JUST ONE TASTE…
Wendy Etherington

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

To David Etherington and Jeff Dunn

for their love, support and never-ending hospitality.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Coming Next Month

1

FROM BEHIND HER POST at the chocolate fountain, Vanessa Douglas watched the posh crowd of Atlanta’s social elite schmooze each other.

Prominent doctors and lawyers, board members and business moguls turned out in jewels and designer clothes, decorated by elegantly dressed first spouses or young, hard-bodied second ones. Vanessa fought the urge to yawn.

But when a girl made penis-shaped cakes for a living, a lot of things seemed staid by comparison.

“Have you seen any cute guys?” her best friend and business partner Mia Medini asked.

“Nope. And hardly anybody under forty.”

“What we expected. Your mother never listens.” She planted her hands on her trim hips, which were shown off to perfection in a silky turquoise dress that also complemented her olive-toned skin and dark hair. “People our age go to nightclubs for fun, not the country club.”

“Except my sister.” Angelica, wearing a powder-blue suit and pearls, stood across the room with a group of elderly women. Nearby, their parents socialized in an intimate circle of longtime friends, her mother in cream-colored Chanel, her father in dignified navy Brooks Brothers. Vanessa glanced down at her rebel-red shimmery cocktail dress, bought from a sample sale in midtown at Vampy Divas. Yep. All was right with the world.

Even though her mother had sent catering business Vanessa’s way instead of steering it in the other direction, hell, apparently, hadn’t actually frozen over.

“But your sister is a fifty-year-old in a twenty-five-year-old body,” Mia said.

“She hooked the best cardiac surgeon in the South.”

Mia elbowed her. “Like he’s a damn herring. And, personally, he’s too staid for me.”

“Wearing a bow tie is not a good sign.”

“Though I once knew this stripper who wore his bow tie on his—”

“Mia, please,” Vanessa said, glancing around furtively to see if they’d been overheard. “Not here.”

Mia looked wounded. “You turn into such a stuff-bucket around them.”

She knew it was true. But she was tired of the estrangement from her family. She’d had her rebellion, and she was ready for compromise. “I’m just trying for peace. For once.”

“I wish you luck on your journey, Don Quixote.”

Ignoring her roommate’s negativity, Vanessa rearranged the stack of napkins on the table, which were highlighted by elegant shrimp canapés and delicate chocolate puff pastries. No anatomically correct—or incorrect—body parts in sight.

Damn it.

“Though everybody has been complimentary,” Mia went on. “You think we’ll actually get more business from doing this shindig?”

Vanessa shrugged as if she hadn’t given the idea much thought. “Maybe. We could use it.”

Of course she’d given the idea a lot of thought. Her family was a cornerstone of the swanky society laid out before them. Her father was a senior partner in one of the oldest, most prestigious law firms in the city. Her mother was a premier society queen. Vanessa and her sister had been raised as pristine, pure debutantes.

And she’d chucked it all to slave in the kitchen making chocolate sauce and leaven bread for a living.

Crazy? Her mother thought so. As well as most of the people she’d grown up with. But Vanessa had never felt more normal, free and alive than the day she’d packed her jeans, T-shirts—and the scandalous red bra she’d worn under a white shirt once and nearly sent her mother into a dead faint—and moved out on her own.

After being cut off from the family money at the urging of her mother—she was the power behind the throne, no matter what her father claimed—Vanessa had put herself through culinary school and started her own business. After years of having to sneak into the kitchen to help their housekeeper make cookies—debs didn’t cook, they nibbled elegantly—she’d found a profession where getting messy was just part of the process.

For years, she’d wondered if the sneaking part was her only attraction to cooking, but after moving out and working in a restaurant, she’d realized that being a chef appealed to her need for excitement and variety. From a practical aspect, she could eat and get paid. Emotionally, it gave her instant gratification—she fed people, and they were happy. She didn’t disappoint them, and they didn’t try to change her.

Rejection of her efforts was rare.

Which brought her thoughts back to her family. Her sister, believing that a woman wasn’t complete until she married, constantly tried to fix her up with men who were completely wrong for her. While Vanessa fought to keep her fledgling catering business afloat, her mother discouraged everyone she knew from using her services. And her father seemed too busy to notice there was a rift in the family at all.

Still, seven years after her big rebellion, Vanessa could say she didn’t regret the choices she’d made. She had great friends who supported her, she threw her energy and hopes into her business, and she planned for the future.

And yet…she wanted nothing quite as much as a reconciliation with her family. Just not at the expense of her pride.

How’s that for a contradiction?

“Do you think her usual caterer really canceled on her at the last minute?” Mia asked, her tone as suspicious as Vanessa’s had been when her mother had called her less than a week ago to ask them to cater this party.

“It’s possible.”

She’d like to think her mother was softening, or at least getting used to the idea of a daughter in the—shudder—service industry. Or maybe, actually—big gasp—accepting Vanessa’s chosen career and lifestyle rather than doing everything possible to turn her into a society princess and carbon copy of both her and Vanessa’s younger sister. But Vanessa wasn’t holding her breath.

“I guess I’m a sap for bailing her out,” Vanessa continued.

“Since she’s done so much to help us.”

“She thinks she’s doing what’s best for me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re twenty-seven. I’m pretty sure you’ve figured out what’s best for you on your own.”

“Hear, hear.”

“And we did a classy job. I bet fifty bucks your mother didn’t sleep a wink last night, wondering if we’d show up with boob-shaped suckers and a cock-shaped champagne fountain.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened, and she temporarily shoved aside her vow for peace. She exchanged a knowing look with Mia. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“For that bachelorette party this weekend.”

“We could have champagne spurting out the top.”

“Crude, but fun.”

“My mother really would faint.”

Mia flicked her hand in dismissal. “Well, she’s not going to be there, is she? And let’s quit talking about her. It’s too frustrating.” She craned her neck to try to see around and over the crowd. “This place is a crush. Somehow the staid and boring really have found their own place in the world. Imagine that. Still, there’s got to be at least one scrumptious, eligible man—oh, my God. What’s he doing here? Hide me.”

Vanessa looked around and quickly spotted the problem—Colin Leavy was heading their way. He’d been in love with Mia ever since he’d come into their bakery and catering shop to order a cake for his mother’s birthday two years ago. Unfortunately, he was an accountant and the epitome of staid, so Mia wouldn’t have anything to do with him.

Vanessa thought he was cute, and his devotion to Mia adorable. She might even reveal her chocolate-cheese-cake recipe to have a man look at her with the devotion Colin showed Mia.

Somehow, in her relationships, Vanessa always managed to be the pursuer, not the pursuee. Because she knew what she wanted? Because she knew how to get what she wanted? Or because she impulsively jumped in with both feet without bothering to ask too many questions?

She highly suspected it was the latter, especially after the last guy she’d gone out with that turned out to have a fiancée.

“Good grief,” she said to her partner. “There are worse things in life than having a bright, successful man grovel at your feet.”

“Depends on the man.”

As Colin approached, and Mia realized she didn’t have anywhere to hide, she simply crossed her arms over her chest.

“Hi, Mia. Would you like to dance?”

“I’m work—”

Vanessa pushed her friend forward. “She’d love to.”

Mia glared at her over her shoulder. “But, I—”

“Come on, Mia,” Colin said. “Please.”

Who could resist those sweet, puppy-dog-brown eyes?

Apparently not even Mia, who sighed, but held out her hand to take Colin’s. Vanessa hoped she let him lead.

While her partner was dancing, Vanessa roamed the perimeter of the room, making sure the platters of appetizers and pastries were filled, and the waitstaff kept the drinks flowing. The party doubled as a fund-raiser for a local children’s hospital, so once her mother presented the check to the chairperson at 10:00 p.m., the crowd would probably disperse and Vanessa and Mia would be free to clean up and go. Still, it would be midnight before they got home, as they had to pack everything, then run it all through the industrial-quality dishwasher at the shop.

Dessert First had started on a whim, had quickly become a challenge, but it fulfilled Vanessa as nothing else ever had before.

She’d met Mia in culinary school, where her friend had excelled at organizing and managing much more than she had at cookies and pastries. They’d become close buds, then business partners and roommates. Vanessa knew she could count on Mia like no one else in the world, and that safety net allowed her to handle the tension between her and her family with much more confidence and panache.

Maybe, with Mia’s business savvy and Vanessa’s sugary concoctions, they wouldn’t have to struggle so much someday. Maybe this party could be the beginning of healing and understanding with her family.

Oh, yeah, and maybe the man of her dreams was going to pop out from behind the fruit bowl and whisk her to his castle in the sky.

EXCEPT FOR HER, THE PARTY was a dead bore.

Lucas Broussard prowled the edges of the room, knowing he’d have to endure many more of these things if he was going to be accepted in this city. Networking in his profession was a necessity. A sacrifice, like so many others, he’d just have to buckle down and endure.

Were they all genetically programmed for this stuff? Small talk, gossip, bragging. Trophy wives and pedigreed family trees.

At least, though his mistakes and faux pas were many, he’d never been accused of boring his audience to death.

As expected, and like everyone else, he’d flashed his Rolex. He wore a custom-made designer suit. He’d made plenty of money as a respected attorney, even if the money was a little too new to be decent and his tactics were sneered at by some. He held his champagne glass by the stem. He could even tell the brand was that old reliable Dom Pérignon and not the now hipper Cristal.

And still the boy from Cypress Bayou Trailer Park of Lafayette, Louisiana, lurked inside him. Inescapable. Maybe even necessary.

All in all, he’d much rather snag that hot blonde in the red dress, a bottle of whiskey and head home.

Even as he managed not to choke over yet another story about hunting lodges and the advantages of buying a personal Learjet, he watched her. He smiled internally as she accepted a breath mint from her dark-haired friend. His body tightened as she snitched a chocolate truffle from a tray of sweets and slid it into her mouth with a sigh of pleasure, her tongue peeking out to skim the last drop of chocolate from her bottom lip. He noticed as she slipped into the kitchen, then return moments later with a large silver platter of strawberries.

At first glance, he’d pegged her as a guest. With her sparkling dress; tall, trim body; and sleek curtain of hair falling just past her shoulders, she had class written all over her. But when he’d maneuvered himself closer, he saw her nails were painted bloodred, and she had a small butterfly tattoo on the back of her left shoulder.

And he’d smiled genuinely for the first time all night.

Now, while a local cardiologist—whom his company was panting over as a client to represent in nuisance malpractice suits—explained the advantages of jetting to Brussels in the spring, he watched the chocolate-loving blonde rearrange strawberries on the fruit platters and considered how she’d feel about comparing body decorations.

Even as the arousing picture of that played through his mind, he strangled his libido and remembered his career. His life. His future. And the future of those who depended on him.

He’d come to Atlanta to change direction. To amend for the past. To remind himself why he’d started down the road of law in the first place.

Beautiful, butterfly-tattooed blondes would just have to wait.

He tuned into the European-vacation discussion. He smiled at appropriate times. He didn’t talk too much. Or too little. And when the esteemed doctor excused himself to dance with his wife, Lucas’s business card was in his jacket pocket.

With a smile, he turned to find the next conquest. But as he continued to schmooze, she was there. He felt her. Her smile and her grace. Her glowing skin. The heat her body would undoubtedly radiate.

Why couldn’t he forget her? Or at least set her aside until the business of the night was done?

Nothing came before business. At least nothing ever had before.

Tonight, though, he knew where she was at every moment. He knew she hovered nearby. Lovely. Tempting. Forbidden.

His muscles grew tired of holding back. His fingers tingled in anticipation. He even got a crick in his neck from craning in an effort to constantly keep her in sight. For a man who’d fought for and gained control over his life and his emotions, the night was becoming both a torture and a curiosity.

Oddly enough, the moment he buckled was when he saw her holding out a tray of strawberries to an elderly couple.

After they moved away, he approached her. “I’d rather have them dipped in chocolate.”

Her head jerked up, and she met his gaze with a surprised jolt, as if she’d been lost in her own thoughts.

Smart move, chère, with this crowd.

“They’re better with a bit more sweetness,” he added, somehow knowing he wasn’t through giving in to temptation.

ALL THE AIR LEFT Vanessa’s body.

She shook her head to clear it, certain she was hallucinating.

A tall, trim, black-haired, green-eyed, strong-jawed, impeccably dressed vision of a man was not standing in front of her. Popping out while she was rearranging the fruit.

Quick, girl. Think of something clever. Knock that hard head of yours against something if necessary.

Instead, she stared.

His smile was just a tad too confident, but his eyes were bright, as if lit from within. His posture and broad shoulders communicated assurance and reliability, giving her the impression that he was capable of slaying dragons, should such a drastic measure be necessary. She noted the crystal champagne flute in his hand, and the Rolex encircling his wrist, completing the picture of powerful elegance.

Why him? Why now? she wanted to ask somebody. Yell at somebody. Anybody. She was supposed to be working. Impressing the moneyed masses. Avoiding her mother’s criticism. Denying her sister access to her neglected, impulsive and sometimes romantic heart. And, last but not least, mending the family fence—even if it was made of iron.

All desire for those lofty achievements had faded. Gone poof like a Vegas magician’s assistant.

Somehow, someway, this man drew her to him, making her forget her goals and needs. Other than the most carnal ones. By self-assurance or warmth or the supernatural, she felt herself leaning closer, eager to catch the next words he said.

You’re supposed to say something, her libido reminded her.

To stall, she glanced down to note the silver tray trembling in her hands. What had he said? Strawberries. And chocolate.

“Sweet is good,” she managed to say finally, setting the tray aside. And those impulsive, rebel genes, no matter how deeply buried, popped out like a stripper’s implants. She stepped closer, and his eyes went hot. His subtle cologne and body heat enveloped her. “Tasty. Tart. Warm.”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Desire slid through her body. When she’d first gotten out on her own, she’d picked up a few guys at bars, just to give her cramped wings a stretch, but her social life had quickly taken a backseat to work. The success of her business was vital to her wallet, her peace of mind and her pride. She hadn’t met a guy who could hold her admittedly short attention span for very long.

But her attention was riveted now. “I have strawberries just for the chocolate.” She licked her lips. “Do you need a demonstration on how to dip them?”

“Love one.”

She turned away, leading him to the chocolate fountain. Now that she wasn’t facing him, she could think a bit clearer. She thanked heaven, her lucky stars and her fairy godmother that she’d seen him before Mia. Friends they were, but wow, he would be hard to be friendly about.

When they reached the table, she felt the tip of his finger skim her shoulder. “I like the butterfly,” he said.

The warmth of his touch lingered on her skin, and she shivered as she glanced back at him. “Glad somebody does. My mother—” She had not just brought her mother into a discussion with Mr. Delectable. Mortification burned her face.

Those wicked green eyes twinkled. “Mine, too.”

“You have a tattoo? I thought Rolex cross-checked that sort of behavior before they let just anybody waltz around with their goods.”

He raised his eyebrows. “The tattoo came first.”

Damn. Another flub. He probably thought she was one of those gold-digging chicks who checked out the labels in a guy’s clothes before she tried to hook her claws into him. “What is it?” she asked in an attempt to recover.

“And here I thought you’d wanna know where before what,” he said, his voice low and seductive.

He even had a nice accent. Southern, but smooth. Not good ol’ boy and not suppressed as if he’d taken classes on how to lose his heritage like so many she knew. “Maybe you could show me instead.”

His finger trailed down her arm. “Not here I couldn’t.”

Oh, my. She swallowed. “Somewhere more private?”

“You don’t have to work?”

“Yes. No.”

Yes, you do, her conscience reminded her. Work, smirk, her libido countered.

“I’ve got a few minutes,” she said coolly, though it was hard to be cool when one’s knees were on the verge of buckling beneath the weight of Mr. Wonderful’s interested stare.

“To spend with me?”

“If you like.”

“You’re good at your job.” His gaze roved her face. “I watched you. For quite a while.” While her breath hitched in her throat, he glanced around before his gaze came back to hers. “The food is excellent. The layout and decorations shine with class. The guests…” He shrugged as he snagged two glasses of champagne from the passing waiter, then handed her one.

Though she didn’t normally drink her clients’ liquor, she sipped and couldn’t stop the eye roll for the guests.

He grinned. “A bit tedious?”

“A bit.”

“Self-importance tends to make the air thick.”

“I knew I was short of breath for a reason.” Though she very well knew the real reason. “Ninety percent of them are doctors and lawyers. Arrogance is a job qualification.” She started to smile again, but the amused expression on his face tipped her off to her blunder. Only occasionally had she paid attention during etiquette lessons. “Which one are you?”

He toasted her with his flute. “Lawyer.”

“Not around here.” No way this guy could have flown under the gossip radar, even if she was on the outer edges of the circle.

“I am as of Monday.”

She hadn’t heard this. She wondered if he’d be working with her father or rivaling him. Regret rolled over her. Why a lawyer? That hit too close to home. A home where she was no longer welcome. “Congratulations,” she said without any warmth.

“Don’t like lawyers?” He sipped. “Pity. I was looking forward to that chocolate-dipping demonstration.”

Glancing at him, at the interest, the regret in his eyes, she waved aside the old prejudice. And the memory of guys who’d used her to get close to her father. The pain of rejection she couldn’t seem to shake.

Thanks to the man before her, desire and curiosity had woven their spell, dispelling her conscience’s shouts of caution.

She turned to pick up a wooden skewer, slid a strawberry onto the end, then rolled it beneath the warm chocolate spilling from a spout on the fountain. The seductive, sugary aroma surrounded her like a lover, lulling her in its warm embrace. Mischievous thrills zipped down her spine.

An elderly couple approached and took their sweet time selecting a crystal plate and fruit, drenching it in chocolate, smiling at each other the whole time. Vanessa had seen the same effect on many people over the past few years. There was just something plain decadent about chocolate. Liquefy the stuff? Oh, boy. The sparks will fly.

With her own sparks ready to ignite, she turned.

Knowing she should take a cautious look around, but ignoring the call to respectability, she cupped her hand under the dripping strawberry and held it in front of his lips.

He turned his head. “Lose the skewer.”

She hesitated. She was a rebel, not a troublemaker. Most of the time anyway.

“Come on,” he added.

Hardly able to believe she was complying in a room filled with her parents and all their respected cronies, but unable to resist his dare, she slid the dripping strawberry off the skewer and held it between her fingers, against his mouth. His gaze never leaving hers, he bit in, his tongue catching the tip of her finger. The juices flowed over her fingers, dripping into her palm. Her body tingled; her stomach fluttered.

She wanted him. Wanted him like crazy.

Heart hammering, she popped the rest of the berry in her mouth, then chased the sweetness with champagne. As the icy drink rolled down her throat, she wiped her hand on a napkin and tried to find some balance, some reason to resist him. And came up flat empty.

“How fast can you get out of here?” he asked, setting aside his glass.

“I—” She put down her glass. “This is nuts. I don’t even know your name.”

“Lucas.”

“Is that first or last?”

“First. That’s enough for now, isn’t it? I’m tired of networking and dropping names to impress. I don’t want to compare stationery or brag about judgments and client lists.”

For a second, she was shocked by the naughty “first names only” suggestion. But it also appealed to her on a couple of levels.

First, it was naughty.

Second, if he learned her last name, he’d most likely connect her with her father. How many guys had she gone out with at her mother or sister’s suggestion, only to learn they were aspiring attorneys looking to break into her father’s firm?

“And your name?” her gorgeous companion asked.

Her mother would probably have a stroke if she found out her daughter had picked up a man—a stranger—at her dignified children’s hospital fund-raiser. Her sister would demand lineage and financial-status reports. Her father would want to see his law degree and standing with the American Bar Association.

Really, discretion was in order.

And yet she itched—in more places than just her brain—to take a chance. To plunge and then dive. To walk down an expected road and see where it led. She was literally on the edge of jumping in with both feet and not asking too many questions.

So she did. Ask a question, that is.

“Do you have a fiancée?”

He angled his head. “No.”

“A wife?”

He grinned. “No.”

She tapped her foot.

Then again, picking up a guy at a party would be a scandalous—and honest—way of telling her sister she was dating. Lately, she’d been assuring her matchmaking-minded sibling that she had all the dates she needed. Not exactly a lie. She just didn’t need any dates at the moment.

Mr. Scrumptious, however, could easily change her mind. She glanced up at him. And smiled.

“Vanessa,” she said, sliding her hand across the lapel of his suit jacket. “My name’s Vanessa.”

2

SHE WAS A CONTRADICTION.

Manners, but flaunted tradition. Elegant, but proudly sported a tattoo. Vanessa had cued in on his Rolex, but didn’t seem moved by the moneyed crowd.

A puzzle Lucas would like to solve. Later, much later.

Even though he stepped outside into the blast of a humid summer night, the heat couldn’t match the fire coursing through him. He could still feel the brush of her hand against his chest. Instead of the sweet scent of the magnolia trees dotting the country-club lawn, he smelled her alluring Asian-spice perfume.

As much as he valued the control he’d gained over his life and his actions, he’d only narrowly resisted yanking her against himself and kissing her until neither of them could breathe. Forget networking. Reputations and decorum be damned.

For the first time in a long, great while, the thrill of the hunt had taken over but had nothing to do with his career.

When his senses seized him, so did the memories. He longed for the cigarettes he’d given up, since trips into the past didn’t come without ghosts. Wandering past manicured flower beds behind a posh Atlanta country club, he instead remembered the scent of chicory, fish fresh from the stream, Spanish moss dripping like tattered lacy curtains over the swamp. He recalled friends he’d partied with in New Orleans, the small knot of family he’d left behind and crawfish boils shared with both—the potatoes, onions and dark red crustaceans spilling out across a newspaper-lined folding table, while the music heated up and whiskey cooled the fire.

Louisiana would always be in his blood, he supposed, even if sometimes he wanted to exorcise it from his mind.

And here, on the outside, beyond the windows where the thoroughbreds looked out into the mundane, with his past shimmering in his blood, seemed the perfect place to wait for Vanessa. When the party was over, they would continue what they’d started.

He justified his exit from party networking by reminding himself he was mostly a mystery to the people inside, and it wouldn’t be wise to push himself too firmly just yet. His change of heart and legal specialty wouldn’t be welcomed by some, wouldn’t be believed by others. Keeping his distance, allowing them to learn about him in pieces, and, of course, letting the rumors fester and grow more elaborate could only help.

For years he’d deliberately kept the details of his past sketchy. Having a shady cousin who specialized in security matters worked in his favor at times. Some of his history they would never learn—or understand—but that also had its advantages. In his new life he wanted to walk in the light. He was tired of wading through muck, even though he always managed to find the gold in places nobody else wanted to go.

A talent or a curse?

He wasn’t sure he cared anymore. At least the money he’d earned had its uses. It provided comfort and security where once he’d suffered misery and chaos.

He heard the stumbling shuffle behind him before he turned and saw the heavyset man coming down the path. He guessed his age at under twenty-five, possibly a former athlete who’d stopped intense training and taken up late-night steak dinners and bourbon.

“Hallooo!” the guy said as he waved—and weaved—drunkenly toward Lucas.

Damn it to hell. I don’t have time for this.

“Bea-u-ti-ful night, ya think?” the drunk guy mumbled, gesturing with the crystal tumbler in his right hand.

“Ou—” Lucas had to physically stop the Cajun French from leaking out. “Yes.”

“I tell ya.” The man clapped a friendly hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen a night like this ’un since our big hunt of oh-two. We were stalking these turkeys…”

Please, dear God, not another hunting story.

“Fascinating,” Lucas cut in. “Are you a professional?” From experience, he knew hunters loved this mistaken assumption.

Sure enough, the guy’s chest puffed out. “Nah. Just do it on trips with the firm.”

“What firm?” Lucas asked casually.

If possible, his chest expanded more. “Douglas and Alderman.”

“Ah. Top drawer.”

“You bet yer ass.”

For a moment, Lucas wondered if the guy talked with that heavy slang at the office. He couldn’t imagine so. Douglas and Alderman were reportedly both a couple of old-moneyed curmudgeons, who brandished traditionalism, dignity and family pedigrees like swords.

“’Course he’s gone and done it now.”

“Who?”

“Broke the code.”

Lucas angled his head as the guy took another long swallow from his glass. “Who broke what code?”

“Douglas. Joseph freakin’ Douglas.”

Ah. The premier curmudgeon. Who certainly wouldn’t want to be gossiped about by a junior executive. Which this guy had to be.

Lucas fought against curiosity and ethics. The latter he’d given up some time ago, and now wanted back. He should excuse himself. Hell, he should run the other way.

He didn’t move.

Though he’d never had the pleasure of a face-to-face introduction with Douglas, earlier that evening he’d not-so-subtly steered his elegant wife in the opposite direction from Lucas and the circle of people he had been talking to. They were undoubtedly part of the crowd who would likely never accept Lucas’s change of specialty. Of course, his lineage didn’t include Civil War generals whose wife and children had held their ground against Union troops in front of the family’s plantation home, then served them fried chicken, turnip greens and biscuits until peace was declared, thereby saving one of the few seventeenth-century homes still standing in Atlanta.

By contrast, Lucas’s ancestors had probably been too busy helping Blackbeard and Jean Lafitte pirate and profit in the Big Easy to bother with turnip greens.

He wondered if Douglas’s dissing could be an effort at intimidation. It likely wasn’t personal; he probably just didn’t like competition. Douglas’s firm had a division that specialized in helping companies and hospitals protect themselves against frivolous lawsuits—exactly the job Lucas had just been hired to do by Geegan, Duluth and Patterson.

“I couldn’t believe it,” the drunk guy muttered, hanging his head. “Ya can’t have two wills. Ya just can’t.”

Despite his effort not to listen, Lucas’s legal antenna shot up. “No. You certainly can’t.”

“Mrs. Switzer, she’s so nice. She’s so broke. It’s not right. We have to help her.”

“Of course you do.”

“But it’s still not right. The other will, you know.”

“The other will?”

“The one Mr. Switzer had Mr. Douglas draw up last month, just before he died. Why did he have to even talk to that stripper? And in Daytona Beach?”

“His client drew up another will?”

“No.” He shook his head emphatically, then laid his finger against his lips. “It’s a secret. Mrs. Switzer’s so nice. Did I tell you she always calls me by name? She always says, ‘Good morning, Anthony, how are you today?’ in that soft voice.”

“How gracious of her.”

“Mr. Switzer shouldn’t have had that affair. Mrs. Switzer’s so nice.”

He definitely should have run, Lucas reflected. There was a time when he would have relished having this kind of information about a competitor or opposing attorney. Other people’s bad habits—and subsequent carelessness—had fueled more than one victory in his past.

A stripper, an affair, illegally ignoring a client’s wishes? Two wills? It was an orgy of scandal.

He eyed the drunk junior executive next to him. Maybe the guy was full of crap. He could have gotten Douglas mixed up with an episode of Law & Order for all he knew.

He clapped the guy on the shoulder, then walked by him. “Sorry to hear about your troubles, mon ami, but I’ve got a hot date.”

“Hey, ya never tol’ me your name, buddy!”

Even if he had, the guy likely wouldn’t remember it. But Lucas couldn’t take the chance regardless. “No, I didn’t, did I?”

He inclined his head, then headed inside through the kitchen door.

“HOW HOT?” MIA ASKED, her eyes blazing with excitement.

“Smokin’,” Vanessa assured her as she stacked dirty dishes in a storage box.

“Ooh, you get all the good ones!”

Vanessa cut her gaze to her friend. “I do not. You do.”

Mia grinned. “Oh, right.”

“You get all the good ones, play with them awhile, then toss them away like old socks.”

“Somebody has to try them out and warn the rest of you away.”

“Half those guys want to marry you.”

Mia wrinkled her nose. “Exactly my point. Yuck.”

Vanessa shook her head and finished loading the box. Mia’s mother had been married and divorced four—or was it five?—times, so, not surprisingly, Mia considered matrimony as the black hole of relationships. She’s happy until that “I do, you do, we do” business, Mia always said, then dullsville becomes splitsville. No thank you.

Vanessa just hoped her friend wasn’t playing the breakup game because she was afraid she’d follow in her mother’s footsteps.

Oh, like you aren’t afraid of following in your mother’s footsteps? Red bra, tattoo and attitude—you’re a walking case of fear of debutante-itis.

Vanessa mentally waved away her bothersome conscience. “Still, Mia, you need to find a boyfriend. Somebody you love. Or can at least date for more than a month.”

“Why?”

Good question. She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was this longing to reconnect with her family that had her wishing for a lasting relationship in her life. In the past, when things hadn’t worked out with a guy, she’d shrugged and moved on, but lately she found herself wondering if she should consider her choices more carefully, if she should slow down and look for a more serious relationship.

Mia grinned. “Remember that great line by Madeline Kahn in Clue? Something about how men should be like tissues—”

“Soft, strong and disposable. I remember, but she didn’t have Colin—”

“Out.” Mia waggled her hands in a shooing motion. “Go find Mr. Hot. I’ll finish up.”

The reminder of Lucas brought a wave of longing and heat sizzled through her body. She was being brazen and rebellious again, flitting off into the night with a man she’d met just an hour ago. A man whose last name she didn’t even know. A man who would no doubt turn out to be mistake number 423.

She’d slow down tomorrow.

All but vibrating on the spot, she asked Mia, “Are you sure there’s not too much to clean up alone?”

“I’ll get Colin to help.”

“Good idea. I’ll call you later.”

“I’m jealous.”

“I know.”

“And he’s even safe. That ridiculous brandishing your invitation and a picture ID business your mother insisted on actually worked out in your favor.”

Her mother was the overprotective type, which is exactly why neither she, nor Vanessa, could classify what she was doing as safe. “He could be a closet fetishist. Maybe he likes to wear women’s underwear.”

“Or he could be bad in bed.”

Vanessa laid the back of her hand across her forehead. “Perish the thought.”

“Seriously, drive your own car, keep your purse, your Mace and your cell phone nearby.” Mia bit her lip. “Maybe I should meet him…. You know, just to be sure I get good vibes, too.”

No woman in their right mind would want a potential lover to meet gorgeous, darkly sultry Mia. Vanessa blew her a kiss as she backed toward the door. “I’m fine, and you’re too good to me.”

“It’s a big sacrifice, all right.”

“Be nice to Colin.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Before Vanessa could do more than smile, the door at her back swung open. She spun and found herself face-to-face with Lucas.

His broad shoulders almost completely filled the doorway. In the bright light of the kitchen, she could see the custom-made details of his dark blue suit and perfectly pressed white shirt. His hair was windblown into sexy disarray. His eyes, seeming even more intensely green than she remembered them, focused on her face. When a hint of his spicy cologne floated toward her, her knees wobbled.

As she grappled for stability in a world suddenly wavering, she tried to focus on what it was about him that riveted her attention.

His amazing looks, certainly. His elegance, intelligence and confidence, too.

But there was more. A kindred, tattooed spirit? A risk-taking nature? A sense that he, too, felt alone in the world much of the time? Hadn’t she just been wondering why she always had to be the pursuer in her relationships? Hadn’t she just told herself she’d give away a prized cheesecake recipe to have a man look at her the way Colin did Mia?

Well, here certainly was a man pursuing her and looking at her with more than a casual interest….

That look was it. Or part of it.

He focused on her. Only her. As if no one else existed for miles. The desire to continue to be the center of his attention was overwhelming her, drawing her closer to him as if he had a magnet buried inside his chest.

One side of his mouth turned up in an enigmatic smile. “Just the woman I was looking for.” His gaze slid to Mia, then back to Vanessa. “Ready to go?”

As her heart fluttered, she somehow managed to keep her voice from trembling. “Lucas, this is my roommate and business partner, Mia Medini. Mia, Lucas…”

“Broussard,” he filled in, giving Vanessa a wink that told her he wasn’t afraid of his last name.

Unlike her.

Lucas approached Mia with his hand outstretched.

Mia’s eyes widened briefly before she shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You ladies did a wonderful job with the party.” His gaze met Vanessa’s. “I especially liked the strawberries…and chocolate.”

Vanessa’s stomach trembled.

And it happened again. He looked at her as if nobody else were there. His eyes glittered with the promise of delight and pleasure.

And, except for that light stroke against my tattoo, he hasn’t even touched me.

“You should try her double-chocolate cheesecake,” Mia inserted into the charged silence.

Lucas raised his eyebrows, the way Vanessa remembered him doing when they’d talked about his tattoo. “I’ll be sure to have a taste.”

Just one? she longed to ask and no doubt would have if her roommie hadn’t been standing so close. “We should probably get going. Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked Mia.

“I’m fine.” She waggled her finger at Lucas. “You take care of my buddy.”

“I promise, chère.”

Chère? He spoke French? With a name like Broussard, he could be French. But then there was that Southern accent. Maybe he was from New Orleans. Growing up, she’d been to several charity balls down there. Her father loved the tradition and genteel manners of the Creoles.

What if my parents could actually like this one as much as I do?

But she immediately dismissed the idea. She’d known the man an hour and she was considering introducing him to her parents? No. Forget it.

This night was about desire. Chemistry. Carnal exploration. There wasn’t a future for a party pickup.

A group of servers strode into the kitchen carrying dirty dishes and glasses. Still feeling a bit guilty about leaving Mia, but not about to lose her opportunity with Mr. Beautiful, Vanessa grabbed her purse and keys, then slipped out the back door with Lucas.

“Your friend Mia is worried about you,” he said as they walked toward the parking lot.

Distracted by the deep timbre of his voice and the occasional brush of his shoulder against hers, Vanessa nodded, then shook her head. “She’s just jealous.”

“That you get to leave without cleaning up?”

“That I get to leave with you.”

“We could invite her along.”

Great. He’s into orgies. You can really pick ’em, Vanessa. “One woman’s not enough for you?”

“You’re definitely enough. But if you need a chaperone…”

She glanced at him and wished she hadn’t. His smile made her hot and light-headed. Thankfully, though the day’s humidity hadn’t dissipated much, a breeze chose that moment to gather enough strength to graze her skin. “I’ll pass.”

“If you insist.”

Was he kidding or was that part of his sharp humor? She wanted to get to know his brain almost as much as his body. Pausing at the back of her car, she commented, “Mia’s very beautiful, don’t you think?”

He stepped close, brushing a strand of her hair off her cheek. “Is she?”

Though all the air left her body at his proximity and her stomach quivered at his touch, she said coolly, “You’re trying to flatter me.”

“Of course. Is it working?”

“Of course. Is it because you want to get me into bed?”

He smiled. “Certainly.”

Dear heaven, he was temptation incarnate. And he was taking control of her senses with simple words and bare brushes against her skin. “I’m driving my car,” she said, needing to find some sense of practicality with the wild step she was taking.

“Okay.”

“I don’t doubt your driving skills or anything. I just want to have my own car. I mean I hardly know you, and—”

“I might turn out to be a guy who likes to wear women’s underwear.”

“Exactly.”

Staring up at him, the lure of attraction dragged her closer—not that she was fighting too hard anyway. A fog of need and curiosity had wrapped itself around her the moment she’d seen him. If she turned on a bright light, she might dispel the aura of mystery surrounding him. But she had no intention of doing so.

She’d fallen into a fantasy. And she liked it there.

“Can I have your cell-phone number in case we get separated?” he asked, all polite manners, even as she was igniting from the inside.

She gave it to him as he opened her door. “Where are we going?”

“My place.” Then he stepped forward, his face hovering less than an inch from hers. She could feel his breath on her skin, see the hunger in his eyes as his gaze dropped to her lips.

She wanted him to crush her against his chest. She wanted his mouth on hers, his body vibrating with the same need as hers.

But he just lightly pressed his lips to hers. The simple touch reverberated all the way to her toes. She inhaled the spicy scent of him, braced her hands against his waist.

He cupped her face as he pulled back. “You’ll follow me?”

Anywhere you want to go, baby. She cleared her throat and resisted yanking him against her lips. “Yes. I—Sure.”

“You’re nervous?”

She was a lot of things, but nervous wasn’t one of them. “No.”

“I am.” With that, he drew his fingertip along her jaw, then retreated. “I’ll pull my car around.”

Shaking from the inside out, Vanessa could do little more than nod. The man had amazing…presence.

By the time they’d driven away from the country club, she’d managed to rein in her hormones enough that she no longer feared spontaneous combustion. No doubt temporarily, but still that was something.

He wanted her. She could all but see the attraction shimmering between them. Yet he remained smooth. Composed. In control. Maybe he’d give her lessons.

After they’d driven a few miles away from the quiet elegance of moneyed homes, past the tall towers of office buildings and heading toward midtown, her cell phone rang.

“I haven’t thought about, looked at or considered any other woman since the moment I saw you.”

“We just met an hour ago.”

He laughed. “I really do like you, Vanessa.”

“Which brings up a good point. I know your last name. You don’t know mine.”

“Do you want to tell me?” he asked, his voice echoing intimately in her ear.

“Not particularly.”

“Then don’t.”

“How much farther?”

“We’re nearly there.”

“You live in midtown?”

“My office is nearby. It’s convenient.”

She wanted to ask about his office but didn’t. Her father’s office was also nearby, but he certainly would have mentioned hiring an old-moneyed Louisiana lawyer, which Lucas had to be, so he must work for a rival firm. In her father’s eyes, every firm was a rival, after all.

For a moment—a really brief moment—she considered turning off. He was part of the world she’d left a long time ago, a world she’d honestly never felt comfortable living in. Did she really want to get involved with a man who did? Despite the few times she’d given in to her sister’s setups, she’d been careful not to fish from her old pond.

Involved? You’re not getting involved. Carnal exploration, heat, falling into a fantasy. That’s it, remember?

Her pulse skipped a beat as she pictured the heated look in Lucas’s eyes.

Oh, I remember.

They pulled into the parking lot of a luxury high-rise apartment building. Vanessa’s hands trembled as she shut off her car. They barely spoke as they rode in the elevator to the sixteenth floor.

Lucas rested his hand at the small of her back, and they watched the numbers light in amber sequence. Sometime during the drive he’d ditched his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Vanessa fought the urge to slide her hand in the opening and see if his chest was as warm and hard as she’d imagined. By the time sixteen dinged, her palms were sweating.

He unlocked the door to his apartment, tossed his keys on a mahogany table in the foyer, and before she could do more than glimpse at the sunken living room decorated in neutral shades, he’d pinned her to the wall.

“Wanna throw down right here?”

Instinctively, she arched into her body against his. Finally was all she could think. Finally his composure had snapped. She wasn’t alone. He, too, felt this clawing, aching need. This desire that throbbed through her like a second pulse.

She had the sense that grabbing him—or, hell, just nodding at him—would be enough to have him ripping off their clothes and driving himself deep inside her. She wanted that immediate gratification. It would keep her from questioning her decision. It would keep things simple. She wanted him. She was drawn to him and intrigued by him. Did she really need to know him?

Before she could form an answer, he slid his hand gently across her cheek, then stepped back. “Relax, chère, I have some manners.”

Still trying to catch her breath, she stared after him for a stunned and confused—and needy—minute before curiosity forced her to follow him down the hall and into the kitchen, which was as sophisticated and sleek as he was. Black marble countertops, gleaming appliances, ceramic-tile floor and iron stools lined up along a curved bar.

What was with the manners thing? Some manners? He was impeccable. She’d spent a lifetime trying and failing to be that smooth.

He was a bit forward, she supposed, but for some reason, she doubted he came on to every woman the way he had her. Something about her had set him off. Just as the same had happened to her. She felt a connection to him she didn’t even feel in the presence of her own family. But when he wasn’t touching her, or looking at her in that intimate way he had, he seemed like a stranger.

He is.

He opened a below-the-counter wine fridge and pulled out a bottle. “I’m having whiskey, but I imagine you’d like something a bit softer.”

Was she predictable now? And soft? In her mind, soft was just another word for gentle, quiet or—worse—demure.

Oh, hell no.

She could admit to herself she was questioning her impulse to leave with him. She could silently acknowledge she was uncertain and off balance. But she wasn’t about to let him in on those weaknesses.

She was strong. Self-possessed. Bold. Confident.

She’d worked her ass off to make sure.

Leaning one hip against the counter, she said, “I’ll have whiskey.”

In the process of retrieving a wineglass from the cabinet, he turned. “One finger or two?”

Oh, God, she was pretty sure that meant straight. No ice, no mixer. She swallowed bravely, then smiled at the challenge in his eyes. “Whatever you’re having.”

He set two crystal tumblers on the counter, then poured a healthy amount into each from a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Black Label. He handed one to her, then raised his glass. “To tattoos.”

She tapped her glass against his. “And chocolate.” She sipped and felt heroic when she managed to down a swallow of the burning liquid without choking.

“Good?” he asked, raising one cocky eyebrow.

She actually liked the taste of whiskey; she just didn’t like swallowing it. She’d dated a saxophone player once who’d always sipped whiskey at the end of his set, and he’d tasted fabulous. Drinking the stuff, though—especially without ice—must be an acquired thing.

“Smooth,” she managed to say.

“After the third or fourth glass, you hardly taste it at all.”

Now her chest was burning. “I’m sure.”

Grinning as if he knew the torture she was enduring, he linked hands with her and led her down the steps, through the living room and onto the balcony.

Though the view of the sparkling sky was stunning, and the balcony was nearly as richly decorated as the inside, Vanessa wasn’t sure they could accomplish the night’s goal on the wicker couch and chaise longue. But Lucas leaned against the balcony wall, the lights from the high-rise across the street framing his body, as if he planned to hang out there all night.

“You have a thing about being outside, don’t you?” she asked.

“The fresh air clears my mind—” he toasted her “—which you’ve fogged up quite nicely.”

Bravely, Vanessa took another sip of her whiskey. “And you need a clear head?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if you don’t have one?”

“I grab you and drag you back to my bedroom.”

Sounds pretty good to me. “And you don’t want to do that because…”

“I want to too much.”

Is it any wonder I’m fascinated with the man? “What happens to things you want too much?”

“I still get them. I’m just not especially gracious—or gentle—about the process.”

Oh my.

There was certainly more to Lucas than his steaming sensuality and good looks. He wasn’t just a corporate lawyer in a slick suit. Away from the rich and powerful crowd where he’d both blended in and stood out, his allure only grew stronger, the mystery of where he’d come from only deepened.

Vanessa set her glass on the ledge and stepped closer to him. “You’re trying to warn me off.”

“I’m not. At all.”

“But you’re deliberately acting dark and mysterious.”

“I am dark and mysterious.”

“Ha! You’re an open book.”

“No kidding.”

“You’re from Louisiana,” she began, watching his eyes widen as she obviously hit the mark. “I’m thinking New Orleans. The place is steeped in Creole history. The family homestead is probably in the Garden District. Your grandmother would be the matriarch—as is proper in all of New Orleans society. There’s a scandal in your family’s past, probably something to do with a riverboat gambler or pirate. I’m betting the family money started in agriculture—rice or sugarcane probably—but at some point somebody wise invested in manufacturing or real estate. And you, since you have a bit of the rebel in you, decided not to toe the family line completely and studied law. At Tulane, I’m sure. Where you didn’t pledge the proper fraternity, but instead bought a motorcycle and got a tattoo. With your wild days behind you after law school, you went into a well-established practice back home. But after a while you decided you needed a new challenge and came here. Where I found you, being bored to smithereens by the hunting stories and name dropping of the Atlanta Country Club.” She paused and studied his blank expression with interest. “Pretty close, huh?”

Roaring with laughter, he hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her against him.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

His body continued to shake. “Absolutely. One hundred percent. That last observation was dead-on.”

She laid her hands against his chest and glared up at him. “Why do I have the feeling I’m more wrong than right?”

“Mmm.” He smiled broadly. “Well, let’s just say I’m not going to ask you to read a jury anytime soon.”

It was the smile that did it.

Her annoyance fell away. He was even more beautiful when he smiled. All he had to do was touch her, and suddenly she wasn’t quite so interested in her story as she was in the feel of his body against hers. The magic they generated. The warmth emanating from his skin. The spicy scent of his cologne.

His throat, just at eye level, begged for her touch. His lips, no doubt sweet and smoky from the drink, glistened. His erection, pressing against his pants, certainly had its own pleasurable agenda.

He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, then set his glass aside and didn’t make a move to get more. She could already taste him on her tongue.

With charm, money and looks like his, he was undoubtedly used to women throwing themselves at him. She was certainly one in a long line. But she didn’t care.

She had a package of condoms in her purse.

“I like the taste of whiskey better like this,” she said, then she cupped the back of his head and pulled him toward her waiting mouth.

3

AS VANESSA’S TONGUE SLID PAST his lips, Lucas pulled her hard against his chest, barely able to believe he finally had her alone. She at his mercy; he at hers.

She was glorious and beautiful. Smart and funny. Sexy and sassy. She tested his hard-won control, pushing him to impatience and recklessness. He’d overcome those weaknesses. He had to remember he’d moved beyond his ugly past. Though the intensity of his need for her scared him, he had no intention of turning back. Probably couldn’t even if he wanted to.

He wondered if she’d ever dreamed about the man she’d just described. He wondered if she cared about his money—or how he’d made it.

One night would never be enough, he knew that now, even if he’d tried to deny it when he’d first seen her. But when morning came, when she learned about him as he wanted to know her, would she understand? Or would she snub him?

Somehow, he didn’t think snubbing was in her. Certainly not because she was the hired help—she hadn’t started life that way. She’d bought his veneer of sophistication, as many had before, so she recognized the type of person he’d become. Without a doubt, there was a trust fund in her past. Maybe she was a caterer due to passion or hard times, but he had no doubt he’d find blue blood if she cut her finger.

Unlike the lovely Vanessa, he knew how to read people. And read them well.

He wondered whether she’d laugh or recoil if she knew how he’d become successful. He wondered if she’d appreciate or pull away from his need for control. Inevitably, he also considered whether she’d tangle her tongue with his quite so enthusiastically if she knew his true story. His true self.

“Nervous?” she asked as she pulled back with a gasp.

His gaze locked on her lips. He wanted them on his again. Had to have them. Had to have her.

And she wanted to talk.

She doesn’t know you. The whispered words of his conscience fought their way through his baser desires. Women—even a lovely rebel in a red dress—needed connections. He had to listen to the instincts that had served him well for so many years.

Making an effort to focus, he cupped her backside, pulling her tight against his erection. “No, I’m not nervous.” I’m dying.

Her gaze searching his, she gripped the back of his neck. “But you were.”

Vaguely, he remembered telling her that just before they’d left the country-club parking lot. A lapse, he realized now, though at the time he’d simply been trying to put her at ease. She’d been understandably uncomfortable about leaving with a stranger, and he’d wanted her to know his own nerves weren’t quite so calm.

Because I wanted you to like me.

He could hardly say that. Admitting a weakness, as he’d learned many times in the past, was always a mistake. “I’m not now.” Rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip, he added, “Let me show you.”

He trailed kisses along her jaw, reveling in the softness of her skin, inhaling the seductive aroma of strawberries and chocolate. Was that scent in his head, or did she really smell so sweet?

He fought the building tide of need coursing through his body, the ache that started between his legs and shimmered outward in waves of trembling desire. He’d made himself into something more than trailer-park trash, and he intended to prove it.

Slow down. Seduce her gently.

If he aroused her with enough skill, she wouldn’t think clearly enough to question their chemistry, to wonder if she might be making a mistake. He didn’t want her to think and question. He wanted the openness he’d sensed in her from the beginning.

He wanted her hot. Needy. Panting.

He flicked his tongue over her earlobe, and she gasped.

Mmm…progress.

“What, what are you feeling now?” she asked, her breath hitching.

“Hard.” He scraped his teeth against the soft skin behind her ear. “Impatient.”

More than impatient. He wanted to drown in her, to forget the past and the future. His need for her touch, her sighs of pleasure, had become vital.

Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt. “I want you, Lucas.” She slid her thigh between his legs, pressing up against his hardness. “I probably shouldn’t, but I do.”

His erection pulsed almost to the point of pain. Having her was a compulsion, a mission that must succeed. The sugary scent of her surrounded him, enveloping him in a fog of lust so acute his world had narrowed only to her face and the warmth and pleasure her body offered.

He cupped the back of her neck. Her eyes glittered with hunger as she stared back at him. “You should.” Angling his head, he covered her mouth with his.

Dive. Drown. Never surface.

As he swept his tongue into her mouth, she kneaded his shirt in her fist and rolled her hips, the warmth between her legs heating his thigh.

He turned, leaning against the balcony wall, making sure she still straddled his thigh. She rubbed herself against him, a moan and gasp escaping her lips when their mouths parted. He could only imagine the flesh scraping his leg, but he knew he wanted a taste.

He slid his hands down her back, across her enticingly curvy butt, down to the hem of her racy red dress—which he bunched in his hands, then raised. When he encountered the miniscule thong panty beneath her clothes, he nearly dropped to his knees. He should have expected such freedom from his impulsive, tattooed caterer, but that didn’t lessen the jolt of erotic heat that hit him, knowing so much naked flesh lay barely concealed by her dress.

Trailing his lips over her chin and down her throat, he kneaded her bare skin and felt a shiver sweep her body, exposed to the night air.

Fast losing control, but knowing he had to hold on, he suppressed the desire to rip away her miniscule panties and drive himself into her tight, wet warmth. To assuage the hunger pulsing through him. Still, he had to touch her.

He hooked his thumbs beneath the seam of her panties.

She moaned.

And he smiled.

Moving around her hip bones, he slid his index finger slowly, deliberately toward the juncture of her thighs, the coarse hairs covering her sex teasing him. He let his finger dip briefly into the moist, soft heat.

Her breathing grew shallow, broken…needy, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from exploding on the spot. Just watching the pleasure skim across her face was its own form of torture and satisfaction.

With his other hand, he moved his palm over her bare behind, gripping the skinny thong fabric that fit between her cheeks. Holding both sides of the panties, he slid the fabric back and forth, gliding it between the lips of her sex.

“Oh, my,” she gasped.

“Oh, yes.”

She gripped his shoulders, then flung back her head, her long, blond hair spilling down as she let a long, low hum of need escape her lips.

Mercilessly, he worked the fabric. She rocked her hips in time to his erotic rhythm. He watched her in a fascinated daze. He’d anticipated being inside her as he brought her to the first orgasm they’d share, but he wasn’t complaining. Pleasure skated across her face with obvious abandon.

He switched their positions, pinning her against the balcony wall and hooking her leg around his waist. “Let go, lovely Vanessa,” he panted in her ear as he leaned forward.

“I’m…working on it,” she said, her voice hitching.

He pressed his hard cock between her legs as he dipped his head and tongued her earlobe. “We’ll get naked. I’m dying to taste you.” He kissed the top of her shoulder. “Everywhere.”

Then, letting go of the panties, he pressed his thumb against the bare nub of flesh centered around her desire.

Her body went rigid.

He knew she hung on the precipice. Knew he had the power to send her over. “What do you want?” he rasped in her ear.

“You.”

He rolled his thumb up, then down. “What do you want me to do?”

“That again.”

“My pleasure.” He rolled again.

“But faster.”

Smiling, he complied, noting her breathing quickened, her skin flushed. Watching her, gaining wild pleasure from her pleasure, he noted the small butterfly tattoo on the back of her shoulder. He smiled, never broke his stroking rhythm and laid his lips lightly over the spot.

She exploded.

Her back arched, her eyes fluttered closed, the muscles between her legs contracted against his fingers.

Though he was still as hard as a rock, crazy satisfaction rushed through him. She was so damn beautiful.

She sagged, so he swung her into his arms and carried her inside. She trailed her fingers through the hair at his temple. “I’m fairly sure a feminist shouldn’t be carried.”

“You want to walk?” he asked as he headed down the hall, his heart hammering so fast he was sure it would burst before he made it to the bed.

“Hell no. Can’t stand.”

Somehow chuckling in the midst of his own painful need, he strode into his bedroom. After laying her on the bed, he stripped off his shirt, then started on his pants.

She sat up suddenly, laying her hand across his crotch. “Hey there, lawman, not so fast.”

“I thought you were exhausted with satisfaction.”

Scooting to the edge of the bed, she tugged his belt from the loops. “Only temporarily.”

He sucked in a breath of anticipation as she started on his zipper. Hang on, man. Stay in control.

She slid his zipper down, her fingers dipping below the band of his underwear, skimming the head of his erection.

He had the crazy image of a plane going down.

Captain, we’re losing pressure. What should we do?

Hold the course.

Sorry, sir, control is outta here. You’re on your own.

The moment she wrapped her hand around his rock-hard penis, his whole body went rigid. He had to close his eyes to hold on. He tried to still himself as she dragged her hand down, then up, though his knees nearly buckled. The woman was…amazing.

And if she continued to stroke him that way, he was going to completely lose it.

But he couldn’t help reveling in her touch. She had a sure, confident grip. Her fingers cupped beneath the head of his penis, where she held and squeezed for a moment before stroking down again and sending his pulse soaring, his control spinning wildly.

His climax hovered, threatening and promising.

Somehow, he found the strength to grab her wrist. “I’m losing it here.”

She glanced up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “No kidding?”

Obviously, she was enjoying herself. Only fair, he supposed, since he was rapidly approaching ecstasy.

He stripped off his underwear, then leaned forward, pinning her to the mattress with his body. The feel of her against him from chest to hip was intoxicating, stimulating, somehow forbidden, even though—or maybe because—he was naked and she wasn’t.

He felt dominant and predatory. As if she were his to possess and ravish.

Until she wrapped both legs around his waist.

Who’s in control now? her expression seemed to scream.

In silent answer he leaned back and yanked her dress over her head in one smooth motion, leaving her wearing a lacy red bra and the matching miniscule panties. As she lay back on the bed, her wheat-colored hair spread out around her head, her gaze locked on his, he rose, standing between her legs.

Heat rolled off her. Need vibrated within him.

He laid his index finger on the top of her shoulder, then slid it down her body. Her skin glowed with sweat and gold-specked sparkles. How did women manage that? How did they find ways to glow and shine in moments of elemental need?

He paused at the front clasp of her bra and, with a flick of his fingers, popped it open. She arched her back, as if trying to press her breasts against his hand. He moved her bra aside, flicking his thumb across her nipple. She sucked in a breath and cupped her breasts, offering them to him.

Leaning forward, he dipped his head and laved her nipple with his tongue. She moaned, and he repeated the movement, teasing the tip to a hard peak. When her breathing grew labored, he straightened and slid his hand down her stomach. He liked stimulating her. He liked the needy look in her eyes. He liked…controlling her response.

A flaw maybe. But one he wasn’t willing to admit to or relinquish.

He trailed his hand across her abs, then moved down, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, just as she’d done to him.

“You’ve been there once. I thought it was your turn.”

“It is.” He bunched the panties in his fist, then jerked them down her legs. “Eventually.”

But he’d been dying to taste her all night, and he certainly wasn’t missing his chance.

He drew his tongue down the center of her rib cage. The teasing smell of strawberries and chocolate tracked his journey, and he knew she must wear some kind of scented lotion or perfume. Her soft, creamy skin seduced him. Her sighs encouraged him. Her body welcomed him.

When he reached her navel, he dipped his tongue in the indention. Her stomach contracted. In anticipation, he hoped.

As he slid his fingers through the hair between her thighs, the musky scent of her essence washed over him. She was wet, her longing evident. He slid his tongue gently down her center. She clenched her thighs and sighed, but his hunger for her had been building, so he wasn’t long on patience. He wanted his name on her lips, wanted to experience every part of her, absorb her inside him.

They might be virtual strangers, but she’d never forget him.

He teased her with gentle flicks, but she soon grew restless, her body jerking, her fists clenching the bedcovers, her head thrashing from side to side.

Sensing what she needed, he increased his pace, no longer teasing but bringing her the satisfaction she seemed to crave. When her hips pumped and she called his name, his body answered, his erection throbbing, demanding its pleasure.

He watched her. And his command over his body buckled.

As her pulse subsided, he scooped his pants off the floor, found a condom and rolled it on. He fitted himself between her thighs and drove inside, desperate to catch those last few contractions.

Her eyes flew open and fixed on his as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her inner walls squeezed him.

Lucas panted so he wouldn’t explode at the exquisite feel of her. He withdrew, then surged forward again, and she gripped the comforter as her hips rose to meet him.

He hadn’t even turned down the sheets, he realized. Sometime between the balcony and the bedroom, he’d lost those precious manners he’d bragged about. But there was no holding back now. He didn’t give a great damn about manners as sweat rolled down his back and Vanessa writhed beneath him. He increased his pace, Vanessa’s hips pumping in response. His climax roared through him, and he drove harder, wanting her with him when he went over the edge. She stiffened, then pulsed hard around him.

As he collapsed on top of her, he was already planning ways to keep her, to probe her mind as well as her body and unravel the mystery as to why she’d struck him so hard, so immediately.

Right between the eyes.

“HOW ABOUT DESSERT?”

Lucas rolled to his side, propping his hand against his head. “That wasn’t dessert?”

Eyes closed, her red bra parted but still on, Vanessa’s lips curved in a smile. “That was fantastic.” She paused. “But I’m still hungry.”

He drew his finger down her side. Food wasn’t exactly what he was hungry for, but he could be patient. “My fridge is pretty bare. I only moved in last week.”

One eye cracked open. “Last week? The place is spotless. Where are the boxes, the furniture you haven’t found a place for yet, the bubble wrap piled in the corners?”

“I had a service unpack everything while I was at work.”

“That’s…efficient.”

“I don’t believe in wasting time.”

Her eyes popped open fully, meeting his gaze with amused satisfaction. “I kind of got that.”

He liked that he could lie here with her and talk like old friends. Where was the awkwardness of strangers taking the premature leap to intimacy? Why had his desire for her increased instead of being satiated?

He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “However…there are moments when taking your time is much more satisfying.”

“Like with a soufflé?”

Completely charmed by her, he kissed her lightly. “Among others.”

Wondering if her cry of hunger was mingled with a need for distance, he rolled off the bed. After sliding on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he walked into the bathroom and pulled his bathrobe off a hook, then laid it at the foot of the bed.

He had to make a conscious effort not to go any closer to her. She made him long to crawl into bed for a day. And even then he wasn’t sure his hunger would be satisfied.

“The bathroom’s all yours,” he said, extending his arm toward the open French doors. “I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”

She propped up on her elbows. “The service provide that, too?”

He smiled. “Of course. I’m a very good customer.”

He left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen, hoping he had something that would satisfy a chocolate-loving caterer. He found cheese and grapes and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. As he set out glasses and plates, he reflected on the fact that Vanessa Last-Name-Not-Provided was his first guest.

At some point, he’d planned to have a few key people at the firm over for a cocktail party, but the past week had been spent immersed in learning office procedures, client lists and potential clients. This job was his first time working for someone else in nearly a decade. He needed some time to get acclimated before he hosted the partners.

When he heard the shower running, business flew from his mind. He found himself anticipating the scent of his soap on Vanessa. Her skin, soft, warm and wet from the water, he’d part the robe and kiss the side of her neck, sending her pulse racing.

She appeared at the end of the hall moments later, bundled in his robe, but a wary expression was set on her face.

Perhaps seduction should wait.

“Wine?” he asked her, holding up the bottle.

“Sure.” She sat at the bar and glanced down at the plate of food. “Empty fridge, huh? I was expecting stale chips and old Chinese food.”

“I was referring to my lack of chocolate. I’ll have to fix that if I want to keep you around, I expect.”

She selected a fat green grape. “This is great.”

Noting she didn’t respond to his invitation to stick around, he made the decision to keep things light, not to probe too obviously for details about her life. It would only take a simple phone call to find out the identity of the lovely blond country-club caterer.

As he slid onto the bar stool next to her, he handed her a wineglass. “Considering your exceptional skills in the kitchen, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She sipped the wine, nodding with approval. “How do you like Atlanta so far?”

“It’s fast. The traffic is murder.”

“A bit different from New Orleans, I bet.”

His hand clenched around the stem of his glass. “What makes you think I’m from New Orleans?”

She shrugged. “Earlier you called Mia chère. Then me, in the hall. I just figured you were from there.”

He hadn’t even been conscious of the endearment. A troubling thought. It made him realize how much Vanessa had affected him, distracted him. As he searched for the right answer, he took a drink. “I practiced in New Orleans, but I’m not originally from there.”

“Oh, well, the accent is nice. Don’t get rid of it.”

“You mean like those diction classes?”

“Yeah. Pretty ridiculous.”

He’d spent much of his life hating his accent, and he’d modified his speech a great deal. Only a trace remained, just enough to be identified as Southern. Just enough to appeal to a sympathetic jury. How would Vanessa feel knowing that?

Not complimentary, he was sure.

“How old are you?” she asked, choosing another grape.

“Thirty. You?”

“Twenty-seven. Did you always want to be a lawyer?”

I wanted to survive. “No. I sort of fell into it.” I got arrested.

She held up her hand, indicating the posh apartment. “But obviously you found a niche. You’re a big success. Are your parents proud?”

“My father died when I was young. My mother’s proud, though.” At least when she’s coherent.

She laid her hand over his. “I’m sorry about your dad. My father and I don’t always get along, but I can’t imagine being without him.”

The half-truths he was telling bothered him. He wanted to be honest with her. He wanted to share his pain, his struggles. But he suspected her background was far more upstanding than his, and he wanted her too much to risk her rejection. “Did you always want to be a caterer?”

She grinned. “Not specifically. I wanted to cause trouble.”

He raised his glass to her. A kindred spirit. Maybe that was part of her appeal. “Laissez les bons temps rouler.” When she angled her head in question, he elaborated, “Let the good times roll.”

“Exactly. My family has…” She glanced down at her glass, then back up to him. “They have a traditional idea of how a proper Southern lady should live her life,” she continued, rolling her shoulders back. “I’m not traditional.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“It is in my family.” She sipped her wine. “Anyway, I don’t mind being covered in flour, sweaty and wearing jeans. I was drawn to the fast pace of restaurants, then I got sucked in by the instant gratification—”

When he leered, she nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Gratification of cooking. Feed people, and for the most part, they’re happy. I turned out to be a good chef.” She angled her head. “I’m a great pastry chef, to tell you the truth.”

“I know. I got a taste, remember?”

She licked her lips. “I remember.” Her hand danced toward the plate, then she drew back. Her gaze locked with his. “I’m sometimes impulsive to my own detriment.”

“Like tonight?”

“No. Yes. I don’t normally go this…far. Something about you just got to me.”

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “I know the feeling. I was at the party to network, not find a woman who’d knock me on my ass.” He cupped her jaw. “There are no rules here, Vanessa. I won’t put you down for being nontraditional.”

“Thanks.” She squeezed his wrist. “Really. Just thanks.”

He sampled a wedge of cheese and let her have a moment to recover. He also didn’t want her to see how much he wanted to violently shake sense into her family. “So what happened after you caused trouble?”

“I moved out. I got a job. I went to culinary school. I got the tattoo, and my mother was humiliated and furious, but she realized I was serious about—” Her eyes popped wide. “I never saw your tattoo!”

During the heat of their connection, he’d forgotten about it. “How could you have missed it?”

One hand lying on the back of his bar stool and the other gripping his thigh, she leaned close. “Where?”

“Before, you wanted to know what.”

“So where?”

He grinned. “I’m available for show and tell anytime you are.”

She jiggled his thigh. “Come on, Lucas. Tell.”

“I’ll show instead.”

He rose from his stool and unbuttoned his jeans. Loving the eagerness and desire in her eyes, he turned his back and flipped the waistband over, knowing what she’d see on the back of his left hip. He was fairly certain he’d surprised her again.

“It’s a rose,” she said after a moment, the excitement in her tone draining.

“Mmm.”

“I was thinking it would be…”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “What?”

“Something else.”

“A dragon?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No.”

“A snake.”

“No way.”

“Maybe an anchor?”

“Definitely not.”

“You’ve got a problem with roses?”

“Well…no.”

“You’re allergic?”

“No.”

She grabbed his arm and jerked him around to face her. Of course, he took the opportunity to get closer. He wedged himself between her thighs and braced his hands on her hips. The scent of his soap rose from her skin. Desire and possession surrounded him, and he breathed deeply, praying he could hold himself in check. A least for a little while longer.

“A rose?” she asked, still confused.

“I lost a bet.”

She waggled her fingers in a come-on gesture. “You’ve got to do better than that.” When he hesitated, she added, “I’ll tell you my story.”

“Ladies first.”

“Mia and I got them on graduation night from culinary school. We’d celebrated with a little champagne.” At his skeptical look, she added, “Well, a lot of champagne, and the next thing we knew we were at the tattoo parlor getting decorated. Mia got a chameleon on her hip, and I got the butterfly.”

“Why the butterfly?”

“Because I finally felt free, and alive, for the first time.”

“It suits you.”

“I think so. Now, your turn.”

“I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“A deal’s a deal.”

“So it is. I got mine in high school. I bet another guy I could, ah…get a certain girl into bed before he did.”

She angled her head. The expression in her eyes wasn’t complimentary. “Men are pigs.”

“Definitely. I was young, chère. Forgive me? I lost, after all.”

“One, I can’t imagine you losing. Two—” she slid her hand across his shoulder and cupped the back of his head “—I really like when you call me that.”

“I’ll keep doing it then.” In Cajun French, he whispered a naughty suggestion in her ear. “Now you know all my secrets.”

“I do?”

He smiled. “No.”

“We don’t know each other at all.”

Leaning forward, he tongued her earlobe. “I can fix that.”

She let her head fall back on a deep sigh, exposing her throat, which he took full advantage of. He laid his lips against her warm, pine-scented skin, dragging his mouth along her jaw, then down her neck, pushing his hands beneath the robe, then pushing it off her shoulders.

His heart hammered in his chest as more of her beautiful body was revealed, and his own body throbbed in response. Was she part of his path to redeem himself from past sins? Or would she be a new sin he’d be compelled to atone for?

He wished like hell he could turn off his conscience and embrace hedonism as he once had, but his inner sense of duty—from wherever it had sprung—had been given a voice, and it wasn’t likely to be silenced again.

Though the sound of Vanessa’s ragged, need-filled breathing could no doubt drown out any sensible thought he managed to form.

Placing slow, lingering kisses along her neck and shoulders, he untied the robe, sliding his hands up her bare sides to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed the peaks, which hardened like pebbles.

She moaned again, her eyes still closed, while he, on the other hand, kept his wide open. Seeing the flush of desire creep over her skin was a sight he didn’t intend to miss.

He continued moving his thumbs back and forth across her nipples. She moved sinuously, pushing herself more firmly into his touch. Heat surged through his body. Watching her give herself over to pleasure so shamelessly made him as hard as a rock.

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