Ian shouldn’t be thinking about bedding his client’s daughter…

But Marie was so much more than that. She was 100-percent woman. A woman he’d already seduced. A woman he wanted to seduce again…

Without realizing it, Ian had backed Marie up until her bottom leaned against his glass desk. She held on to the blunted edge tightly with both hands and her small breasts moved with her sudden shortness of breath.

Ian realized he was having a little problem finding air himself. He eyed Marie’s mouth, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead he skimmed his hand down over her slender hip, lingering on the tender skin of her bare thigh, then slowly inched the material of her skirt up until her panties were revealed.

Oh, there was no thong for Marie Bertelli. Instead her underwear was cotton and white and sexier than any scrap of silk and lace known to man. It clung to her womanhood like only cotton could. And made his mouth water with the urge to lower himself to his knees and press his lips against the swollen flesh just underneath.

And one look in her eyes told him she wanted it just as much as he did….

Dear Reader,

We wholeheartedly believe that everyone has a bit of rebel in them. You know, that tiny voice that tells you to go ahead and eat that ice cream? Buy that piece of naughty lingerie? Makes you lust after a man you shouldn’t have? Well, that’s exactly what happens to our heroine Marie when she stumbles across fellow attorney Ian Kilborn, the last man on earth she should be tempting.

In Going Too Far, good-girl-to-the-bone Marie Bertelli wants a man to see her for who she truly is. It’s not enough that her friends have found sizzling soul mates or that her family chases off her dates, she’s delivered the ultimate professional blow when her father runs into a legal problem and hires Ian, Marie’s first lover, rather than coming to her. So Marie sets out to prove she’s the better person for the job. Only, once she crosses paths with Ian, she doesn’t just want to read his legal briefs, she wants to get into them….

We hope you enjoy the last installment in our LEGAL BRIEFS miniseries. We’d love to hear what you think. Write to us at P.O. Box 12271, Toledo, OH 43613, or visit us online at www.toricarrington.com.

Here’s wishing you happy—and hot—reading!

Lori & Tony Karayianni

aka Tori Carrington

Going Too Far
Tori Carrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For our Greek brothers and sisters Katina and Georgos,

Andreas and Lambrini, Victoria and Alfon,

Theonesis and Dina, and Thotheres and Georgia,

whose enduring love proves that happily ever after aren’t

merely words on a page. You inspire us.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

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

Epilogue

1

MONDAYS HAD A WAY OF challenging even Marie Bertelli’s good-girl tendencies. The weekend always seemed to go by too quickly. All too often the first day of the workweek seemed more like an ugly three-eyed monster to conquer rather than a fresh start to finish what she hadn’t the week before.

She laid on the horn then shouted at the driver who had just cut her off, showing a tiny glimpse of the bad girl she had let out once and only once in her twenty-six years and didn’t dare let out again. She justified the brief transgression by pointing out the other driver couldn’t hear her through the windows of her ’67 ragtop Mustang, closed against the late January chill of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Of course, it didn’t help that she hadn’t had a man in her life for…well, much longer than she cared to think about. Especially when Valentine’s Day loomed around the corner and everywhere she turned red and pink hearts were popping out at her, reminding her of the pathetic state of her love life.

She glanced at her watch. What also didn’t help was that she’d been waylaid by an accident on I-40, and now grumpy and preoccupied Monday morning drivers threatened to send her careening over an emotional edge that she’d preferred not to be teetering on just then.

“Marie Antonia Bertelli, is that the mouth you use to talk to your mother?”

Marie sighed and moved her wireless phone from under her chin where she’d thought her mother couldn’t hear her. Ha. “I wasn’t talking to you, Mama.”

Although for all intents and purposes she should say exactly what she’d said to the driver to Francesca Bertelli. Her mother sometimes acted like she’d immigrated from Italy last week, with her old-world traditions and speech patterns, rather than the second generation Italian-American that she was, who’d placed first runner-up in the Miss New Mexico beauty pageant.

Francesca went on as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “About dinner tonight. I want you to wear the blue dress. You know the one I’m talking about? The one you wore to Anthony’s wedding. It makes you look like you have breasts. And, of course, it brings out the blue in your eyes.”

Marie’s mood worsened with each word her mother said. “I’m not coming to dinner tonight, Mama,” she told her for the third time in as many minutes. Her mother had a habit of only hearing those things she chose to hear. Which was very little of what Marie had to say.

“The blue dress,” her mother said again.

The blue dress was the most hideous of hideous bridesmaid’s dresses and was packed away in the bottom of a box somewhere, though Marie had seriously considered burning it. The poofy clown-like nightmare made her look like a blue elephant.

“I’m making your favorite. Farsumagru o briolone. You have to come to dinner,” her mother complained.

The Sicilian meat roll wasn’t her favorite. It was her older brother Frankie Jr.’s favorite. But to tell her mother that now would only encourage her to go on. In fact, the mix-up might be a trap altogether. Entice her into an argument of what they would have for dinner, and she would end up going to the dinner and forgetting that it was the last thing she wanted to do tonight…or ever.

Marie bit the inside of her cheek. She’d finally moved into her own apartment a week ago after living with her family for ten months upon her return from L.A. Since the move, every morning like clockwork her mother called to invite her to dinner. Marie had made the mistake of going last Sunday, thinking there was only so much her mother could do during a family meal. She’d been sorely mistaken. There, seated to her right, had been Benito Benini, a guy she’d gone to kindergarten with and twenty years was not enough time to erase the memory of him launching green Play-Doh out of his nose. A nose that had grown considerably since then.

“No,” Marie said. “Absolutely not.” She hesitated as she negotiated a right-hand turn into the Bernalillo County Courthouse parking lot. “I…I already have plans.”

She resisted the urge to bang her forehead against the steering wheel as she said the words. What was she thinking?

“Plans? With whom? What’s his name? Do we know him?”

“We,” of course, referred to the entire Bertelli family. Her father, Frank Sr. Her mother. And her three older brothers, Frankie Jr., Anthony and Mario, all married and either with or starting families of their own. And each with their own reason for butting into every aspect of Marie’s private life.

“Never mind, Mama,” Marie said as she zoomed into a parking space in front of another car. She ignored the blast of the other driver’s horn and gave a friendly wave. She moved the wireless phone to her other ear then shut off the car engine. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m at the courthouse and I’m already late meeting my client.”

“Late? See, you should have stayed home. You wouldn’t be late if you were home.”

“I was late because there was an accident, Mama. The highway was backed up for miles.”

“Accident? You got into an accident?”

“No. I said there was an accident. One that, I am happy to say, I was not involved in.” But with five minutes more of this conversation she might wish otherwise. “Goodbye, Mama. I’ll call you later.”

“This is how you would leave your mother? Worrying about what ax murderer you’re meeting tonight?”

Marie leaned her head on the rest behind her. “I’m not going out with an ax murderer. I’m meeting Dulcy and Jena for dinner.”

“Oh.”

Was that a note of disappointment in her mother’s voice? Yes, it definitely was. The realization made even her little white lie easier to swallow.

Marie smiled. Interesting. Was her mother to the point where she’d welcome even a potential ax murderer into the family just so long as he was a possible husband?

“You could bring them to dinner. It’s been so long since we’ve seen your friends.”

That was because on the few occasions that her best friends had met up with her family the police had almost needed to be brought in. Mostly because Jena had a hard time believing the family really did think they had a right to meddle in Marie’s life and had challenged them on the point. And the Bertellis had a habit of referring to Jena as “the loose one” who would tarnish their only daughter’s reputation.

If only that were the case. Marie couldn’t even pay for a reputation, good, bad or otherwise.

“I don’t think so, Ma. Gotta go. Love you, bye.”

She clicked her wireless closed on her mother’s automatic protest then quickly switched the phone off altogether, routing any incoming calls to her voice mail.

How she’d survived twenty-six years in the Bertelli family was anyone’s guess. And the phone conversation she’d just had with her mother was nothing compared to what it was like to actually grow up in the Bertelli house. Directions on how she should do this, wear that, fix this. Oh, she adored her family. Loved them to death. Unfortunately, she also feared they would be the death of her.

She put her keys in her purse and gathered her things together from the passenger seat. Whatever had possessed her to pick up her phone without looking at the display so early in the morning? She should have known it would be her mother trying to railroad her into another blind date with another old classmate that used to do something disgusting with play materials. Last week it had been third grade and Johnny Russo who had tried to paste her to her desk chair. The week before that she’d been hopeful that her family was running out of prospects when they’d actually invited a third cousin to dinner. A cousin was family, no matter how many times removed, and she’d easily sidestepped that matchmaking attempt by casually bringing up the increase in risk of birth defects all throughout dinner. “Why just the other day I heard that someone who had married her cousin four times removed on her mother’s side had a baby with two noses. Two.” She’d held up two fingers to emphasize her point.

Marie hoisted her bulging briefcase from the passenger’s seat, wondering if coming up with inventive stories to shock her parents was going to be the state of her life forever or if eventually her family would wake up and realize that what they had in mind for her, and how she saw her life, were two completely different things. She didn’t want to be matched up with a guy to whom marriage was synonymous with slavery. Didn’t want a loveless marriage to a man who was acceptable by the sole criteria that he was either full-blooded Italian or Italian-American and knew the difference between pinzimonio and agliata.

You would have thought they’d have learned after she ran away to L.A. nearly three years ago.

Marie stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror, scrunching a couple of runaway red curls, then smoothing the liner under her right eye. No, she supposed her family wasn’t very quick on the uptake. When they’d virtually gone ahead and planned a wedding without her being aware of it, sent out invitations and the whole nine yards, then told her a week before the event that she was marrying a man coming in from Italy, she’d finally blown her stack and pointed her vintage ’67 Mustang in the direction of L.A. and hadn’t stopped until she got there. Not even her best friends, Dulcy and Jena, had known where she was until she’d landed a job in the L.A. district attorney’s office and had sublet an apartment from a B-movie actress going off on a two-month film shoot in South America. She’d passed onto them the responsibility of telling her family she was okay. She hadn’t been surprised to find out they’d filed a missing person’s report on her. She’d spent two hours on the phone with the Albuquerque sheriff’s office assuring them she was fine and wasn’t rotting away in a Dumpster somewhere.

She hadn’t directly contacted her parents until three weeks after that. She’d called and told them she was okay, that she hoped the wedding went well without her, and that she would be in touch. Nothing more. Because she knew if she had told them where she was, her brothers would have promptly been sent to drag her back home.

No, she hadn’t shared her apartment address until she was sure her parents had gotten the picture. Either butt out of her personal life or she was going to butt out of their lives…permanently.

Of course, that really hadn’t been her first real revolt. The first one had involved sexy neighbor Ian Kilborn, a lifetime of suppressed hormones, and a boatload of rebellion aimed toward her controlling family. But only she, Ian and the pantry walls knew about that one incident—a steamy, heat-filled white-hot flash in time when she was eighteen and had unleashed the wild woman that lurked just below her good-girl surface. And, oh, what a time she and naughty Ian had had. And if now, eight years later, she thought about reliving the event every now and again, it was only because, instead of living down the street from each other, she and Ian now spent most of their time in the same courthouse as attorneys.

Marie self-consciously cleared her throat as she climbed from the car, then closed the door after her. January in Albuquerque, New Mexico, was a world away from the weather L.A. was experiencing right now. And she’d still be there enjoying the sun and her freedom if Dulcy and Jena hadn’t contacted her nearly a year ago and held her to the promise they’d made when they were young. They’d convinced her to sign on with well-known attorney Bartholomew Lomax and establish the partnership they’d always planned on.

And now her mother was resorting to her old behavior.

A hot guy exited the seven-story brand-spanking-new courthouse as she neared. Marie smiled at him but he seemed to see right through her. He passed and she slowed her step. Was she really that desperate that she had to rely on her family to fix her up to land a man? She glanced at her plain navy-blue suit. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t Nicole Kidman, and she was on the short side, but she’d never thought she was unattractive.

Was she?

A man opened the courthouse door in front of her. She moved to step around him only he entered before her, nearly causing her to slam into his back. She frowned then caught the door before it could slam against her back.

Okay…

So maybe she was having a bad day. Everyone had them every now and again, didn’t they?

If only it didn’t look like she was having a bad decade.

She hurried down the hall, trying to forget the state of her personal life and concentrate on her professional—something she usually did very well.

“Marie!”

She was halfway down the hall before she realized someone was calling her name. She turned to find her friend and partner Jena McCade rushing after her.

“God, woman, where is your head? I must have called you three times before you heard me.”

Marie made a face. Jena looked great. As usual. With her shiny straight black hair, her sexy figure, her confident posture, Marie was sure no one ever let a door close on Jena.

Of course, now that Jena was married to ex-hockey hunk Tommy “Wild Man” Brodie, her attractiveness seemed to have merely increased. Her skin always seemed flushed and her eyes always had a faraway dreamy look in them. Jena had told Marie and Dulcy that it was the properly laid look. Marie preferred to think it was love.

Jena twisted her lips. “I’d ask if it was a man messing with your head, but I’m guessing it’s probably your mother.”

“Right.” Marie made a face. “She wants me to come to dinner again tonight.” She looked down at the hall. “What are you doing down here so early?”

“Judge Bullock wanted to talk to me in chambers. Seems there have been some problems with the district attorney’s office and all cases are being put on hold.”

“Oh?”

Jena waved her hand and continued walking down the hall, forcing Marie to turn to face her. “Shouldn’t impact your big corporate case. Something to do with new DNA procedures.”

“Good. I’d just as soon have this case over with as not.”

“Difficult run?”

“No. Just boring.”

Jena laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever felt this way.”

“You know, your mother wouldn’t get to you so much if you weren’t so picky about men yourself,” Jena said.

Marie made a strangled sound.

“What?”

“I can’t believe you just said that.” Marie glanced around the hall. Another attorney she was vaguely familiar with grinned as he moved past them. “And in front of so many other people.”

Jena crossed to stand in front of her. “I can’t believe you haven’t gotten laid in over a year.” She poked her perfectly manicured finger against Marie’s blue suit jacket. “And you pay entirely too much attention to what other people think.”

“I’m not picky.”

Jena smiled. “Yes, you are. Why else aren’t you dating anyone?”

“Because I’ve been busy helping get a law practice going.”

“So have Dulcy and I, but that hasn’t stopped us.”

If Marie thought her day was bad before, it had very definitely just taken a deep nosedive.

Jena started walking backward toward the door. “Take my advice, Marie. The next guy you see? Grab him and don’t let him go until he wipes that ever-present grimace from your face.”

“I don’t grimace.”

Jena began to turn around, the distance between them lengthening. “I’ll see you back at the office later then?”

“Office. Yeah.”

Marie stood for long a moment staring after her friend’s retreating back. Oh, sure, to be Jena’s friend was to be in a perpetual state of mortification. If Jena wasn’t sharing details on her orgasms and the frequency of them, she was commenting in a very open way about others’ sex lives.

Marie just wished Jena hadn’t picked that moment to aim a very sharp arrow at Marie’s sex life.

She absently raised her fingers to her lips. Did she grimace? She suddenly realized that, yes, she did. Quite frequently. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled. Really smiled. Was it a week ago? A month?

What was she thinking? Of course she smiled. She smiled all the time. Just this morning she’d smiled at the guy at the coffee shop. Hadn’t she?

She directed a frustrated wave down the hall to dismiss her friend and her unwelcome advice. Of course, Jena was right in that it had been awhile since she’d dated. Heck, she’d even caught herself eyeing Play-Doh nose’s powerful thighs last week for a brief second. The moment of insanity had, of course, been followed quickly by the overpowering urge to vomit.

Grab the next man she met, indeed…

She turned the corner and ran smack dab into the last man she should grab. But she’d be damned if she didn’t want to grab him anyway.

ONE MINUTE, IAN KILBORN had been thinking about the perfectly good proposition the pretty court reporter had just thrown his way. The next, he was running into the woman he’d spent a good portion of his adult life thinking about having sex with again without a chance in hell of its coming to pass.

Ian caught Marie Bertelli by the arms and stared down into her flushed face. At one time a quirky eye-catching little girl down the street, now she was a sexy-as-all-get-out full-grown woman. It didn’t seem to matter that years had passed since anything intimate had passed between them, or that they were both attorneys now, or that he’d had countless women since Marie. No matter what else was going on in his life, he’d inevitably find his thoughts beginning and ending with the good girl/wild child that had crawled under his skin a long time ago and he had never been able to rid himself of.

Ian’s gaze skimmed her features. Damn, but she was stunning as hell up this close and personal. And that she had no idea just how sexy she was only lent to her appeal. But what got to him was that no matter how much time passed, the thundering desire that ignited in him for the fiery redhead was still immediate, complete, and more than a tad uncomfortable. Red-hot memories of cramped spaces and soft moans and great sex made him one very horny adult for this woman he’d always had the hots for, and probably always would.

“You can let go now.”

While he watched the words exit Marie’s provocative little mouth, it took a moment for them to register in Ian’s brain.

He cocked a grin at her. “Are you sure? Looks to me like you still need a little propping up.”

The color in her cheeks deepened as she batted at his hands, nearly dropping her briefcase in the process. She glanced around, only there was no one around to witness their collision. While the main corridor was always busy, the side halls were usually pretty quiet, allowing for a privacy Ian hadn’t had with Marie for nearly eight years. And his body was letting him know that it had been much too long.

He chuckled quietly as he let her go, mildly amused by her fussing with her suit.

She blew out a long, shaky breath. “God, will you ever change, Ian Kilborn? I swear, when you wake up in the morning, the first thing on your mind must be sex. And it’s probably the last thing you think about every night before going to bed…”

He scanned her features, only half hearing what she was saying. He’d learned a long time ago about that if you wanted to hear what Marie had to say, you didn’t listen to her words, but rather her body language. And the shaky breath she’d just exhaled, the way she slowly smoothed her free hand over her hip, and the quiet tone of her voice combined to tell him that not much had changed since their tryst in her parents’ pantry. He had the feeling that, if he asked, she’d hand him her panties right there and then. And, oh, how tempting it was to do just that.

He grimaced. Of course this fortuitous meeting would have to come on the heels of the phone call he’d received from her father yesterday. And for that reason alone the last thing on his mind right now, or at any time in the immediate future, should be Marie’s panties.

It dawned on him that she had stopped speaking. He tugged his gaze away from the way her jacket draped over her soft breasts then blinked up into her eyes.

And he froze.

There, in the depths of her blue, blue eyes, lurked a curious and suspicious determination.

Ian squinted at her. Uh-oh. He knew that look only too well. She’d worn it only one other time. And while that one other time had led to his finally stroking her sweet, slick flesh, it had also held the potential for disaster if her family found out what had gone on in the tiny room off the kitchen.

An aroused Marie was a breathtaking sight. A rebellious Marie scared the living hell out of him, no matter how much he wished they were back in that pantry right then.

Ian smoothed down his tie to keep from reaching out and touching her, then cleared his throat.

But Marie spoke first. “You have a case this morning?”

Ian raised his brows at her softly spoken words. “Filing a motion.”

She smiled at that. “The caped crusader for criminals is hard at work, huh?”

He took a physical step backward. “Something like that.”

When was the last time he’d seen her aside from down the hall of the courthouse? Three months? No, two. Judge Bullock’s Christmas party. She’d been friendly then as well. But he suspected it was because she’d been as sorry to be at the party as he had been and was grateful for a familiar face. He’d spent a few minutes talking to her about the weather, noting how she’d scratched at her dress as if she couldn’t stand the material against her skin.

And what a dress and skin it had been, too. Marie had always leaned toward the conservative side. High-neck blouses, loose-fitting jackets and longer skirts. But that night she’d had on a sexy number that fit her in more ways than one. And he’d been hard-pressed not to follow her around the party, tongue panting, in the hope that she’d take pity on him and bring him home with her.

Now he looked at her and wondered if she’d somehow found out about her father having secretly retained his services. But no. He didn’t think Marie had that type of self-control. When she found out, and he was sure she would, she wouldn’t be quite this…nice.

“You know, I was just thinking,” she said now, jarring him out his thoughts. “Ever since you moved back here from Chicago, we really haven’t had a chance to talk, have we?” She licked her lips, a move he suspected was completely unconscious, which made it all the more mesmerizing. “You know, caught up on things.” She shifted her briefcase from one hand to the other. “What are you doing tonight?”

2

NOW THAT WAS A LOADED question, wasn’t it?

Marie stared up into Ian’s strikingly handsome, fear-stricken face and wondered why she didn’t just come out and ask him if he was up for Round Three in the Marie and Ian physical relationship match. Of course in terms of sex it would only be Round Two, but she always rated the first time they’d kissed as Round One simply because it was the first time she’d ever climaxed.

She fought to keep her gaze straight. And that’s exactly what she wanted now, wasn’t it? For him to give her another out-of-this-world orgasm? To exorcise the rebellious emotions roiling through her bloodstream? To have sex? Wild, decadent, monkey sex with the man most qualified for the job?

Just think, an orgasm and revenge in one fell swoop…

Marie gulped, thinking she’d finally careened over the edge.

Insane. Unthinkable. Absolutely impossible.

And tempting.

Naughty Ian Kilborn was ten times more charming now than he’d ever been, making the prospect of sleeping with him even more appealing. But that wasn’t why she was thinking what she was. He was the ultimate way to get her family back for interfering in her life yet again.

The only problem was having sex with Ian wasn’t nearly as simple as all that and she needed a few minutes to remind herself why.

But then she remembered she was already running late and that she really didn’t have time for this, and damn Jena and her sex-fiendish ideas anyway. “Never mind—”

“I already have plans,” Ian said at the same time.

Well, that really stank, didn’t it? Before she could retract her loaded question, he’d turned her down cold.

Marie absently wondered how the planets were aligned and just which one of them had it in for her this morning.

“Well, then,” she said, trying to shrug off the uncomfortable sensation sticking to her skin along with the sizzling heat produced just by being close to Ian, “I guess I’ll see you around the courthouse.”

“How about tomorrow night?”

Marie stared at him, her nipples bunching into tight points. “I already have plans,” she lied.

His grimace could match, if not better, any of hers. “There’s something I think you and I need to discuss.”

That got a suggestive smile out of her. “Oh? And would that conversation include words?”

His eyes held the onset of one of his killer grins.

“I’ve got to get going,” she said and rounded him. She also needed to have her head examined. What was she thinking, leading Ian Kilborn to believe she was interested in anything more than throwing darts at his picture on her wall? No matter how much her body vibrated like a divining rod whenever he was within a hundred feet of her?

She purposely kept her back straight as she hurried down the hall. Okay, so maybe she didn’t really have his picture on her wall. Well, not now, anyway. But she had at one point. She’d used her father’s copy machine to blow up Ian’s senior class picture and had hung it under a poster of Shawn Cassidy inside her closet door. Whenever she’d had a bad day, she’d take Shawn down and have at it with the darts she’d swiped from her brothers’ dartboard in the garage.

Of course, the look on her mother’s face when they’d painted her room later that year and all the holes in her closet door had been revealed was absolutely priceless. Marie had told her they must have termites. Her mother called in the exterminators the next day.

Marie finally rounded the corner, then leaned against the wall out of sight of Ian. She didn’t check to see if he’d watched her depart because she was afraid of her reaction if he hadn’t.

“Miss Bertelli. I was afraid you weren’t going to make it.”

Marie nearly jumped out of her skin as a young man addressed her.

She drew in a deep breath and tried for a smile for her client, the owner of a small computer programming company being sued for copyright infringement.

Business. All business. That was going to be Marie Bertelli for the rest of the day.

And if she was just a wee bit afraid that might be the inscription on her gravestone…well, she wasn’t going to go there now.

IF IAN KILBORN NEEDED A reminder of just how small the world really was, running into Marie Bertelli was exactly the stimulus. It was midafternoon but he felt like he was still standing in the courthouse hall watching her walk away from him. Puzzlement, interest, and a deep burning sensation combined to completely distract him.

Thirteen years since they’d met and he still couldn’t figure out what, exactly, the attraction was. But, oh boy, was there ever one. He’d been seventeen, she’d been thirteen, and one little blink of her blue eyes had rendered him little more than putty in her hands right from the start. And while he held off stripping her of her virginity until she was eighteen, it still took little more than a blink to get him hot and bothered all over again.

Only he’d never let her know that. He scratched the top of his head, then smoothed his hair back in place. The reasons for keeping her in the dark had varied over the years. From the ridiculous adolescent excuse of never letting anyone know they had power over you, to the irrational adult fear of rejection that was crazy but very real just the same.

There had only been a brief two-year stretch when she’d been banished to the back of his mind and then only for geographical reasons. Chicago was a long way from Albuquerque, and further still from L.A. Yet that hadn’t stopped him from having the occasional white-hot dream about her, or catching a glimpse of a woman and thinking it might be her even though she was at least thirteen hundred miles away.

Sex, pure and simple. That’s what he’d told himself then, and that’s what he continued to tell himself now. There was something exciting and unforgettable about forbidden desire. About wanting something you knew you shouldn’t and going after it anyway. She’d been thirteen and the youngest daughter of a family renowned for getting physical with the guys chasing after her if they didn’t take the first verbal hint. But that hadn’t stopped him from thoroughly kissing her—and wanting to go much further. But five years later at her brother’s college graduation party, he’d done just that in her parents’ pantry of all places.

Then there was his own Irish-Catholic family and their twisted ideas on procreation and how it should only be done with another Irish-Catholic.

Ian leaned back in his chair and grinned, thinking about how very small the world was. And as he glanced at some papers on his desk, he knew he had a very good reason to think that way.

He’d been careful about his attraction to Marie and had been spared not only the scrutiny of his own family, but the verbal and, thus, the physical reminders that little Marie Bertelli was off-limits to everyone except whoever her family approved of. Which was nobody in the neighborhood where they both lived. And, he suspected, nobody in the world—especially since he’d heard the story of what went down nearly three years ago with the groom from Italy.

It was shortly after Marie’s taking off for L.A. that he’d accepted a job offer from a college friend in Chicago.

A high-profile case sat on the corner of his desk. Ian eyed the file, glanced at his watch, then at his calendar.

Ah, a very small world, indeed.

And Marie was about to find out just how small.

AT LEAST SHE WASN’T wearing the blue poofy dress.

Marie considered the very sad state of her life as she got out of her Mustang in the sweeping driveway of her parents’ house. The two-story white stucco looked like it could have been at home in the Mediterranean or the southwest and stood a testament to large family life. This was where Marie had grown up. And the place she still called home even if she couldn’t live there anymore.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out what she was doing here. She’d gone straight home to her apartment after calling it a day to find the refrigerator she’d bought secondhand on the fritz and what she had planned to make for dinner not fit for a bad date. Her mother had called just as she’d discovered that and waved insalata malfitana in her front of her hungry face, reminding her that not only had she not had dinner but that farsumagru o briolone was her favorite, not Frankie Jr.’s.

Okay, so she was weak. The way she figured it, she was entitled to be a little soft just this once. Her day had gotten better after bumping into Ian, but only marginally. She needed a little bit of her mother’s fussing and worrying if just to remind her that someone did care.

Her gaze slid down the block where the Kilborn house still stood, even though the Kilborns didn’t live there anymore. A Mexican-American family lived there now. But that didn’t stop Marie from remembering how she used to sit on the front porch and mentally will Ian to drive by in whatever shiny new sports car he had at the time.

Ever since seeing him that morning, the craving that had pretty much defined her adolescence had anchored itself in her stomach, making her feel needy and hot and just a tad reckless.

Reckless. If she knew what was good for her, she’d completely forget the definition of that word. Whenever her family pushed a little hard, she tended to rebel in very dramatic ways—in ways that made even her outrageous friend Jena look good. Her dad pushed her, she slept with Ian Kilborn.

Oh, boy.

That was so not why she was here. She’d come to try to shrug off unwanted emotions via a dinner session with her family. She didn’t want Ian any more than he wanted her.

Oh, yeah? Try telling that to her hormones.

She heard a long, wistful sigh and realized it was her own.

Oh, great. Grimacing and sighing. She was turning into a regular hopeless wonder.

Pulling her jacket closed against the late January chill, she stepped up the winding walkway to the door, briefly knocked, then let herself in. She told herself she knocked because she didn’t want to find one or the other of her parents flagrante delicto. When she was twenty-one, she’d come home early from a party Jena had thrown. Marie shuddered at the memory of her parents going at it like randy teenagers on the foyer couch. Her mother often reminded her that it had only happened once and wasn’t likely to happen again. But Marie wasn’t taking any chances.

She peeked around the door then called out. Her mother’s voice immediately responded from the kitchen, telling her to come in.

Marie shrugged out of her jacket, then hung it up in the closet. The sweet scent of basil filled the hall, leading her back to the kitchen. She couldn’t remember a time when the house hadn’t smelled like one spice or another mixed with the pungent scent of tomato. And when her mother made bread…

She gave a mental groan as she pushed open the swinging door and moved into the airy, terra-cotta-tiled kitchen with its hanging copper pots and pans, pots of fresh herbs, strings of garlic and a table large enough to hold the entire Bertelli family, including her brothers’ wives.

“You didn’t wear the dress.”

Marie made a face. How was it her mother could tell what she was wearing without even looking? “I didn’t feel like wearing a dress.”

Francesca Bertelli was well into her fifties but the image she portrayed was that of a much younger woman, despite the strands of silver in her thick red hair. Marie rounded the cooking island to where her mother was cleaning Spanish onions in the sink and kissed her cheek. “And you consider jeans and a sweatshirt proper attire?”

“For dinner at my parents?” She smiled. “Yes.”

Her mother made her trademark sound of disapproval deep in her throat, even though her blue eyes shone with love and amusement.

“Where’s Dad?”

Francesca motioned with the knife. “In his office. He’ll be out in a minute.”

Marie reached for a piece of mozzarella, then instead took a piece of cut celery on the counter.

“Eat the cheese. You’re too skinny.”

A familiar refrain. And a refrain that Marie had long since grown used to ignoring.

She automatically went to the cupboard to the right and reached for the plates.

“What are you doing?” her mother asked.

“Setting the table.”

“It’s set.”

Marie squinted, wondering if her mother had inhaled too many onion fumes as she stared at the clear kitchen table.

“We’re eating in the dining room tonight.”

Marie’s hands froze where she still touched the plates. The dining room had been the one room in the house that should have been fully capitalized. THE DINING ROOM. The only room off-limits to her and her brothers when they were younger, and a room that was used only on holidays. She slowly withdrew her hands and closed the cupboard door. Sure, while Valentine’s Day might be around the corner, the minor observance didn’t rate on THE DINING ROOM scale.

“Mama…” she said in warning.

The last thing she needed was another unsuitable suitor to ruin a perfectly good dinner. She sighed and leaned against the counter. She’d assumed that since she’d been so late in accepting the dinner invitation that she wouldn’t have to face another one of her mother’s matchmaking attempts tonight.

She rubbed her throbbing temple. Knowing her mother, she’d probably made the trip across town to sabotage her daughter’s refrigerator.

“Get the wine from over there on the counter and open it so it can air.”

Marie turned and stared at the three bottles. She glanced back at her mother. “How many?”

“All of them.”

Uh-oh. Her mother had given up on the one-by-one approach and was going to fill the table with possible grooms from hell.

She groaned, leaving the bottles right where they were. “You know, I’m suddenly not very hungry,” she said, giving her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to go home.” She swiped one of the mozzarella sticks. “Tell Papa I said hi, won’t you?”

She made a beeline for the kitchen door and the hall beyond, hoping to duck out of the house before the guests of honor arrived.

She swung open the door and, for the second time that day, ran straight into the hard, broad chest of Ian Kilborn.

IAN’S PHYSICAL RESPONSE to having Marie flush up against him for the second time that day was swift and unforgiving.

“We, um, have to stop bumping into each other this way,” he said, surprised that his voice was low and gravelly.

Marie stared at him as if he’d grown another head. Well, he hadn’t actually grown one, but one was growing just beneath the material of his slacks.

She leapt back and he quickly closed his suit jacket to cover any telltale bulges.

Only both he and Marie knew the truth.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Marie’s father said from where he stood behind Ian. “Hello, baby girl.”

Marie’s gaze shifted and so did the look in them as she skirted around him and gave her father a loud kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Papa. I just got here.” She cleared her throat as Frank Bertelli Sr. hugged her in his meaty arms, then released her. “Unfortunately I, um, can’t stay though.”

“Shame,” Ian said.

Frankie and Marie both stared at him.

Okay, so maybe he could have been a little subtler. But the truth was that he didn’t exactly intend for Marie to find out how really small the world was until some point down the road. Like maybe never.

“What’s this nonsense? Of course you’re going to stay,” Frankie said, easily wrapping his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, and then Ian’s, and maneuvering them both through the kitchen door. “Your mama made your favorite.”

Marie made a move Ian admired and wished he could emulate as she ducked right out of her father’s grasp. “I know, I know. But the truth is I’m not feeling very well right now.”

Ian eyed her. Sure, her color was high and her eyes overly bright. But he’d bet dollars to doughnuts that her physical state had nothing to do with any sort of illness. Rather her reaction was more likely due to the stimulus behind his own uncomfortable response: feeling her against him.

Frankie finally released him and Ian moved off to the side of the room, watching as Marie’s mother swooped down on her, making a ceremony out of laying her hand against her forehead and cheeks checking for a temperature. Ian hid his smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. Oh, Marie’s temperature had risen all right. But a fever wasn’t to blame.

Ian knew what it was like to be the baby of the family. Much fussing and cooing and clucking had gone on in his house while growing up.

He also knew what it felt like to want something he knew he shouldn’t have.

He moved the back of his collar away from his neck, finding his skin more than a little hot. To think, he’d gone thirteen years without letting the Bertellis in on how he really felt about their daughter. Now, after an accidental meeting or two he was a hairbreadth away from giving it all away.

Damn, she was beautiful. Even in her old sweatshirt and jeans, Marie Bertelli made him want to…well, get her out of that sweatshirt and jeans.

“I’m fine, Mama,” Marie said, swatting Francesca’s hands away from her face. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“You wouldn’t be tired if you were staying in the house. Late nights, parties, dates with ax murderers. Lord only knows what’s behind your not getting enough sleep.”

“I get plenty of sleep.” Ian watched her walk to the counter and pick up a bottle of red wine. “I’ve just been feeling a little stressed lately.”

Ian watched her face blanch, as if she’d just said something she hadn’t meant to. She popped the cork on the bottle of wine, then poured a healthy portion into a water glass.

“Stressed. Stressed. Of course you’re stressed. Having to worry about keeping a house all by yourself.” Her mother took the water glass, then poured the wine into a goblet without missing a beat.

Marie rolled her eyes and stared at Ian. He grinned. “It’s an apartment, Mama, and… Oh, never mind.” She swiped the wineglass and took a deep gulp from it. When she finished, her lips were a provocative shade of red, contrasting against the pinkness of her tongue as it flicked out to lick the corner of her mouth.

She narrowed her gaze on him. “What is he doing here anyway?”

Ian raised his brows. It had been awhile since someone had talked about him in the third person while he was still in the room.

And this particular room had just grown very, very quiet.

For a big man, Frankie Sr. could pull off uncomfortable remarkably well. And given Francesca’s avoidance maneuvers as she returned to preparing dinner, Ian got the impression that she knew exactly what was going on.

The only person who didn’t know was Marie.

And Ian knew she wasn’t going to be very happy about it.

Frank cleared his throat. “Marie, I want to tell you the real reason I wanted you here tonight.”

Ian stared at the older Italian. Frank had told him that he’d wanted to meet briefly. Hell, dinner hadn’t even been mentioned, much less Marie’s possible presence.

Not that it mattered, Ian reminded himself. Frank had no idea about Ian’s past with his daughter.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Marie said dryly.

Ian glanced at her. Could he have been wrong? Did she already know?

“Marie,” Frank said again. “I’ve hired Ian on to act as my attorney.”

Where Marie’s face had been filled with color only a moment before, it was now paper white. She blinked several times as if trying to absorb the words, to make sense out of them.

Obviously she hadn’t known—not only about her father hiring Ian on, but about the trouble he was in.

Oh, boy.

And if things weren’t complicated enough, Ian was afraid that if he and Marie were forced to be in the same room for any extended period of time, he was going to sleep with her.

Again.

Well, okay. Maybe that part wasn’t so bad….

3

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Marie paced the waiting room outside Ian’s office, hearing an odd sort of ticking in her head. Either somewhere in the high-tech offices of McCreary, Lopez and Daniels, Attorneys, there was a loud timepiece, or her own internal clock was counting off the seconds. And, no, it wasn’t her biological clock. She didn’t believe in such things. She had no real craving for children. At least not yet, anyway. Besides, at twenty-six, her biological time clock, if she did have one, hadn’t even kicked on yet.

Had it?

Marie stopped in front of the receptionist’s desk. “Is there a clock around here somewhere?”

The young blonde wearing slim black headphones blinked at her. “It’s just after ten.”

Marie stared at her.

“More precisely, two minutes after ten,” the receptionist said, glancing at her watch.

Marie rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.” She waved her hand and resumed pacing. “Oh, never mind.”

Okay, so last night the last person she expected to run into at her parents’ was Ian Kilborn. That alone would be enough to knock someone a little off-kilter. But she’d also run into him earlier that day and felt some peculiar yearnings she had thought she had locked up tight. As a result, her hormones had shifted into overdrive, reminding her that it had been a good long while since she’d played footsy with anyone between the sheets.

Then to find out that her father had Ian and his firm on retainer…

Tick tock, tick tock.

Marie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to halt the internal countdown, afraid of what would happen when the hand counted down to one.

Her mother…well, her mother had basically played her mother throughout dinner, telling Ian that the antipasto wasn’t dinner when he reached for a second helping, sharing stories about Frankie Jr.’s exploits, and generally urging the conversation in every direction except in the one Marie wanted it to go.

Oh, sure, she’d casually tried to bring the conversation back around to Ian, his presence and his being her father’s attorney. At least every two minutes. And every time she did she got three deadpan expressions and absolutely no words. At least until her mother came up with some other strange little tidbit to derail Marie’s intentions.

Of course, it didn’t help matters that she and Ian were essentially professional rivals and that her father’s choosing to turn to him over her rankled something terrible. She felt something well beyond disappointment that her father couldn’t see her as anything more than his daughter.

Marie made a low sound of frustration, earning her the receptionist’s attention…again.

Marie stared back at her. “How long did you say Mr. Kilborn would be?”

The young woman looked down at her console then pushed a button, speaking so quietly Marie couldn’t make out her words.

Great. She was probably calling security.

“Marie.”

Ian said her name like she was a long-lost friend just dropping in for a visit. A good friend. A friend he might be interested in being a little more…friendly with.

Marie turned to where he stood behind her, then squinted at him as if he’d lost his marbles when she knew perfectly well it was her own marbles that were in question.

Ian cleared his throat, thanked the suspicious receptionist, then motioned toward the doorway behind him. “What’s say we go to my office.”

“Mmm.” Marie brushed past him, trying to ignore how good he looked, how in command, and how utterly sexy. She had no idea where his office was, but anyplace where she could speak to him in private was a good place in her book.

Well, okay, anyplace large enough so that she wouldn’t have to smell the enticing scent of his skin and the subtle aroma of his cologne that reminded her of Albuquerque during the summer.

“Here,” he said.

She entered the first office to the left that Ian indicated, then stopped in front of a wide glass-topped desk with thick iron legs. Ian rounded the table, smoothing his tie down, and looking altogether too yummy when all Marie wanted to do was scream.

“What a surprise,” Ian said.

Surprise? There was absolutely nothing surprising about her being here. “Come on, Ian, admit it. You expected this visit.” Marie pointed a finger at him. “In fact, you’re probably wondering why I’m so late.”

Ian’s black eyes held amusement and warned of the coming grin. Marie braced herself. Ian toying with her she could handle. Ian and a genuine grin made her wish she hadn’t put on panties this morning.

“I didn’t know last night was going to go down the way it did,” he said, motioning for her to sit.

She remained standing.

He sat.

As she suspected, she could see everything through the clear glass. The long bulk of his thighs. The way the fabric of his pants bunched at the crotch, hinting at what she already knew hid underneath.

Her throat grew tight.

“So why are you so late?”

Marie lifted her gaze to his grinning face, then made a face of her own that had nothing to do with a grin and everything to do with the grimace Jena accused her of wearing all the time.

But if ever there was a time to grimace…

“I had an evidentiary hearing at eight. I couldn’t get here any earlier,” she said automatically, then wondered why she’d offered the information at all.

Ian leaned back in the modern black leather and chrome chair and laced his hands together over his impossibly flat abdomen. “I figured it would take that or an act of God to keep you from showing up here first thing.”

“Yes, well, if you hadn’t run out of my parents’ house in the middle of dessert last night I might have gotten some answers then.” Or if his home address had been listed in the phone book, but she wasn’t about to tell him she had gone so far as to call 411 in hopes of finding out where he lived. What she would have done with his address was better left a mystery unsolved. More than likely she would have headed over there, not only revealing she didn’t have a life beyond work and her family, but risking running into him with someone else.

She narrowed her eyes. Was he seeing someone? The prospect made the hair on her arms stand on end. Though why, she didn’t even want to begin to guess.

Ian slowly shook his dark head. “Come on, Marie. It doesn’t matter if I had spent the night at your parents’ house. I wouldn’t have broken attorney–client privilege. And I think you know that.”

She leaned forward and rested her palms against the cool glass. “Attorney–client privilege my rear end, Ian. He’s my father. Family doesn’t count when it comes to something like this.”

He casually shrugged. “Then ask your father.”

She had. A dozen times. With no results.

It was bad enough her family chose to view her law degree as so much artwork on the wall, believing one day she would come to her senses and see that a woman’s place was with a husband and kids. And forget that it was downright humiliating to find out that her father had hired Ian—Ian Kilborn, for God’s sake—as his attorney. When she’d finally gotten her father alone, as he was walking her to the door last night, he had nearly patted her hair and told her not to worry her pretty little head about it.

Actually, he had done exactly that.

Ugh.

“Ian…” she said in warning.

“Marie?” he responded, looking innocent.

Only both of them knew that Ian Kilborn, either as a barracudalike defense attorney or the mouth-watering young man who had seduced her, was far from innocent.

Which made her present situation all the more trying.

She heaved a gusty sigh, walked one way and stared at the Chinese art on his wall, then the other and gazed at the black lacquer bookcase filled not with law books but crystal pieces, then stopped, tapping a finger against her lips. She wondered briefly how either of her friends would handle this situation.

Jena McCade-Brodie no doubt would round the desk, straddle his chair and seduce the information right out of him.

Dulcy Ferris-Landis would outwit every last detail from him without his being aware he’d said a word. Or, better yet, make it look like he’d offered up the information voluntarily.

Neither approach emerged appealing or likely in Marie’s case. She didn’t have Jena’s oozing sexuality. And Dulcy…well, there was only one of her.

So Marie fell back on the next best thing.

“You know, Ian,” she said, slowly turning back to face him. Oh, sure, he might have seduced her, but a girl didn’t succumb to such talents without learning a thing or two. And since she’d done her share of thinking about the seduction she’d probably learned quite a bit. “There is, um, some interesting information that I might be able to share.”

He must have caught on to the change in her demeanor because his chair snapped upright and his hands were no longer folded against his glorious abs. “I don’t see that anything you’d have to say could help your father’s case.”

“No. No. You’re right about that.”

She took a wicked kind of pleasure watching the grin vanish from his handsome face.

Interesting that when he thought he was in control he looked like the cat that still held the mouse in his mouth. But now that she was threatening to turn the tables he looked more like the mouse. A devastatingly sexy mouse.

“However,” she said, leaning her hands against his desktop again, although this time with a purposeful prowl that made him pull at his collar. She watched his gaze flick to the V in her blouse and she discreetly thrust out her breasts against the fabric. “There might be some information I could impart that my father might be interested in.” She allowed her gaze to skim over his face. “In fact, I think what I have to say would interest my entire family.”

“Your brothers?” Ian asked, seeming torn between looking down her blouse and concentrating on what she had just said.

“Uh-huh.”

“You mean…”

Marie nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

The battle was won as Ian’s full attention focused on her face rather than her physical assets.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

Marie couldn’t help herself. She had to smile at that one. “Tell me, Ian…is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

“Having your family find out about us? I mean, what happened between us?” He cleared his throat and this time when he smoothed his tie his movements were more concentrated. “No.”

“I thought not.” She stood to her full height, surprised to find her nipples tingling and her thighs very, very hot. “So tell me.”

“YOUR FATHER’S UNDER investigation for racketeering. Well, more specifically, money laundering. But you get the idea.”

Ian said the words clearly, carefully, then allowed Marie the time she needed to absorb the information.

Damn, she was beautiful. And sexy as all get out when she was upset. And she was definitely upset. Her eyes flashed. Her smooth skin flooded with color. And he could all but see the tips of her breasts pressing against the creamy silk of her shirt, even though she was no longer bending over his desk.

She might be dressed in her normal armor of crisp business suit, but if he wasn’t mistaken, the skirt of this one was a little shorter, the blouse a little tighter. He wondered if she’d dressed with him in mind that morning. Then he threw the thought out when her deep intake of breath broke the silence.

“By whom?” she asked, all power trip gone from her expression, shock taking its place.

“The U.S. Treasury Department.”

“The U.S. Treasury Department?” She finally took him up on his invitation and sat down. Well, she didn’t so much sit down as collapse into the chair behind her.

“Yes, you know, they’re going after him for tax evasion.” Ian couldn’t help it when his gaze flicked to where her knees showed below the hem of her skirt and her distracted state allowed a nice little peek at a tantalizing stretch of thigh and a flash of her white panties before she automatically crossed her legs.

“God, a scene from The Untouchables just flashed through my mind,” she whispered, her gaze focused somewhere out the window behind him.

Ian chuckled. While he was getting flashes of white panties, she was seeing old gangster films. “Marie, we’re not talking Eliot Ness here. Or Al Capone, for that matter.”

Her gaze settled on him, making him wish she were there for any other reason than what she was.

“Yes, but you know what they say about my family.”

“What? That because your father emigrated from Sicily when he was a teenager that he must be a member of the Cosa Nostra?”

She winced, reminding him of how hurt she used to be when the kids in the neighborhood teased her about her Italian heritage. Frank Sr. was secretly called Don Bertelli. Of course, not a one would dare say anything in front of her brothers, but there were plenty of times when Frankie Jr., Anthony and Mario weren’t around. Many times, Ian had stepped in to take care of the situation without Marie or her family ever knowing about it.

She took a deep breath. “My father owns a chain of dry cleaners, for God’s sake. What could the Treasury Department possibly want from him?”

Ian rested his forearms against the desk he’d inherited from the guy who’d inhabited the office before him. The guy who had inherited the same office from the guy before him eight months before that. With that kind of track record, ever since his first day on the job, he’d considered his career to be on ice as thin as the glass of his table.

“That’s what he hired me to find out.” He pushed some papers out of his way. “A treasury agent pulled him in the day before yesterday for some preliminary questioning.”

Marie’s gaze finally seemed to focus on him. “And he called you.”

Ian nodded. “And he called me.”

She looked so sweetly and sexily confused that he had to force himself to remember this was the same woman who had just blackmailed him for the information he’d just shared.

He gave a frown. Of course, he never would have caved if he didn’t have such a long history with Marie’s family.

That had certainly been a factor in his accepting her father’s case.

While he’d been blown away when his secretary had told him Frank Bertelli Sr. was on the phone for him two days ago, he’d been more than a little intrigued about why he was calling. And even more intrigued when Frank had asked him to come down and act as his attorney.

Why him? There had to be at least a hundred other attorneys he could have called. Why seek out the Irish kid that used to live in his neighborhood? Especially since he had a daughter who could handle his case just as easily.

Of course he hadn’t asked either question, although he did still want to know the answers to them. No, instead he’d snatched up the case like he was still the little Irish kid down the block looking for a pat on the head when he’d done something right, like delivered the Bertelli Sunday morning paper on time.

Ian stretched his neck and discovered he’d been staring at the sexy curve of Marie’s neck for a full minute, and that she had tuned into his interest and was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and heat.

She licked her lips then quickly averted her gaze. “What evidence do they have?”

Ian shrugged. “I don’t know yet. We’re set up for a meeting with the agent in charge tomorrow afternoon.”

She got to her feet, flashing him another view of her panties. Ian resisted the urge to pull at his too-tight collar again, suddenly thankful that Marie usually wore more concealing clothing. If he saw her panties again, he doubted he’d be able to stop himself from taking them off.

“I’m going to be there,” Marie said.

“Be where?” Ian asked, distracted by his own thoughts.

“At the questioning, of course.”

Ian got to his feet too, but the last thing on his mind was going anywhere near those panties. “Oh no, you’re not.”

Marie arched a brow at him.

“Come on, Marie. It’s bad enough I told you what’s going on. If you show up at that questioning, your father will know I told you.”

“So?”

“So what’s to say he isn’t a bit upset by the news?”

She crossed her arms.

“Who’s to say he won’t fire my sorry ass and contact another attorney? You know, one that won’t cave under the questionable tactics you just used to get me to talk. Then where will you be?”

And where would he be without this excuse to have Marie back in his life, even if for a little bit?

“Don’t you mean where would you be?”

He squinted at her, wondering if she had been thinking the same thing he just had.

“Never mind. Forget I said that,” she said.

Oh, how he wished he could. Because he had the sinking sensation that she hadn’t been talking about his prospects for having sex with her again, but had instead been referring to her disapproval of his tendency to represent clients no one else would touch with a ten-foot pole.

And then there was her father…not exactly an ideal client either.

“Okay, okay,” Marie derailed his train of thought. “So I don’t go tomorrow.” She rifled through her bag, then sighed when she apparently didn’t find what she was looking for. “But I want you to tape the discussion for me.”

“You want me to tape the questioning?” he enunciated.

She blinked at him. “Yes. Why?”

He slowly rounded the desk until he was standing directly in front of her. “Well, because I don’t know how your father will react to my doing that.”

Marie looked suddenly ill at ease. He watched her elegant throat work around a swallow. “My father…um, will do what you say because you’re his attorney.”

“And you?” he asked, halting mere inches away from her.

He always forgot about how petite she was until he was standing close to her this way. Marie’s energy projected a much taller height than the five foot three that she was in her short heels. She was an intriguing mix of little girl and provocative woman. And right now he found himself wanting to get a glimpse again of those panties she had on.

“Ian?” she said half in question, half in warning.

“Hmm?”

He purposely allowed his gaze to travel leisurely over her tiny package. Oh, yeah, the ball had definitely just landed firmly in his court and he was going to hold on to it. Having Marie afraid of his next move, yet eager to see what it might be, was exactly the way he liked things between them. And while the last thing he should be thinking about was bedding his client’s daughter, just then Marie wasn’t Frank Sr.’s little girl, she was one-hundred-percent woman. More specifically, the woman he had seduced without really understanding why he’d done it beyond feeling the uncontrollable urge to do so.

And he was feeling that urge return to him tenfold.

“Ian?” Marie said more insistently.

Without even realizing he was doing so, Ian had backed her up until her bottom leaned against his glass desk. She held on to the blunted edge tightly with both hands and her small breasts moved with the sudden shortness of breath.

Ian realized he was having a little problem finding air himself. He eyed her mouth, but didn’t kiss her. Instead he skimmed his hand down over her slender hip then slowly inched the material of her skirt up. She caught his hand, her eyes searching his, but her hand neither stopping nor helping him. He smiled at her then continued moving his hand until those white undies were revealed.

Oh, there was no thong for Marie Bertelli. Instead her underwear was cotton and white and sexier than any scrap of silk and lace known to man. It clung to her womanhood like only cotton could. And made his mouth water with the urge to lower himself to his knees and press his lips against the swollen flesh just underneath.

And one look into her eyes told him she wanted it just as much as he did.

A buzzing sound filled the room. While inwardly Ian jumped, outwardly he stood still as a statue, his hand burning from the feel of her upper thigh on his palm, and her fingers on the back of his hand.

“Don’t you, um, think you should get that?” Marie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He could tell she was trying to play down her reaction, make him believe that his taking a peek at her underwear hadn’t affected her one way or another. But Ian knew Marie sexually better than anyone else on Earth. And even if she had been able to control her voice, he would have known she wanted him.

“It’s not mine,” he said quietly.

Marie blinked once, then again. “My wireless,” she said. Then her eyes widened. “My wireless! I’m waiting for a call telling me when the judge has reached his decision on my motion.”

Ian hated to remove his hand. Really hated to have to let her go. But Marie gave him little choice as she wriggled away from him and his desk and reached for her purse and the cell phone inside. She turned away to take the call, leaving Ian staring after her like a dumbstruck teen who had just gotten his first look at a naked woman.

Only he hadn’t seen naked. Not this time. He absently rubbed his chin as he listened to her speak. Actually, he’d never really gotten to see her naked. Not entirely. He’d seen her breasts. Caught glimpses of her tight bottom. But while he’d felt every inch of her, he’d never actually fully seen her.

And, in that one moment, he found he wanted that more than anything.

And knew that he wasn’t going to get it.

Marie clapped her phone closed and backed toward the door. “The, um, judge has made her decision. I’m due back in court in fifteen.”

Ian crossed his arms, doing what she had done minutes before—namely, trying to pretend he wasn’t affected one way or another by the news.

And he knew he was as successful as she’d been at hiding his true state. “You’d better get running then.”

Doubt and curiosity filled her eyes. “Yeah. I’d better get running.”

Ian cleared his throat. “So…I’ll see you tomorrow after the meeting?”

“The meeting? Oh, yes, the meeting.” She glanced at her watch. “Why don’t you give me a call when you’re done? Maybe we can meet somewhere afterward.”

“You don’t want to come here?”

He realized how loaded that question was when she glanced at him, then his desk and back again. “Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She smiled at him. “Who knows what people might think?”

“Mmm,” he agreed.

She turned toward the door, then appeared to change her mind at the last minute as she paused.

Then she rushed him.

Ian was rendered completely speechless as she pressed him against the desk, then molded her mouth against his. She made a small sound in her throat as her tongue darted out, first outlining his lips as if it was something she’d been wanting to do all day, then dipping it between his lips. He groaned and reached for her, but she quickly stepped away.

He stared at her as she straightened her skirt and exited his office, closing the door with a soft click behind her.

For long moments he stood there, the edge of his desk against the back of his legs, wondering just what in the hell had happened. And wondering just how he could go about making it happen again. Then telling himself he shouldn’t let it happen at any point in the future, either near or far, if he had half a brain in his head.

He absently rubbed his chin.

Wow…

4

MONA LYNDELL BANGED THE carafe of coffee down onto the conference table, jolting Marie from her thoughts and nearly launching her straight from her chair.

Marie blinked at the firm’s usually mild-mannered secretary, surprised that the movement hadn’t been the accident she’d expected it to be. Rather the expression on Mona’s face as she stared—or rather glared—at firm senior partner Barry Lomax was enough to turn the hot coffee into ice cubes.

“Uh-oh,” Jena leaned closer to Marie and whispered. “Don’t look now but I think we’re witnessing a lovers’ quarrel.”

Marie’s eyebrows hiked high on her forehead. Lovers’ quarrel? What was Jena talking about? Mona had worked for Barry for nearly thirty years. Barry had been married three times, not once to his secretary. Her gaze moved from the couple in question, noting the way Mona appeared to seethe while Barry continued on outlining the partners’ cases and who was handling what and who needed an assist in other cases.

Mona left the conference room seeming to take all the tension with her.

Marie crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, wondering when the entire world had stopped making sense.

The roomy conference room at the firm of Lomax, Ferris, McCade and Bertelli was airy and decorated with a real feel for the Albuquerque American Indian culture, just like the offices and waiting area. Usually the surroundings relaxed her. But as she looked at Barry Lomax—Dulcy’s mentor and friend who had invited the three of them to sign on with him to ensure his legal legacy when he retired—she suddenly felt like an entire subculture existed right under her nose without her knowing about it.

At the end of the table, Dulcy—five months pregnant and practically glowing with the happiness of her life—corrected Barry on one of her cases, while, next to Marie, Jena tapped her pen against her legal pad and glanced at her watch, no doubt anxious to get home to her ex-hockey player/doctor husband.

Truthfully, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on a whole lot since leaving Ian’s office earlier. And although three hours had passed since she’d planted a hot wet one on him, she swore she could still taste him on her lips.

She reached for the coffee with the intention of washing him off. But since chicken soup and a half of a sandwich at lunch hadn’t succeeded, she doubted this would work either. She raised the steaming black liquid to her lips. Maybe she could scald the taste away.

Barry sighed and sat back in his chair. “I think we’re done. Anyone have any new business to discuss?”

“Nope,” Jena said, closing her notepad. “I think that about covers it.”

“For me, too,” Dulcy said.

Marie sat forward and leaned her forearms against the table. “Actually, I have something.”

Three pairs of eyes focused on her, making her wish she hadn’t said anything.

“Well, it’s not something in the traditional sense of having something. It’s not a new case or anything…”

Jena elbowed her. “Get to the point, Bertelli.”

Marie grimaced at her and sighed. “I just thought that you all should know that the Treasury Department is questioning my father in connection with a racketeering charge.”

Dead silence. Marie could virtually hear her own heart beating as she waited for some sort of verbal response. And waited. And waited.

She cleared her throat. “The details are a little sketchy yet,” she said. “But I’m in contact with his attorney. Basically, all I know is that two days ago my father was pulled in for preliminary questioning at which time he contacted an attorney.”

“Not you,” Jena said quietly.

Marie looked down at the table where she was worrying her hands. She put her hands in her lap. “No.”

At the end of the table, Dulcy shifted in her chair, not an easy move given her ever widening girth. “Who did he retain?”

“Ian Kilborn.”

“Who?” Jena asked, leaning closer.

Marie stared at her. “Ian Kilborn.”

Jena stared at her as if she’d gone soft in the head, then looked at Dulcy who gave an odd sort of smile before averting her gaze and pretending an interest in the files in front of her.

“Who’s Ian Kilborn?” Barry asked.

Jena waved her hand. “We all grew up together in the same neighborhood. You wouldn’t know him from there, of course, but you might be familiar with him by the cases he’s represented lately.”

Dulcy nodded. “There’s Raphael Mendoza…”

“Serial robber who steals women’s intimate apparel,” Jena added.

Marie sank lower in her chair.

“That guy who killed his priest after he confessed to killing his wife,” Dulcy counted off on her fingers.

“Jamieson.”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Jena lifted a finger. “Then there’s the Britney Hiawatha case.”

This lifted Barry’s snow-white brows, making him look more like James Brolin than Sean Connery. “The prostitute who…”

He didn’t need to finish, because the story made news due to the sheer gruesomeness of the details. Hiawatha had basically turned any johns who didn’t pay her into modern-day eunuchs.

And if Ian hadn’t gotten his clients off altogether, he’d gotten the prosecutors to cop to lesser charges after pulling a few courtroom stunts that had nearly gotten him disbarred.

“Oh, he’s good,” Barry said, shaking his head. “Very good. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize the name. Kilborn, right? Kill ’em Kilborn.”

Marie rubbed her forehead. It was bad enough that this was the man her father had hired. This was also the guy she fantasized about sleeping with while…well, while she was sleeping and had no control over where her thoughts ventured.

Good Lord.

“You and Kilborn grew up together?” Barry asked.

“In the same neighborhood,” Marie said. “We weren’t exactly…friends.”

She caught Jena giving Dulcy one of those “really?” faces she hated and felt the urge to elbow her friend so hard she’d fall backward in her chair.

“Oh,” Dulcy said.

But she hadn’t said it in the way Marie might have expected. Instead, she seemed surprised by something that didn’t have anything to do with the present conversation.

Marie looked at her. Dulcy’s face had gone white and she was clutching her stomach.

“Are you all right?” Marie asked, getting up from her chair and hurrying toward her friend.

Then Dulcy smiled, so brightly it nearly hurt to look at her. “I’m…fine. I just felt the baby kick.” She laughed. “I mean, at five months, I’ve felt him kick before, but not this insistently.” She rubbed her palms over her stomach. “Ezzie jokes that I’m going to have a horse. I’m beginning to think she may be right.”

Ezzie was Esmeralda, Dulcy and Quinn’s housekeeper, although she was more family than hired help, especially since she didn’t get paid. Marie got the heebies whenever she was around the old Indian woman because Ezzie looked at her as if trying to figure something out. Marie never stuck around long enough to find out what.

“That’s why I’m never having children,” Jena said, closing her notepad again. “I don’t want any little hellion kicking around inside of me for nine months.”

“They don’t kick until after the first trimester,” Dulcy corrected her.

Jena shrugged. “Six months, nine. Both too long.”

Dulcy took Marie’s hand and rested it against her round belly. As she always did when she touched her friend’s stomach, Marie wondered at how hard and solid the mass was. “Do you feel him?”

Marie did. She gasped and nearly drew her hand away at the force of the kick.

Barry chuckled as he got up and headed for the door. “I think that’s my cue to leave the room.”

Dulcy looked at him. “Don’t you dare, Bartholomew. You get over here and feel your honorary grandchild along with everyone else.”

Marie drew back from the group, watching as if from a distance. Her brother Frankie Jr.’s wife had had their two children while Marie was in L.A. Though she’d flown in for the births and the baptisms, she hadn’t actually experienced the pregnancies with her sister-in-law. To watch one of her best friends go through the experience…well, she felt humbled and awed. And maybe, just maybe, a little envious.

“It’s a girl,” Jena said confidently after shaking her hand as if she’d just touched a bagful of goo instead of her friend’s stomach. “I don’t know why you don’t want to find out what sex it is, Dulc. You keep calling it a ‘he.’ What if it is a girl?”

Dulcy gave a long, happy sigh. “I use ‘he’ just to keep things simple. Quinn and I would be very happy if it were a girl.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and went through the maneuvers required for her to stand. “But Ezzie’s adamant about my having a boy.”

Marie shuddered. “That woman gives me the creeps.”

“That’s funny,” Dulcy said, waving Barry away when he tried to help her get up. “She reminds me a lot of your grandmother.”

Marie widened her eyes. So that’s why she felt strange around Ezzie. She realized with a start that her friend was right. Ezzie was exactly like Marie’s Grandmother Maria, after whom she’d been named.

Yikes.

“So,” Dulcy said, gathering her things from the table in front of her, “what happens with your father from here?”

Her father? Oh, her father.

“Um, he meets with the treasury agents tomorrow.”

“Are you going?” Jena asked.

“No. But Ian’s going to fill me in on everything.”

“Mmm.”

Marie glared at her friend. “Mmm, what?”

Jena shared another one of those looks with Dulcy. “Nothing. Did I say anything, Dulcy?”

“I didn’t hear you say anything.”

“Oh, piss off, the both of you.”

All three of her friends and fellow attorneys stared at her as if she’d just dyed her hair bleach blonde. Marie instantly wanted to duck under the table until all of them forgot she had just said what she had—which would probably be never because she never swore. Even if the swear word ranked way over on the conservative side.

Barry held up his hands. “I’m out of here. See you guys tomorrow.”

He left the room, leaving Marie behind to stare at her friends.

Great. Just great. First there was everything going on with her father. Now Jena and Dulcy’s shock had turned to acute interest.

She sighed and pushed her curly hair back from her face. “Look, guys, I’m really not up for this right now.”

Jena crossed her arms over her chest. “Funny, because we are.”

“What’s going on, Marie?” Dulcy asked.

Marie stepped to the table and scooped her things into her briefcase. “Can we talk about this tomorrow—”

The sound of raised voices coming from the lobby drew all of their attention.

First Jena, then Dulcy and Marie stepped toward the open conference room door. Given that she was a good four inches shorter than her friends, Marie had to do some maneuvering to see what was going on.

Just outside, by Mona’s desk, Barry and Mona were arguing hotly. Marie tried to follow the rapid-fire words.

“I quit,” Mona said, her voice ringing loud and clear.

Marie raised her brows. Well, that didn’t take much to understand, did it?

All four of them watched as the woman who had been Barry Lomax’s secretary for the past thirty years, and theirs for the past year, took her purse out of her desk drawer and strode toward the door. And that’s where they all stayed well after Mona had left.

“Wow,” Marie said.

Everyone nodded their agreement.

HERE THEY WERE TALKING about the U.S. Treasury Department and the questions the agents had asked Frank Bertelli Sr., and all Ian could think about was that he wanted to have some major sex with Marie so badly he hurt. And the fact that they were in public, sitting at a small round table in a very busy coffee shop located near their offices was not hindering his condition in the least.

It was hard to believe that only a day had passed since he’d last seen her…when he’d nudged her skirt up her remarkable thighs and peeked at her underwear. It seemed more like a week. And the truth of that made his mental state that much worse. He hadn’t wanted anyone this bad since…well, since he’d had Marie eight years ago.

“My father’s accountant’s missing?” Marie asked after mulling over everything Ian had said.

Ian forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. Not an easy task when Marie had surprised him by showing up at the café in jeans and a T-shirt and a black leather blazer. She’d said she couldn’t concentrate at the firm—something about a missing secretary and a general state of chaos—and had decided to work from home this afternoon. She looked hot. And he wanted to touch her.

He cleared his throat. “In a word, yes.” He leaned forward and shook his leg in an effort to move his pulsing arousal to a more comfortable position. Thankfully his suit pants were baggy enough to conceal the sad shape he was in. “Your father says he didn’t show up for work yesterday morning. Something I didn’t find out until the questioning was well under way.” He turned his coffee cup around to grasp the handle. “I had to do a bit of damage control when that little bit came out.”

“Holy cow,” Marie whispered.

Ian’s gaze dropped to her mouth as she said the words. Damn, but she had a beautiful mouth. The kind of mouth that could take real good care of a guy if she put her mind to it.

“You can, um, say that again,” he said, unsure if he was talking to himself or her.

Marie ran her fingers through her wild red hair several times, then sat back and blew a long breath out of those luscious lips. The fact that she was completely unaware of the carnal direction his thoughts had taken made her all the more attractive. Of course, not many people would be able to see beyond what he had just told her. Which was basically that her father was in deep doo-doo.

Her blue eyes focused on him. “Did they say what the reason was for the suspicion?”

Ian shrugged and took a long sip of his coffee. “Something about discrepancies on your father’s business returns.”

She grimaced.

“And, um, he was also questioned about his connection to someone out of Chicago.”

“Who?”

“James Baldacci.”

“Uncle Jimmy?”

Ian winced, her father’s position looking dimmer and dimmer all the time. “You call Jimmy the Head ‘uncle’?”

Marie looked genuinely perplexed as she leaned forward. “What do you mean, Jimmy the Head?”

She honestly didn’t know.

Ian scratched his head then smoothed his hair back into place. “What do you know about James Baldacci?”

Marie’s gaze narrowed. “Why did you just call him Jimmy the Head?”

“Answer my question first and then I’ll answer yours.”

She picked around the edges of her bran muffin, eating only the pieces that fell off onto her plate. “My father and Uncle Jimmy go back a ways. I think they came over from Italy together.”

“Great.”

“What does that mean?”

He debated telling her, then decided she’d probably get it out of him one way or another. “It means that Jimmy is called the Head because he heads up one of the most powerful crime families in the Midwest.”

Marie had the olive-colored skin that went with her rich Mediterranean heritage. Not that you could tell at that moment because she’d gone as pale as copy paper. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.”

“Holy shit.”

Holy cow to holy shit. Quite a jump for Marie even on a bad day. And fitting. Because Ian had thought exactly the same thing when the agents had asked Frankie Sr. about Jimmy, and Frankie had shrugged and explained that they were friends. Very good friends. Not something one usually went around bragging about, especially to U.S. Treasury agents.

“So what happened to my father’s accountant?”

Ian finished off his coffee, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I think the treasury agents believe he’s wearing cement boots at the bottom of a very large pond,” he said from behind his napkin.

But Marie had heard him and looked about a flinch away from flinging her coffee into his face.

“You can’t possibly believe that, can you?” she asked, color returning to her face in full.

“I didn’t say that. I said I think the agents believe that.”

She looked like she’d been physically struck. “Why that’s stupid. Ridiculous. Ludicrous.”

“It’s fact.”

She went silent and still, looking much like a statue as she stared at him in dawning realization.

Ian felt decidedly uncomfortable. All these years and never once had he thought that the joking rumors about Frank Bertelli were true. Don Bertelli, indeed. Hell, the morons among the kids his age had also habitually greeted the Schlachter kid down the street with a Nazi salute. Certainly none of them had ever truly believed he was a Nazi.

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