steel-toed boot to kick Luke again. The model’s nose was bleeding, his body curled around his injured groin.

He didn’t realize his ribs were the next target.

A.J. grabbed the stool she’d never sat on, swinging its seat full force into Bearded Guy’s shoulder. The metal legs were a decent fulcrum, augmenting her natural strength. The biker roared as his arm bone cracked. Sadly, this didn’t mean he was out of fight. He rushed toward her and then his friends did too.

There were four of them, all bigger than she was, but she’d been trained by New York’s finest. Better still, her opponents had more to drink. Their diminished coordination worked in her favor. They didn’t exactly fall like dominoes, but she drove them back enough to protect the man they were trying to attack.

The union guys had already made themselves scarce, but after a minute, possibly shamed by her example, the two older Spanish-speaking men waded in to subdue one biker.

Her odds improved, A.J. used her own fighting boots. Though they weren’t steel-toed, she sent another outlaw into dreamland when her foot connected with his sternum and he cracked his head on the edge of a booth’s table. That left two mutts to take care of. Luke was groaning but struggled to get up. The British model rushed forward to help him.

With more strength than her toothpick limbs suggested, she dragged Luke out of the line of fire.

“Don’t,” he said. “She can’t fight two of them by herself.”

A.J. could and would. Bearded Guy had dropped his pool cue on the sticky floor earlier. Channeling every ounce of frustration inspired by her day from hell, she grabbed it up and whirled. The cue stick’s end took Bearded Guy’s last ally upside his head. His eyes rolled back as he crumpled.

“You’re crazy,” Bearded Guy accused, holding his broken arm and panting.

A.J. made the pool cue whistle like a ninja weapon and backed him into a corner. She noticed she didn’t hear sirens yet.

“Didn’t you call 911?” she demanded of Gina.

“I . . . we’ve been having trouble with our license,” she said apologetically, nixing any chance A.J would switch teams for her. “I can’t afford to bring them here.”

Bearded Guy grinned at her.

New York’s finest weren’t the first folks A.J. wanted to see either. She wasn’t one of them anymore, nor did most have reason to believe she was anything but a traitor to the uniform. With her luck, they’d twist this fight around so she ended up seeming in the wrong. It was, after all, how they’d responded to her accusation that her sergeant skimmed money from drug busts.

To them, she’d always be the hysterical female rookie who tried to grass her superior.

“Screw it,” she said, lowering the pool cue. Bearded Guy tracked the motion with his eyes, same as most people would. This allowed her to pop him in the center of his forehead with her free fist. Her knuckles landed so squarely he went down like a feather.

A.J. might be tough but she was human. Her adrenaline fury spent, her knees started shaking with reaction. Stiff legs took her to the models, where she shook out her stinging hand. The girls had missed her epic takedown. They were fluttering around Luke. He was hunched in a chair holding damp paper towels to his bloody nose.

His friends seemed worried for him but otherwise useless.

“This is so bad,” the Kewpie doll brunette moaned. “You look awful.”

A.J. saw they could use direction. “One of you needs to take him to the ER. Those hits he took were substantial.”

“We have a thing tonight,” the redhead objected. “It’s Michael Kors. We’ll get fired if we don’t show up.”

Luke looked up at his fair-weather friend and gaped.

“I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “You know the agency’s rules about ditching assignments.”

“I . . . do,” Luke said slowly.

The Brit turned to A.J. “Couldn’t you take him? You seem capable.”

“I’d . . . appreciate it,” Luke put in with the same hitch of dismay.

Fuck, A.J. thought, realizing she couldn’t abandon him. It was that thing people said in books: save a man’s life and you’re responsible for him forever. Resigned but irritated, she thrust her palm toward the hopeful girls.

“Cab fare,” she ordered. “Unless you’d rather I walk your friend to the hospital.”

The girls scurried to supply it, thanking her with a breathlessness that increased her annoyance. When they were done, A.J. held six crisp hundreds within her fist.

Must be nice, she told herself.

Stuck in her Samaritan role, A.J. heaved Luke up with his long arm around her shoulder. He smelled good, despite dripping sweat and blood—just in case she needed proof Fate was kinder to some people.

Her hands full, she decided she’d let the bartender worry about her downed patrons.

“Thank you,” Luke said, leaning on A.J. but able to walk okay.

A.J. grunted semi-rudely in response. As they emerged onto the pavement, the sunshine’s brilliance startled her. She glanced up and down the street. They were in East Harlem. Not the worst part but not the best either.

God knows what Luke and his fancy-pants friends were thinking when they brought their bar crawl here.

“Do you care where you get patched up?” she asked.

“I don’t really know the city,” he admitted.

That was the understatement of the decade. She waved down a gypsy cab, probably the best ride she’d get on short notice. Luke only winced a bit as she helped him in. She guessed he might eventually procreate.

She slid in after and shut the door. The skinny foreign driver craned around for instructions. He didn’t appear freaked out by his passengers’ ragged state. Maybe he’d seen worse where he came from.

“I have a friend who’s a resident in the ER at Lenox Hill,” she informed her companion.

Luke tipped his head back against the seat, wadded paper towels still in place. Some of the blood from his nose splotched his nice white shirt.

“Anywhere,” he said wearily. “I’m completely in your hands.”

It made no sense, but a thrill zinged through her.

CHAPTER TWO

HER job being what it was, A.J.’s friend couldn’t see them instantaneously. Allowing for that, Nigella was pretty speedy. Fifteen minutes after Luke handed a nurse his insurance card, she came to lead A.J.’s charge to an exam room.

Luke craned at A.J. over his shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”

Sheesh, she thought. Needy much?

“She should check you as well,” he said. “I saw you take some hits.”

Nigella stopped and narrowed her eyes at her.

“I’m fine,” A.J. said, automatically defensive. “All I’ve got are bruises.”

“Come anyway,” Nigella ordered. “I haven’t seen you in too long.”

A.J. sighed as she trudged obediently after Luke. She and Nigella had grown up two streets apart. Now Nigella was a single mom and doctor, her authority a hard-to-ignore mix of both. A.J. wished she could have stayed outside. Something in her old friend’s eyes said she’d heard how A.J.’s situation on the force turned out.

“Strip down to your skivvies,” Nigella instructed Luke, pointing her clipboard at the adjoining changing room. “I want to get a good look at you.”

Unexpectedly amused, A.J. covered her twitching mouth. Nigella was the only woman on the planet who’d mean this professionally.

“What?” Nigella asked, catching her expression.

“Nothing. Just admiring your bedside manner.”

Nigella frowned at her. “Are you really okay? I mean about your job.”

“Well, I was going to drown my sorrows, but Pretty Boy sucked me into his bar brawl.”

“Seriously,” Nigella pressed. “Being a police officer was your dream.”

A.J. resisted the urge to make sure the door Luke had disappeared behind was closed. If he heard, he heard. She shouldn’t care what he thought. “I’ve been better.” She shrugged with one shoulder. “I’ll be okay once I decide how the heck I’ll pay rent.”

“Your dad would hire you in a minute.”

“My dad let us down pretty bad when I was a kid.”

“Maybe he’s changed.”

A.J. heard something weird in her old friend’s voice. “Did he call you?”

Nigella looked sheepish. “He remembered how close you and I used to be and looked me up. Your mom’s got her new life in California with her new man. Maybe now’s the time to give him another chance.”

“Sheesh,” A.J. muttered. “Now who’s doing social work?”

Luke poked his head out the connecting door. “You ready for me?”

Nigella said she was. God love him, Luke walked out like being in his undies in front of strangers was an everyday occurrence. A.J. didn’t think he was cocky, just easy in his skin. Though she’d braced for him to be good looking, he was actually something more. His body had presence, as if he were the standard from which ideal proportions were measured. He was too thin for a regular guy, but his well-developed muscles and healthy color—seen between scattered bruises—kept him from seeming starved. Oddly enough, his shoulders looked even broader without his suit jacket. His abs were cut, his obliques mouthwatering. His nicely hairy legs had to be two miles long. His briefs were very brief indeed. They were navy, snug, and said EA on the white waistband.

Emporio Armani, A.J. realized with a mental blink.

Even Nigella, the nothing-fazes-me resident, cleared her throat at the sight of him.

“Can you hop on the table?” she inquired. “I’ve got a stool if it hurts to move.”

Luke’s height meant the climb wasn’t steep. Once he’d settled, Nigella shined her little flashlight into his nose. As she gently turned his face, A.J. noticed the hollows under both his eyes had purpled.

“Okay,” Nigella said. “You’re not going to like this.”

A crack sounded as she used both hands to pop his bones back into place.

“Shit,” he gasped, eyes tearing from the pain.

“Right,” Nigella said. “You had a simple nasal fracture. Not a big deal. It should heal without cosmetic deforming. I’ll tape on a splint to keep everything aligned and write out an ice regimen for the swelling. It might be a couple days before you can hide those black eyes effectively even with make up.”

“Shit,” Luke repeated, even unhappier. “So much for my next go-see.”

Nigella patted his arm sympathetically.

“Turn away, A.J.,” she instructed. “I’m going to check that kick to the nads Luke told the admitting nurse he got.”

A.J. turned and stared at the wall, biting her thumb as Luke made uncomfortable hissing sounds.

“All right,” Nigella said. “I think you caught a break here as well. I prescribe ice, rest, and keeping the boys in a nice supportive jockstrap until they’re all better. No strenuous activity. And, yes, that includes sex.”

“So I’m not, um, broken or anything?”

“You’re not broken. If you want them, you’ll father many beautiful children.”

“Good.” He huffed a relieved sigh men all around the world would have understood. “Thank you.”

“I’ll give you pain meds,” Nigella said in her doc-mom voice. “Plus an anti-inflammatory. And—” she continued as A.J. turned back. “I notice you’ve got a bump on your skull. I don’t think you have a concussion but just in case, you need a friend to keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours or so.”

“Will do,” Luke said.

A.J. drew breath to speak. If he was counting on the “friends” who’d ditched him at the bar, she didn’t think he’d get much oversight. With an effort, she shut her mouth. Luke was a grown man. He wasn’t dying. This was no longer her business.

“You’ll see he gets home safely?” Nigella asked.

Okay, it was almost no longer her business. “Sure.”

Luke looked at her, sensing her impatience. “You don’t have to. You’ve done enough already.”

“I can’t disobey the doc,” she countered.

Nigella snorted at that falsehood. “Call me soon. Bree’s been pestering me to have you over for dinner.”

Bree was Nigella’s ten-year-old daughter. A.J. and she got on like a house afire. The little girl had been happier than A.J. when she made it onto the police force.

“I will,” she said, not sure that was the truth either. “As soon as I . . . get my life in order.”

“I’ll break the news to Bree,” Nigella promised. Prescriptions scribbled, she dropped her pen into the breast pocket of her white lab coat. “You won’t have to explain anything.”

This was so understanding it choked her up.

*

A.J. hailed an actual cab this time. Luke gave the driver an address in Midtown South—a better neighborhood than she expected.

“It’s a condo,” he explained. “I’ve been bunking with the girls. I pay rent from my waiter job.”

At his mention of the girls, A.J. couldn’t help covering her face.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “If I feel woozy, I’ll call one of them.”

“Okay, leaving aside whether that’s what Nigella meant by someone keeping an eye on you, are you sure they’d leave their important Michael Corleone party for your sake?”

“Michael Kors,” he said. “And they’re all right.”

“You’re a lost lamb. Someone should shear you and herd you home.”

He didn’t like her joke. His handsome bruised face tightened.

“All right,” she said. “I get it. You don’t want to rely on the kindness of grumpy strangers. Unfortunately for you, this grumpy stranger takes her responsibilities seriously.”

She knocked on the partition and gave the cabby her address instead.

“You’re running up the fare,” Luke said.

“That’s all right. Your besties paid for it.”

This sealed his lips together until the cab reached her apartment. She helped him out, perversely pleased to discover he was still unsteady on his long legs. He didn’t argue, but she could tell it took work. On the second flight to her one-bedroom, third-floor walkup, he succumbed to understandable bitchiness.

“The girls have an elevator,” he informed her. “I’m not supposed to do strenuous things.”

“Oh suck it up.” Despite her words, she took a firmer grip on his ribcage. “At least you won’t keel over and die alone.”

He smiled with his head averted as she unkeyed her locks. After they stepped in, he stood on his own while she re-bolted them. Her renewed awareness of his height made her feel off balance.

“This is cool,” he said, taking in the warehouse-style brick-lined space.

“I’m no decorator,” she warned, fighting her pleasure at his approval. By New York hipster standards, the place was nothing to brag about. It wasn’t messy at least, or cluttered, but she made no claim to it being spic and span. The heavy punching bag she’d hung from the ceiling beam was the only guaranteed dust-free article.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I’m a guy.”

A.J. rubbed two fingers across her smile.

“I am,” he insisted. “My folks own a farm in Minnesota. Just because I’m trying to be a model and apparently can’t fight, doesn’t mean I’m not male.”

A.J. ignored that opening. “You more interested in the bathroom or the couch?”

He chose bathroom, and she assisted him across the floor to it.

“Are you hungry?” she called through the door.

“Yes,” he called back. “But please nothing too carby.”

A.J. rolled her eyes. Along with everything else, she guessed she was supposed to watch his waistline. She did a quick swipe of the dusty coffee table, found a blanket and pillow for the old couch, and headed to her kitchen space. Finished with his business in the john, Luke made a halting circuit of her apartment before rejoining her.

Luke must have washed his bloodied shirt in her bathroom sink. He strolled into her kitchen with his smoothly muscled torso on display. A.J. should have been over the reaction, but her mouth watered regardless.

The reason the modeling agency signed him was obvious. Shirt makers should have thanked his shoulders for stretching them, and never mind the favors his long legs did for those trousers. Though he had a not insignificant package, his hips were narrower than hers—and she was no J.Lo. His perfect skin was sun-browned, the hollow of his navel a magnet for fingertips to trace. His shaved chest should have curled her lip with scorn, but in truth she could barely focus on what she did.

No more chef than decorator, A.J. was browning chops in an old iron skillet.

“You’re a cop,” he said. He’d spotted the picture of her graduation taped to her fridge. God, she’d been excited to put those dress blues on.

“I was one,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.

Luke leaned his weight on the L of her prep counter. A tiny shiver bounced down her nape. For just a second his intense green eyes were weirdly familiar. “Did you quit?”

“I was fired.” She freed the pork chop from the pan with a vicious dig of the spatula. “Today, as it happens.”

“Shit. What for?”

A.J. opened her freezer and pulled out some vegetables. “For accusing a superior of skimming money from drug busts.”

“Did you have evidence?”

“Not enough to make the charges stick. And my boss had more friends than me. Guess I should have paid better attention at charm school.”

Frozen snow peas exploded into the sink as she ripped the plastic bag that held them too forcefully. Gritting her teeth for patience, she gathered them up, rinsed them, then dumped them into a pot of hot water.

“Your department could have investigated,” Luke observed.

“They could have, but it was easier to eighty-six the rookie.” She turned to face Luke’s sympathetic eyes. “I knew accusing him was a long shot and I might end up screwed. I took a chance. I have . . . issues when it comes to doing what I think of as the right thing.”

“Some people would say that’s a good quality for a cop.”

“Some people would.”

Luke lowered his head and smiled. Even with the nose splint, he looked like a movie star. “It’s certainly a good quality when you get caught in a bar fight.”

“Have you never been in a fight before?”

“Just scuffles.” He shrugged unselfconsciously. “With other kids in school. I did not see that punch coming.”

“Those girls you hang with like walking on the edge. You be careful they don’t lead you over it someday.”

Luke’s soulful green eyes hooked hers. His expression was as sincere as an altar boy. “That’s a lesson I’ll do my best to learn.”

For three long seconds, A.J. believed him. Her heart beat faster, her pussy suffusing with wet heat. Realizing what he’d done, she snorted. “I’ll bet you used that look on your mom every time you broke curfew.”

“I meant every word!”

“You’re still a bullshitter.”

He looked aggrieved but then cracked a telling grin. “Sometimes. It’s hard not to be when you’ve got a face like mine.”

“Oh you poor thing. Too good looking to tell the truth.”

“I tell the truth. Sometimes it isn’t what people want to hear.”

That was no lie. A.J. filled two plates and set them on her small table. “Eat. You can conk out while you’re digesting.”

He ate everything she gave him and praised her barely adequate cooking. Mollified by his manners, she refused to let him do dishes and made up the couch for him. Maybe she should have offered him the bed, but her room was her private zone. Luke didn’t seem to care. He sank onto the couch without complaining, pulled up the blanket, and squirmed onto his side as casually as if this were his place. That was an unusual trait. A.J. wouldn’t have been as easy in someone else’s home.

Seeing him lying there with his knees bent to fit the couch gave her the strangest urge to fuss over him.

Though he was obviously tired, he looked up at her musingly. “You haven’t had a lot of guys here.”

“I’ve had some.” She’d had a few one-night stands. Long-term romance wasn’t her M.O.

“Not many. I can tell. I may seem like a rube to you, but I can read people.” He yawned, exposing strong white teeth with no fillings. “Don’t worry. My mom raised a gentleman. Your honor is safe with me.”

“As if I needed to worry about you.”

She’d spoken without thinking. He smiled in slow motion, something more than weariness smoldering in his expression.

“I could make you worry,” he purred, “if I put my mind to it.”

Warmth bloomed between her legs, causing her to press her thighs together.

Sheesh, she thought, turning away and snorting before the heat got worse. Pretty Boy had no trouble with his ego.

“Thanks for your help,” he called as she shut her bedroom door.

To her dismay, A.J. discovered she was sweating.

*

At two a.m. she crept out to check on him. Usually she slept naked, but tonight she’d dressed after her long shower. Despite not being a prude, she felt self-conscious in just panties and a wifebeater. She was too aware that her breasts were bare beneath the cotton. Then again, maybe she was too aware of him.

The small light she’d left on above the stove kept her from tripping on anything.

Luke was on his back, one arm flung above his head and hanging off the couch. She perched on the coffee table, verified he was breathing, then pressed her palm lightly to his brow. He didn’t have a fever and seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Satisfied, she sat back and looked at him.

She jumped when he spoke without opening his eyes.

“Normally I wouldn’t complain, but you staring at me is giving me a boner.”

Plenty of men could have said that and done nothing for her at all. Luke’s words sent noticeable tingles through her erotic zones, which made her blush hotly.

“Sorry,” she said, starting to rise awkwardly. “I wanted to make sure you were alive.”

Laughing, he caught her wrist before she could escape. His thumb drew an X-rated circle on the nerves of her palm. “That’s okay. I think you checking on me is sweet.”

“You hit your head!”

“My head isn’t what’s aching now.”

“The doc said you can’t have sex.”

“Can’t I?”

He stood more smoothly than she expected, the blanket falling from him to reveal he wore only his navy briefs. A.J.’s lungs had trouble filling even before he drew her hand to him. With a directness that startled but somehow seemed inevitable, he molded her fingers over his snug Y front. His hard-on moved behind the cotton, not fully rigid yet.

A.J. couldn’t resist rubbing the swollen flesh.

Luke’s breath caught in his throat.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered.

“It hurts a lot,” he said huskily.

A.J. went hot all over, like a cloud of steam was being forced through her. She would have pulled back, but Luke urged her hand closer.

“Rub me again,” he whispered next to her ear. “I promise I’ll do you too.”

“Luke,” she said.

“A.J.,” he returned, mocking her for her cautioning tone. He kissed her softly on the cheek, shifting nearer to her mouth. “We can play, can’t we? We can make each other feel really good.”

His lips whispered over hers and she had to let out a moan. His kiss was sweet, then wet, and finally deep and hungry.

“Come play,” he murmured before kissing her again. “Be the woman I’ve been waiting for all my life.”

He was talking nonsense, but her resistance broke anyway. His offer was exactly what she wanted—to sink into sensual pleasure and forget her problems. She slid her hands up his smooth broad back. She had to be careful of his nose, but for ten sweet seconds she tongued him just as deeply as he had her.

“God,” he gasped, suddenly hugging her waist tighter.

“Careful.” She leaned her upper body back, pushing her palms up his hard ripped chest. His hairlessness was different from what she was used to but inviting. Avoiding his various bruises, she rubbed the heels of her hands over his sharp nipples. Luke breathed faster, the bulge behind his briefs increasing.

“Is this a yes?” His gaze searched hers, his eyes colorless in the low light.

“Provisionally. You do me first.”

He laughed. “You have trust issues.”

“You could use a few of those yourself.” She knew she’d scored a point because he winced slightly. She slid her hold down his muscled arms then tugged him by the hand to her bedroom. She flipped on the light inside.

The surroundings here were homier, but Luke didn’t comment on the improvement. He was a guy, she guessed. Probably he didn’t see the furnishings beyond the low platform bed. A.J. dropped his hand so she could peel off her shirt. The air hit her skin pleasantly.

“Oh yeah,” he said, zeroing in on her breasts. “That is a nice front grill.”

A.J. pushed her boy-style panties down her legs.

Luke pressed his hand to his heart and sighed.

She laughed. He should consider acting. He was a natural ham.

His gaze rose to hers face with a flattering smidgen of reluctance. “You can trust me,” he said seriously. “I understand what it takes for a woman to be naked.”

A.J. hadn’t thought it took much. When she made up her mind, she wasn’t shy about her body. For some reason, his words touched her anyway.

“If you can be that sweet for the camera,” she said, needing to make light of her reaction, “you’ve got a long career ahead of you.”

He smiled but a shadow she couldn’t decipher entered his expression. Whatever caused it he shook off. “Would you lie down on the bed for me?”

She clambered knees-first onto the mattress and stretched out on her side. Luke followed gingerly.

“You’re still hurt,” she exclaimed.

“Not too hurt for this. This is worth a twinge or two.”

“You’ve had a lot of girls.”

“I have,” he agreed, “but only some are worth suffering for.”

She snorted. He was as smooth as a dish of cream.

He leaned closer, his smile wryly aware that she doubted him. A shock of thick dark hair had fallen across her face, and he stroked it from her cheek. The caress wasn’t hesitant. The bedroom must be his arena of expertise, where he knew his strengths and wasn’t afraid to take the lead.

“You’ve got some physique,” he observed, sliding his touch around her ear and onto her sensitive neck. Light as a feather, he cruised his fingers outward over her collarbone. A.J.’s skin tingled more strongly. “It’s strong and sleek and curved exactly right.”

His leg edged forward, easing her knees apart almost before she realized they’d parted.

“Slick,” she said.

He drew his hand down to cup her breast. “You going to critique everything?”

“Was that a critique? I thought it was a comment.”

His hand was graceful and warm and big. His thumb circled her areola, pebbling her nipple intensely. He watched her eyes for a moment then looked down at what he’d done. His hairy thigh, which had harder muscles than she expected, pushed farther between her own. She wanted to roll her pussy against it, but that was a victory she wasn’t prepared to give him yet.

“You’re not answering,” she said, her voice too ragged to pass as casual.

“I’m focused on what’s important,” he responded.

He dragged the backs of his fingers down the center of her belly. A.J.’s gaze followed his hand’s progress. Humming with what could have been appreciation or perhaps curiosity, he traced the delineation of her stomach. She didn’t quite sport a six-pack but she wasn’t far from it. When he reached the edge of her pubic hair, he pulled his fingers up again. Her stomach quivered, her thighs tightening on his leg without her meaning to. His explorations had left her wet, her clit swelling with eagerness to get in on the fun.

The ridge behind his designer briefs was bigger than ever.

“Do you like being touched like this?” he asked.

She liked everything he did but wasn’t ready to admit it. “I’d like you to get to the point.”

“This point?” He combed through her curls to touch the very tip of her button.

The glancing contact streaked all the way up her spine. “That’s a good point,” she conceded.

He pushed the finger that had found her deeper between her folds, stroking the hood lightly up and down the rod. Men were sometimes rough with her. Given how she acted and looked, they figured she could take it. They weren’t entirely wrong, but Luke was the opposite. He caressed her so gently she was surprised his touch had so powerful an effect.

He was teaching her things about her body she hadn’t known.

“More pressure?” he offered.

“No. That’s . . . good.”

He seemed to know she begrudged admitting this. “More fingers?”

A.J. bit her lip and nodded.

He pushed three together down the hood, covering her clit as well as the channels to either side. A.J.’s body arched. Three fingers moving on her magnified the magic he was spinning, spreading it wider and deeper than what he was touching.

“Hold onto me,” he said. “You need something to brace on.”

Uncharacteristically obedient, she rolled closer and gripped him behind one shoulder. His skin was hot, the scent of him stronger than before. Though it was hardly as intrusive as intercourse, the contact between her hand and his back was oddly intimate.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. “Concentrate on your body. Forget I’m even here.”

She closed her eyes, but the truth was she couldn’t forget his presence. She didn’t want to. He was turning her on to an unusual degree. His masculine smell. His closeness. The sound of his increasingly uneven breathing. Knowing he was hard and not doing anything about it made her ache like she had a knot in her sex. She pressed her forehead against his sweating chest.

Her pelvis began to roll with the careful motions of his fingers.

He liked her reaction. He made a sound, a half swallowed groan of arousal. His fingers spread, opening her folds wider. She couldn’t hide that she was extremely wet. He let his movements grow firmer.

She tipped her head up and mouthed his neck.

He slid two fingers slowly into her soft passage.

The sensation of them going in was incredible.

He didn’t ask if it felt good. She could tell he knew. The solid muscles her thighs were clamped on flexed—maybe from his excitement or perhaps to give her more to grip. A.J.’s torso moved helplessly, her body striving to take him in deeper.

God, she wanted his cock in there.

He moved too, getting a better position for his hand, kissing her shoulder and then her neck. He put his thumb on her clit, working it and her pussy with quickening strokes. He stimulated more of her than she did when she was alone.

Clearly, he’d explored this territory with more creativity than she had. What usually took work folded down into mere minutes. Suddenly she was an inch away from climax, every nerve in her sex humming with hot current.

The intensity of the pleasure was good enough to hurt.

She sucked in air, her hand wrapping over his. He let her urge him where she wanted, his breath really huffing now. Her head arched back as her pussy clenched. Driven past her control, she came with a ragged groan.

The noise echoed in her ears even after she’d finished going. Luke didn’t let go of her, though his hold on her was gentle.

Less gentle were the half moon marks her fingernails left on his obliging hand.

“Sorry,” she said, rubbing them in embarrassment.

He smiled at her. “You know I’m not complaining.”

“No, you’re not.” Lifting one arm, she strafed her nails more carefully through the scruff on his angular cheek and jaw. The splint on his nose reminded her why they weren’t having wild bunny sex right now. “Are you okay?”

He kissed the thumb she was dragging across his killer mouth. “I’m not experiencing any more discomfort than you’d expect, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“That was an excellent hand job.”

“You’re welcome,” he responded humorously.

“I doubt I’m as good as you.”

His grin flashed bright. “Under the circumstances, you shouldn’t worry. I’ll appreciate whatever assistance you offer.”

He made a Vanna White gesture toward his boner, which was bulging impressively. A.J. wasn’t normally coquettish, but her tongue snuck over her upper lip.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s see what you’ve got for me to work on.”

He’d been lying on his side next to her, his lower arm bent beneath his head. Now he stretched that arm toward her, letting her rest her cheek on it. Liking that for more reasons than she could identify, she trailed her hand down his unnaturally smooth torso.

“Manscaping,” he explained—as if she hadn’t known. “The agency likes their guys to do it.”

She explored his ridged abdominal muscles, suspecting they’d cast great shadows in photographs. Manscaped or not, he’d left a line of hair beneath his navel that arrowed toward his crotch. The branded waist of his underwear crossed the head of his erection. A.J. eased the band out farther and slid her hand in there.

“Mm,” he hummed as her fingers closed gently around him.

Jesus, he was hot. She made a ring to stroke his silky smoothness, not really starting yet, just getting the feel of his length and breadth. Doing her had gotten him worked up. His pulse was throbbing hard already.

“Do you like lube?” she asked.

“Sometimes. But right now I like your bare hand better.”

Everything he said seemed designed to flatter her.

“I won’t touch your balls,” she promised, mindful of his injury.

“Okay,” he said, his voice thicker.

“You should shift your upper leg. Maybe rest it over mine.”

He did as she suggested, rubbing her calf in a friendly way with his foot. He sure was a people person, probably sweet like this with every bed partner. At the moment, she didn’t mind. Actually, she was kind of in awe of him.

She was prickly enough to count as a misanthrope.

“That’s nice,” he said, wriggling at the gentle up and down of her hand.

“Not too slow?”

“Nuh-uh. In case you haven’t noticed, I could do this all night.”

“My arm would fall off.”

He laughed almost silently. “I guess it would. Maybe you could tighten your hold a bit.”

She tightened and was delighted to see his vision go unfocused.

“Boy,” he said on a gasp. “That’s a strong grip you’ve got. No. Don’t ease up. You so are not hurting me.”

He let her watch him go up the slope, let her hear his breath go choppy and see each incremental flush of excitement wash through his face and chest.

“You are so beautiful,” he said as more muscles in his gorgeous body began to tense.

“That’s your cock talking.”

“My cock has excellent taste— Jesus.” He broke off as she put a subtle twist into her next upward pull. All her fingers clasped him now, her palm molding and rubbing at the same time.

“Good?” she asked, wanting the feedback.

“Unh,” he grunted, his hips bucking greedily toward her.

His breath hissed as his enthusiasm inadvertently knocked his testicles.

“Shh,” she soothed, backing off.

He caught her wrist and held her hand to him. “Don’t stop. I am right on the fucking edge.”

Adrenaline flooded her . . . and sexual awareness. Her heart beat inside her pussy, her clit sharp with excitement.

She loved the knowledge that she had power over him.

“I won’t stop,” she promised huskily. “Maybe I can bring you over softer.”

His handsome features were so flushed he looked drunk. She nudged him onto his back and shifted her position. She folded down his briefs until his stiff throbbing penis was uncovered. He struggled onto his elbows, watching her with his jaw open. His long legs sprawled without her pushing them. A.J. swung on her knees between them. His cock was shuddering, its slit seeping excitement.

“Jesus,” he said as she lowered her head to him.

His shaft slid into her mouth like butter.

He moaned and his head fell back, his hips undulating like a stripper’s as she worked her lips and tongue along him. His veins had the most incredible texture. She steadied his swollen base with her thumb and fingers, giving her mouth a comfortable stopping point.

“Christ,” he said, his bent left leg hitching up to slap her shoulder.

A.J. intensified her suction.

He groaned, one hand forming a fist that thumped the bedcovers.

She guessed he didn’t want to grab her head and maybe scare her—not when she was doing precisely what he wished. Moved by that in more ways than one, she put her sweetest all into finishing him.

He took about five seconds to hit the limit of his control.

“One more,” he said, his voice as thin as a trail of smoke. “Then I have to pull out.”

She gave him one more slo-ow snug-lipped, hard-tonguing suck.

Even as his crown pulled free, he gasped. His jism sprayed her, catching her in the chin and neck. When he finished, she wiped it off with her forearm.

His elbows still propped him up, though his torso had gone concave while he tried to catch his breath.

“C’mere,” he said.

A.J. tensed. “I’m not a snuggler.”

“Bawk,” he clucked, daring her.

That made her laugh, so she squirmed up beside him. Since he didn’t try to squeeze her to him, she laid her head on his hard shoulder.

“That’s not so bad,” he said. “And think how easy it’ll be to check for concussions when you’re right there.”

“Idiot,” she muttered.

“I’m a rube,” he said, mock offended. “That’s not the same at all.”

She was tired and warm, so she let herself relax temporarily. She’d get up in in a minute. He’d never know. She could feel him drifting off to sleep already.

*

A.J. woke to an empty bed but not an empty apartment. Luke’s scent—part man, part cologne—lingered in her sheets. She heard his voice in the living room.

Uncertain how she felt about sleeping with him all night, she pulled on sufficient clothes not to shock her neighbors and shuffled out to check.

He was by her front windows, back in trousers but still without a shirt. One hand was clamped behind his neck, his body language tense as he spoke to someone on his cell phone. A.J. saw the ingredients for an omelet set out on her kitchen counter: eggs, cheese, milk, plus a ceramic bowl for mixing them together.

Coffee was her priority. She stoked her electric percolator with enough grounds for two.

Her attention half on that and half on Luke’s yummy wedge-shaped back, she noticed the moment the call ended. He stared out the window, rubbing his forehead with the back of the same hand that held the phone. Since she didn’t know how long he’d stand there, she started breaking the eggs he’d set out.

At the sound of her whipping them, he turned and came to her. “I was going to do that.”

Perfectly willing to hand off the task, A.J. slid the bowl and the whisk to him. She guessed he thought that was funny. He laughed as he took over.

“Everything okay?” she asked, pulling out mugs for both of them.

“Well, the agency isn’t happy. I’m going to miss my go-sees today, but at least they’re not dropping me.”

She doctored her coffee with milk and sugar and slid his to him black. He was so skinny no way did he take it with anything.

“Milk?” he asked, apparently determined to prove her wrong.

A.J. passed him the carton. He poured, stirred, then drank and let out a sigh. Fortified, he picked up the whisk again.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“Any morning after regrets?”

“I don’t know. I need more caffeine before I decide.”

He shook his head. “You don’t make this easy on a guy.”

What was there to make easy? Yes, he’d spent the night, but they were just ships that had crossed course by accident. What’s more, their cargo was oranges and apples—not each other’s type at all. Her clueless stare made Luke knuckle his forehead. He peered at her for longer than she expected.

“There’s something about you,” he said. “Something different. I’d be interested in seeing you again.”

“You’d be interested.” She guessed her disbelief was clear.

“Yes,” he said exasperatedly.

“Am I supposed to thank you for wanting to put me in your rotation for booty calls?”

Luke let the whisk clack into the bowl. “I don’t have a rotation.”

“So if I check your phone, it won’t be full of girls’ numbers.”

He flushed—which should have been less attractive than it was, considering his splinted nose. “Just because a girl gives me her number doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with her.”

“Then you’re not putting me in your rotation. Guess I’m not good enough.”

She’d succeeded in flustering him. “That isn’t what I said.”

A.J. cracked a little smile. He was kind of fun to tease.

Realizing she had, he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. I’d like to see you again. Maybe even . . . put my rotation on hold while I do.”

A.J.’s humor bled away, replaced by weariness. He couldn’t mean this. She was honest enough to know she wasn’t emotionally easy—which was what guys like him wanted. That’s why they had rotations: to keep any one girl from getting a hold on them. More to the point, she didn’t have the energy to pretend she was duped. “You see that?” She pointed to the grease-spattered clock above her stove.

“It’s 8:22,” he said.

“It’s 8:22 on a Wednesday morning. Normally, I’d be at work by now. Instead, my life is a wreck, my reputation is in shambles, and I’ve got enough in my bank account to cover about a month’s expenses.”

“You’ll find a job. No way would a sharp woman like you not end up on her feet.”

She fought the pleasant feeling his words gave her. “That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” Luke braced his elbows on her counter, his posture giving every indication he’d listen to any troubles she cared to share. A.J. actually had to fight not to rest her head on his broad shoulder.

“The point is I don’t have the time or inclination to babysit some lost lamb lothario.”

“Oh that’s nice.” Obviously offended, he pushed upright again. Within the purpling bruises, his eyes were hurt.

“Nothing against you,” she said, ignoring a twinge of guilt. “You’re not breaking any laws by getting lucky with lots of girls. I’m just telling you where I stand.”

He stared at her. “All right. I’ll get my things and go.”

He gathered them without drama, which kind of surprised her. His dress shirt was in the bathroom, no longer bloody but slightly damp. He dragged it on unbuttoned and found his jacket and socks. He sat on the couch to pull on his fancy shoes.

While he dressed, A.J. busied herself continuing to whisk the eggs. Given how silent he’d been, she figured he wouldn’t speak again.

She was almost right. He stopped at the door next to her small kitchen, facing the line of deadbolts and not her. His shapely hand scrubbed the back of his beautifully shorn hair. Against her will, A.J.’s throat tightened.

Was she crazy not to have fun with him for however long she could?

“Do you need help with the locks?” she asked. People probably didn’t use so many in farm country. He might not be used to them.

“Fuck,” he cursed and dug out his wallet.

A.J.’s eyebrows shot up. If he meant to pay her for last night, she’d treat him to a few choice words. He corrected her assumption by slapping a plain white rectangle on her counter. It had his name, his cell number, and under that the single word MODEL.

“This is my card,” he said. “I don’t care how screwed up your life is. I think we could have something. If you change your mind about seeing if we do, call me.”

A.J. didn’t have much experience being stunned. He turned away while she was gaping. Unfortunately for both their nerves, he couldn’t get her locks open on his first try. A.J. came around the counter to sort them out for him. She opened the door and held it.

“A.J.,” he said, giving her one last chance.

She couldn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t her type—not as a fashion model or a farm boy. Even if the timing had been right, she might have let him walk away.

“Okay,” he sighed. “I get the message. Have a nice life, sweetheart.”

If he meant to be snarky, his parting shot didn’t quite come out that way.

She shut the door behind him and leaned on it. She told herself she’d made the right decision. Her priority had to be getting her shit together.

Appetite nonexistent, she dumped the eggs she’d beaten into the sink. One person couldn’t eat that many anyway. As she ran them down the drain with water, a sound she didn’t like the feel of tore from her throat. She swallowed the noises that tried to follow, swiping at her eyes irritatedly.

The wish that her mother were close enough to run to was powerful. For a moment, her heart squeezed too tight to beat. She threw off that reaction too. Life had kicked her, but she’d get up again.

Sometimes a woman had to do what she had to do.

*

Luke hesitated on the landing outside A.J.’s door. He didn’t know why he couldn’t leave. Though he was lucky when it came to women, he’d been turned down before. No matter how a rejection stung his ego, he shrugged it off and moved on.

A.J.’s rejection hadn’t sounded like he could charm her out of it.

So go, he told his reluctant feet. Don’t waste time on lost causes.

She’d just been so freaking hot. That body of hers . . . It was a racecar. He’d loved running his hands down her sleek lean curves, loved watching her tense and go over in orgasm. Her whiskey colored eyes knocked him out. Not just when she came either. The second he saw them at the bar, hot sensations had poured down his vertebrae. He was used to keeping things light with women. Fun. Friendly. Everybody a free agent.

A.J. made him want to get serious.

His shoulders twitched as he recalled something he’d said to her. He’d asked her to be the woman he’d been waiting for all his life. That was weird, right? He didn’t think he was waiting for anyone. Confining himself in a single relationship was the last thing he dreamed about. He was twenty-one, for crap’s sake. Way too young to settle down. Besides which, life was too uncertain not to revel in all its pleasures. Probably the impulse was gratitude, because she’d rescued him. Luke liked being a rolling stone.

He glanced at her apartment. The heavy door was still shut. Locked tight, for all he knew.

You can call her, he thought. He’d poked around while she was sleeping, enough to know she liked Bruce Lee movies, worked out a lot, and didn’t password protect her phone. He had her number if he felt like being pathetic.

That idea finally jolted him into motion down her building’s three flights of steps. His aches weren’t as bad as he anticipated. The skull-lifting blowjob she’d given him must have helped heal his sore muscles. His prick stirred at the memory of her lips pushing and pulling along his engorged shaft. She’d been careful, but her mouth was as strong as the rest of her, her lips plush and satiny . . .

Realizing he was getting hard, he ordered himself not to dwell on that.

Luke Channing didn’t chase after tail. Luke Channing let tail chase him.

*

Three days later, the reason for Luke’s fixation struck him like a bolt from the blue.

He was hurrying up 34th Street on foot, on the way to a rescheduled go-see he was in serious danger of missing—or at the least, arriving at unfashionably sweaty. His phone buzzed, probably the agency texting a reminder. As he dug the cell from his pocket, his keys fell to the pavement.

He scooped them up and realization blazed through his synapses.

A.J. was the girl he’d asked for help when he was trapped. The girl who’d peeked in the cellar window. Who’d somehow found the key to his prison and pushed it in to him. All these years, he thought he’d imagined her. He’d only seen her once, and just for a few seconds.

Anyone in his position, at his age, might have made up a rescuer.

But her eyes had been the same color as A.J.’s: single malt in a frame of soot black lashes. Back then, she’d been wiry and tall and tomboyish. She might have grown into someone like the woman he’d slept with. Maybe her protector streak had already been active.

No, he thought, continuing toward his appointment as if walking weren’t a voluntary act. No way was A.J. the same person. Coincidences that big didn’t happen.

Except . . . wasn’t his continued existence proof they did? He’d had more angels watching over him that day than her.

He stopped, letting himself go momentarily blind to his surroundings. The keys were still in his hand, his fingers clenched around the metal. He had her name. He could look into her background; see if his theory were possible.

That, he reasoned, wouldn’t cost anything.

CHAPTER THREE

New York, present day

HOYT-SANDS Security had come up in the world since starting in a low-rent, swing-a-cat shoebox nine years ago. Back then, Parker Hoyt and Martin Sands shared a single desk, zero parking spaces, and a client list they could number on one hand. Today they leased the fifteenth floor of a skyscraper in Manhattan, plus had a swanky second branch in LA. The New York office employed ten full-time bodyguards—mostly military buddies of the partners—six security experts, two receptionists, three IT nerds, and one kickass accountant.

Parker Hoyt’s twenty-seven-year-old daughter admitted to a partiality for that last employee.

“Hey, Pop-Pop,” A.J. said, setting his cream-and-sugared coffee between the mysteriously ordered stacks of paper on his desk. Though he knew the latest programs, digital alone was never enough for her grandfather.

“Hey, gorgeous.” The white-haired man in the bowtie tipped down thick-rimmed bifocals to look at her. “You ready to knock ’em dead?”

“My job is keeping ’em alive.”

It was a joke they shared regularly. As always, her maternal grandfather smiled. He was the reason she worked for her dad today. Five years earlier, not long after the police kicked her to the curb, Pop-Pop had broken his hip and been hospitalized. A.J.’s mother wanted him to live with her, but by then Valerie had moved to LA and had a live-in boyfriend. Pop-Pop hated Los Angeles with a passion. Knowing he’d never liked being retired and fearing he’d go downhill, A.J. had approached her estranged dad with a proposal. If Parker hired his ex-wife’s father, A.J. would sign on with him as well. She’d been unemployed, nearly broke, and in no position to bargain. Nonetheless, her father had agreed . . . and thanked her.

It was the first of many tests Parker Hoyt passed for her.

Not taking another drink was the one he passed every day.

Pop-Pop had his own office. Ditto for the IT nerds. The two receptionists graced a gleaming black granite counter in the lobby. Everyone else shared a wide-open windowed space.

Everybody ought to know each other’s business was Parker Hoyt’s motto. You never knew when a colleague’s expertise would save your client’s neck.

A.J. might be reserved in private, but she followed that advice at work.

“Morning, Dad,” she said, placing his coffee at his elbow.

He grunted his thanks per usual. The sound wasn’t rude, just a sign he was engrossed in scanning reports on his computer. A.J. set the box with the rest of the morning orders on the central conference table, with a bag of bagels beside it. She extricated her cup before the vultures descended. Probably on purpose, the receptionists made terrible coffee. Because her sometimes too-PC dad thought making them get it was sexist, running to the deli operated on rotation. A.J. had drawn the short straw today.

Knowing her dad would want her to check in, she returned to his desk with her breakfast.

Ready now, he smiled and gave her his attention. “How’d the job go last night?”

A.J. had coordinated security for an indie band’s appearance at a New Jersey mall. “The band sucked, but everything else went fine. The new guy is shaping up. We could move him to full time.”

Parker nodded, leaning back in his swiveling chair. “We didn’t get the Channing job. They decided to bring in LA people the studio knew.”

“That’s too bad,” A.J. said, stiffening her face so it wouldn’t show her relief.

Somewhat to her dismay, Luke Channing had featured in her thoughts more than once since she’d given him the kiss off five years earlier. The Minnesota farm boy had made it big as a model . . . literally. The day she’d spotted his piercing green eyes—and naked abs—on a Time’s Square billboard had been a disconcerting one. Not long after that, he’d started dating a famous country singer, then an actress, then a female NASCAR driver—all of which somehow led to him being named the face of Alberto di Palazzi’s Desire for Men. Sales of the pricey male cologne quadrupled, probably because women bought it for their boyfriends. Every so often, Luke would pop up on her TV, murmuring to some gorgeous sylph that he “desired her impossibly.”

The last time she saw the weird-ass ad, the model Luke seduced was the exotic mixed-race Brit who’d abandoned him in favor of Michael Kors, leaving A.J. to transport him to the hospital.

The Brit—whose name was Naomi Davis—wasn’t the reason Luke needed bodyguards. The career ladder he scaled now was that of action star/producer. With the crazy luck that seemed to follow him everywhere, he’d used his earnings from the world of fashion to stake a friend’s bare bones independent film. Because his friend couldn’t afford real actors, Luke had agreed to star. Pronounced by critics as more energetic than logical, Final Takedown had done ridiculous box office—especially overseas. Since he and his friend owned the production company, they became overnight moguls.

Naturally, they followed up their first hit with the even more successful Final Danger.

Final Death, the third entry in the franchise, premiered tonight at the Ziegfeld Theater in Manhattan. As in the other movies, Luke played a black ops CIA operative who’d gone rogue. This time he was raining vengeance on the abductors of his young wife, whom he’d acquired in a previous installment. The relatively measly seven-figure budget of the first film had swelled to nine, the action now taking place in New York and Hong Kong. Scuttlebutt claimed Luke was becoming a tolerable actor. The stunts, which he performed shirtless whenever possible, were reportedly as creative as ever.

Galaxy, the giant studio that handled distribution, projected the opening weekend might outdo the last Batman.

Not that she was monitoring Luke’s progress or anything.

“It is too bad we didn’t get the gig,” her father agreed. “I figured if we did, I’d find some way to bully you into an evening gown.”

“That I’d pay to see.”

This comment came from her father’s partner, Martin Sands. His mouth was full of bagel, his feet propped irreverently atop the conference table. “What?” he asked in response to her father’s look. “I know she’s your daughter, but she’s still a nice looking girl. All she ever wears are those black work trousers.”

Parker muttered beneath his breath as Martin winked at her. A.J. didn’t take the flirtation seriously. Her father’s partner was only kidding. Martin never could resist yanking her father’s chain.

*

Luke’s father used to say, “You take a job, son, you hammer it down to the last fence post.” In the case of Final Death, the job didn’t end when the movie wrapped. It didn’t end with the red carpet. It ended when the final frame faded from the last screen, whether that screen was big and silver or someone’s new iPhone.

Ever since he’d left the farm, Luke had understood the value of salesmanship. He’d sold his looks, his sex appeal, and now he was going to sell this film. Part of selling it tonight involved the beautiful supermodel riding in the limo’s rear with him.

Naomi Davis was aware of this. She had a career as well, one that wouldn’t be hurt by arriving on the arm of Hollywood’s brightest action star, Luke Channing.

All right, maybe Luke wasn’t the brightest star. Good at stuntwork, he’d barely hit journeyman level in acting. He consoled himself that being a competent producer made up for the shine he lacked as a thespian.

“There’s a massive crowd,” Naomi said, peering out the limo’s one-way glass. “The bleachers on 54th are full.”

Unable to keep his cool, Luke pressed his nose to the window beside her. The street in front of the theater was packed. Chances were, some fans were studio shills, but that didn’t account for all of them.

“I see E!” he said “And Entertainment Weekly.” A beehive of blue hair rose above the other heads, snagging his attention. “Miss Twittersphere is on the carpet too.”

“Damn,” Naomi swore. “That tucked-up drag queen has it in for me.”

“Uh,” Luke said. “I don’t think Miss Twittersphere is a guy. I think she’s just really tall and trowels on her contouring.”

Naomi flipped her glossy chestnut hair behind her shoulder. “Whatever. You flash that designer smile and keep his/her claws off me.”

“Deal. I’ll let you handle the kamikaze kissers.”

“I will crush them,” Naomi promised, punching one delicate fist into her palm.

Luke grinned at her thuggish delivery. He was glad he and the model had stayed friends. This business was too cutthroat not to have pals you could laugh with.

“You ready?” he asked as the limo slowed and the Ziegfeld came into view. From the outside, the theater was a fugly black and gray square. The interior was better, and the screen was huge. Most importantly, it was the venue for advance screenings in NYC.

Naomi slid her narrow feet into her five-inch heels and bared her teeth like a tigress.

The security suits the studio had sent got out of the limo first. Luke couldn’t tell one guard from the other. They sported slick Oakley sunglasses, white earpieces, and matching musclebound shoulders. They were LA from head-to-toe, like the central casting version of bodyguards. Whether they could move their giant arms well enough to draw their pieces, Luke didn’t have the least idea.

For a flicker of a second, the image of someone he knew could protect and serve whipped through his memory.

He shook the thought from his head. He ordered himself not to wonder if A.J. Hoyt were watching the telecast. She’d made it clear she wanted no part of him after rescuing him at the seedy bar. Once his research confirmed she could be who he believed, he’d called her easily a dozen times. She hadn’t answered once, not even to say bug off. So fuck it. Nobody got everything they wanted.

Sometimes coincidences, no matter how strange, didn’t equal a destiny.

The security guys helped Naomi from the car onto the red carpet. The way she swung her long legs out in her short crystal-spangled dress was as sexy as a striptease. She posed like the professional she was as her arrival was announced. Flashbulbs exploded like Fourth of July rockets.

Butterflies fluttered in Luke’s gut, but he ignored them. He smoothed his shirt, buttoned his black Ferragamo jacket, and grabbed the sides of the limo door. He heaved himself onto the curb with a little bounce and raised one arm to wave. Noise smashed into him like the sea.

They see you, he thought out of old habit. You’ll never be invisible again.

“Luke!” cried the fans.

“You’re beautiful, Naomi!”

“I love you, Luke!”

“Sign my book, both of you!”

The photographers would have blinded him if he hadn’t been used to them. He combed his gold-streaked hair with his fingers, posing more casually but just as deliberately as his companion. With perfect dramatic timing, Naomi extended her hand to him. The flurry of flashes had been ebbing, but her gesture started them up again. They were a couple tonight—she on the outs from her on-again, off-again rocker boyfriend; he, per usual, happy to appear as if no one could tie him down.

Just because Clooney caved didn’t mean he had to.

The “Listie” shippers, the ones who kept trying to make him and his costar Christie James an item, had strained his final nerve. His mouth twitched with amusement.

Maybe Final Nerve should be the name of their next sequel.

The funny thing was, despite the voodoo they spun on screen, he and Christie didn’t get on too well. Luke had tried, but everything he did seemed to make the actress dislike him more. Christie James was high-strung, high-maintenance, and—to her everlasting annoyance—one tenth as popular as he was. She’d arrived before them, with some studio fix-up for a date. A TV werewolf, Luke believed.

The thought of who’d be likelier to give the other rabies made his mouth twitch again. Paparazzi shouted for attention, hoping to force Luke or Naomi to make eye contact with their lenses. Mostly ignoring them, they began a slow progress toward the press stations.

Because the franchise was so successful, the premiere for Final Death had been a hot ticket. Earlier celebrity arrivals were having microphones thrust toward them like baby birds hungry for sound bites. Farther ahead, Luke caught a glimpse of Kevin Reyes, his producing partner, giving a reporter the usual spiel on how excited they were to finally share the film with an audience.

Naomi and Luke would get where he was eventually. In the meantime, they signed autographs side by side as they inched forward. The hands that held out items to be scribbled on seemed disembodied, countless numbers reaching through the swarm of bodies pressed against the barriers. Luke smiled without discrimination at the anonymous faces.

To his amazement, some women started crying when he reached them. That had never happened before. He guessed his agent was right. He’d reached a new level of celebrity as an actor. That disconcerted him, but it was what he’d signed on for.

Better that than stepping out to the chirping of crickets.

He patted his jacket, checking his phone was there. He planned to live-tweet the event, partly to entertain his followers but even more to distract himself from his wound up nerves. Being judged for his acting—which was getting better, damn it—was something he hadn’t grown used to. It was easier to make jokes in 140 characters than to actually ignore the snark.

His mind didn’t grasp what happened when it occurred.

As a speeding lump of metal glanced the right portion of his back, he assumed someone whose book he hadn’t signed had chucked it at him. Ticked by that, he went down, saved from face-planting on the carpet by one knee and both hands.

Christ, he thought. The media’s going to call me the next J. Law.

A moment later, Naomi stumbled too. Luke pressed one hand to his ribs, which felt like they had a runner’s stitch. His palm came away wet and red. He stared at it. He couldn’t compute that either.

The bodyguards were beside them then, crouched and speaking in tense, slightly breathless voices into their earpieces.

“Shit,” one said, craning toward a building across the street. “There’s a sniper. I see a rifle up on that roof. Stay with these two. I’m going to check it out.”

He ran off like a wide receiver on a championship football team. Though the guy’s speed impressed, Luke was under the impression bodyguards weren’t supposed to leave their clients. Police were everywhere. Chasing criminals was their job. By this time, the crowd was screaming and trying to get away. Luke should do something too, shouldn’t he? Deciding staying crouched was a good idea, he dodged between panicked bodies toward the other guard. He’d help him get Naomi inside the theater.

Naomi’s legs were noodles, but she was strong enough to curse. She did so between gasps of pain. “Where am I hit? Jesus, where am I hit?”

Luke wasn’t sure, but the front of her dress was red.

They leaned her against a column spangled by the lobby’s big crystal chandelier. Naomi’s legs splayed out like a pretty doll. The remaining bodyguard tore off his jacket and applied compression.

“It’s a through-and-through,” he said, peeking beneath it. “You’re going to be okay, Miss Jordan.”

He was too shaken to be convincing. Probably he hadn’t expected to see action. Or maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe experiencing real life gunfire shook anyone.

The back of Luke’s brain, the part that wanted to be a decent actor, took notes on everything.

“I called an ambulance,” a brave female usher ran over to assure them. “They’ll be here in two minutes.”

Luke stroked Naomi’s hair from her ashen face. “You hear that, sweetie?” he said in the voice his dad used to soothe skittish animals. “Two minutes and you’ll be fine.”

“Two minutes,” Naomi repeated.

Luke could already hear sirens.

“I’ll get her a blanket,” the usher volunteered.

“Don’t leave me,” Naomi said, clutching at Luke’s hand.

“No worries,” he promised. “I’m sticking to you like glue.”

She relaxed as the paramedics bundled her onto a stretcher. They’d cut her sparkly dress across the middle and were staunching her bleeding. Naomi looked at him. “We sure made an impression for your premiere.”

They surely had. Luke started walking beside the gurney but suddenly felt dizzy. His knees weren’t holding him well at all.

“Shit,” one of the paramedics cursed. “This one’s been shot as well.”

Luke looked stupidly down at his wet jacket. Against the black tuxedo, the blood was nearly invisible.

“Sorry,” he said, allowing the paramedic to catch his arm. “I forgot to mention that.”

*

The phone rang just as A.J. sat on her couch with a Caesar salad and a cool glass of chardonnay.

“Turn on CNN,” her father said the instant she picked up.

A.J. was aware tonight was Luke’s premiere. She’d been studiously avoiding any channel that might cover it by sharing her dinner with a dog-eared copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The odds her dad’s call wasn’t to do with Luke’s event seemed slim.

“Dad—” she said.

“Just do it,” he ordered.

She’d learned not to ignore that tone of voice. She grabbed the remote and pushed the power button.

The footage immediately seized her attention.

Professional camera, she thought, leaning forward across her knees. Not a civilian with a phone. The film wasn’t airing for the first time. The words BREAKING NEWS scrolled across the bottom of the screen, followed by SHOTS FIRED AT FINAL DEATH PREMIERE.

“Shit,” she muttered automatically.

She watched Luke stumble in his tuxedo. The crowd around him reacted, but not as if they knew why he fell. The camera veered. Naomi Davis had fallen too, the red that bloomed on her dress making it clear she’d been injured. Then the crowd began screaming and trying to get away. The camera shook, jostled by the people near it or maybe the operator’s nerves. If the cause was nerves, the cameraman’s brain stayed sharp. He or she panned the other way. A muscle in a suit was sprinting across the street, one hand pressed to his white earpiece as he spoke excitedly.

“Fuck,” A.J. swore. “That’s Channing’s bodyguard. What the hell is he doing?”

First rule of close protection work: don’t abandon your client to play cowboy. You give him cover and you get him to safety. The only threats you tackle are the ones you can’t avoid.

A.J. watched the camera swing back to the red carpet, where Luke and another bodyguard were running toward the theater carrying the wounded supermodel between them. Her million dollar legs were dangling, her high heels on her feet but off the ground. Luke and the guard got her inside and A.J.’s view of them was lost.

Prevented from following by the crowd and the quickly massing police, the savvy cameraman searched the scene for where the shooter could have been positioned. He tracked up the nearby buildings. A.J. didn’t spot a gun, but something could have been caught on film.

“Did you record this?” she asked her dad.

“Yes. Martin’s already working his contacts to get an untouched copy from the network. If there’s anything useful in that footage, we’ll find it.”

She realized her dad was going to make another pitch for their firm to protect Channing. She also realized she favored the idea. No security was perfect, but this specific fuckup wouldn’t have happened on their watch.

“I’m calling in everyone who isn’t on assignment,” her father said. “We’re going to get this job, and we’re going to do it right.”

A.J. only half registered his words. She was distracted by the correspondent’s announcement that Luke Channing had been treated by the hospital and released. He’d been strafed by the sniper’s bullet but not critically injured. Naomi Davis hadn’t been as lucky, but her condition was listed as stable.

“I’ll be in,” A.J. said.

She’d been holding the phone tightly. When she set it down, she had to shake her fingers to loosen them.

Luke is all right, she told herself.

She wasn’t calm enough to be embarrassed by the relief she felt.

CHAPTER FOUR

LUKE hated hospitals. He spent a week in one following his escape, being treated for malnutrition and emotional distress. The day his parents sprang him was the first he felt free again. He’d faced challenges after that, but his folks had helped him through them.

As was de rigueur for high profile celebrities, Naomi was admitted under an assumed name. This would keep off the paparazzi—provided staff weren’t susceptible to bribes. Thanks to Luke’s no-limit Amex, Naomi had a private suite in which to recuperate. The bodyguard who hadn’t run off was posted outside the door.

Given the seriousness of what happened, Luke was pretty sure he needed to upgrade that arrangement.

When his cell buzzed, Naomi was still doped up and unconscious. Luke patted her arm, rose from the guest chair, and walked to the big window. A glance at his phone revealed the caller was Jerry Talon, his longtime agent. This was Jerry’s fourth call in the last hour. Because he wasn’t simply a colleague but a friend, Luke didn’t banish him to voicemail.

“Hey, Jerry,” he answered quietly.

“Jesus, Luke,” Jerry burst out first thing. “Why don’t you give me a heart attack?”

“I’m okay,” Luke said, realizing the man must have been worried. “Didn’t the media say?”

“Sure, but who can tell what those idiots know? They get half their stories off Instagram. Is Naomi all right? Have you seen her?”

“I’m with her. She’s recovering from surgery. She’ll have a scar but otherwise she’s fine.”

“Good,” Jerry said. “Christ.” His sigh was gusty and genuine. “You should know the studio’s going nuts. The suits can’t decide whether to postpone opening weekend for Final Death. I mean, the violence seemed aimed at you two, but they’re worried theatergoers will stay away and depress the box office. On the plus side, you’re breaking the internet. Not that I think that matters as long as you’re okay. Screw money anyway.”

Luke laughed in spite of the situation. Jerry was a Hollywood animal. He could only suppress that so much. “I’ll call the studio later. We’ll work out a strategy together.”

“You’re better than they deserve. Speaking of which, I reamed them a new one over those bodyguards. Turns out they rejected a bid from a superior firm so they could save a few bucks on those bulgy boy yahoos. Much as I’d like to bleed Galaxy’s coffers, you should probably hire your own protection.”

“I’ll look into it,” Luke said. “Did you get the name they rejected?”

“Hoyt-Sands. They’ve got branches in LA and New York. Good rep. I hear Jennifer swears by them.”

Luke didn’t ask which Jennifer. The hair prickling on his arms arrested his attention. “Hoyt-Sands?”

“That’s right. I’ll text you their details. And the sources where I checked them out. Listen, kid, I’m really glad you’re okay. I don’t like a tenth of my clients half as well as I like you.”

“Aww,” Luke joked. “You’re gonna choke me up.”

Jerry cussed at him and rang off.

Luke rubbed his forehead with the back of one tingling arm. What were the chances the Hoyt in Hoyt-Sands wasn’t the Hoyt he knew? What if—after all these years—A.J. had decided to make contact?

Unsure how to proceed, he glanced at Naomi. His call hadn’t disturbed her. The model lay like Sleeping Beauty without her prince, bereft of makeup and custom wig. As a rule, Naomi didn’t like being seen au naturel, but to him her close-shorn curls and clean features were beautiful. Her unconscious state aside, if Luke were going to call more people, he probably should step out. At the least, his PR firm needed instructions if—as Jerry claimed—they’d broken the internet. Luke had already called his parents. Convincing them not to leave the farm was a challenge, but they’d promised to contact Naomi’s folks in Yorkshire.

Come to think of it, he should also check in with Kevin. For various reasons, financial and personal, Luke had ended up the more dominant partner in Two Dudes Productions. Kev deserved a call all the same . . . if only to head him off nudging Galaxy in an ill conceived direction.

Luke grimaced. Kevin was a first-rate director, but when it came to public perception he could sometimes be tone deaf.

That reminder made up his mind.

When Luke stepped into the hall, the remaining bodyguard rose from his hard chair. A cop had joined him. Luke guessed the NYPD was equally unimpressed with the studio’s security choice.

Then again, the uniform might be there to question him. As the cop stepped forward, his expression seemed eager over more than encountering a celebrity.

“Mr. Channing,” he said. “If you’ve got a minute, I need answers to a few—”

“Abandoning your ‘date’ already?” a female voice broke in.

The female was his Final Death costar, Christie James. Luke almost didn’t recognize the actress. Her honey blonde poodle curls were mussed, her cheeks a deep shade of pink. She’d changed out of her glamorous premiere duds into jeans and a plain blue shirt. Completing her I’m-incognito ensemble were a navy baseball cap and Ray-Bans. She whipped off the latter to glare at him with red-rimmed eyes. Never exactly warm, at least with regards to him, the amount of raw hostility she radiated was shocking.

“Naomi’s asleep,” he said, too surprised to not to say. “What are you doing here?”

“Being a human being,” she spat. “Naomi Davis was shot at our premiere.”

Luke couldn’t help noting Christie didn’t seem interested in being a human being to him. “Do you know her?”

Christie put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m not here to collect social media brownie points.”

Luke gathered she thought that’s what he was doing. “Did the nurses clear you to come up?”

“We’re friends. Naomi needs someone she can count on to stay with her.”

Luke blinked, his brain belatedly adding up the evidence he’d just been presented with. If Christie were telling the truth, she was a friend Naomi had never mentioned. Given the nature and duration of Luke and the model’s friendship, this was unusual. They might not share every detail of their lives, but they shared a lot. Luke knew Naomi adventured with both genders. What he hadn’t guessed was that Christie might as well. Her public persona was strictly het: Hollywood’s latest sexy girl next door.

If Christie didn’t want to be exposed as bi- or lesbian or whatever, Naomi had sufficient class not to shove her out of the closet.

Christie was too sharp not to see his inferences cross his face.

“This is not your business,” she hissed. “You fucking keep it to yourself.”

As gently as he could, Luke took Christie’s arm and shifted her a few steps out of the bodyguard and cop’s earshot. Understandably, both men were watching curiously. Since Christie was considerably shorter, Luke leaned down to speak to her.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s not my business, but are you sure she’ll want you here? How long have you two even been dating?”

Christie’s baby blues spilled over. “Eighteen months,” she said with a cinematic lip quiver. “We had to keep it secret for our careers.”

“Wow,” was Luke’s automatic answer. He was pretty sure Naomi’s career wouldn’t have suffered. She’d had open affairs with girls before, and the fashion world didn’t care. A new thought occurred to him. “Naomi only broke up with Tommy Hazard two weeks ago.”

Christie’s anger threatened to resurface.

“Never mind,” he backpedaled. “Hazard is a tool, and eighteen months is forever in Hollywood. I should warn you my folks are calling her folks. They’ll be in town tomorrow or the next day.”

“I’ve met Naomi’s parents,” she said haughtily.

That did suggest the affair wasn’t casual. Luke tugged his ear unsurely.

“Go,” Christie huffed. “I can handle this.”

Luke shot a glance at the bodyguard. “I’m arranging for more security. Please be careful in the meantime.”

“I will,” Christie said, less pissy than before.

As he left, Luke strove to control a grin. Perhaps with cause, his costar would hate him thinking he’d solved the mystery of why she disliked him.

*

“Huh,” said A.J.’s dad as he set the phone back into its cradle.

Hoyt-Sands’ core team was at the office, pulling together a second, more detailed pitch for the Channing job. A.J.’s desk was two yards from her dad’s. When she checked his expression, it was mainly mystified. Whatever her father had just heard, it hadn’t upset him.

“‘Huh’ what?” she asked.

He spun his chair toward her and Martin, rocking back with his hands folded on his flat stomach. Though he could see fifty in his rearview mirror, he kept himself in shape. “That was the golden boy himself. Seems Charming Channing might want to reach into his deep pockets and hire us directly.”

A.J. clamped her lips together, not ready to react while her nape still tingled.

“Really?” Martin asked. “He’s not letting the studio handle it?”

“Not this time. Mind you, it isn’t a done deal. Channing wants to meet tonight in his hotel room. He did ask if we could assign a man right away to Naomi Davis. The studio muscle stayed at the hospital, plus a cop, but I guess neither is instilling much confidence.”

“Well, they wouldn’t,” Martin said, as calm as her dad was.

“Can you handle it?” Her dad’s eyes held Martin’s with some partner-to-partner message. A.J. couldn’t read it. Parker Hoyt was wearing his most buttoned-down poker face. “A guy is always the best deterrent, and he asked for someone experienced and tight-lipped.”

He was over-explaining. Did he think A.J. would be insulted by the selection? A.J. had been with her dad five years. Martin had been soldiering or otherwise involved in security since he was thirty. Considering he was forty-six now, this gave him way more seasoning. If you had to send someone solo, he’d be anyone’s first choice.

“No problem,” Martin said, already rising and shrugging into his all-purpose bodyguard jacket. He pulled his piece from the locked desk drawer, checked it, and slid it into his underarm holster. “I’ve got my go-bag here.”

“Great,” Parker said. “I’ll email you a file en route.” He shifted his gaze to A.J. “You’re with me, kid. Hit the loo if you’re going to.”

A.J. bridled. Did he think she was six years old? Then again, she could probably use a hair and lipstick check. She wouldn’t pitch any prospective client looking less than professional.

“Five minutes,” she said, letting her temper fade. “I’ll meet you out by reception.”

Her father nodded, his poker face still taped on. He so was hiding something. She guessed she’d find out what when he was ready.

*

Luke didn’t have a permanent residence in the Big Apple. Instead, when he was in town, he took an upper level suite at the Waldorf Astoria. Management customized his rooms any way he needed, plus he never had to worry about cooking or clean sheets. The hotel made doing business or entertaining equally convenient.

Tonight, as he paced the white marble foyer, he wished his surroundings weren’t so impersonal. He looked like a dick living here, like he was too spoiled and helpless to wash his own stinky socks. A.J.’s loft had been a real home, a reflection of who she was: badass, guarded, and no housekeeper. He wondered if she still lived there. He’d revisited the place so many times in his memory he could have walked it blindfolded.

“Fuck,” he muttered in disgust at his total lack of chillness.

He’d done the right thing, calling A.J.’s dad’s security firm. Ditto for ascertaining that Parker Hoyt and not his daughter had initiated contact with Galaxy. Maybe insisting he wanted a woman on his team wasn’t subtle, but Luke hadn’t specified her by name. Just because he’d determined she was the only female bodyguard at Hoyt-Sands didn’t mean her father would sense something. At least for now, Luke needed full-time security. A woman fit his lifestyle better, and could be low profile.

Never mind someone had tried to kill him. An entourage of heavies escorting him to the john would make him look like an idiot.

He stopped pacing to rub his forehead. Someone had tried to kill him. Despite the stitches in his back, despite the hour he’d spent being grilled by the cops, that fact hadn’t sunken in.

He found he couldn’t be as worried about the threat as he was by A.J.’s imminent arrival.

He’d told the front desk to send Parker Hoyt up when he arrived. Ironically, the double rap on the door calmed him. He wiped his palms on his trousers. He was on now. He could handle this the same as he did any scene he shot.

The hotel suite had a camera and intercom arrangement. Luke checked the screen. The slightly blurry image of the dark-suited man and woman made his heart leap again. That was A.J. out there. Her black hair was pixie short, but her cleanly sculpted features were as he remembered. Jaw tense, she was looking back down the hall, already on alert for danger. She and her dad were nearly the same height. Both were lean, both fit but not musclebound. Apart from her father’s hair being gray, they looked very much alike—right down to the straight-spined manner in which they stood.

Keep it together, Luke ordered his hammering pulse.

He opened the door to them.

“Luke Channing?” Parker Hoyt inquired.

Luke wasn’t used to being asked. “Yes,” he said. “Please come in.”

Parker and A.J. both entered.

“I’m Parker Hoyt,” said her father. “And this is my daughter, Alexandra. People call her A.J.”

Parker Hoyt watched Luke’s reaction. The attention seemed casual but wasn’t. Maybe Luke’s request for a female guard had sent up red flags, after all.

“Please call me Luke,” he said. “Would you like to talk in the dining room? I have coffee and bottled drinks in there.”

He turned to lead them to it before the urge to seek A.J.’s gaze got the best of him.

He felt her behind him, his back prickling uncontrollably. Was she annoyed to be here? Maybe worried he’d expose their previous intimacy to her father? She couldn’t have forgotten it, could she? Luke didn’t think he flattered himself to categorize the hookup as memorable.

The dining room was long and narrow, brightened by flower arrangements hotel staff changed daily. A.J. and Parker both accepted bottled water. Luke sat and they did too. Parker Hoyt set a small laptop on the table but didn’t open it.

A.J. cleared her throat. Because she’d turned to face her father, Luke felt free to look at her. His body clenched. Jesus, she was lovely. That elfin hair really suited her.

“Before we start,” she said. “I should probably disclose Luke and I have met before.”

“Is that so?” Her father’s tone was too bland to suggest surprise.

“Once,” A.J said. “Before I went to work for you.”

“And may I assume this meeting didn’t involve playing Pinochle?”

A muscle flicked in A.J.’s jaw. She didn’t blush, though that seemed to require willpower. “It was a one-night stand.”

“I see.” Her dad shifted his über-cool gaze to Luke. Luke suspected this was his version of pulling out a shotgun. “You do understand Hoyt-Sands isn’t an escort service. My daughter isn’t for hire in that capacity.”

“Yes, sir,” Luke said, absolutely certain the extra politeness was called for. “I’m not hoping to hire her for that. I know she can handle this. She saved my life before.”

“Did she?” Parker’s eyebrows were up as he turned back to her. “I guess A.J. was too modest to mention that.”

“It was a chance thing,” A.J. said. “I happened to be around when Luke got in over his head in a bar fight—which he didn’t start, I should mention.”

Her defense of him amused her father. Parker’s mouth curved slightly before he smoothed it again. “All right. Thank you for laying that on the table. Shall I go over the security arrangements we’re proposing to put in place for you, Mr. Channing?”

Luke tried not to relax too obviously. Parker wasn’t going to fight A.J. being on the team. More importantly, she wasn’t objecting.

“It’s Luke,” he said. “And I’d like to return to LA tomorrow. I understand you have an office there.”

“We do,” Parker confirmed. “A.J. has worked with them before. One thing I should make clear.” His expression had been serious, but now it turned severe. “This isn’t a one- or two-man job. The threat against you is serious and—until we establish otherwise—ongoing. Hiring a couple bodyguards to join you for public appearances won’t cut it. You need a full team, with equipment, set up at your residence and accompanying you everywhere. We’ll coordinate with law enforcement here and in LA to identify whoever went after you. Until the threat is neutralized, you need to cooperate with our efforts. We can’t keep you safe if you won’t let us.”

“So don’t be a brat,” Luke said.

A.J.’s father smiled faintly. “I suspect that isn’t who you are, but, yes, don’t be a brat.” He hesitated. “If it’s agreeable to both of you, I’ll put A.J. in charge of the protection side of the operation.”

A.J.’s striking whiskey eyes widened. She flattened her hands on the tabletop. “Me?”

“I want to run the investigation. You’re ready. I know this is a big job, but you’ve taken lead before. Martin can join you once Ms. Davis makes her own arrangements.”

A.J. looked at her dad like she half-thought this was a trick. They had an interesting dynamic. Lots of history, Luke decided, and not all of it smooth.

After a moment, she let her doubt fall away. “Okay. If Luke agrees, I’ll organize the on-site detail.”

“Fine by me,” Luke said, trying not to sound too eager.

He wasn’t certain he pulled it off. Parker looked wry as he slid the small, closed laptop across to him. “This is for you. It has state of the art encryption. Please read the file labeled ‘DON’T’ before communicating any plans to anyone—including people you’re close to. A public figure like yourself is too easy to pin down. That sniper knew where you’d be ahead of time.”

“The police told me they didn’t find much evidence on the roof,” Luke said. “The gunman must have cleaned up after himself.”

“Or herself,” A.J. corrected. “Women shoot rifles too.”

“Or herself,” Luke agreed. A chill he didn’t like slid through him. He’d have to be suspicious of everyone.

Parker saw the awareness dawning behind his eyes. His weather-seamed face softened. “We’d appreciate receiving the same information you gave the police. A list of enemies. Anyone you fired. Letters from overenthusiastic fans. Anything you think might be relevant. You can either email me from the laptop or tell A.J.—whichever is easier for you. I’ll get our investigators on it ASAP.”

“Do you have an idea how long this will take to resolve?”

“Hard to say,” Parker answered, “but we’ve handled cases like this before. We know more about stalkers, if that’s what this turns out to be, than most cops have time to learn.”

“Naomi was shot too. What if she was the real target?”

“You were hit first, which seems telling, but we’ll check into that as well.”

A.J. leaned toward Luke with her jacket sleeves on the table. “Martin will talk to Naomi as soon as she’s alert enough. He’s good at putting people at their ease.”

Luke saw she meant to reassure him, but the way she praised her colleague put his back up. He ignored the reaction. Under the circumstances, her respecting her coworkers was a good thing.

Suddenly aware that he was relieved, he let out his breath slowly. “Okay. I’m glad I can put this in your hands.”

“Great,” Parker said. “Accounting will send paperwork to make it official. I’d like to leave A.J. with you now, if that’s all right with you.”

Luke nodded, his mind abruptly racing over where he’d put her.

“I’ll send your go-bag over,” Parker informed his daughter as he and she rose in unison. The unity of their body language was humorous. “Make sure Luke is secure here before you liaise with hotel security.”

“Yes, Dad,” A.J. said with a hint of teasing.

“I know. I put you in charge.” He hesitated then kissed her cheek. “Stay in touch, remember.”

A.J. watched her dad leave with a wistfulness Luke suspected she didn’t know was there. More evidence of their history, he guessed.

When the door shut, an inappropriate thrill ran through him. After all these years, they were alone again.

Maybe A.J. felt something too. She combed the pointy locks at the back of her neck before forcing her hand to drop. Her eyes were slightly wary when they met his. He wasn’t the only one who realized their buffer had departed.

He wasn’t surprised she chose not to acknowledge this.

“I need to check your place,” she warned. “Every room.”

He gestured her to go ahead and then followed curiously. Watching her perform her inspection was interesting. The process showed how lithe she was but also how professional. She was swift but thorough, her concentration total as she quartered each space and examined it up and down. She shifted furniture and even peered into air vents. Where there were windows, she closed the drapes.

Luke blew out his breath in dismay. The views here were million-dollar. Plus, she was making the place a cave.

“I know it’s dark,” she said in response to his muted huff, “but you were targeted by a high-powered rifle, and there are buildings across the way. Plus, there’s equipment that can read sound vibrations off window glass. If you were staying longer, we’d hang material with better muffling qualities. Either way, the tech guys will sweep for listening devices. If they discover any, sourcing them backwards could provide clues.”

“You really think that’s necessary? Didn’t the shooter figure out where I was from publically available information?”

“Probably. But it’s best to find all avenues for leaks.” A.J. pulled out a stylus to jot a note on her phone’s touchscreen. “We’ll get you a secure cellphone too.”

The guest room was next. A.J. pushed the door open.

“You can stay here,” Luke said as she began her search. “Assuming you’re allowed to sleep.”

“Of course I am,” she said absently. “I’ll task a second guard to spell me.”

Luke had wondered if she’d book a separate hotel room. He guessed not. His body tightened, succumbing to the erection he’d been fighting since she entered his hotel suite. Trying to hold off his arousal had intensified it. His face went hot at the strength of the reaction.

Her going to her hands and knees to look underneath the bed didn’t help. Even in those dull black trousers, her ass was award-winning. If he’d been able, he’d have called back the sound he made. A.J. definitely heard it. She sat back on her heels and looked at him.

She had the same thousand-yard stare as her father.

“Do I need to remind you I’m here to do a job?”

“I’m human,” he said, trying not to sound like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “And we have history.”

A.J.’s lips tightened. “Very brief, long-ago history.”

“Very memorable, enjoyable history.”

Her sigh betrayed she couldn’t deny this—just that she wanted to.

“I didn’t say anything,” he reminded. “I simply couldn’t help reacting to the view.”

The look she gave him for that was quelling. Deciding two could play that game, Luke swallowed what he might have said and lifted his brows at her. He knew exactly how the expression appeared on screen.

Too bad A.J. wasn’t as easy to intimidate as an actor playing a role.

“Are we going to have a problem here?” she asked.

“I’m not,” he said, purposefully misunderstanding. “I enjoy having you around . . . on multiple levels.”

She shook her head, more exasperated than angry. She pushed crisply to her feet. “I can’t get into this with you. Do you need to go out in the next half hour? I want to introduce myself to hotel security. Make sure we’re on the same page. Dad and I have worked this hotel before. We’ll see if they remember me.”

“I sincerely doubt anyone could forget you,” he said with absolute honesty.

He guessed he surprised her. A.J.’s tantalizingly kissable lips parted. Maybe she knew how soft this made her look, because she immediately pressed them back together. “Will you stay here if I step out for a bit?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And keep the drapes closed? And not open the door to anyone you don’t know extremely well?”

“Yes,” he repeated, irritated now himself. “I’ll read your father’s ‘DON’T’ file and make sure I obey everything on it.”

“I’m not trying to treat you like a child. You’re not used to taking precautions.”

“I’ve managed to keep myself in one piece for the last five years. I’d say that means I’m not quite the rube you rescued from that bar brawl.”

Her gaze narrowed. Luke was a successful big-budget producer, boss of many and bossed by few. Nonetheless, she had to consider if she should believe his claim. He almost laughed. A.J. didn’t take anyone’s word for anything.

He watched her force the suspicion from her face.

“You’re right,” she said. “I apologize for insulting you.”

She was apologizing to a client and not to him—handling him the way her father would advise her to.

“Apology accepted,” he said coolly.

She grimaced but left without saying more. As she pulled the door shut behind her, Luke was dismayed to discover the erection she’d inspired was harder than ever.

*

A.J. waited until she was inside the elevator to release her breath. Holy moly, Luke Channing got to her. Her pulse was beating double-strength all over but especially between her legs, like she had a drum tucked there. Seeing him in person was ten times worse than being surprised by those stupid Desire for Men TV ads. You couldn’t smell a commercial. Or be aware it was ogling your butt.

A.J. frowned at her own weakness. Of course Luke had charisma. He was a movie star. The machinery of Hollywood endowed him with large than life glamour. A.J. shouldn’t expect to be immune.

She was human, the same as Luke.

She just wished she hadn’t remembered the exact shade of red his cheeks got when he was turned on. She’d recognized it too easily tonight.

“Crap,” she said as the elevator doors parted. She’d hit Lobby without thinking. This was not where she needed to get off.

Clenching her teeth for concentration, she stepped back and jabbed the right button. Time to pull herself together. Staying alert wasn’t optional. This job demanded she keep her head on straight—and in the here and now.

*

By the time she returned to Luke’s floor, it was past midnight. The hotel’s staff had remembered her and were, thankfully, used to coordinating with private security. Also fortunate: A.J.’s choice for backup had arrived. She didn’t know a lot about Szymanski outside of work. The man was fortyish, married, and quietly genial. Though he took direction fine, he had sufficient seasoning to act independently if required. Given her own junior state, he suited A.J.’s preferences.

She briefed him on the few things he didn’t know.

“Big man’s inside,” he informed her in return. “I gave him the new secure phone. And he stashed your go-bag. He’s had no visitors, but he ordered room service. From the looks of the amount the waiter wheeled up, he’s expecting you to join him.”

Some clients were more sociable with bodyguards than others. Szymanski didn’t add any extra emphasis to his comment.

“All right,” she said. “You need anything out here?”

The guard assured her he was set for the night.

A.J. knocked twice and went in without waiting.

Keep your cool, she told herself when she found Luke in the dining room.

Luke seemed to have eaten. He was reading a script that he’d rolled back partway. She couldn’t help wondering what it was. The next in the Final series? Something else he and his partner at Two Dudes would produce? Since asking might betray too much interest, she held her tongue. True to Szymanski’s prediction, two plates sat on either side of the table, one of them still covered. Within Luke’s arm’s reach, wine chilled in a silver bucket and more fresh flowers spilled out from a vase. The second place’s napkin was folded fancily.

All the scene lacked to be date-like was lit candles.

When Luke looked up, his action hero face was so breathtakingly a pang prodded her breastbone.

“I ordered for you,” he said as he set the script aside. “I wasn’t sure you’d eaten.”

“I’d just sat down to dinner when my dad called to tell me you’d been shot.”

“Ah,” he said as if he’d heard more than the words she said. He wet his killer lips and her sex tightened.

Cut it out, she ordered her out of control hormones.

She sat and thanked him. “No wine for me,” she added when he began to pour.

“It’s sparkling water. I figured you wouldn’t really go off duty.”

He’d figured right, which made her vaguely uncomfortable. She shook out the fancy napkin and spread it on her lap.

“It’s a burger,” he said, indicating her covered plate. “I hope you still like red meat.”

“Yes,” she said warily.

He reclined in his chair and smiled, one strong arm crooked around its back like a lesson on how to act casually sexy. His washed-out blue T-shirt—which he definitely hadn’t bought at Kmart—draped his torso’s ideal contours. Probably not coincidentally, the color brightened his green eyes. Though it was ridiculous of her to notice, she saw his nipples were erect behind the fine cotton. They were small, like pencil eraser nubs.

Despite having missed her supper, Luke totally sidetracked her from food.

“I was going to let you eat before we talked,” he observed.

She frowned. He was managing her, and she was in charge of herself, thank you. Since she was also famished, she uncovered the burger and bit in. The meat was so tasty she couldn’t restrain a moan. Her mouth was watering even as she swallowed.

“This is organic.”

“Yes,” he said, amused. “I think they fly in the beef from Japan.”

She didn’t care if they flew it in from the moon, which some celebrities would ask for—if only to feel more elite. Because it wasn’t her job to say so, she finished eating in silence. Judging her correctly yet again, Luke didn’t interrupt.

Her stomach satisfied at least, A.J. wiped her mouth with the smooth napkin.

“All right,” she said. “I’m ready to hear what you have to say.”

One side of Luke’s mouth kicked up. “I thought it was the other way around. You want to explain this is a job, and you take it seriously. Moreover, you and I aren’t going to happen.”

“We aren’t!”

Luke nodded, mock soberly. “Exactly as I thought.”

He was playing games with her. Knowing she shouldn’t let him bait her, she wrestled with her temper. This was a job. He was a client. She needed to remain civil. “Do you deny maneuvering my dad into assigning me to guard you? Because he certainly was under that impression.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Luke said equably.

“And do you deny wanting into my pants?”

“I’d never deny that. I want into them very much.”

A.J. willed herself not to blush. “So?”

“So we both understand each other’s agenda.”

“Why do I think you’ve got more up your sleeve than me?”

The curve of Luke’s mouth deepened. “Perhaps because you’re a keen student of human nature.”

She had the uncomfortable and uncustomary feeling she wasn’t as keen as him. “Are you still hung up on that night we spent together?”

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?”

She could think of quite a few—and could name an embarrassing number of the bed partners in question. “Is it because I didn’t jump at the chance to date you back then?”

Luke made a tutting noise. “I hope I’m not that childish, besides which you’re hardly the only woman to turn me down.”

“Then why?” she asked, genuinely perplexed. She leaned toward him across the table. “Why do you want to force me into your presence?”

She hadn’t chosen her words carefully. Luke’s amusement bled away. As it did, the almost-sadness of his eyes fascinated her. Was the emotion real? Did he truly mind her long-ago rejection?

“Do you have to be forced?” he asked softly.

A.J. grimaced. “Maybe that’s the wrong way to put it.”

He stared at her unspeaking, hooking her on the mystery behind his probing gaze. “You never returned my calls.”

“What?”

“I called you after that night. Quite a few times. You never responded.”

She wasn’t proud of that, but she also wasn’t going to apologize. “I figured you’d get the message. I never led you on.”

“Fair enough,” he said, though he didn’t seem satisfied by her answer.

“I had a lot going on.”

“I recall. You’d been fired.” He didn’t pretend it was difficult to remember.

“That wasn’t all. Not long after, my grandfather broke his hip. I had to—” She hesitated. She was justifying her actions unnecessarily. Plus, did she really want to get into this?

“You had to—?” he prompted.

“I was worried about Pop-Pop, that he’d go downhill like older people do sometimes. I . . . ended an estrangement with my father so he’d agree to give him a job.”

“Your dad gave you a job too.” Luke seemed intrigued by the implications.

“Yes.” She fought an urge to squirm. “That was my leverage.”

Luke laughed. He was too sharp to miss the irony. “You father offered to save you from unemployment, and you used it as leverage?”

“My estranged father.”

“I’d ask why that was, but I suspect my luck in getting you to open up doesn’t stretch that far.”

She didn’t ask why he wanted to. He’d just use it as an excuse for more flirting.

“Szymanski gave you the new phone?” she asked instead.

“He did . . . and your ‘go-bag’ as well. I put it in the guest room.”

Did he purr when he said guest room? Her clit certainly thought so.

“Great,” she said, summoning the poker face she’d learned from her dad. Luke didn’t need to know his voice made her wet. “If you’re set, I wouldn’t mind calling it a night.”

He rose, because of course she wasn’t going to head him off from escorting her. “I’ll show you how the guest room shower works. Don’t say ‘no.’ It’s a digital system and not exactly intuitive.”

A.J. restrained her sigh. It was true she didn’t enjoy fiddling with unfamiliar electronics in strange bathrooms.

Though the en suite facilities were big, they shrank with Luke in them. His faded jeans didn’t help matters. Loose like his T-shirt, they showed off his taut butt fine. She gritted her teeth and tried not to drool while he demonstrated how to use the bath’s touchscreen.

When he finished, he handed her the remote. “If you keep this with you, you can turn on and preheat the shower while you’re still in bed.”

This time he wasn’t purring but grinning like a kid. To her dismay, A.J. found that just as irresistible. “I guess this luxury stuff isn’t old hat to you.”

“Nope. I really love gadgets.”

He met and held her eyes—smiling faintly, smugly, very much aware of the influence his smoldering orbs exerted on females. He was only a step from her. A.J. was in the bathroom doorway. She must have backed up without thinking, because now she realized her spine rested on the frame. She wanted to cross her arms but fought the defensive reaction.

She told herself she wasn’t getting hot because he was taller than she was.

“You can go now,” she said dryly. “You showed me what you wanted.”

“Hardly,” he joked then lifted both his palms. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist the opening.”

“Don’t make me ask again,” she said.

His face grew quiet, the tinge of sadness touching it again. He didn’t come closer but didn’t move away.

“You really don’t remember,” he murmured.

He confused her. She’d already admitted she remembered the night they spent together. “Luke . . .”

“I’d never forget these eyes,” he said, cutting off an objection that probably wouldn’t have made sense. His nearness spun a spell she couldn’t resist—his voice, his scent, his body heat doing odd things to her. A.J. didn’t give in to men unless she decided to.

Not to men who weren’t him at least. He was too smooth by far. When he traced her eyebrow with one finger, she didn’t so much as twitch.

“Your eyes are a glass of whiskey set on a window sill. You’ve no idea how much I’d love to get drunk on them.”

The way he said it didn’t sound like a line.

He’s an actor, she reminded. Maybe a better one than he got credit for.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said. “If you don’t want that, you’d better move away.”

How could she move? He’d hypnotized her to remain where she was. Her knees felt weak, her skin humming all over. Her lips fell open. She thought she was drawing in breath to speak, but the air just sighed out again.

God, her body was way too hot. Her spine felt like it was melting. The shower remote clattered to the floor.

“My angel,” Luke breathed so softly she thought she must have misheard him.

He pressed his mouth gently over hers, molding their lips together. His were warm, cushiony satin—softer than hers, she suspected. She could have been sixteen and kissing her first boyfriend. She gasped when Luke’s tongue slipped out to touch the seam.

The burst of sensation that exploded in her nerves startled her.

“Luke,” she cautioned even as her hands fluttered to his waist.

She shouldn’t have touched him. Even through the T-shirt, his muscles were very hard. She’d seen his abs on screen and justifiably admired them. Clearly, he wasn’t letting his regimen slide between movies. It seemed she had to sweep her thumb up and down the delicious grooves that paralleled his hipbones.

Not to do so would have been a disservice to womankind.

Luke felt the caress, of course. A noise rumbled in his chest as he leaned more of his weight on her. His head tilted, his tongue gaining entry to stroke inside her mouth.

The way he claimed the space was perfect. He wasn’t too forceful or too tentative. He simply slid in and let his tongue speak to and seduce hers. Even the urgency his body communicated wasn’t too much for her. Though he didn’t shove her into the door jam, she felt the shape of him distinctly: his chiseled chest and stomach, the quickening expansion of his ribs.

Having him that close to her felt intimate, like they already knew each other well. One of his thighs rested solidly between hers. Hers must have made room for it. She couldn’t remember him forcing the issue. She guessed he liked the feel of them fit together there. With a groan that stood the hairs on her arms on end, he rolled his pelvis X-ratedly against her.

A.J.’s eyebrows rose. He was erect. Totally. Thoroughly. Like, eight inches of molten steel poured into a long, hard mold. His cock was so thick she thought her finger and thumb might not close around him. She shivered and squirmed, excitement gushing from her pussy.

She hadn’t seen this part of him on screen. More to the point, she hadn’t done it justice in her memory. Maybe back then his injury had inhibited his arousal? She remembered being impressed, but tonight he seemed gigantic.

His hands took hold of her butt, squeezing it with exploratory enthusiasm as he drove the kiss deeper.

Wow, he was good. Her head actually spun. She slid her hands up his back, clutching all of him closer. His trapezius muscles were incredibly well formed. Was that her making whimpering noises? Surely it couldn’t be.

“Alexandra,” he groaned. “Christ, I want inside you.”

His use of her given name shocked her. No one called her Alexandra, not even her mother.

“No,” she gasped, pushing at his chest as sanity returned.

He’d been caught up in kissing her—lost in it, she supposed. She had to shove hard to get him to withdraw.

“Shit,” he panted raggedly at her. His expression was accusing.

“I’m not apologizing,” she tried to snap around her own breathlessness. “I warned you this wasn’t happening.”

That was before she’d kissed him back, but she stuck to her guns. Luke’s brows lowered thunderously.

“I mean it,” she said. “My job is guarding you, not getting distracted.”

“At least you admit I distract you.”

“I’m not a child.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed in a new, more considering way. “I see you’ve figured out I don’t like having that particular button pushed.”

“Don’t make me push it.”

He dropped his hold and stepped back from her. “You liked me kissing you.”

“Again, I don’t deny it. I’m still entitled to say ‘no.’”

He let her have the last word—at least on that topic. “I’m putting in the breakfast order before I go to bed. Unless you’ve made other arrangements, I’ll get enough for you and Brian too.”

Her mind took a second to catch up. Of course he knew Szymanski by his first name. Luke was a people person down to his bones. “Szymanski can’t eat gluten,” she retorted, knowing this from her bagel runs.

Luke smiled like she’d amused him. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He moved to the door and paused. She wished she weren’t memorizing the flush that lingered on his cheekbones.

“Sleep well,” he said caressingly.

Then he shut the door gently behind him.

As if, she thought, shaking her head in exasperation. Going a dozen rounds with her punching bag would have suited her better than sleep right then. She was fully aroused and antsy. If Luke were anyone else, she’d totally have stripped him naked. Then they’d have enjoyed a marathon sex session in that sleek shower.

Not happening, she mouthed in reminder.

She sat absently on the cushy bed, pulling out her phone to check for messages. Apparently, Luke had sent her father the information he requested, and her dad had cc’d A.J. He’d asked for the usual stuff: people who disliked or resented Luke, recently fired employees, rivals, altercations, and weird fan mail. Though Luke did some updates himself, he had a firm overseeing his social media activity. He’d provided contacts for that and for the firm that screened his snail mail. To A.J.’s relief, he didn’t get this at home. Best not to be accessible to any nut with an anthrax lab.

What bugged her was the glaring blank beside who might wish him harm. Sure, Luke was charming, but who had no enemies? No human, in her experience. Admittedly, A.J.’s perspective was cynical, but even Luke ought to know better. As fortunate as he’d been, he couldn’t imagine being resented?

“Lamb,” she muttered.

She felt a worry she didn’t usually experience in these situations. No matter how this turned out—whether Luke’s enemy was someone he knew or a stranger—Hoyt-Sands’ investigation would dig up information he’d be more comfortable not knowing. Lies would be unearthed, petty betrayals, maybe big ones too. Chances were, the farm boy’s rose-colored glasses would be crunched underfoot. He’d never feel as blithe about being safe or loved again.

Her breath came out on a lengthy sigh. Surprisingly, if she could have, she’d have shielded his innocence.

CHAPTER FIVE

EVERYTHING considered, Luke decided last night had been two steps forward, one step back. He’d confirmed A.J. was attracted to him, though better at resisting their chemistry than he could be thankful for.

She’d also—reluctantly—given him a reason for her long-ago failure to return his calls. He guessed he could understand it. Unfortunately, it underscored the fact that she didn’t consider their encounter as important destiny-wise as him. He was just a guy she’d left behind, maybe a memorable guy, but not anything more than that. That was the step-back part, of course.

He reminded himself one step forward was better than nothing.

By the time the Hoyt-Sands driver arrived to take them to the airport, Luke had talked himself into a buoyant mood. Maybe too buoyant. Both A.J. and Szymanski seemed to find his cheeriness surprising.

“You’d think he didn’t mind getting shot at,” Luke heard the male guard murmur.

Szymanski sat up front beside the driver, while A.J. slipped into the limo’s back with him. Luke liked that too, though his positive disposition did take a tiny hit when A.J. took advantage of the quiet to call her work bestie. From the sound of it, Martin Sands would be accompanying them to Los Angeles. Another bodyguard had replaced him with Naomi, because Martin was A.J.’s preferred second in command.

“He has aviation experience,” she informed Luke after she hung up. “He’ll talk to your crew and they’ll check over the jet together before we board.”

“Great,” Luke said, possibly not as convincingly as he wished. “I suppose he can fly the thing as well.”

“He’s rated up to a certain size. He could pinch hit for your pilot if he had to.”

Of course he could. He probably didn’t need anyone to protect him from threats, either. A regular Chuck Norris in the flesh. “Handy,” he said dryly.

A.J.’s brows drew together. “Do you have a problem with Martin Sands? The guard who replaced him with Ms. Davis is topnotch too. He’ll take good care of her.”

Luke shook off his irritation. He was being irrational. Martin was A.J.’s work colleague.

“I’m sure he will,” he said. “Thanks for arranging that.”

A.J. shrugged. Her go-bag hadn’t included anything exciting. Her black pants and white button shirt were identical to those she’d worn yesterday. On the bright side, she’d removed her suit jacket once she got in the car. The sight of the leather holster snugged around her shoulder was weirdly hot to him.

For a girl, her shoulders were unusually straight, her rack small but appealing. Luke wondered if she had to do anything different to practice her quick draw. He shouldn’t have let his mind drift in that direction. The thought of her breasts—which he distinctly remembered the feel of—was giving him a slight erection.

“My dad is overseeing Naomi’s security,” she said, seeming unaware of his reaction. “And he wouldn’t put anyone second-rate on it. I’ve worked with the guy he assigned. He’s a former ranger. Completely solid. If Ms. Davis wants to hire him going forward, he’d be a stellar choice.”

Just not the choice A.J. was bringing to LA.

“I’ll be sure to let her know,” he said.

“By the way,” she said as if she’d forgotten to mention it earlier. “The dark sedan with the tinted windows is one of ours. Don’t get uptight if you see it following us.”

Luke hadn’t noticed. Martin would have, he presumed.

“Now I feel like the president,” he said as lightly as he could. “I’ve got my own motorcade.”

“To us, you’re as important as the POTUS.”

She said this straight-faced but absentmindedly, like it was company policy. Luke was pretty sure she didn’t mean the kind of importance he was aspiring to.

*

A.J.’s hyper-vigilance had snapped on before they left the hotel. With a clarity most people didn’t experience when focused on one thing, she was aware of many simultaneously. Luke’s words, the flow of traffic outside the car, the calm and competent body language of the driver her dad had sent—all registered with her. The multi-tasking in her brain wasn’t magic. Her father trained his employees to broaden their perceptions. He was a good leader, a good teacher, and he’d imparted everything he could to A.J. One of the things he made sure she learned was that the man who’d taught him hadn’t made it out of Afghanistan. That was a sobering fact. No system could counter every threat.

Do what you can, he’d say. Leave the rest to your teammates and whatever higher power you believe in.

Actually, he might have picked up that last at an AA meeting.

As they pulled onto the tarmac, Martin was waiting outside the plane. He introduced himself to Luke, who returned his handshake without his usual megawatt display of charm. A.J. wondered if he were tired. He’d gone through a lot yesterday.

“Szymanski’s kipped out,” Martin informed her before shifting his gaze to Luke. “Your partner Kevin Reyes is on board. I probably annoyed him by going through his bags. He claimed you wouldn’t mind him joining you on the flight.”

Luke blinked like maybe he minded a little bit—or maybe was surprised. “That’s fine. I mean, it’s not his jet but we do business together so . . .”

He trailed off as they climbed the plane’s rolling metal steps. A.J. didn’t have to look at Martin to know he’d flagged Reyes already for a deep background check.

“Wait until you get a load of this plane,” he said aside to her.

His tone of admiration was unexpected. Hoyt-Sands had numerous well-heeled clients, many of whom leased or owned aircraft.

She tabled her curiosity while two crisply dressed flight attendants greeted Luke. The women’s pleasure at seeing him appeared genuine. Luke flirted back in a friendly, familiar way, warmer with them than he’d been with Martin.

A.J. didn’t understand Martin’s warning until they entered the main cabin.

“Whoa,” she said, her steps faltering.

The body of the jet was wide, but it wasn’t the size that startled her so much as the furnishings. Creamy leather and lacquered wood met her eyes everywhere she turned. The windows were edged in silver, and the air smelled of fresh-cut flowers. Apart from the lamps and seats being bolted down, the space resembled a really nice modern living room. The soft silk-wool carpet must have been custom made. Luke’s initials were discreetly monogrammed into it.

This was his jet, not some lease share.

“Is that a fireplace?” she burst out.

“Not log-burning,” Luke said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “That would be hazardous.”

She shook herself. “Right.” She looked around more professionally. A passenger she assumed was Kevin Reyes rose from a swiveling designer chair.

Reyes was one of those men who starts looking middle aged at thirty. His straight brown hair was thinning on the top, his softening waist in need of a healthier diet and more activity—a diagnosis his too-flushed complexion seconded. His suit was probably expensive but didn’t fit him the way it should. His eyes were good, sky blue and intelligent. They’d pull women in even if he weren’t a big movie producer. Though he wasn’t as tall as Luke, he wasn’t short: 5’10” or so, she thought.

He broke into a wolfish smile for her. A.J. didn’t like the gleam it brought to his eyes. The light was cold, like a true predator’s.

“Well, well,” he said. “Leave it to Casanova here to find protection who looks like you. I don’t suppose I could hire you to guard me instead.”

A.J. gave him polite blank face. “You must be Mr. Reyes.”

“Kevin, please.” He took her offered hand between both of his. The double clasp didn’t have the intimate effect he intended. His palms were colder than the plane’s air conditioning accounted for.

He drinks too much, she thought, the knowledge clicking into place from experience. It wasn’t noon, nor were any glasses out, but now that she was looking for it she caught the faintest whiff of liquor on his person.

“Kevin,” she agreed, her politeness not budging. “I’m A.J., and of course you’ve met my colleague Martin already.”

Reyes’ florid face tightened. “I had that pleasure,” he said coolly.

A.J. concluded Martin’s search of his bags wasn’t forgiven.

“Kev,” Luke said, breaking into the slightly chilled moment. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got a script I’d like you to read.”

“Not that highbrow horror thing,” Kevin said, his distaste unconcealed. “I thought we decided to pass on that.”

“You decided.” Luke’s manner was deliberately mild. “But I read it. The writing’s tight. Smart. I know it’s not up your alley, but we could see if Garcia will direct. It’s totally his wheelhouse. Artsy and genre.”

“Garcia?” Kevin looked startled.

“He’ll talk to us,” Luke assured with a grin. “We’re important these days. Anyway, I think it’s time Two Dudes branched out beyond action flicks.”

This seemed to startle Kevin too. He recovered after a blink. “All right,” he said. “Leave the script with me. I’ll give it another chance.”

“Great.” Luke’s smile was blinding, his approval washing out in a golden wave. “I appreciate it, bud.” He dug the bound pages from his carryon. Kevin accepted them dazedly. A.J. guessed he wasn’t immune to Luke’s charm either. “I’ve got work to do in the private cabin, but I’ll catch you later. You coming?”

This question was for her. Luke’s expression was too innocent. No doubt he had plans for the cabin that had nothing to do with work. A.J. wasn’t sure it mattered. She had questions for him, and she’d have better luck getting answers without an audience.

She nodded then threw a look over her shoulder at Martin. “You need anything right now?”

“It’ll keep,” said the older man, which meant he’d discovered something he thought she ought to hear.

She immediately wanted to know what but shrugged internally. Martin’s information would have to wait. For the moment, Luke took priority.

The private compartment was one of two in the fuselage’s rear. Since she hadn’t seen Szymanski yet, A.J. assumed he was zonked out in the second. Knowing Martin would have checked and secured it, she let Luke precede her into the small bedroom. The bed was a queen, the space that remained enough for a built-in desk and a couple chairs. A flat screen hung on the wall, plus a sleek stereo system. Luke stowed his carryon, toed off his designer shoes, and sat on the mattress edge. He looked at her, his green eyes alive with thoughts.

“You going to stand up the entire flight?”

She lowered herself to one of the bolted chairs, which included a seatbelt. “I have questions for you.”

He leaned back on his elbows, thighs sprawled and long legs bent. Christ, he was sexy just doing that. “Not fun questions, to go by your expression.”

“You left some blanks on my dad’s questionnaire. I get why. People don’t like admitting their friends and associates might have it in for them. All the same, I need to know who could be harboring a grudge.”

Luke shifted on his butt. “What’s the deal between you and your dad?”

A.J. compressed her mouth. “This isn’t the time for deflection.”

“It isn’t deflection. It’s a trade. You want answers and so do I.”

“That isn’t how this works.”

“Humor me. Or don’t you care if I cooperate?”

Of course she cared. Maybe more than was strictly professional.

“Fine,” she huffed. “What do you want to know?”

He smiled faintly. “Why do you act like . . . I want to say like you miss your dad even when he’s there. Maybe like you expect him to let you down. Did he do that in the past?”

A.J. frowned at him. “You couldn’t softball this, could you?”

“Nope,” he confirmed, clearly not about to let her off the hook.

A.J. released a sigh. “Fine. My dad used to be a fireman. He made it through 9-11 when the towers came down, but a lot of his friends didn’t. Afterwards, he decided to enlist. To fight in Afghanistan. I never heard my mother yell the way she did when he broke the news. She said it was bad enough he risked his life charging into burning buildings. She accused him of having a death wish.”

“Did he?”

“I don’t think so. I think it was a patriotism thing. Or survivor’s guilt. My dad didn’t know how else to honor his fallen colleagues. Anyway, he joined the Rangers and made it out again. The problem was he didn’t come back the same. I don’t think he found what he was looking for over there.”

Luke’s gaze was sharp. “PTSD?”

“Probably. He drank a lot. Wouldn’t talk. Barely slept. He couldn’t keep it together enough to hold down a job. Cue more fights and more drinking and one day he moved out. Just disappeared. We didn’t hear from him for a year.” Her voice roughened. She didn’t want it to, but it was too late to hide the sound. “Me and my mom were afraid he was dead. Finally, one of his military buddies called to tell us he’d crashed with him.”

Though she knew Luke heard her emotion, he didn’t let his face react. She suspected he was too smart to display sympathy. “How old were you?”

“My last year of high school, so seventeen. Dad didn’t come to my graduation, or my birthday, or even send a card at Christmas. Long story short, my mom divorced him. The funny thing is, after she did—I didn’t know this at the time—but he began to straighten out. He started going to AA and partnered up with Martin to found the firm. By the time he hired me, he was four years sober.”

Luke regarded her silently, computing what she said. The engines revved, the jet beginning to move from its standstill toward the runway. A.J. glanced out the cabin’s window, checking everything was okay—at least she told herself that’s why she turned away. Luke’s sharp eyes made her feel exposed. When she looked back, he’d hitched one heel up onto the bed.

“We’re taking off,” she pointed out. “You should be in a seat buckled up.”

His mouth twitched, but he obeyed. The chairs weren’t bolted next to each other, so he swiveled his to face hers. He stretched his black-socked feet in her direction but didn’t quite touch her shoes.

“Your parents didn’t try to get back together?”

“No, you don’t. You answer my questions now.”

He grimaced. “I don’t have enemies.”

A.J. snorted. “You have one on this plane. What’s more, you know it. You didn’t want Kevin Reyes hitching a ride with you.”

“Kevin’s fine. Anyway, his safety could be at risk too. Why should he fly commercial?”

“He resents you,” she said firmly. “Your success. Your looks. Definitely your luck with women. You threw him when you said you were thinking of someone else to direct that horror film.”

Luke didn’t enjoy her reading him. “Kevin knows I respect his talent.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Action is his forte. Fight scenes. Car chases. Blowing stuff up.”

“It’s not me you need to convince.”

Luke lowered his brows at her. He couldn’t deny what she’d said. A.J. pressed her advantage.

“Why aren’t you equal partners? Reyes only owns a quarter of Two Dudes.”

“Because I bought out his other quarter. When we got our first big checks, the money went to his head. He partied too hard, racked up some gambling debts. We’re friends so I bailed him out.”

“You paid more than his share was worth,” she guessed.

“Jesus,” he burst out. “If you already know the answers . . .”

“He’s an alcoholic,” she said, because it was best to get hard truths out all at once.

“No, he’s not. I mean, sure, he can drink but—”

“He is,” A.J. said. “Trust me. I know the signs.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d try to kill me! He’s my friend.”

Luke was genuinely angry. Luckily, the roar of them taxiing down the runway muffled his raised voice.

“You’re right,” she said more gently. “Chances are Reyes isn’t behind the shooting. He probably knows he couldn’t run Two Dudes as well without you. On the other hand, because he resents you, his subconscious might cause him to let information slip. He shouldn’t be in the loop on your travel plans.”

“I didn’t put him in the loop. He must have called the hangar to find out when I was leaving.”

“You didn’t take him off the list of people whose questions they should answer.”

“It didn’t occur to me!”

“And if it had?”

Luke glared at her, answering her without words.

“I know this is hard,” she said. “You don’t want to hurt your friends’ feelings by implying you distrust them. You have to, though. No one’s going to take your safety as seriously as you.”

“And you,” he said but not like this pleased him.

“And me,” she agreed calmly. She gripped the chair as the jet lifted off. She only tensed for a second. His pilot was good. The takeoff was butter smooth.

Luke didn’t stop to admire it.

“I hate this,” he said. “Really, really hate this. I want to give my friends the benefit of the doubt. It’s important for me to choose to trust people.”

A.J. cocked her head, something in his statement alerting her. Why did he put it that way? That he chose to trust people. In her experience, either you were trusting or you weren’t. “For the time being, you need to set that urge aside.”

Luke leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Okay. For the time being, I’ll try.”

*

Luke freed himself from his seat as soon as their ascent leveled off. Because there wasn’t room to pace, he crawled up on the bed to look out the window, where he tapped his front teeth with a thumbnail. A.J. watched him without comment, still buckled in her chair. Given what she’d said about Kevin, he didn’t suggest they have a drink. Moodily, he wondered if she were right. Was his partner an alcoholic? Luke rarely saw Kev drunk, but he did have a hollow leg. Frequent inebriation probably increased a person’s capacity.

To be honest, was Luke surprised by the suggestion?

He glanced at his companion. A.J. had pulled out her phone and was reading messages. She was too damn calm. Luke getting her to confide in him seemed to have changed nothing. Though he knew it was childish, he wanted to rattle her.

He said the first thing that came to mind. “Your doctor friend, Nigella.”

A.J.’s head jerked up. “What?”

“She put you and your dad back in touch. I remember what she said in the examination room about it being time for you to forgive him.”

A.J.’s eyebrows went up. “You really do have a good memory.”

“When it comes to you, I remember everything.” He remembered more than she could imagine. The gritty feel of the key she’d pushed through the cellar window. Her army shorts and gray T-shirt. Even her skinny tomboy knees didn’t elude his recall. Every minute they spent together made him surer his rescuer had been her.

Naturally, his words triggered a different reaction in A.J. “Don’t start that up again.”

She assumed he meant he remembered his night in her apartment. His mind veered, his groin tightening. Okay, he hadn’t forgotten that either.

He gave her the sexy half-smile the paparazzi always clamored for. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to reminisce.”

She tugged the front of her black trousers. Did she feel the pull between them as well? If she did, her tone remained terse. “I’m on the job. I don’t need distraction.”

“Maybe I do.”

Her breath caught at his suggestive tone. It was the tiniest betrayal, but he couldn’t resist it. She wasn’t as cool as she pretended. When he ran his tongue around his lips, she watched.

“Come here,” he ordered.

His voice had deepened with arousal. Apparently, that affected her. An involuntary shiver shook her shoulders. She frowned as she recognized what she’d done.

“Cut it out,” she said. “This is no time to fool around.”

“Actually, it’s the perfect time. This is a long, damn flight. Your partner has—I assume—checked every inch of the plane for threats. We’re thirty thousand feet in the air. It’s never going to be safer to scratch our itches than this minute.”

He crawled toward her across the bed. She watched him warily, too proud to back away, too stubborn to meet him in the middle. Her lips pressed together, nerves and disapproval combining. He suspected she wanted to wet her lips. Beneath her white business shirt and bra, her nipples had beaded up.

“Your hands are clamped on those chair arms,” he purred. “You’d think you were afraid of me.”

“I am not afr-”

He’d reached the end of the bed. He swung off smoothly, covering her hands as he laid his mouth over hers. Though he resisted the urge to savage, he wasn’t tentative. He knew how to persuade with a kiss. He’d seduced women on screen and off more times than he could count—certainly too many to doubt his skill at it.

A.J. made a half-swallowed sound, her mouth hesitating a single instant before pushing back at his. Being kissed by her packed a punch. Lust jolted through Luke’s veins, his cock hardening so swiftly the relocation of so much blood should have dizzied him. The knowledge that he affected her was heady. However much she fought, A.J. couldn’t resist their chemistry.

She wanted him as fiercely as he did her.

Luke slid his hands up her shirtsleeves, tugging her from the chair and onto her feet with him. She wrapped him in her arms like it was her idea, her tongue working magic as it tangled with his and sucked. He moaned in reaction.

This, it turned out, wasn’t a good idea.

A.J. jerked back at the sound and glared. “You’re only pushing this because I’m a challenge!”

“Fine,” he said, as close to panting as she was. “You tell yourself that’s why I want you if it makes you feel better.”

He slid his hands down her back, palming her ass through the trousers to pull her against the dramatic evidence of his desire for her. She frowned harder but squirmed at the same time.

“Damn it,” she said, and then she was all over him.

Her fingers seemed to fly down his silk shirt’s buttons, tugging each one out swiftly. She found his belt buckle and freed it. The leather pulled at his waist and trousers as she yanked it through the loops. His zipper rasped, its descent a speedy tease down his erection. The sensation was delicious, but he barely had a chance to react. She shoved him hard, once, to tumble backward onto the bed.

He hissed a curse that wasn’t an objection. She’d followed him in his fall. She was over him on her knees, peeling off her own shirt. A button flew and zinged off some hard surface. Her bra was white and simple, but in that moment sheer black lace couldn’t have wound him up tighter. His pulse pounded crazily, his cock about to explode with excitement. He reached behind her to unhook the plain garment.

As soon as the bra was off, A.J. dragged his hands up around her breasts. Her nipples were hot and tight, like satiny pebbles against his palms. The rest of her flesh there was melting soft. He remembered it so, so well, the memory intensifying his arousal. After so long, simply holding her like this shot spikes of white-hot feeling straight up his erection.

He moaned into her mouth, because she was kissing him again. Crazy to get inside her, he tried to help her wrestle out of her trousers.

“I’ll do that,” she hissed, urging his hands to their former positions.

He rubbed her nipples with his thumbs, felt her twist with pleasure, and decided this particular loss of control ought to be encouraged. Taking a tighter grip on her ribs, he dragged her high enough up his body to reach her breasts with his mouth.

“Fuck,” she breathed, her pelvis rolling hard on his thigh as he sucked and tongued one nipple. “I’m trying to concentrate . . . on taking off my pants.”

Luke didn’t care who took them off as long as they disappeared. Because he currently had more coordination, he flipped her under him. She’d made some progress. Her zipper and button were undone.

“Lift your hips,” he rasped.

She lifted, he yanked, and a few tugs later her long, muscled legs were bare.

“Underwear,” she urged.

Luke dragged her panties down as well.

Completely and gloriously bare, she pulled him back to her.

Luke’s shirt hung open and his zipper gaped, but other than that he was clothed. Was it rude not to be naked too? His desire to rub their skin together conflicted with his longing to plunge straight in. He kissed her hungrily, deeply, one palm running down her sleek side. A.J. twisted at the stroke, clearly enjoying it. God, he could smell how aroused she was.

“Should I take off my pants?” He was so overheated the offer came out broken.

“Leave them,” she said, tugging him closer by his shirt. “I want you in me now.”

A couple fuses blew in Luke’s brain.

He fought to think through the explosion. “Wallet.”

She retrieved it from his back pocket but fumbled with the foil square. “Crap. You have to put this on.”

Fortunately, he had practice. His fingers managed the sequence of tasks swiftly. She touched his hand, her thumb helping him roll on the rubber. His nerves spangled insanely.

“That feels nice,” he gasped. “But you’re in my way.”

“Sorry.” She moved her hand like his cock was a hot poker.

Luke fought a smile as he shifted into position.

He should have entered her straight away. He certainly had her go ahead. Instead, he paused to look down at her, gladder than he could explain that it was broad daylight. Her sharp whiskey gaze met his. She looked suspicious. Her eyes were narrowed, her lashes dark and spiked. Luke couldn’t tell if the plane were vibrating or just him. He felt as if he were falling, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

“Come on,” she urged with more than a hint of impatience.

Finding this illogically endearing, he fit his tip to her hot, slick entrance. Her eyes changed, going unexpectedly bright and soft.

“This okay?” he couldn’t resist asking.

She blinked, the momentary vulnerability disappearing. “For God’s sake, you know it is. Just get on with it!”

He laughed. She’d seen right through him, and he loved it. More than okay, she was wet as hell and sultry. Entering her presented a different challenge. His nerves went haywire as her sheath slowly engulfed him. He had to school his breathing, afraid he’d lose control otherwise.

The way she groaned and pushed her hips up his shaft nearly made him unravel.

“Oh, my god,” she moaned as his last inch squeezed in.

“Too much?” he gasped, aware that their fit was snug.

Her hands fisted in the small of his back. “Just. Right.” As if she couldn’t help it, she undulated beneath him. “Please move, Luke. I need to go for this.”

“You don’t want to be on top?” Somehow he knew she didn’t. He just wanted to yank her chain. She narrowed her eyes again, her fists pulling him closer. Luke cracked a little grin. “Fine then. I’ll operate this ride.”

She inhaled, no doubt about to say something tart. He drew back and started thrusting before she could. Her neck arched up flatteringly.

“Oh,” she said, a clear moan of pleasure. “Oh yes, keep doing that.”

He kept doing it and more. He pulled her right leg high up his side, spreading her wider for his entries. Crooking his arm around the bend of her knee gave him better control of her movements, as did pinning her other leg with his.

He guessed the slightly trapped effect did it for her, because she started thrashing and going wild. That felt incredible on his cock—as did the strafing of her pebbled nipples across his chest. He clenched his teeth and steadied his rhythm. He wanted this to last, wanted to savor each damn second. She was pushing him up too fast. Fighting his instinct to let go and grab release, he tried to roll his hips more smoothly.

He’d make this memorable for her if it killed him.

Her hand slid up to stroke his face, making him realize he’d closed his eyes to better drink in the sensations.

“Luke,” she said when he opened them. Her face was flushed, her expression soft again. She looked tender, which took him by surprise.

He had a feeling dynamite wouldn’t have gotten her to say why.

“Is this okay?” he prompted anyway. “Do you like what we’re doing?”

He shouldn’t have asked. Naturally, she rolled her eyes.

“You know I do,” she said—not the information he really was looking for.

He wasn’t always so controlling, but something told him he’d get more of what he wanted if he forked his fingers into her hair and gripped. Her dark locks were short but thick, satisfying to hold onto. This at least was a good decision. Her eyes went glassy, a moan catching in her throat.

“I love this,” he whispered, throwing caution to the wind. “I fucking love you looking at me like this.”

She tried to look annoyed again but failed. She liked what he was doing too much to be angry.

Made reckless by her pleasure, Luke rocked his hips faster. Her nails dug into his back as he thumped them both into the mattress. She was strong, pushing up his cock as hard as he drove down. He loved how tall she was, how demanding and physically direct. When her hands slid to his butt and clamped, he dropped his head to her neck. Her pulse raced so fast it excited him even more. He panted against the skin there, letting her hear what her eagerness did to him. She groaned his name, and he found her hip with his second hand, stretching his thumb inward to rub her clit. The little rod was swollen, a hot, ripe berry he massaged the pad hard over.

Gentleness mustn’t have been required. A.J. broke with a muffled cry.

He sucked in air, holding on by a thread as her sheath contracted and pulled at him. He couldn’t bear not to pay attention. She was lightning around him, quivering, alive as she came. He groaned and thrust through her tightening softness. The steady roar of the jet engines muffled the animal sounds they made. His balls drew up, his own climax gathering. A.J. gripped his ass tighter.

That was curtains for his control. Sweet suspense tightened to near pain and snapped. Ejaculate shot from him. God, he was coming hard. He heard himself snarl as A.J.’s pussy clamped deliciously down on him again.

His head went back, golden warmth expanding through his body.

“Oh yeah,” he growled, his cock barely taking time to soften before it started to stiffen a second time. “We are so doing that again.”

Fate had different ideas. Before he could put his words into action, a knock sounded on the door. A.J. stiffened under him.

“A.J.?” said the visitor, effectively ruining Luke’s glow. “We’ve hit cruising altitude. Do you and Luke want lunch?”

“Shit,” A.J. hissed. “It’s Martin. I knew we shouldn’t have done this.”

She was trying push him off her, her cheeks flushing extra hot with embarrassment. Though Luke didn’t relish her reaction, he sympathized. She’d had sex on the job, and Martin was a coworker. He pulled out of her, wincing briefly at the loss of her warm harbor. Because he had clothes left on, there was only one thing to offer.

“Stay,” he said. “I’ll handle this.”

He fastened his pants and zipped but left his shirt open. Martin Sands was no idiot. He’d figure out what he’d interrupted regardless.

A.J. muttered a sailor’s curse. Luke glanced back. She’d yanked the coverlet over her nakedness. She was glowering, but she nodded when he cocked his head inquiringly at the door.

Because he didn’t feel especially guilty, he opened it more than a crack. Not all the way, though. That would have been obnoxious.

“Yes?” he said to Martin.

He’d taken Martin’s measure on the tarmac. The forty-something ex-mercenary was fit, lean, and gave off a wiseacre vibe most actors had to take lessons for. Older than Luke, he wasn’t too old to attract someone A.J.’s age. His brown hair was salted at the temples, the lines around his eyes and mouth suggesting sagacity and humor.

Proving he was right about the sagacity, Martin added one plus one in fewer than two seconds. Luke’s satisfaction at the way his jaw dropped was perhaps juvenile. When Martin clamped his molars back together, he did so firmly enough that a muscle ticked. Luke still wasn’t sure what was between the man and A.J., but the bodyguard clearly disliked discovering her tangled in Luke’s sheets—not to mention post-coital.

His expression tight, Martin dragged his disapproving eyes back to Luke. “I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

Luke gave him credit for not saying sorry when he wasn’t.

“You couldn’t know,” he said just as coolly. “I’m sure this isn’t Alexandra’s standard M.O. at work.”

“Not anywhere,” Martin said. “And no one calls her Alexandra.”

Luke let one of his eyebrows ghost upward. “Don’t they? She’s certainly beautiful enough to be called that.”

He knew he was goading Martin but couldn’t seem to stop. Whether the other man had slept with A.J. he didn’t know, but Martin was suggesting he had a superior claim to her.

A.J. cut their pissing contest short.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, sounding unimpressed with the pair of them.

She’d broken some speed record, because she was dressed again, her fingers doing up the final button under her white collar. The one beneath it was missing, a victim of her recent impulsiveness.

“Sorry,” she said to Martin, which greatly offended Luke. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

At a loss for words, her coworker shook his head.

“A.J.—” Luke began.

“No,” she interrupted. “If we really have to, we can talk about this later. Right now Martin and I have business to discuss.”

If they really had to talk about it? Martin wasn’t the only one gobsmacked then.

A.J. grimaced, possibly with remorse, because she touched his arm lightly. “I mean of course we’ll talk about it. If you want to. I’m just on the clock right now.”

He coughed out a startled laugh. If Kev had seen this, he wouldn’t call him Casanova. Discarded boy toy, more like.

“Later,” she promised, already on her way. “I’ll send the flight attendants back for your lunch order.”

So he was supposed to stay in the cabin? While she and Martin discussed their important things? She might as well have told him not to worry his pretty head!

“I’ll be out,” he said tersely. “I don’t need to be waited on.”

“Sure,” she said. “Sorry.”

He glared at her but only caught Martin’s eye.

He told himself he imagined the other man pity.

*

A.J. tried to behave as if her thoughts weren’t overwhelmed by curse words. Why had she succumbed to Luke? She knew better. Luke was a player, and she didn’t have time for games. Not at work. Not in front of her coworkers.

She headed for a pair of seats. They weren’t near Kevin Reyes, who she’d just as soon didn’t overhear. Her body hummed as she lowered herself into the chair farther from the window. She’d have preferred the molded leather not be so comfortable. The plush upholstery cradled her pussy. Her panties were damp, and her clit pulsed in double time. Her and Luke’s encounter had been so quick she was only a bit sweaty.

Maybe, if she were really lucky, she didn’t reek of sex.

Martin cleared his throat as he sat beside her.

You’re supposed to be in charge, she reminded. Don’t apologize again.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” she blurted.

Martin rubbed his jaw with his thumb, his silver-flecked stubble rasping beneath his nail. He seemed unsure what to say. “You’re a grown woman,” he settled on.

“I knew Luke before this job.”

“Your father mentioned that.”

Of course he had. Martin rubbed the arms of his chair, a nervous gesture he wasn’t usually prone too. Crap, this was awkward.

A.J. blew out her breath. “You had something to tell me? When we first came aboard?”

“Right.” Since she was pulling herself together, Martin did as well. “It’s about Christy James. I found this out while I was guarding Naomi Davis. I thought I ought to tell you face-to-face and not in a report. It’s sensitive.”

She turned toward him in the seat, propped her cheek on one hand, and prompted him wordlessly.

Martin didn’t keep her in suspense. “James and Davis are having an affair. Not a casual one—on James’s side at least. Neither of the interested parties said so in so many words, but I got the impression America’s Sweetheart only plays one side of the net.”

“Huh,” A.J. said. A slightly uncomfortable bit of gossip came back to her. She told herself the discomfort meant nothing. “I thought Christy and Luke were supposed to have had a fling.”

“Apparently that was wishful thinking among the fans. In real life they don’t get on, though I’m pretty sure he and Naomi Davis used to be intimate.” Martin shook his head. “That one strikes me as game for anything.”

He sounded admiring. The supermodel must have batted a lash or two once she recovered enough to notice the man guarding her. That didn’t surprise A.J. Her father’s partner was attractive. Plus, Martin could flirt with the best of them—and didn’t cavil to use the talent as an investigative tool.

She asked the question that mattered. “You think James’s sexual preference is relevant to the shooting?”

“Hard to say.”

“She presents as completely straight. Not that I’m an expert.”

“I’m not sure anyone is. Bottom line: we’ll have to be careful with the information. I wouldn’t want our firm to accidentally out someone.”

“Luke knows?”

“I believe he found out when James showed up to sit at Davis’s bedside.”

A.J. sat back and tapped her lips. As she did, she almost didn’t remember Luke kissing them. How many women’s mouths had he worked his magic on? She shook herself and focused. “The shooting couldn’t be a jealousy thing. Weren’t Luke and Naomi an item years ago? James wouldn’t be threatened by him now.”

“I admit it seems unlikely. Christie James was on the red carpet too. Even if she hired the shooter . . .”

“It’d be crazy nuts,” A.J. said, anticipating his train of thought. Not that actresses couldn’t be irrational. “Say Christie James is in love with Naomi Davis. If she killed Luke, she’d be risking her meal ticket. Nobody heard of her before the Final films. Without him, wouldn’t the franchise be kaput?”

“You’d think. But it’s in the mix, so we have to take it into account.”

“Huh,” A.J. said again.

She turned her head, noting in a glance that Luke hadn’t emerged from the private cabin. Kevin Reyes was staring out the window with the script Luke had given him face down on his lap. He looked morose, so if he liked the story any better this time, it didn’t show. She wondered if water bottle that sat beside him was spiked with more. “You start digging into that one yet?”

Martin didn’t need to be told who that one was. His lean face split into a grin. “Do bears bring Charmin into the woods?”

She didn’t get a chance to ask what he’d found. The flight attendant rolled up with the lunch choices. She and Martin both took fish. They didn’t eat heavy on the job. No bodyguard wanted to be lethargic if he had to spring into action. Light or not, the meal was stellar. Luke, evidently, didn’t do second-rate anything.

Eating might have relaxed her too much. She’d assumed the topic of what Martin walked in on was tabled. The adage about assuming belatedly sprang to mind when he set down his fork and sighed.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, but your dad isn’t here so I have to ask. You’re gonna watch yourself with Glamour Boy, aren’t you? Luke Channing is used to getting his way—and not by accident. Guys like him can charm women in their sleep.” Martin’s face was earnest, the lines around his eyes etched deeper by concern. A.J. was touched and annoyed at the same time.

“I’m not most women,” was all she could think to say.

“You’ve got me there,” Martin said, with a ruefulness she didn’t understand. “You’re one of a kind, for sure.”

CHAPTER SIX

NORMALLY, a big celebrity like Luke would be mobbed at LAX—especially after surviving an attack. To A.J.’s satisfaction, no press or fans had gathered to greet their landing. Their security measures were functioning.

Kevin Reyes went his own way after deboarding. A.J. didn’t say so, but she was glad. She preferred to avoid the complication of his presence.

Hoping their luck would hold, she pulled a favorite trick by borrowing a jacket and hat from one of the pilot’s spare uniforms. Putting them on Luke worked better than sunglasses to disguise him from the airport’s smartphone-wielding visitors. That and her team’s discreet guarding style got him to the agency limousine unnoticed.

As she’d requested, the LA branch sent an escort car as well. Martin peeled off and went with them, lending his experienced eyes to surveying the route ahead. Slightly rumpled but now awake, Szymanski stayed with her and Luke.

Their client seemed disconcerted not to be recognized. She read wistfulness in Luke’s gaze as he looked around one last time before ducking into the car.

He turned sheepish when he saw she’d noticed. “I know. Stupid. Guess I’ve gotten used to the paps hounding me. Not seeing them makes me feel forgotten.”

“You’re still famous,” she assured, checking their six before following him into the roomy interior. “More than ever, unfortunately.”

Luke laughed at that—though she’d meant it non-ironically. She hoped he wasn’t too addicted to attention. They didn’t need him making Freudian slips to the media.

His phone rang a moment later. Talking to the studio kept him occupied for the drive to Malibu.

Because it was her business, she monitored his conversation with half an ear. She gathered Galaxy decided to move Final Death’s opening back a week. The theaters would still be booked, and those owners who desired could put extra security in place. To A.J., the change offered pros and cons. On the pro side, she and her team could get more organized. On the con, if Luke’s attacker wanted a second crack, he or she would have seven more days to plan.

Twice she heard Luke catch himself before sharing information she’d rather he didn’t. He was learning. That would definitely be helpful.

Also helpful was the cushion of acreage surrounding his estate.

Situated on a bluff overlooking blue water, his home was part of an exclusive coastal community. By necessity, this meant his neighbors were rich and/or industry bigwigs. Bounded by a wall whose security arrangements she’d reviewed already, Luke’s property was among the grandest. Per her orders, Hoyt-Sands’ LA branch had taken over manning the powered gatehouse. As the guard swung open the iron bars to admit the limo, he and A.J. exchanged the firm’s standard “A-OK” hand sign.

“Cheese-Louise,” Szymanski murmured as they got their first line of sight on Luke’s residence. “That’s what I call a Hollywood palace.”

The Mediterranean-style house was flamingo pink and huge. Sprawled across a somewhat incongruous drought-resistant landscape, it boasted an old-school Spanish tile roof, multiple graceful terraces on multiple levels, plus an artistic scattering of date palms.

“It was built in the 1920s,” Luke informed them, having detached his phone from his ear at last. “One of the silent movie era moguls commissioned it. It was amazing when the grounds were green, but I think it still impresses. My gardener is a genius.”

Luke was leaning forward to look out the windows too. He seemed pleased by Szymanski’s awe. Hell, A.J. was awed right along with her coworker. This was a different level of affluence from what she was used to.

Though she wasn’t prone to gushing, it seemed stingy not to offer a compliment. “Helluva pile for a former Minnesota farm boy to land on.”

“You aren’t lying.” Luke laughed. “I get a charge every time I drive up to it.”

“I’d worry if you didn’t,” Szymanski said approvingly. “My wife says if people don’t count their blessings, they shouldn’t bother being rich.”

A.J. tended to agree but couldn’t encourage too much familiarity between personnel and clients. Familiarity bred relaxation, and relaxation was not useful. Fortunately, Szymanski didn’t take offense at her mild warning glance.

She wished she could get herself to behave that easily.

“Right,” her coworker said as the limo rolled to a halt at the broad front steps. He began to open the door then paused. “Mr. Channing, if you wouldn’t mind, please stay in the car a minute while I get the sitrep.”

A.J. remained with Luke—to his dismay, apparently.

“This is my home,” he protested.

“It’s just a precaution. Szymanski needs to make sure our people are in control of the house and grounds. You’ll be able to move freely, without me glued to your side, once he confirms everything’s been vetted.”

Luke expressed his displeasure—or perhaps it was disbelief—in an under-the-breath mutter.

As she expected, Szymanski trotted back out to them shortly. “Everything’s cool. Martin made it here ahead of us. He collected Mr. Channing’s staff in the kitchen for you to brief on new procedures. He says they’ve been worried about Mr. Channing, so he might want to stop in with you and say ‘hello.’”

“I would like to do that,” Luke said crisply.

She sensed he thought they were being highhanded. Not wanting him to get prickly and resist sensible suggestions, she touched his arm as they both got out. When he turned to her, she spoke softly. “Our methods are designed to increase everyone’s safety, not just yours.”

Luke’s expression grew cooler.

“Oh, you’re good,” he said matching her muted tone. “Always pushing the right button.”

“As your bodyguard, that’s my job. I need you to cooperate.”

His gaze narrowed and probed hers, reminding her how close their eyes had been when they’d stupidly had sex on his private jet. The clear California sunshine lit his irises like gems. Like the sea, she thought dreamily, caught in their sparkling spell. Any woman with hormones would want to dive in. Her body tightened, the flesh between her legs tingling dangerously. She prayed the blood that stung her cheeks wasn’t visible.

“I wonder how much you need my compliance,” he murmured.

She blinked. He couldn’t be suggesting she bribe him with more sex. That would be incredibly unprofessional—not to mention contrary to what she knew of his character.

Her shock must have shown. His mouth twitched at one corner.

“Buttons,” he said with pretend gravity. He tapped her shoulder with one finger. “You’re not the only one who’s good at pushing them.”

Damn it, she fumed. He’d been teasing her. As if he were aware he’d succeeded but was too mature to gloat, he strode unhurriedly up his mansion’s pink outside steps. The temperature was classic for summer in LA: balmy mid-seventies. Luke had removed his custom tailored jacket and slung it over one broad shoulder. In the sunny light, his hair shone more golden than ever.

Luke was effing Gatsby . . . without the neediness.

All right, maybe he had a bit of that, but if a romance novelist had written Fitzgerald’s story, for sure it would have ended with Luke paired up and happy.

Not that she knew anything about books like that.

“You coming?” Szymanski asked as she stood glowering at Luke’s unfairly fine rear view.

“I am,” she confirmed darkly. Unlike the movie star, she was perspiring. She huffed her slightly damp bangs from her forehead.

She promised herself Glamour Boy wouldn’t trick her like that again.

*

Constitutionally unable to refrain, the first thing A.J. did was quickly walk the house and grounds. Though she’d studied floor plans prior to their arrival, experiencing the layout for herself was integral to her process. Her survey assured her the LA branch had swept and rearranged in accordance with Parker Hoyt’s strict standards. The security personnel whose paths she crossed seemed amenable to accepting her leadership. Also promising: Luke’s house manager had designated an appropriate space for her to run ops from. With that to-do item handled, briefing Luke’s staff on safety procedures was her next order of business.

Though she had a well-trained team, they couldn’t control everything. Instilling vigilance in Luke’s people was important. Knowing how to handle deliveries, to reduce information leaks, and to spot anything out-of-place increased the chances of good results.

As she’d expected, Luke’s live-in employees had different aptitudes for the task.

The kitchen where Martin called them together was at the back of the house and on a lower floor. The room was cavernous, with large high-set windows and enough equipment for a restaurant. Though her imagination wasn’t as wild these days, for just a second, she could picture an army of 1920s servants preparing a big dinner.

Luke was hugging a woman in a chef uniform. He released her when he saw A.J. had arrived.

“Ah,” he said neutrally. “You’re here. Why don’t I introduce everyone?”

He began with the house manager, Mr. Nettles. Tall and portly in an old-fashioned three-piece suit, he was indistinguishable—at least to A.J.—from a butler. Bookending him was the polished-looking female chef who doubled as a nutritionist. Rachel Fischer was something of a celebrity herself, due to having written a popular cookbook. Luke mentioned occasionally loaning her out to friends.

A.J. earmarked Fischer as a possible spreader of gossip.

Two Ukrainian maids seemed innocuous. They were young and didn’t speak much English. Luke introduced an older Hispanic couple as gardeners, which set off a tiny ping in her brain. Earlier, he’d said “my gardener”—singular. Wanting to focus, she let that pass momentarily.

His personal assistant, Eliza Crawford, raised the strongest flag of all. She was a nervous type, way too twitchy for comfort.

Guilty conscience, her former cop-self thought.

“Is this everyone?” she asked when Luke was done.

His lip muscles contracted. “Everyone who lives in,” he said.

Well, that was interesting. For some reason, he’d lied to her.

Martin had been leaning on the door to a big steel fridge, watching Luke and his employees interact. From the way he straightened slightly, he’d also caught the telltale sign.

“Okay,” A.J. said to Luke. “If you’re finished reassuring everyone you’re all right, I’ll explain the new safety procedures.”

Maybe this was too brusque. Luke gave her a funny look. “I’m done. I’ll . . . let you do your thing.”

He left without saying he’d catch up to her later. Was she supposed to say it? Probably he was still annoyed over her reaction to their quickie on the plane. Screw it, though. She couldn’t let soothing his ego be her priority.

Protecting his person from more attacks superseded handholding.

She shoved the thought of him from her head as she ran through her directives. Though his staff listened attentively enough, she knew she’d have to repeat herself at some point. Civilians almost never picked up new habits on the first try.

Her father had taught her to at least pretend patience.

“So that’s it,” she said, wrapping up. “If you think of questions, any Hoyt-Sands employee can answer them.”

No one raised their hand. The staff who didn’t work in the kitchen began leaving. Eliza Crawford, the PA, seemed especially keen to slip away. Martin smiled when he saw A.J. notice her eagerness.

All yours, he mouthed to her.

She knew without asking he’d handle the roving chef.

That, A.J. thought, was the value of good coworker chemistry. With the quickening pulse of a coyote scenting a juicy rabbit, she followed the PA to the corridor.

“Hold up,” she said to the young woman.

“Me?” Eliza’s expression was dismayed. She was in her early twenties, plumply pretty with soft blue eyes and not-quite-natural blonde hair. Those sleek straight locks had to cost her a pretty penny at a salon. The headband Eliza used to control them was that of a TV-style schoolgirl.

Twenty-four was the same as sixteen on the small screen.

A.J. smiled pleasantly. “You can help me fill in a couple blanks. We can walk and talk, if you like. You seem to know the boss pretty well.”

This didn’t flatter Eliza the way she hoped. The assistant scrunched her nose. “I wouldn’t say ‘well.’ I mean, I’ve been here eighteen months, but we’re not BFFs.”

“Oh come on.” A.J. shortened her stride to match the petite woman’s. “A year and a half is forever in La-La Land. You keep Luke’s schedule. You know everyone he sees. Plus, you’ve been living in his house.”

“I just do my job. Mr. C and I don’t fraternize.”

A.J. had expected a different reaction. Most young women in Eliza’s shoes would have inflated their importance. Deciding to change tack, she dropped her voice confidentially. “I need the skinny on the other staff. And anyone Mr. Channing sees regularly. Someone doesn’t wish him well. Part of my job is discovering who that is.”

They’d reached a door Eliza seemed to want to disappear behind.

“Are these your rooms?” A.J. asked. Apprehension flicked into the woman’s face. She opened her mouth to utter some refusal, but A.J. didn’t give her a chance to speak. “Perfect! We can talk inside, one-on-one.”

“Fine,” Eliza sighed resignedly. “But you can’t stay forever. I have work to catch up on.”

A.J. followed her into a suite that included a bedroom, a sitting room, and a bath. A pair of vintage walkout windows overlooked scrubby grasses in the side yard. It was a pleasant space—feminine, well kept, with a few expensive items among the thrift store finds. One in particular caught her eye. Luke probably paid well but not enough for a signed Erté print. A.J. had worked for a client who collected deco art. Pieces like that Queen of the Night sold for upwards of $10,000. Intrigued, A.J. strolled closer.

“That was a gift,” the girl said defensively.

“Nice.” A.J. didn’t ask from whom. Another of Eliza’s colleagues might supply the answer without risking the assistant shutting down. A quick glance around revealed zero personal photographs. Not spying other suspicious items, A.J. sat in one of the small armchairs. “So. Who’s got a beef with your employer?”

With a second long-suffering sigh, Eliza plopped down across from her. “No one. Mr. C is nice. Everyone gets along with him.”

A.J. let one eyebrow express her disbelief.

“Okay,” Eliza relented. “His partner, Kevin Reyes, is a toad. He’s always hitting on female staff. Doesn’t like to hear ‘no’ either.”

“He ever push it too far?”

“Not push, push. He’ll just call you a bitch if you turn him down. Once, he made one of the maids cry. Tried to kiss her at a party when he was drunk. I don’t think he’d hurt Luke, though. Luke is his meal ticket. He’d be down the drain without him.”

Reyes probably didn’t relish everyone thinking so. The behavior fit what Martin had dug up online: that Luke’s partner settled a sexual harassment suit out of court a year ago. Add that to his gambling debts and his jealousy, and a picture began to form. That the PA didn’t like Reyes seemed a point in her favor.

“What about people who don’t live in?” A.J. asked. “People who visit regularly.”

Eliza twisted her mouth in thought. “Like the masseuse or his personal trainer?”

“Sure.”

“The masseuse is nice. Sometimes she gives the rest of us a discount. The personal trainer seems like he’s on the make, but he’s okay otherwise.”

“On the make?”

“You know, he drops hints that he’d like Luke to help him get discovered.” Eliza shrugged dismissively. “Mr. C never takes the bait, but the trainer probably talks that way to all his clients. Out here, everyone wants to act.”

“So no big deal.”

“Not a big enough deal to kill over.”

The PA seemed confident of her assessment, and A.J. was inclined to believe her. Eliza was relaxed now, her previous twitchiness absent.

A.J. tried a new question. “What about girlfriends and costars?”

She’d hit on a sensitive spot. Eliza’s arms retreated in the chair. “You’ll have to be more specific. Mr. C’s had a lot of both.”

A.J. leaned forward across her knees, careful to keep her body language soft. She pretended she hadn’t noticed the evasion. “I’m interested in any relationship that didn’t end happily.”

“Well, no woman is happy when Mr. C ends things. He’s a good guy. And since they’re usually actresses or models, they like being seen with him.”

This struck A.J. as a sad statement. Luke had more to offer than PR value. Possibly he should also broaden his dating pool. Shaking off that idea, she forced herself to focus. “What about Christie James?”

Eliza shook her head firmly. “She and Luke never hooked up like people said. That was just fans inventing stories they wanted to believe. Making up their own soap opera.”

“You’re sure?” A.J. asked, Eliza’s manner inspiring her to probe.

“Positive. They’re strictly coworkers.”

Not blissful coworkers, if Martin’s report were trustworthy. Because A.J. bet it was, she had to wonder why Eliza didn’t mention the pair’s animosity. She, of all people, was in a position to have observed it directly.

The PA road-blocked her chance to ask by smoothing her skirt primly. “Is that all? I have work to catch up on.”

A.J. saw she wouldn’t get any more out of her right then. Surrendering for the moment, she pushed up from her chair. “That’s all for now. Thanks for giving me the time you did.”

The manners were a lesson from her mom the lawyer. She said always be extra nice if your questions tick someone off. That way, they ask themselves if maybe they shouldn’t have been annoyed. With any luck, guilt leaves them softened up for your next session.

A.J. was pretty sure Luke’s personal assistant warranted one of those.

*

Getting a new job in gear took time. A.J. didn’t reconvene with Martin and Szymanski until later that evening. Because she knew them best, she’d entrusted them with questioning people. The LA guys manned the spacious ops room, which was on the second floor in the near center of the house. Once a fancy drinks parlor, it was now their onsite HQ. Everything they needed had been moved in: desks, computers, a whiteboard for assignments. Two techs monitored the multiple surveillance screens while another worked on a computer. He was organizing information they’d likely need tomorrow.

Over dinner at the table in the corner, she and her New York colleagues traded what they’d discovered.

Fortunately, Rachel Fischer wasn’t a health zealot. Szymanski made happy noises around a serving of spicy ribs. He was a big guy—not fat but fond of food. Of the three of them, he sweated the most over staying fit.

Laughed silently at his moans of pleasure, Martin opened the note-taking app on his tablet. “Since Brian is busy with his new friends, I’ll start. Mr. Nettles, the house manager is respected but also feared. He may have a deal going with suppliers he orders from. General opinion is the chef likes to namedrop too much. Two people called her a ‘phony bitch,’ but said her cooking made up for it.”

“Mmm,” Szymanski agreed with his mouth full.

Martin swiped onto a new page. “A housemaid was fired last year for selling information to the paparazzi. I’ve asked the LA office to track her down. See if she’s still in the area. The other thread I’d like to tug is that nobody—and I mean nobody—thinks much of Kevin Reyes. If I could figure out his motive, I’d move him to the top of our suspect list.”

Szymanski swallowed. “The current maids don’t like him either. They seem on the level—and loyal to their boss, as far as I can tell. Admittedly, the Ukrainian my nana taught me is rusty. The gardeners didn’t send up red flags. The salary Channing pays them comes in welcome for sending back to relatives in their home country. Same for the maids, I gather.”

“Maybe the motive is insurance,” A.J. conjectured.

Szymanski’s brow furrowed a moment then cleared as he realized she’d backtracked topics. “You mean a key person policy. Channing and Reyes are partners in Two Dudes. Reyes could get a big payout if Luke dies.”

“Not if Reyes is the one who kills him.” This injection of reality came from Martin. “Plus, Luke isn’t just a partner. He’s a seriously bankable star. He’s got to be worth more to Two Dudes alive than dead.”

“Reyes might think he’d get away with it,” Szymanski tried. “Or what if he’s racked up more debts and needs money right away?”

“Please,” Martin said. “There are a million easier ways for a producer to make money in Hollywood—including legal ones.”

A.J. let out sigh. She’d enjoyed her theory while it lasted.

“You know I’m right,” Martin said. “If Reyes is behind this, he’s has a reason with some logic. He may be a douche, but I get the impression he’s not crazy.”

“Crazies are harder to pin down,” A.J. said glumly.

Martin patted her forearm. “Harder but not impossible. I’ll ask your dad to dig deeper into Reyes. You having Channing’s PR firm send him the iffy mail?”

“Already done,” A.J. said, glad she could confirm. “Scans anyway. Hard copies should arrive tomorrow. Dad will CSI the creepiest ones.”

“So we’re doing what we can. You’re doing what you can. How was the jumpy assistant, by the way?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not catching anger from her toward Luke . . . or romantic obsession. She’s hiding something, though. I’ll tackle her again when I get a chance.”

“Put her on your dad’s list too,” Szymanski suggested.

“I will.” Maybe she shouldn’t have needed it, but the men’s support steadied her. She turned to Martin. “You find a safe room we can convert?”

Martin smiled approvingly. “There’s a walk-in closet off Luke’s bedroom. The armorers come tomorrow to everything-proof it.”

“Good.” Clients didn’t always have the budget to create a panic room, but as high profile as Luke was, it was a smart idea. “I’ll sleep better knowing he’s got one.”

She’d spoken without thinking. Szymanski coughed into his fist. The reaction made her wonder if he’d heard her and Luke join the mile-high club.

“Those ribs were peppery,” he said, taking a swig from his water glass. The twinkle in his eyes suggested that wasn’t the reason for his cough.

Oh screw it, she thought. If he’d heard, he’d heard. She might not like him and Martin knowing, but if anyone had a right to be informed about her slipup with their client, it was these two.

To her relief, the knowledge didn’t seem to have shaken their faith in her. They were treating her like she could handle this. Before she could stop herself, she gave in to impulse. “I’m glad you guys came out here with me.”

Szymanski grinned. “Our pleasure, kid.”

“Always,” Martin said warmly.

A.J. cleared her throat before it could tighten.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HOLLYWOOD was a ridiculous place to live—overpriced, overhyped, and just plain childish in many ways. Luke adored it all the same, more than anywhere in the world. Tinseltown might have branches around the globe, but its traditional epicenter threw off magic like no other. From sparkling sunshine to swaying palms, LA was a fantasy.

You couldn’t pick a better spot to reinvent yourself.

Mayfair—as Luke’s historic home was known—was the best part of returning from a trip. Composed of equal parts glamour and nostalgia, its amazing ocean vistas offered views through both space and time. No matter how the fame he loved sometimes pressed in on him, here he had breathing room. He used to, anyway. Tonight his house was a police state.

A.J.’s people had invaded.

He stood on the curving terrace outside his bedroom suite. Normally, the sight of moonbeams shimmering on the water soothed anything that ailed him. At this precise moment: not so much. Two guards patrolled his grounds with German shepherds. A third was a silent shape farther down the balcony, his posture that of a soldier at parade rest. Back inside, Szymanski had been posted outside his bedroom door.

Luke could go anywhere he wanted. He just couldn’t go alone.

His biggest source of annoyance embarrassed him. None of guards who shadowed him were A.J. No doubt he watched too many movies. He’d figured there’d be perks to hiring his long-lost flame. Sadly, it looked like the perks he’d gotten were all there’d be. Maybe he should have filmed their quickie on the plane. At least then he could have replayed it.

Snorting to himself made the guard on the terrace shift. If Luke weren’t careful, this situation would drive him around the bend.

Stifling a sigh, he went back inside. It was late, and the tension of the last few days had exhausted him. Because he knew mere exhaustion wouldn’t cut it in his current state, he poured and threw back a short whiskey. Brushing his teeth and reading in bed continued his ritual. Once the last page was turned, he switched out the light, pulled up his smooth Frette sheets, and performed two minutes of slow breathing. He guessed his therapist was right. Consistent habits did help insomnia. To his amazement, he went under with no trouble.

As luck would have it, he slid into his least favorite memory.

*

In the dream, Luke shuddered sluggishly awake. He was a boy again, trapped in the old wardrobe, surrounded by the smell of mothballs and damp cement. He didn’t bother bracing on the wardrobe’s rear to push his tennis shoes at the doors. He’d attempted that so many times he’d almost crippled his back with bruises. The cabinet the woman shut him in was solid. Thick wood. Strong hinges. The sort his dad said people didn’t make anymore.

He’d wasted energy and time trying to break out. Worse, he had even less strength now. Once his captor realized he’d never go along with her, she’d stopped feeding him everyday.

The thick feeling in his head, like steam had been forced into his brain cells, told him she’d drugged his meal again.

At first, when he figured out what she was doing, he’d tried not to eat or drink. That made him weak as well. Now he choked down the endless Chinese food she brought, no matter what she put in it. He was too hungry to resist. That’s what he told himself anyway. Admitting he’d begun to welcome the escape the sedatives provided made him uncomfortable.

I haven’t given up, he swore. I’ll keep fighting however long it takes to escape.

If you escape, the darker self inside him said.

That voice told him to lie, to pretend to be what the woman wanted. The one time he’d tried, she hadn’t believed him. She’d refused to unlock the shackle she put around his wrist when she let him out to use the ancient toilet in the corner of the cellar. She’d stand outside the door, holding tight to the chain’s other end. She didn’t seem to like this arrangement. Luke certainly didn’t. He thought he could convince her to give it up. When he couldn’t, he decided his darker self was stupid. It didn’t know better than the rest of him.

Not about anything, he insisted.

Luke was only eleven and not tall yet. The wardrobe was big enough to stand in if he kept his head to the side of the hanger bar. He forced himself onto his feet now, to work the muscles he had left even though the simple act of standing made him shake all over. He breathed slowly—in and out, in and out—until he didn’t feel like he was going to hurl. He’d stopped noticing that he stunk. He had bigger worries to concern him.

His arms trembled as he lifted each skinny one in turn. Being able to see them meant it was day outside. A fuzzy line of light filtered between the wardrobe doors Not much light. The beams had to travel from the cellar’s single small window, but his eyes had adjusted. If he ever got out of here, he’d be a mole person.

The dark self inside him laughed. You hear what you said? ‘If’ you get out of here. You’re not getting out, idiot. You’ve been gone so long your parents have given up.

The anger that roared through him drained every drop of strength. His knees gave out and his head cracked against the wood. He moaned at the sledgehammer pain in his skull. The sound was pitiful, like an animal whimpering.

I’m getting out, he tried to promise. I’ll play baseball again. I’ll eat hotdogs. I’ll hug my mom and dad.

His throat refused to cooperate. All it did was moan louder.

*

Strictly speaking, A.J. didn’t have to check on Szymanski before she went off shift. He was experienced, and this job had a good-size team. If he needed anything, he’d contact another guard. Despite this knowledge, her feet took her to the hallway outside Luke’s suite.

Szymanski stood there, calm and alert. He cracked a small grin on spotting her. “Hey, boss. Come to tuck in Glamour Boy?”

A.J. frowned at his teasing. “Just making sure you have everything you need.”

“I do. And everything is quiet. You ought to grab some Z’s. You’re first shift tomorrow. The maids mentioned Channing keeps farm boy hours.”

“I’m about to turn in.” She rubbed her jaw. “I just wish we’d made more progress on the case side of things.”

“Your dad will keep the ball rolling. Anyway, my wife says sometimes you don’t find your answer until you let the question go.”

“Your better half is quite the philosopher.”

“That she is,” Szymanski agreed fondly. “I don’t know what I’d—”

A low moaning cut him off. The sound came from inside Luke’s rooms. She and Szymanski reacted instantly. He spun and flung the door open. A.J. drew her gun and aimed at the gap. The room was dark. No one shot at them. A.J. took point and slipped in silently. A shape moved swiftly inward from the terrace. Her adrenaline spiked, but within a quarter second she identified the figure as a team member. Nodding at each other, they proceeded to the next room within the suite.

There, lit by moonlight from another window, they found Luke thrashing on the bed, making pain noises. He lay on his back, and his face shone with sweat. Had someone hurt him? Drugged him? A.J. looked around the room. No one was here but him.

“Shit,” Szymanski whispered even as her brain scrambled to identify the danger. “He’s having a nightmare.”

“Jesus,” murmured the other guard, dropping his tension from the false alarm.

Wanting to be sure it was false, A.J. switched on Luke’s bedside light.

His eyes snapped open. He jerked dramatically when he saw the three of them above him. “What the—”

A.J. holstered her pistol. “It’s okay,” she said. In the hope that this would calm him, she sat on the mattress edge. She didn’t touch him. She’d crossed enough lines in front of her colleagues. “We heard you cry out. I think you were having a bad dream.”

He pushed up on the pillows to stare at her. She knew he’d woken all the way when he dragged his hands down his sweaty face. “Fuck. Sorry. My therapist’s insomnia cure works a bit too well. I didn’t mean to send you to DEFCON 1.”

“That’s what we’re here for.”

He choked out a chagrined laugh.

“Really,” she assured him. “This is mild compared to some of the stuff we stumble into with clients.”

The guy from the terrace took this as his cue to withdraw. “Returning to my post,” he announced. “Glad you’re all right, sir.”

“You want us to stay a minute?” Szymanski offered like the future dad he probably ought to be. “Sometimes you gotta throw off a dream before you can sleep again.”

“I’m okay,” Luke said. “But that’s kind of you.”

She saw Szymanski had amused him—or maybe he was laughing at himself.

“You’re shaking,” she said, noting the fine tremor in his limbs. If his jaw hadn’t been clenched, his teeth would have clacked.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” she disagreed. “Walk it off with me. Our job will be easier if you’re not sleep deprived.” He gave her a look, but she dug in her heels. “Seriously. No one wants to learn what you’re like when you’re cranky.”

“I’m charming under all conditions,” he assured loftily.

“Then be charming under this one.”

His brows lowered a moment before he relented. “Fine.”

She tensed as he pushed the covers off abruptly. To her relief, he wasn’t naked. Yes, his chest and abs were exposed, but he wore silk pajama bottoms. Pictures of Minions from the animated movies covered the drawstring pants, bright yellow and goggle-eyed.

Naturally, Luke noted her attention. He enlightened her with a smirk. “Joke gift from Naomi last Christmas. Normally, I sleep bare-assed.”

“Uh boy,” Szymanski muttered with a head wag. “I’ll leave you two to settle this.”

She had to let him. They didn’t both need to walk with Luke.

“Inside or out?” she asked once he’d splashed water on his face.

He thought. “Inside. You’ll worry about me less. Unless you’ve decided my live-in staff are psychos.”

He was teasing—though somewhat acerbically. “That’s to be determined. My dad has more digging left.”

Luke grimaced. A.J. decided he’d had enough crowding for the time being and allowed him to set their path. Mayfair’s architect had been eccentric. His house rambled up and down as well from side to side, little sets of steps leading between levels. If she hadn’t memorized the blueprints, it would have been easy to get confused. She observed her companion did relax as they went. His tremor faded and his jaw unclamped, his steps regaining a more natural bounce. They met one other guard on patrol, after which they progressed alone.

Finally, they descended a set of stairs to the lowest floor, a Gosford Park-type cellar beneath the big kitchen.

“You’re heading somewhere in particular,” she said.

He nodded and smiled slightly. “My favorite room from the original house.”

He pushed through an unmarked door. She sensed a large space behind it as cooler air blew toward them. Luke reached sideways to push an old button-switch on the wall.

A.J. gasped in astonishment. This hadn’t been labeled on the plans. “It’s a bowling alley!”

It was a big bowling alley, with six hardwood lanes, plus a colorful mural of a sawmill on the ceiling. Fancy deco fixtures flooded the space with light, reminding her of when cinemas were palaces. Instead of plastic seats for waiting players, small velvet chairs clustered. Unavoidably fascinated, she tested the seat of one with her palm. The upholstery was dusty but comfortable.

She looked back at Luke, who was enjoying her reaction.

“They threw bowling parties back in the day,” he said. “Apparently, whoever got low score had to set the pins. I have a photograph of Gary Cooper and Myrna Loy acting as pin boys.”

“You’d think they’d have servants handle that.”

“I guess doing it themselves added to the fun.”

She wandered to one of the hardwood lanes. The narrow strips were patched here and there, but the gutters appeared sound. “Do you use it?”

“Occasionally. I hired a specialty firm to reproduce the wallpaper panels, but the pins and balls are vintage.”

“Can I try a throw?” she asked, succumbing to temptation.

“Of course.”

She’d only bowled a couple times as a kid. Street hockey was more the thing in her neighborhood. She took a moment to remember how to stick her fingers in.

“Swing straight back,” he advised, seeing her unsureness. He mimed the motion with the grace of a born athlete. “Slow and smooth. Bend your knees and release the ball along the floor at the forward end of your stroke.”

She tried to be as smooth as him, but she used too much force. The ball clunked loudly when she let go. “Shit,” she said, afraid she’d cracked the wood.

Luke stepped closer to reassure her. “It’s okay. Look, you’re going to hit the pins.”

Three toppled over and then a fourth. Delighted, A.J. forgot herself enough to laugh.

“You’re a natural!” Luke praised, laughing along with her.

“I don’t know. I think I’d better keep my day job.”

She looked into his smiling face, right there beside her. God, he was a damn nice guy. His good nature shone in his eyes, in everything he did.

“Want to try another?” he offered.

She shook her head. “Better not.”

“Can’t have too much fun while you’re on duty?”

She’d already broken that rule for him. More than once. The reminder sobered her. Luke saw the change. His amusement didn’t disappear but his mood turned wistful. A.J. should have turned away. He was beautiful no matter what his expression.

Because she felt that too deeply, she returned to being professional. Or maybe not. Her question came from the general region of her heart. “You want to talk about your nightmare?”

His smile twisted. “Are you asking that as my bodyguard?”

“Your emotional well being could impact your safety.”

He snorted at her prim answer. “In that case, I’d rather not explain.”

“Would you like to visit your therapist? We could schedule that, though if you can stand to go without, I’d prefer he didn’t prescribe you sleeping pills.”

“I’d prefer that too.”

His tone held a wryness only he understood. He touched her hair. She kept it too short to need much smoothing, but he stroked it around her ear. To her dismay, she didn’t flinch. Actually, she might have leaned a teensy bit toward him. Her lips felt like they were buzzing.

“Where did your assistant work before she came here?” she blurted.

Luke blinked at the change of topic. “You can’t seriously suspect Eliza of having it in for me. She’s totally trouble free. Does her work with no drama.”

“In this town, some would say that’s suspicious.”

He laughed but without humor.

A.J. pressed her advantage. “She has a $10,000 print hanging on her wall. It could have been a payoff for something. Unless you gave it to her?”

She’d surprised him. “No,” he said slowly. “She furnishes her own rooms.” He rubbed the corners of his mouth in dismay. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. As I recall, before she came here, she was a PR rep for a salon.”

“Salons need PR reps?”

A.J. hadn’t hid her shock. Luke’s humor recovered.

“Some do. Stars want their nails done at whatever’s the hottest place. So the paparazzi can catch them there. PR people create buzz.”

“Did Eliza work at the place you go?”

Her guess deepened his amusement. “Please. VIPs as big as me have the salon come to them. There’s a room here with shampoo sinks. To be honest, I don’t remember who referred Eliza. Rachel maybe? She had a good interview. I hired her on the spot.”

Rachel was the namedropping chef. Could multiple members his staff be plotting against him?

“Those are paranoid thoughts running through your head,” he observed.

“That’s what I get the big bucks for.”

Luke’s subsequent exhalation was a sigh, but A.J. wasn’t ready to stop probing.

“Do you have night terrors often?” she felt compelled to ask.

“Jesus.”

“I need to know,” she insisted. “It’s relevant.”

“You could pretend to care on a personal level.”

“I do.” More than she ought. “My job matters more than my feelings.”

He sighed again but he answered. “I have them once or twice a month if I’m especially stressed. They’re not a big deal. I’ve learned to handle them.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. She concluded the nightmares were a bigger deal than he wanted to admit. Perhaps he wanted people to think his life was as golden as it looked. Her ribs contracted with sympathy. Though she’d rather they didn’t, her next words came out gruff. “If there’s something we can do to reduce your stress, we will. Assuming it doesn’t compromise your security.”

He grinned, and she realized she’d stepped into a trap. “There is one surefire way to drive bad dreams away.”

“If that’s the cure, I’m surprised you ever have a nightmare.” Her tone was grumpy—jealous, some might have said. Luke seemed to think so. He positively leered.

“Why, Alexandra,” he said. “Are you suggesting I have female company all the time?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But I like calling you Alexandra. It’s my own private name for you.”

He was doing the purring, bedroom thing with his voice. Her body reacted against her will, her pussy tightening and growing wet. That sent heat flashing to her cheeks . . . which naturally Luke saw.

“Alexandra,” he crooned in the same teasing tone. “You don’t know how pretty you are, do you?”

His fingertips skimmed her face. He was so close she really wanted to back up.

“Stop it,” she snapped, fighting the reflex to retreat.

“Really?” His head dipped to nuzzle her earlobe. “You’re sure you don’t want me to kiss you?”

The problem was she did. Tingles swept her vertebrae as he trailed his mouth down her neck to her collarbone. The reaction inspired a shiver she couldn’t get control of. His hands settled on her hips, under her plain suit jacket.

“I want you,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking her hipbones suggestively. “So much I might go insane.”

“You had me today already,” she tried weakly.

“That was yesterday. It’s after midnight now.”

Luke’s lips molded over hers. The pull he exerted seemed to increase each time she succumbed. With a sigh that was part exasperation, she slid her arms around him. She couldn’t help being keen to hold him. Her shirtfront flattened on his bare chest, his skin deliciously smooth and warm.

Was it really wrong to drag her fingernails along his back?

Luke didn’t think so. He mm’d his appreciation, his hands sliding toward her butt as his tongue played deeper. God, she loved his kisses. They had just the right mix of tenderness and hunger. His long fingers tightened on her ass, kneading the muscles there with a bit of strength.

He had an edge that made her crazy—as if underneath his sweetness, he really were desperate to have her.

“Crap,” she gasped, registering the size of what prodded her through his pajamas.

He smiled archly, holding her where she was. “Rudolph Valentino stayed here once.”

“What?”

“The actor from The Sheik.”

“I know who—”

He kissed her again, deeper than before. A.J.’s knees wobbled. She let out a longing noise when his lips released hers. “I have a couple fantasies where I’m him. That no woman can resist me, and I ravage them any way I want.”

A.J.’s tartness recovered. “How is that different from your normal life?”

He laughed. “You’re tall enough, I think.”

“Tall enough!”

Mischief danced in his expression. “For my particular fantasy of taking a woman here, in this room, from behind with her standing up.”

“Well, thanks for that over-share. I—”

“Alexandra.”

The single word silenced her. She swallowed. He’d turned her name into an aphrodisiac. She couldn’t look away from his crinkling eyes. He was so sure of himself, so confident sexually that it hypnotized. A.J. wasn’t shy, but she couldn’t match him there. His saturnine smile deepened.

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

“Take off your jacket.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s hot in here, don’t you think? And I’m barely dressed at all.”

Her eyes slid down his ripped action-hero torso to the front of his pajamas. The bold thrust of his erection revealed he was commando. She couldn’t blame the nearest Minion for goggling. The head of his cock was damp, a trickle of pre-come turning the silk transparent. A.J. wasn’t simply hot then: she sweltered.

“Damn it,” she said, fighting the impulse to lick her lips.

“I’m all yours, Alexandra. To ravage you. To service you. Whichever you prefer. Take off that jacket, and I’ll belong to you.”

He didn’t mean it literally. He was playing a game.

She bit her lip. She had to admit she wanted to believe him. “You’ll take me against the wall?”

He wasn’t quite controlled, because his breath rushed out at her implicit acceptance. “As many times as you want.”

“Once should do it.”

“You know, for an alpha female, sometimes you don’t demand enough.”

“Maybe I’m giving you credit for your skills.”

He grinned. “Which skills are those?”

“Now you’re fishing.”

“Shall I tell you which little man in a boat I’m most interested in?”

She scrunched her brows in confusion before bursting into a laugh. “I haven’t heard that metaphor since high school.”

“I wish I’d known you then,” he said.

“I was a tomboy. You wouldn’t have given me a second glance.”

“Now that’s very much nonsense. You’ll always get more than one glance from me. More than two, to be truthful.” He was distracting her with his banter, with his always and his I wish I’d known you then. He freed her from her jacket—and got her arms to cooperate—almost without her noticing.

Her budded nipples chafed her bra, drawing a look from him and a grin. He wasn’t uptight like her. He licked his lips without hiding what he was thinking.

She shuddered, wanting his mouth on the aching peaks.

To hell with it, she thought. This had gone too far to turn back. Her hormones thought so anyway.

“Oh fine,” she said, unbuttoning her shirt without more coaxing. Removing her holster inspired a pang. She hung it on a chair in a position where—if needed—she could easily get at it. That settled, she nodded at the cord that held up his pajamas. “If you take those off, I’m sure I’ll be motivated to go faster.”

“There’s an incentive,” he quipped back.

His graceful hands moved smoothly on the knot. Despite her smartass promise, the sight of him dropping trou totally stalled her undressing. God had been having a good day when He created Luke. The actor’s limbs were sculpted, his shapes and colors a pleasure to gaze upon. He was Sistine Chapel material—that is, if the Church hadn’t frowned on depicting men that randy.

He laughed at her stupefied reaction. “You’ve seen my full Monty before.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s not getting old.”

“Perhaps I should help you.” Amused, he turned her to face away from him. He didn’t fumble over this, either. He pulled her shirt off her arms, deftly removed her bra, then undid the fastening and zipper of her trousers. His body was right behind her, brushing her with smooth skin and hot muscle. He nuzzled her ear. “Stay where you are a sec. I want to make sure you’re warmed up enough.”

Though this wasn’t remotely necessary, all she did was gasp when he slid one hand into the front of her white panties. While that hand cupped her mons, his other claimed her breast as if it belonged to him.

“Um,” she said, sensation zinging in multiple directions as the fingers of his first foraged.

“Shh,” was his hushed response.

She was wet already, her nipples on fire from his tugging. No stranger to multi-tasking, he spread her labia and slid his longest digit inside of her. She tried to contain her pleasure noises. This became impossible when the pad of his thumb began massaging her clitoris.

“You can moan if you want,” he said. “These walls are soundproofed. The original owner didn’t want bowlers disturbing his other guests.”

A.J. squirmed and gasped instead.

“All right,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to earn it.”

He removed his touch from her. When she started to turn toward him, he caught her shoulders and stopped her.

“I’m requesting that you don’t look at me.”

A.J.’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re ‘requesting’ it.”

“I wouldn’t dare order you, Alexandra. Please remove the rest of your clothes and walk forward to face the wall.”

She hesitated. “Are you pretending you’re Valentino?”

“I’m being me. You’re sufficient fantasy for ten men.”

She couldn’t tell if his words were true, but the idea appealed. She dropped the rest of her garments, stepped out of them, and moved toward the wall as he’d instructed. She was a physical person—more or less easy in her skin. Her strides weren’t awkward or vampish. She knew he was watching. She suspected he was turned on. What surprised her was how free she felt being naked in front of him.

Powerful, she thought, in ways that didn’t have to do fitness.

“Shall I brace my hands?” she offered when she was close enough.

“Yes,” he said huskily.

She laid her palms on the wallpaper, which displayed a swirling silver-on-black pattern. Figuring it would suit Luke’s plans, she spread her bare feet to shoulder width, the pose of an obedient friskee. She didn’t exaggerate the lewdness of her position. She doubted she needed to. Luke’s erotic imagination was working fine.

His steps approached. He paused before reaching her. She assumed he wanted to savor the visual.

“God,” he said in a wondering tone. “Your body is a work of art. Particularly that ass. Actresses would pay good money for you to play their butt double.”

“They would not.”

“They’d fight each other for the privilege,” he contradicted. “This is a masterpiece.”

He came all the way to her with the words. To prove them, he cupped his hands around her bottom cheeks, lifting and stroking the rounds of flesh with the possessive sureness that was second nature to him. Polite he might be, but Luke knew his own talents. He growled as he massaged her, the touch and sound sending hot waves of pleasure along her nerves. He ran his hands up her back, kissed her nape, and reversed course along her spine.

When he finished dropping kisses down that path, he was on his knees behind her. Like a worshiper in a church for sex, he stroked her legs from ankle to upper thigh, his million-dollar face rubbing back and forth across her hindquarters.

It all felt too good. She wasn’t certain where he was heading, and that didn’t suit a pre-planner like herself. At least, she thought it didn’t. Heat began to well from her pussy, every place he kissed becoming sensitized.

“Uh,” she said. “I don’t know how adventurous you’re intending to get back there, but I’m a simple girl.”

His chuckle against her bottom was throatily sexy. “I sincerely doubt that’s true. I will, however, take the hint.”

She hoped she hadn’t betrayed herself as too vanilla. If she had, Luke didn’t seem to mind. He rose with more nuzzling and caresses, his hands sliding around her torso to pay homage to her front. When he was totally erect, so to speak, his front molded her back snugly. His cock rubbed the upper slope of her buttocks in restless passes, the hot column branding her. His smooth hardness felt so good she shuddered.

“I have protection,” he said against her ear. “I’m going to put it on.”

“When did you grab that?”

“In the bathroom. When I washed my face.”

She was too impressed to be annoyed. “You are an optimist,” she marveled.

His laugh might have been a tad sheepish. He was smart enough not to call her a sure thing—despite the evidence supporting that conclusion.

She couldn’t worry about that when he came back to her.

“Now we’re ready to play,” he said.

She bit her lip and arched as his sheathed cock pushed slowly into her. Swallowing her moan took work. Her fingers felt ready to claw the wallpaper. She realized she hadn’t been entered like this before, with her and the man standing up. The angle was interesting. Luke felt huge, for one thing. For another, his throbbing head was running up the sweetest nerves in her front wall.

“Jesus,” he breathed when he’d crammed all the way inside. “You feel incredible.”

“You too,” she gasped politely.

He chuckled, drawing back and shoving in with unexpected vigor. She inhaled with surprise and pleasure. He’d pushed her closer to the wall, his hand the only barrier between her right breast and the wallpaper. Because he was a couple inches taller, she was on the balls of her feet. He kept surprising her. Or maybe she surprised herself. The way he crowded her was incredibly arousing. A slave to its own logic, her pussy overflowed.

She knew he felt the reaction around his cock. The rhythmic beat of his blood strengthened.

“You’re really wet,” he purred approvingly.

Yet again, his voice got to her. A.J. wriggled with irritation and delight on the hot column that speared her. “I am aware of that.”

“You should rest your head back against my shoulder. I think you’ll like that too.”

She made a grumpy noise but she did it, the shift stretching her body out even more. In the context of a fight, it would have been a stupidly vulnerable position. In the context of having sex with Luke, it wound her up in an extremely exciting way. She pushed her bottom toward him, wanting him as deep inside her as possible.

“Comfortable?” Luke asked with unmistakable amusement.

“I’d like you to move now, please.”

“So polite,” he teased as he drew back again. To her relief, his next forward thrust rendered him incapable of jokes. He moaned with pleasure and did it again, faster.

“Mmm,” she said, giving him the encouraging noise he seemed to want.

This was a wise concession. He braced his legs and began thrusting in earnest.

God, it felt good. He was almost but not quite slamming into her—long, intense strokes, their bodies slapping together as they both grew sweaty. Luke marked each thrust by grunting with enjoyment and effort. Too excited not to, A.J. let her right hand make a fist on the wall. Luke’s palm flattened beside hers.

“That’s right,” he praised. “Be as noisy as you want.”

Okay, that last loud moan must have come from her.

“I could . . . use some help,” she gasped. “This feels really good, but . . . I can’t . . . quite go over standing up.”

“This kind of help?” His arm lowered, his magic fingers seeking out her clit.

She groaned, unable to stop herself. He’d squeezed the swollen little rod between his thumb and finger and was shimmying the hood up and down. “Shit.” She hadn’t realized he’d send her up so fast. Her forehead thunked against the wall as her pleasure swiftly approached critical. Oh she needed this bad. Her pussy tightened around his accelerating thrusts. She wanted them to destroy her. Wanted him so far inside her he’d become a part of her forever.

Lost to reason, she groaned louder. “Deeper . . . Luke.”

Now he did slam, crying out so hoarsely lust was too faint a word for what the sound expressed. She climaxed with her own hoarse cry. The orgasm was sweet and wrenching, tightening and releasing her sheath by turns. By the time it finished, her fingers and toes and scalp were all tingling.

Actually, she thought the tip of her nose was buzzing too.

It took a minute before she could speak again.

“Phew,” she sighed. Then, because he deserved to be complimented more intelligibly, she added: “Rudolph would be impressed.”

“As long as you are,” he responded laughingly.

He hadn’t pulled out. He kissed her shoulder, hugging her gently from behind. A.J. wasn’t big on post-coital snuggling. Because she couldn’t resist the impulse now, she reached back to stroke his hair. Though his locks were tangled and her touch was shy, he seemed to welcome it.

“Thank you,” she said. “That might have been the best sex I ever had.”

“Well,” was his less than eloquent answer. He seemed startled by her confession.

That startled her, because—obviously—he knew how good he was. But maybe he didn’t expect her to admit it. He held her a little longer before pulling carefully out of her.

Evidently, he wasn’t done surprising her.

“You’re still hard,” she exclaimed.

That didn’t make sense. He’d treated her to the best bonking of her life. How could he not be spent? Unless he hadn’t come himself . . .

No, she thought, her mind protesting. Though her legs still trembled, she twisted around to gape at him.

His smile tugged higher on one side. “I know you said once should do it, but I thought just in case—”

“Seriously?”

He laughed at her amazement. “I’m a gentleman.”

“You’re the eighth wonder of the world.”

She shook her head at him. He was flushed and sweaty, like he’d run a marathon. The look was sexy on him, of course. She could see his pulse beating in his neck. His cock as well. That monument to maleness thrust unabashedly from his groin, seeming to flaunt itself at her. The ache in her pussy changed direction from satisfaction to new longing.

Admiring his arousal gave her a second wind.

“I see I’m going to have to take you in hand,” she said.

His smile tipped up on both sides then. “Are you now? I have pleasant memories of your hands.”

“Don’t get cocky. I’ll be in charge this time . . .”

*

Luke couldn’t object to a threat like that, not with A.J. so gloriously flushed and imperious.

“Walk to the couch,” she ordered.

There was only one: a navy velvet three-seater facing the bowling lanes. Walking with a hard-on as stiff as his was awkward, but he managed.

“Sit,” she said. “Knees apart.”

Though she’d shown a penchant for a submissive role during sex, her voice of authority didn’t surprise him. It stood to reason she’d like calling the shots too. Her nipples were diamond-tight in the center of her slight breasts, the color in her cheeks heightened. Her naked body stole his breath: her lean curves, her strength, her near total lack of self-consciousness. He didn’t doubt she could wrestle him to the ground as easily as screw him—nor did he doubt he’d enjoy both options.

His cock throbbed harder at the idea. She was it for him, just totally it no matter what she did.

“You are so damn stunning,” he had to say.

“Sit,” she repeated more forcefully.

He sat as if she’d pushed him, watching with bated breath to see what she’d do next. She stepped to the nearest chair. Her leather holster hung on its back. Something primitive in him tensed, but he should have known she’d never draw on him—not even as a game. She took safety too seriously. Instead, she removed the chair’s seat cushion.

“This floor could use more padding,” she informed him.

His brain didn’t catch her implication until she dropped the cushion directly in front of him.

“Oh,” he said, his cock going so stiff his eyes watered from the pain. His inner wiseass wanted to crack a joke, like that looks promising.

All his throat was up for was swallowing.

A.J. enjoyed rendering him speechless. She grinned at him as she knelt. Her palms curved over his spread knees before stroking up his thigh muscles.

He loved the mischief in her eyes as she tipped her face to him; loved everything about her, he realized. When had that happened? She’d become herself to him, not just his lost angel.

His breath sucked in as she steadied his erection with capable fingers.

“Ready?” she asked, scooting closer on her knees.

“As I’ll ever be,” he said.

No man could brace for this. His eyelids went heavy as her soft lips surrounded him and sank.

Oh my God, he thought as he groaned. His head fell back ecstatically. A.J. was sucking and licking at the same time, drawing up and pushing down his cock with the perfect combination of gentleness and strength. The choice maximized his sensation while still allowing him to hang on. His nerves were spangling, their sensitivity turned up from pumping inside her. He felt every contraction of her mouth, every swallow and warm exhale.

“Jesus, that’s good,” he breathed.

She pulled gently off him. Startled, he blinked and looked at her.

“I want you to hold yourself,” she said. “Here.” She moved his hand to surround his balls, pressing his fingers closely around them. “I want you to play with yourself how you like.”

He was no stranger to being on display, but he hadn’t expected this. “That will turn you on?”

“Oh yes,” she assured. “And I want to concentrate on the rest of you.”

She’d gotten better at concentrating than he remembered. When she returned to sucking him, she put her thumbs on the underside of his shaft, each one rubbing the strut in opposite directions. It was a trick guaranteed to lift his scalp with pleasure. He gasped, his fingers tensing on his scrotum. Immediately, she gentled her tongue-lashing.

“I don’t want to rush you,” she said. “Take your time and enjoy this.”

She meant it. She moved up and down until he felt drugged with ecstasy. He closed his knees around her body, and all she did was hum with approval. He began to play more obviously with his balls—stretching them, squeezing them—and she hummed for that as well.

Realizing she wasn’t afraid of anything, he put his free hand behind her head to guide her.

The blowjob was perfect then. She responded to the subtlest pressure with whatever speed or direction he wanted in that instant. Her tongue worked magic on all his hot spots, her lips and cheeks creating an uncannily sweet suction. They were so in synch she seemed to read his mind—or perhaps his body—understanding signals he hadn’t consciously conveyed. Soon he rode the tantalizing edge of climax, drawing the imminence out by teeth-clenching will alone.

Anything that felt this fucking good had to be held onto.

When his fingers clenched in her short dark hair, she didn’t flinch or resist. Instead, she petted the skin at his base reassuringly, a croon vibrating from her throat through his super-aroused flesh. Her warm, bare body inclined closer.

Her response was incredible to him. As lucky as he was with women, this was an unprecedented demonstration of trust and selflessness.

He tried twice before he could speak. “It’s . . . okay if I come in your mouth?”

She dragged her tongue up his raphe, flat then sharp, each nerve it strafed firing sequentially. Her lips were beautifully red and swollen, her whiskey eyes seemed to glow at him. “I’m pretty sure I can make you—if you’d rather not worry about the choice.”

She’d understood him exactly.

“Yes,” he said, anticipation surging into his veins. “Please make me.”

He hadn’t known it, but she’d been holding back. Now she used all her fingers, all her strength as she returned her mouth to him. She was giving him permission to let go. Actually, she was forcing it on him. The only reason to fight the gift was to heighten his release. He gasped and tensed, his hand contracting around his drawn-up balls.

Even if he’d been prone to self-consciousness, it couldn’t affect him then. Needing to come too much to resist, he gave himself the added stimulation his nerves desired. The pad of his longest finger found the patch behind his scrotum where his perineum communicated with his prostate.

A.J. felt him rub there, must have concluded why, and moved her mouth faster. Pleasure flared like sprinting toward a cliff. He groaned as the ache of almost coming intensified. A.J.’s breath fanned him with excitement. Her lips pulled on him the most forceful yet . . .

His hips slung up uncontrollably. He came like a lightning bolt—hot, white, the electric streak long and delicious. A.J. sucked him through all of it.

His brain stopped working. She’d rendered him mindless.

When she felt him soften, she pulled off. She laid her cheek on his trembling thigh, her hand gently covering his penis as if it needed protecting. Luke’s hand rested on her hair, which was damp but still silky.

“A.J.,” he said. “Wow.”

She patted his fading cock. Apparently, she was limber as well as fit. She was sitting on the soles of her feet, but seemed as if she might fall asleep right there. Equally amused and endeared, he lifted her hand to softly kiss her knuckles.

“Come curl up here with me. —I know,” he added when her mouth opened. “You’re not a snuggler. This is strictly so you can recuperate comfortably.”

She must have been tired. Though she snorted, she let him tug her to the couch. Its interior wasn’t long enough for either of their heights, but luckily the seats were deep. Luke plumped a pillow for their heads. Once A.J. wriggled onto her side in front of him, they both relaxed.

Her ass made a very sweet cushion for his groin.

For a minute, the only sound was their slowing breathing. Luke felt supernaturally peaceful. Then A.J. broke the silence.

“Something just occurred to me,” she said.

Call him romantic, but he thought she’d mention something along the lines of them being an excellent erotic match—maybe even that she felt as if she’d known him forever. He couldn’t be the only one who thought they were destined to be together.

She wriggled around slightly, her head craning back to him. “You didn’t put your therapist on the list of people for background checks.”

Embarrassment over what he’d been assuming pulled anger in its wake. “You’re damn right I didn’t.”

“Well, we don’t need to know what you discuss in your sessions. We’ll only vet him to make sure he doesn’t have skeletons.”

“I’m not giving you my shrink’s name.” Her face said she planned to argue. “No. He’s not some Hollywood yahoo who passes out prescriptions like candy because he wants to cozy up to celebrities. He’s a professional and a good person. He protects my privacy, and I intend to protect his.”

“But he has access to your info.”

“Jesus,” Luke swore. “Don’t you trust anyone?”

“I trust people who’ve proved themselves to me. Personally.” She thought for a moment. “Assuming the situation doesn’t put their character under too much stress.”

Luke blew out a frustrated noise. Leave it to her to qualify what proof was.

“That’s just sensible,” she said. “You don’t ask your barber to take a bullet for you, only not to slit your throat.”

“Which you wouldn’t want me to do without checking said barber backwards and forwards.”

“Don’t expect me to apologize for that!”

Her anger had risen to match his. He guessed great sex didn’t erase the differences between them.

We have more than differences, he reminded. I’m not kidding myself about that.

“I wish you trusted me,” he said.

Her expression changed at the melancholy in his voice. She twisted around more fully to face him. She laid her hand on his arm without stroking it. “I’ve trusted you every time we had sex. No matter how strong a woman is, she’s always vulnerable then.”

“I want you to trust me for more than pleasure, for more than not hurting you physically.”

Her eyes cut away. “You’re being silly.”

He was pretty sure she understood him: that he meant he viewed their interactions as more than casual. With the awareness he might be miscalculating, he drew a breath and said what he thought. “I’m not your dad. You don’t have to stay on guard against me, bracing for the next time I let you down.”

The emotions that chased across her face told a story. Shock became denial, followed by more shock that he might be correct, and finally annoyance capped them all.

“Just because you see a shrink doesn’t make you one!” she snapped.

Luke knew she wouldn’t respect him backing down. “Am I wrong about your attitude toward your father?”

Her mouth twisted. “No,” she admitted grudgingly.

He laughed, appreciating how humor erased the unpleasant feeling that he was at odds with her. “God, I love your honesty.”

“I think you like it better when it’s making me look bad than when I use it on you.”

“Maybe.” He slid his upper leg over hers, using the sole of his foot to caress her calf. “You can trust me, A.J. I’m not a total idiot about people, and I’m definitely not playing games with you.”

She met his gaze directly. “Here’s the thing: When a naturally suspicious person gets proven right, the lesson sticks extra well.”

She was warning him, though if it was for his sake or hers he couldn’t tell.

“I guess your scars are like mine,” he said as lightly as he could. “All on the inside.”

Most women on the planet would have asked, “What scars?” Why do you have those nightmares? What can I do to help? Luke wasn’t chomping at the bit to explain his trauma, but if A.J. pressed, he’d resolved he would. As it turned out, he shouldn’t have dreaded he’d have to. A.J. had a knack for avoiding deeper connections. At least, she had that knack with him.

She frowned at the general region of his clavicle. “I’m too tired for make-up sex.”

He laughed even as he made a mental note of the phrase she’d used. Make-up sex implied something like a relationship. “I’m pretty whipped myself. Turn around again and sleep.”

Surprisingly obedient, she wriggled back into the perfect place. Luke put his arm around her. They fit so well it was uncanny.

“I’m only resting,” she announced. “We’re not staying here all night.”

“Of course not,” he said, reasonably sincerely. “I understand this would look weird to your coworkers.”

“‘Weird’ is not the word,” she mumbled.

Luke smiled as he closed his eyes. With her in his arms, his cares were a million miles away.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TROUBLE found A.J. first thing in the a.m. The buzzing of her cell dragged her partially awake. She fumbled for it automatically, but the phone wasn’t on the bedside table, where she always—religiously—placed it. That sat her up and opened her eyes. A warm, heavy arm tumbled from her waist.

Crap. She and Luke were still on the couch in his bowling alley. She’d slept much longer than intended.

Luke made a grumbly noise but didn’t move when she rose. Her steps faltered at what she spotted next.

Her clothes were draped neatly over a nearby chair, the same chair she’d hung her holster on. She hadn’t put them there. She’d dropped them on the floor, which might be her habit sometimes at home but never on a job. Luke must have gotten up at some point, tidied her stuff, then returned to the couch to sleep with her. She’d assumed they both conked out and overslept. But if he’d woken and come back, he hadn’t stayed with her accidentally.

He’d decided to spend the night with her.

That gave her a weird feeling—and not because he’d touched her things. It wasn’t like the couch was a featherbed. Or as if they’d had sex again. He’d simply wanted to hold her.

Maybe he wasn’t kidding about taking their . . . fling or whatever . . . seriously. She glanced back at him and found him up on his elbow, silently watching her. Did he know what was going through her head? Damn him if he thought she’d offer a penny for his thoughts.

“Better get that,” he murmured as her cell resumed buzzing.

She dug the vibrating phone out of her jacket pocket. The screen told her it was 6:02 in the morning. Marginally less horrified, she cleared her throat.

“Hoyt,” she said more or less clearly.

The voice of the guard at the security gate responded. “Sorry to wake you. We have a situation. Naomi Davis and Christie James drove up to the gate in a car. They’re insisting they be let in.”

That was a stumper. A.J. rubbed one temple. “Where’s Burgess?” Phil Burgess was the former ranger who’d replaced Martin with Naomi.

“Close behind,” said the guard. “He called Ops to let them know what happened. I take it the women ditched him when he went on a coffee break.”

“Well, that’s not ideal . . . though I suppose he didn’t peg a woman just out of a hospital bed as a flight risk.”

“No, and Ms. Davis doesn’t look so good actually.”

“Does she need medical attention?”

“I don’t think so. She’s pale around the gills but alert. Ms. James is demanding I put her through to Mr. Channing. I’d try him except it’s so early.”

It was early, but more importantly Mr. Channing was sans phone with her. Evidently used to being discreet after an unplanned night with female company, Luke mouthed what’s up to her. She shushed his words by laying two fingers across his lips. Probably she shouldn’t have. It was impossible not to notice how firm and soft they were.

Because A.J. knew what he’d want as surely as she knew only he called her Alexandra, she didn’t instruct the guard to arrange some other haven for the uninvited visitors.

“Call Martin. Have him sweep their car and spot-check their luggage. As soon as he’s sure it’s safe, they can drive in and wait in the main salon. Once Burgess catches up, send him there. I’ll contact Mr. Channing and . . . consult on how to handle this.”

She ended the call and rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist. Christ, this was sure to turn into a clusterfuck.

“Who’s here?” Luke asked her quietly. “Why do you look like you wish you could shoot someone?”

She explained what had happened as efficiently as she could. Luke’s response didn’t surprise her.

“They have to stay,” he said without hesitation. “Naomi’s a friend, and I have a whole team of security. They’ll be safer here with me.”

“I know you think so,” she said, striving to sound patient. “But people like them never come by themselves. They’ll invite their assistants and their style consultants and their favorite selfie photoshoppers. No matter how many people I have the LA office send over, we won’t be able to police everyone.”

Luke had shifted to sit fully up on the couch. He leaned forward earnestly. “I’ll talk to Naomi. She’s sensible. She’ll keep Christie under control.”

“You can be as firm with her as I am with you?”

He was naked and sleepy and inherently distracting. Her question caused his golden eyebrows to wag—no doubt in preparation for making a risqué pun.

“This isn’t a joke,” she said. “Naomi took a bullet that was probably meant for you. Do you want to put everyone here in danger because you’re being nice?”

“I’ll let you lay down the law to them,” he wheedled. “Carte blanche. Be as hardass as you want.”

She laughed in spite of the situation. She couldn’t deny this was the better of bad choices. “I will be a hardass, and you won’t have the right to complain.”

He displayed his palms in surrender. “I swear I won’t.”

He could have reminded her he was her boss, not the other way around. She appreciated—if reluctantly—that he refrained. She pinched her lower lip. “Not that I’m ashamed, exactly, but can you get back to your room without being seen?”

“Oh yes,” he said with a relish and a sureness that took her aback. Did he sneak around his home that often?

“By the way,” he added while she blinked, “there’s a bathroom hidden behind that panel. You can make sure you don’t look too, um, tousled before you leave.”

Recently fucked and thoroughly disheveled was likely more accurate.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone sardonic from this awareness. “I’ll catch up to you later.”

*

Luke’s main salon was an airy room with thirties-inspired furnishings and a breathtaking, big ass view of the Pacific. It was equally great for parties or just chilling. At the moment, the high-ceilinged space hosted a standoff between A.J. and Christie James, who were meeting for the first time.

Though it wasn’t mature of him to admit, Luke enjoyed watching his bodyguard handle his costar. He’d called A.J. alpha, and she was. Better yet, she wasn’t hamstrung by the need to act like a gentleman.

The test of wills began when she demanded Christie relinquish her cellphone—along with any other electronic devices. The actress had huffed and tossed her flaxen curls, all but demanding if A.J. knew who she was. When that didn’t work, she’d tried batting her baby blues and “reasoning” with the bodyguard.

A.J. refused to budge.

She thrust out her arm, her open hand silently demanding the phone be placed in it. “No outside communication until I decide you’re trustworthy.”

“Until you decide—!” Christie exclaimed.

“Just give it to her,” Naomi urged wearily. She’d been helped to a chair and was nearly asleep in it. “Who are you going to call at this hour anyway?”

“If you don’t like the rules, feel free to leave,” A.J. said.

“Naomi needs more protection than one measly guard!”

The measly guard had arrived, a quiet fortyish guy named Burgess with a thick silver-streaked mustache. He winced at this description, understandably sensitive after having been given the slip by two women. A.J. had shot him a sharp look when he first turned up, and he’d nodded in acknowledgement. Luke suspected this might be the only rebuke he got. A.J.’s leadership style didn’t seem to involve yelling.

She didn’t glance at the guard before continuing to address Luke’s costar. “Luke will share his security with Ms. Davis, with or without your presence.”

“What if I’m a target too?” Christie demanded, sounding hurt.

Luke wasn’t sure A.J. bought her indignation, but her voice did gentle. “What I’m asking is for your safety too.”

Christie couldn’t resist A.J.’s kindly, responsible mode any better than Luke. “Fine,” she surrendered, handing over her fancy phone. Naturally, she couldn’t leave it at that. “FYI, I wasn’t going to tweet our location.”

A.J. thanked Christie as calmly as if she’d complied without argument. She shifted her gaze to Luke. She was a cool one, all right. Her face betrayed nothing. If he hadn’t been a participant, he’d never have guessed they had sex last night. “If you don’t have a preference for which rooms your guests stay in, might I make the selection?”

She probably wanted the women somewhere she could keep track of what they did. “Go right ahead,” he said.

Something lit her eyes, maybe approval for the ease with which he understood what she wanted. The flick was gone a millisecond later, but it had left warmth in him.

This is why her team follows her, he thought.

*

The supermodel was tired but able to walk with an assist, which Christie provided. Her choice of digs already made,

A.J. led them to adjoining rooms on the second floor, where the hall camera the LA team had installed offered good coverage. Whether the women were threats or potential victims, a view of their comings and goings would be helpful.

Neither woman commented on the bedrooms’ connecting door. In Christie’s case, she might have been pretending she didn’t care. Her disappearance into her room was a relief. Though A.J. tried to hide it, the actress had rubbed her wrong from the start.

Naomi she remembered as the least offensive of Luke’s barhopping friends. Though she had the same creamy brown coloring A.J. remembered, the gate guard had been right about her looking pale around the gills. That and the absence of her usual couture outfits and glamour hair made her seem different—more down-to-earth, maybe.

She was still beautiful, despite the ordeal she’d been though.

“Sit a sec,” A.J. said to her. “You need to rest. I’ll untuck the bed for you.”

“That’s beyond the call,” Naomi said, though she wasn’t objecting. She collapsed into a side chair and sighed. “God, I didn’t know I’d be this exhausted. I guess healing is hard work. I hope you’re not too pissed at Burgess for letting us sneak away. Christie and I are good at tricking people when we set our minds to it.”

“Why did you trick him?” A.J. had to ask. “If you’re that worried about safety, you don’t ditch your bodyguard.”

“Because he’d have called you if he’d known what we planned. I figured . . . I know it wasn’t right, but I figured we’d have a better chance of getting in here if we didn’t give you time to pull up the drawbridge.”

A.J. could admire her strategy. Her ethics, on the other hand, were problematic. Some aspects of Naomi’s character seemed not to have changed since they last met.

The model read the disapproval in her face, though she misinterpreted its cause. “You’re not going to fire the man, are you?’

A.J. pulled down the coverlet and the sheet. “I expect Burgess is beating himself up fine. Especially since his predecessor managed to keep you two on a leash.”

Naomi laughed at that. “Martin knows a con-artist when he meets one.”

It was Martin, was it? A.J. fluffed the pillows and hummed noncommittally.

“He speaks highly of you, by the way. Claims you’re your father’s daughter and then some. That’s part of the reason I wanted to crash here.”

Done with the bed, A.J. turned to find the model observing her with more interest than she expected. Naomi seemed to be hoping to divine some answer, but to what question she didn’t know. “It was your idea to come here.”

“Guilty as charged,” Naomi said sheepishly. “I like Christie, obviously, but I never spent so much uninterrupted time with her as I did in that hospital. I needed a break from her hovering. When she suggested I convalesce at her house, I convinced her that might out us as a couple. I said I’d stay with Luke instead.” Naomi rubbed the arms of her chair with graceful hands. “Christie doesn’t like Luke, and he and I having history doesn’t help. She wouldn’t hear of me coming here alone. I know it’s a pain in the arse for you, but thank you for not slamming the door on us.”

She seemed genuinely grateful. Without actually letting down her guard, A.J. relaxed slightly. “I work for Luke, not the other way around. He wanted you to stay.”

“He’s a good man. Maybe the best I know.”

“So even though you two aren’t . . .” She hesitated, trying to phrase it delicately.

“Shagging anymore?” Naomi suggested humorously. “Yeah, Luke and I are still mates. I knew him before he was a model. Got him into the biz, actually.”

“I hadn’t heard that.”

“I ate in a restaurant where he waited tables. Told him a face like his ought to be in magazines. I was starting out myself but as it happened, I had an eye for talent.” Naomi grinned naughtily, letting A.J. know she was referring to more than one sort. “I convinced Luke there were easier ways to earn rent. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“So Luke Channing wouldn’t be Luke Channing if it weren’t for you.”

“Well, he’d be someone. He stood out even then. Men as . . . intense as Luke do seem to have destinies.”

Her describing Luke as intense was interesting. A.J. thought he was too, but lots of people would have called him laidback instead.

“It’s funny,” Naomi continued, her tone musing. “I remember asking Luke why he came to the Big Bad Apple in the first place. Despite where he ended up, he didn’t have the usual ambitions that pull outsiders there. He didn’t dream of being a playwright or an actor or what have you.”

“What did he want?”

“He said he’d come to face down a fear, that every day he walked around and enjoyed himself, he was spitting in its eye.” Naomi shook her head. “He never told me what the fear was. New York itself, maybe. He did grow up in a small town.”

A.J. didn’t think that explanation cut it, but Naomi shrugged off the mystery, accepting A.J.’s offer of a hand to shift from chair to bed. She swung her slender legs up herself, and A.J. rearranged the covers over her.

The model sat back against the pillows, her attention still on A.J. Apparently, she was up for more chatting. “Now that Christie and I are here, I wonder how long Twitter will take to start conjecturing about threesomes between us and him. Half the Listie shippers will have conniptions. The rest will be in heaven. They have a huge fan fiction community. Christie and Luke Forever, they call it.”

“I didn’t know that,” A.J. said.

“Oh yes. They write stories about Luke and Christie having cute blond babies and moving to Italy.”

“Italy?”

Naomi waved her manicure. “Their characters talk about it in the Final movies. The fans think it’s romantic.”

A.J.’s mental gears turned a few extra revolutions. Hoyt-Sands had a receptionist who excelled at infiltrating social media forums where zealous types hung out. Maybe her dad could assign Tanisha to look into this one; see if she gleaned anything helpful.

Naomi took note of her reaction. “I gave you an idea.”

A.J. smiled. “You did. Enjoy your rest with a clear conscience.”

As she returned the smile, Naomi’s hazel eyes slanted. “You’re all right. I’m glad Luke has you looking out for him.”

This, A.J. knew, was an opening to leave politely. She did so after checking briefly on Christie. The actress’s manners weren’t as good as her girlfriend’s. Christie snapped that she’d contact Luke’s staff if she needed anything, the implication being that A.J. was something less useful than a maid. That was okay with her. She’d just as soon not fetch and carry for Luke’s costar.

Glancing at her watch told her this might be a good time to call her father. New York was later than LA. Parker Hoyt would be settled in at work and post-coffee. A.J. headed to the ops room to make the call. No need to let non-team ears hear them consulting.

Their conversation was the usual professional but pleasant back and forth. Her dad called her sweetie, sent her Pop-Pop’s love, and got down to business. A.J. updated him on Luke’s situation—with one exception. Though the omission cost her a smidge of unsureness, she didn’t mention his shrink. Her dad covered what his background checks had turned up thus far: no smoking guns, unfortunately. Two Dudes did have a key man policy for Luke but not a sky high one.

“Kevin Reyes is solvent at the moment,” her father added. “Not by a lot but enough to suggest he’s trying to stay out of debt. Unofficially, none of his accounts show the sort of withdrawals that would suggest he’d put a hit on Channing.”

A.J. understood unofficially meant someone who wasn’t supposed to share had given him that info.

“The maid who was fired for colluding with the paparazzi moved to Colorado. She’s working at an Arby’s and really can’t afford to hire hit men. Plus, her alibi is solid. And the suspicious fan mail arrived. There’s not as much as I thought. I suppose even crazies don’t write letters anymore. I’ll sic Tanisha on the fan fiction site you mentioned. Hopefully something will pop there. Martin says you’re handling everything else okay.”

A.J. snorted. Of course her dad had checked up on her with his partner.

“I trust you,” her father said. “Martin volunteered his opinion.”

Probably she should grateful Martin hadn’t mentioned what she’d gotten up to on Luke’s plane. “Martin knows you appreciate being reassured.”

“I’m still your dad. Even when I’m proud of you.”

He told her that easily—and without her leading him. A.J. knew not all daughters were so lucky. Luke’s words from last night returned. I’m not your dad. You don’t have to stay on guard against me, bracing for the next time I let you down. She did do that, and it wasn’t fair to her father. Not after all this time.

“I’m proud of you,” she said, heeding the impulse that prodded her.

“I’m not doing anything,” her dad said.

“I mean for pulling your life together. For staying sober all these years and building up the firm. You always tell me you’re proud, but I admire you too.”

The other end of the call was silent, which made A.J. feel ashamed. Her stunning him like this meant she really was grudging with her praise.

“Well,” her dad said after a small pause to clear his throat. “That’s nice to hear. Not necessary but . . . nice. Um, have you heard from your mother yet?”

A.J. confessed relief that she hadn’t. “You know I love seeing Mom when I’m out here, but she doesn’t understand I can’t cut out for lunch on a job like this.”

“Just call her,” her dad advised. “She’ll feel neglected otherwise.”

A.J. smiled but put the suggestion on her Think About It Later list. Her humor faded after she hung up. She was letting Luke change her: saying nice stuff to her dad because she knew he’d approve of it. Maybe she approved too, but she couldn’t recall doing that for man before.

Doing it for Luke unnerved her.

Unnerved or not, she went to touch base with him next. She found him in his light-filled home office, leaning back in a swiveling chair behind a heavy rococo desk. His feet were up on the blotter, his cell attached to his ear. A.J. waited in the open doorway but heard enough to realize the conversation must be with someone from Galaxy, relating to the movie’s delayed opening. Though Luke’s sounded calm, he was pinching one eyebrow.

He hung up soon after spotting her. He swung his feet down and leaned in her direction. The tension in his face relaxed. She couldn’t mistake that he was happy to see her.

“Hey,” he said, gesturing her to come in. His voice wasn’t businesslike anymore. Instead, it was a wow-I’d-like-to-get-you-naked-again croon.

Fighting the rise in her temperature, A.J. tugged the front of her jacket straight. “I came to see if you needed to go anywhere today.”

He cocked his head, reacting to her professional tone. “I’m not sure. I could work from home. I have a zillion calls to make. Unless—” He hesitated. “Maybe I should go out. Maybe I’ll get more paranoid if I hole up here.”

A.J. had stepped to his desk and now touched the edge of it. She saw he wasn’t sure what to expect from himself. “It’s perfectly natural to be uneasy about the thought of exposing yourself to risk, especially after an incident.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “Or not exactly. The idea of you taking a bullet for me is freaking me out.”

“Because we slept together.” She said it matter-of-factly, but her cheeks warmed.

Luke nodded. “I know it’s not logical but yes. Seeing Naomi again, looking like she’d been steamrollered, brought the realness of the danger home. Whatever else we are, you’re my lover. And I’m a guy. I feel like I should protect you.”

“Guarding you is my job. If you’re too concerned about my safety—or my competence—to let me do it, you’ve no business paying me.”

Luke’s mouth twisted ruefully. “Maybe I didn’t think that part through when I hired you.”

“Or when you seduced me.”

He didn’t seem to mind her dry humor. His green eyes smoldered. “That I’m not sorry for.”

She wished she could set a rule preventing him from using that suggestive voice on her. Her nipples tightened and heat coiled between her legs. Too late, she realized she’d been caressing his desk’s front edge for the last minute.

As Freudian slips went, that one was obvious.

She dropped her arms and stepped back from temptation. She needed to get this conversation back on a business track.

“Why don’t we try something simple?” she suggested. “Maybe run an errand or schedule an appointment. Get you back in the saddle, so to speak.” Okay, that wasn’t the best choice of words. She tried to continue without visibly grimacing. “We could do it this afternoon. That’ll give my team some lead-time to ensure the trip goes smoothly.”

Luke leaned back thoughtfully. “I could show my face at the Two Dudes office. Maybe meet Jerry for dinner.”

“Jerry is your agent, right?”

“Yes, and he’s smart enough to follow precautions if you set them.”

“Okay,” she said. “A restaurant you don’t always go to would be ideal. And maybe close by. The LA team knows the turf if you need a suggestion. We’ll make the reservation for you under an assumed name.”

“I know a place where that won’t be a problem.”

“Great,” she said. “I’ll set it up.”

She turned on her heel to go.

“A.J.,” he purred, throwing some sticky tape in her getaway. “Any time you want back in the saddle, I’m completely available . . .”

*

Two Dudes Productions was headquartered on three floors of a shiny Century City skyscraper. To A.J.’s relief, Luke’s visit went smoothly. He hugged and backslapped a bunch of people who seemed sincerely happy to see him safe and sound. Kevin Reyes was in the office, which set her teeth on edge, but nothing untoward happened. He didn’t flirt like he had on the plane. Actually, he didn’t communicate with her at all except to nod curtly.

After Luke made the rounds of their employees, he and Kevin shut themselves in the conference room. Sensing Luke would rather she stay outside, A.J. didn’t make a fuss. She watched their body language through the glass wall. They were having a serious discussion—a personal one, she thought. She could see Reyes didn’t enjoy everything he heard, but he didn’t lose his temper.

They’re talking about his drinking, she realized. Luke must have accepted her assertion that his partner had a problem. Reyes appeared resigned rather than defensive, like maybe he understood Luke was trying to give him a wakeup call. For Luke’s sake, A.J. hoped he took it.

Luke was very quiet when he emerged again.

“Home?” she asked.

“Please,” he said, and nothing after that.

The silence was what she was used to from most clients. The part of her that liked Luke wanted to encourage him to talk—anything to lighten his dark mood. The part of her that collected a salary told the other part to shut up.

*

A.J. knew she’d catch crap for the dress she squeezed into.

She’d spotted it on sale at Barneys, discovered it fit perfectly, and hadn’t been able to resist buying it—if only because every female in New York needed one LBD. The thing had ended up gathering dust on its hanger. If she dated, she tended to wear jeans.

She wasn’t certain what possessed whoever her dad had assigned the task to add it to her go-bag. Maybe they’d grabbed it because it was the only nice dress in her closet.

The thing was black, of course. Hemmed halfway up her thighs, it fit her slight curves snugly. Though it wasn’t low-cut enough to qualify as a Fuck Me dress, once she’d dragged up the side zipper, no one could mistake her for anything but a girl in it. The square-cut jacket—which she needed to conceal her holster—took its sex appeal down a notch. The matching four-inch heels: not so much.

She promised herself any man on her team who whistled would get extra PT drills.

As luck would have it, Martin was the first to witness her unusually dressed up state. He was on the front roundabout, going over the armored Chevrolet Suburban they planned to drive to the restaurant in. Though the vehicle hadn’t left Luke’s garage since arriving, Martin was as anal as A.J. about verifying things for himself.

When he spotted her walking stiffly down the steps, his jaw fell like a cartoon.

“Don’t,” she warned before he could start in.

She should have known her boss voice wouldn’t work on him. After he recovered from his shock, a smile spread slowly across his face. “I’m just surprised. And pleased. I wasn’t sure you had legs inside those trousers you always wear.”

“Luke wants tonight to be low-key. I couldn’t dress like a bodyguard.”

“You’re dressed like a date.” Though he subdued his amusement, Martin’s eyes still gleamed.

“Whatever. Would you rather hold the light or the angled mirror to check the undercarriage?”

His grin was very fox-in-the-henhouse as he offered her the flashlight.

“Crap,” she said, only then realizing the challenge presented by shining the beam under the SUV in her tight outfit.

“You can cry uncle if you want,” he offered, enjoying her quandary way too much.

Because she couldn’t admit defeat, she took the light with a muttered oath. She stuck it between her legs while she wrestled off her jacket. Without a barrier between her and the asphalt, her hose were sure to tear. Because the drive seemed clean enough, she folded the jacket and dropped it as a pad. Then, with a silent prayer she wouldn’t fall out anywhere important, she got down on her knees and elbows to illuminate the vehicle’s underside.

She might have been imagining it, but she thought she heard her coworker swallow.

“Well, go ahead and check,” she snapped. “I’m not staying like this all night.”

“More’s the pity,” her traitorous pal murmured.

He surveyed underneath the car, seeming to take his damn sweet time. “Tell me,” he said casually. “Are you Channing’s date or mine tonight?”

“Yours. Luke is sharing a table with his agent.” She sounded crabby and knew she ought to try to have a sense of humor. Martin was only teasing, and he teased everyone. “Listen, thanks for not telling my dad about . . . the thing with me and Luke on the plane.”

“That’s not your father’s business. Or mine—as long as you can do your job.”

“I can. I am.”

“That’s what I told Parker.”

He was done and hadn’t found signs of interference. A.J. got up and shook out her jacket. As she brushed bits of dirt off the back, she steeled her ankles against teetering in the heels. Martin considered her.

“You really do look nice,” he said. As if he couldn’t contain it, his grin quivered alive again. “And yet still professional.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you didn’t whistle. I’m giving anyone who does extra PT drills.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Martin said, straight-faced.

*

Luke didn’t plan to spy, but his deco-style front door was clear glass and wrought iron. No way could he miss the drama transpiring on his front drive.

The scene told a story, that was for sure.

If he’d been directing it for a movie, he’d have told the cameraman to linger on the characters’ expressions. Luke had speculated on what lay between Martin and A.J., and now he thought he knew. The older man might try to hide it with cool-guy jokes, but he had it bad for his partner’s daughter—and probably had for years. That A.J. was nearly oblivious was clear from her response.

If she hadn’t been, standing in front of Martin in that short black dress, brushing at her jacket with her long-fingered hands would have qualified as cruel.

She was a stunner. Those legs of hers went on for miles—and never mind what the heels did for her ankles. Luke wondered if she realized how she looked. Every part of her shaped the snugly tailored garment: her hip cradle, her killer ass, the lift of her breasts from her strong rib cage. Hell, her bare arms were worth a fantasy or ten. They were ripped but graceful, like Angelina in her Mr. & Mrs. Smith period.

Really, it was no mystery Brad succumbed.

“Need help with that?” he asked, doing his best to ignore the blood swerving toward his groin.

A.J. turned to him and smiled.

Oh he felt that, like a soft hot punch to his solar plexus. A.J. was pleased to see him, and that turned his world golden.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, holding out the jacket. “It’s a little tricky to get over the holster.”

He took it and held it for her so she could slide her bare arms in. Standing that close to her, he caught a whiff of faint sweetness.

“You smell good,” he said without thinking.

She laughed. “That’s my antiperspirant. Sweaty body-guards stand out as much as over-perfumed ones.”

“If you were hoping to blend in, you shouldn’t have worn that dress.”

Dismay flicked across her features. “Really? I thought it was conservative enough.”

“It might be,” he allowed, “if you weren’t the one wearing it.”

“Shit,” she said, genuinely concerned. “I can change if it’s too much.”

“Don’t,” he and Martin chimed.

“Don’t,” Luke repeated with a wry laugh for their male unity. “You can’t help it if you’re a knockout. Anyway, it’s fine for the restaurant we’re going to.”

“You’re sure?”

Her eyes were round. Luke suspected she didn’t ask for reassurance often. He framed her face lightly with his hands. Because her skin was soft and warm, he gave in to temptation to stroke her cheekbones with his thumbs. A.J. gratified his ego when her breath caught and then quickened. She felt their attraction as much as him.

“I’m sure,” he said softly.

When he let go, he noticed Martin frowning. The swiftness with which the other man erased the expression didn’t negate that it had been there.

*

No celebrity hangout, Michelson’s was a pleasant family-owned restaurant a mile and a quarter from Luke’s gated neighborhood. Luke’s agent, Jerry Talon, met them there. Per prior arrangement, A.J. and Martin took an adjacent table with a line of sight to the front and back entrances. Because the parking lot was out in the open, they left the driver guarding the Suburban. Though they’d already eaten—so as not to be distracted by their plates—A.J. and Martin ordered salads and ice water.

A.J. wanted Luke to enjoy a nice, relaxed meal. That meant watching over him but also keeping a low profile.

Thus far she’d gotten her wish. The servers who recognized him didn’t make a fuss. Though celebrities weren’t common here, they also weren’t unheard of. Inevitably, Luke’s famous face drew glances from other diners, but he’d only been approached once for an autograph—which he’d signed good-naturedly. His relationship with his long-time agent was obviously less tense than his with Kevin Reyes. His and Talon’s body language was that of friendly equals who’d known each other forever.

Done discussing business, now they were sharing jokes over cognac and coffee.

Luke’s laugh was quiet but delicious, his smile a megawatt reminder of why the press called him Glamour Boy. Watching his hands play over the snifter made her insides tighten. She knew precisely what sort of magic those fingers made playing over her.

“Don’t stare too hard,” Martin warned in a wry undertone. “We’re not here to admire him.”

A.J. jerked. Shit, she had been staring. “Sorry. It’s been so quiet I relaxed.”

“I know,” Martin said. “But you’re gonna have to work on not being distracted.”

“Damn it,” she said, because she knew he was right.

Martin smiled gently. “It takes practice. You’ve never had a thing for a client before. I promise, though, you can learn to keep your focus.”

That raised her mental eyebrows. Was there some Kevin Costner/Whitney Houston episode in his past? Now wasn’t the time to ask, but he’d piqued her interest.

Luke sidetracked her by turning his head to catch her eye. He tapped his watch and mouthed five minutes.

Her pulse picked up. She’d asked him to give her notice before he and Jerry left. She tapped her hidden earpiece. “Game time,” she warned the driver.

A.J. had already arranged with the server to settle up their bills simultaneously. Since this went smoothly, A.J. stuck with Luke while Martin checked the area outside the front entrance. Her father always stressed the importance of advance work.

“Some people out here,” Martin informed her. “Eight. College kids, looks like. Mixed but mostly female. Might be a group waiting for a couple more to join their party.”

A.J. could shift their exit to the restaurant’s rear, but Martin didn’t sound alarmed. “Is the car ready?”

“Just pulled up.”

She made a judgment call. “The car’s out front,” she said to Luke. “Stick close but let me go first.”

Michelson’s front entrance had an awning. Maybe ten strides along a bush-lined pavement would take them from the door to the pickup point. Night had fallen while they ate. The open parking lot surrounded the low building on all sides, lit now by tall street lamps. Luke and Jerry Talon exited behind her, still talking casually. She saw the young people Martin mentioned spread out in a scattered group. They weren’t particularly dressed up, but the restaurant was tie-optional. They could have been diners. One tall, athletic looking girl was speaking intensely into a phone. A.J. didn’t like the look of that, but the rest seemed relaxed as they chatted with each other.

Then one chubby guy caught sight of Luke and elbowed the girl beside him.

The whole group’s vibe changed in an instant, their attention shifting en masse to the man following her. Clearly, Luke was the reason for their presence. A.J. couldn’t assume they were innocent autograph seekers, not when they began to close in like wolf pack.

Shit, she cursed. Her racing thoughts didn’t slow her reactions. She moved in front of Luke, taking his arm to hold him there firmly. Even if he were confused by her action, he wouldn’t easily pull away.

“Stay behind me,” she ordered for good measure. “Martin, clear our path to the SUV.”

He was already doing it—or trying to—the gathering people were getting in his way. Purposefully, it seemed to her. More were showing up, close to a hundred, emerging from parked cars they must have been hiding in. They carried hand-lettered signs. She saw hearts on them and Luke and Christie’s names.

A.J. concluded she was about to meet the Listie shippers up close and personal.

“Luke,” some of them began to call. “Luke, where’s Christie? We miss seeing you together. Luke and Christie forever!”

Luke tried to tug his wrist from her, but A.J. kept her grip on it. “They’re just fans,” he said. “Let me talk to them a minute.”

Fans or not, they were organized and predatory—and growing more so by the second.

“Move out of our way,” she said to the two-deep wall of bodies in front of them.

Her sharpest boss-voice didn’t elicit compliance. The girl directly in front of her, the one she’d seen talking on the phone earlier, grinned broadly in enjoyment. As tall as A.J., she had at least a third more body mass—and all of that muscle. A.J. knew she needed to dissuade her from testing any more limits. “I said let us pass.”

Seeing her and Martin struggling, their driver began to get out to help.

“Keep control of the vehicle,” she ordered. “Do not exit.”

He, at least, obeyed her.

“Ditch this bitch!” the tall girl taunted.

The easy way she used her palms to shove A.J. back suggested she played B-ball. Playful though the action looked, she put real strength behind it. The girl was sure of her physical prowess and either considered A.J. no match or realized her position as Luke’s bodyguard required her to avoid violence.

“Our man belongs with Christie!” she clarion-called.

“Hey,” Luke said, clearly hoping to calm her. “There’s no need to—”

“Jesus,” A.J. heard his agent exclaim.

Jerry Talon was responding to a new threat. Bodies crashed through the bushes to either side of them. A.J. spun and drew her gun, intending to grab Luke and use whatever force she needed to power-drag him to the car.

She didn’t get to put the plan in action. Luke had also turned at the sound. A gangly female—maybe eighteen—jumped on him like a monkey, forcibly pressing her mouth to his. From the looks of it, she was trying to give him tongue. Taken by surprise, Luke pushed back but not hard enough, no doubt reluctant to risk hurting a teenage girl.

Jerry Talon wasn’t as inhibited. He grabbed the girl by the waist and tugged.

“I want my kiss!” yelled a second as he pried off the first.

So much for Christie and Luke forever, A.J thought cynically.

Fortunately, the kissers’ actions distracted the group who’d blocked their path to the car. Grabbing her chance, A.J. muscled Luke through them, knocking a few off balance as they went. Martin had the rear door open. He helped her push their client in and followed. A.J. was still outside. Luke’s eyes showed white as he leaned past Martin to speak to her.

“Don’t leave Jerry,” he pleaded.

Jerry wasn’t her client, but Luke was right. If they could avoid it, they shouldn’t leave the agent to fend for himself. She holstered her gun as she turned, judging the weapon more danger than help right then. She whistled to Jerry, gesturing him to the car as well. The stocky man ran to her, the crowd uninterested in stopping him. He scrambled in. Their driver revved the engine.

A.J. knew the sound was mostly for effect: to warn the people near them he meant business.

“Block the car!” the tall girl A.J. pegged as the ringleader yelled. “They have to listen to our demands!”

She grabbed A.J.’s arm from the back, maybe figuring if A.J. couldn’t get in the car, Luke would stay where he was. She misjudged her choice of targets. A.J. whipped her arm around the girl’s, got control of her shoulder, then—with a carefully gauged swing of her second hand behind her head—bashed her brow into the SUV’s metal frame.

Skulls were made of hard stuff. The girl was stunned but not knocked out. She blinked fast and then recovered.

“Fuck you,” she snarled. Her arm jabbed toward A.J.’s stomach, her fist clenched around something small that flashed.

“Knife,” Martin warned even as A.J. jerked to evade it.

The blade caught her, not deeply but enough to sting. A.J.’s instincts and training both kicked in. Too many people who might turn hostile were nearby. No matter if it did cause negative publicity, she had to shut down this particular threat. Holding nothing back, she body-slammed the girl into the frame of the car again. The girl collided so hard the breath left her lungs and her knees gave out. Seeing this, the crowd cried out in protest. What they didn’t do was move to help. A.J. had been right about the girl being their ringleader. They couldn’t act without her calling the shots—not effectively anyway.

An idea too crazy not to listen to came to her. Luke was in the relative safety of the car. If they simply drove off, they might never be sure who’d orchestrated tonight’s events.

“Open the back,” she ordered their driver.

He popped the hatch without hesitation. Grunting at the girl’s limp weight, A.J. half-heaved, half-rolled her into the rear cargo.

“What the fuck,” Martin said as A.J. jumped in after and closed the door.

“Drive,” she said, ignoring his surprise. “We’re taking this girl to the nearest police station.”

The now disorganized crowd scattered from the Suburban’s path. She checked the girl’s condition, concluded she was okay, and handed her confiscated pocketknife across the seatback to Martin.

“You can’t . . . do . . . this,” the girl panted, facedown on the carpet. “This is . . . kidnapping.”

“It’s a citizen’s arrest,” A.J. corrected, keeping her knee firmly in her back. “For inciting a riot. And attacking me with a knife.”

Though she didn’t know if the charges would stick, she definitely wanted the girl questioned. Hoyt-Sands maintained a good relationship with the cops. The local boys in blue ought to indulge her wishes as far as that.

“Sheesh,” Jerry Talon said in an awestruck tone. “Who knew a quiet dinner with my favorite client would end up this exciting?”

“Are you okay?” Luke asked her. “It looked like she cut you.”

A.J. preferred not to draw attention to this with the girl listening. All the same, the worry in his voice warmed her. Him caring was better than coffee.

“Barely,” she said, not bothering to touch the wet spot above her waist. “With a needle and a bit of luck, I might be able to save the dress.”

Luke’s laugh of response was shaky.

“Your heels are still on your feet,” Martin observed, craning around to check. His tone was bland. Maybe he knew she could use steadying. “That’s truly impressive.”

“You got cuffs?” she asked, doing her best to fight off a looming adrenaline crash. “I wouldn’t mind securing our culprit now . . .”

CHAPTER NINE

A.J. wished she could justify muzzling the girl she’d taken custody of. Marching her captive into the nearest precinct inspired her to inform every badge in earshot that A.J. ought to be locked up.

The goose egg rising on her forehead kind of supported her argument.

Better luck resulted from Luke’s presence. The local cops were fans of the Final films. Him vouching for A.J. earned her sufficient latitude to explain herself. Also luckily, the senior officer on duty didn’t heed Luke’s insistence that she go to the ER. Seeing she wasn’t badly cut, they let Martin patch her up with the first aid they had on hand. That done, bad coffee and a powdered donut set her almost completely right.

“I can’t let you in the interview room,” the detective who’d taken charge explained. “But if you swear you won’t interrupt, you can watch through the two-way mirror.”

“I’d appreciative that,” she said.

Too tired to play it cool, her gratitude rang clear. This, it turned out, was the best tack she could have taken. The detective was an older guy and typically cop-macho. He patted A.J.’s shoulder.

“We appreciate you bringing the girl to us, rather than trying to cowboy it on your own. Besides, if this relates somehow to the sniper attack in New York, it’s in all our interest to clear it up.”

This was code for: We’d love credit for apprehending a high-profile criminal—an aspiration A.J. understood and didn’t object to.

“Hoyt-Sands is happy to share any info we can,” she said.

In light of how helpful the man was being, she decided not to add that sharing didn’t include breaching client confidence.

*

Luke’s nerves felt like they were vibrating beneath his skin. One of the officers drove Jerry back to his car, but Luke refused Martin’s offer to take him home. If Luke weren’t safe in a cop shop, they might as well give up. Anyway, he couldn’t leave A.J. here alone—which he would if Martin were escorting him. In his opinion, everyone was too blasé about her being stabbed. What if A.J.’s wound was worse than they thought? What if the interview went sideways and she needed a good lawyer? What if the cops simply let her attacker go?

“Luke,” Martin said from his leaning post on the front of an empty desk. “Stop pacing. You’re going to wear a rut in the policemen’s nice new carpet.”

Luke glanced down. The carpet might be new but calling it nice was pushing it. The whole place was freshly furnished but no more attractive because of it. In his opinion, even ugly police stations ought to have atmosphere. Apart from the assorted law enforcement posters pinned to a board, this one could have been any office, any-suburban-where.

Probably the objection marked him as Hollywood.

He stretched his neck toward the hall where A.J. and the detective had disappeared to interrogate their person of interest. “Are they ever coming out again?”

“It’s a good sign it’s taking this long,” Martin said. “The detective must believe the girl knows something, and he’s not rushing the interview.”

Irritated by his calmness, Luke spun around to him. Martin hadn’t moved since the last time Luke looked. His ankles were stacked atop each other, his expression nonchalant. The other officers were on calls, leaving them alone in the bullpen. Luke decided he’d had enough of Martin’s too-cool-to-sweat attitude. “Doesn’t seeing your female colleague stabbed in front of you bother you?”

“A.J. can handle herself, and she knows what our job entails. At least the girl wasn’t a biter.” Martin shuddered comically. “None of us likes those.”

“So you don’t care.”

“Of course I do. The same as I would if a male colleague had received an injury.”

“Bullshit,” Luke said flatly.

Anger flashed across Martin’s face. “I don’t think you want to go there, Mr. Channing.”

Now that he’d gotten the rise he wanted Luke felt ashamed. “Sorry.” He dug his hands back into his hair. He didn’t know what to say to account for his lashing out. Everything he thought of seemed immature.

Martin surprised him by unbending. “I know,” he said. “A.J. is easier to care about than she realizes. She’s also okay. Maybe you wish she hadn’t gotten hurt protecting you. Maybe you think you should have done something. Just know, from her perspective, you did everything she could have asked: you didn’t make her job harder.”

“I might have,” Luke confessed. “If she hadn’t stopped me. I thought I could talk those fans into leaving.”

“‘Might have’ doesn’t matter,” Martin said. “Tonight everyone goes home safe.”

“Hey,” A.J. said, causing them to turn. As she strode toward them from the hallway, she looked less rumpled than Luke expected, in part because her jacket was buttoned over her damaged dress. She seemed alert, her weariness replaced by an actual bounce in her step. When she reached them, she squeezed Luke’s arm.

She did it like a person who liked him and not a bodyguard.

“You okay?” she asked. “You look serious.”

“I’m fine. Are we finished here?”

“Well, I am. I’ve been given the heave ho. Detective Turner will hold the girl a while longer. He wants to be sure he’s got all she knows.”

“A while longer!” Luke exclaimed. “She used a knife on you.”

“She was stubborn. Turner had to bargain. Said I wouldn’t press charges if she answered his questions. He did us a solid by letting me watch the interview. I can’t undermine him now.” She took Luke’s arm again, rubbing it through his sleeve. In spite of everything, his touch hormones responded pleasurably. “Let’s head out to the car. I’ll tell you the rest there.”

They headed, and the apparently patient driver got them in gear.

“So,” she said, once she saw Luke and Martin were listening. “As you must have guessed, the crowd came from that fan forum Luke and Christie Forever. Kourtney Prentiss, the girl we caught, recently graduated from a smallish local college, where—as I’d suspected—she excelled at hoops. I guess she missed being the star attraction, because rather than take an entry-level job, she devoted herself to building up the fan fiction board. She bragged she’d increased participation tenfold in six months.”

“Fan fiction,” Martin repeated.

“They write stories about Luke and Christie James living happily ever after and having kids.”

“Not about themselves hooking up with Luke or her?”

“Nope,” A.J. confirmed. “These shippers are purists. Or pretend to be if they want to continue posting. It’s a social thing. Online camaraderie. Prentiss spoke pretty scathingly about those girls who wanted to kiss Luke. Anyway, she organized tonight’s intervention, as she called it. Made sure everyone had a ride. Told them what to write on the signs. She said it was time to remind Luke who his true soul mate was.”

“Really?” Martin said dubiously. “The chance to see those two together is enough motivation for her to do all that?”

A.J. laughed softly. “Detective Turner shared your skepticism. He pushed a bit harder, and it seems Prentiss had a second, more personal agenda. She was hoping her campaign would attract national attention. She could sell her Listie fiction for beaucoup bucks. Maybe get a movie deal.” She shook her head bemusedly. “Only in Hollywood.”

“Christ,” Luke muttered beneath his breath.

“If it makes you feel better, I think she was planning to sell the rights to you.”

Martin leaned toward them from his facing seat. “Who tipped her off where we’d be? I didn’t notice any of the servers texting that we were there.”

“Well, that’s the million dollar question. Prentiss got cagey when Detective Turner pressed her on that topic. She said she ‘made it her business’ to find out those things. She was trying to seem mysterious and all-knowing, but I spotted billboard-sized signs of deception. I can’t be certain, but I suspect someone fed her the information, maybe someone whose identity she’s in the dark about.”

“Prentiss seems able physically,” Martin mused. “Like maybe she could handle a high-powered rifle. Does she have an alibi for the New York shooting?”

“She claims she watched the coverage of the premiere on TV at a friend’s house. Turner says he’ll check it out and let me know if he can confirm.”

“He can’t just release her,” Luke protested.

“Don’t worry. Hoyt-Sands can assign a man to her.” A.J. was as infuriatingly unconcerned as her coworker. “If she really is an out-of-control nutter, she’ll try again. If not, surveilling her could lead to the real offender.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Luke said, belatedly realizing why she seemed so alert.

A.J. soft laugh was an admission. “It’s the former cop in me. I like making progress on a case.”

“This is progress?”

“For sure,” she promised, smiling into his eyes.

Her gaze was warm, affection and attraction combining in its gleam. Luke couldn’t look away as his chest tightened. What did people say about facing danger heightening the libido? Her facing it certainly heightened his. His cock was aching hard in seconds, his fingers curling with his urge to pull her onto his lap. He’d very much have liked to kiss the breath from her.

If Martin hadn’t been sitting across from them, he suspected he would have.

*

Driving up to Luke’s sprawling pink estate felt like coming home—not a reaction A.J. thought she should indulge in. Yes, she’d been through it tonight, but now wasn’t the time to get comfortable. To make up for it, she watched the reactions of his household to their arrival with extra attention.

Nettles opened the door in his three-piece suit. The butler could have come from central casting, he was so Rushmore-faced.

“Your guests have heard about your contretemps,” he said in his tony voice. “I’ve arranged drinks in the salon.”

Luke handed him his jacket. “Great. I expect we could use them.”

“Luke!” Naomi exclaimed, bursting out from the room in question. She seemed better after her day of rest. She’d put on some makeup, and her outfit—brightly patterned leggings and a Ramones T-shirt—showed off her famous, cover of Vogue figure.

“I’m okay,” he said, hugging her. “We all are.”

Naomi squeezed him back harder. “We were worried.”

Actually, she looked more excited than upset. Christie James hovered behind her in the salon’s archway. Seeing Naomi embracing Luke with such enthusiasm clearly displeased her. As her girlfriend pushed her former lover back by his shoulders, Christie’s mouth pulled down in a frown. Naomi, by contrast, smiled slyly.

“You’re viral,” she informed him, which might have explained her excitement. “Someone caught the incident on their cell and posted on YouTube. It’s everywhere now, even the national news. Eliza downloaded a copy for you to watch.”

A.J. noted the supermodel’s first-name familiarity with Luke’s PA.

Luke groaned and pressed his palms to his brow. “I don’t think I’m ready to relive the horror.”

Naomi coaxed him by the elbow. “It’s not as bad as you think. You’ll feel better when you see.”

Interested in watching the video herself, A.J. followed them into the big, party-friendly room. Luke had a giant screen here. Suitable for group viewings, it lowered from between box beams on the ceiling. Eliza stood beneath it, remote in hand, awaiting her employer’s instructions. Despite the hour, her tidy cardigan and skirt set was completely professional.

“Drinks first,” Luke said before she could press play.

A.J. and Martin shook their heads when he offered to pour them one from the cart. They were still on duty, but Naomi and Christie accepted.

“All right then.” Whiskey in hand, Luke dropped into a big mid-century modern chair. Because the view seemed like it would be good from there, A.J. moved to stand beside him.

The PA started the video. Even on a large screen, the footage of Michelson’s awning was crystal clear. The person seemed to be filming the restaurant through the open window of a car.

“Someone has a good camera on their phone,” A.J. said.

“Luke hasn’t come out yet,” Martin observed. “Whoever shot this was part of the shipper group. They knew what was in the works.”

A.J. exited the restaurant first. As dispassionately as she could, she watched herself check her surroundings and then exchange a glance with Martin. He was out of frame, nearer to the SUV. The rest went down as she remembered. The crowd closed in. Kourtney Prentiss blocked and shoved her. The female teenager crashed through the bushes and jumped on Luke. A.J. spun, turning her back on Kourtney to pull her gun—neither of which were necessarily good ideas in hindsight.

“Look how badass A.J. is!” Naomi said, apparently admiring her quick draw. “And there’s Luke and the kissing bandit. See how gentle you are with her? You’re barely trying to push her off. I mean, it’s bad self-defense but awesome public image. Comments are totally running in your favor.”

Luke shook his head, not as enthused by this as her.

“And there’s Jerry,” Naomi said, continuing to narrate. “Come to save you from the crazed young adult.”

Jerry had succeeded in pulling the gangly girl off Luke when suddenly the camera shifted to A.J. She was slamming Prentiss face-first into the Suburban.

“Oww,” Naomi said. “And more oww. Wow, that girl was a bruiser, but A.J. took her down like a boss! You’re not getting as much internet love as Luke, by the way, but feedback is generally positive. You’re lucky she stabbed you. I think that turned the tide in your favor. And here’s my favorite bit: you hoisting the girl like a sack of potatoes into the cargo hatch.”

Martin’s chuckle surprised A.J. “You liked that part, eh?”

“Badassery to the max,” Naomi responded with relish. “With all this attention, the opening for Luke’s movie is going to be monster!”

Martin returned the model’s grin, seeming to enjoy her enjoyment. Before the admiration society could get out of hand, A.J. cleared her throat. “My ‘badassery’ aside, we should copy the home office on this stuff. They can run facial recognition. See if anything pops with the footage from New York. If anyone was in both places—”

“—they might be the person we’re looking for,” Luke finished.

Christie James looked startled. “You think the two incidents are related?”

“Could be,” A.J. said, studying her expression.

Christie was thinking hard. Her cute bow mouth pressed thin before she burst out with a protest. “Tonight and the premiere are completely different. That girl only tried to kiss Luke. Nobody shot at him.”

“True,” A.J. agreed. “But you never know how disparate events might tie together.”

Luke touched A.J.’s wrist to draw her attention. His fingers were very gentle and chafed her the slightest bit. As PDA went, it wasn’t the hugest gesture, but it was big enough.

Then again, maybe A.J. was hypersensitive.

“We should call it a night,” he said. “Deal with this tomorrow.”

She tried not to react the way her hormones wanted when she met his soft green gaze. He was looking at her like he really cared.

“Sure,” she said as lightly as she could. “I need to update my team anyway . . .”

*

A.J. looped in her on-site personnel before retreating to her room for privacy. Her quarters were on the same floor as Luke’s, just a couple steps up and down another hall. Her room had an en suite bath, a small antique desk, and a couple chairs. A print of Marlene Dietrich in Shanghai Express hung framed above the bed. Of more relevance was the good line of sight from the two windows. They overlooked the back grounds and the currently empty pool—sad casualty of the drought and Luke’s green conscience.

His conscience wasn’t uppermost in her mind. She winced when she skimmed her feed from the internet. TMZ was calling Luke “the embattled movie star”—not a slant she enjoyed the public viewing her client at.

Because her mother would have seen the viral video by then, A.J. called her first.

Though she meant to explain and reassure briefly, she didn’t succeed in ending the conversation any quicker than half an hour. Then again, considering the contents of the footage, maybe half an hour was good. Her dad was next. Their exchange was more professional but still longer than she intended.

“Dad,” she finally said. “I love you, but I want to touch base with Tanisha before she goes to bed.”

Tanisha must have been waiting for her call. She picked up on the second ring.

“Girl,” she exclaimed, first thing, “I hope your dad is giving you hazard pay.”

A.J. smiled. Tanisha had some unique ideas about what employees should and shouldn’t be asked to do, but she was a bright spot in their office. “My dad gives me all the free bagels I can eat. You make any progress infiltrating the Luke and Christie Forever site?”

“I did. My twelve-year-old niece wrote some shipper fiction I could use as my ticket for admission. I’ll be submitting an invoice for her time, by the way.”

“Of course,” A.J. said, expecting the niece’s services wouldn’t be any more cut-rate than Tanisha’s.

“Right. Well, her stories did the trick and I’m an official ‘Listie’ now. That girl you wrangled with on the tape? Kourtney P? She vets new members, the ones who want more access than the public forum. There’s reams of stuff to wade through on the private message boards, but I’m starting to get a picture of how things operate—not to mention an education on why shippers ship.”

“You’re one up on me if you get that.”

“Sometimes the reason is what you’d think, or what I would. Shippers project themselves into these supposedly perfect people and their supposedly perfect bond. It’s vicarious. They want to be Christie and have Luke as their husband, or vice versa if they’re straight guys. Celebrities like those two are rich, famous, gorgeous, and who doesn’t think they’d be deliriously happy if they were in their shoes?”

A.J. might argue this wasn’t everybody’s dream, but Tanisha was warming up.

“What surprised me is sometimes the fantasy the shippers are attached to is that they’ll be friends with Luke and Christie once they’re married. Neighbors. Gym buddies. Providers of relationship advice. As near as I can figure, this puts them in a god position above their fetish couple. They take the ultimate status for themselves. Luke and Christie owe their happiness to them.

“The trouble starts when shippers need the real world to reinforce the fiction in their heads. Some of these folks are addicted to living there. They’ve conflated the roles Christie and Luke play in the Final films with who they really are. Dedicated shippers don’t want shit like nannies and divorces messing with their delusions.”

A.J. hummed. “Details like the fact that Christie and Luke don’t get along wouldn’t go down too well either.”

“These folks think they just need to be shown the light. Hence Kourtney P and her lobbying efforts tonight.”

“I take it you didn’t see the call go out for the ambush on Luke.”

“I’d have contacted you if I had! No, that must have happened on a deeper level than I’ve dug to. I’ve heard a couple members mention ‘True Believers,’ like an inner circle or something. It’s just an impression, but it seems as if Kourtney isn’t in charge of that.”

“So the information on Luke’s location could have been disseminated there.” A.J. pressed her thumb to her lips in thought. “If it’s a dark web site, it could be hard to find. It’d be great if you could get invited in.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tanisha said. “I don’t want to push too hard and spook the powers that be. Some of these fan groups are paranoid.”

“I have faith in you.” A.J. laughed. “And in your entrepreneurial niece.”

“You’ll owe me,” Tanisha warned. “An autographed bare-ass picture of Charming Channing should do the trick.”

“I might be able to manage bare-chested.”

“Well, if I have to settle . . .” Tanisha trailed off. “Just make sure that bad boy is smiling.”

A.J. was smiling when she hung up.

She’d sat on the bed to make her calls. She had one foot tucked under her and the other on the floor. When a quiet tap sounded on her door, she sprang up to answer.

It was Luke of course. Anyone else would have knocked openly.

A lightning glance told her he’d showered since she last saw him. He wore a gray T-shirt and blue jeans. If a team of expert fatiguers had slaved over them for weeks, the fade patterns on the denim couldn’t have underscored the heft of his package more perfectly.

A.J.’s fingers itched to caress every washed out area.

“Hey,” he said, entering the room as she stepped back. His warm expression made her heart beat faster. She realized she hadn’t thought twice about letting him come in. She also didn’t resist him leaning to kiss her cheek. She inhaled instead as his clean scent washed over her. “I wanted see how you’re doing. Don’t worry. Your colleagues are none the wiser. I took a back way.”

The smugness in his voice switched on an alert. Szymanski was posted outside Luke’s door. And the other guards patrolled the halls. Unless Luke had an invisibility cloak, someone should have spotted him. “What back way?”

Now he looked guilty. “The original owner had a married mistress he liked to visit, so, um, he built the house with a few secret passages.”

“Luke! I’m supposed to keep your residence secure. I can’t do that if you keep things like that from me.”

“Sorry?” he said, comically twisting up his face. “I wanted a little privacy. If you’ve got the blueprints, I’ll point them out to you.”

She sighed, because she couldn’t muster up anger against him. “Every one,” she insisted to compensate. “And no holding back anything important from now on.”

“Cross my heart,” he promised.

She wasn’t sure she believed him.

“What’s in the bag?” she asked.

He held a small leather travel case. “My toothbrush and my optimism.”

Her snort was more like a laugh. “Planning on staying the night?”

“Yes.” He set the case on the little desk in order to take her hands. “You can’t tell me you don’t want that.”

She wagged her head, unable to contradict him. “I’m setting my alarm nice and early. We won’t be sleeping a minute longer than I think we ought to.”

“That is not a problem.” He cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks gently. Her hands settled on his waist. Being close to him felt eerily natural. “I was scared tonight. Seeing you hurt . . . not knowing if you were okay . . .”

“I am okay.”

“And tired. You’ve got circles under your eyes.” He traced them with his fingertips. “Why don’t you take a shower and we’ll sack out together? Not that I wouldn’t enjoy shagging you silly too.”

Her lips curved in amusement. “Not that you wouldn’t.”

He dropped his hands to give her bottom a little spank. “Go wash up, Alexandra. I’ll wait for you out here.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t tell him not to call her that. To herself, she admitted she was starting to like it.

Water restrictions necessitated that this shower wasn’t as sybaritic as the one in his suite at the Waldorf. A.J. took care of business but didn’t linger. When she emerged, wrapped in a big bath sheet, Luke was sitting up in bed with pillows stacked behind him. He turned to watch her come out. His bare chest made her breath stall, his arms so beautifully male she immediately pictured him propped on them over her. Though he’d pulled the coverlet to his waist, she thought he was naked under it.

When she dropped the towel, all she wore was a fresh bandage. After that, his lack of garments was obvious. His cock pushed up the covers—without any underwear to obscure its shape.

His reaction delighted her. Because she couldn’t help primping a tiny bit, she fingered the still-damp locks at the back of her short haircut. Raising her arm showed off her breasts to him.

“Christ,” he said, low and husky. “Every time you’re naked my heart stops.”

“I can see it beating,” she joked. “One place in particular.”

“Come here,” he growled, tossing the covers back.

His erection shuddered up from his groin, thick and spectacular.

She didn’t hesitate. She climbed onto the bed and kissed him from her knees, running her hands over his broad shoulders and his impressive guns. After the night they’d had, he was hungry to connect. His mouth and tongue pushed at hers. Sensing he wanted to be on top, she pulled him back and over her.

“A.J.,” he breathed in appreciation for her willingness.

He cupped one breast and kissed the other, the suction of his lips strong and delicious on her nipple. Her back arched, her legs already shifting restlessly with need. She and Luke squeezed each other’s glutes simultaneously.

He laughed, a wicked light gleaming in his eye.

“No,” she said, effortlessly guessing where his mind had gone.

“You know you want to try it,” he teased. “You’re not that vanilla.”

“Damn it.”

Luke’s evil grin broadened. “‘Damn it’ isn’t the same as ‘no.’ Besides which I packed more than one form of optimism in my bag.”

She scowled at him. Her expression had no effect. He was up already, grabbing his zipper case. He dug out a condom first, followed by a white and blue tube of lubricant. A.J. couldn’t repress a tiny shiver of interest.

Naturally, Luke saw the reaction.

“Lie on your front,” he said, the words distorted by him opening the prophylactic packet with his teeth. His hard-on bounced as he rolled the rubber down. “Grab a pillow to support your hips. I wouldn’t want to put pressure on your injury.”

“I’m fine,” she said, distracted by what his hand and cock were doing.

“On your front,” he repeated.

“You’re sure I’ll like it?”

“If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

She bit her lip, uncustomarily unsure but weirdly aroused because of it. If she did this, he’d be the expert. She’d be completely in his hands. “Do you like it?”

His green eyes crinkled with deviltry. “I like it, I like you, and I fucking love your award-worthy ass. You don’t have to worry about me getting off on this.”

He was rubbing one long finger up and down the underside of his cock, like he had an itch there he couldn’t leave alone. That got her off like she could not believe. Her clit was throbbing, her pussy welling with hot fluid. She wet her lips and decided.

“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “Just promise you’ll go easy.”

“Please. I’m Mr. Easy when it comes to this stuff.”

He made her laugh at the oddest times. She rolled onto her front as he’d directed, with a bolster for her hips and a pillow for her head. She was half relaxed already. Her cheek rested on her hands as Luke swung on his knees over her. The hair on his thighs tickled her pleasantly.

“Trust me?”

“Yes,” she said easily. He squirted something wet across her back, making her wonder if she should have. “Tell me that’s not KY.”

“Massage oil. Unscented. So you won’t be too perfumed.”

She bit her smile, amused that he’d remembered. When his hands began to rub the oil into her muscles, she groaned. He had the proverbial magic fingers, smoothing and squeezing tension from her neck and shoulders. He used just enough strength, just enough tenderness. She wriggled at the pleasure. It was hard to resist.

“You’ll put me to sleep,” she warned.

“I can live with that.” He ducked down to kiss one shoulder, his palms making sliding passes to her butt cheeks and up again.

She closed her eyes, taking in his decadent caresses. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Shut up and relax,” he said.

She shut up and let him massage her until she felt boneless. He stroked her arms and her legs and even worked little kinks from the arches of her feet. She almost forgot he had an agenda when his hands slid up to her ass again.

“Still awake?” he asked.

“Mmm,” she hummed, too lax to tense again.

He wiped his hands on a towel and switched lubricants. “Let’s see if you like this part.”

He massaged between her ass cheeks, the slippery pads of his thumbs focusing sensation around her tight rear entrance. That felt pleasant enough that she became aware her clit was swelling. She squirmed then gasped as both his thumbs went in. Arousal overflowed her pussy.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s . . . not bad.”

He chuckled and kissed her nape. His thumbs stroked deeper, in and out, firmly and carefully exploring the first few inches of her passage. Maybe it was a guy thing, but he truly didn’t seem squeamish. His breath came faster as he worked on her. Doing this turned him on. That turned her on, but it wasn’t all that did.

A.J. twisted and bit her lip. The sensations his thumbs were stirring had gone from not bad to really good. It almost felt like he was massaging her pussy.

No, she corrected. It feels like he’s massaging both places.

“Ready for me to try entering with my cock?”

The huskiness of his question inspired a small shiver.

“Really ready,” she admitted.

He removed his hands, wiping them on the towel before kneeing her thighs wider. He came closer, his body heat beating over her. When she reached back for his hip, he stilled.

“Go ahead,” she said, realizing he’d misunderstood her action. “I’m not having second thoughts. I just wanted to touch you.”

A sound broke in his throat, telling her more than words could have. She’d moved him. Her acceptance, her affection mattered to him deeply.

He positioned himself before she could fully process that wonder. He pulled her cheek wider with one hand, his broad tip hot against her relaxed entry. He pushed in, and she let out a low sound herself. He went in like he was buttered—thick, throbbing, slowly conquering this new territory by virtue of his size and their mutual desire.

“God,” he groaned when he was in as far as he could go. “You feel incredible.”

The pressure was strange but she decided she liked it.

“You can move,” she said. “You’re not hurting me.”

His face turned back and forth in her hair, his breath coming shakily. “Give me a minute. I’m kind of on the edge right here.”

She grinned, abruptly enjoying this twice as much. “That would explain why you feel so big. And why I can count your pulse.”

He groaned again. He started to dig under her pelvis with his hand.

“Wait,” she said, even though she loved how good he was at getting her off that way.

“Wait?”

“You’re great at that, but I’d rather you didn’t split my attention. I want to feel what riding me does to you. I want to listen. Then, when you’re done, I’ll finish myself off.”

His prick leapt inside her. “You want to do that?”

“I do know how. Or don’t you want to see how I masturbate?”

He breathed a curse she knew wasn’t a complaint.

“Come on, Channing,” she teased. “Give me your best shot.”

“I call you ‘Alexandra,’ and you call me ‘Channing.’”

“What does it matter as long as both are terms of endearment?”

He snorted, pushed up on his gorgeous arms, and pulled back within her. She guessed he’d found his way far enough off the edge to trust his control. His return thrust was slow but smooth.

“Mm,” he said, clearly enjoying it. He drew back and pushed again. “You sure you don’t want my help?”

Her sexual nerves hummed as he crossed them. “Do your thing,” she urged.

His drive to climax was a pleasure to feel unfold. He built thrust by thrust, breath by breath, and finally groan by groan. The bed had a springless mattress, one that didn’t squeak but only thumped. In minutes, Luke was humping her vigorously enough to cause the solid wooden frame that supported it to rattle.

A.J. would admit to liking that very much.

She changed position to take him deeper, her knees and toes digging down into the covers. To her surprise, she was almost coming. Though Luke didn’t touch her clit, his rapid pumping stimulated her intensely. The involuntary sounds he made wound her up as well. He’d taken her at her word that she wanted to focus on his responses, and he’d let them off their leash. He was so nakedly excited, so primal in this forbidden act that the reaction was catching. Her fists gripped the pillow as she arched her ass greedily. His pelvis slapped her rhythmically, shoving her need higher. Though she wanted like hell to rub the hot ache between her legs, she was determined to hold on.

“A—” he gasped, “J—”

He grabbed her hips, yanking her off the bed toward him. She was on hands and knees then, forced to brace on her palms or get shoved forward. Her heart thudded crazily. Luke was going to come. His cock had gone stiffer and fuller. He grunted, drove deep, and let loose inside of her.

His ragged groan of orgasm seared itself in her memory.

“God,” he panted. He dropped his heaving chest to her back, his arms trembling as they braced him. He held there sweating for a while.

When he finally pulled out, still fighting for his breath, A.J. was more than ready to show off for him. She wriggled around onto her back and smiled up at him.

“Stay right there,” she ordered. “It’s my turn now.”

He was on his knees, momentarily occupied in cleaning up with the towel. His gaze came back to hers when she spoke. Seeing she had his attention, she crooked one leg to his right side and the other to his left. His diaphragm jerked as his breath sucked in.

“How’s your view?” she purred.

“Good,” he said breathlessly.

He was an excellent audience. He licked his lips when she stroked her breasts, his eyes tracking every motion as she circled and tugged her tight nipples. Pleasure shot through her in streaks.

He’d gotten her worked up and then some.

“I’m sensitive here,” she said throatily, “as I know you’re aware.”

“Uh,” he said, clearly mesmerized.

“I like when you suck me, but that will have to wait for another time. I need something else more right now.”

She cruised her hands down her belly, to the shallows between her hipbones. Luke swallowed hard enough that his Adam’s apple jumped. His skin was flushed from his recent orgasm, but when she caressed herself the color deepened more. Loving that, she combed her fingernails through the curls of her pubic thatch.

“You think I’m pretty here, don’t you?”

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

She smiled. His sincerity was impossible to mistake. She parted her labia for him.

“God,” he murmured. He couldn’t miss the gleam of her excitement. He licked his lips again.

“Just watch,” she said. “You’ve already done the work of getting me ready.”

In case he had any doubts, she ran one finger gently around her clit. The little rod was swollen, sensitized to the slightest touch. Her hips cocked up toward the stroke without her planning to. Luke’s hands fisted on his thighs. She saw his hanging cock had thickened, the veins that fed it becoming more visible. He met her gaze for a second then sat back on his heels to get comfortable.

“I’m watching,” he promised. “Believe you me. Please do whatever you prefer when you’re getting off alone.”

He didn’t want a display. He wanted the real deal. Considering how much she’d enjoyed him simply going for it, she decided to give him exactly that—and never mind if her technique was pedestrian.

Luke tended to rub her lightly, and was a creative genius at making her nerves sing. She, on the other hand, always used pressure. She used it now, rubbing her clit two-fingered hard and fast. She closed her eyes to shut out his presence. Hearing his quickening breathing was enough to spur her already cranked up lust. Her spine arched off the bed as her craving deepened, her shifting legs brushing his where he sat between them. She remembered what he’d just done to her—how he’d sounded, how hard he’d been—and the ache rose higher. Her fingers began to slip. She covered one breast with her free hand, squeezing its peak between two fingers.

She came with him vividly in her head.

Then, because he’d coiled her up so well, she worked herself to a second peak.

She opened her eyes, relaxed and sated. He was smiling down at her. He didn’t say a word, just lowered on bent arms and pressed the sweetest, softest kiss to her lips.

“Was that okay?” she asked.

He laughed. “Alexandra, you’re never just okay.”

She liked his answer. It reassured her without making her feel bad for wanting the flattery.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, looking around for it. He found it on the bedside table. She wasn’t sure why he wanted it, but he handed it to her. “Set your alarm before you forget.”

She wouldn’t have forgotten. Probably. He did have a knack for befuddling her. She kept that admission to herself as she opened the app.

“I’m setting this for six a.m.,” she warned.

“That late? Former farm boys get up with the birds.”

A.J. rolled her eyes at him. He’d rearranged himself under the covers, both of them accepting that he was staying the night.

“Scoot over,” she said. “I need an actual side.”

He scooted and then extended his nearer arm to her. Her brain hesitated but not her body. It crawled up and lay down with him.

“This is nice,” he said as her cheek settled on his shoulder. He wasn’t so sweaty now, just warm and welcoming.

A.J. yawned and burrowed closer. “Nudge me if your arm falls asleep.”

He hummed noncommittally. His fingers made soothing passes along her skin. A.J. felt herself sink deeper.

“Seriously,” she mumbled before she succumbed. “I won’t think you’re not a gentleman . . .”

*

After the night he’d had, the reappearance of Luke’s least favorite dream was inevitable. He was back in the New York brownstone, not shut up in the wardrobe but at the top of the cellar stairs. The key was in his hand, the very key A.J. had somehow known to push through the window. He couldn’t get it to fit the lock to the basement door. His hands were shaking or maybe the metal was changing shape. The woman would be back any minute. He had to get away—

“Luke.”

He shuddered. A.J.’s voice had pulled him from the nightmare. He blinked up into darkness, so she must have turned out the light. Her hand was on his chest, gently petting him.

“You okay?” she asked.

She was sitting, so he pushed up too. Embarrassed at having done this in front of her again, he dragged his palms down his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You had the dream.” She took his hand, pulling its back gently to her breast. “You can talk to me about it. I won’t judge.”

Her words left him torn. He wanted to trust her with the ghosts of his past, but even more he wanted her to remember on her own. Possibly, the wish was irrational. He had no idea how she’d experienced their childhood encounter. Perhaps it hadn’t left an impression. Kids forgot lots of things. Just because that period loomed life-and-death large for him didn’t mean it had for her.

She stroked his face. “You can tell me.”

He lost his nerve at the last moment.

“I was thinking,” he said, a calculation he hadn’t known he’d made adding up in his mind. “If the attacks on me are related, and someone from the Listies is behind both, Naomi might have been the real target in New York. The shooter might have objected to me dating someone other than my ‘one true love.’”

A.J. looked at him, her eyes glittering in the faint light from the windows. “I wondered if you’d work that out. It might be true, but you shouldn’t assume you’re safe if it is. Crazies operate on their own logic. Maybe you weren’t strafed at the premiere by mistake. In any case, you shouldn’t blame yourself for Naomi getting hurt. The shooter did that, and you’re doing everything you can to protect her now.”

The corner of his mouth contracted. “That sounds like you’re admitting I was right to let her stay.”

“Uh boy,” she said, rather than acknowledge it.

“Three little words,” he teased. “‘You were right.’ I’m sure you’re woman enough not to choke on them.”

“You were right,” she said grumpily. “But only by accident.”

He laughed, aware in that moment that he was more than halfway to loving her. Being with her made him happy—even when she was snippy. He sank back against the pillows, coaxing her by the elbow until she followed him. She chafed his ribs and settled on his shoulder, unconsciously soothing him as he kissed her brow.

Because yanking her chain was so very entertaining, he didn’t resist the urge. “I’m right about a lot of things.”

“Jeesh,” was the only riposte she came up with.

Another thought occurred to him. “We should warn Naomi not to leave.”

“I already asked Martin to speak to her.”

Of course she had. She was used to thinking the angles through. His slowness bothered him a little. Maybe A.J. knew. She patted his chest lightly.

“It’s my job to think like this, Luke. Sometimes I wonder if I’d be better at it if I were more paranoid.”

She didn’t sound like she was joking.

“God forbid,” he said sincerely.

CHAPTER TEN

BREAKFAST was bright and early in Luke’s formal dining room. He’d already made it clear A.J.’s team was welcome to enjoy his chef’s buffet. As a rule, A.J.’s men took their plates to the ops room, to maintain the separation between the client and them. This morning, Martin sat at the table with Christie and Naomi. His tie was on, but his jacket hung from the chair behind him as he skimmed reports on his phone. He was relaxed: available but not yet on full duty.

“You see?” Luke murmured by her ear. “It’s perfectly fine if you stay and eat with me.”

A.J. had reasons for not wanting to appear too cozy, but just this once she supposed it wouldn’t hurt. Waking up with Luke had been surprisingly comfortable. Sharing the bathroom. Trading places for brushing teeth in front of the single sink. It was all very domestic.

Rather than resist his invitation, she nodded good morning to the others and crossed to the sideboard. She noticed the women, who seemed sleepy and weren’t speaking, had taken nothing from the selection but cut-up fruit. A.J. understood they were probably perpetually on diets, but Naomi at least ought to be eating more.

“Would you like some protein?” she offered the supermodel. “Even a short stay in a hospital bed can cause you to lose muscle. I could make you up a plate.”

Naomi looked at her in surprise. “Oh, I—”

“She’s a grown woman,” Christie snapped. “She can decide what to eat herself.”

A.J supposed the actress had a point, if a rude way of delivering it. Even though A.J. had slept with Luke, she was his bodyguard, not a guest or a nutrition consultant. “Of course. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Luke must have expected her to match Christie’s bite, because he did a double take.

“Maybe a small plate,” Naomi said, the lines of her lovely face showing amusement. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

Christie let out a snort A.J. pretended not to hear.

“I’d be happy to,” she said.

She’d set her selection in front of Naomi and was about to sit when the walkie-talkie function on her phone emitted a burst of static. She moved two strides to the window to answer it. “Hoyt here.”

“There’s a Detective Turner at the gate,” said Burgess, who she’d recently assigned there. “Flashed his badge. Says he needs to talk to Mr. Channing personally.”

Turner showing up instead of calling suggested his agenda was more complicated than an update on last night’s events. Requesting an explanation was likely to be a waste of time. Cops knew how to play their cards close. She turned toward the table to find both Martin and Luke’s gaze on her.

“Detective Turner,” she said to Luke. “He’s here. Can you give him a few minutes?”

“He say what it’s about?”

A.J. shook her head.

The same thought process she’d just gone through seemed to roll behind his eyes. “I’ll talk to him in my office. If it suits you, I wouldn’t mind you being there as well.”

“It suits me fine,” A.J. assured him.

Whether Detective Turner’s business would, she doubted.

*

With A.J. standing silently at the wall behind his desk, Luke felt weirdly like a mob boss watched over by muscle. His butler, Nettles, showed the policeman in and left. In comparison to A.J. and her team, whose work clothes were always crisp, Turner’s outdated jacket and mismatched trousers reminded Luke of a door-to-door salesman. That, however, was probably him being Hollywood again.

“Won’t you sit?” he asked, gesturing to the chair.

Turner hitched up his pants and did. His dark eyes watched Luke like a hawk.

“Teresa Ricci is dead,” he said.

Cold washed into Luke’s face. He didn’t know what this meant, only that it wasn’t good. His eyelids descended in a slow blink. “I don’t know who that is.”

“She’s the girl who tried to shove her tongue down your throat last night. College student. Nineteen years old. Long brown hair. She was crossing the street to student housing when, according to witnesses, a dark blue sedan sped up and ran her down. Didn’t even brake. Ricci was DOA by the time the ambulance got her to the hospital.”

Luke’s reaction to this information seemed to be important. Turner’s gaze didn’t leave him once. “I still don’t under—” His brain caught up and his stomach plummeted. “You mean the girl who kissed me in front of the restaurant? She’s dead?”

“Stone cold,” the cop said flatly.

He seemed to be accusing Luke of having something to do with it, which struck him temporarily speechlessly.

A.J. broke the silence. Her voice was strictly professional. “What time was the girl run down?”

Turner shifted his cool gaze to her. “Round about 1 a.m.”

“Was Kourtney Prentiss still in custody?”

“Yes, she was.”

“Did your witnesses get a license number?”

Turner leaned back and crossed his arms. “Evidently, the plates were removed.”

He was acting as if this proved something, which Luke didn’t understand. “Why would I kill a girl who was probably just trying to show her friends how daring she was? I’m not saying I welcome being accosted by perfect strangers, but I’d have to be crazy to respond that way.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Turner drawled. “You’ve got a big movie coming out. I’ve seen actors do strange things in the name of publicity.”

“But . . . she’s dead!” Luke exclaimed, his voice roughening. He put his hands on the desk and leaned forward, wishing he could will the detective to believe him. “That’s not a publicity stunt. That’s nuts. Anyway, I was here at 1 a.m. The whole house can vouch for me.”

“You’re a billionaire. Or so I read in the papers. You could have hired a hundred drivers to run her down.”

“‘Could have’ doesn’t mean I did! And what if this is all related? Did I hire someone to shoot me and my best friend at my own premiere?”

Turner smiled faintly. “You walked away from that, didn’t you? Came out smelling like a rose. Of course, if you’d like to open your books and prove it, the LAPD wouldn’t turn you down.”

Luke liked to think Two Dudes Productions was enlightened, but every company had a Sony-style memo or two somewhere. As to that, he had personal financial info he preferred to keep that way. No way was he giving the cops free rein to paw through his files.

“No,” A.J. broke in before he could find a non-incendiary way to say this. “If you want to access to Mr. Channing’s financial records, you’ll need to establish sufficient basis for a warrant.”

“Are you his lawyer now?”

“I’m a person who recognizes when a cop is floundering for answers.”

“Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you?” Turner sneered. “Seeing as you ‘floundered’ yourself right off the police force. I checked into you, Ms. Hoyt. Your boss know about your past? That you didn’t leave the NYPD voluntarily?”

A.J. didn’t flinch but her eyes narrowed. “Mr. Channing is aware,” she said simply.

This took the wind from the detective’s self-righteous sails. In spite of the tragedy that probably inspired Turner’s aggressive stance, Luke had to fight a smile. A.J. understood the value of saying less to accomplish more.

Her coolness set an example he decided to follow.

“I’d like to cooperate,” he said, meaning it. “I don’t take the this girl’s death lightly. If you have other questions, I’ll answer them. My finances, however, are my business. You can examine them when you have a warrant, assuming—as Ms. Hoyt pointed out—you can convince a judge you have grounds for one.”

Luke might not be as big as Spielberg, but his clout wasn’t negligible. Turner’s brief grimace betrayed his doubt that he could get a judge to agree without a smoking gun. Since his bluff had been called, the detective rose.

He paused at the door to jerk his thumb toward A.J. “You watch yourself with this one, Mr. Channing. If she didn’t have her colleagues’ backs when she was one of us, how well will she guard yours?”

Luke took a page out of A.J.’s book and simply smiled at him.

The girl’s murder didn’t truly hit him until the cop was gone.

*

Luke didn’t look so good to A.J. Arms braced on the desk’s corners, he stared at a spot between them as if he saw something shocking there. His handsome face was ashen.

“I need air,” he said, rising so suddenly he startled her.

A.J. undid her jacket’s single button, clearing access to the weapon she’d kept low-key during the cop’s visit. “A walk sounds like a good idea. I’ll just—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “I mean by myself. I need time to think. Don’t worry. I’ll stay on the grounds.” Wryness bent his expression. “I’m sure your men will keep an eye on me.”

“Okay, but—” Her phone buzzed before she could say more. The screen said it was Tanisha, who A.J. hoped would have news.

Luke pressed his advantage. “Take your call. I’ll be fine.”

She exhaled but let him go. He wasn’t in the mood for crowding. And her team would keep an eye on him. Without thinking about it particularly, she lowered herself into the chair he’d vacated. The seat was warm from him.

“What’s up?” she asked Tanisha.

“There’s been a giant wank at Luke and Christie Forever!” she exclaimed, which A.J. guessed she was expected to understand. “It’s frickin’ take no prisoners day on the message boards. KourtneyP is out and Kitt3ns24 is the new head mod.”

“Kitt3ns24?”

“Kourtney’s rival for the hearts of the rank and file. Kitt3ns24 was outer circle until now, but the police must still have Kourtney, because she hasn’t been online to defend herself. Kitt3ns is claiming the viral video reflects badly on the fandom, especially since KourtneyP couldn’t control her minions. Stealing kisses from their idol violates canon.”

“Have they heard the girl who did it is dead?”

“What?” Tanisha gasped. “How?”

A.J. explained what she knew so far.

“Jesus,” Tanisha breathed. “No, that news hasn’t reached the boards. I’m sure Kitt3ns can spin it to her advantage. She’s gunning to impress the powers that be. I think I’ve succeeded in presenting myself as a useful ally, plus sucking up tastefully. I’m hoping she’ll take me with her if the True Believers do tap her.”

A.J. thought she followed what the receptionist meant.

“Good work,” she said. “Keep on that and let me know if anything further develops.”

“There’s one more thing: I have a possible handle for the member who provided Luke’s location: HHNDS, aka Hellhounds. I’m not sure if it’s a man or woman, but it’s definitely inner circle. I’ve asked your dad’s cyber guys to see if they can get a real world name.”

“Great,” A.J. said. “I’ll touch base with you later.”

She ended the call and glanced at her watch. Maybe it was nothing, but she felt as rattled as Luke had looked. Her instincts—or maybe her emotions—were goading her to go after him, no matter if he didn’t want company.

She mouthed a curse silently. This was what happened when you got involved with clients. You couldn’t tell anymore why your warning flags were flapping. Her dad would advise her to err on the side on caution, even if she annoyed their boss.

The decision made her feel better immediately.

She tracked Luke to the rear of his estate, past the empty pool to a drought garden. Aloes grew there in profusion, from spiky rock-clingers no bigger than her fist to flowering seven-foot monsters.

Ugly-beautiful was the best she could say for them.

As she strode toward the planting across the terrace, she spied Luke in conversation with an older man in a brown uniform. The wheelbarrow next to him suggested he was a gardener. If he were, his and Luke’s connection was friendly as well as professional. When Luke bowed his head, the white-haired man touched his arm as if comforting him.

The gesture wasn’t threatening: the opposite, really. Luke didn’t react as if the man overstepped his bounds. Not that he necessarily would. Luke was sociable by nature. A.J. couldn’t have said what made her steps quicken. She only knew she was curious.

Before she reached them, Luke spotted her. He said a word aside to the gardener, who took his barrow and rolled away. Though the older man didn’t run, his exodus seemed hasty. Evidently, the work he did kept him spry.

“Hey,” Luke said, greeting her like nothing had happened. His smile was easy, but his body blocked her view of his departing companion.

“Who was that?” she asked.

He brushed the side of her face with his fingertips. “Just one of the gardeners.” He laughed softly. “You gave me fifteen whole minutes on my own. I guess I should be flattered you’re concerned.”

“I’m concerned because protecting you is my job.”

His mouth pulled sideways. “Sorry. I understand that. I’m just off balance from all this. That girl was nineteen. Intellectually, I know I’m not responsible for her murder. Emotionally . . .” He shook his head.

“You couldn’t have predicted this would happen. And you’re not the only one who didn’t. This wasn’t like the first attack. This was impulsive.”

“You really think the same person is behind both?”

“My gut thinks it’s too much of a coincidence not to be related, though that isn’t the same as evidence. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if our perp did this personally. Maybe the shooter at the premiere was hired, but this killing happened right on the heels of that video taking over the internet. Less planning. Less distance. I think he or she was behind the wheel of that blue sedan.”

“We have to stop them.” Luke’s earnest manner drew her eyes to him. “I don’t want anyone else’s death on my hands.”

A.J. squeezed his upper arms. “We’ll solve it. A lot of good people are working on this. My dad’s people. Me. And the police aren’t the idiots Detective Turner made them seem this morning.”

“Should I have opened my books to him? If he eliminates me as a suspect . . .”

“He’ll waste time doing it. Better he starts looking elsewhere now.”

“You think he will?”

“I think him coming here to accuse you had more to do with discovering I was a whistleblower cop than truly suspecting you.”

“That’s not fair!” Luke exclaimed. “You were totally in the right—and brave—to report your boss.”

A.J. laughed, her hands rising to frame his face. “God, you’re sweet. Cops have that thin blue line code for a reason. It’s not always a bad thing.”

“They don’t know what they lost by firing you.”

Her eyes stung without warning, touched by his belief in her. “Their loss, your gain.”

Luke wagged his head at her teasing tone. “You’re trying to be funny, but to me, that’s the God’s honest truth.”

*

“Don’t say ‘no’ until you hear me out,” Christie pleaded. “You can bend on this one thing. I’ve followed all her rules.”

In case which her she meant were in doubt, Christie waved her arm peevishly toward A.J. Luke had convinced the bodyguard to return with him to the dining room, to finish their missed breakfast. He’d been delighted to find it empty. His costar wandering in on the pretense of craving coffee wasn’t a pleasant development.

“That’s not an auspicious lead-in to asking for a favor,” he observed.

Christie set her cup and saucer on the sideboard, evidently feeling the need to face him with her hands free. She’d dressed up, he realized—in a pretty flowered dress that showed off her petite curviness. Her face was touched with makeup, her golden curls artfully tousled.

Did she think looking extra feminine would help her persuade him?

“We need to chill after all this stress,” she argued. “And you know Sven and Wilhelmina. Everyone uses them.”

Wilhelmina was Luke’s usual masseuse. She had a genuine gift. Sven, he wasn’t so sure about. The male half of Wilhelmina’s practice had more muscles than subtlety. “I don’t think her partner’s really Swiss. His accent is ridiculous, like a bad Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation. Plus, he dyes his hair that color.”

“Of course he does,” Christie scoffed. “He used to be Freddie Groehlich from New Jersey. Wilhelmina keeps him on for the women to drool over.”

“Well, we don’t need him,” Luke reasoned. “Just ask her to come.”

“I want to arrange a couple’s massage,” Christie explained patiently.

His mind went where it wanted, regardless of logic. He’d like a couple’s massage with A.J.—her naked and oiled up on a table next to his. It’d be worth letting stupid Sven put his hands on her to watch her lose her starch like she had last night.

This, of course, couldn’t be what Christie was proposing.

“Uh,” he said. “Do you mean a session for you and Naomi?”

Christie lowered her brows at him. “Wilhelmina is a gossip. I mean for you and me.”

Luke set down his fork and sighed. “That Listie shipper nonsense is what started this trouble. I’d rather not add more fuel to it. Besides, don’t you ever plan to come out as who you are? You know Two Dudes won’t kick you off the Final movies for being a lesbian.”

“That’s fine for you,” she huffed. “You’re Mr. Popular. Some of us have to fight for every follower.”

Her blue eyes glittered with angry tears, her soft cheeks flushed with emotion. Luke felt for her position. He truly did. He knew it wasn’t his job to out her. He just didn’t think he should have to participate in shoring up her lie.

“Christie, the world is more open-minded than it used to be. Maybe living as your true self wouldn’t be as bad as you think.”

“And maybe it would be worse! The Final franchise can’t last forever. I’d like to have a real career when it ends. As a leading lady. Not some cling-to-the-fringes, art house dyke.”

She spat the word like she hated it . . . or herself.

“Christie, there’s nothing wrong with—”

“Oh shut up, Luke. This is the real world, not an after school special. Moviegoers are prejudiced! Especially about the folks they pay to bring their fantasies to life. Seriously, is KStew anything but tabloid fodder now?”

Luke might argue she was, but Christie was in no state to hear. She flicked her honey blonde curls back impatiently. “I have other reasons for suggesting this anyway.”

“And they would be?”

“First, the gossip that we’re together won’t hurt the film. Your career might survive Final Death tanking, but I doubt mine would. Second . . .” She inhaled slowly and blew out. “If whoever is behind these attacks thinks their plan is working, they might go quiet for a bit. Ms. Hoyt and her team could get the breathing room they need to pin down who they are.”

“Hm,” A.J. said. She’d been eating unobtrusively while Christie and Luke debated, barely seeming to listen. Though this final point was probably the least sincere Christie made, Luke saw it struck a chord with his companion.

“You see,” Christie said, seizing on her reaction. “Your bodyguard thinks it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t know about ‘good,’” A.J. qualified, “but it might be useful to have a lull.”

“No,” Luke said. “I don’t want to play her beard.”

“What if it spares the next Teresa Ricci being harmed? You don’t want to fear for every female you smile at.”

Luke stared at A.J. in shock. She must want him to say yes, or she wouldn’t have used that argument.

“One massage and a couple candles,” Christie wheedled. “What can it hurt?”

“I don’t know what it can hurt,” he muttered. “I’m trying not to find out.”

“Great!” Christie said, correctly reading his surrender. “I’ll have Eliza schedule an appointment.” Victorious now, she bounced toward the door when another idea hit her. “We’ll use that temple thing for the set up!”

*

Set up was exactly right.

Luke’s “temple thing” was a neoclassical portico on Mayfair’s ground level. When the weather was hot, you could gaze between the columns at the Pacific and enjoy a cooling breeze. Usually you could, anyway. Thanks to Christie recruiting his staff to help, the formerly serene space blazed with votive candles, plus a couple bathtubs’ worth of pink and red rose petals. Twinkly lights spiraled up the columns while new age music droned. The scene was cheesy, over-the-top romantic, as if this were a bachelor show.

Naturally, Christie had timed the appointment to coincide with sunset.

The moment A.J. saw the display she choked on her amusement.

“Laugh now,” Luke muttered. “You’ll stop when I ask you to shoot someone.”

The someone he asked her to shoot might be him. He couldn’t believe he was going along with this. Christie already lay face down on one of the two tables, a pristine white towel draping her perky rear. Wilhelmina was oiling her delicate back and shoulders, which Luke admitted were pretty. A tall, fit, forty-something brunette, the celebrity masseuse actually did hail from Switzerland. Her vibe was as unadorned as Christie’s was feminine: hair scraped back, pale green scrubs like a nurse would wear.

Luke had always enjoyed Wilhelmina’s massages. She wasn’t chatty, didn’t flirt, and her well toned arms were damn near tireless. A person could relax completely under her expert hands. Tonight it seemed he’d have to forego the pleasure. The considerably less skilled Sven waited by the table meant for him. A second white towel, longer than Christie’s, hung over his thick forearm. When he saw Luke, Sven shook it out and grinned.

“Lose the robe,” he said in his bargain-basement Ahnold voice. “I’ll cover you and you can hop up.”

Luke reminded himself he’d agreed to this, but his feet refused to walk closer.

“Take their phones first,” he said to A.J.

“So shy!” Wilhelmina teased in her light—and authentic—Swiss accent. Clearly, she was in a good mood. Maybe she liked the spectacle Christie had arranged. “Don’t you know Wilhelmina’s Healing Hands never films our sessions? It interferes with our policy of worry-free relaxation.” Her smile deepened naughtily. “We understand not everyone looks as good as you in a towel.”

“Forget filming,” Luke said. “I don’t want my yelps of pain recorded when ‘Sven’ here gets ham-handed.”

He couldn’t be certain, but he thought Sven muttered asshat beneath his breath.

“Is that Swiss for ‘I’ll try to do better?’” Luke asked sweetly.

“Don’t be grumpy, darling,” Christie soothed. “You know we can both use some healing therapy.”

He concluded she was sticking to the pretense that they were a couple.

Oh screw it, he surrendered, stepping into the portico so Sven could shield his disrobing behind the towel. He enjoyed a small burst of pleasure as A.J.’s attention swerved to him. Someone he cared about was admiring his shirtless state. That was better than nothing.

He smiled to himself and got settled on the padded table. Though A.J. made no sound, he sensed her moving to her chosen post by a nearby column.

Wilhelmina didn’t approve of this.

“I have to ask you to leave,” she said. “A couple’s massage shouldn’t have an audience.”

“Sorry, sister,” A.J. fired back with a dismissiveness Luke couldn’t recall hearing her use before. “Where my client goes, so go I. Anyhow, Mr. Channing will relax better with his security close.”

Wilhelmina began to splutter at this affront to her professional standards.

“Let her stay,” Luke said, turning his head sideways on the face cradle. “She’ll watch over Christie too.”

“Fine,” Wilhelmina grudgingly agreed. “Please don’t interfere with our process.”

Luke hid his amusement in the face opening. He could guess what A.J. thought of folks who referred to a rubdown as a process.

Sadly, Sven’s technique was as bad as Luke remembered from the one and only time he’d used him. He couldn’t help but clench when the man dug his thumbs too hard into a stubborn knot.

“Stop tensing,” Sven hissed in an undertone.

“Stop treating my spine like you’re trying to drill for oil!”

“Luke!” Christie scolded. “Could you please attempt to get in the spirit?”

“Pussy,” Sven muttered, determined to get in one last complaint.

“Sven!” Wilhelmina reprimanded, no better pleased by her partner than Luke was with Christie.

The humor of the situation overcame him. He fought it so hard he snorted. Sven made him laugh outright by smacking him on the shoulder.

“Nice,” Luke snickered. “Maybe you can beat the tension out of me.”

“Don’t think I won’t!” Sven snapped back in his real voice. Ahnold was miraculously supplanted by Jersey Shore.

“Um, excuse me?” Luke’s PA Eliza asked from the house side of the portico. “Sorry to interrupt. Rachel wants to know if Sven and Wilhelmina will join her later for dinner in the kitchen.”

Wilhelmina lost it. “Who the hell is Rachel?”

“My chef.” Luke wiped tears from his fit of hilarity. “Rachel Fischer. You should say yes, by the way. She’s as gifted in her field as you are in yours.”

This soothed the masseuse’s ruffled feathers. “Of course. I forgot she works for you. Please say Sven and I would be happy to. Now, if you’d be so kind, the pair of you shut up and relax.”

As he settled, warmed by his amusement, Luke thought he actually might.

*

As was the case for all uncomfortable situations, this one ended eventually. Sven and his boss departed to have their dinner, and Christie—who’d gotten the good massage—sleepily trailed away from the portico.

Relieved to be alone with A.J., Luke was even happier when she checked behind her shoulder to make sure they weren’t observed.

This, he suspected, meant she planned something he’d enjoy.

He wasn’t wrong. She came toward him, her bodyguard’s soundless powerwalk causing his pulse to race. It skipped when she clasped his face. She was taking the initiative: no coaxing or seduction from him required. Possibly his expression was dazzled. Her soft lips curved as they pressed over his.

Despite the advance notice, her kiss hit him like a tidal wave. Hormones surged as her hands slid down his robe’s lapels and around his back, her sexy strength pulling him to her. She was fully dressed—not to mention armed. Luke’s skin felt extra naked beneath the terrycloth. His cock rose swiftly, until the press of her hips stopped it.

She murmured a sound of pleasure, her squirm of arousal rubbing her over him. Luke couldn’t stay passive. He slanted his mouth and kissed her back. Their tongues strove against each other, perfectly matched and thoroughly heart-pounding. Luke never wanted to let her go.

He might not have, except he needed air.

“What was that for?” he asked, delightedly trying to catch his breath.

Her thumbs stroked the sides of his mouth gently. “That’s for making me laugh even when you’re annoyed and sad.”

This was a pretty good assessment of his emotions. Luke rubbed her waist and smiled. “Are you sure it’s not for how fine I looked in that towel?”

“That, too. I don’t think I’ve been jealous of a man before.”

“You mean Sven and his not-very-magic hands?”

She laughed at his imitation of Sven’s accent. “His hands were all over you.”

“I’m sorry you were stuck here for that nonsense.”

“It wasn’t bad. Christie’s recruits did make the place pretty. And sunset was nice.” Her mouth crooked with mischief. “Sven’s skills can’t be as bad as you claim. I think you dozed through that bit.”

He searched her eyes, which only looked happy. The mood between them was warm and easy. Maybe it was time to broach a few of the trickier facts he’d been withholding.

“A.J., there are a couple things I’ve been meaning to tell you . . .”

Naturally, her phone vibrated. She dug it out of her pocket. “Sorry, I need to take this. It might be important. Hey, Dad. What’s going on?”

Luke stood close enough to hear Parker Hoyt’s response. “Check your feed. A new story about Luke is trending on Twitter.”

A.J. swiped it onto her screen. “Well, that was fast.”

“What?” Luke asked.

She read the headlines aloud to him. “‘Rumored Romance Heating Up for Luke Channing and Costar.’ ‘Christie James Gets Naked with Real Life Beau.’ Shit. There are pictures.”

She turned the phone to show him. Though he and Christie weren’t naked in the shots, they did make the massage look more blissful than it was. His mouth pulled sideways with wry humor. His staff would be pleased to see how well their decorations photographed. Between the twinkly lights and the candles, the effect was fabulous.

“Wait a second,” he said. “I thought you confiscated Wilhelmina and Sven’s phones.”

“I did.” She frowned as she considered the screen again. “The angle is wrong for either of them to have snapped these.” She shifted position to recreate what it must have been through the viewfinder—just inside the archway from the house. This seemed to confirm a guess for her. “I thought Eliza was acting squirrely when she showed up. I chalked it up to seeing her boss half naked, but I suppose she was concealing the camera behind the outer layer of her sweater set.”

“Not Eliza,” he said, dismayed by A.J.’s conclusion.

“Your PA is the likeliest choice. No one else came by that I saw.” She brought the phone to her ear again. “Dad, I think we know who leaked the story.”

Luke was no longer close enough to eavesdrop.

“Really,” A.J. responded after a pause. “You’re sure?” She listened for what felt like a very long minute. “Okay, I’ll relay what you found and see what Luke wants to do. I’ll call you later with updates.”

She slid the phone away and stared into space for a few moments. Her face was serious but not alarmed. Then again, who knew what it would take to panic her? When she pinched her lip between two fingers, Luke lost patience.

“What did your dad find out?” he asked.

“He traced the buyer for the $10,000 Erté hanging on Eliza’s wall. The auction house lists the purchaser as Christie James’s manager, but the actual funds came from James’s account. So either her manager is writing checks without her knowledge, or your costar gave your PA an extremely generous gift.”

“Christie controls that kind of thing,” Luke said. “No one signs stuff on her behalf.”

“Then the Erté could have been a payoff. The date of the purchase was shortly before Eliza came to work for you. Remember the salon Eliza used to do PR for? Christie James was one of their prize clients. They could have met each other there.”

“So . . . what? Christie planted Eliza on my staff? Why? To be her personal mole?”

“That’s how it looks to me.”

Luke rubbed his jaw and tried to consider A.J.’s theory dispassionately. “I guess she could have been worried about the security of her role in the Final films. She might have wanted advance notice if we decided to kill off her character or something.”

“The security of her role in the Final films isn’t the only thing she’s paranoid about.”

“Well, I know she doesn’t want to be outed, but she can’t be so desperate she’d be behind the attacks. She’s not capable of mowing down that girl!”

He realized as he said it that he wasn’t a hundred percent certain. That was a shocking thought: that someone he worked with might be a heartless killer.

A.J. didn’t seem offended by his outburst. “You may be right. All I know is I’d like to have a chat with both women.”

“Not alone,” he responded instantly.

“I won’t bully them. Just ask a few questions.”

“I mean I want to be there too. Christie is my colleague. And Eliza’s my employee. I have a right to know what they’re doing behind my back.”

A.J. cocked her head at him. He sensed her weighing the pros and cons. “Okay. We’ll tackle Christie first. Swing at someone our own size, so to speak. If she won’t provide satisfactory answers, we’ll try Eliza.”

He’d have guessed she’d start with the weaker link. A.J. read the assumption in his expression. “I said we’d tackle Christie first. I don’t promise not to swing at your PA at all.” She paused to scan him up and down. “You have to put on real clothes. You’re too distracting in that robe.”

Luke did his best to repress his grin. A.J. meant he distracted her. Christie wouldn’t have cared if he questioned her stark naked.

*

The actress was in her room on the second floor. She’d changed into Hugh Hefner-style silk pajamas in baby blue paisley. The things were adorable, and looked comfy. Because it wasn’t why they were there, A.J. squashed her urge to ask where she’d bought them. This was no time to start thinking like a girl. Despite appearances, Christie James was no softie.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“You bought an expensive painting for Luke’s PA,” A.J. repeated patiently. “Right around the time she interviewed for this job. We’ve traced the purchase. I’d like you to explain why you gave her such a generous gift.”

“Who knows?” Christie tossed off impatiently. “You say she worked at the salon I used. Maybe she did me a favor. I suppose I was grateful.”

“It was six months ago. I’d remember a favor I was ten-grand grateful for.”

“Well, you don’t earn what I do, do you?”

A.J. fought a smile at this undeniable fact. “I don’t,” she admitted. “And neither does Eliza. Perhaps that’s why she was willing to snap pictures of you and Luke to post online.”

Christie’s eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t have a shred of proof she did that at my behest!”

“I can get proof,” A.J. said, confident of it. “How many emails and texts has she sent you using Luke’s house network? He pays for that, you know. Were you always careful about what you said? Was she? Or did she try to please you by being an informative spy?”

“His employees have a right to privacy!”

“I’m sure he usually honors it. Luke is a standup guy. The thing is, a nineteen-year-old girl has died. If he can help find who did it, he’ll say to hell with Eliza’s privacy.”

She appreciated Luke not contradicting her. He was a little distance from her and Christie, his shoulder propped on the wall next to the hall doorway. He was giving A.J. space to work—staying out of it until it seemed he could contribute.

That time was now, she guessed.

“Just tell us what you know,” he said gently.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Christie protested. Her demeanor cracking, she flapped her hands toward A.J. “She’s blowing a simple gift out of proportion.”

“You see how it looks, though.” Luke pushed calmly off the wall, Good Cop personified. “You buy Eliza’s loyalty. She sends proof of our ‘relationship’ to the world. Maybe you’re involved with the Luke and Christie Forever folks, keeping those rumors that we’re an item fresh. You could have overheard that Jerry and I were eating at Michelson’s. You could have told the shippers where to find us.”

“I didn’t!” she denied. “It’s nothing to do with that!”

“What is it to do with then?”

Christie’s expression tightened, but she knew she was on the ropes. “It’s Naomi. I’m in love with her, and you won’t leave her alone.”

This revelation startled Luke as much as it did A.J. “What are you talking about? Naomi and I haven’t been together for a long time. Hell, her thing with Tommy Hazard overlapped the one with you.”

“Oh, but you’re besties, aren’t you? Always calling each other. Always each other’s backup date. Always saying how grateful you are that you’ve stayed mates. That stupid rocker was nothing compared to you. ‘Total rubbish in bed,’ she says. You, though, she still looks at you like you’re worth eating up. Don’t you see? I had to know if she was going to cheat on me!”

Luke gaped at her. “That’s crazy.”

“Don’t talk to me about crazy,” she spat back. “You don’t know the first thing about it. Everyone falls for you.”

Her pretty eyes spilled over. A.J. thought the tears were real but wouldn’t have bet money. Luke being who he was, he couldn’t help expressing compassion.

“Christie, can’t you count your own blessings? Looks, talent—”

“Hush,” A.J. said, holding up a hand for quiet. “I heard something.”

Somewhat amazingly, both her companions fell silent. The noise had come from behind her—a muffled gasp, she thought. Though she had a fair idea who’d made it, her thumb flipped up the tab on her holster before she turned the knob on the adjoining guest room’s door.

Better to look over-suspicious than be unprepared to draw.

As she’d anticipated, Naomi was standing there. She jerked at being discovered but didn’t deny she’d been listening in. Her gaze went straight to her girlfriend.

“Why?” she asked. “Why do you have to be so jealous?”

*

Tensions must have been building between the couple for a while. The scene that played out between them wasn’t one A.J. wanted to witness. She stayed just long enough to make sure the fight wouldn’t include any more useful surprises. Then she nudged Luke into the corridor. As she pulled the door shut behind them, Christie and Naomi were yelling at each other.

“You always make everything about you!” they heard Naomi accusing.

“At least I shut my knees occasionally!” Christie fired back.

“Sheesh,” Luke said. “I didn’t expect that to be the explanation.”

“Me, either,” A.J. confessed. “Christie hides her crazy well.”

Luke wagged his head. “Actresses.”

A.J. snorted at the way he said it.

“I know,” he said. “Whatever Christie claims about everyone loving me, I’ve got my share of eccentricity.”

Eliza had the bad luck of turning the corner ahead of them. This hall wasn’t one of the house’s public areas. Aside from visiting Christie, the PA had no reason to be there. Also to her misfortune, she wasn’t as facile a liar as her clandestine employer.

“Uh,” she said, jolting short in her tracks. “I, um, just wanted to make sure Chr— Miss James was happy with the staff’s efforts this evening.”

“You can drop the act,” Luke said wearily. “We know all about your and Christie’s arrangement . . .”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“YOU have to throw Christie out!” Naomi cried passionately. “She spied on you. And me. She planted Eliza in your household one whole week after our first date. We hadn’t even slept together. She’s totally off her trolley!”

Naomi had knocked before bursting into Luke’s rooms . . . but only just. Luke couldn’t blame Szymanski for not preventing her entry. Even barefoot and clad in a thin silk robe, Naomi in a rage was daunting.

Luke gave A.J.’s coworker credit for having the stones to follow the model in. It took even more nerve to argue against her demand.

“Luke can’t throw her out,” Szymanski said. “We’re trying to lull the Listie shipper into thinking she and Luke really are together. We shouldn’t screw up that plan—no matter how much your girlfriend deserves ejection.”

“Ex,” Naomi corrected, her voice rising dangerously. “Ex, ex, ex!”

“Right,” Szymanski said, at which Naomi burst into tears.

Because Szymanski’s eyes widened in alarm, Luke knew it was up to him to provide comfort.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, pulling Naomi against him. His chest was bare. She’d caught him in a pair of pajama bottoms, which he’d hoped would be sufficient coverage for sneaking to A.J.’s room. Probably he was lucky he wore that much. As his old friend sobbed, she clung with surprising strength. “We’ll put you in a different room, far, far away from her.”

“She wants me to forgive her. She says if I loved her, I’d understand what she did. I don’t think I do love her, though. I mean, the sex is terrific, but I never fancied her as much as she did me. Jesus, what’s wrong with me?”

Luke rubbed her back helplessly. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Why couldn’t I fall for you when we were together?”

“Um, because I’m not the right guy for you?”

Naomi pushed back and wiped her eyes. “You should have been. Obviously, I have shite taste in partners. I thought Christie was an improvement over Tommy Hazard. And I went with him because he was hot on stage.”

“Nobody makes perfect choices.” Luke helped her dry her cheeks, secretly amused that her admitting she hadn’t fallen for him stung his ego. He hadn’t been in love with her either. To be honest, A.J. was the only woman he’d tumbled for that hard. “You and I are better as friends.”

“We are.” Naomi petted his bare chest, tearing up again sentimentally.

“So you think you can stand Christie staying here a bit longer?”

“I could leave.”

“No, you can’t,” Luke and Szymanski said simultaneously.

“You can’t,” Luke repeated, stroking her super short curls around her skull. “You’ve already been a target. We don’t want this nutcase zeroing in on you again. Stay here where Alexandra’s people can keep an eye on you.”

Naomi’s beautifully groomed eyebrows drew together in confusion.

“A.J.,” Luke corrected, realizing what he’d called her. “Alexandra is her real name.”

Shit. He was blushing. Naomi looked down and smiled faintly.

“I see,” she said.

Luke had a feeling she actually did.

A cursory knock was all the warning A.J. gave for her entrance. “Are you here, Luke? I didn’t see Szymanski outside the— Oh.” Her coworker was out of view. Her gaze had fallen on Luke and Naomi. The sight of them in a near embrace stopped her in her tracks. “Excuse me. I shouldn’t have barged in like that.”

Suddenly Luke felt better about blushing. A.J.’s cheeks had gone bright red. Given he and Naomi were dressed for bed, he guessed they looked pretty intimate.

He also guessed that bothered his bodyguard.

Szymanski reached the same conclusion. “Don’t worry, boss,” he teased slyly. “I’ve been here the whole time as chaperone.”

Too flustered to put her annoyance into words, A.J. scowled at him.

“Naomi and I were just talking,” Luke said, enjoying her reaction but not wanting her to suffer. “Discussing how to make her continued stay tolerable.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation!” She realized at once that her voice was too sharp. “Sorry. I mean—” She shut her mouth, probably deciding saying more would get her into worse trouble.

Luke smiled at her. “I know what you mean.”

She glowered at him then, which increased his amusement.

“You two are adorable,” Naomi cooed. “And since I’ve suddenly become a third wheel, I think I’ll go pick out a new guest room. Maybe one with a lock.”

“I’ll help you,” Szymanski volunteered before A.J. could tell the other female to stay. Szymanski grinned at his boss. “You’ll take care of Luke while I’m away, won’t you?”

A.J. crossed her arms and didn’t speak until the pair was gone.

“Stop smirking!” was her instruction to Luke then.

“I can’t help it if I enjoy you acting like my girlfriend.”

“A stupid jealous girlfriend,” she muttered to her shoes. “Anyway, I’m not.”

“I think you are.” Unable to resist her pull, he stepped to her. “We sleep together, we like each other, and I’m relatively certain we both want that situation to continue.”

“That doesn’t make us a couple.”

“Is there someone else you want to be in a couple with?”

“No.”

She admitted this sullenly. He stroked her dark locks around her ears, so full of love for her it was ridiculous.

“Me either,” he said lightly. “You’re the only girlfriend I want.” Her gaze met his warily. “I mean it, Alexandra. How many different ways do I need to prove I’m not playing games with you?”

Her pretty mouth pulled sideways. “Can I get back to you on that?”

He laughed. “All right. That’s progress of a sort.” Whether she knew it or not, she wasn’t immune to their closeness. Her hands rested, knuckle-side on his chest. He wondered if she realized she’d let his caresses relax her. “Was there a reason you came to see me? Besides confirming Szymanski was at his post?”

“Eliza gave me permission to check her phone and computer.”

The PA hadn’t had a lot of choice, considering what they caught her at. “Yes?”

“I thought I’d let you know I couldn’t find evidence she took the footage outside the restaurant. It occurred to me our perp might want to watch the demonstration if he or she orchestrated it. I also didn’t find a connection between Eliza and the Christie and Luke Forever site.”

“So Eliza’s not involved in the attacks.”

“It seems not. Just stooging for Christie. From what she said, Christie asking for her help flattered her. It seemed a chance to form a genuine connection to a star.”

“She wasn’t so ‘flattered’ she forgot to ask for a ten-grand gift.”

“No,” A.J. conceded. “But for what it’s worth, Eliza said if she’d met you first, she’d have been happy to spy on Christie for you.”

“There’s an ego boost. Though I suppose this means my judgment is merely bad as opposed to horrible.”

“Lots of people would have hired Eliza. She had a good demeanor. She did her job.”

Luke struggled not to sigh. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t help. More to the point, it didn’t seem appropriate, considering the cost others were paying compared to him. “I just wish this could be over, that we could figure out who’s behind this and hand them over to the police.”

A.J. chafed his ribs sympathetically. “I’m afraid there’s no magic wand we can wave. Investigations take the time they take. If it makes you feel better, I think we’ll solve it soon.”

“But before or after someone else is hurt?”

“I can’t answer that,” A.J. said.

Her gaze held his—steady and unflinching. She wouldn’t tell him a pretty lie, not about her feelings or her job. Allowing for politeness, which she seemed to believe in, she spoke what she perceived of as truth.

That was both a comfort and a frustration.

“Isn’t there anything we can do to jumpstart a result?”

He saw his question had surprised her. “You mean like set a trap?”

“If you think of one that could work.”

She stepped away from him to mull this over, hands to her mouth with her index fingers in a steeple. It was an actor’s gesture—Project Deep Thoughts 101. He doubted she made it consciously. A.J. didn’t perform for an audience. She wouldn’t realize how fascinatedly Luke watched her.

He knew she’d had a thought when her eyes lit up.

To his dismay, the next thing she did was stride for the door.

“I’ll be back,” she called over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“To run my idea past Martin. And Szymanski. I want to make sure my plan’s doable.”

She left him gaping. She had to seek Martin’s approval. Szymanski’s too but not Luke’s. Even though he wasn’t on her team, that hurt.

“Well, hell,” he said to the empty room.

Unwarranted jealousy wasn’t as amusing when he was the one feeling it.

*

Because A.J.’s idea wasn’t completely formed, she restricted sharing it to her two closest coworkers. Done relocating Naomi, Szymanski joined her and Martin at the table in the corner of the ops room. The two techs on duty were focused on their screens. A.J. didn’t allow herself to dwell on her proposal’s potentially embarrassing aspects. The plan had promise. Plus, Martin wasn’t a punch-puller. He’d flat out tell her if she was nuts.

Thankfully he didn’t say that, though his hum when she finished sounded like he needed more convincing.

“I don’t know about this,” he said. “I see some unpredictables in your plan. And your dad won’t like you offering yourself as a target.”

“But I’m only offering me. One thing I’ve concluded about our perp is that he or she has good aim. If we’re correct about motivation, every hit was deliberate. Even winging Luke at the premiere could be interpreted as a slap on the wrist. You know: stop dating this other woman who’s not your destiny. If Luke announces he’s marrying me, we focus all that anger on one point. I know it’s a stretch that he’d choose me, but I think we can sell it.”

“Oh, a giant stretch,” Szymanski scoffed with an amused eye roll. “So giant nobody in this house has noticed you kids can’t keep your hands off each other.”

His sarcasm took her aback. “We haven’t been that obvious.”

Martin scratched his stubbled cheek. “You have a bit. Actually, I’d be concerned if the team hadn’t picked up on it. They’re supposed to be observant.”

“When you think about it, though,” Szymanski said, leaning forward on his forearms, “the existing gossip could be a reason to do what she suggests. Depending on how the subject is getting information, A.J. might already be on their radar as a potential threat. If we steer them to act at a time and place of our choosing, we could have a net ready.”

Martin’s hands played with his coffee cup. “On our turf.”

“On our turf,” Szymanski agreed.

“The bait situation would have to be open enough that the subject could gain access.”

“A party,” Szymanski said. “People always expect a few crashers to squeak through. Plus, given everything that’s happened, guests won’t take offense at metal detectors. We wouldn’t want to make it too easy for our perp to act out.”

Martin nodded. “Channing could drop hints he plans to make a big announcement.”

“The internet won’t be enough by itself. He’ll have to drop his hints on a broad platform, to be sure of catching the ear we want.” Szymanski drummed his fingers on the table. “We’ve got three days till Final Death’s pushed-back opening. Shouldn’t Luke be doing talk show rounds? That’d get the word out.”

The men were so engrossed in brainstorming they didn’t notice Luke had come in until he cleared his throat. A.J. herself wasn’t sure how much he’d overheard.

“Oh hey,” Szymanski said, craning around in his direction. “Did A.J. share her idea with you?”

“Not exactly,” Luke denied dryly. “But I figured you’d be talking it over here. My question for you is: how insensitive do you think people will believe I am? A girl died, and I’m supposed to throw a party?”

Szymanski was a naturally positive guy. He looked abashed for a moment but recovered. “Don’t people out here say the show must go on? Anyway, what if you spin it to look like a scaled-down party, out of respect for the loss?”

“I’ll look like a scaled-down douche!”

“But you could point out how people’s livelihoods depend on the success of the Final films.”

“That might justify me doing a talk show, not swilling down champagne.”

“Couldn’t you pretend to be a jerk?” Szymanski suggested hopefully. “You know, for the greater good? You are an actor.”

Luke frowned at him. A.J. saw he didn’t want to do it. People’s opinion of him mattered. She’d known that, but it struck her freshly now. To her surprise, it didn’t make her think less of him. Everyone had their foibles. If Luke cared about his public image, who was she to judge? He was an unusually decent person. Why shouldn’t he get credit?

Luke glanced at her. For some reason, his frown deepened. She knew her expression wasn’t disapproving.

“Maybe I could do it,” he said gruffly. “If you’re convinced it will help.”

“Great,” Szymanski praised like it was settled.

“No,” A.J. said, an idea springing to her mind in a single piece. “I know someone much more convincing at being a douche than Luke . . .”

*

The following day was Monday. A.J. drove on her own to Two Dudes shiny Century City offices. Though Luke had volunteered to ask Kevin Reyes for help, she’d declined. She’d have fewer scruples when it came to pressuring his partner to go along. Reyes agreeing was no sure thing. He’d been resenting Luke’s star-kissed existence for a long time.

The Buddha himself couldn’t have gotten over that overnight.

She had an appointment, but Reyes kept her waiting a quarter hour. She told herself that was nothing in LA, the national capital for childish power plays.

“Thanks for seeing me,” she said when he finally met her in reception.

“No problem,” he tossed off without apologizing. “You made it sound important.”

He led her to his office, which was a medley of green-edged glass, shiny metal, and stylish black leather. The view of downtown through the windows was breathtaking. She noted that—though Reyes was the company’s junior partner—his professional space wasn’t one inch smaller than Luke’s. She suspected the parity had been achieved without argument. Luke’s ego wasn’t fed by making Reyes feel inferior.

“You want coffee?” he offered. “I can buzz the girl to bring some.”

A.J. shook her head and sat in a sleek guest chair.

He perched on his glass desk’s front—wanting the height advantage, undoubtedly.

“This is my new best friend,” he said, lifting a fancy bottle of Voss Water. “Well, this and my candy stash. Had my first AA meeting yesterday. I think I’ve gained two pounds.”

“Don’t worry about the weight,” she said. “You probably don’t feel as good as you will later, but you look better already. Healthier. Your color’s closer to what it should be.”

In the past, he might have used her comment as an excuse to flirt. Today, he accepted it with a grunt. His gaze was sharp as he considered her. “You’re not here to congratulate me on my newly minted sobriety.”

She leaned back and crossed her legs. She was wearing plain black trousers, but Reyes watched the movement regardless. “How would you like a chance to redeem yourself with Luke?”

“He’s not suggesting I need one.”

A.J. smiled, unexpectedly pleased he understood Luke that well. “No, he’s not. I suspect all he wants is for you to get your shit together and not be miserable. You, on the other hand, might benefit from feeling you deserve his friendship.”

Reyes narrowed his eyes at her.

“Self respect is important to recovery,” she said sweetly.

“Not you,” he said.

She understood what he was asking. “My dad. Coming up on ten years now.”

Reyes nodded. “What exactly is it you want from me?”

A.J. laid out the plan for him.

Reyes listened, face guarded, thumbnail picking at his water bottle label while he thought. He shifted before he spoke. “Leading the show host in the right direction won’t be a problem. Half the questions in those interviews are precooked.”

“But?” she prompted.

He set the bottle by his hip. “Okay, I’ve been called obtuse a time or two, but even I know throwing a big party in light of all that’s happened is obnoxious. If I claim I pushed Luke to do it, because he ‘needs to celebrate the good things’ and ‘not let the bad guys win’ . . .” Reyes wagged his head. “I’m going to look like a huge jackass.”

“No matter what, someone’s going to look like one. I thought you might volunteer to fall on the sword. If not, I won’t argue. Sell the story as best you can. You don’t even have to hide the fact that it’s spin. The important thing is getting across Luke’s intention to make a big announcement. Find a way to hint that it’s an engagement and just leave open who the engagement’s to. Whether the perp thinks Luke and Christie are getting hitched or he and some rival, the news ought to draw our target there.”

Reyes pursed his mouth dubiously. “You really trust me to do this?”

“Yes.”

He stared at her before snorting. “You don’t trust me. You just vetted me six ways to Sunday. You’ve confirmed I can’t have been behind attacking Luke.”

A.J. smiled faintly.

“Oh fine,” he said. “I’ll do it. And fall on the damn sword too. I admit my jackassery is more credible than his.” His brows lifted humorously. “I suppose this means I’m invited to the shindig.”

“Feel free to press your tux.” Because she remembered the stories about him and Luke’s maids, she tacked on an addendum. “If, however, you make one female at that party cry, I’ll personally handcuff you to a plumbing stack.”

Though Reyes had been enjoying their interaction, he seemed to understand she was serious.

“I stand warned,” he said without sarcasm.

CHAPTER TWELVE

LUKE, A.J., and the two men he’d come to think of as her inner circle watched Jimmy Kimmel Live in his personal sitting room. Kev was being interviewed—and not a minute too soon. Getting the slot on short notice had required finagling. Luke’s partner didn’t usually do the talk show rounds. How naturally Kevin bantered with the late night host impressed Luke. Maybe he wasn’t the only thespian at their firm.

“So there might be couch jumping at this party?” Kimmel prompted, referring to Tom Cruise’s infamous declaration of affection for Katie Holmes.

“There might be,” Kevin confirmed coyly. “There might even be a rock.”

“Any hints as to who’ll be dragging it around?”

Kevin flashed his teeth on cue. “That would be telling. And since my buddy Luke will strangle me if I blab, maybe now would be a good time to run that clip from Final Death.”

Somewhat to Luke’s annoyance, Martin switched off the TV before the footage rolled.

“Sorry,” Martin said, catching his muted huff. “I assumed you’d watched it already.”

“I have,” Luke admitted. “Just actor obsessiveness, I guess.”

Actually, he’d wanted A.J. to see it. She hadn’t said much about his films, though he was pretty sure she’d caught at least bits of them. He couldn’t help if he wanted her to like this one. Final Death was his best thus far, performance-wise.

For the moment, she was concentrating on business, her rangy frame semi-sprawled in a white and chrome Le Corbusier chair. “Reyes did a good job,” she observed. “The celebrity news venues are sure to re-air those bits. We just have to pray Luke’s people can pull this party out of thin air in time.”

“Rachel and Nettles promise me that’s on track. We’ll have champagne and a buffet for 200 by 5 p.m. tomorrow.”

Szymanski snorted in amusement. “Just a ‘small’ get together.”

“If there isn’t a crowd, the person we’re trying to lure might not have the nerve to sneak in.”

A.J. pushed to her feet like she had too much nervous energy. She pinned him with an adrenaline-brightened gaze. “You copied my men on the official guest list?”

“And your dad,” he assured. “Plus I emailed him the event staff.”

When she bit the side of her thumb, Martin reached from his chair to squeeze her elbow. “You’re not doing this by yourself. We’ll all make sure this comes off okay.”

“My dad’s sending extra guys,” she said with a hint of confession.

“Because this is a big operation,” Martin soothed. “If Parker didn’t think you could handle it, he wouldn’t let you move forward.”

“Maybe he thought I’d be angry if he refused.”

“A.J., your dad cares about your feelings but not enough to tiptoe around you to that extent. For that matter, I don’t care enough about them for that.”

Unoffended by this declaration, A.J. pressed her lips together and nodded. Still sitting, Martin smiled up at her. “You know your dad’s mantra: Plan the plan, cover every angle you can—”

“—then trust your team to do what you’ve asked.” She nodded again and straightened her shoulders. “If I stick to that, I won’t feel overwhelmed.”

“Exactly.” Martin gave her hands a squeeze. “Don’t forget, when it comes to the actual party, you’ll have the same job you did before: protecting Hoyt-Sands’ client. You know you’ll do what’s needed to keep Luke safe. And you know you can trust us to do the same for you.”

The reminder she’d be in danger caused Luke’s heart to wobble. Should they really do this? A.J. was tough but not indestructible. Was it worth risking her life on the chance this could be over?

She must have sensed him tensing because her gaze slid to him.

“I’m okay,” she said. “As long as you’re comfortable with the plan, so am I.”

The sight of Martin holding A.J.’s hands had sidetracked Luke from realizing he’d been let into the inner circle—not only by her but also her colleagues. It couldn’t be SOP to let clients see this sort of self-questioning. Luke suspected he shouldn’t make a big deal of it.

“I say we stay on track,” he voted.

“Great,” Martin said. He rose from his chair and stretched.

Szymanski followed his example more noisily.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said once he’d dropped his arms. “Don’t stay up too late, you two. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

A.J. blinked and Martin did a small double take. Szymanski was assuming A.J. was sleeping here tonight—no sneaking around required.

Luke knew there was a reason he liked the man.

*

In spite of her intent to focus on what she could control, so many thoughts racketed through A.J.’s brain she felt like she had a pinball parlor in her skull. Once Szymanski and Martin left, she and Luke moved to his bedroom. Unable to relax, she gave in to impulse and strode back toward the door.

“I’m going out for a minute. I want to double-check a setting on the hall cameras.”

Luke caught her by the shoulders before she could. “Sit or I’ll sic Sven on you.”

“What?”

“Sit,” he repeated. He pushed her gently but firmly to the side of his bed. Lowering himself beside her, he bumped her knee with his. He was in pajamas, but A.J. hadn’t undressed yet. She wasn’t ready to be off duty. Luke patted her on the leg. “Your men have the cameras under control. I saw Szymanski and another guy checking them earlier. I want to talk to you about something before tomorrow.”

His tone suggested the topic was difficult.

“That doesn’t sound good,” she said.

“It’s not bad. Just . . . complicated.” Luke ran his hands through his hair in that way he had: the one that made her want to run her fingers through it too.

Pushing that aside for the moment, she gave him her full attention. “Do you want to call off tomorrow? It’s not too late.”

“No, I—” He turned on the bed to face her more directly. “Look, I probably should have brought this up before. I was hoping you’d remember it yourself.”

Her mind raced in a new direction. He wasn’t talking about their night together after the bar fight. They’d discussed that already, along with why she’d ignored his calls. He was over that, she thought. Just ask, she told herself, impatient with her own foot-dragging. If this were bad news, she’d deal with it. “What were you hoping I’d remember?”

“I have to start at the beginning. It’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She’d said this a little curtly, but his smile of answer was beautiful. “No, you’re not. Grumpy or not, you’re hanging right in with me.”

Claiming she wasn’t grumpy would have delayed him more. Doubtless, she was a bit. She lifted her eyebrows to tell him to go on.

“Okay,” he said, delivering the word on a sigh. “As you know, I grew up in rural Minnesota, in a small town in farm country. The community had maybe 2,000 people, and everybody knew everybody—or thought they did. We kids were raised what they call ‘free range’ today. Walked to school by ourselves. Wandered the woods. Got ourselves to and from baseball games.”

“Ate apple pie?” she suggested because he’d paused.

“You betcha,” he confirmed humorously. “Anyway, I was a pretty normal kid. Not the most popular or the least. Not the best at sports or the worst. I got into trouble now and then, but I wasn’t a problem child. I was happy, I think, looking back. My biggest worry was whether the fight I’d heard my parents have the night before would mean they’d get divorced. Other than that, I was oblivious to most things besides myself.”

“Obviously something happened to change that.”

He took her hands and rubbed them with his thumbs. “This might sound arrogant, but the thing that stood out about me was my looks. I was eleven. Not tall, but I had the white-blond hair most kids grow out of by then. Light eyes. Straight teeth. All the stuff old-school cereal boxes were made of. I was the perfect American boy, or some people’s idea of that.

“There was one family—the Danielson’s—around whom a whiff of old scandal swirled. They had money, which automatically made them exotic, and their history in the area went way back. Once upon a time, they farmed the whole township. Lennart Danielson was a retired judge, and he still got deference for it. The story was his wife ran away with another man soon after giving birth to their daughter, Vivianne. As it turned out, the truth was stranger, but we didn’t know that then.

“The judge’s daughter, Vivi, was an odd duck. She was in her thirties. Never left home, never married, rarely spoke to anyone except in the course of her volunteer work at the library. Once a week, she’d read books to the little kids. Some liked her. Others burst into tears if their parents prodded them to sit. Vivi had a strange vibe—too intense—and I guessed some kids picked up on it.” Luke shook his head in memory. “Story Time got awkward now and then.”

Luke’s hold on A.J.’s hands had tensed. She turned hers beneath them. “What did Vivi Danielson have to do with you?”

“Not much to begin with.”

A.J. couldn’t read Luke’s eyes. They were locked on an internal distance. He shook himself and went on. “By the time she started her volunteer work, I was too old to be read to. She had another odd habit, though. When the weather turned cold, which it does in Minnesota, she’d drive around in her dad’s Cadillac and force mittens on any young person whose hands were bare.”

He’d startled her into laughing. “She forced mittens on people?”

“She’d slow the car to a crawl and trail whoever it was until they accepted her offering. Once they gave in, she’d drive off. Apparently, she bought them in bulk through a catalog.”

“That is strange.”

“Yeah.” Luke breathed out a slow sigh. “Kids being kids, some of the older ones made a game of teasing her. They’d take the mittens and throw them away. See how many pairs they could trick her into giving them. Stupid stuff like that.”

“Is that what you did?” A.J. asked curiously.

Luke shook his head. “My parents were strict about treating people with respect. They’d have tarred my bottom if news I’d mocked her got back to them. They said Miss Danielson just wanted to connect to people and didn’t know a better way. I wasn’t a brat, but I wasn’t a saint either. I tried to avoid her. If I couldn’t, I was polite and got away as fast as I could. It didn’t seem to me she paid me more attention than she did other kids.”

He blinked and was silent for a heartbeat. A.J. squeezed his hands in encouragement.

“On April 9, 2001,” he said, “a Monday, on my walk home from school, I spotted Vivi Danielson pulled into the weeds on the verge of the cracked two-lane. She had a different vehicle from her father’s Caddy. The hood was up like she had car trouble. I remember groaning in my head when she waved her arms at me, but I knew something about engines from working on tractors with my dad. I also knew hardly anyone drove that road. If I didn’t stop to help, she might be stuck for hours.”

“So you listened to your conscience.”

“I listened to my conscience.”

What happened next couldn’t possibly be good. A.J. pulled one of his hands to her mouth to kiss. She kept the gesture brief. Though the backs of her eyes were burning, she didn’t want to make this harder on him by showing too much sympathy. “What did she do to you?”

“Knocked me out with chloroform when I leaned underneath the hood. I played sports, but I wasn’t a big kid. She had no trouble lifting me into the trunk of the rental car, where she bound me up in duct tape. She’d been planning the abduction for a while. Packed her bags. Stole a pile of cash from her dad’s wall safe. Used a false name to sign for things. When she drove out of town, she erased me from existence for the next five months.”

A.J.’s former cop mind boggled. “People didn’t notice you and she went missing at the same time?”

“Nope. Everyone assumed a passing stranger had taken me. Minnesotans, especially in small towns, tend to assume their neighbors don’t commit heinous crimes. Also, Vivianne wasn’t reported as being gone.”

“But . . . she lived with her dad. He’d have noticed she wasn’t there.”

“She told Lennart she was visiting a friend from boarding school. Mind you, she didn’t stay in touch with the girls she knew there, but people convince themselves of what’s comfortable. Eventually, after getting nowhere, the investigators realized the local Mitten Lady might be a person of interest. They spoke to her father, who—as luck would have it—had been the magistrate on a number of their cases. They’d have known him anyway. The town was named after his family. When he acted like everything was hunky dory, the cops took him at his word.”

In Luke’s shoes, A.J. would have said this with more anger. She was outraged just hearing it. “So, basically, no one who might have found you was looking in the right direction.”

Luke gathered up her hands and kissed them like she had his. A tear spilled from the corner of his left eye, rolling slow and gleaming in the glow of his bedside lamp.

“No one but you,” he said huskily.

If the tear hadn’t stunned her, this would have. “Me?”

“Vivi hid me in New York, in the basement of a brownstone.”

Her jaw fell, her body rocking back slightly. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was.

“It’s true,” he said. “Vivianne had the crazy idea I was the perfect son she should have had. She was going to find some fair-haired man to marry or else pretend she’d been hitched to one and he’d died. Either way, people would like her then. She’d fit in with normal folks. Logic didn’t come into it. That’s just how her mind worked. She wanted me to play along, but I couldn’t. At first, it was stubbornness. I defied her, because I couldn’t admit the Mitten Lady had gotten the best of me. Unfortunately, by the time I was desperate enough to try lying, I’d lost my chance to make her believe me.”

A.J. swallowed, her voice coming out raspy. “How did she make you desperate?”

“She drugged my food and shut me in a heavy cabinet in the cellar. I’d try not to eat, but I could only hold out so long against hunger. I can’t tell you how I hated that weakness in myself.”

“That wasn’t weakness.” A.J. clasped his face to help her words sink in. How anyone could want to hurt him was beyond her. “That was you surviving.”

The expression in Luke’s eyes was soft. “I know that now. My shrink and I worked on it long enough.”

A.J. let her hands relax, stroking his cheek instead.

Luke turned to kiss her palm. “One of the worst things my abductor did was claim the world had abandoned me. No one would come to save me. Even if my family had cared once, she said they’d given up on looking. I began to believe her, until one day, when she’d trusted me to walk around for a few minutes, someone crouched down by the window of that forgotten cellar and saw me.”

“Me,” A.J. murmured, barely able to credit it.

“You,” he agreed. “Even shut in the wardrobe, I heard each time you crept down the alley to check if I was there again. I prayed you wouldn’t give up, that I’d get a chance to speak to you and get a message to someone. The morning I saw that key glinting in the dust on the windowsill, I could hardly believe it. I knew somehow, some way, you’d stolen it for me.

“It was the key that opened the door at the top of the basement steps. If I could trick Vivianne into thinking I was drugged and compliant, she might leave me out of the cabinet for a bit. Then, with the key, I could gain access to the ground floor. As long as she didn’t see me, I’d be able to escape. I just needed enough time to accomplish it.”

“I take it that’s what happened.”

“9-11 is what happened. I can’t imagine what went through Vivianne’s mind when the towers came down. Rational New Yorkers were shocked enough. All I knew was she wasn’t in the house. I didn’t let myself wonder what was going on. The end of the world wouldn’t have seemed strange to me.

“By the time I got free, I was only strong enough to stumble, but the general exodus from the city gave me the cover I needed to get away. I ended up in a Laundromat I don’t even know where. A crowd of people was inside, watching their TV. Every cop who could get downtown was, but someone called social services for me. My memory of the next couple days is muddled. I was in a hospital for a while before my parents sprang me. That was a good day. I knew I’d really escaped then.”

“I imagine it was a good day for your parents too.”

“Yes,” he said and smiled sweetly.

Their hands lay together on his knees, fingers wound together. Hers were sweating, her emotions running riot. If she released her hold on him, she felt as if her mind would stop functioning. His story was incredible, and yet she knew he couldn’t be pranking her. She’d only ever told her dad she’d seen Luke in that cellar and never about the key. Only she knew that. Only she and Luke.

She cleared her throat. “What happened to your abductor?”

“The FBI apprehended her a week later. I guess she couldn’t stand the strain of being captured and had a mental break. She was declared unfit to stand trial. She’s been in a psychiatric facility ever since.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“Positive. My dad checks in with them every month. And the nurses know to call him if her condition changes. She hasn’t gotten out. She hasn’t even been responsive. We found out mental illness ran in her family. Her mother didn’t run away with another man. She was institutionalized as well. Schizophrenia, too severe to function on the outside. After a couple years, she committed suicide. Lennart Danielson thought his daughter was better off not knowing.” Luke squeezed A.J.’s hands. “I know you’d have preferred I told you before now but, trust me, Vivi Danielson can’t be orchestrating these attacks.”

Even if she accepted that, A.J. couldn’t let it drop.

“I have to tell my dad,” she warned. “He’ll want to run the details down. Something about that old situation might be connected to today.”

Luke’s breath caught, but he seemed to think better of protesting. “I guess I can live with that.”

A.J. stared at the marvel that was his face. The trauma wasn’t written there. His green eyes were no sadder than anyone’s who’d lived a bit. The lines at their corners seemed to be from smiling and the bright California sun. His lovely mouth was relaxed, his perfect brow unfurrowed.

No one would guess his looks had once cursed him.

“No one knows about this,” she said. “I’ve never seen it in any of your bios.”

The implication that she’d read them caused one side of his mouth to twitch. “Daniels, Minnesota is a small town. After I got home, people were protective. They kept what happened out of the papers.”

“And you never shared the story? Even though it’s a doozy?”

He laughed wryly. “Yes, I understand it would make amazing talk show fodder, but I want to be known for what I’ve accomplished, not for what was done to me as a kid.”

Guilt stung her as she realized something else. “You remembered me. You recognized me that day in the bar even though I was years older.”

Though she was aghast at her blindness, he drew his index finger playfully down her nose. “I recognized these whiskey eyes. I couldn’t remember from where until after you’d given me the bum’s rush. Even then, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure you were my angel.”

“Is that how you think of me?”

He wagged his brows, amused by her apparent horror. “You’ve saved my life twice now. The idea of you being heaven-sent isn’t inconceivable.”

“But the way I treated you! I was horrible!”

“That’s not how I remember it. You defended a total stranger, at some risk to yourself. You took me to the ER, then into your home, where—as I recall—you fed me, gave me a place to sleep, and made sure I didn’t slip into a coma. Then, if that weren’t enough to earn my gratitude, you did me the favor of inviting me to your bed. Believe me, I have fond memories of that.”

“But you said it yourself: I bum-rushed you the next morning. Then when you called, I totally blew you off.”

“You only did what thousands do every day when, for whatever reason, they’re not ready to be in a relationship.”

“I should have given you a chance. I shouldn’t have hurt your feelings!”

“I understand why you did. It wasn’t the right time for you. For all we know, neither of us was ready then.”

He seemed to be suggesting that wasn’t true anymore. Was he right? In spite of having wished no more than seconds ago that she could be more like him, her chest tightened nervously. Uncomfortable, she had to drop her eyes. “This is a some crazy coincidence. No wonder you think we’re—” She clapped her mouth shut, not ready to go there.

He guessed what she’d been reluctant to utter. “That we’re meant to be?” He laughed softly. “I’m realizing it’s not that simple. Not with you, anyway.”

That hurt her illogically. “Oh thanks,” she said without thinking.

He caught her chin and smiled right into her soul. “I love you, Alexandra. I don’t know if you’re ready to believe it, but I need you to hear the words.”

Oh boy, she thought, her heart instantly racketing inside her ribcage. She didn’t know what she was feeling. Elation? Panic? Both simultaneously? Because she was her, her next words came out surly.

“I’m not going to die tomorrow. Maybe look like an idiot but not that.”

He laughed, his hands chafing her shoulders. “I need you to hear the words because I feel them so deeply.”

Crap, she thought, aware that she was about to cry. She fought succumbing as best she could. “I like you a lot. You snuck underneath my walls.”

“I know,” he said, clearly entertained by her grudging tone.

She wasn’t saying enough. As brave as he was, he deserved the same from her. “Maybe I more than like you. I’ve never been in love before, so—”

He laid two fingers across her lips. “Don’t push yourself to say it if you’re not comfortable. I’ll take you liking me a lot for now.”

Oh he’d take it for now, would he?

“I’m teasing,” he said, easily reading her reaction. “I promise I won’t take your feelings for granted.”

Just like that, her annoyance drained away—even though she knew he was managing her. Possibly she needed managing where he was concerned. She shook her head in wonder. “How can you be so open and forgiving after what you went through?”

“That’s how I win. Every day I choose who to be . . . or try to. As much as possible, I want to trust people. I want to be happy and not haunted. I want to enjoy my life. That’s my victory over her.” He tugged coaxingly at her hands. “Come on. I’m exhausted. Let’s you and I get some rest.”

“I need to call my father first. You go ahead and lie down. I’ll be in the sitting room.”

He pulled a face, but he didn’t argue.

She didn’t realize she was nervous to explain all this to her dad until she was in the next room alone. She wanted to prepare what she was going to say, wanted to somehow separate having slept with a client from the information her father needed to do his job.

Just tell him everything, she thought. Don’t edit. He knows you’re not perfect. If you have to take your medicine, you will.

She made the call standing up, one hand clamped on the back of a retro chair.

“Hoyt,” came his sleep-blurred voice.

Shit, she thought. “Sorry. I forgot about the time difference. It’s A.J.”

“A.J.” He cleared his throat. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Yes.” Was she? “Sort of. Fuck.”

Her dad laughed softly. She heard a rustle like he was sitting up in bed. “Okay, you’ve got my attention now. Is this business or personal?”

“Both?” Her voice went up at the end.

“O-kay,” he said more slowly.

A.J. swallowed. “Dad, I slept with Luke.”

There was a little pause. “Ah,” he said as if he weren’t sure how he should respond. “Okay, well, it happened before, so we knew there was a chance it would again.”

“That’s not all, or not the important thing.”

“I’m already sitting down, so I won’t ask if I should. Am I going to be a grandparent?”

“What? No! Dad.”

“That is not an unreasonable question,” he reproached.

A.J. tried to get her brain back on track. “Luke told me something about his past, because we’ve . . . gotten close. He thinks it doesn’t have to do with the case, but I think I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“What did he tell you?”

“It’s kind of weird.”

“Sweetie, please spit it out.”

“Do you remember when I was twelve, and I thought there was a boy locked in the cellar of the creepy brownstone down the block from us?”

“Vaguely.”

“Okay, I don’t want you to feel bad for doubting me, because I know how wild my imagination was back then, but it turns out there was a boy and it was Luke. He was locked in that cellar.”

“A.J., that’s too crazy to believe.”

“I told you it was weird, but he can’t be pranking me, and why would he anyway? He knew about the key I shoved in to him. That’s how he got away. On 9-11, when the towers came down. I didn’t tell anyone about that. Not you. Not Nigella. No one.”

Her voice had risen again with stress. She was more rattled than she’d realized.

“All right,” her dad said, infusing the words with calm. “Start at the beginning. Lay it out for me logically.”

She did what he asked as well as she was able, telling him everything she’d done and everything Luke said. Her dad must have had his laptop nearby because she heard him typing as she spoke—taking notes, she presumed.

“I’m going to check this out,” he said when she finished. “See what I can confirm.”

A sureness she didn’t expect settled over her. “I know Luke didn’t lie to me, Dad. I don’t know what all this means, but no matter how crazy his story sounds, I know he told the truth.”

He told the truth about loving her as well.

She had sufficient control of her mouth not to share that with her dad—or that Luke loving her seemed more earthshaking than the rest. She needed to think about that, to turn it over in her head and consider it from all sides.

You just want to think about it, she taunted.

By the time she returned to the bedroom, the lights were out. Luke was on his side underneath the zillion thread-count sheets. She undressed and slipped in behind him, wrapping her arm around him without prompting.

Since she was being honest, she admitted snuggling with him wasn’t really that difficult. His skin was warm, his muscles smooth and relaxed. Telling her about his past had eased something inside him. When she kissed his nape, he made a soft pleasured sound.

“I thought you were a vampire,” she confided.

“Excuse me?”

“When I spotted you in the cellar. You were skinny and pale, and I decided you were a boy vampire. I figured someone trapped you there to steal the secrets of eternal youth.”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “I’m lucky you didn’t push a blood bag in that window.”

“Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind. I had some notions involving bendy straws.”

“So, once upon a time, you weren’t this hard-nosed and practical.”

“Back then, every light in the sky was an alien ship to me. It’s no wonder my dad didn’t believe I’d seen anything.” She winced at the thought of what Luke had been enduring. “I should have tried harder.”

“You tried hard enough. What you did enabled me to get free.”

She was silent for a moment. “It’s just so odd. The way our paths keep crossing.”

“Probably you should stick with me, so even odder things don’t happen.”

She recognized his tongue-in-cheek tone by now. He was teasing her and being serious simultaneously. She rubbed her face on his muscular shoulder, pressing her lips to it gently. Luke hugged her arm closer.

“’Night,” he murmured.

“’Night,” she answered back.

She wanted to tell him to have sweet dreams, but that seemed too much like mothering. The impulse took an effort to resist. She knew the origin of his nightmares now.

Would having sex be the right thing to do? Luke was relaxed, maybe drained from telling her his story. She was ready to sleep herself. He smelled good, and she liked the feel of his heart beating next to hers. She attempted to soak those sensations in, to not picture the boy he’d been shut up in a wardrobe. Where would he be now if she hadn’t been so weird and imaginative as a girl? What if he’d never found the key she pushed in? What if the timing had been different?

Despite how soothing it was to lie beside him, her what-ifs kept her up a while.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE day of Luke’s party dawned clear and warm. A.J. led her team through light PT to get the blood flowing to their brains then assembled them in the big ops room. She wasn’t always conscious of being the only woman in a group of men, but this morning the atmosphere of sweat and testosterone didn’t allow her to forget.

She was glad her father’s methods instilled good discipline, and gladder still that these hard men respected her. She wouldn’t have wanted to have to bully them into following her.

“So that’s the situation,” she said, appreciating their calm attention. “Our security should exclude casual crashers but not the determined sort. Our perp is a pre-planner and resourceful. I think we can count on him or her not being able to resist finding a way into this event.”

“And if we spot a crasher?” Burgess asked.

“We tag and keep watch on them as manpower allows. Tech is set up to track any devices we plant on folks. Mind you, we don’t know our target will be a crasher. They could be invited guests or staff. Every eye we can spare will watch the crowd during Luke’s announcement, which we anticipate will trigger a reaction. The kind of rage we’re looking for isn’t ordinary. The perp won’t be able to conceal it. It will betray itself in their face and body involuntarily. Some of you already know what to look for. For those who don’t, Martin’s giving a refresher course in micro-expressions and dangerous demeanor. Our goal is to identify a few likely targets and see if they try to act. Ideally, we nip their plan in the bud and turn them over to the authorities.”

“Szymanski mentioned the LAPD is loaning us a chopper and pilot?”

Given Detective Turner’s low opinion of A.J., Szymanski had liaised on this request. Though the detective had agreed, Turner warned that Luke—and not local taxpayers—would be expected to foot the bill for the bird.

“That’s correct,” A.J. said. “Because our target is known to either use a rifle or employ a shooter, controlling our air space is desirable. We’ve also been assigned a squad car with two officers to sit outside the gate during the event. Ultimately, however, this operation is on us.”

“Unless it comes to taking credit,” one of the younger team members said sourly.

“We don’t need credit,” A.J. said. “We know our worth amongst ourselves.”

The young man grimaced but accepted this.

“Okay then,” A.J. continued, not making a big deal of it. “During the actual party, Martin will have operational control. I’ll be guarding Mr. Channing and doing what I can to sell our drama. Despite the extra men we’ve been given, this will be a big crowd and we need to stay alert. Double-check your equipment. If anything needs fixing or replacing, don’t wait till the last minute. Everybody’s head in the game?”

This was the question her father always asked his teams, his version of Be careful out there, guys.

“Yes, ma’am!” the group chorused.

She laughed, suspecting Martin or Szymanski had put them up to it. “All right. I’ll let Martin take the floor now.”

*

Luke had wondered if sharing his story would change the way A.J. looked at him. From what he could tell, it hadn’t. She’d woken before the alarm went off. She’d slipped silently out of bed, dressed, and—when she saw he’d opened his eyes—whispered something about leading her team on a quick run around the grounds. Then, as if belatedly remembering it was expected, she’d dropped a kiss to his cheek and dashed.

Not quite business as usual but not so different either.

He reassured himself at least she hadn’t snuck out at 2 a.m. And she’d kissed him goodbye voluntarily. That wasn’t totally removed from what other girlfriends did.

When he recalled her holding him through the night, he smiled. For someone who wasn’t a snuggler, that was significant.

Though Luke was an early riser, the idea of taking PT with her detail didn’t appeal to him. They were too likely to be all business. He preferred meeting his trainer in a gym, with shiny machines and friendly people to talk to. This train of thought reminded him he had shiny machines here, gathering dust in his workout room.

With his phone for company, he wandered there post-breakfast for a few miles on the treadmill.

In addition to the rest of the craziness going on, he had an actual movie opening to devote a corner of his brain to. The VP he usually dealt with at Galaxy informed him results were trickling in from East Coast Thursday matinees. They were in line with expectations but not mind-blowing. Box office on Friday evening, once people got off work, would be more predictive. The Final series was popular with men and women. Final Death should be a good date movie. Or so they hoped. After some discussion, he and the VP decided to up the ad spend for the weekend push on social media. Final Death wasn’t trending yet. They needed to make sure that happened soon.

Call over, Luke removed his headset. He’d just taken a swig of water when Christie James burst in.

She blinked at the sight of him in only his workout shorts but quickly recovered.

“I’ve had it with your lack of consideration!” she declared. “You don’t own the world, Channing!”

Luke hoped his face didn’t show how not in the mood for this he was. Being a producer required diplomacy. Resigned to giving her his attention, he slowed the treadmill to a crawl.

“Of course I don’t,” he agreed. “Why do you think I’m acting like I do?”

Christie put her hands on her hips. “José B won’t meet me at my place, and Annabeth says you’ve booked her too. For the entire day.”

José and Annabeth were, respectively, Hollywood’s current number one wardrobe consultant and hair-and-makeup artiste. No aspiring A-lister would want to use anyone else—certainly not an insecure aspirer like Christie.

“I thought that would be convenient,” he explained. “I didn’t give you or Naomi much advance notice for this party.”

Christie’s pout eased back a degree. “You asked them here for us?”

“Well, I don’t need them. My tux is hanging in the closet. I’m sorry if I presumed. It didn’t occur to me you’d want to get ready somewhere else.”

This was an outright lie. It absolutely had occurred to him she might want to flee the scene of her recent breakup, especially once she realized Naomi was unlikely to forgive her. A.J. had asked Luke to discourage the actress’s departure. For as long as possible, they wanted to maintain the fiction that the hinted-at engagement could be between him and her. If Christie stormed out, the paparazzi were sure to record it and speculate.

No one wanted their volatile perp catching wind of this threat to his or her ambitions. A.J.’s plan depended on identifying and stopping the person before they could take action. If their outrage was sparked too soon or occurred where they couldn’t watch it, that strategy would fall apart.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to prepare here?” Luke cajoled. “This is Final Death’s opening night party. No matter what our differences, I’m sure you want to present yourself at your best for the sake of the franchise.”

He must have laid it on too thick. Christie slitted her eyes suspiciously.

“Tell you what,” he said, scrambling to head off her resistance, “whatever outfit you choose is on me.”

These, it turned out, were magic words. His costar smiled like an angel in anticipation of her revenge on his bank account.

*

True to Luke’s golden luck, the beautiful weather held for his party. The sky above his house stayed clear while a breeze as warm as velvet gently ruffled people’s hair.

A.J.’s hair was too disciplined to ruffle. She’d been afraid Luke would want her gussied up like a starlet. Instead, the little black dress she wore—which Luke had found for her somewhere—was a virtual twin for the one the Listie shipper’s knife had ruined. Short but stretchy enough to run in, he’d left it on her bed, along with a beautiful thigh holster for her Beretta. She’d have kissed him if he’d been there when she opened up that box. You could barely see the holster’s straps under her close-fitting dress. Better yet, drawing the gun was easy. Not ladylike, perhaps, but quick.

When A.J. needed to look like a fiancée, she wouldn’t have to do so unarmed.

For the moment, she was playing bodyguard. She and Luke stood together on a long balcony overlooking the back grounds. Down on the terrace, a crowd of celebrities and studio types thickened by the second. A.J.’s earpiece was in, its white corkscrew wire deliberately conspicuous. Others on the team wore better concealed equipment.

They were disguised as guests.

To A.J.’s eyes, the party was already hopping. A ballroom floor had been constructed over the empty pool. Beneath the adjoining acoustic shell, a small live band played music. The twinkly lights that set off the party space were a far cry from K-mart fare. Shaped on elaborate frames, they resembled props from the Final films: a twin-engine Cessna Luke had flown to escape bad guys; a rope bridge on which he’d crossed a deep ravine. The restaurant table behind a window stumped her temporarily. Then she remembered.

Christie’s character in the movies was a waitress.

“That’s where you two met in Final Takedown,” she said aloud. “When Christie helped you get away from gangsters by dumping stew on them.”

Luke glanced at her and smiled. “I guess you have seen my movies.”

“Of course I have. They’re entertaining. And the fight scenes are creative.”

“I do those myself, you know. No stand-ins.”

“Really. Your choreographer must be great.”

He grinned, aware she was razzing him by pretending to deny him credit. “Our fight coordinators are a married couple. Together ten blissful years.”

“Hm,” she responded, not sure she wanted to spar with him about that.

She returned her gaze to the crowd below, grateful for an excuse to evade the topic and her sweeping line of sight. Maybe half the men were in tuxes. Some were waiters but most were guests. The uniform for the remaining males seemed to be a nice business suit. The getup for female guests was colorful and skimpy. Hem lengths varied, but gleaming backs and shoulders abounded. Cleavage too.

A.J. guessed that never went out of style.

She spotted Kevin Reyes with Luke’s agent, Jerry Talon. When Reyes noticed her staring, he saluted her with his little bottle of Perrier. He wasn’t smiling, but the worst she’d call his mood was neutral. She nodded back; he’d earned that much from her.

“All calm in Zone 2,” one of her team reported through their network. They’d divided the party into sections, with Martin patrolling between them.

“Nothing so far around Olympus,” A.J. murmured. Olympus was their code for Luke and not a location.

Where are you? she thought, scanning the crowd again. Which one of you is a murderous maniac?

Could it be the studio flunky whose boss kept berating her? The shifty looking server who was . . . simply searching the pavers for a missing hairpin from his man bun? Christie James was at the center of an animated group, champagne flute in hand, flirtatiously seductive in a Marilyn-esque white dress. She sparkled brightly when anyone talked to her, especially the men. When they weren’t paying attention, she shot dark glances toward Naomi.

Christie’s ex- was on the dance floor with the vaguely recognizable alumnus of a recent Bachelor show. He must not have found true love, because he and Naomi were going at it like cobras. The model’s sexy, body-rubbing moves were giving the handsome reality star a sizable erection, a development some of their audience seemed to find amusing.

Seeing where A.J.’s gaze had gone, Luke chuckled. “Naomi’s in fine form tonight.”

“I guess she’s not worried about setting Christie off.” Or she secretly wanted to. A.J. didn’t pretend to understand most people’s reaction to breakups.

“Do you still suspect Christie?” Luke asked, surprising her.

“I do until I don’t,” she said, “but not so much any more.”

Luke touched her bare elbow, the small caress zinging powerfully through her nerves. Her fingertips started tingling, followed in short order by her pussy. The reaction made her sorry they hadn’t made love last night. Her body was decidedly interested now. She resisted her urge to tell Luke not to distract her. He’d just gloat at discovering he could.

“You ready to go down?” he asked. “I ought to mingle.”

“Sure. I know you’ve got regular business to see to.”

“Stop me any time,” he said as they descended the broad stairway. “Your business trumps mine tonight.”

Rachel Fischer’s buffet was set up under a canopy. Hardly anyone was eating the amazing food, but that was LA for you. Luke piled a small plate with finger food.

“Quick,” he said. “No one’s watching.”

She didn’t understand what he meant until he fed her a canapé. She wasn’t sure what was in the pastry shell. Walnuts maybe, and Roquefort cheese. Whatever it was, it was delicious.

He laughed at her expression and handed her a napkin. She realized he was happy, in spite of everything. He really had won the battle with his past—more than she had perhaps.

“Hey, Channing,” said a familiar voice behind them. “Thanks for inviting me.”

It was Sven, the allegedly ham-handed masseur. He looked good in his tuxedo, which must have been custom tailored to fit his big muscles. His unnaturally yellow hair was slicked back in a ponytail.

“No problem,” Luke answered politely. “I’m glad you could come. I wanted to make up for my, um, ill-considered wisecracks during my last massage.”

“You were fine,” Sven assured him. “All some celebrities do is grunt.”

“Well, enjoy yourself,” Luke said. “And please don’t miss out on the buffet.”

Sven seemed to understand this was his cue not to linger. He gave Luke a man-nod and stepped past them. A.J. noticed he treated her like she was invisible. Given his high-powered clientele, he was probably used to ignoring bodyguards.

“Okay,” Luke said. “Now that I have sustenance, I’m going to make nice with a few studio guys.”

He forged a path through the partygoers, smiling and slapping arms. A.J. watched faces but didn’t spy danger signs. Halfway across the patio toward the dance floor, her earpiece came alive.

“Sorry to break in, boss,” one of the tech’s voices said. “I’ve got an urgent call for you from your dad. He says it won’t keep.”

“Patch it through,” she said.

Luke stopped walking to look at her.

“Call from my dad,” she explained.

“Let’s grab some quiet.” He steered her toward the edge of the crowd, his palm making brief contact with the small of her back. Considering the show they planned to put on later, she supposed she couldn’t object to the PDA.

“You there, A.J.?” her dad asked.

“I’m here.” They’d reached a place they could stop. A.J. turned to face Luke’s sprawling house, its red-roofed Spanish glamour illuminated by small spotlights. “What did you find out?”

“All right. Just listen and don’t react. The woman who abducted Luke when he was a kid? Vivianne Danielson? Her father is still alive. I tracked him from Daniels, Minnesota, where he no longer lives. Judge Danielson isn’t retired anymore. He works as a landscaper. In LA.”

Shit, A.J. thought, all her nerves abuzz. The image of Luke standing with an older man in a brown uniform rose vividly to mind. “Under his own name?”

“Under his own name. He’s runs a one-man firm: Danielson Greenspaces.”

They’d checked out all Luke’s employees, but if Danielson worked for Luke as an independent contractor . . . She worried the center of one eyebrow with her thumb. That line of reasoning didn’t track. Luke had to know who Danielson was. He’d warned the man to leave when A.J. spotted them together in his garden. Luke had purposefully left him off the list to vet.

Her father interrupted her racing thoughts. “I’m emailing you and everyone else a recent photo so you can keep an eye out. I don’t know for sure, but he could be our target. Viewed in a certain way, Luke ruined his daughter’s life. If Luke ever hired Danielson, he’ll know his way around the property.”

Luke had hired him all right, but tasking her team to find the judge right then might or might not be helpful. “Hold off on sending the photo. I need five minutes to talk to Luke.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ll get right back to you,” she promised.

Even before she looked at him, she had Luke’s full attention. “What did your father say?”

“Lennart Danielson,” she answered succinctly. “He works as your gardener.”

Guilt flashed through Luke’s expression, confirming her suspicions. “A.J., I—” He sighed and started again. “I know I should have told you, but I swear it’s not him. He never pretended to be anyone but himself. He only came to California to ask for my forgiveness.”

“He’s your abductor’s father.”

“I know.”

“He misled the investigators who were trying to find you.”

“I know,” Luke repeated. “That’s why he wanted absolution.”

A.J. didn’t budge her gaze from his. “Sometimes you’re too willing to trust people.”

“Not this time. Lennart had a health scare. He thought he was dying. We talked and . . . I didn’t expect it to happen, but I liked him. He’s a brilliant man, and he was lonely. The shame of what his daughter did—and the part he thought he played—isolated him. He had no one to talk to about it. Neither did I, apart from my parents. I’m the one who encouraged him to start his gardening firm out here, so he wouldn’t spend the time he had left obsessing over decisions he couldn’t change. When he went into remission, all I felt was glad. Realizing I didn’t hate him took an incredible weight off me.”

“You’re certain he didn’t pretend to have health problems? That this isn’t part of an elaborate scheme?”

“I’ve spoken to his doctors. They said his recovery was unexpected enough to border on miraculous. I’ve broken bread with him, Alexandra. I know you think I’m too trusting, but I’ve taken his measure. His daughter’s mental issues were genetic. He raised her the best he could. He’d never harm me or that teenager from the restaurant. I didn’t tell you who he was to spare him having the past dug up. He doesn’t deserve that, and your team shouldn’t waste their time.”

“You realize you’re a fricking saint,” she said.

“I’m not. He and I have been good for each other. He knows the real me, the one who doesn’t have to sell himself all the time. I confess I like being ‘Charming Channing,’ but not every minute I’m drawing breath.”

She touched his face, her thumb gently stroking the tense line beside his mouth. She knew she had to make a choice. “Okay, I’m going to put my faith in your judgment. We’ll proceed with tonight as planned. No splitting our focus by chasing down Lennart unless he pops up with a rifle.”

“He won’t,” Luke said. “I know this isn’t him. Also, he’d use a shovel.”

A.J. grimaced uncomfortably.

“Too soon?” he suggested.

“Maybe I’ll laugh tomorrow.” She tapped her earpiece and relayed her decision to her dad. He questioned her but not as much as she’d questioned Luke.

Apparently, everyone was better at trusting than she was.

Martin’s voice coming through her earpiece caused her to jump. “Look alive, troops. Luke’s got a full house, and the band’s going on its break.”

“We’re on,” A.J. relayed to her companion.

Luke pretended the front of his tuxedo needed resettling. “Showtime,” he said with every sign of looking forward to the next few minutes. He laughed at her expression. “Don’t be nervous. If there’s one acting job I can pull off, it’s convincing every person here that I’m in love with you.”

Too wired to attempt a quip, A.J. clenched her jaw.

He laughed again and strode toward the emptying bandshell.

“Dude!” greeted the drummer, high-fiving Luke as they passed on the platform stairs. He gave A.J. a look that said she wasn’t invisible, for which she could probably thank the LBD.

“Zones report when you’re in place,” Martin ordered through the network.

A.J. took up position slightly behind Luke and to one side. The bandshell’s lights blurred her view of the crowd. That made her nervous, though she knew Martin and the team had the scene covered. Her reduced vision was probably for the best. She and Luke had to concentrate on each other to sell their pre-planned drama.

You’re in love, she told herself. Luke is the man of your dreams, and you can’t believe how happy he’s made you.

She couldn’t believe something, for certain. A bead of sweat rolled down her back. Resplendent in his designer tux, Luke was in prime Charming Channing mode. With the ease of having performed the task many times, he pulled one of the mike stands taller. He tapped the head to make sure it was working.

“Hello, everyone! If you could gather around the dance floor, I have a small announcement.”

He waited for his guests to draw near before glancing back at her. A.J. nodded. The zones had reported in. Luke returned his gaze to the crowd and smiled. He didn’t have to shout for attention. His natural magnetism quieted everyone.

“Thank you,” he said. “As you know, the Final family has faced some challenges recently. I’m very thankful we’ve come through them stronger than some might have predicted. My friend, Naomi, is back on her beautiful high-heeled feet. My stalwart partner at Two Dudes is four days sober.” A smattering of applause broke out, which Reyes acknowledged by raising his Perrier. A.J. concluded he and Luke had cleared announcing this beforehand. In a town like this, maybe people knowing why you weren’t throwing back a martini was easier.

“Yes,” Luke went on, “let’s give them both a hand. I’m also happy to announce that, from what our friendly number crunchers at Galaxy can glean, Final Death is on track to exceed—at least somewhat—its box office projections.”

This was a Hollywood crowd, on top of which a lot of Final Death’s cast and crew were in attendance. The cheers for his last announcement were rowdy. Luke indulged the whistling for a moment and then lifted his hand for quiet.

“What I’d really like to share with you tonight is more personal. Sometimes even the most committed bachelor is shown a better way. Sometimes the woman who crosses his path is so amazing, so strong and loving and smart that trying not to fall for her is futile. I’ve been blessed—” His voice roughened convincingly as he said the word. “I’ve been blessed many times in my life, but never so deeply as when Alexandra Hoyt consented to be my wife.”

Understandably, since the majority of his listeners had no idea who she was, murmurs of confusion broke through the crowd. They swelled to murmurs of shock when he turned to indicate that Alexandra Hoyt was his bodyguard. Luke wasn’t deaf to their reaction. His smile was wry as he met her gaze. When she grinned back, to her surprise, her emotion felt genuine. She couldn’t miss the affection in his eyes—or the twinkle of delight. He enjoyed putting her on the spot like this.

“Come on,” he coaxed, his hand extended. “No need to stand behind me now.”

She took the hand he held out. His grip squeezed her palm, his hold warm and confident.

“Sucker,” he teased, his grin broadening.

She didn’t know what he meant until his other hand slid a ring onto her third finger.

Light caught the massive blue diamond, nearly blinding her as it flashed.

“Holy crap,” she said, startled into saying exactly what came to mind. Why hadn’t he warned her he planned to do this? “Luke! This ring is completely impractical. What if I have to draw my gun?”

Titters broke out in the crowd. Luke chuckled and pulled her to him, both arms snug behind her waist.

Conscious that the microphone was beside her, she tried to speak sotto voce as she pushed at his starched white shirt. “I’m serious. It’s a hazard. I could catch a car bumper on this rock.”

The laughter her complaint inspired warned her she hadn’t spoken quietly enough.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Luke announced teasingly. “I present my very responsible fiancée.”

He dipped her back for a suave Valentino kiss. Because they’d planned this part, A.J. was able to wrench herself back on script.

“Keep that up,” Martin instructed through her earpiece. “I need a clearer read on something.”

A.J. immediately wanted to turn her head and see. Hell, she thought, forcing herself not to. Instead, she twined her forearms behind Luke’s neck. If Martin wanted a better show, she’d damn well give him one.

Luke let out a low noise as her kiss changed from accepting to active. She experienced an extraordinary thought: that without his kisses, her life would lose her new favorite colors. No more laughing at herself. No more ridiculous romance. No more tender impulses. For that matter, no more wanting to forgive others like he did. Her life without him hadn’t been awful. With him, though, it was multilayered and rich.

Her feelings must have conveyed to him. His arms tightened on her back to plaster her front to his. Her breasts were flattened, her nipples as hard as her new diamond. His tongue took possession of her mouth. She squirmed with pleasure at his enthusiasm, perfectly happy to match it. The kiss turned fervent, neither of them able to control it. Movement nudged her pubis: Luke’s cock swelling with erection. He hardened fast, her being glued to him the only thing that kept everyone from seeing. Luke might not be shy, but A.J. doubted he meant to make so graphic a spectacle.

The thought that he couldn’t stop his body’s reaction excited her. Unable to squelch her own response, she clutched his back and shivered with arousal.

The comments that shot through the receiver in her ear were as intelligible as Urdu.

When Luke finally let her go and straightened, she knew she looked as dazed as him. To her dismay, her lashes couldn’t stop fluttering.

His cognitive processing recovered before hers. A catlike smile stretched across his face.

“Well,” he said for her ears only. “Maybe you do love me.”

Her lips parted in protest. He shouldn’t draw conclusions that might end up hurting him. She couldn’t say so, of course. Not with everyone watching.

Not when you know he’s right, something unruly inside her said.

She was already gasping in surprise when Martin dropped his bombshell.

“It’s Wilhelmina. Repeat: the masseuse is our target. She’s tall. Wearing black pants, black silk blouse, and upswept brown hair. She’s displaying major rage indicators. Zone 2: move in with caution but move now. Use minimum necessary force. We want to hand her over to the police unharmed.”

“Martin thinks it’s Wilhelmina,” A.J. repeated quietly to Luke.

Luke’s eyes went round. “No.”

His amazement made her doubt, but a second later she realized something else. “‘HHNDS.’ Her online handle. Wilhelmina let people think it stood for Hellhounds, but it really means Healing Hands. She runs the inner circle for the Listie shippers. Tanisha broke the case without knowing it.”

Luke started to respond but was cut off. The sound of a thousand light bulbs exploding in quick succession yanked everyone’s heads around. The twinkly Cessna plane display was shorting out in a blaze of sparks. It looked like fireworks. The people closest to it yelped in alarm as hot sparks showered them.

“It’s a distraction,” A.J. said even as another of her team spat profanity through her earpiece.

“She’s getting away,” he panted as if he were running. “Repeat: Zone 2 doesn’t have target. She’s heading east, possibly toward the gate. I think she’s making a run for it.”

A.J. grabbed Luke’s arm. “We need to go. I’m getting you to safety.”

She drew her gun, holding it low beside her leg.

“Go after her,” Luke urged.

Ignoring him, A.J. tugged him down the bandshell stairs. “That’s not my job. Martin, we should herd the guests away from the pursuit.”

“Zone 3 and 5 get on that,” he ordered.

Trusting her team to carry this out, she pulled Luke to a jog beside her. He complied but not happily. “If she’s making a run for it, I’m not in danger,” he protested.

“She’s angry. You just shot her most cherished dream to hell. We don’t know she won’t double back and come after you.”

“What if she goes after someone else?”

“You’re It right now,” A.J. countered. “Along with yours truly.”

That silenced him as she thought it would. They’d reached the shadows nearest the sunken entrance to the kitchen. A.J. directed Luke to a halt. She wanted walls around him, preferably armored ones. She spoke into the transmitter.

“I have Olympus near entrance 4. Approach looks clear. Can anyone confirm?”

“You are clear,” a tech assured. “We’ve got CCTV coverage.”

They dashed inside. The kitchen door was open, the catering staff moving busily around the space. Rachel Fischer’s startled eyes met hers.

“Bar this door,” A.J. ordered, because clearly they hadn’t heard what was happening. “Nobody goes in or out until security okays it.”

She didn’t stay to answer questions. She knew where she wanted to go but not the best path to take. With its jumbled levels and sprawling wings, Luke’s house offered a confusion of options. Then again, she had Mr. Sneak Around with her . . .

“Lead us to your room,” she said. “Not by the most direct route.”

Luke immediately pulled her down a side hall.

“I see Wilhelmina,” Szymanski’s voice came over the radio. “She’s heading back toward the house. Christ, she’s frickin’ Flo-Jo out here.”

“Faster,” A.J. said to Luke. “And try to keep it quiet.”

They reached his suite almost too easily. A.J. darted her head inside then waved him in after her. His rooms were dark, but light filtered through the windows from the decorations for the party. Apart from a few last pops from the plane display, the grounds were quiet—eerily, actually. She wondered if the police helicopter was refueling. She couldn’t hear its rotors anymore. On a more positive note, the team must have succeeded in shepherding guests away. They weren’t making noise either.

“What now?” Luke whispered.

“Now we shut ourselves in your panic room.”

Luke drew a quick breath, studied her for a second, and then spoke. “You don’t want to do that. You want to be where the action is.”

She did, but it didn’t matter. “I won’t make the same mistake your guard at the premiere did. Martin and the others will handle Wilhelmina.”

“And her accomplice?” Luke asked. “Wilhelmina couldn’t have shorted out those lights. She was too busy watching us. What if Martin and the others haven’t realized she’s working with someone?”

A furrow pulled her brows together. She should have thought of this herself. She shook the irritation off.

“I stay with you,” she said firmly. “Your safety is my priority.”

“I’ll be safe. That closet is Fort Knox. A mouse couldn’t reach me there.”

“Even so,” she insisted, striving not to grind her molars. Luke was reading her too well for comfort. “Now shake a leg and get in.”

He sighed, but because he seemed to be complying, she didn’t object to him preceding her through his bedroom. The space was silent, no evidence of intruders lying in wait for them. Luke turned at the closet’s threshold. He raised his arms and braced them on the frame, effectively blocking her way in.

“Please,” she said. “No more arguing.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “That’s a waste of both our breath.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SO WHAT if Luke only played action hero up on the silver screen? He was tired of being protected while others paid the price. Even more than that, he didn’t want to take an important asset like A.J. from the pursuit. He’d learned how the safe room worked from the firm that fortified it. The panic button was right inside the door. With full awareness that he’d catch hell for this, he slapped it and stepped back.

The heavy panel slid shut too fast for A.J. to squeeze in. It also locked itself.

“Luke!” she said, projecting well enough to be heard through the barrier. “Luke, open this right now!”

Without the code (which she probably knew) and a special key (which he was counting on her not having on her person) the safe room couldn’t be opened from outside. Evidently, he’d assumed correctly. Her fist pounded the door angrily. He winced at that but held firm.

“Go help your team,” he said. “I’ll be perfectly fine in here. Keep your eyes peeled for Sven! He’s probably the accomplice.”

He hoped she listened. In his opinion, Sven was the obvious choice for Wilhelmina’s coconspirator. A.J. suspected everybody on principal. Luke was perfectly willing to zero in on a single person, especially one he disliked. No way had Wilhelmina hired Sven for his skills as a masseur. Nor did Luke buy the common assumption that she kept him on because he appealed to female clients. Some women liked his physique but—with his phony hair and his fake accent—Luke knew others looked on him as a joke. No, Sven was useful because he was Wilhelmina’s creature. Maybe he loved her, or maybe the connection was practical.

Sven was smart enough to know he’d have no place among the glitterati without her sponsorship.

“Fuck,” he heard A.J curse outside.

“Go,” he repeated. “I want this over with.”

He guessed she went, because she didn’t pound again. Her footsteps were too quiet to hear if they went away. The safe room was nearly soundproof. Even noises inside it seemed muffled, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton.

“Shit,” he muttered, knowing he wouldn’t tolerate the sensation long.

He knew himself. He wasn’t claustrophobic but, given his past, he wouldn’t voluntarily shut himself in a room with only one exit. An entrance to Mayfair’s secret passages had been in this closet. Unwilling to give it up, he’d made his own modification to the security firm’s hardening. Through the second door he’d created, he could slip out with no one the wiser. A.J. would hate the idea, but—really—he didn’t risk that much. His live-in staff were unaware of the covert routes. He could creep almost anywhere like a ghost.

“Oh just do it,” he said aloud.

Urging A.J. to join the others—and knowing she’d be useful—didn’t equal having zero anxiety over sending her into the line of fire.

Decision made, he dragged a set of drawers away from the steel panel whose bolts he’d pre-loosened. Shifting the section made him grunt with effort, but the hidden door he wanted was behind it. From there, a click and a gentle push opened the access. Warm musty air rushed out, like a day by the sea let out of an old bottle. Luke grabbed the flashlight he’d stashed and paused for one last choice.

He didn’t have an earpiece like A.J. They’d decided he’d look suspicious wearing one. There was, however, an emergency phone in here. The question was should he call or not call her team. Whoever he reached would argue against him leaving. Also of concern was the chance he’d interrupt some crucial task. The techs were monitoring the cameras. They were the team’s eyes inside the house. Martin, at least for now, was their general.

Luke knew what Naomi always said: better to ask forgiveness than permission.

So be it, he thought, stepping into the darkness without more delay. If there were the slightest chance he could help, he wouldn’t give it up.

*

A.J. didn’t waste time cursing . . . or not much. Luke shouldn’t have shut her out, but he was right about being safe where he was. Her best option was to help her team subdue the threat to him. The adrenaline flooding her system approved that course of action. Letting her colleagues know she was taking it—and why—was less agreeable.

“Olympus shut me out of the Mount,” she announced curtly, the Mount being Luke’s safe room. “I’m rejoining the pursuit.”

“What?” Martin said in her ear. “No. Never mind. Olympus is secure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We believe the target is in the house, but we do not have eyes on her.”

“What about a status for her partner, Sven?”

“Unaccounted for. No one’s seen him leave the estate, so we’re assuming he’s still on site. And, yes, we realize they’re probably working together.”

“What about Christie and Eliza?”

“Both confirmed among the crowd of guests.”

That was a point in the women’s favor. A.J. paused at the next intersection, undecided which hall to take.

“Boss,” one of the techs cut in. “The cameras in the basement just went out.”

“I sent Szymanski to search down there,” Martin said.

“He’s not responding,” the tech informed him. “Either he’s radio silent or something’s wrong.”

“On my way,” A.J. said, willing to bet on the something wrong scenario. “Which staircase was he nearest?”

Luckily, the tech remembered. Deciding any sort of heels were stupid at the moment, she left her pumps behind her. Free then, she sprinted across the floor she was on, pausing only where necessary to remain stealth.

The stairs in question were on the kitchen side of the house. They were empty down to the ground level. She didn’t see the smears of blood on the wall until she’d jogged lower. That and the gouges in the paint told a story she didn’t enjoy reading.

“There’s been a fight here,” she murmured quietly. “I’m going silent. I don’t want to risk alerting our targets.”

The lights were out on the next half flight down. Little hairs rose on A.J.’s arms. Her vision hadn’t fully adjusted. She could only see dimly. She froze, thinking she heard breathing. The breathing didn’t change when she halted, which she might expect if someone were lurking in wait for her. Bracing for an ambush, she descended the last two steps . . .

Her hosiery covered foot hit Szymanski’s back.

He’d tumbled against the door at the basement landing. Heart knocking in her throat, she knelt and pulled out a small flashlight. Thoughts of Szymanski’s wife and what they might have to tell her tried to press into her mind. To her relief, her dread was unnecessary. Her colleague was unconscious but alive, the rising lump on his temple explaining his current state.

A.J. slapped his cheek but didn’t manage to rouse him. The skin on his knuckles was raw, so he’d gotten in some licks. Other than that and the blow to his head, she didn’t see evidence of wounds.

His earpiece was in place, which also was good news. Their enemy wasn’t listening in. On the other hand, his jacket was disarranged, maybe from the fall or possibly someone had searched his pockets. A.J.’s stomach sank as she checked his holster. It was empty. She glanced around. His gun wasn’t lying on the floor or the steps.

Was this Wilhelmina’s doing? The masseuse was strong, but Szymanski was bigger and professionally trained. A.J. supposed their target might have taken him by surprise . . . or maybe the masseuse was trained as well. A memory kicked in. Compulsory military service in Switzerland only applied to men, but women could volunteer. If Wilhelmina had served in her native country, she might be expert at more than relaxing sore muscles. She could have been the shooter from the premiere, and forget hiring one.

The idea of their perp having Szymanski’s gun was now twice as displeasing.

That, however, was a concern for a moment beyond this one. She tapped her transmitter on again.

“Szymanski’s down,” she said as quietly as she could. “Unconscious but okay, as far as I can tell. Call an ambulance and send someone to guard him till it arrives. I’m moving forward on this level.”

“Copy,” the tech answered economically.

She switched the receiver off, tucked her flashlight back in her bra, and cautiously pushed the door open.

The cellar had marginally better visibility. A.J.’s team had installed battery-powered strip lighting along the floor. Messing with a fuse didn’t shut it off.

No one was in view in either direction.

She knew she was too wired to make good decisions. She shut her eyes, drew a calming breath, and listened. Very faintly to her right, she heard a squeak followed by a soft percussion. She thought the squeak might have been hinges.

Glad she was in her stockings, she crept swiftly toward the sound. She was approaching the bowling alley, where she and Luke had spent their first night here. She didn’t have time to revisit those events, but feelings returned to her—especially her wary pleasure that he’d wanted to sleep with her in his arms. He was one of a kind: a wicked saint who, amazingly, had concluded A.J. was the match for him. She didn’t know why she was so lucky, only that she couldn’t deny it anymore.

A shadow moved. A.J. shrank back into a doorway. She craned her head to confirm the figure was Wilhelmina. She experienced a moment’s jealousy. The masseuse’s outfit was way more sensible than hers. Szymanski’s gun was shoved into the back waistband of her trousers, not the best spot for a quick draw, though it did free her hands.

As A.J. watched, the masseuse opened and shut a door. The room behind it seemed to dissatisfy her. What was she searching for? A place to hide from pursuit? Another stair to the higher floors? Maybe one where a fallen guard wouldn’t draw his colleagues to check on him?

The latter option struck her as plausible. Wilhelmina could have escaped earlier. Hiding seemed unlikely to be tops on her agenda.

Confronting Luke was a stronger incentive for returning to the house.

From A.J.’s study of its blueprints, she knew the next door led to the stairs the woman was looking for. Not about to let Wilhelmina find them, she pressed her tongue between her teeth and whistled.

Wilhelmina spun toward the sound.

“You,” the woman said, her attention caught. Her face twisted into the mask of rage that had outed her to Martin. “You ruined everything.”

A.J didn’t waste time chatting. She ran full out for her opponent, going aggressive and going fast. Real world fighting wasn’t showy or drawn out. Outcomes tended to be decided early, often by whoever attacked first. If you were on the defensive, you probably were screwed.

Unfortunately, Wilhelmina seemed to have learned this too.

She charged toward A.J. with a roar of anger, drawing Szymanski’s gun as she came.

An Olympic marksman couldn’t aim for shit on the run, not when her target was moving too. A.J. didn’t stop. She veered, ducked, and came up under the woman’s guard with an explosive shove. Wilhelmina’s back hit the wall and her gun went flying.

A.J. would have been happier about this if Wilhelmina hadn’t immediately caught A.J.’s arm to fight for control of her weapon. Her fingers dug between A.J.’s tendons, squeezing some nerve that made her hand go numb. Her gun fell too, skittering across the concrete and out of reach.

So no more wrestling. A.J.’s opponent was too effective at disabling holds. Gritting her teeth against the numbness, she pummeled Wilhelmina with body blows. Her father had taught her to punch with power but not to count on a single strike to finish things. If you were hit, you just kept attacking as fast and hard as you could. Overwhelm and stun was his system.

A.J. opponent didn’t seem to appreciate this approach. Wilhelmina was a kicker—not as good as she thought, luckily. A.J. took a bruising knee to her ribs, but held her ground well enough to seize Wilhelmina’s arm and shoulder. The double grip allowed A.J. to twist her weight around and off balance.

Wilhelmina stumbled slightly, instinctively attempting to catch her footing. The opening was textbook. A.J pulled back on her forearm while at the same time thrusting Wilhelmina’s upper arm forward. Her overstressed elbow broke with a nasty snap. Wilhelmina screamed with pain but also fury. Sensing the woman would continue fighting if she weren’t shut down completely, A.J. grabbed her nape and muscled her facedown to the floor.

Panting, she pinned Wilhelmina’s spine with her knee, ruthlessly digging her weight in. A.J. had a zip tie tucked in her thigh holster, ideal for restraining the woman’s wrists. Though she couldn’t have known she was going for it, Wilhelmina thrashed wildly.

A.J. retrieved the tie regardless.

“Cut it out,” she ordered, finally getting hold of the masseuse’s uninjured arm.

In hindsight, A.J. would have benefited from the disabled cameras, not to mention the tech’s voices in her receiver. If she’d had them, she’d have known what was coming up on her six. She thought she was about to subdue her prize. Instead, what felt like twin explosions burst over both her ears. Someone who’d practiced the trick had slapped her on either side of her head. The double blow put her out. She actually felt her eyes roll as her limbs went limp and collapsed. Darkness swallowed her consciousness.

She had no thoughts at all for the next little while.

*

A.J. dreamed her father’s partner was soothing her.

“Just calm down,” Martin said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“You shot him,” accused a distinctive female voice, accented and high with stress.

Wilhelmina, A.J.’s muddled brain computed.

“I have a phone. I’ll call an ambulance as soon as you put down the gun.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? No ambulance will help Sven. You shot him through the head. I needed him. We were going to double date with Christie and Luke.”

Whoa, A.J. thought. The position of her body diverted her from why this disclosure was unsettling. She was upright, not standing on her feet but vertical. Something vised around her ribs, keeping her from falling.

Wilhelmina’s arm, she realized.

It was her injured arm, the elbow wrapped tightly in torn cloth—possibly from a man’s shirt. Bandage notwithstanding, the masseuse must have a serious pain threshold.

A.J. wished she were as resilient. In addition to her noodley legs, her throat felt weirdly bruised, as if someone had strangled her. They’d stopped, she guess, which Martin’s presence probably accounted for. She knew she’d been helpless to defend herself. She was nearly helpless now, her muscles not obeying her instructions. The need to see what was happening prodded her, but when she tried to lift her eyelids, her head wobbled. The tiny movement dizzied her intensely. Clearly, she had a mother of a concussion.

Maybe she’d rest just a minute more.

“I’m sure you’ll find another man,” Martin said reasonably.

“I invested time training Sven. He’d finally learned to do what I said.”

“So you’ve had practice. You’ll train his replacement twice as fast.”

Was it her imagination or was Martin’s voice closer? Wilhelmina seemed to think it was. She jabbed something hard at A.J.’s jaw.

“Stop right there,” she ordered. “Put your gun down, or I’ll shoot her.”

At the threat, A.J.’s eyes succeeded in opening. Pain lanced into her skull. The room was bright. She blinked rapidly, tears spilling past her lashes to wet her cheeks. As her vision cleared, she saw they were in Luke’s bowling alley. Sven was nowhere in sight but Martin’s once-white tuxedo shirt was drenched in blood splatter.

Whoa, she thought for the second time. When he saw she’d regained consciousness, Martin’s gaze flicked to hers without a change in his expression.

A.J. sensed he was relieved regardless.

“I’ll blow her head right off,” Wilhelmina emphasized.

“Okay,” Martin said. He turned his gun sideways in his grip, lifting both hands into surrendering position. “My finger is off the trigger. I’m going to put it down.”

“Slowly,” the masseuse specified. “And kick it away from you.”

Martin was by the bowling lanes. He crouched and set the weapon gingerly on the polished wood. Then he rose again.

“Kick it,” Wilhelmina reminded.

Martin played soccer on his days off. His left leg kicked crossways like a pro, catching the gun neatly. Considering the circumstances, his aim was impressive. The pistol slid so rapidly down the lane it nearly knocked over the kingpin.

“Are you trying to be funny?” Wilhelmina demanded.

“Trust me,” Martin said without a particle of amusement. “My sense of humor is nil right now. Just tell me what you want in return for letting my colleague go.”

A.J. doubted the woman planned to release her at any price, but Martin could buy time bargaining.

“Take out your phone,” she said. “Call Luke and get him here. I need to talk to him.”

Martin knew Luke was in the safe room, where he’d have no cell reception. He pulled out his phone anyway. “Can I tell him what it’s about?” he asked politely.

“It’s about Christie,” the masseuse spat, like he was an idiot. “He needs to see reason. He’s her soulmate, the man she has to be with. She’ll never win the fame she deserves if she keeps getting tangled with those women.”

“What women?” Martin asked innocently.

“Those disgusting lesbians like Naomi Davis.”

“I think Naomi Davis is bi.”

“Like it matters,” Wilhelmina sneered. “Christie James Isn’t Meant For Them.”

Her injured arm tightened painfully on A.J.’s ribs. A.J. preferred Wilhelmina not know she was awake until her legs felt less like spaghetti. Despite the wish, not crying out required willpower.

“He’s not answering,” Martin said, holding out the phone to show her.

The distance was too great for Wilhelmina to read the screen.

“I’m not falling for that,” she said, deducing that he wanted her to approach. “You find a way to reach him or she dies.”

“You want me to call someone else?”

“No tricks!” Wilhelmina said, her patience—such as it was—reaching its limit. “Get him here or I shoot!”

A.J.’s feet began to tingle as the woman hauled her back a step. Fresh pain slammed into her head, but she took heart at the tiny sign of recovery.

“Wilhelmina,” said the last person she expected to hear right then. “Don’t hurt her. I’m here.”

Pins toppled. Surprise caused Wilhelmina to lurch A.J. around again. A.J.’s stomach clenched. Luke was emerging onto one of the bowling lanes, ducking out from the pinsetter’s area behind it. He must have snuck into the void through his damned secret passages.

“Luke!” Wilhelmina cried like a nun having a vision of her savior.

“I’m here,” he said. “You can let her go.”

Unfortunately, the masseuse wasn’t quite that irrational.

“You’re engaged to her now! You betrayed the dream.”

“That was a mistake. I promise I’ll undo it.”

“You’re lying to me! I wanted us to be friends. All of us. You were going to trust Sven and me like you couldn’t trust anyone. Christie was going to win an Oscar. We’d throw a party for her together.”

Luke’s face flickered at this news. A.J. noticed sweat glittering on his upper lip. Unlike Martin, Luke’s eyes betrayed concern when they cut to her. A.J. loved him for that even as she wished she could erase the expression.

He recovered a moment later. “An Oscar party is a nice idea,” he said soothingly.

“Stop lying,” Wilhelmina growled dark and low.

That wasn’t good. The woman’s body tensed, her muscles coiling for action. The muzzle of Szymanski’s pistol wasn’t pressed as tightly to A.J.’s jaw.

Jesus. Was she thinking of shooting Luke?

“I think Luke is telling the truth,” Martin interjected. “How could anyone not love Christie if they had a chance with her?”

For a moment, A.J. thought he’d chosen the right argument. Wilhelmina went still behind her, her energy calming.

“I’m not in love with Christie,” she said in an odd flat tone.

Her arm straightened without warning, dead-aiming the weapon at Martin.

She wasn’t far enough to miss. A.J. tried to spoil the shot by flinging her weight away, but her limbs were as useful as chewed gum. Wilhelmina grunted and locked her knees, steadying her stance. When A.J. tried again, her captor simply let go of her. A.J. dropped and fell on her face.

A gun exploded like thunder.

“No!” A.J. cried, struggling futilely to push up on her hands.

“It’s okay,” Martin said, coming to help her.

Relief rushed through her like hot wine. He was alive. “Luke,” she exclaimed in a fresh panic.

“He’s okay too. He shot Wilhelmina.”

The words refused to add up. “He shot Wilhelmina. Jesus, why can’t I move?”

“I think she drugged you,” Martin said. “Or Sven did. You’ve got a puncture mark inside your elbow. Bonnie and Clyde must have decided to smuggle in a weapon the metal detectors couldn’t catch.”

Martin wrangled her around until she sat supported by his chest. His shirt was tacky from Sven’s blood, but she couldn’t care too much right then. Luke stood above them both, unscathed but noticeably dazed. He’d forked his left hand deep into his hair. The other hung by his side with the proverbial smoking gun.

“She’s dead,” he said, blinking fast with shock. “I shot her with Martin’s Glock.”

“I guessed he was behind the pins when I kicked it there,” Martin said. “Well, him or a klutzy mouse.”

A.J. hadn’t heard a thing. “You guessed he was there,” she repeated.

Martin shrugged. “It stood to reason. Tech couldn’t reach Luke on the landline in the safe room. Where else would he go but into those passages?”

Luke’s eyes widened. Maybe he was surprised she’d shared the fact of their existence with her colleague. Shaking that off, he crouched in front of her. “I had to help. Even if it meant defying your instructions. I couldn’t lose you.”

She tried to ignore how his words moved her.

“You shouldn’t have exposed yourself like that,” she scolded. “It’s our job to protect you.”

“Of course it is,” he agreed, obviously not sorry.

A.J. gave up. She was more amazed than angry anyway. When she shook her head at how events turned out, her brain didn’t spin. Whatever she’d been drugged with was wearing off. She didn’t like showing vulnerability on the job, but an impulse she couldn’t fight made her reach for Luke’s hand. He must have needed the contact too. He returned her grip, putting his second hand over hers. She looked past him to Wilhelmina’s corpse. The dead woman sprawled mostly on her back, her face lolling toward A.J. Her open eyes would have stared straight at her except the left was a grisly pit.

A.J. couldn’t help thinking Wilhelmina would have done the same to any one of them. Luke had put himself on the literal firing line.

“Wow,” she said, realizing something else. “You made a head shot from twenty feet.”

“I was terrified I’d hit you,” he confessed. “I mean, I train at the shooting range so I won’t look like a dork on film, but I’ve never pulled the trigger on a live person with a live round.”

“You hit the bull’s eye,” Martin observed with dry battlefield humor. He rubbed A.J.’s shoulder and then let go. “Just like Wild Bill Hickok. Speaking of which—” He stopped to exhale a gusty sigh. “We’d better call the real lawmen in.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

STANDOFF over, the two patrol cops who’d been assigned to Mayfair’s gate burst in like they’d been bottled up. Some of A.J. and Martin’s people trailed behind them. A weedy guy Luke recognized as a tech hugged Martin and A.J.

Though his bosses didn’t resist, this seemed to bemuse them.

Luke kind of wished he could hug the pair himself.

“Is Szymanski all right?” A.J. asked as soon as the tech released her.

“He woke up a while ago,” the young man answered. “The EMTs checked him out. I think Mr. Channing’s butler is watching him.”

Like the sheriff Martin had accused Luke of being, a commanding figure in a dated suit parted the bowling alley’s confused waters.

“All you Hoyt-Sands guys, back upstairs,” Detective Turner barked. “This floor is a crime scene.”

His jabbing finger radiated accusations. Despite believing he’d had no choice about shooting Wilhelmina, Luke swallowed uneasily.

“Are you agreeable to us giving our statements here?” Martin asked.

Please yes, Luke thought, not wanting to trek to the police station. He felt flattened, as if a truck had somehow run him over from the inside. Still unsteady herself, A.J. had her hand on Martin’s shoulder. Marks from Sven’s meaty grip circled her slender throat, indisputable—and heart-tightening—evidence that they hadn’t been the aggressors here.

Turner wasn’t easily appeased. He turned suspicious eyes on the three of them. “Fine,” he relented, “but I’ll question you one by one. And I’m separating you.”

That Luke couldn’t like, though he knew it was reasonable. Turner didn’t want them cooking up shared stories. Martin nodded calmly at the warning, followed shortly by A.J.

“Whatever we can answer, we will,” she said.

She glanced at Luke and smiled slightly. She was telling him he’d be okay, that he’d done what he had to. The simple message soothed his anxiety. His shoulders unkinked at least halfway.

Separated or not, they’d get through this together.

*

Turner’s interrogations ended pretty much as A.J. expected: with the detective making no arrests and mentally planning his press conference. Truthfully, there was no one to arrest. Martin had shot Sven to stop him from strangling her while she was unconscious. Luke had killed Wilhelmina to save Martin. Their stories coordinated because they were genuine. Most of Turner’s questions for A.J. involved how they’d concluded the masseuse and Sven were behind the other attacks.

Though he rolled his eyes, he heard out her suggestion that he check whatever phones and computers he found among the pair’s belongings.

“One of them should have the original video of Teresa Ricci kissing Luke outside Michelson’s. You’ll be able to prove they filmed it. And that Wilhelmina manipulated the Listie shippers to do her bidding. Also, if one of them doesn’t own the blue sedan that hit her, they assuredly had access.”

“I know my job,” he told her.

“Sorry,” she said, though she wasn’t. If he’d known it that well, he’d have solved the case before them. “Oh, if it happens you’d like a record of our receptionist’s undercover work on the Listie site, I’m sure she’d be happy to copy you on that.”

“Your receptionist’s undercover work.”

A.J. smiled sweetly. “All Hoyt-Sands employees have smarts and initiative.”

Between what she and Martin had given Turner, A.J. was certain he could spin his department into looking like geniuses. That was fine with her. Right then her main desire was quality time communing with her pillow . . . preferably with it next to Luke’s.

Sadly, she couldn’t lay her head down yet. Luke was updating his staff on the situation’s resolution—and thanking them for not losing it when the shit hit the fan. A.J. and Martin shared a similar briefing with their team. Then they checked on Szymanski, who spoke to them sleepily.

“Walk?” Martin asked once they’d shut their coworker’s door behind them again. “I could use a breath of air.”

A.J. supposed she could as well. She followed Martin out the nearest exit to the balcony on the ocean side of the house. The sound of the waves was soothing; the night quiet enough to hear palm fronds rustle in the breeze. It was hard to believe her men had chased Wilhelmina around these grounds a few hours ago.

“Phew,” Martin said, leaning his forearms on the balustrade. He’d changed his shirt, and the new one was clean and bright. “I’m grateful that man’s hard-headed. I did not want to break bad news to Mrs. S.”

“Me either,” A.J. seconded. She braced straight-armed on the concrete header, taking a moment to stretch out her calf muscles. “Finding Szymanski collapsed at the bottom of those steps was—” She broke off. She’d just caught sight of the bare third finger on her left hand.

“Shit,” she said, horrified. “Luke’s ring must have fallen off! That diamond had to be twenty carats. And it was blue! God only knows what it’s worth.”

Martin had the chutzpah to laugh at her.

“This isn’t funny! If I don’t find it, I’ll need a couple lifetimes to pay him back.”

“I have it,” Martin said, digging down in his trouser pocket. “I’d have told you sooner but I forgot. I grabbed it off the floor in the basement. Wilhelmina wrenched it from your finger while Sven was strangling you. I guess she didn’t think you deserved to wear it.”

That painted an image she didn’t need in her head. “That is scary. I wasn’t even aware they were doing it.”

“It scared me too, believe me.” He opened his palm to show her the ring, which glinted even in low light. “Give me your hand. You may as well enjoy this while you can.”

She obeyed without too much thought. Her finger undoubtedly was the safest place for it. Martin slid the circlet on, his attention on what he was doing. His guard must have been down, because the expression on his face shocked her.

He was wistful. He wished the ring had come from him. Everything she hadn’t wanted to understand about his feelings abruptly became too clear.

Martin didn’t realize he’d given himself away. He patted her hand lightly. “This looks good on you, kiddo. Maybe you were born for luxury.”

Given what she’d just witnessed, his tone couldn’t pass for humorous.

A.J. knew she should pretend he was teasing, but on this night, after all they’d been through, she just couldn’t.

“Please tell me you’re not serious about me,” she blurted. “It’s a proximity thing. Or the lure of the forbidden, because I’m your partner’s kid. You’re not in love with me.”

He didn’t deny she had reason to be concerned. His mouth tipped to one side, both his hands holding hers. “Honey, you have no idea how lovable you are.”

“Never mind that,” she snapped then realized how she sounded. “I mean, thank you. I appreciate you saying that as long as you realize you’ve got to be mistaken.”

“You mean you hope I’m mistaken, because you’re in love with Luke.”

She bit her lip. “I can’t help it. He snuck up on me.”

“I know he did. I watched him do it.” Martin’s eyes were sadder and sweeter than she’d known they could be.

“He’s a good man,” she tried, wondering if this would make things better. “He probably saved both our bacon tonight.”

“I agree,” was Martin’s unsatisfactory response.

“So . . . we’re okay? Working together won’t be awkward if Luke and I . . . get involved longer term? You and I can still be in each other’s lives?”

Martin’s smile was more amused now, but his hands rose to clasp her face. “Of course we can. Things might change a little, but not that.”

His affection didn’t reassure her. “People always make those kinds of promises, but how often are they true?”

“They’re true this time, honey. You mean a lot to me, and not just because I’m carrying a torch for you.”

Crap, she thought. Tears overran her eyes as his words hit her. He wasn’t just a colleague or a mentor. He was her friend. No way could she bear losing him.

“Hey,” he scolded. “None of that. We’ve had enough drama for one day.”

He was right, so she wiped her cheeks.

“I’m holding you to your word,” she warned.

He smiled and leaned back against the railing. She prayed she could count on him.

*

A.J. was heading up the house’s levels when she encountered Naomi coming down one of the ornamental staircases. She suspected the otherwise pointless steps were designed as posing ramps for elegant women to glide down. Naomi was scampering and not gliding, though she did look nice in her fluttery silk slip and robe.

“Oh,” she said when she spotted A.J. on her way up. “Just the person I was hoping to bump into.”

The tight hug she swept A.J into took her aback.

“I’m so glad you’re all right!” Luke’s old friend exclaimed, her scent reminding A.J. of a Victoria Secret store. “And congratulations, by the way. You’re totally stealing my backup date, but since you cracked the case and kept him safe, I guess I’ll forgive you.”

“Uh,” A.J. said, mildly off balance. “My team and I were just doing our job.”

“So modest. Good Lord, let me check out this iceberg.” As she took A.J.’s hand to display the ring back and forth, A.J. realized what her congratulations had been about. “Luke sure doesn’t skimp on the gifting front.”

“That proposal was just for show,” A.J. felt obliged to say. “To beat the bushes and get the guilty party to fly out.”

“Of course it was,” Naomi scoffed. “No one who saw you two snogging on that stage would assume you’re crazy for each other.”

A.J. opened her mouth and then shut it. She didn’t know how to respond to that.

Naomi laughed at her speechlessness. “You’re too cute. No wonder Luke wants to marry you. By the way, I did my Sherlock impersonation while your team had the party guests herded together. It turns out Jerry Talon was Wilhelmina’s client too. We think she may have sussed out the restaurant date through him. Maybe peeked at the appointment app on his phone when she had him all relaxed on her table. Actually, Jerry feels terrible about it. The Ricci girl might be alive if it weren’t for Wilhelmina going psycho over her kissing Luke.”

“It is sad,” A.J. agreed. “But Jerry Talon isn’t responsible for her death.”

“I suppose not.” Naomi’s mouth twisted. “On the ironic side, I guess sometimes everything really is about Christie. She was the person who obsessed Wilhelmina most. She’s scarpered by the way. Her old ‘flame’ the TV werewolf drove out to pick her up. Because she was so ‘traumatized.’ I swear I saw her take a selfie of them kissing by his Ferrari. She’s going to keep up that hetero front to the bitter end.”

Naomi’s use of air quotes suggested she harbored some bitterness herself. A.J. guessed it was too soon for her to let go of the breakup.

“That’s Christie’s right,” she said, hoping she was pointing this out gently. “Be glad you’re braver than she is. You’re the lucky one, really.”

“I suppose.” Naomi heaved a dramatic sigh. “It’s just my bad luck she was brilliant in the sack.”

*

Luke felt less exhausted but more restless once he’d taken a shower and shaved. Uncertain where he’d spend the night, he pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. The danger was over and with it A.J.’s reason for being here. He knew she had feelings for him. He thought he’d effectively conveyed his. The problem was he wasn’t certain she’d admit their connection was serious.

Have faith, he thought as he checked the bedside clock yet again. 12:23. Wasn’t she going to let her team go to bed? Luke had shut his damned phone off. Hadn’t even checked the latest figures from Final Death. He didn’t care what they were, though he probably would tomorrow. And there were at least a dozen pressing calls in his message queue.

Everyone and their brother wanted to speak to him.

He squeezed his right hand shut and opened it again. He’d killed another human being, a living, breathing person. Because of him, Wilhelmina didn’t exist anymore. The fact that she’d been threatening A.J. and Martin meant he wasn’t sorry. He was, however, sad.

No one should lose their life that way.

He straightened when he heard quick footsteps. They were A.J.’s. He’d know them anywhere.

“Luke?” she called from the sitting room.

“In here,” he said.

He sat on the bed to wait. She came as far as the doorway. She’d changed into her standard bodyguard getup: black trousers, white shirt . . . minus her jacket and holster. His face must have showed his worries. Her brows creased in response, which touched and calmed him at the same time. She cared, even if—at the moment—she seemed awkward.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Working on it. Tonight feels surreal.”

“It’ll be that way for a while. Shooting someone is hard for most people.”

“You ever—?”

“Twice. Never as a cop but twice on assignments. It’s hard to wrap your head around, even when you know you didn’t have a choice.” She seemed to notice she’d been twisting his engagement ring around her finger. She stopped and pulled it off, holding it out to him. “I have this. It went missing during the fight, but now I have it back. It’s making me nervous. You should put it in a safe or something.”

Luke didn’t move to take it. He wasn’t letting her off the hook that easy. “You’re not stupid. You have to realize I want us to be engaged for real.”

She rolled her lips together. He thought she’d argue, but “Maybe I want that too,” she said.

His heart jolted in his chest. He began to rise, but she held up her hand.

“Don’t get up. I want to say this from where I am so you know my brain isn’t addled by hormones.”

She made him smile at the funniest times. “Why, Alexandra, you flatter me.”

She frowned. “Are you going to let me finish?”

Fighting his grin, he gestured for her to continue.

“So,” she said after a big, deep breath. “You know I have issues with trusting people. My childhood, my stint as a cop, my job . . . They’re not like your reasons, but they’ve made trust seem like a fool’s game to me. Or they did, until you hired me to guard you.” She shook her head in wonder. “You’re a miracle to me. The way you won’t let your heart turn hard. Your willingness to give everyone a chance. You’ve made me want to be that way myself, at least a bit. I love you, Luke. I admire you, I respect you, and—if you’ll have it—I want to give you my heart.”

Luke forgot how to breathe. She’d knocked his emotional socks off and then twisted them in knots. He was so humbled, so grateful he didn’t know how to express it. “If I’ll have your heart . . .”

He ran out of words. He went to her. He held her face like a chalice to press his lips to hers. Or he did at first. When her arms slid around his back and tightened, his technique turned less delicate.

She returned the kiss with enthusiasm. His blood flashed hot, his groin growing heavy as they rubbed their hard and soft places together. Loving that, he palmed her butt to urge her closer. Her pubis undulated on his swiftly hardening erection. God, it felt good. He gasped for air, which gave A.J. the chance to pull back.

“I forgot to say,” she added breathlessly. “I lust after you as well.”

He laughed. “I never would have guessed.”

She shoved his chest. “I’m being serious here, damn you.”

He saw she was. His smile gentled. “You’re right. The lust thing is important.” He caressed her lips with his fingers before they could turn down. “Here’s me being serious. I love you, Alexandra Hoyt. I admire you, I respect you, and I want you in my life. Richer or poorer, dangerous or safe, there’s no one I’d rather lie down with and wake up next to. You’re my angel. You would be whether our paths had crossed before or not.”

He guessed she wasn’t comfortable with being called an angel. She didn’t quite frown, but she looked like she might. “You saved my life tonight,” she pointed out.

“Strictly speaking, I saved Martin’s, but since I know he’s your bud, you can call us even if you want.”

She cocked her head, clearly calculating something inside that sleek skull of hers. “I want a smaller ring.”

His laugh snorted out his nose. “Fat chance, angel. That one looks good on you.”

“It’s my engagement! How can I relax knowing I’m wearing something that could buy a small island?”

He shrugged. “You’ll get used to it. Anyway, it’s insured.”

“You like doing this to me.” Her brows had lowered accusingly.

“You mean spoiling you? Yes, I absolutely do. I’m going to do it every chance I get.”

“I could call off the engagement.”

“You won’t.”

“Cocky.” Though she was trying to look annoyed, her reluctant delight leaked out. She glowered to hide it.

“Yes, I am,” Luke agreed, bussing her lips lightly. He moved his hands to the collar of her shirt and started unbuttoning. He did it carefully, so as not to hurt her bruised throat. He’d kiss that later, he decided, when he’d softened her up enough to accept sympathy. For now, he’d keep her focused on enjoyment. “Why don’t you let me show you how cocky I’ve gotten?”

To his pleasure, her breathing quickened as he opened her shirt farther. Her breasts swelled tantalizingly within her plain white bra.

Not that she was ready to give up arguing.

“Ten carats,” she countered. “That’s still plenty of bling to suit your ego.”

He laughed softly. She was right his ego enjoyed seeing the showy stone on her. “I’m not bargaining with you. I spent two hours picking out that diamond, and it’s perfect.”

Her eyes widened. He saw he’d surprised her. “Really? Two hours?”

“Jacob himself flew out to show me his best stock.”

He knew she wouldn’t give in and ask Jacob who. The answer was: the best diamond guy in New York, which she’d refuse to care about. Her hand rested on his chest, her fingers unconsciously petting him. When her gaze dipped to the flawless fancy blue in question, he knew she was weakening.

“Now if you think it’s ugly . . .”

“Of course it’s not,” she huffed, offended by the slur to his taste, even if it came from him. “It’s beautiful. And it goes good with your green eyes. It’s just ostentatious and . . . girly to wear a rock this big.”

“You’re a girl,” he reminded. She grimaced, which made him want to kiss her again. “You realize you’re worrying more about this ring than you are over marrying me.”

She stunned him by breaking into a brilliant smile.

“Marrying you doesn’t worry me at all.” She laughed at his astonishment. “I love you,” she added, clearly enunciating. “I. Love. You.”

Hearing her say it like that, he couldn’t stay rational. Desire exploded in his veins. He ripped the rest of her crisp white shirt all the way down its front.

“Luke!” she gasped as buttons flew in all directions.

He flashed teeth at her—wolfishly, he expected.

“I have to maraud you,” he warned, crouching before her. Nearly as quickly as he’d dispatched her shirt, he wrenched her trousers to her ankles.

“Get your bra,” he commanded, occupied with sliding her panties down her long legs.

She blinked at him, but she bent her arms behind her. Her compliance kicked his libido higher, especially when he saw how fast her diaphragm went in and out. Given the right context, she liked being ordered around by him.

Kneeling then, he looked up her nakedness. Her slight breasts trembled with her pulse, her nipples tight and rosy with arousal. He caressed her hipbones, his fingers stretching around her to stroke her ass. His nostrils flared at the scent of her arousal.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” he praised.

Overcome, he pressed his face to her belly, growling at its wonderful silkiness and warmth. Her hands fell to his head, where her fingers drove deep into his hair. When she rubbed his scalp, every inch of his skin tingled.

“Luke,” she said, her voice throbbing.

He kissed her navel and the edge of her pubic curls. He parted her labia, their heat and slickness causing his cock to pound. She gasped when he caught her clitoris between the pads of his thumbs. He rubbed the engorged bud from either side, firmly, slowly, squeezing it rhythmically.

Seeing her whiskey eyes slide shut with pleasure enchanted him.

“Luke,” she repeated, more huskily.

“Hold onto me,” he instructed. “You wouldn’t want to fall over.”

She gripped his shoulders, fingers tightening on his muscles as he burrowed into to her pussy. She tasted like the sea and something wilder, something that was purely her. He rubbed, and licked, and teased the tip of her clitoris with hard, quick flicks.

A.J. shivered and grew wetter.

That excited him almost more than he could stand. Curling both thumbs inside her entrance, he sucked her clit between his lips and pulled strongly. She cursed—which he liked. Her nails pricked through his T-shirt as her hips shoved closer.

“I can’t,” she groaned.

You can, he thought and redoubled his tongue’s efforts.

She came with a broken cry. Reveling in the sound of his victory, he took a ten-second pause then drove her up and over again.

Her knees nearly gave out at that orgasm. She had to lock her elbows to hold herself up on his shoulders.

Once she’d settled, he pulled back and smiled up her body. She was a sight for his memory book. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen from biting them. Even her cheekbones looked softer. The chance to see her like this was totally worth the killer ache of waiting.

Her lashes fluttered before she could drag them up again.

“Sheesh,” she breathed. “If I’m an angel, you’re the devil when it comes to that.”

Gratified by the praise, he dropped a kiss to her inner thigh. “Ready for me to get up?”

She nodded and he rose as steadily as he could, his hands traveling up her sides as he went. He’d always liked her tallness. When he stood at his full height, he barely had to look down to meet her gaze.

He enjoyed watching it go glassy as he fondled and squeezed her breasts.

Her lashes drifted and then deliberately recovered. “Two can play that game,” she warned.

He jerked when her hand squeezed into his jeans. Her fingers found his erection. She circled and pulled, one hand and then the other. She didn’t hurry, but she was strong, and her grip on his shaft was firm. Blissful signals shot up his cock, hard and sharp. Moisture beaded at its tip as a sense of imminence coiled in his scrotum.

Luke was closer to the edge than he’d realized.

“Careful,” he said, the word ragged.

A.J. smiled knowingly. She used his pre-come to glide her thumb around his thudding crown. That felt so good the vertebrae of his spine tried to float apart.

“I could return the favor and suck you too,” she purred. She leaned close enough to fan his mouth with her breath, then tormented him by licking only her own lips. “Thing is, I rather this particular rocket go off in my pussy.”

He shuddered with warring urges. He wanted that as well, and he wouldn’t last two seconds if she went down on him. Still, her mouth was so pretty, so lush and red, with her tongue glistening like a cushion between her teeth . . .

She pulled her hand from his jeans and laughed at his expression. “You’re too easy, Cocky Boy.”

Was this to be his new nickname?

He didn’t waste his limited breath on quips. He slid his grip to her waist, bent his knees, and tossed her onto the bed behind her. She landed safely but with a bounce, letting out a brief but completely girly yelp as her arms and legs flung out on the covers to steady her. Luke quite enjoyed that, a fact he didn’t bother to hide from her.

“Cheater,” she accused.

“All’s fair,” he said, grinning. “Besides which, I need to undress. I thought you might like to watch.”

He saw at once that she would. She sat up and crossed her legs tailor-fashion, her posture straight, her manner almost comically alert. Unselfconscious as it was, the pose displayed her amazingly fit body in ways she probably didn’t realize.

His cock gave a vigorous, painful throb as he spied a hint of ruby between her folds. God, he needed to get in her.

“Go ahead,” she said, flicking her hands in encouragement. “Undress. You have my full and appreciative attention . . .”

*

A.J. saw her enthusiasm caught Luke off guard. He was game, though, and a natural exhibitionist. His comfort clothes were artfully faded jeans—possibly the same pair she’d admired before—and a designer white T-shirt.

The shirt fit snugly enough that he had to wriggle to peel it off.

She didn’t mind. The view was great. His stomach hollowed beneath his ribcage, his arm muscles bunched, and chest was just amazing. Broad and hard, it deserved every lingering close up the cinematographers spent on it. The dark gold tufts beneath his arms reminded her he wasn’t entirely Hollywood shaved and polished. Getting into his stripper role, he whirled the T-shirt above his head before throwing it at her with a grin.

She caught it and brought it unabashedly to her face. The cotton smelled of expensive aftershave and him. When she’d done inhaling, she held it bundled against her breasts. Luke’s expressive hands moved to the metal button on his waistband.

“Don’t,” she blurted, which made his eyebrows rise. “I mean, yes, take them off but hold off for a minute.”

His amusement deepened. “You like these jeans.”

“Oh, yes, especially with you, er, filling them out like that.” She rolled up onto her knees. “Would you mind if I . . . explored you in them?”

He laughed but told her to be his guest.

Happy then, she swung to the side of the bed. He stepped to her and she took his hips in her hands.

“Mmm,” she sighed, nuzzling him through the arched up zipper.

He jerked at first when she turned her face back and forth, but soon enough he calmed. Was there a better mix of textures than velvet soft denim stretched over hard man flesh? She let her cheeks take in his resilience . . . her nose . . . her mouth. She loved how his breathing quickened, how his hips rocked closer. She ran her hands up and down his thighs, which tensed excitingly under her caress. He was so hot, his lovely abs dotting up with sweat. Unable to resist, she exhaled through the worn, taut denim.

Then she scraped her teeth along the steely ridge of his erection.

“Christ,” he gasped. “You’ll make me come like that.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“I’m unzipping now,” he announced. “Please back up and give me room.”

She gave him a few inches.

He lowered the tab carefully. His cock swelled out in his underwear.

“Don’t stop there,” she joked. “You’re just getting to the good part.”

He pulled in a steadying breath. She wanted to laugh. She really had pushed him to the limit of his control. She bit her lip and watched instead.

He slid the jeans to his ankles and stepped out. He was scrumptious naked: tall, strong, graceful and extremely erect. His cock towered from his groin, thick and veiny and impressive.

“Wow,” she said. “You really are a picture.”

He exhaled on a shaky laugh.

“One lick,” she bargained.

“Aiy,” he responded, rolling his eyes.

“Please?” She batted her lashes, willing to be girly for a good cause.

“One,” he agreed sternly.

She wasn’t sure what evil genius inspired her, but she grabbed his discarded T-shirt, wound it around his base, and pulled it snugly from either side. His cock jolted at the constriction, so she guessed it felt exciting.

“Sheesh,” he breathed, rocked a bit off balance.

“This feel okay?” she asked.

He nodded wordlessly, watching her.

His fascinated attention made her want to do her best and her worst. She leaned to him. One lick, she told herself. She wet her lips, pressing them over his satiny tip and then pushing down the hot column. He liked that, all right. He moaned, his hands coming to her ears to steady both of them. Making the most of her window, she descended as slowly as she could.

His pre-come was welling faster. His taste intensified in her mouth. She reached the T-shirt she’d wound around his root and pulled up. She used her tongue now, massaging the strut on his underside. He breathed her name and trembled as she pulled off.

“More?” she asked, taking in the flush on his face and the brightness of his green eyes.

His fingers caressed her cheeks. “Just more of you.”

His voice was soft. She scooted back on the big plush bed, knowing he’d follow and suddenly very aware that she was naked. The air felt cool as it hit the wetness between her legs. Luke flung the T-shirt aside and climbed over her. His movements were deliberate, like a predator carefully stalking her. A.J. shivered deliciously as his mouth descended and took hers. He was gentle but thorough too, kissing her boneless while his hand smoothed along her side and onto her inner thigh.

He pulled back to meet her eyes.

She couldn’t speak. Her fingers played on his chest, her thighs already sprawled to make room for him. A smile touched his mouth at whatever her face was saying.

His knee nudged her leg wider.

Was he not going to speak at all?

Two fingers slid into her and she gasped. How good they felt shocked her. She was readier than she realized, truly aching with longing. Luke massaged the ache, in and out, down to his last knuckle, slow and deep and utterly tormenting. She began to writhe, unable to help herself. She drew in a breath, wondering if he wanted her to plead.

She guessed not. He kissed her very lightly silent before she got one word out.

Tight with anticipation, she caught her lower lip in her teeth. He was shifting his weight into position over her. Her hands fluttered to his ribs. His heart pounded behind them, his skin sweating. His arm moved between their bodies. He fit his cock to her entrance by himself.

The tip rested there, pulsing, summery, causing her arousal to well up around it.

She touched his breastbone, and a second later he touched hers. Her heart was pounding too. She wanted him inside her, but she loved him exactly where he was.

We are meant to be, she thought.

Maybe he read her mind. He smiled again and pushed in, in, in until he filled and stretched every inch of her slick passage. She sighed with pleasure, the small of her back arching. He pushed his hand beneath her bottom. She dragged her knees up his sides.

When he began to thrust, they groaned in unison.

He made love to her in surges. No words. No worry. Just the beat of their bodies drawing back and rocking together.

When the small sounds she made grew higher, he yanked her arms above her head.

She loved the sense that he was taking control of her, the simple wrap of his fingers on her wrists enough to turn her need frantic. They rocked together quicker, more forcefully. Luke was shoving in to both their limits, each thrust rubbing extra pressure into her sensitive upper wall. His breathing was ragged, his muscles taut. A.J. cried out and strove with him.

His open mouth dropped to her shoulder.

He was panting with urgency. She sensed him straining not to go before her. She turned her hands so she could hold his trapped as well.

This must have pushed good buttons. He groaned, hoarse and arousing. His muscles gathered as he suddenly heaved up onto straight arms. Their fingers wove together, his weight bearing down on her palms. He didn’t shift off them. He knew she could handle everything he gave her. Their gazes locked. She saw decision flick through his.

His hips drew back, the drag of his cock teasing every nerve in her quivering sheath.

Then he let loose and hammered her.

The sensation was overwhelming. This was what it felt like to be taken. Luke was so hard, so long as he plunged in and out. He worked her like he’d go insane if he couldn’t come that second. A.J. understood completely. Her walls constricted around him, greedily squeezing against his cock’s smooth friction. She wanted all of him, wanted him never to stop pumping inside her. Luke sucked in air, and her orgasm detonated. He was coming. He reared back. His groan of ecstasy burned her ear. She clutched him tight with her legs and arms.

“Yes,” he gasped, one little word that pushed her over the brink again.

She arched up and flew.

Coming back to earth a minute later wasn’t bad, since she landed there with him. They tidied and Luke pulled the nice sheets up. She didn’t hesitate to snuggle into him. His chest was a hard but pleasant pillow. He grunted as she settled, his fingers combing through her short hair.

When he sighed—a satisfied, happy sound—she rubbed her cheek against him.

“Tell me,” he said, “what do you think about Vancouver?”

“Um, it’s rainy?” This couldn’t be an idle question so she tried again. “I hear they have nice parks.”

“They have beautiful parks.” He wriggled into a more comfortable position. “I’m thinking of shifting operations there from LA. It’ll be a while before the furor over all that’s happened dies down here. I’d rather concentrate on enjoying life than on the hordes of reporters camped out on my doorstep.”

“Too much attention even for you?”

She was teasing, but he answered seriously. “Way too much. Plus, Vancouver would fit as a location for the arty horror film I finally sold Kevin on. The more I think about how we could pull that project off, the more I’m chomping at the bit to start.”

“You don’t want to do another Final movie?”

“Not right now. I guess we’ll come back to the franchise eventually. Those films do great box office, but I feel like I need a break.”

A.J. pushed up on her elbow to look at him. “What about Christie? Will you use her in the next installment?”

“I don’t know. She’s self-absorbed and obsessive, but that’s true of a lot of folks in the industry. On the other hand, maybe she and I have picked up too much baggage as a fictional couple. Pairing us again on screen could overshadow the story.” He frowned. “I don’t know. I need distance before I can decide.”

“That seems reasonable,” A.J. said carefully.

His gaze focused on her again. He lifted one eyebrow. “You’re not going to throw in your two cents?”

“Who you work with is your concern. I might not like Christie, but it seems that apart from being slightly nuts, she’s not an actual threat to you. That’s the only thing that would make her my business.”

He smiled as if she’d answered a question she hadn’t known he’d asked.

“Were you testing me?”

“Not on purpose, though I like knowing you’ve moved past thinking of me as a lost lamb.”

She vaguely remembered calling him that after their initial night together. She wagged her head in disbelief. “Your memory . . .”

“‘Lost lamb lothario’ was your precise phrasing.”

She laughed. “I had a way with words back then.”

He pinched her chin fondly, unoffended by her humor. “I have another question. If I shift to Vancouver, would you join my security team? You’d be second in command at first. The guy heading it up now is thinking of retiring. Movie security is different from executive protection but not completely. I think you’d find it challenging enough that you wouldn’t be bored.”

She looked at him. The idea intrigued her—as he must have guessed it would. “You’ve thought this through.”

“I want you to be happy. And not just when you’re with me.”

Her eyes stung, so she blinked rapidly. A sense of her own good fortune washed over her. Luke didn’t want to turn her into arm candy. He was prepared to let her be herself.

“I’d consider that opportunity seriously,” she said.

She wasn’t trying to be funny, but he chuckled. “Good.” He coaxed her down to his side again. “I’ll arrange for you and the current chief to take each other’s measure.” He grinned at some private joke. “I anticipate him being impressed with my candidate . . .”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LUKE knew it wasn’t PC to be glad, but Final Death had a very good first weekend. This was thanks in part to Detective Turner and his Friday morning press conference. Before a packed crowd of press, he announced the LAPD had closed the case. He didn’t literally claim they solved it, just made that easy to assume.

To heap insult on injury, he thanked “action star, Luke Channing” for his “invaluable assistance”—while omitting a single mention of Hoyt-Sands Security.

A.J. shrugged when Luke took offense on her behalf. “That’s the way it works. Our firm does business here all the time. We need to stay on the police’s good side more than they need to stay on ours.”

“And you call me forgiving,” he muttered.

As he’d anticipated, media interest exploded following the announcement. Neighbors to Wilhelmina and Sven swore they’d known something was up with the partners. She yelled at him like a fishwife, one interviewee said. Always scolding him for this and that. I felt sorry for the man. Wilhelmina’s famous clients were no shyer about grabbing their share of camera time. Very sad, they opined sagely. It just goes to show you never know what’s going on in other people’s minds.

Everyone professed to be grateful Luke was unharmed. Probably they were, but it made him glad they’d be decamping to Canada.

His new, non-live-in PA was green but so far had survived her personal Hell Week fobbing off barrages of interview requests. Now and then Luke missed Eliza’s efficiency. Even he, however, wasn’t soft enough to forget she’d spied on him. Word of her duplicity must have gotten out. He’d heard from Jerry she’d come up empty finding a new celebrity employer. Initially, he’d thought Christie James might hire her. Because this hadn’t happened, he concluded the actress had other means of guaranteeing the girl’s silence. If those means didn’t include cold cash, this probably boded a Nanny Diaries tell-all about her and Luke down the road. That was the Hollywood way. Though Luke didn’t relish the prospect, he wasn’t quaking in his boots either.

The person whose opinion mattered most already knew everything about him.

Naomi took it upon herself to mention A.J.’s role in saving Luke from Wilhelmina to her multitudinous social media followers. Ostensibly, she did this out of gratitude for her friend being alive. In reality, her intent was squelching resentment among a certain section of Luke’s fans over anyone marrying their heartthrob. “You’re welcome,” she said when she called to warn him she’d done it. “Consider it an early wedding gift.”

Luke conceded it was better than a blender.

To his relief, he and A.J. reached a compromise on the wedding without too big a battle. He’d known before he broached the topic that she wouldn’t agree to the three-ring circus most celebrities chose for starting their marriages. Despite bracing himself, he wasn’t prepared for the modesty of her plan.

“I want a justice of the peace,” she said in her firmest don’t-even-think-about-arguing tone. “No zillion dollar ceremony, no paparazzi taking shots from hot air balloons. My mom’s a lawyer out here. She has contacts. She can arrange for us to be married on the down low.”

A justice of the peace sounded grim to Luke. He wanted to celebrate their union, to let the whole world know he was happy.

He crossed his arms before responding. “You can have your dusty courthouse wedding if I can throw a party. A big one. Like with actual fireworks.”

She frowned at him, and he frowned back. “Fine, but—”

“No buts,” he countered. “We’re filing this party under ‘My Business.’”

He’d chosen the magic words. Her expression struggled but she gave in. Sort of. Her chin thrust out stubbornly. “I’m picking the dress I get married in.”

“As long as my ring is on your finger, you can wear your damned bodyguard outfit.”

*

A.J. didn’t expect the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach on the day of the wedding, but they definitely were there. Her mom had helped her shop for her dress, which was an ivory cross-fronted Balenciaga with sheer as a whisper sleeves. The hem was calf length and—at her mom’s insistence—the shoes were Louboutins. Keeping her ankles straight required concentration, but according to Valerie Hoyt, God willing, her daughter would only marry once. For a man like Luke, A.J. ought to be willing to put an effort in.

Not unexpectedly, A.J.’s mother had developed a mom-crush on Luke Channing.

Her dad was warier, but his nature wasn’t as effusive. He was like A.J. that way. Politeness he’d give for free. Trust he only offered once it was earned.

She and Luke rode in an unobtrusive Hoyt-Sands hire car to the courthouse. Before they got out, Luke handed her a white florist’s box.

“Bouquet,” he said with a grin.

She opened the lid gingerly. The scent of old-fashioned roses immediate wafted out. The blooms were peach and cream with fat white hydrangeas tucked between. The effect was lush and showy and—she would have said—not at all her style. In spite of this, she touched the petals with the back of her eyes pricking.

She loved them ridiculously.

“They’re beautiful,” she murmured. “And they go perfectly.”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind looking a bit bride-like. Since you picked a white dress and all.”

He’d been repressing it, but his grin broke out. He knew exactly what her fancy duds signified.

Unable to deny it, she cupped his face and kissed him. “I’m so proud to be marrying you. I hope you know that even if we’re doing this quietly.”

His breathtaking eyes grew shiny. “I know. Me too.”

They went up the courthouse steps hand in hand.

Valerie Hoyt had arranged for a judge she knew to marry them in his chambers after hours. Luke’s parents were waiting in the hall outside as they arrived. This was A.J.’s second time meeting them, the first having been at a dinner for both families. Frank and Sonia were quite attractive, in a real person way. Luke hugged them and she did too.

Luke’s mom, who was soft-spoken and seemed shy, handed her a brooch in the shape of a turtledove.

“For something borrowed,” she explained. “In case you believe in that. It belonged to Luke’s grandmother.”

A.J. accepted it carefully. She wasn’t superstitious, but she’d be damned if she’d admit that in front of this obviously sweet woman.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m honored to wear it.”

Luke helped her pin it on. His mouth was curved as he worked—as if he were aware of and appreciated her self-restraint.

“The judge is still getting ready,” Frank informed them, his arm protective around his wife’s shoulders. “I think he was held up on the golf course.”

Luke’s dad was like him: gregarious and charming. His eyes were the same light green, his hair brightened by the same gold streaks—though A.J. suspected his came from working under the actual sun. He had more smile lines than his son. More worry lines as well.

They’ve been through it, she reminded herself, no matter how apple pie they look.

“Neither of my folks have arrived?” she asked.

“Not so far, dear,” said Sonia.

A.J. bit her thumbnail. Her parents got along these days, generally, but they didn’t see each other that often. She hoped they weren’t squabbling on her wedding day.

Luke took the hand she was gnawing and kissed it. “They’re not late. We were early.”

She heard the giggling before she spotted them. It was a sound she hadn’t heard since she was a kid—usually right before being sent to her room with a stack of her favorite books.

Reading had been fundamental to her parents’ privacy.

“Oh My God,” she breathed in shock. “They totally hooked up.”

“What?” Luke’s head twisted around to see.

“Never mind,” she said, not wanting to get into it in front of his folks.

Hers came around the corner bumping shoulders like drunken teenagers. A.J.’s mom looked great in her tailored yellow dress—young enough to be a bride herself. She and Parker straightened when they saw they had witnesses.

A.J. couldn’t help noticing her mother had to tug down her hem. Good Lord, had they been going at each other in the hallway?

“Please tell me you and Zack are on a break,” she murmured when they embraced.

Her mom looked startled. “I— Zack and I broke up, sweetie. I didn’t mention it before because I didn’t want to put a damper on planning your and Luke’s big day.”

A.J. supposed she bought that. Her mom was usually principled. She hugged her father with less stiffness. “Wipe your cheek,” she warned. “You’re wearing Mom’s lipstick.”

He laughed and scrubbed at the spot. “I told your mother we couldn’t keep this from you.”

He looked so happy it worried her. What if this second shot at romance blew up in their faces? Her dad was tough, but losing Valerie once had nearly destroyed him. Her mom wasn’t likely to enjoy a second failure either. Her dad still worked a dangerous job. Had her mom truly changed enough to accept that?

Leave it alone, A.J. told herself sternly. Your parents are consenting adult grownups.

She mustered as bright a smile as she could paste on. Her dad shot her dubious side-eye, but her mom seemed to take the expression at face value.

“Wonderful,” she exclaimed. “We’re all here. I’ll check in on Judge van Houghton and see if he’s ready.”

“Could I have a minute with you while she’s doing that?” Parker asked.

A.J. glanced at Luke, who squeezed her arm and smiled. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here till you’re done.”

Her dad led her out of earshot to the apparently still-functional shoeshine stand. The high wooden seats were old school, the $15 price not so much.

“What’s up,” she asked when he looked uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe I should have asked you this before, but I couldn’t decide, and this is my final chance.”

“To ask me what?”

He rubbed his chin. “Are you certain you want to marry an actor? Don’t get me wrong. I like Luke. Probably I owe him on account of not believing he was in danger all those years ago. You’re my kid, though, and this is a different world. Hollywood people aren’t what you’re used to.”

This didn’t trouble her, but it took a second to figure out how to convey that to her father. She thought of Vivi Danielson, daughter of the heartland with her mitten fixation and screwed up mind. “Realistically, Dad, people can be ‘different’ no matter where you live.”

He let out a small dry laugh. “I suppose they can, and I suppose that proves you’ve got your head on straight. Maybe it’s silly, what with our ups and downs, but I still think of you as my baby girl.”

“That’s not silly. It’s nice. And, yes, I’m sure I want to marry Luke. I love him, Dad, more than I knew I was capable of loving anyone.”

He cleared his throat to collect himself. “Okay, I’ll smooth the path for you to transfer to the LA branch.”

Oh boy, A.J thought. He wasn’t the only one who’d put off mentioning something important. “About that, Dad . . . Two Dudes’ security chief is retiring in a year. He’s going to train me on the ins and outs of working on movies. For the next little while, we’ll be living in Vancouver.”

“Vancouver!” She’d taken him by surprise. His astonishment and dismay rang clear.

“I know I should have told you. I— I’ve loved working for you, Dad. I’ve learned so much, and you’re an awesome boss. I guess I didn’t know how to break the news.”

“It’s . . . all right,” he said slowly. “I mean, it makes sense. If Luke is filming there, you wouldn’t want to be far apart.”

“I think the position might be fun,” she added. “Once I learn what’s involved.”

“I’ve no doubt you will.” He pointed at her with his finger. “Just promise you won’t steal Martin to follow you out there.”

“I couldn’t steal Martin. He’s your partner.”

Her dad pulled a face, so maybe he knew about Martin’s torch. “I would let you steal Szymanski if he wanted. He’s always saying Mrs. S wishes she could travel.”

“Really?” she said, intrigued by that idea. It’d be great to have someone she knew with her on the job.

“Really,” her dad assured. “And now we’d better get back. Your mother’s starting to crane at us anxiously.”

An impulse she couldn’t squelch compelled her to touch his arm. “Dad. About you and Mom . . . You’re going to be careful, aren’t you? I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

Wonder unexpectedly filled his eyes. “Well,” he said. “You and I really have come a ways. I’ll be careful, sweetie. I don’t want to see us get hurt either.”

He kissed her brow and gave her a little squeeze.

When her nervousness shot through the ceiling, it wasn’t because of him. It was because she knew the time to change her life forever had arrived.

Fortunately, the ceremony in the judge’s chambers was businesslike—no fussy vows to stumble over, just the straightforward phrases in van Houghton’s boilerplate. A.J. hardly cared what she said. She knew the promises her heart was making.

When Luke said I do, he grinned with delight.

She might have too, to be honest.

The judge told them they could kiss. They touched lips in the officially mandated PDA. To A.J.’s surprise, she felt rather lifted out of herself. They were married. The man she loved with every atom of her being was her husband.

Luke’s hands remained twined loosely behind her waist. “That was perfect,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

A.J. couldn’t help it. She was so thankful she beamed at him.

*

Luke threw their day-after-the-wedding party at Mayfair. Destined to be remembered as one of his most stellar productions, it was his last big blowout before they leased the place and moved to Hollywood North. The food was great, the band nicely raucous, and everywhere he looked people he knew and appreciated were having fun.

He’d kept the crowd medium-sized to preserve A.J.’s sanity. Everyone was a friend and not an acquaintance, though admittedly he had a lot. Guests came from Galaxy and Two Dudes: crew, actors, people he’d met at charity events and award shows. His ritzy neighbors, of course, plus some folks he still liked from his modeling days. He’d even invited some media, ones who weren’t piranhas. Any friends A.J. wanted at the party, he’d flown out. He’d already met Tanisha and her sister, plus A.J.’s doctor friend, Nigella, and her teenage daughter Bree. The girl was awestruck at first but recovered enough to ask if Luke was as good a kisser as he seemed in the movies.

“Better,” A.J. had answered, but not like it was a good thing. She’d turned to regard him with comically narrowed eyes. “It’s practically his secret weapon. Promise your mother you’ll stay away from boys who kiss like him for another year or two.”

The girl had giggled and exclaimed “Aunt A.J.!” like it already was too late.

Her mother rolled her eyes and promised to visit them in Vancouver.

Luke couldn’t speak to everyone, but he tried. When he couldn’t reach them, he smiled and waved. He liked letting people know they were welcome. The fact that his wife kept rubbing her side as if she wished she wore her holster merely heightened his amusement.

Alexandra Jane Hoyt was his wife: his beautiful, brave, secretly softhearted, miraculous, kickbutt wife. He wouldn’t have wished her to act any other way.

Her grandfather was playing fetch from his chair with a neighbor’s excited dog. Luke suspected the man she called Pop-Pop had no idea the pooch’s owner won three Oscars.

“My parents are dancing,” A.J. observed, her thumbnail pressed nervously to her teeth. They had an excellent view. Luke and she had climbed the steps to the rear balcony, where they stood side by side, looking out.

Luke squeezed her tense shoulders. “They look happy. And your dad can cut a rug.”

His parents were dancing too—less expertly, but with similar evidence of enjoyment. His father was making his mother slap at him and laugh, so no doubt he’d told her some bawdy joke. The turtledove brooch his mom loaned A.J. yesterday twinkled on the front of her party dress. Though his mom was tougher than she looked, Luke loved how sweet A.J. had been with her.

“Your parents will be fine,” he soothed. “You said it yourself: they’re grownups.”

“Right,” she agreed with a decisive nod of her head. “I’m going to let this go.”

He was about to kiss her temple, and maybe tease her a little more, when two other people he knew wended toward the dance floor. The couple was holding hands like maybe they’d done more than that recently.

“Well, that’s not a good idea,” he blurted without thinking.

“What isn’t?” A.J. scanned the crowd to see what he meant.

“Martin and Naomi. They obviously came together. Surely there’s a rule against double rebounders pairing up.”

“I’m pretty sure there isn’t.” She was fighting a tiny grin.

“You’re telling me this doesn’t worry you?”

“You’re the one who’s lecturing about grownups. Martin and Naomi are grownups too. And you have to admit, they’ll distract each other.”

“Naomi’s a wild child. Martin will never keep up with her.”

“We don’t know that. He survived active duty. Dating Naomi can’t be worse than pitched battle.”

“What do you mean, it can’t be worse?”

A.J. burst out laughing. “I’m pulling your leg. I like Naomi. Let’s make a deal that we’ll try to be enlightened about these things. We let our friends and parents handle their own romantic entanglements.”

“Do I have to?” he joked, though he liked the idea of him and A.J. as a team.

His brand new wife hugged his arm. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll love you no matter what.”

He liked that as well. His tension left him, replaced by happy warmth. He watched one of the servers giggle as she handed a champagne flute to a band tech. Romance was in the air: Hollywood’s trademark cotton candy being spun. Some of the strands would twine into something stronger. The rest would float away. That was fine. The possibility of connecting was one of the joys of life.

He turned to find A.J.’s eyes on him. Her head was cocked.

“I think I get it,” she said.

“Get what?”

She swept one hand toward the party crowd. “Why you enjoy all this. Why you like seeing and being seen. You don’t want to be invisible the way you were in that cellar as a boy. You want to be sure you can’t disappear without someone missing you.”

His eyes burned at her perceptiveness. He couldn’t speak for a moment. A.J. caressed his forearm, which he’d unconscious pulled to his stomach.

“You’d be missed,” she said intensely. “Always. Even if there was no one to look for you but me.”

He blinked and two tears ran down.

“You found me,” he said throatily. “And thank God I found you too.”

She hugged him, her face pressed tightly to his shoulder. He stroked her hair, so short, so tender against her nape.

She didn’t have to say thank God too. He knew she was thinking it.

* * *

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

EMMA HOLLY is the award winning, USA Today bestselling author of more than thirty romantic books, featuring shapeshifters, demons, faeries and just plain extraordinary folks. She loves the hot stuff, both to read and to write!

If you’d like to discover what else she’s written, please visit her website at http://www.emmaholly.com.

Emma runs monthly contests and sends out newsletters that often include coupons for ebooks. To receive them, go to her contest page.

Thanks so much for reading this book. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review. That kind of support is very helpful!

OTHER TITLES BY EMMA HOLLY

The Prince With No Heart

The Assassins’ Lover

Steaming Up Your Love Scenes (how-to)

Tales of the Djinn: The Guardian

Tales of the Djinn: The Double

*

The Billionaires

The Billionaire Bad Boys Club

Beck & Call

Lord & Master (the sequel to Beck & Call)

Star Crossed

*

Hidden Series

Hidden Talents

Hidden Depths

Date Night

Move Me

The Faerie’s Honeymoon

Hidden Crimes

Winter’s Tale

Hidden Dragons

Hidden Passions

The man everybody wants

WOMEN can’t keep their hands off billionaire Damien Call. The mysterious mogul has it all: fast cars, killer looks, and a brain that just might be his best asset.

Mia Beck loves her job at a PI firm. Her coworker Jake stars in most of her daydreams, so seeing him everyday is no hardship.

Jake hasn’t believed in human goodness since he worked black ops for the CIA. Romancing innocent Mia is unthinkable, no matter how enticingly submissive she seems to be. Then a case of corporate espionage forces them to pose as dom/sub duo, to catch the eye of accused wrongdoer Damien. No fantasy is off limits for this voyeur—until the attraction the pair exerts lures him to go hands on . . .

“I. love. this. ménage. I am still smiling about these characters. Another outstanding story.”—Mary’s Ménage Reviews

My name is Mia Beck and I’m a lucky girl . . .

BILLIONAIRE Damien Call didn’t stop being moody just because Jake and I moved in with him. Fortunately, I've devised a strategy. I inherited a share in an exclusive erotic club, and they’re beta testing a role-play game. Surrounded by period perfect detail, members pretend to be Edwardian lords and ladies . . . or stable masters, if they prefer.

By switching up our dynamic, I'm hoping to smooth the snags in our otherwise fabulous ménage. Neither of my lovers has trouble opening his heart to me, but Damien would benefit from exploring his dominant side, and he and Jake could be easier with each other.

That’s my goal anyway. My plan might go up in smoke when Jake and Damien concoct their own scheme for me!

The sequel to Beck & Call

“So good it defies description . . .The entire premise of the book was fantastic . . . [L]ives up to and exceeds expectations.”—Jean Smith, x-treme-delusions

SELF-MADE billionaires Zane and Trey have been a club of two since they were eighteen. They’ve done everything together: play football, fall in love, even get smacked around by their dads. The only thing they haven’t tried is seducing the same woman. When they set their sights on sexy chef Rebecca, these bad boys meet their match!

“This book is a mesmerizing, beautiful and oh-my-gods-hot work of art!”
—BittenByLove 5-hearts review

ELYSE Solomon hasn’t had it easy. She lost her dad and her husband under suspicious circumstances, and her relatives know more than they’re admitting about both deaths. Then a mysterious stranger with a briefcase full of cash moves into the basement of her New York brownstone. Arcadius is gorgeous, exquisitely polite, and sophisticated, but nothing about him adds up—that is, until Elyse discovers her sexy tenant is a genie desperate to save his people from a deadly curse. With so much heartache behind her, can Elyse find the courage to help the man who might be her true soul mate?

“FANTASTIC! [T]his may be the best thing she has written to date . . . the first in an epic tale of romantic fantasy.”—In My Humble Opinion blogspot.com

“One of my absolute favorite authors! . . . Mystery with some awesome romance!!! And an ending that has you begging for more!”—Chelle’s Book Report

What if the man you loved had a double?

THAT’S the challenge Elyse faces when a flying carpet lands her and her new djinn lover in the glorious city he calls home. Cade’s people need help recovering from a curse, but this isn’t the only problem they’ll have to fix. Cade’s trip to Elyse’s world created a duplicate of himself, a not-quite carbon copy who firmly believes he’s Cade’s superior.

Arcadius has no patience for modern women or males foolish enough to love them. If only Elyse’s aid weren’t necessary to catch a sorcerer who’s abducting his city’s youth! Being in her company makes him too aware of her attractions.

Elyse expects “Commander” Arcadius to be easy to resist. He’s arrogant and a chauvinist—and he doesn’t think much of her. Then, bit-by-bit, she sees past his prickly exterior. Arcadius is who Cade used to be before they met. If she fell for one, there’s no guarantee she won’t fall for the other . . .

“Emma Holly transports you into a fantastic world of magic, mystery, and erotic delights . . . absolutely wonderful.” —D. Antonio, In My Humble Opinion