Tame Me
Caroline Cross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated with love to four terrific women I’m lucky to call my friends—

To Susan Andersen, who makes me a better writer in every way and who—thankfully—always knows what my characters think even when I don’t have a clue.

To Barbara McCauley, whose optimism and generous spirit are a constant inspiration.

To Melinda McRae, who not only listens, but knows all sorts of unexpected things.

And to Kris Nelson, my long-lost sister…finally found.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

One

Once upon a time when she’d still had a life, Mallory Morgan would’ve described Gabriel Steele as tall, dark and delicious.

That was before he’d cost her everything. Now, as she opened her flimsy apartment door and found him parked in the dingy hallway outside, the words that came to mind were hard, heartless and not-to-be-trusted.

“Mallory.” As always his voice was quiet but commanding, the perfect match to his lean, powerful body and reserved green eyes.

“What do you want, Gabriel?”

“We need to talk.”

“Do we?” To her relief she sounded calm and in control, something that had eluded her earlier that day when a chance meeting between them at Annabelle’s, one of Denver’s trendier restaurants, had resulted in her behaving badly—and paying a price she could ill afford. “Gosh, let me think.” Tipping her head to one side, she pretended to consider for all of two seconds, then straightened. “No.”

With a flick of her wrist, she sent the door swinging shut. It would just be too bad if it smacked him in his autocratic chin.

He didn’t so much as blink. Probably because the cheap panel moved barely an inch before bumping against his big booted foot. “Look, I get that you’re angry—”

Her free hand tightened on the scarlet satin of the robe that she’d thrown on over her bra and jeans at his unexpected knock, bunching the thin, slippery fabric at her throat. “What was your first clue? When I crossed out your reservation and refused to seat you even though the dining room was half-empty? Or when I quit my job rather than apologize?”

“Don’t be insulting. I caught on with your pig at the trough comment.”

“Then I believe we’re done. Because I’ve certainly got nothing more to say.”

A grim smile touched his lips. “You don’t want to talk? Fine. You can listen then.” Like the poster boy for overbearing men, he slapped his palm against the wood and pushed.

Instinctively she started to push back, only to check herself as she realized he was already widening the gap between jamb and door as if she didn’t exist. Deciding she’d be a fool to engage in another battle she was sure to lose, she abruptly changed tactics.

“Well, since you insist…” Letting go of the doorknob, she gave a nonchalant shrug and took a giant step back. “By all means, come in.”

To his credit, he didn’t gloat. But it wasn’t much consolation when the instant he crossed the threshold and the door shut behind him, she realized she’d miscalculated once again. No matter how big a hit her dignity had taken, she should have kicked, cried, screamed—done whatever she could to keep him out.

Because with Gabriel in it, her already minuscule studio apartment seemed to shrink. He not only took up all the available space, but also all of the air, making her feel small, breathless and far too…aware. Of his height, his power, his body heat. Of the jolt she felt when he looked at her.

It was hard to believe she’d once thought nothing of flirting shamelessly with this man. Not that it had meant anything—and not just because she’d had a carefully crafted reputation as a frivolous party girl to maintain. But because, her own shortcomings aside, she’d known early on that he was far too formidable for any involvement beyond a little lighthearted fun.

Still, whenever they’d bumped into each other at one or another of the Denver A-list’s glittering soirees, she’d delighted in the subtle sizzle of mutual awareness that would envelop them, the way the air seemed to heat just a little with their proximity.

Inevitably, they’d wind up dancing, and she’d delight in leaning in close, in whispering outrageous suggestions in his ear, in watching the dangerous smile that would tug at his mouth when she trailed a fingertip along his jaw. The only thing better had been the proprietary way his hand would tighten on her waist when she rubbed her thigh against his as they circled the floor. That, and the amused glint of warning that would spark in his eyes, igniting a sharp little thrill she’d feel down to her toes.

All part of that other life, she reminded herself sharply. The one before Gabriel and his bedamned Steele Security had gone after her father and she’d lost her home, her friends, the last of her illusions and most of her self-respect.

Not to mention a fortune so large that up until it disappeared, her most pressing concerns had been along the lines of whether she should spend the weekend shopping in Paris or skiing in Gstaad.

It already seemed like a hundred years ago. And a distinct contrast to now, when she was already sick with worry about whether she’d be able to find another job that would allow her to both eat and keep a roof over her head.

That, however, was nobody’s business but her own. Sure, Gabriel could barge in here, looking like a fallen Armani angel with his inky, razor-cut hair, beautifully tailored clothes and calf-length black leather coat, displaying the style she’d once jokingly dubbed “elegant badass.” He could disturb her peace and stir up memories of a life she’d spent the past months trying to put behind her.

But he couldn’t touch the core of her. She’d had years to perfect her defenses, to learn how to keep people in general at arm’s length—and males in particular off balance.

The realization calmed her, allowed her to steady her bottom lip, which, infuriatingly, was threatening to quiver. Quietly blowing out a breath, she released her grip on her robe, knowing full well the effectiveness of a little insouciant sexuality as she reached up with both hands, gathered the long, unruly mass of her hair and tossed it behind her back.

“So?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, doing her best to look bored. “Are you just going to stand there? I thought there was something you simply had to say to me.”

“Yeah. So did I.” His expression gave nothing away as his gaze flicked from her eyes to her throat to the creamy V of her exposed cleavage before settling squarely back on her face. “I was wrong.”

“You? Wrong?” She waited a beat, then smiled insincerely. “Surely not.”

He didn’t smile back. “I’d rather hear you talk. Why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re playing at, Mallory?”

“Excuse me?”

“I realize the past months must’ve been tough, but—”

“Tough?” Her voice started to climb; she wrestled it back down. “Please.” She flicked her fingers dismissively. “I was a debutante, and everyone knows that once you’ve learned how to waltz in high heels and make a perfect curtsy, you can handle anything. Having my home foreclosed on, my belongings auctioned off, my car repossessed, the family name dragged through the dirt by the press? No sweat. Learning the city bus routes, now, that’s been a real challenge—”

“Don’t,” he said flatly. “I’m not trying to downplay the seriousness of the situation, and you know it. There’s no excuse for what Cal did, ripping off the Morgan Creek investors, then bolting the way he did. But that doesn’t explain what you’re doing working at Annabelle’s—”

“Formerly working at Annabelle’s, thanks to you,” she murmured, ignoring his reference to her father.

“—or living here, like this.” He made a dismissive gesture that encompassed the kitchen with its single scarred counter and old hot plate as well as her living room-bedroom, where the nicest thing in the space was the pair of mismatched TV trays she’d lugged home from the Goodwill nine blocks away.

“I know, isn’t it ridiculous? Just because I have limited funds, no job experience and a woeful lack of references, employers and landlords seem reluctant to take me on. Who would’ve figured?”

This time the jab hit home and that sensual mouth tightened, if only for an instant. “The last time I checked,” he said evenly, “you had a trust fund that the courts and the banks couldn’t touch.”

“Ah, yes, my trust fund.” Knowing she was on dangerous ground, she made a moue of regret—and shrugged, making no effort to stop the robe as it slid dangerously low on her shoulders. “The sad truth is, between travel and partying and my inordinate fondness for Jimmy Choos, Dom Pérignon and silk lingerie…it’s gone.”

“Are you serious?” He stared hard at her, clearly not certain whether to believe her or not.

She looked steadily back. “As a heart attack.”

“And…this?” With a twirl of one long forefinger he indicated the shabby little room with its Texas-shaped water stain on the wall between the two narrow windows.

Before she could stop herself, she raised her chin a notch. “The best I can do.”

He went utterly still, his impossibly green eyes seeming to spear right through her as he appeared to weigh her words. Then he uttered a single searing expletive and turned away, his coat billowing out as he paced three strides into her living room before running out of space.

“Get your things together,” he commanded, his back still to her. “Whatever you’ll need for tonight. I’ll send someone for the rest tomorrow.”

He couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d fallen to the floor and declared he couldn’t live without her. “What?”

He pivoted. “I said, pack a bag. You’re not spending another night here.”

Okay. This had to be a dream. She might feel wide-awake, but the truth was she’d fallen asleep on the lumpy little pullout sofa and everything that seemed so real—the chill of the worn linoleum against her bare feet, the faint, heady scent of Gabriel’s aftershave, the jump of nerves in her stomach that his presence always provoked—was just a product of her imagination.

She cocked her head, wondering what would happen next. “And where, exactly, am I supposed to go?”

“My place.”

Wrong again—definitely not a dream. Because no matter how wild and crazy her subconscious got, no matter how alone or desperate or frightened she felt, she would never consider moving in with him a solution to her problems.

It would be like agreeing to share a cage with a tiger.

Fascinating for maybe half a second. Totally terrifying after that.

So why, just for a moment, did she want more than anything in the world to take him up on his offer? Why did she want to close her eyes and step into the hard circle of his arms and say, yes, Gabriel, please take care of me?

Habit, she told herself angrily. Twenty-eight years of careless living, of always taking the easy path, of giving away her power and allowing others to dictate her fate.

Something she’d sworn on the day she’d been evicted from the estate that had been in her family for ninety years she’d never let happen again. A vow she refused to forsake, no matter how many jobs she lost or how many meals she had to skip to make ends meet or how long she had to live in a place like this.

If that meant thwarting Gabriel, who was, after all, responsible for lighting the fuse that had resulted in her life being blown up, it was simply an added bonus.

“Thanks so much,” she said with patent insincerity, “but I’ll pass.”

She’d always considered him astute—on several occasions more than she might’ve wished—and he didn’t disappoint her now. “You don’t want to come home with me? Fine. Pick a hotel. You can stay there until I arrange something else.”

She thought about her last experience at a hotel and shuddered. Still, she couldn’t deny she was curious. “You’d do that? Put me up somewhere at your expense? Even if I tell you I’m not about to forget your part in everything that’s happened?”

“Yes.”

“Even though no matter how nice you pretend to be, I’m not going to sleep with you?”

“Yes, again—and I don’t recall asking you to.”

“Then why? What’s in it for you?”

He shrugged, broad shoulders moving easily beneath the supple leather of his coat. “Peace of mind. It doesn’t take an expert to know this place isn’t safe. The building entrances aren’t secure, there’s no dead bolt on your door and I’d bet a year’s profit an anemic five-year-old with a toothpick could jimmy your windows. Factor in that this is one tough neighborhood, which you’re about as equipped to handle as a kitten dropped into a kennel of pit bulls, and there’s no way I’m letting you stay here.”

If it had been anybody else, she’d have considered that last statement the height of bravado. But not Gabriel. In her experience, he said what he meant, then followed through.

Too bad that nobody—not even him—always got their way. “That’s not up to you,” she said flatly. “It’s up to me. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mallory.” He spoke in the ultrapatient way adults reserve for recalcitrant children. “Be reasonable.”

“No.” One little word. So much power. “I don’t want your help, Gabriel. I don’t need it. I can take care of myself.”

“You actually believe that?”

Of course she didn’t. Not yet. Not entirely. But she’d beg for change on the street before she’d admit it to him. “Yes. Absolutely.”

He stared at her, his expression once again guarded, displaying not a trace of surprise that she’d say something so outrageous. Trapped in the tractor beam of his gaze, with no clue what he was thinking and no words as a distraction, she found herself waiting.

For what, she wasn’t sure.

Yet as the silence dragged on, her mind began spinning scenarios. If he wanted to, she mused, he could toss her over his shoulder and simply carry her out of here. Or—the old familiar thrill of awareness slow-danced down her spine—he could walk over, tug her close to that hard, elegant body, tumble her onto the couch and—

“All right, then. I guess we’re done.”

His flat, uninflected voice startled her out of her reverie. Yet it still took a good long moment for his actual words to sink in.

That was it? They were done? Really?

For one appalling moment, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Then her common sense, which she’d done her best to shun most of her life, kicked in.

Are you crazy? He’s throwing in the towel. For heaven’s sake, hurry up and hustle him out the door before he changes his mind.

“Well, fancy that,” she said with a calculated touch of mockery. “Finally. Something we can agree on.”

A nerve jumped in his jaw. “Watch yourself, sweetheart,” he advised, even as he took that first wonderful step toward the door. “You know what they say about little girls who poke at predators.”

“No. I can’t say that I do.” She forced herself to stand her ground as he approached, telling herself she was glad this was almost over. He’d go his way, she’d go hers, and in a day, a week, a month, he’d be nothing more than a hazy memory of another life. “Nor, for that matter, do I care—”

With no warning, he crowded close. Startled, she sucked in a breath and tried to scoot out of his way, but it was too late.

He caught her chin in one big hand, tipping her face up to his. “You should,” he murmured. “Because the adage goes that eventually the predator strikes back. And eats sweet little things like you—” her stomach flip-flopped at the silky note of warning in his voice “—for lunch.”

She swallowed. Hard. Yet somehow her voice sounded almost steady as she fluttered her eyelashes at him and said, “How entertaining. Now let go of me.”

“Not yet. There’s one other thing we need to get straight.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“When we do have sex—” his gaze flicked to her mouth, lingering before he slowly raised his eyes to hers once again “—it won’t have a damn thing to do with payback. Trust me, Mal. You’ll be every bit as hot for me as I am for you.” And with that he released her as abruptly as he’d caught her and stepped away.

By the time she recovered her breath, he was gone.

Two

Impertinent. Infuriating. Impossible.

And damn near irresistible.

That pretty much summed up Mallory Morgan, Gabe thought blackly, as he stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk fronting her run-down apartment building. Flipping his coat collar up against the chill March breeze, he checked for traffic on the litter-strewn street, then strode across to his SUV parked on the opposite curb.

He gave the vehicle a cursory look and handed a twenty to the sturdy little Latino kid who’d offered to keep an eye on it for him. “Thanks, mi’ijo.”

Since their deal had been for ten upfront and ten if the boy stuck, the youngster’s delight was understandable. “Muchas gracias, mister!”

Gabe inclined his head. “You earned it.”

“Sí. So if you come back to Lattimer Street and you need anything, you ask around for Tonio, okay? I take very good care of you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Bueno!” The kid flashed him a quick grin, then sprinted away as a bus stopped at the far end of the block. Darting around a trio of tattooed street toughs who stood smoking before a boarded-up storefront, he waved as a tired-looking young woman trudged down the steps. “Mama, mama! Guess what?” he exclaimed as he raced toward her through the gathering twilight.

It appeared Gabe had just made somebody’s day.

Too freaking bad it was the wrong somebody.

But then, what did he expect? He, who was known for his shrewdness, his finesse, his ability to think outside the box—and yes, dammit, to always be three steps ahead of an opponent—had just behaved with all the subtlety of a Mack truck. He’d invaded Mallory’s space, demanded answers, barked orders, bullied when he should’ve cajoled.

He’d even made a more balls-than-brains promise about their sexual future, for God’s sake.

The only thing that kept the day from being a total bust was the very lucrative contract he’d inked at lunch to assess vulnerabilities and tailor protection strategies for the Lux Pacifica hotel chain’s overseas executives.

When it came to everything else, however…With an impatient shake of his head, he put the SUV in gear and set a course for the warehouse district where the Steele Security offices were located. It was slow going due to the Friday night rush hour traffic, affording him plenty of time to think.

There was no excuse for the surprise he’d gotten when he’d walked into Annabelle’s and realized the caramel-haired hostess all the men seemed to be admiring was Mallory. Just as there was no rational explanation for how strongly he’d disliked seeing her smoky gaze go from pleasant to hostile at the sight of him.

Given that in the four years he’d known her he’d never seen Mallory get worked up about anything—from being drenched with champagne by a hapless waiter at a Denver symphony opening to strolling onto a balcony at Meg Bender’s Halloween party and finding her father getting it on with one of her girlfriends—her ire had gotten his attention. So had her scathing denunciation of him.

But not, as Annabelle’s horrified manager had assumed, because he was angry or offended.

No, what had set him back on his heels, what had tested his normally abundant patience as he’d been forced to go ahead with what had seemed like an interminable business luncheon, was the desolation he thought he’d glimpsed under Mallory’s anger. That, and the suspicion that her transformation from lighthearted nymphet to go-to-hell working girl meant somewhere along the line he’d made a major miscalculation.

He didn’t make miscalculations. Major or otherwise.

That wasn’t to say he considered himself infallible. It was just that from his youngest days, after his mother had died and he’d found himself in charge of a brood of eight at the ripe old age of fourteen, mistakes had been a luxury he couldn’t afford. That hadn’t changed during his years with the military’s Special Operations Command.

As for his current circumstances, he hadn’t gone from penniless stand-in parent to powerful millionaire businessman due to faulty judgment. No. All that he had, the success, the sterling reputation, the respect of his peers, had come from shrewd vision, meticulous planning, superior instincts and razor-sharp situational awareness.

Not that you’d know by today’s performance, he conceded as he finally pulled into Steele Security’s underground parking garage.

In his world, where outcome was everything, the fact that Mallory remained ensconced in her squalid little apartment suggested that his decision to chase her down before he’d fully vetted the situation wasn’t the smartest move he’d ever made.

Still, honesty forced him to admit that things hadn’t gone irredeemably to hell until she’d actually opened her door to him.

To say he’d been caught off guard was an understatement. It had felt more like he’d taken a shot between the eyes with a sledgehammer. Because dear God, the sight of her…

Wrapped in that flimsy siren-red robe, with her feet bare, that streaky brown-and-gold hair mussed and a faint flush tinting her petal-smooth cheeks, she’d looked as if she’d just tumbled out of some lucky man’s bed.

Lust had slammed him like a punch to the gut.

By itself, that shouldn’t have been a factor since he never allowed his libido to rule his head. But when moments later she’d made a valiant effort to control her trembling lower lip, something inside him had shifted.

What, he couldn’t say. But whatever it was, the combination of it and that blast of desire had taken him completely out of his game.

His jaw bunched at the reminder. Climbing out of his vehicle, he punched in the code for the security door and let himself in to the building core, choosing the stairs over the elevator. Once on the main level, he bore left, his long legs eating up the distance as he strode down the wide, airy corridor. He passed by his own spacious office in favor of his brother Cooper’s, glad to see the lights were still on.

He ducked his head in the open doorway. “Did you get that information I asked for?”

The younger Steele—number four in the nine-man birth order—glanced over from where he sat slouched in his tilted-back office chair. He was the picture of relaxation with his sneaker-clad feet propped on his desk, an illusion contradicted only by the rapid movement of his fingers over the computer keyboard propped on his lap.

“Do women swoon when I walk into a room?” he responded serenely. “The answer to both questions, big brother, is yes. Of course.”

“And?”

“And you’re giving me a crick in the neck standing over there. Why don’t you come in, take a load off, tell Uncle Cooper what’s put the stick up your ass.”

Gabe snorted inelegantly. “That’ll be the day.” Despite his words, he did walk farther into the room, although not to take Cooper up on his invitation. He was here to collect intel, not dispense it. “Well? You going to tell me what you found out or not?”

The younger man shrugged. “Nothing much has changed. The warrant for Cal Morgan’s arrest remains active, although my contact at the Feds says it’s currently not worth the paper it’s printed on. As long as Morgan stays in San Timoteo, they can’t touch him, much less a dime of all that stolen money. Which, FYI, my friend now puts at twenty million, meaning that you, once again, win the office pool.”

“Terrific.” He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it with more force than was necessary onto one of the navy suede chairs in front of the desk. “There’s nothing I like better than accurately predicting the extent of a disaster.”

“Not your responsibility,” Cooper said calmly. “You know damn well it would’ve been a whole lot worse if we hadn’t been brought in when we were.”

The hell of it was, Gabe did. And it wasn’t that he was the least bit sorry Steele Security had been the one to expose Caleb Morgan’s crooked dealings, he admitted, pacing restlessly toward the bank of windows at the far end of the room.

They’d done what they’d been hired to—check out Morgan Creek Investment. And they’d done it the way they did everything, thoroughly and completely.

It hadn’t mattered that it wasn’t their usual sort of job. Or that their client, a prospective Morgan Creek investor, had only expected them to give the company a quick once-over to placate his elderly mother, who swore that while on a recent trip overseas she’d been unable to locate the Taiwanese shopping mall featured in the company’s literature.

The son was now sending his mother flowers weekly, since she’d saved him a bundle when it turned out the mall really didn’t exist.

While Morgan, who’d fled the country the day after Steele had clued in the authorities, was most likely sipping mai tais on the veranda of his newly acquired tropical estate, living a life of luxury made possible by the pirated millions he’d socked away in untouchable offshore accounts.

No, if Gabe did have a regret, it was that they hadn’t brought the bastard down sooner. While it wouldn’t have changed what Morgan had done, it no doubt would have limited the extent of the ensuing damage. As it was, between unpaid taxes and first-position creditors, there hadn’t been much left but crumbs for his bilked clients to recover.

And then there was Mallory. Who, until five hours ago, Gabe had assumed was off in St. Croix or Monte Carlo or some other exotic locale, licking her wounds in luxurious seclusion. Not living all on her own in one of Denver’s worst neighborhoods, trying to scrape by on some minimum wage job.

And there it was, that unexpected, unacceptable miscalculation.

“What about Morgan’s daughter?” he asked abruptly, swiveling around to stare expectantly at his brother. “What did you find out about her?”

Cooper’s busy fingers stilled. “You mean, in addition to the fact that she gave you a shellacking at lunch today?”

“How the hell did you hear about that?”

Cooper rolled his eyes. “How do you think? Family grapevine, bro. Some woman Lilah went to school with saw what happened at Annabelle’s and couldn’t wait to call Lilah and tell her all about it. Lilah told Dom when he took her to her doctor’s appointment, and he told me when he stopped by to pick up the Lederer file on their way home.”

“Geezus.” The intrabrother communication network had always been good, but the addition in the past year of Gen and Lilah, his sisters-in-law, had definitely kicked it up a notch.

“Yeah. Pretty scary, huh?”

“You could say that. Is Lilah all right? No surprises at the doctor’s?” Leaving the windows, he walked back toward Coop’s desk.

“As far as I know, she’s as good as a woman six months gone can be. Dom, on the other hand, may not make it.”

“No news there.” Their brother, Dominic, a former Navy SEAL, had been the embodiment of the brash, tough, never-let-’em-see-you-sweat warrior until he’d signed on to rescue a pretty blond socialite from the banana republic where she was being held prisoner. Now he and Lilah were married and expecting their first child, and he was as overprotective as a five-star general with a troop of one.

“I guess that’s true,” Cooper conceded. “But still…Lilah mentioned today how much she’s enjoying working on some big charity ball, and you could practically see Dom’s teeth start to gnash. It seems like the closer she gets to her due date, the harder it is for him to pretend he doesn’t want to haul her off somewhere and wrap her in a nice safe protective bubble.” He sighed. “If it wasn’t so funny, it’d be pathetic. He used to be such a player.”

Gabe’s dark mood lightened fractionally at his brother’s mournful expression. He shrugged. “Love makes people crazy.” One of the excellent reasons why it wasn’t for him.

“I’ll say.” Sliding the keyboard onto the desk, he turned his attention back to Gabe, his melancholy vanishing as quickly as it had come. “While we’re on the subject of crazy, was the divine Ms. Morgan really working as a waitress?”

“Hostess,” Gabe corrected.

“And she actually called you an egotistical, scum-sucking sonofabitch?”

“She may have. I wasn’t exactly taking notes.”

“And?”

“That about covers it. As noted, she called me a few choice names, refused to seat me, then left when her boss tried to smooth over the situation.”

“Huh.” Cooper eyed him consideringly. “So what did she say when you went after her later? Was she still pissed?”

“Who said I went after her?”

“Please.” Cooper sniffed. “You canceled your afternoon appointments, you asked for a Morgan family update, and it’s been obvious ever since you walked in here you’re tweaked about something. Plus Dom says you two have always had a thing for each other…”

A vision of Mallory’s robe drifting south and exposing her smooth, velvet-skinned shoulders flashed through Gabe’s mind.

“So yeah,” Cooper concluded. “You went after her.”

He thrust the vision away. “You’re right. I did. And yes, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me, which given the circumstances is no great surprise. As for the rest of what we discussed…”

He thought about Mallory’s attempt to act indifferent about her situation while foolishly insisting she was doing just fine, and once more felt frustrated, impatient, annoyed—and yes, although he couldn’t quite figure out why—touched.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t tell me you’re going to stone-wall your favorite sibling.”

“Hell, no. But then, last I checked, Deke’s still in Borneo.”

“Ouch.” Cooper gave him a faux-wounded look. “You could’ve just said no.”

“Like you’ve ever let that word stop you? Give me a break.” Leaning over, he planted his hands on his brother’s desk. “And as much as I’d love to share my innermost feelings, hear all about your and Dom’s riveting take on my love life—” with each word his voice acquired a little more bite “—it’s after six and I have plans for tonight. So what do you say you just tell me what I want to know, and we leave the rest for another time? Say, the next time you girls have a slumber party?”

Cooper made a reproachful face. “No need to get surly.”

Silent, Gabe continued to stare down at him.

“Okay, okay,” he said hastily, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Here goes. Up until six months ago, our subject was holed up at the family estate, even though the staff had been let go months before that. Then, when the Feds finally came in, seized everything and locked the place down, she checked into the Markham Plaza. She was there for several weeks, until her credit card was declined and they found out it was no mistake. Word is she tried to make good with a check, but it bounced, too, and the management not so kindly asked her to leave.”

Straightening, he consulted his computer monitor. “Her credit report shows two different apartment management firms checked her history the following week. Considering that she had an extensive collection of plastic, but that every single card was closed due to late or no payments, several with substantial balances, I’m guessing they passed on renting to her.”

Considering where she’d wound up living, Gabe imagined he was right.

“The interesting thing is, except for a small portion of one account, everything else was paid off a few weeks later. And she was making the bare-bones payment on that last outstanding debt until roughly sixty days ago, when she also started to fall behind on her rent.”

Gabe frowned, trying to make sense of it. “What about bank accounts?” he asked, pushing upright and starting to pace.

“Checking account was closed due to overdrafts. Nothing else popped, but then I didn’t have enough time to do much more than skim the surface. Does it matter?”

“Probably not. It’s just that I thought—” incorrectly, it appeared, although it was still the main reason he hadn’t seen fit to check up on her before “—she had a trust fund, a substantial one. She says it’s long gone.”

Cooper frowned. “You don’t believe her?”

“I didn’t say that. But I want to be sure.” Despite the overwhelming evidence that Mallory was operating without a safety net, this time around he wasn’t assuming anything.

“I’ll have another look.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I’d say that does it for now.”

Cooper drummed his fingers on the desk. “I take it that means you’re not done with Mallory? Even though, from the sound of things, she ranks you somewhere below foot fungus on the list of things she could live without?”

“What’s your point, Coop? Assuming you have one?”

“I do.” Never shy about stating his opinion, he met Gabe’s narrow stare straight on. “Look, I know how committed you are, not just to making this business a success, but to doing your best to ensure that the work we all do matters. That whenever possible, we do what we can to make peoples’ lives safer and better.

“Because of that, I think you need a reminder that no matter what this woman said to you, no matter how hard she may have tried to guilt trip you, she’s not your responsibility—and you definitely don’t owe her anything.”

“Believe me.” Gabe smiled sardonically. “That’s not the problem here.”

Cooper looked surprised. “No? Then what—”

“Leave it alone, little brother. I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been successfully conducting my own affairs for a whole lot of years now. If I decide I need help, from you or the rest of the family, I’ll be sure to let you know. In the meantime—” shooting his cuff, he glanced at his wristwatch “—the clock is ticking and I’m sure I’ve got a stack of things to take care of before I can get out of here.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to walk?”

“Pretty much.” Reaching down, he snagged his coat off the chair and deliberately steered the conversation in a different direction. “You going out to Taggart and Gen’s for dinner tomorrow?”

To his credit, Cooper knew when to throw in the towel. “Are you kidding? Free, home-cooked meal along with Rockies Cactus League ball on the tube?” He sat back and again propped his feet up. “I’m there. What about you?”

“Yeah, I’m in, too.” He headed toward the door. “You want to share a ride?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, we can hash out the details.” Reaching the doorway, he paused. “Hey, Coop?”

“What?”

“Thanks for the information. I appreciate it.”

“Easy for you to say,” the younger man groused, but without any heat. “You’re not the one left hanging.”

“I think you’ll survive,” he said drily. And with that, he headed down the hall toward his own office and what was sure to be a fat folder of items needing his attention, reassured by the knowledge that Cooper’s bad temper wouldn’t last past the next five minutes.

Knowing as well that while his brother’s concern for him had been misplaced, the younger Steele had been right about one thing.

Gabe wasn’t done with Mallory. Not by a long shot.

Three

“Are you all right, Miss Morgan?”

Mallory dragged her gaze from the rectangle of paper clutched in her trembling hand to stare blankly at the man seated across from her. “What?”

Mr. Cowden’s thin, intelligent face softened. “You seem a bit shaken,” the owner of Finders Keepers, the search firm she’d been contacted by the previous day, observed not unkindly. “Can I get you something? A glass of water? Some coffee?”

“No. I…It’s just…” Embarrassed to find herself babbling, she pressed her lips together and struggled for composure. “Please, could you explain to me again where this came from? You said it’s a behest from a relative?”

“Yes. According to the letter we received, the funds originated with—” he glanced down at the paper centered atop his glossy walnut desk “—one Ivan Mallory Milton. Your cousin, it seems, although most likely a distant one since it states here he was ninety-one at the time he expired. The family connection—” he adjusted his glasses and scanned further down the document “—was apparently through your maternal grandmother.”

“But I’ve never even heard of him.”

“Well, yes, that’s actually rather common with this sort of distant connection. And truthfully, as you might imagine, quite often inheritances go unclaimed for just that reason. In this case,” he said, tapping a finger against the paper, “it seems that Mr. Milton first realized the relationship after reading a newspaper article about your family.”

Mallory winced. Given her father’s notoriety and the extensive press coverage he’d received, she didn’t imagine that anything her late cousin had read would have been complimentary. Not that that appeared to have made a difference.

“The information was found among his belongings after he passed away, and since he had no other heirs, it was determined these funds should come to you. Although these days, with the popularity of the Internet, it is rather unusual for us to be contacted through the regular mail this way….”

Even as she told herself she should pay attention to what Mr. Cowden was saying, Mallory’s gaze drifted back to the cashier’s check.

Sure enough, right after Pay To The Order Of was her name, followed by the fabulous, wonderful, miraculous sum of four thousand, seven hundred, twenty-one dollars and forty-six cents.

A year ago, that amount wouldn’t have qualified as her monthly shoe allowance. Now it meant she could take a deep breath for the first time in months. And she owed it all to someone she’d never met, and never would.

Thank you, dear departed cousin Ivan.

Not, she thought hastily, that she was glad her long-lost relative was dead. But if the old guy had to go, she certainly couldn’t fault his timing.

“Miss Morgan?”

With a start, she realized her companion was staring at her quizzically, as though he’d stopped speaking some time ago and was waiting for a response. “I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “It’s just this—” she smoothed her thumb over the crease in the paper caused by the overly enthusiastic grip of her fingers “—I can’t quite take it in. It’s such a surprise.”

“But a welcome one, surely.” Smiling, Mr. Cowden came to his feet.

“Oh, yes.” It was so welcome she couldn’t quite believe somebody wasn’t going to pop out of the woodwork at any second, claim there’d been a mistake and snatch her windfall away.

“I can’t tell you how much that pleases me,” he went on as he came around the desk. “And how glad I am that we were able to be of assistance. Frankly,” his blue eyes gleamed cheerfully, “this is always my favorite part of the job.”

“I can understand why.” With a smile of her own, she carefully folded the check and slid it into the inner compartment of her purse for safekeeping. Since it was obvious from Mr. Cowden’s behavior that he considered their business done, she stood, as well. “Do I owe you something? Isn’t there a fee for you finding me?”

“Yes, of course there is, but it’s already been taken care of by Mr. Milton’s representative.” He held her coat for her, then ushered her through the door into the outer office. Minutes later, after signing a paper acknowledging receipt of the money, and a round of thank-yous, good lucks and goodbyes, she found herself standing outside on the sidewalk in the midmorning sunshine.

For one glorious moment, elation got the better of her and she actually did a twirl. Four thousand, seven hundred and twenty-one dollars! She couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face as she waltzed up the street toward the bus stop, her feet barely touching the ground, her mind filled with possibilities.

Where, oh where, to start? Tres Chic for a facial, a massage, a full day of beauty? Heaven knew, her pores would thank her. Or Mr. Kenneth’s to pamper her hair with some highlights and one of his signature haircuts? Should she make a trip to Marchant’s and pick up that to-die-for Moreno handbag she’d seen in the window last week? Or spring for a new pair of Merrazi wedges since a toddler with attitude had stomped on the toe of her favorites her first day at Annabelle’s?

Maybe the order of the day was to go out for a leisurely lunch. Or, even better, treat herself to an elegant dinner. It would feel good to get all dressed up. Although most of her clothes had gone for consignment, she still had a few nice things. She could catch a cab to Gambiolini’s and request her usual table, then while away a few hours sipping a glass or two of pricey red wine, flirting with Phillippe, her favorite waiter, indulging her months-long craving for the house specialty, shrimp tettrazini.

Except somebody she knew was bound to be there. Did she really want to deal with the whispers and repressive stares or, even worse, the humiliation of being treated as if she were invisible?

Okay, so maybe dinner out wasn’t the best idea, she decided, as her bus pulled up. No matter. There were all sorts of other ways she could amuse herself. Like getting her good wristwatch back from the pawnshop, she thought as her bus pulled up and she instinctively checked the time on its drugstore replacement.

Climbing on board, she flashed her pass at the driver, walked back to her accustomed seat in the middle, and continued to dream.

She could rent a car and make the trip to Aurora to make sure her favorite jumper was doing all right with his new owner. Top Flight had always been a challenge, part of the reason she’d loved him, and it would be good to know that he’d settled into his new surroundings.

For that matter, she could drive up to Breckenridge and spend a few days skiing and being pampered at The Pinnacle, one of her favorite little ultraluxury spa resorts. Although she supposed she should probably call first. It wasn’t unusual for them to be booked an entire season in advance.

Of course, before she went anywhere or called anyone, she needed to pay her overdue cell bill—something else she could now afford to do. Just think! For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t going to have to worry that her phone service, an absolute essential to job hunting, not to mention her sense of safety, was about to be cut off.

Heck, once her account was cleared she’d even be able to use some of her precious minutes on nonessential calls, such as letting Gabriel know—again—that she didn’t want or need his help. Even better—the thought of it had her sitting up straighter—she could send him the money to pay for the locksmith who’d shown up the day after their encounter to install locks on her doors and windows.

She still wasn’t sure what she resented most about the gesture. The hit to her pride that with a snap of his elegant fingers he could dispatch someone to take care of something she herself had been unable to afford? Or that she could no longer crawl into bed without thinking about him because, for the first time since moving into the place, she was actually getting some sleep instead of constantly jolting awake at each and every little noise? Even though the night after the locks had gone on she’d bolted awake to hear someone fruitlessly trying to force her front door?

Or was the agitation she felt when she thought of him caused by something else entirely? Perhaps a secret fear that hiring the locksmith had been his parting gesture? Could it be that deep down she was really afraid he’d taken her at her word and intended to respect her request that he stay away?

Absolutely not, she thought, squaring her shoulders. Sure, she was surprised he hadn’t been back to harass her. But why shouldn’t she be? He didn’t seem like the sort of man to back down from anything. And his parting shot had seemed to indicate that as far as he was concerned, they were far from finished.

Which was just plain crazy, given that they’d never started. Certainly they’d been friends of a sort, and she couldn’t deny that they’d always had chemistry, but they’d both chosen never to cross the line into something more. And while she’d obviously had her reasons for keeping him at arm’s length—he so wasn’t the type for a superficial dalliance—he’d quite clearly kept his distance for reasons of his own.

Reasons she’d never really thought about.

And wasn’t about to start now, she told herself firmly. For too many years she’d been like a leaf in the stream going wherever the current took her, coasting over bumps, sliding around obstacles, letting outside elements determine her path.

Well, she was done with that. Like it or not, it was up to her whether she wound up over her head in some stagnant pool or learned how to keep herself afloat.

That was why, she realized, coming back to earth as she stared out the window at a cityscape that was getting drearier with every passing block, she wasn’t going to spend cousin Ivan’s money on anything foolish like designer shoes or salon haircuts or pricey vacations. For the very first time since she’d found herself stranded outside the Plaza with no one to call and nowhere to go, she had a cushion, however small, between herself and life on the street.

She wasn’t about to blow it. No, except to take care of her overdue rent and phone bill and purchase some urgently needed groceries, the new, improved Mallory was going to sock that money away and continue to watch every last nickel, dime and penny.

She was certain she wouldn’t have to do it indefinitely. After all, a mystery relative unexpectedly bequeathing her money had to be a sign that her luck was changing. So tomorrow she would again scour the papers for jobs, hit the streets, renew her quest to join the ranks of the gainfully employed.

And surely, if she just tried hard enough, by this time next week she was bound to be somebody’s favorite new employee.

Stripper. Nursing home attendant. Fast-food worker.

That pretty much described her current career path, Mallory thought dejectedly as she climbed off the bus well after dark a week later.

Pulling her coat a little tighter against the chill from the snow that had begun falling in the past hour, she began to pick her way home through the freezing slush in her too-thin pumps, sincerely wishing that she’d had the foresight to wear boots when she’d left that morning.

Of course, at the time, the weather had been warm and sunny, matching her mood as she set out to apply for half a dozen promising employment possibilities.

Now, twelve long hours later, after riding eight different buses, walking dozens of blocks, and an eternity of waiting, talking, smiling and praying, not one job offer had come her way.

But then, the positions she’d applied for had actually paid a livable salary, instead of minimum wage for part-time hours too sparse to cover the barest necessities like rent or food. As an added bonus, they also hadn’t required her to breathe heavily into a phone or take her clothes off in front of strangers.

And so far, with the exception of the hostess gig at Annabelle’s, which she’d so foolishly thrown away, those seemed to be the only kind of offers she could generate.

Not that she was feeling sorry for herself or anything, she thought, jumping a little as a door slammed in the distance and an unseen man screamed an obscenity. Okay, so maybe her inability to find decent employment was making her feel even more useless than normal. And she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how close to living under a bridge she’d be if not for last week’s windfall.

And yes, her feet were freezing, the too-quiet, seemingly deserted street was creeping her out and the thought of spending another night eating boxed mac and cheese all alone in her drafty apartment made her feel beyond bleak, but—

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Her head snapped up as a tall, menacing figure materialized out of an unlit doorway in front of her. She slid to a stop, her heart jamming into her throat as the interloper stepped squarely into her path.

Time slowed, then ceased, while her thoughts splintered. Run! screamed through her along with ohmigod I’m going to die at the same time an oddly detached little voice murmured, Gee, doesn’t that voice sound sort of familiar?

Then the man took a threatening step closer and the snow-dappled light from the streetlamp on the corner touched his face and her heart lurched back to life.

“Have you lost your mind?” Dragging desperately needed air into her constricted lungs, she didn’t think, just reacted, lunging forward to smack Gabriel in his big, broad, not-even-breathing-hard chest. “Of all the mean, rotten, low-down dirty tricks! You scared me half to death—”

“Good.” His warm fingers braceleted her flailing wrists. “You should be scared, dammit!” Even in the dark, there was no mistaking his grim expression. “What the hell are you doing out here at this hour?”

“Gosh, let me think. Oh, I know—I live here!”

“Well, here’s a news flash,” he shot back, effortlessly reeling her closer as she tried to pull free. “You won’t be living anywhere if you don’t have better sense than to tiptoe around after dark with your head bowed like some scared little mouse. God, Mallory! Don’t you have enough sense to know that in a neighborhood like this, any display of weakness is an invitation to be mugged—or worse?”

“You mean like having to fend off some know-it-all wannabe stalker?”

He leaned into her, so close she could feel the warm wash of his breath on her icy skin. “Believe me, sweetheart. If I were stalking you, there wouldn’t be any wannabe about it.”

Maybe it was the delicious tickle of terror evoked by his words. Or the sight of that hard, chiseled mouth mere inches from her own. But in a flash, awareness roared to life, crowding out her anger. She registered his heat, his size, the strength of the hands dwarfing her own.

Her throat went tight. And try as she might to tell herself it was a delayed reaction to the fright she’d received, no way did that explain the overwhelming urge she had to crowd closer and give herself over to his potent masculine power—

“Dammit, you’re shivering.” Abruptly, he released her. Relief streaked through her, only to be snuffed out as he whipped off his coat and wrapped it around her. “Come on.” His voice was as hard as the arm suddenly looping her waist, urging her forward. “Let’s get you in out of this cold.”

She thought of her apartment, and the idea of being trapped in that small, intimate space with him had her digging in her heels. “I’m fine. Really. And you can drop the concerned act because I’m absolutely not inviting you in—”

“No problem. My car’s right here.”

“What?” She tried to struggle as he unlocked the door of a big black SUV, only to find that his enveloping coat was as confining as a straitjacket. “No, Gabriel. While I understand your compelling need to put your hands on me—” she gamely tried to infuse some of the old flippancy into her voice “—it’s been a really long day.”

“We need to talk.” He opened the door and planted his free hand on the roof of the car, neatly boxing her in. “So either we go inside to your place where it’ll be just the two of us or you get in the car and we drive to some nice, public restaurant. You decide.”

It was no choice at all, and he knew it. Yet it was also clear he wasn’t going away. “Fine. We’ll go to the restaurant.” Giving him a narrow-eyed stare, she allowed him to help her up onto the seat. “But this had better be brief.”

He said nothing to that, simply shut the door, walked around and got in on the other side.

Five miles and what felt like another world later, they were seated across from each other at a booth in a cozy little diner that came complete with checked curtains on the windows, a bell over the door and an array of mouthwatering scents wafting from the kitchen.

“Hungry?” he asked as the waitress arrived with her pad.

Mallory shrugged, ignoring the sudden grinding of her empty stomach. “Not really.” Dinner out simply didn’t figure into her budget. Not when she had food at home, and the twenty dollars in her wallet was supposed to last her through the end of the week.

He studied her a moment, then turned to the waitress. “Two coffees, the chicken fried steak for me and a chef salad for the lady.” Switching his attention back to Mallory, he ignored her look of disbelief. “I’m buying,” he informed her matter-of-factly. “Now, what kind of dressing do you want?” When she simply continued to stare at him, he gave a slight shrug. “Make it Thousand Island,” he told the bemused server.

“Make it blue cheese,” she contradicted. If she was going to eat, she might as well get what she liked. “And I’d rather have tea instead of coffee, please. And separate checks, if you would.” She’d just have to skip lunch during her job hunt the next few days.

The waitress, a stout, pleasant-faced woman in her forties, wisely refrained from comment. She asked a few order-related questions, brought their drinks, then hustled off to post their order and take care of the rest of her tables.

Mallory gave the tea time to steep, then wrapped her hands around the cup and took a sip, hoping to counteract the exhaustion that was suddenly sweeping through her.

Gabe looked over at her, far too astute for comfort. “You all right?”

She sat up a little straighter. “You mean, except for having been so rudely snatched off the street?”

“Yes. Except for that.”

“I’m fine.”

“You mentioned that it had been a long day. Where were you, anyway?”

She might be tired but she wasn’t dead, and she certainly wasn’t discussing her failure on the employment front. She fluttered her eyelashes. “Where else? I was off meeting Raoul, my secret lover.”

“Ah.” He took a sip of his coffee. “He must be a real prize to send you home on the bus.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? He’s French.”

“My sincere condolences.” His tone was perfectly solemn, but those jewel-tone eyes suddenly gleamed with a touch of laughter.

It was unexpected. And shockingly attractive. Just like him, she thought, studying that symmetrical, good-looking face. The strong cheekbones, level eyebrows and sensual mouth were enough to turn any woman’s head. But it was the self-assurance, the surety of purpose, the wicked intelligence that held her gaze.

She felt the pull of his appeal clear to her toes. It didn’t mean anything, of course. She was simply experiencing the ever-present hum of awareness she felt whenever she was near him.

And if perhaps there was something more? If, as their gazes meshed in that moment of shared humor, she inexplicably felt connected to him?

An illusion, she told herself sharply. One she couldn’t afford to indulge. Lifting her cup to her mouth, she used the movement as an excuse to look away. “Why were you waiting for me tonight, anyway?”

There was a moment’s silence. “I came to give you this.” Pulling out his wallet, he extracted two hundred-dollar bills and three twenties—the exact amount of the money order she’d sent him to pay for the locksmith—and held it out.

“Then you wasted a trip,” she said, making no move to take it. “I’m grateful for the thought, but as it happens I recently received an unexpected windfall so I can afford to pay for—”

“No.” For a second his mouth tightened with exasperation, then his expression smoothed out. “I’m not taking your money, Mallory. Not for a meal I coerced you into ordering. And certainly not for hardware and labor—” before she could stop him, he picked up her purse, opened it and tucked the cash into an inside pocket “—for a job you didn’t have any control over.”

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