Look what people are saying about
Joanne Rock…

“Sizzling chemistry with a splash of seductively intense suspense—fabulous Joanne Rock always delivers a page-turning read!”

—RITA® Award winner Catherine Mann

“Filled with a complicated plot, as well as excellent, unexpected characters, and stirred with steaming-hot sex, Don’t Look Back is the kind of wonderful mix readers would expect from Joanne Rock.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Filled with adventure, spicy sex, and a smidgen of danger, Up All Night is romance at it’s best.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“Rock’s snappy style of writing is perfect for a sexy, sassy contemporary romance.”

—Booklist on The Pleasure Trip

“Strong, attractive characters with serious heat…”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Silk Confessions

“Joanne Rock does it again! The suspense is so deftly braided with the romance and hot hot hot love scenes…. If you love a hint of danger with your romance, this is one book you won’t want to miss.”

—Romance Junkies on Don’t Look Back

Dear Reader,

As a Blaze writer, I think about sexual situations a lot. It’s part of my job, and let’s face it, that’s pretty fun! But when it came time to write Jessica’s story, I discovered a character who didn’t always have fun thinking about sexual situations. Because of a difficult past, sex had become problematic for her.

But because I’m a Blaze writer, I needed to help her out of that dark corner, and that’s where Rocco Easton comes in. I loved writing about this hero whose career was stolen out from underneath him yet he still found a way to channel his talents into productive work. Rocco has faced plenty of dark corners himself.

I hope you’ll enjoy Jessica’s journey to new healing and her path to reclaiming her sensuality.

Happy reading!

Joanne Rock

UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL
Joanne Rock

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After testing out careers in public relations, teaching, acting and journalism, Joanne Rock became a fiction writer to maintain sanity while sitting at home with three small children. Writing books quickly went from a temporary mental exercise to an addictive passion. After more than thirty books she hopes her sanity has been duly maintained. Joanne is a three-time RITA® Award winner, and her stories have been reprinted in twenty-four countries and translated into nineteen languages. She pens medieval historicals and sexy contemporaries from her home in the gorgeous Adirondack region of upstate New York, where she lives with her husband and sons. Learn more about Joanne and her work by visiting her at http://joannerock.com or at http://myspace.com/joanne_rock.

Books by Joanne Rock

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

108—GIRL’S GUIDE TO HUNTING & KISSING*

135—GIRL GONE WILD*

139—DATE WITH A DIVA*

171—SILK CONFESSIONS**

182—HIS WICKED WAYS**

240—UP ALL NIGHT†

256—HIDDEN OBSESSION††

305—DON’T LOOK BACK‡

311—JUST ONE LOOK‡

363—A BLAZING LITTLE CHRISTMAS “His for the Holidays”

381—GETTING LUCKY

HARLEQUIN HISTORICAL

749—THE BETROTHAL “Highland Handfast”

758—MY LADY’S FAVOR

769—THE LAIRD’S LADY

812—THE KNIGHT’S COURTSHIP

890—A KNIGHT MOST WICKED

To Renee Halverson, whose dedication to writing

has always been an inspiration. Thank you for

being such a wonderful friend!

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

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

1

JESSICA WINSLOW NEEDED to arouse a room full of women.

Right here. Right now.

She took deep breaths in her small suite at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego, an accommodation with no view of the spectacular oceanfront outside. She’d booked this spot as a prep space for the retreat weekend she was leading—her biggest business coup yet. Eight women had bought into the extravagant “Better in Bed” workshop offered by Jess’s fledgling company. Who knew there would be so much interest in reclaiming your sensuality among wealthy, successful women who—seemingly—had the world at their collective feet?

“Do you need anything else, Ms. Winslow?”

A sleekly tanned young caterer with a Spanish accent tucked a clipboard under her arm as she waited for Jess’s instructions.

“Everyone has drinks next door?” She hoped this first session of the weekend would be made a smidge easier by plying her guests with alcohol.

Hell, her discussion of erotic massage might be easier if she downed the alcohol. She’d wanted to kick off the retreat with a bang, but planning the workshop in theory hadn’t fully prepared her for the intimidation factor of teaching erotic massage to a roomful of strangers she desperately needed to impress.

“They’ve all been served and there is a small bar set up for refills like we discussed.” The woman tapped her fuchsia-pink manicured fingernail down the itemized list on her clipboard. “Would you like me to bring you a glass of chardonnay?”

Jessica winced. Was her tension that obvious? There was no reason for the attack of nerves, since she knew her material backward and forward. Well, no reason except that setting her business venture apart from her family’s million-and-one get-rich-quick schemes depended on the good word of mouth generated by the attendees of this workshop.

After being raised well below the poverty line by parents who skirted the law, the truant officer and even Social Services, Jessica craved the stability of her own business. And the fact that she was targeting well-to-do women was no coincidence. She drank up the sweet scent of security inherent in their money, even as she made certain she had something of value to offer in return. Her business, Up Close and Personal, was no get-rich-quick scam but a labor of love that spiraled out of her need to pass on the benefits of self-help training she’d received since escaping her past, her birth family and, later, her foster family.

The wealthy women in the ocean-view suites across the hall could make or break Jessica’s new career with whatever they chose to share about this weekend at their respective country clubs come Monday morning.

Jess shook her head, refusing to give in to second-guessing. She’d have every woman in there eager to go home and jump the man of her choice. But to do that, she needed a clear head.

“No wine for me, thank you. We should be set until it’s time to bring in the appetizers an hour from now.” She checked her antique watch, unable to delay the inevitable.

The timepiece slid around her wrist as she left the safety of her room; the jewelry a long-ago gift from her father. One of the few he’d purchased honestly, since he’d found it at a garage sale. Because of her rocky relationship with her lawless parents, she wore the piece to remind herself she would forge a future all her own. On her own.

Passing a young family dressed in their bathing suits in the hall, Jessica pasted on her public face. She opened the door to the retreat space, ready to teach her guests everything she knew about erotic massage and reclaiming your sensuality.

Jessica hadn’t had a lot of opportunity to test her skills on real people, but she knew the methods worked, since she could at least talk about sex again and feel the hormone rush of getting turned-on.

Five years ago, she hadn’t been able to do either. A date rape in her teens had haunted her long after the night she’d been sexually assaulted by her date.

“Welcome, ladies!”

The scent of the surf hit her along with the floral fragrances of a half-dozen bouquets she’d ordered scattered around the room for ambiance. The whole suite had also been draped in burgundy taffeta at her request. The dark colors and bright flowers were offset by the moody purple light of the sunset bleeding through the sheer curtains, but soon the walls would be lit solely by two cast-iron candelabra she’d brought here in the back of her Escalade.

The vehicle and the accessories were both part of her belief that image was everything in a business like this. High-end consumers didn’t show up for retreat weekends at bargain hotels, and they didn’t expect their speaker to roll up in a decade-old sedan. No matter that the payments on that damn Escalade were killing her bank account. The cost of the accessories and the hotel space meant she would only break even this weekend, but if it generated more business—

Where the hell were her students? Jessica was so busy admiring the way the decor came together that she hadn’t immediately noticed her workshop clients were not in the room.

“Honey, will you look at the torso on that one?”

A woman’s voice floated in from the balcony, followed by a chorus of feminine sighs. Curious—and needing to keep her evening activities on schedule—Jessica headed toward the terrace hidden by a wall of sheer curtains and French doors.

“I’d like to give an erotic massage to him,” another voice chimed in.

Stepping out onto the balcony, Jessica could see eight women’s backs as they jockeyed for a spot at the railing. Silk-and linen-clad hips jostled while manicured hands held a variety of brightly colored drinks aloft to keep them from spilling.

“Are you kidding? That one makes me want to give myself an erotic massage.”

There was a round of laugher and one hearty “amen” to that as Jessica squeezed into the last available square inch at the wooden railing overlooking the shore.

The woman beside her—a buff blonde probably closing in on fifty with discreetly tweaked facial features—was pointing out into the water where six seriously ripped guys swam through the surf.

The view was diminished by their distance from shore, but even so, only a blind woman wouldn’t feel the testosterone tide emanating from those focused, intense men swimming as if their lives depended on it.

And, of course, their lives did depend on it, since the only guys who would be out training in the middle of the ocean off Coronado Island were Navy SEALs. The shaved heads and taut, defined muscles were a sure sign the next BUD/S class must be in session. Jessica had been a San Diego resident for the past decade, and she knew even longtime local ladies never tired of catching a glimpse of the honed male perfection that went through this rigorous training.

Jess watched with detached appreciation—her work with all things sensual made her take a more clinical approach to arousal. Of course, her experience with men tended to distance her, too.

She just hoped she would bring the right mix of enthusiasm to the table tonight to present her material in a convincing manner. Stepping back from the rail, she sent a prayer off into the universe, grateful for the way the heavens must be smiling on her. She’d wanted to arouse these women with her first class on reclaiming their sensuality? Thanks to the U.S. Navy, her audience had already been majorly warmed up.

Now she simply had to divert their attention from the mouthwatering men and proceed.

“Ladies, if I can have your attention for just one hour, you’ll learn the touches that will have any man begging to be in your bed.”

Half the heads on the porch turned her way and two women exchanged winks.

Not satisfied with a fifty-percent success rate, Jess pressed on, determined to make this class an instant smash hit. She had an idea for parlaying one of her planned demonstrations into something that would keep this group talking for weeks.

“In fact, as a bonus for tonight only, I’ll be glad to show you firsthand how these techniques play out in real life. With a real man.” Capitalizing on the interest of the group, she made the most tantalizing offer she could think of. “If any one of you ladies would like to hunt us down a willing male specimen for practice, I’ll demonstrate how quickly the power of touch turns any guy into a smoldering mass of muscle ready to fulfill your every last sensual wish.”

A chorus of “oohs” and feminine squeals filled the balcony as the rest of the women spun away from the ocean view. And before she could consider the logistics of what she’d just proposed, two of the ladies shoved their way through their peers toward the exit.

IT HAD BEEN a long time since Ricardo—Rocco—Easton had cause to wear a bow tie. And the last time he’d donned one, the suit had been a hell of a lot more upscale than what he had on now as he worked the generic black neckwear into a knot to complete his waiter’s disguise.

Still, his fingers hadn’t forgotten the drill and the man in the mirror in his white shirt and tie reminded him of dress whites and—

Hell.

He turned away from the hotel bathroom mirror with an oath, knowing he owed the bout of stupid nostalgia to this place. Coronado Island. He’d avoided this part of San Diego ever since his injury had cost him his spot among the SEALs. He couldn’t even look out at the damn view from the glitzy Hotel del Coronado without a wave of memories threatening to drag him under like the surf once had along this same stretch of shore.

But for the sake of investigating the woman who had possibly scammed his car dealer father, Rocco was willing to sacrifice a few hours of mental peace.

He shoved open the bathroom door so hard it banged off the wall behind it, his thoughts of his father’s failing mental health upsetting him all over again. His dad had days of clarity and days where he was more than a little muddled, so Rocco didn’t know how much stock to put in his claim that he’d been swindled by a beautiful car buyer who had no intention of making a single payment on the vehicle she’d purchased from Easton Luxury Motor Cars.

Possibly his father had his facts wrong. But the preliminary paperwork backed up his statement. Jessica Winslow wasn’t making her payments.

And although she was only one person—one alleged scam artist—she represented a growing new trend in deception Rocco found abhorrent. There seemed to be a rising willingness in women to use flirtation as a means to commit crime—a way to catch men off guard.

If his father had been Jessica’s victim, Rocco would see she paid the dealership every cent of the loan she’d been in default on for months. The old man’s business had been floundering for the past year and another bad debt could very well close his doors for good.

The injury to Anthony Easton’s pride would be even more devastating than the wound to his wallet.

So tonight’s mission to learn the truth was instrumental in Rocco’s goal to help his father stay independent for as long as possible. And since weeding through a paper trail that might not reveal the full extent of Jessica Winslow’s circumstances, Rocco’s work tonight would be as up close and personal as hers promised to be, thanks to the free pass a waiter’s uniform gave him around the hotel. He’d check out the woman’s seminar and see for himself if she was legit.

“Oh my.”

A feminine voice in the corridor ahead forced his thoughts back to the moment at hand. As he relinquished his strategic planning long enough to take stock of his surroundings, he noticed two elegantly dressed ladies frozen in the middle of the hall, matching pink drinks sloshing around their martini glasses.

At their mutual look of openmouthed surprise he was hard-pressed not to check his fly. More likely, his expression, as he thundered down the hall, had caught them off guard.

Damn it. Had his time away from the SEALs turned his covert operational skills to crap? He schooled his features into something he hoped resembled a smile.

“Ladies.” He tossed in a quick bow and then realized that was something waiters only did a hundred years ago.

“Can I help you find anything?”

His words broke the spell and one of them—a brunette probably nearing sixty and still smoking hot—grinned like the Cheshire cat.

“As a matter of fact…” She turned to her friend with a raised eyebrow as if seeking approval. At the blonde’s nod, the dark-haired lady continued, “We’ve been charged with finding a little help for a demonstration at the workshop we’re attending here.”

The blonde silently pointed to a door a few feet behind them before leaning in to take a sip of her neon-pink drink.

Jessica Winslow’s room. Jessica Winslow’s workshop.

Showtime.

He nodded, unable to resist the lure of an open invitation into the very seminar he’d hoped to investigate. Did Ms. Winslow run a legitimate business? He’d look for the vehicle she’d defaulted on after he gathered a little intel on the woman herself. In her case, simply repossessing her SUV wouldn’t bring him enough satisfaction if she’d swindled his dad.

Rocco had turned to the recovery business after his doc at a military hospital told him he’d never be fit for the teams again. While repo work wasn’t exactly his lifelong dream, he’d figured he could at least help out his father by providing the old man with the service free of charge. He made money off his other clients—repossessing vehicles from deadbeat debtors. It paid the bills while he figured out what to do with his life now that he couldn’t serve his country.

“I’m your waiter for the evening and I’d be happy to help.” He didn’t offer an arm to either woman, knowing that wouldn’t be a waiter’s style, but damned if the old cougars didn’t each grab an elbow and cling to him like white on rice.

Not that he minded. Their friendly disposition would make it all the easier to wrangle his way into Jessica’s turf. Feel out her business practices.

She’d bought an Escalade from his father’s car dealership six months ago and had spent an hour in the office dishing about her work and her years in San Diego, treating the old man like a long-lost friend as she casually signed a contract she hadn’t made good on. In the normal course of Rocco’s business as a recovery agent—the PC term for a repo man—he would have simply repossessed the vehicle. But given that his father’s personal trust had been violated by a woman who’d blatantly charmed him into not running an extra credit check, Rocco had decided to give this repossession his personal attention.

Arriving at the suite, the blonde opened the door. Rocco didn’t know what to expect exactly from the title of the Winslow woman’s workshop: Better in Bed: Reclaiming Your Sensuality. What the hell did that mean? Did she consider herself some sort of sex expert? Bad enough she’d applied feminine wiles to deceive his dad. Now she wanted to teach the art to new disciples?

Less than a dozen people sat around the spacious room as his two new female friends led him inside. The place had been redecorated like some sort of ritzy club. The normally reserved color scheme of the Hotel del Coronado had been smothered in scarlet material while white candles flickered all around. For a minute he wondered what kind of demonstration these chicks had in mind as they all stared at him. The unanimous predatory glances made him wonder if they’d been hunting for some kind of ritual sacrifice victim.

“Well done, ladies.”

A woman stepped through the circle to the center of the room, her conservative black suit and messy updo in no way detracting from her blatant sex appeal.

He recognized her face—no, make that her hair and her kick-ass bod—from his father’s surveillance cameras, a routine safety precaution at the dealership that had helped Rocco locate more than one debtor.

“I’m Jessica Winslow.” The instructor nodded politely without offering her hand. Loose pieces of her auburn hair swayed around the chopstick device she’d used to impale some sort of twist at the back of her head. “We really appreciate you helping us out tonight for our demonstration.”

Rocco had a habit of sizing up people in no time, a practice that predated his days in the Navy, although it was one that had come in handy during some tight situations overseas. But the female in front of him didn’t lend herself to quick conclusions with her designer suit and her shoes, carefully polished, to hide scuff marks.

A completely remorseless defaulter would have charged new shoes while on her spending spree, so he couldn’t figure out those scuffs.

“No problem. I’m Rocco Easton and—”

Whatever he was going to say died in his throat as Jessica unbuttoned her suit jacket with quick efficiency, her French-manicured fingers moving easily over flower-shaped rhinestone buttons.

What the hell? The jacket fell away to reveal a crimson-colored lace camisole that disappeared down into the waistband of her black skirt.

While a few of the women whistled as Jessica removed her jacket, she simply tossed the garment aside and wrapped a hand around his bicep. Apparently unconcerned about the eye-popping visual her breasts made in the molded lace and satin of her fitted camisole, she gestured toward a chaise longue that had been dragged into the center of the sprawling Victorian suite.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She tugged him briskly forward, as if getting half-naked with a stranger was all in a day’s work for her. “If you’ll just join me right over here, Rocco, I’d like to show my guests a few instructional tips on massage.”

“That’s erotic massage, gorgeous,” the brunette who’d brought him into the room stage-whispered from her post at a freestanding bar where a dozen white candles flickered. “I think you’re in for a treat.”

He stopped so fast, Jessica’s feet stuttered as she pitched forward slightly. He steadied her automatically, his instinct to physically protect a woman—even from a stumble in high heels—overriding his personal beef with her.

The whole group went silent for a moment as if gauging his reaction. Then one woman laughed. Another snorted. And then the whole crew busted a gut over his hesitation.

Everyone but the fearless workshop leader, that is, who appeared to falter. She bit her lip with sudden indecision, a row of perfect white teeth sinking into the soft fullness of her lower lip.

“You’re kidding.” He didn’t drop his attention from her face, but the desire to run a quick fact-gathering mission on the particulars of her body was so strong he had to take a step back.

“Are you uncomfortable being touched by a stranger, Rocco?” Her sandy eyebrows scrunched in worry over the idea.

He wondered if the moment of thoughtfulness was real or a well-acted performance. Sometimes people who preyed on others survived by developing an uncanny level of insight and empathy for the people they targeted. Was she playing him now?

“Not necessarily.” He lowered his voice to slide under the cackle of excited conversation all around them. “But could you clarify what you mean by erotic massage?”

He had no intention of stripping for entertainment value tonight. Even in the headiest of his glory days with the teams, he’d never found the SEAL groupie thing appealing.

“I’m instructing them on how to give a massage that generates sexual interest, but without touching in an overtly sexual way.” She proved as skilled at talking under the hubbub as him, her manner straightforward and direct in spite of conversational material that literally made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

And what was that about? He was here to feel out the woman’s character, yet she seemed to be the one finding all his weaknesses and surprising him at every turn.

Jessica released his arm while the rest of the room quieted.

“I don’t want to put you on the spot. If you’d rather not test your sensual willpower in front of a bunch of strangers, we’ll certainly understand.”

Possibly it was his imagination, but he could have sworn all the other women in the room leaned forward in their seats.

And he’d have to be completely lacking a pulse not to experience at least a twinge of male interest at this scenario. Even with a potential adversary doing the stroking.

But he hadn’t come to Coronado Island and faced memories of his former career—the SEAL team that had been his whole life—only to get scared off by a sensual distraction. He would deal with whatever temptation lurked in Jessica’s touch in order to learn more about her. He couldn’t walk away until he found out if she was the kind of woman who could purposely swindle an old man.

“Not a chance.” He sat down on the chaise. “I’ve got a good fifteen minutes before I have to get back to work. Do your worst.”

2

JESSICA HELD her breath along with every other woman in the room when Rocco Easton shrugged out of his white jacket.

What was it about a set of great shoulders that commanded attention from even the most aloof feminine observer? And damn it, Jessica considered herself the queen of detached. She could provide a good deal of male testimony that would agree.

Yet something about the waiter’s expressionless compliance suggested he could turn off his personal desires even faster than she could. Wasn’t that an odd quality in a man who couldn’t be a day over thirty? There was something strong and unyielding about him, something that reassured her he would never be overcome by an attack of lecherousness after a bit of massage.

Whatever the reason for the reserve she sensed in him, Jessica appreciated it in light of her own hang-ups.

“Well?” Rocco’s voice emanated at breast level while she stood next to him.

The sound seemed to rumble right through her, sending frissons of response over her skin. And oh my, but that was an unusual reaction for her. She’d paid for every kind of counseling imaginable after the rape—well, she’d paid for it after college, during her internship at a psychologist’s office, since she hadn’t been able to afford it until then. Still, no amount of therapy had ever made her a wildly responsive woman in the sexual department. That coolness of her own desires had prompted her to study sensuality and make it her area of specialty in her seminars.

But being able to teach it and being able to live it were two different things. This waiter’s ability to ignite a physical response in her so quickly surprised her more than her father’s announcement, when she was twelve, that he was going to quit drinking. Of course, she figured this startling discovery would turn out to be as false as her dad’s promise.

“The goal of this massage is a deep understanding of your partner along with increased physical awareness.” She launched into her discussion by rote, her memorized notes coming to mind easily despite the highly unexpected circumstances of this talk.

The words made her feel in control again, arming her with much needed distance. Kneeling on the chaise beside the waiter who bore a stronger physical resemblance to the SEALs they’d seen out in the surf than to any server running around the hotel, Jessica was glad she hadn’t brought a massage table. She’d wanted to give the room a suggestive ambiance instead of a classroom feel, and she thought it was the right choice, even if it made working on Rocco a little challenging.

He was built like a truck. His shoulders taxed the seams of his white cotton shirt, the V of his back tapering admirably by the time her eyes reached his belt level. If she’d seen him on the street, she would have pegged him as someone involved in physical labor. And she definitely would have taken note of him. No wonder her students had come in from their manhunt positively glowing with their triumph.

Rocco was a first-rate male specimen.

His icy blue eyes studied her now, his attention intense if somehow clinical. She had the impression he absorbed far more of the finer points of massage than her paying students. The eight women who were here to reclaim their sensuality all seemed to be more interested in licking their chops over their guest.

Of course, if Jessica hadn’t been speaking, she might have engaged in a bit of chop licking of her own. She hadn’t really missed sex in the last few years since life had closed that particular door, but that didn’t mean she didn’t notice men. Far from it. Her imagination had always succeeded in painting more delectable interludes with men than she’d been capable of in real life, and the stud seated to her right had the power to inspire all kinds of tasty fantasies if she had the time to indulge them.

“If you’ll just turn sideways for me, Rocco, I think we’re ready to begin.” Jessica warned her hands not to be nervous as they fluttered over his shoulders and then landed softly on either side of his neck.

Holy Mary, Mother and Joseph.

She had to hold herself rigid in order to suppress her reaction to the electric shock that traveled through her fingers, up her arms, danced around her breasts and then seared all the way down to her womb. Did the reaction show on her face? She lost her place in her spiel for a moment as she struggled to stifle the hum of sexual energy vibrating through her now.

She peered down at her fingers, planted on his shoulders, as if she could perceive some cause for the phenomenon.

“Excuse me,” she intoned finally, closing her eyes as she prayed for some memory of what the hell she’d been talking about. “I seem to have lost my place.”

Rocco cranked his neck around to see her, his blue eyes sparking with the same live current she felt through her hands. She was so completely out of her depth.

“You were discussing the right times to apply a variety of strokes.”

Jessica swore she could fall right into those eyes of his. They didn’t appear icy anymore. The crystalline blue held a white heat that threatened to singe away all her carefully rehearsed words. Already she felt herself falling into a sea of sensations, her brain failing to grasp what strokes he was talking about.

Damn it, maybe she was having a stroke. Although heart failure seemed more likely with this amount of stimulation.

“Yes, Jessica,” chimed in one of her students. Ingrid was a Hollywood director’s wife who had driven all the way to San Diego to take the class in the hope of keeping her attendance a secret from her husband. “You were just about to show us how to caress him for maximum benefit.”

The chorus of laughter began again, reminding her that she needed to keep a tight rein on the group or they would commandeer the class with racy innuendo and bawdy talk. And she had so much more to offer than that—if only she could keep her focus. She could not afford to let her unexpected reaction to Rocco derail her new business after all the years she’d worked to get this far.

“You’d just mentioned that there were different benefits to fast and slow strokes,” another woman prompted before lifting a martini to her lips.

“And could you perhaps define what you mean by ‘maximum benefit’ for a man? Is that a euphemism for climax?”

Damn. Damn. Damn.

“No.” She raised her voice enough to drown out some other helpful soul only too happy to join the discussion. “I’ve remembered my place now and I’d appreciate it if you could hold your questions until the end of the session.” She moved her fingers experimentally around Rocco’s impressive shoulders. “I was in the midst of demonstrating the difference between a friction touch and a vibration touch. Ladies, feel free to move your chairs around or walk to this side of the room if you can’t see.”

As the dynamics of the group shifted and the attendees shuffled around behind her, someone knocked into Jessica just enough to press her up against Rocco.

For one breathless second, her abdomen and her pelvic bone grazed his laterals, the whipcord muscles flexing enough to provide her with an intense secret thrill.

And oh my sweet stars. She needed to focus on her job and not the ill-timed attraction. Peeling herself off him with an effort, she half wondered what he thought of her workshop. Her.

“This is the friction touch.” She applied the necessary pressure, her hands ratcheting up the heat even though his skin burned beneath his shirt to start with. “It requires a more aggressive motion and it can draw your partner into a more sensual frame of mind.”

She’d read as much about the massage she was licensed to give, but she’d never experienced the magnetic pull on the other end. Not that she’d had reason to give many massages to men. She’d grown out of her old sexual fears a long time ago, but even as she’d been proud of herself for facing those fears, she hadn’t exactly been wowed by sex as a college student or after. Three years after her last relationship ended, she still hadn’t felt any great urge to revisit that perspective.

Until tonight.

Touching this man had her wickedly distracted as she realized she would be content for everyone else in the room to fall away. While that wouldn’t be good for her business, she thought it would be deliciously good for her.

“Next is a movement called petrissage, which is a type of kneading massage.” She spoke in order to help herself maintain focus, to lead herself through this lesson no matter how difficult it might be. “This technique involves light squeezing, gripping the muscles and rolling them under your hands.”

Rocco’s muscles were in such abundance it wasn’t hard to find a sample for her demonstration.

A student nearby cleared her throat before she spoke.

“It’s difficult to tell how much pressure you’re applying. Do you think we might be able to talk Mr. Easton into removing his shirt? Seeing your hands directly on his skin might be more helpful.”

Eight women nodded in tandem. Jessica’s knees buckled just a little at the mere thought of touching Rocco’s naked skin, as she noticed a tray full of scented massage oils waited nearby.

“I think we’ve probably detained our guest long enough as it is.” She hoped he would take the hint and sprint his sexy self right out the door before she melted all over him. “I hardly think we can ask him to—”

Rocco’s hands were already moving over the buttons of his dress shirt, his bow tie hanging loose and undone about his neck.

“It’s okay,” he returned easily, his movements relaxed despite the soaring temperature of his skin. “I’m finding your workshop informative too.”

And without another word, his white cotton dress shirt slithered off his shoulders, leaving Jessica facing the bronzed expanse of wide shoulders and taut sinew. From somewhere in the room, a dreamy feminine sigh seemed to encapsulate her thoughts completely.

“Maybe a little massage oil?” Ingrid said, passing her a bottle of vanilla honeysuckle blend. “It highlights the muscle groups, you know.”

The wicked grin on the woman’s face assured Jessica she was loving every second of class so far. Just what she wanted.

Working up her courage, she squirted some oil between her palms and rubbed them together for warmth. The scent filled the air as she lifted her hands to touch him again. Forcing her fingers onto his back, she braced herself for the electric shock all over again.

This time, her breasts ached and her breath caught. Her heart pounded so hard she feared the whole class would see the palpitations given that her camisole didn’t exactly provide extensive coverage.

“This is the friction touch.” She demonstrated briefly to minimize the sweet torment of caressing him. “And now we’ll learn the vibration touch.”

Scavenging up her autopilot teaching mode to take over, Jessica’s lips moved, spouting out her lesson. But in her head, she continued to linger on the idea of a vibration touch.

Never in her life had she found a need for the battery-operated toys some women used to find pleasure. But after tonight, she would seriously investigate the options ASAP. Something about touching Rocco Easton had made her realize she would need to find a way to take the sexual edge off her thoughts or she might never think straight again.

WARDING OFF pleasure—surprisingly—wasn’t all that different from warding off pain. Rocco had to mentally travel somewhere else in order to withstand the experience, his body growing more and more susceptible to its physical reactions.

Jessica’s hands proved as seductive as her charm had been to his father. Rocco fell deeper under their spell the longer she talked, the longer she worked her lubricated fingers over his skin. Interestingly, the seduction didn’t come from her obvious assets. She didn’t employ the more expected female tactics, like brushing her half-bared breasts against his back. Instead, she simply followed the guidelines she had set out in her workshop, using her professed techniques to the letter.

There was, he thought, something honest in that at least. And he had to believe he hadn’t abandoned his mission despite the way he’d allowed himself to come into such intimate contact with his investigative subject tonight. No matter what Jessica’s financial picture might be, he believed she sincerely embraced the principles she taught in this workshop by the way she kept the class on track.

Not once in the half hour—he glanced at the clock—no, forty-five minutes that he’d been here had Jessica rested her fingers or deviated from what he suspected was a well-rehearsed lecture. She gave her students more information than they’d ever retain.

“Ladies, this is a good touch to use on a man’s inner thigh.” Jessica’s words suddenly blasted their way into his consciousness, wrenching him back to the moment before he could steel himself for the impact.

A couple of the lecture attendees asked her some follow-up questions about that statement, but Rocco’s brain kept envisioning Jessica applying her skillful hands to his thighs. She touched him with light surface caresses in a quick, upward movement. What would that feel like if she transplanted it somewhere more overtly sexual?

Rocco was thankful for his foresight in putting his shirt on his lap after he removed it, as his blood surged south like a rogue wave.

“What do you think, Rocco?” Jessica leaned down into his field of vision, half-bending around his shoulders to make eye contact. “The question was—which touch did you find most effective for relaxation and which for erotic purposes?”

For a minute, the words sounded like Greek, since the only language he wanted to speak was physical. He was more interested in making this woman sigh with pleasure and call out his name. He wanted to see how fast he could get her naked and have her splayed on the chaise underneath him.

Except that he wasn’t here to sleep with her. He was here to investigate Jessica’s character. Test the legitimacy of her business and see if it seemed to generate enough income to finance her automobile. Too bad he was too freaking distracted by the raging erection he sported to comprehend much about her other than the fact that she turned him on.

“The first touches were the most relaxing.” Either that or he’d had more control early in the evening. “I think the styles of massage increased in, uh—firepower—as we went. Perhaps Jessica designed the program that way intentionally.”

“And what about the scent?” another student pressed.

“How did vanilla honeysuckle strike you?”

Like a freaking thunderbolt?

“Good.” He nodded. “Definitely a good scent.”

He looked to Jessica mostly to take some of the class scrutiny off of him. He’d never been this publicly aroused. The only time he’d been close, he’d marched his date out of the bar to take her home with him. That didn’t seem like an option now.

“Where’s everyone going?” He blinked his way through his turned-on state as he noticed two of the women disappearing into the connected suite.

“We’ve finished the erotic-massage portion of the retreat.” Jessica’s hand slowed on his back, her fingernails scratching lightly over his skin before coming to rest in the center of his shoulders. “A few of the women had dinner reservations downstairs they didn’t want to miss, but I know they all appreciated your willingness to sit in for the demonstration.”

The remaining women in the room zipped purses and jingled keys. Some moved toward the door while others checked cell phones and made calls.

One of the women paused in her conversation, and called over to Jessica, “Don’t fool yourself, hon. Those women are lighting out of here to look for men to try those massage moves for themselves. You got this class so hot and bothered I don’t think anyone can face the idea of going back to their hotel room alone.”

“There’s a tip for you though, Rocco.” The dark-haired woman who’d originally invited him in gestured to a bar glass full of cash. “We didn’t want you to sacrifice any income on our behalf.”

Ah crap. He’d wanted to assess Jessica Winslow’s potential as a scam artist and yet the presence of the overflowing tip jar made him feel like the one doing the scamming.

The heaviness in his limbs made it tough to stand. The heaviness between his thighs made it a bad idea anyhow. He willed away the effects of Jessica’s massage, wishing he could recover faster. He never should have allowed himself to get personally involved in the debtor’s world. It was pretty much the cardinal rule of repossession work and, of course, impossible to honor if you were looking out for personal interests like his father’s business. His father’s pride and independence.

“The pleasure was all mine.” He’d fork over the cash to the waiter who’d brought the appetizers halfway through the class. Or donate it to charity. There had to be something he could do with the cash to take away the sting of guilt.

“But thanks.”

The woman stepped out of the room with her friend, the silent blonde, leaving Rocco alone with his masseuse and no witnesses for all the accusations he was about to make.

As soon as he shook off this sexual spell she’d kneaded into his skin with her addictive fingertips.

“Thank you for coming tonight, Rocco.” Jessica stepped back from him abruptly and reached for her suit jacket, almost as if she was nervous around him. But that couldn’t be. She didn’t have a clue about his real identity or his motive for being here.

What was that all about?

And moreover, how could he report back to his father on Jessica’s financial standing when he hadn’t done much tonight beyond finding out the woman possessed the most talented fingers imaginable? Had he gone to all the trouble to drive into San Diego and remember all he’d left behind on Coronado Island only to go home with a damned inconvenient hard-on to show for it?

Hell no. He hadn’t become a repo man for the fun of it. He’d done it to help out his father’s failing business. So he’d damn well do his job tonight, even if it meant confronting Jessica to find out the truth.

His plan for the night might have been delayed, but it was far from over. As an ex-SEAL, he was pretty good at assessing a situation and adapting as the need arose. He also knew better than to have any qualms about confronting a woman on her perfidy. He’d backed away from it once before and the end result had forced him out of the military for good.

“I didn’t come here just to work at your retreat.” He needed to remind himself of that fact—he’d gotten entirely too caught up in everything Jessica was selling.

Still, he couldn’t help but hope he’d been wrong about her. Or rather, that his father had been wrong about her.

“Really?” Her eyes widened as she shrugged into her conservative black jacket and covered up the fire-enginered camisole. “You came here for something else?”

She tipped her head sideways, her eyes wide as her fingers froze above the unfastened jacket buttons, her silver bracelet jingling gently.

And then she took a step toward him. He was still on the chaise longue and finally had himself under control again. The moment seemed surreal after she’d been so careful to keep physical distance during the massage. Her hands might have been turning him inside out with expert touches, but she hadn’t ever stepped over the line into sexual teasing or flirtation.

He didn’t think it was conceited of him to suspect that had taken some restraint on her part. The chemistry between them had been as irrefutable as the heat still rolling off his body and the jump in his pulse whenever she touched him. That chemistry simmered all over again now as she sank to sit beside him on the chaise, her hip just inches from his.

Anger churned beneath the heat. Anger at himself for being drawn in by her, and at her for attracting him in spite of a formidable willpower that had successfully hauled him through weeks of training that pummeled and defeated ninety percent of the guys who attempted it.

Damn it, he missed life as a SEAL, where the line between right and wrong had been more clearly defined, determined by the military or at least by his team as a group. Now he forged his own path. Was forced to trust only his gut without the resources of the Navy at his fingertips or the support of his team to back him up.

“I came here to—”

Investigate you.

But the words remained unspoken in the face of her expression. There was an openness about it, a yearning that was so palpable it seemed almost innocent.

Her gaze flicked down to his mouth, her pupils dilated.

She wanted him. She thought he was a damned waiter and she wanted him.

Not exactly the behavior of the gold-digging schemer he’d expected.

“Yes?” she prodded, nipping her lip and spinning her silver bracelet around one wrist while she waited for him to explain why else he had come to the workshop.

Shit.

Was she more innocent than he’d believed? Could she have gotten in over her head with her credit because she was naive or had somehow fallen on hard times? The memory of shoe polish covering the scuff marks on her heels nipped at his brain. The need to find out the truth weighed on him, forcing him to wait a little longer. To see what else he might learn about her.

Then again, maybe he just needed an excuse to taste her. To test the level of her innocence for himself before he confronted her with the reality of her bad debt.

Taking what her eyes had offered him long ago, Rocco slid his hand around the back of her neck to steady her and drew her closer. Her eyelids fell to half-mast, then drifted closed. He couldn’t have stopped himself if his father had launched the surveillance videotape at his nose.

Shoving aside second thoughts, he pulled Jessica’s mouth to his and kissed her.

3

THE EFFECT PROVED more potent than alcohol.

Jessica no longer wanted that chardonnay she’d longed for before the workshop. Rocco’s kiss made her head spin. The soaring sweetness soothed any hesitation she’d had about taking a seat here next to him in the first place.

She’d been right to want this.

She needed this.

For too long she’d shied away from intimacy. First out of fear; later, out of fear of disappointment that she’d studied sensuality in every conceivable form and still wouldn’t be able to relax and let go.

But this kiss told her that had been totally unfounded. Nothing about Rocco disappointed. He tasted as good as he felt, his lips covering hers with a gentleness that stunned her coming from such a powerful man.

Heat fanned high inside her. His mouth moved over hers with a skill that turned her inside out. He tilted her chin up, and her mouth opened to him without any conscious decision on her part.

His tongue stroked hers, coaxing a sigh from deep in her throat. She wanted to sink into the moment, to stop every clock for an hour—a day, maybe—to savor each conceivable nuance. As it was, sensations bombarded her, dragging her into a sea so thick with longing she couldn’t imagine how she would ever surface.

“Jess.” He whispered her name over her lips between kisses and seemed to urge her body toward him.

Not until then did she realize how perfectly still she sat beside him, only daring to give up her mouth to this man. Old habits were hard to break, but heaven help her, with Rocco, she could see herself making a good dent in her hang-ups.

Inching closer to him, she followed the soft pressure of his hand sliding down her shoulder to the small of her back. She nudged her left breast against him and she hesitated for just a second, testing the feel of it and discovering the touch lit up her insides. Pleasure coursed through her, flooding every nerve ending and urging her to seal her whole body against the fiery heat of his.

All of it was new to her. The immersion. The joy of it. The sense of wanting the kiss to go on forever. She’d always been painfully aware in every encounter she’d ever had with a man, second-guessing every awkward moment.

Regardless of how gentle he was, she appreciated that he didn’t roll her beneath him, Now, lying by his side, she had access to his bare chest.

At almost the same moment she laid a hand on his side, he speared his fingers beneath the jacket she’d never buttoned. He stroked the silky camisole, his hands skimming up her sides until he cupped the undersides of her breasts.

Oh.

The feather-light touch held impossibly devastating consequences. She wore nothing beneath the camisole, the silky fabric providing her last line of defense against the touch that would conquer her completely. She knew it from the way her nipples beaded in anticipation.

He broke the kiss to study her, his blue eyes dark as a turbulent sea. She fell into that swirling chaos, her breath dragging through her lungs with labored effort.

How could she have worked so hard for years to rid herself of sexual difficulties while this man could stride into her life and swipe them away with one incredible kiss?

His thumb stretched over the cup of her camisole to tease the bare skin of her exposed cleavage, his caress patient and thorough. She breathed in his scent, clean and spicy at the same time. The light from the flickering candelabra cast his face in shadows that alternated with a golden warmth.

She wanted this, wanted him, with a hunger that shocked her. Her whole body trembled in breathless anticipation for what would come next. She wanted to be naked with him, burning with him, following this inferno wherever it would lead.

“Damn it.”

He swore softly as his hands vanished from her body with no warning.

“What?” Confused, she tried to read his expression. “I bet there are condoms at the gift store.”

She’d shop personally if he wanted her to. She wouldn’t let anything come between her and—

“No.” He shifted positions, sitting up on the chaise until his feet hit the floor at one end. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Confusion swirled through her as she tried to make sense of what he was saying.

“But I wanted you, too.” And wasn’t mutual consent a beautiful thing? She knew what she’d been feeling hadn’t been one-sided. “I’ve never felt like—”

“Don’t.” He swung on her, that one word a barked command. “Just—don’t.”

He turned away from her to reach for his shirt and all the frustration and anger she’d ever felt about intimacy suddenly simmered hot in her veins. How come sex could never work out for her? She thought she’d been so close this time. Kissing Rocco had been the most physically transporting experience of her whole life. And he had turned away from her as if nothing had happened.

“I don’t understand.” She stood, the tremors of desire that had lit her insides just a moment ago turning to resentment and embarrassment. “If I did something wrong I damn well deserve to know.”

Even if that served to increase her embarrassment. She refused to be kept in the dark over what had gone off course this time. She’d battled too hard for some semblance of sexual well-being to let this guy tear her down.

Standing, he buttoned his shirt as they faced off across the chaise.

“You want to know what went wrong?” He scooped his tie off the floor and wrapped it around the neck of his half-open shirt.

“Please.” Her whole body vibrated with thwarted longing, her cheeks flaming hot along with every other square inch of her skin.

“I’m not a waiter.”

Did he think she would care about his career? Was he embarrassed about his job?

“It doesn’t matter to me what you do for a living.” Heaven knows, she hadn’t exactly strolled out of a middleclass upbringing. She’d gone to bed hungry too many times as a child to ever disrespect what someone did to earn a living. She would have given anything for her father to hold down a job for more than a few weeks at a time. Maybe then she wouldn’t have ended up in foster care by the time she was a teen.

Maybe she wouldn’t have been assaulted because no one was there to help her navigate the confusing waters of sexual relationships.

“You don’t understand. I’m a recovery agent.”

“A what?” She was still trying to figure out what his job had to do with not wanting her.

“A repo man.”

The words possessed a sting she hadn’t expected. After all, more than a decade had passed since she’d put the fears of her childhood behind her. There had been a time when recovery agents, as he called them, had held a hell of a lot of power over her life, thanks to her derelict parents.

But not anymore.

She waited for him to explain himself, her gut twisting with new foreboding.

“I came here tonight purposely to investigate you and see if you were the kind of person who could lie to an old man’s face in order to drive away with an upscale new car.” His eyes turned icy blue again. “I needed to find out if that beautiful body of yours housed the cold heart of a first-rate scam artist.”

HE’D ENVISIONED this moment in his head more than a few times. He’d played it over and over since learning the father who’d raised him single-handedly was in deep financial trouble and that Jessica’s ploy might be the straw to break the camel’s back.

But not once had he envisioned the sputtering disbelief—no, make that fury—on her face.

“What kind of sick joke is this?” She actually trembled with anger, her shoulders shaking with it, and he wondered if he could be missing some piece of the puzzle. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman to play on an old man’s sympathies, but damn it, the Escalade he’d seen in the parking lot told him she didn’t mind reaping the benefits of her deeds.

“It’s no joke.” He reached in his pants pocket for his business license, regretting he’d let things get so far out of hand. He’d overestimated his willpower when he had allowed her to massage him, a mistake that had made it impossible not to kiss her. He’d avoided relationships since his accident, a conscious choice since he hadn’t been fit company for anyone with the anger and resentment weighing bitterly on him at all times.

But, of course, that meant he’d avoided sex, too.

Touching Jessica had been too much, too soon after a celibate stretch. His blood still pounded so heavily through his veins he swore he could hear a percussion section jamming in his head.

“Of course it’s a joke,” she spit back at him, yanking the chopstick device out of her hair until the auburn waves tumbled freely to bounce on her shoulders. “Either that or you’re the sorriest excuse for a repo man I’ve ever met. I have credit card statements that show my payments for the last six months. For that matter, I have the most recent printout in my vehicle. We can retrieve it before I let the security guards all over this hotel know that you’ve been harassing me.”

“A bill can’t always be considered proof.” No doubt she had a house full of bills if she was the kind of person who defaulted on her purchases. “I’d need proof those bills were paid. And the finance company says they haven’t been.”

“I haven’t even received a late notice.” Her voice pitched higher, her frustration level revving up fast for someone he’d suspected of being a smooth operator. From the surveillance tape footage, he’d suspected her game would be tight. But right now she didn’t appear to have much experience scamming anyone. Damn it, he’d approached this thing all wrong. He was better at covert operations, staying behind the scenes and only moving in at night under the cover of dark. That strategy had been his go-to move as a SEAL and it was a strength he’d carried into the repo business. Why couldn’t he have stuck with what he did best?

The answer came to him instantly. He’d messed up because this had been personal. His father had been stressed and Rocco had wanted to clear it all up as fast as possible.

“Look. I’m sorry that I let things get personal.” He’d been an idiot to kiss her, even if it was proving damn tough to regret it. “I planned to come in here and get a feel for what kind of person you are—”

The whole situation sounded ludicrous, all the more so because he’d let himself touch her. Taste her. Want her in spite of everything.

“So help me, if you had dared to make any false accusations in front of my hard-earned clients, I would have sued your sorry ass for everything you’re worth.” She stomped across the floor to retrieve his white jacket and tossed it at him. “In fact, why don’t you give me the name of your company and your supervisor and I’ll make sure that person knows how close you came to landing your company in court tonight.”

A thread of unease tickled his instincts. Either she was a hell of an actress, or he’d wronged her in a big way.

“I saw you on the surveillance tape from my father’s dealership.” He spoke more to himself than to her, going over the evidence in his mind.

But what had he really seen? A black-and-white tape of a woman who looked like Jessica from a foot or two above eye level. A woman with her body. Her hair. And of course, her car.

Ah, shit. All at once it occurred to him that after his preliminary viewing of the tape, he’d handed the case over to his new assistant investigator to do the legwork. Rocco had wanted to move on it quickly and he’d been tied up with other business. Could the other investigator have overlooked something obvious?

“I’m waiting.” She had retrieved the pad of hotel stationery from a small desk and stood with pen poised above it.

Frustration hummed like a deerfly around his head at the possibility that someone at his company hadn’t triple-checked their paperwork. In the Navy, his buddies had always backed him up, but in the outside world, good backup wasn’t a given. Yet another aspect of how life as a civilian sucked.

“I need to check the VIN number on your vehicle.” He set his jacket back down on the chaise, knowing he wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw some proof of Jessica’s alleged fraud for himself.

“Excuse me?” The glare she sent him would have withered a lesser man. “I’m the one entitled to information here and I’ll be damned if I let you wiggle your way out of it.”

Okay, he resented the image of himself wiggling. After all, he hadn’t hurt her—he’d kissed her, for Chrissake.

“I work for myself. I’m the company. Sue me.” He removed a business card from his wallet and slapped it on the minibar. “Now I’m going to check out the VIN on the Escalade and see if you have a legitimate beef before we take this discussion any further.”

He had an extra set of keys in his pocket. He didn’t need her permission to check out a vehicle he was here to take into custody anyway.

Unless, of course, it was a different vehicle.

Anger flared hot inside him as he opened the door into the hall. He’d been overwhelmed with new cases this past week and he’d given a higher priority to firming up new accounts than taking care of detail work on recoveries in process.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jessica had set down her pen and paper before following him into the quiet corridor. “You’re not touching my vehicle without my permission.”

“You can sue me for that, too. First I’m going to find out if there’s been some kind of mistake and we’ve got the wrong vehicle.”

He’d owe her one monster of an apology if that was the case. Except he’d seen the security tape of her buying the car. It had looked just like her, damn it. Same killer body. Same sexy-as-hell red hair. Even the same mannerisms, right down to a little habit she had of spinning her bracelet around her wrist.

“Of course you’re wrong.” She hastened her step, her sweetly endowed form jiggling enticingly with the effort.

Why the hell couldn’t he keep his eyes in his head around her?

He pushed the elevator button to go down to the main floor, intrigued in spite of himself at how quickly she’d transformed from a reserved professional to a hot-blooded lover and then to a spitting-mad, in-your-face, woman as tough as any debtor who’d ever followed his tow truck into the night while shaking a fist.

Now, she gave him a wary glance before stepping into the elevator with him. Folding her arms, she managed to cover only a small portion of her considerable personal assets.

“So what’s a vin and why didn’t you look at it before you attempted to humiliate a taxpaying entrepreneur struggling to make ends meet?”

“Vehicle Identification Number. It’s etched into the dashboard under the windshield of every vehicle made and each one’s unique. Like a Social Security number for cars.” The elevator door opened and he stepped off onto the main floor of the famous Victorian-era hotel. “And I didn’t try to humiliate you.”

It was just that he’d been stressed about his father for months. His dad had taken it to heart when Rocco got a medical discharge and he’d been trying to compensate for the letdown by starting a business that could help the old man. But maybe he’d been so focused on making it up to his father that he’d unwittingly hurt someone else.

The exit was mere steps away and he plowed through it, slowing only to hold the door for Jessica. As much as he hated to be wrong in life, this was one time when he sincerely hoped he’d screwed up. He didn’t want this woman to be a scam artist.

The attraction he’d felt for her had been strong. Immediate. Undeniable. To have those feelings for someone totally lacking in scruples…

Hell. He wouldn’t appreciate what that said about him.

“It’s over there.” Jessica pointed out the massive vehicle spit-shined to gleaming perfection before she smiled at a security guard striding through the parking lot. “And I’m only following you to gloat about this when you find out you’re wrong.”

Her high heels tapped a fast pace, making him realize she needed to take two steps to his one to keep up.

“If I’m wrong—” he dug the paperwork on the vehicle out of his wallet and unfolded it “—you’re going to have a whole world of new problems to worry about. You can forget about gloating.”

The tap, tap of her high heels slowed. Stopped.

“What do you mean?” Her perfume—no, the scent of her soap—rode the breeze off the ocean, winding around him as he compared the digits on the paper to the ones under the windshield.

They didn’t match.

He didn’t know whether to thank God or curse himself. No doubt a little of both was in order. Still, he hadn’t been kidding about this situation only getting more difficult for Jessica.

“I mean you’ve got a woman impersonating you and using your name on a car loan and who knows what else.” Though he hated for her sake that this had happened, he couldn’t help his relief that she wasn’t a scam artist.

“You still think there’s another vehicle with this number you have that’s somehow associated with my name?” The professional woman was back, her brow scrunched as she tried to make sense of the situation.

A situation she didn’t deserve to be in and one he would damn well help her resolve since he’d only added to her trouble.

“Yes. There’s another Escalade purchased under your name by someone who looks a hell of a lot like you and who’s obviously using all your credit information. I’d say you’ve been a victim of identity theft by somebody who knows you very, very well.”

4

“DAD?”

Rocco dropped into his bed late that night, exhausted but knowing he wouldn’t sleep until he’d told his father the news. Moonlight streamed over the bed. He’d never bothered to hang blinds, living out in the middle of nowhere had its advantages.

He just hoped his dad was having a good day and would remember what Rocco was talking about with the Escalade. The old man’s health had been slipping lately, but his doctor didn’t think it was Alzheimer’s. Yet. Still, Rocco noticed gaps in his father’s memory and he worried about doing any kind of work that would make him less accessible when his dad needed something. At least now, as his own boss, he had the freedom to drop everything and lend a hand at Easton Luxury Motor Cars or help his father out at home if he needed anything.

“Ricardo, why do you call me so late?” His father’s accent became stronger when he was tired. He’d come over from the old country in the sixties, but being in the States for forty years hadn’t smoothed the strains of Italy from his speech. “I have to work tomorrow.”

Rocco closed his eyes as he laid his head on the pillow and tried not to think of Jessica Winslow’s massaging fingers on his shoulders.

“I know, Dad, but you made me promise I’d call when I found out anything about the woman who hasn’t made payments on her Escalade.” It was because his father had been so upset about it that Rocco had jumped into his investigative efforts without doing his homework. From now on, he needed to remember his father’s condition could make him more emotional. Less logical. But damn it, that hurt to think about. His father had always been so strong.

“You found the redhead and my car?”

“I found out the redhead was impersonating the real Jessica Winslow and that Ms. Winslow is the victim of identity theft, so I’ll have to do some more digging to find out who really has the Escalade.”

His father cursed in Italian and then in English for good measure.

“They try to break an old man’s bank, but thank goodness, my son, he is too smart for them, no?” Anthony Easton sighed into the phone and Rocco could picture his father lying back down in his bed. “You’re a good boy, Giuseppe, you know that?”

A lump stuck in Rocco’s throat. Giuseppe was his father’s first son by another marriage—a son who’d died in a car accident on a California interstate years ago. A son his father never would have mistaken him for unless he was sliding deeper into dementia.

Or perhaps he was just tired.

“It’s Rocco, Dad. And I’ll let you know when I find the Escalade, okay?”

With a soft grunt, his father seemed to agree before he hung up the phone. Leaving Rocco alone with his worries for the man who’d raised him and a renewed determination to find the woman who had ripped him off.

He just hoped Jessica Winslow didn’t spit in his face the next time she saw him, because he had the feeling he was going to need her help if he wanted to catch the redhead who’d faked her way into a brand-new SUV.

BUMPING AND GRINDING to the wail of Hindi sitar music the next morning, Jessica led the day’s first workshop in the hotel’s double suite. She tried to tune out the hum of anxiety that wove through her head louder than the stringed melody.

A fruitless endeavor.

She’d barely slept the night before, spending hours on the phone trying to find real live people at her credit card companies to report the case of identity theft. The police hadn’t been much help, assuring her she needed to follow the official channels set up by the credit bureaus first before they could get involved.

Eventually, they’d admitted they might be able to help her if she brought them a tape of someone impersonating her in order to secure a car loan. Even so, she needed to contact the finance company first.

And, of course, the mere act of talking to the police set her nerves on edge. She’d had too many run-ins with the cops in her childhood to feel any sort of ease in that situation. Even though she didn’t have anything to hide these days—unlike in the past when she’d been forced to make up long, convoluted explanations for why there had been yelling coming from their apartment or why her parents hadn’t registered her for school in their newest hometown—she still felt tongue-tied and anxious when she tried to recite her story. While part of her couldn’t help feeling a twinge of resentment at Rocco for bringing all this to her doorstep, she knew she should be grateful that he’d alerted her to the identity theft. She’d had a few instances of bills not showing up and a handful of purchases on her credit card that weren’t hers and which she’d disputed with her company, but nothing she’d worried about until now.

Still, she definitely nursed more feelings for Rocco than simple gratitude. She couldn’t deny the twinge of hurt she’d experienced that he’d turned away from their heated kisses so easily. She hated that she’d thought about those moments so often through the night, but that revelation of sensual potential inside her had been as big of news to her as any identity theft.

Between the lack of sleep, financial worries and a body overwrought by desire for a man she should probably stay away from, she wasn’t exactly bringing her A game to the morning belly-dancing class. Securing the good opinion of these students should be her number-one priority.

Like that of the woman tentatively raising her hand…

“How do you recommend we incorporate this into our seduction techniques?” asked the quiet blonde who had been the first to arrive for today’s workshop.

The woman, Bryanna, was best friends with the Hollywood director’s wife, and had confided to Jessica this morning that she feared her husband was on the verge of asking for a divorce.

Jessica weighed her answer as she helped one of the other ladies find the rhythm of the music by gently steering her hips.

“I don’t recommend using this to seduce anyone but yourself.” She spoke from her heart, knowing the answer probably wasn’t what the woman wanted to hear, but hoping the message would make sense anyway.

“How can I seduce myself when it’s me who notices all the cellulite every time I contract my stomach muscles?” Bryanna slowed her undulating movements, her harem-girl dancing costume not as sheer as some the other women had chosen.

Jessica wasn’t sure if she should play it safe and make a few suggestions for setting the stage for seduction, or if she should forge ahead with what she really thought. Bad advice could cost her that coveted word-of-mouth business. But damn it, she had to trust her gut on this.

“The dance is meant to help you see beyond the superficial of the exterior so you can feel the sensuality of the movement and tap into a new wellspring of sexual confidence and well-being.” It might sound New Agey, but the approach had worked wonders for Jessica when she’d been at her most sensually vulnerable.

Other students slowed their dance movements to listen, the flow of sheer silk skirts and scarves coming to a halt.

“What good is reclaiming my sexuality if I don’t have anyone to share it with?” Bryanna straightened, her body rigid with tension Jessica could feel from several feet away.

Or maybe Jessica simply recalled too well what it felt like to experience self-doubt after her own sexual confidence had been scared into hiding.

“Tapping into your own sensual power creates an aura of attractiveness and charisma that draws people, without any effort at all from you.” No seduction necessary.

At that moment, someone rapped on the door to the connecting suites where they conducted their workshops. One of the students in back moved to admit the newcomer. The door frame filled with shoulders and one-hundred-percent he-man.

Rocco Easton.

Feminine squeals greeted his arrival as if he was some sort of rock star. Clearly he had created quite a following for himself with his fake persona of sexy waiter. Would these women still admire him if they knew his true identity or that he’d bluffed his way into their midst the night before?

She couldn’t imagine what he wanted anyway. Hadn’t he screwed up her life enough already? Or did he want to embarrass her after all and snatch the keys to her car in front of her whole class? Still, the sight of him in khakis and a navy polo shirt that showed off amazing muscles elicited a purely feminine flutter inside her.

“Rocco, darling.” Ingrid, the director’s wife, drew him deeper into the room. “We need you to settle a friendly disagreement we’ve been having this morning about the nature of attractiveness.”

“If this is about lipstick color or something, I’m not going to be much help.” He sauntered inside, his eyes meeting hers. Holding.

Jessica’s skin tickled with the memory of his touch, her heart picking up speed at just the sight of him. She might have doubts about his motives, but she didn’t doubt their sensual connection for a second. And she didn’t want any part of that sinfully sweet reaction.

He was a repo man, a guy who sneaked onto people’s property at night to make off with the cars that struggling families depended on. He was the guy who told lies to latchkey kids about why he needed to take away a refrigerator housing nothing more than milk and a few precious eggs.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.