How to unravel your straightlaced lover...

Gabe Nelson would be a great district attorney, but his public image is too boring to get voters’ attention. Tattoo artist Devin Padilla can help him show off his fun, sexy side, but she needs something in return—his legal expertise to track down her missing brother. She’s not Gabe’s type, but they can’t keep their hands off each other, whether it’s good for his image or not.

At first, Devin thinks she got the easy end of the bargain. Gabe’s the sexiest stuffed shirt in Manhattan, and his kisses practically set her on fire. But every deal has its fine print. As their relationship goes from business to pleasure, Devin realizes this one won’t cost her soul...it’ll just steal her heart.

“Don’t act like you’re not feeling it, too...”

“This is ridiculous.” Gabe glanced at the night sky and scrubbed a hand across his face.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe the time for talking is over.”

He did a hasty scan of the area then pulled Devin into a nearby doorway, trapping her there with his body. “Ask me again.”

A hot flush spread across her face. “Ask you what?”

“What you asked in the bar.” He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. “About going back to your place.”

So he was serious. They were really doing this.

Hot damn.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” Bad idea. She was supposed to be putting out the fire smoldering between them. Not dousing it with gasoline.

But what a lovely way to burn...

Dear Reader,

It’s hard to believe this is my second crack at a Dear Reader letter. I’m thrilled to share book two of the Art of Seduction series with you.

Each of the books in this series has the arts as a backdrop. In Triple Threat it’s theater; in Triple Time it’s the fine arts. Devin Padilla is a tattoo artist/bartender who paints on the sly. Her life’s been tough, and the thing she wants most is to find her brother, separated from her in foster care. But all she’s hit are dead ends.

Assistant district attorney Gabe Nelson has his life planned. But when his would-be fiancée and his boss insinuate that he’s duller than dirt, he starts to have doubts. Then Devin strolls in, all tattoos and piercings and take-no-prisoners attitude. She might need help, but she’s no damsel in distress. When she learns Gabe’s running for the top spot in the DA’s office, she offers him a deal: she’ll help him loosen up so he can win his retiring boss’s endorsement if he helps find her brother.

Devin and Gabe were a blast to introduce in Triple Threat, and I loved telling their story in Triple Time. Theirs is a journey of opposites fighting their attraction every step of the way. I hope you have as much fun following it as I did writing it.

And in December you’ll get to meet Gabe’s twin sister, Ivy, when she returns to Stockton and faces her first and only love—her brother’s best friend, Cade Hardesty.

Until then,

Regina

Triple Time

Regina Kyle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

REGINA KYLE knew she was destined to be an author when she won a writing contest at age eight with a touching tale about a squirrel and a nut pie. By day, she writes dry legal briefs, representing the state in criminal appeals. At night, she writes steamy romance with heart and humor. A lover of all things theatrical, Regina lives on the Connecticut shoreline with her husband, teenage daughter and two melodramatic cats. When she’s not writing, she’s most likely singing, reading, cooking or watching bad reality television. She loves hearing from readers. You can find her on Facebook at facebook.com/reginakyleauthor, follow her on Twitter @Regina_Kyle1, or sign up for her newsletter at reginakyle.com.

For Ernie, who never says no to my crazy ideas, even the ones hatched in the midst of a midlife crisis. And Marissa, who showed me how to reach for my dream by grabbing hers with both hands and never letting go. They both put up with more than their fair share of plotting disguised as incoherent muttering, deadline-induced panic, dirty laundry and take-out dinners. And I love them for it.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

1

BY THE TIME the Perfect Moment arrived for Gabe Nelson to pop the question, his tongue felt like lead, too thick for the elaborate script he’d written in his head. So he decided to keep it simple.

“Will you marry me?”

Gabe held his breath as he got down on one knee and snapped open the robin’s-egg-blue box. Inside a flawless two-carat, emerald-cut diamond sparkled, catching the light from the crystal chandeliers dotting New York City’s famous Rainbow Room restaurant.

“I...I don’t know what to say.” Kara Humphries, Gabe’s girlfriend for the past six months, stared at the ring as if it were a two-headed hydra instead of a precious gem.

Not exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for.

He swallowed. Hard. His mind whirred through plans B, C and D. She hadn’t exactly said no. There had to be some way to persuade her to accept his proposal.

“Say yes.” Gabe took one of her perfectly manicured hands and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm for extra effect. Hell, he hadn’t served four years in the Navy JAG corps, then clawed his way to the top spot in the Manhattan DA’s Special Victims Bureau by giving up without a fight.

She pulled her hand away and tucked it under the napkin in her lap. “I’m sorry, Gabe. You’re a great guy. Really. Any woman would be lucky to have you. But...”

Ouch. Direct hit. He stood and slunk back into his seat. With sweaty hands, he palmed the ring box, snapped it shut and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He could feel his heart pounding under the cool cotton of his dress shirt. “Just not this woman, right? It’s not me, it’s you. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“Actually...” She looked down, her hands fiddling with her napkin. After a moment that seemed as long as the wait for his results on the bar exam, her gaze rose to meet his. “It is you. And me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He tried not to sound hurt, but it wasn’t easy. He wasn’t used to setting his mind on something and not seeing it through. As far he was concerned, this engagement wasn’t any different from negotiating a plea bargain. He and Kara belonged together.

He just had to seal the deal.

She lifted a hand to brush an imaginary lock of her always impeccable ash-blond hair from her cheek, then let it flutter back to her lap. “We both like jazz. The symphony. Sailing. Fine wine.”

“Exactly.” He raised his glass of 1998 Veuve Clicquot—the two-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne he’d specially chosen to toast their engagement—and took a sip, eyeing her over the rim with a half smile. A kernel of hope settled in his chest and he sat a little straighter. She was making his point for him. “It’s called compatibility. I fail to see the problem.”

“That is the problem.” Her voice broke and she took a deep breath. “There’s no spark between us. I adore you, Gabe, and I hope we stay friends. But I planned to tell you tonight that I think we should stop seeing each other. We’re too much alike. I need someone who’ll challenge me, broaden my horizons, introduce me to new things.”

He leaned in and studied her intently, his initial shock slowly receding. A mix of determination and curiosity took its place.

“I can introduce you to new things.” Why not? She wanted adventure, he’d give her adventure. He could be as fun and spontaneous as the next guy. If he had enough time to prepare.

“Oh, Gabe. You’re sweet. But your idea of a new thing is having red wine with fish instead of white. I’m talking about really living life. Taking chances. Not the same old boring stuff we always do.”

His jaw tightened and he locked his fingers together. “So I’m boring?”

“Not exactly. Just predictable.” She stood, placed her napkin on her plate and smoothed down her skirt. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I wanted it to work. Really, I did. But I can’t pretend anymore, trying to make myself feel something that’s not there. Someday you’ll meet the right woman. I’m just not her.”

She made her way through the restaurant, a chorus of whispers in her wake. An occupational hazard of being the daughter of a senator and one of New York’s most prominent—and wealthy—philanthropists.

He sat alone and uncomfortable, staring into his plate of shrimp scampi. What the hell had just happened? He had planned everything so perfectly. Perfect place. Perfect time. Perfect woman.

Or so he’d thought.

He was thirty years old, for Christ’s sake. He wanted a wife. Kids before he was too old to enjoy them. Of all the women he’d dated—and he was no John Mayer, but he’d gone out with his fair share—Kara was the only one he could see in his life for the long haul. A real partner in every way, beside him at rallies and fundraisers. Entertaining guests, or relaxing together at the end of a long, stressful day, reading or listening to John Coltrane on his state-of-the-art sound system. Okay, so they weren’t burning up the sheets just yet. That would come in time. Right?

But she’d said no. Said he was too predictable. Which, in his book, meant boring, no matter how she tried to sugarcoat it.

“Your check, sir.”

Gabe looked up at the waiter’s sheepish expression. He’d clearly witnessed the whole unfortunate scene.

“Here.” Gabe took the leather holder in the waiter’s outstretched hand, stuck his credit card inside without even looking at the bill and handed it back to him.

The waiter left, leaving Gabe alone. Again. He shifted in his seat and glanced around the dining room, catching the sympathetic looks of several patrons who quickly averted their eyes, like the waiter, obviously privy to his humiliation.

His very public humiliation.

Not soon enough, the waiter came back with Gabe’s credit card. With a gruff “Thanks,” Gabe scrawled his signature, downed the rest of his champagne and strode through the restaurant, slipping out into the New York night.

His apartment was only a few blocks south, but he headed in the other direction, toward Central Park. Not the best place to be at night, especially a night like this one. Ripe. Sweltering. Sure to lure out every crazy without air-conditioning. But he wasn’t ready to go home yet. He needed to breathe, to think, and nothing cleared his head like a run in the park. Tonight his suit meant he’d have to settle for a brisk walk, even if it meant he’d be covered in sweat by the time he got to his apartment downtown.

He circled the sailboat pond, trying to figure out why he felt more numb than crushed by Kara’s refusal, when a high-pitched voice from behind the boathouse froze him in his Ferragamo shoes.

“Get your fucking hands off me, or I’ll knee your balls right through the roof of your goddamned mouth.”

Gabe did a one-eighty and sprinted toward the sound.

A woman stood with her back to him, fists clenched. Her attacker lay curled at her feet, wheezing for air.

“No means no, asshole.”

The guy let out a muffled moan and she bent over him, making her short skirt ride even higher up her toned thighs. Her fishnet stockings covered her long legs, disappearing midcalf into a pair of hot-pink Doc Martens.

“Okay, okay. You made your point. You didn’t have to kick me so hard. Frigid bitch.”

Gabe stepped out of the shadow of the boathouse. “Watch your mouth. And don’t move a damn muscle. I’m calling the police.” He pulled out his cell phone and started to dial.

“No cops. Please.” The woman held out an arm as if to stop him, and Gabe caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her shoulder. A distinctive, familiar tattoo of some sort of forest fairy. “Freddie just got a little overeager. But I set him straight.” She prodded him with one boot, eliciting another moan. “Didn’t I, Freddie?”

Gabe’s stomach clenched. “Devin?”

She pivoted slowly, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open in recognition.

“Shit.”

* * *

OF ALL THE white knights in New York City, why did Gabe Nelson have to be the one to ride to her rescue?

Devin Padilla stared at her best friend’s brother and swore again.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”

She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Heading home. Same as you should be.” Disapproval dripped from his voice as he eyeballed her, frowning no doubt at her outfit of choice. Sure, the lacy camisole clung a little too tightly to her 36Ds and her short skirt showed off her J. Lo booty. But she was a bartender, for Christ’s sake, not an astrophysicist. How was she supposed to earn enough tips to support herself and set something aside for Victor if—no, when—she found him, if she didn’t give her customers something to look at on top of her witty repartee.

“Isn’t that dive you work at downtown?”

“It’s not a dive. And yes, it is. Sometimes I pull extra shifts for a friend at The Mark.” She never said no to extra cash, and she always raked it in at the Upper East Side hotel bar.

“Hello?” a voice interrupted from the pavement. “Injured man down here.”

“Get up, Freddie. You’re not hurt. I barely touched you.”

“You know this guy?” Gabe asked.

“He’s one of my regulars. Said he’d take me to the subway.” She glared down at him, hands on her hips. Just another one in a long line of losers that had hit on her in the past six months. It was like she was wearing a sign that said Attention all guys. Are you mentally stable? Gainfully employed? Reasonably attractive? Then keep away. “The subway, Freddie. Not to heaven against a slimy park viaduct.”

Freddie struggled to his knees. “It’s not my fault. You’ve been giving me mixed signals for months.”

“Mixed signals?” She raised one Doc Marten and aimed it at him, making him flinch before she broke off and scuffed the ground in front of him. He scuttled back like a frightened crab and she couldn’t help but scoff. “How’s that for a mixed signal, dirtbag?”

Gabe put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re relieved from duty, Freddie. I’ll see the lady home.”

“Like hell you will.” Devin shook off his hand. No way she was spending one minute more than necessary with Dudley Do-Right. No matter how dead sexy he was. “The subway’s two blocks from here. I can make it just fine on my own.”

“I’m sure you can. But a gentleman always makes sure his date arrives home safely.” Gabe tugged off his suit jacket and wrapped it around Devin’s shoulders, shielding them—and the breasts barely concealed by her skimpy top—from Freddie’s prying eyes. “Isn’t that right, Freddie?”

“I’m not your date.” Devin’s gaze ping-ponged from one man to the other. “Either of you.”

“Humor me.” Gabe’s hand held steady against the small of her back. The shivers she hadn’t noticed subsided, tempting her to succumb to the warm, reassuring feeling of a good man’s touch.

His touch.

“Have it your way.” Freddie stood and backed away slowly. “But I’m telling you, man, the chick is trouble.”

Devin started for him but Gabe held her back, and damn if his touch didn’t make her quiver all over again. What was it about Holly’s stuffed-shirt brother that got her engine revving faster than a dirt bike at the X Games?

It couldn’t be the banging body she was pretty sure he hid under all those designer suits—broad shoulders that led to an equally broad chest, narrow waist, lean hips and long, strong legs. Or his stormy, gray eyes, intense and mysterious, never revealing what was going on behind them. And it sure as hell wasn’t his lips, full, firm and just right for hours of sensuous kissing.

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.” Gabe slid his hand to her elbow, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

“It’s your funeral,” Freddie tossed over his shoulder as he fled into the darkness.

“Asshole.” Devin watched him disappear then turned to Gabe. “I appreciate your help...”

“But you’re fine. Yeah. Got it.”

She shook off his jacket, thrust it at him and headed for the subway. She hadn’t gone three steps when he caught up with her. “Nice try, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I meant what I said. I’m taking you home.”

His eyes sparked with something. Anger? Frustration? Devin’s insides tingled in response. Maybe letting him take her home wasn’t such a bad idea. Then he could take her against the living room wall. And on the kitchen counter. And in the...

“Besides, my sister would kill me if she found out I left you alone in Central Park in the middle of the night.”

Right. His sister. Duty, not fantasy. Thanks for the verbal equivalent of a cold shower.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But we’re taking a cab. Your treat.”

“My pleasure.”

He took her arm, propelling her toward Fifth Avenue, where he hailed a cab. Hustling her inside, he gave the cabby her address, one he knew well since, until recently, his sister had lived in the apartment directly below Devin’s.

“How is Holly?” she asked to break the awkward silence that descended once the cab pulled into traffic. “I haven’t talked to her in almost a month. Since she and Nick left for Istanbul.”

“She loves it there.” Gabe loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his impeccably pressed white cotton dress shirt, revealing a triangle of fine dark chest hair. “But my parents are worried sick about her. I can’t believe her doctor let her travel in her condition.”

Devin swallowed hard and turned to stare out the window. She’d tattooed her share of gorgeous, muscle-bound men and hadn’t so much as blinked. But one glimpse of Mr. GQ’s freaking chest hair and she was practically hyperventilating.

Pathetic.

“News flash,” Devin said when she could finally breathe again. “Holly’s not due for like five months. Women in her condition travel all the time. And Nick added an ob-gyn and a nurse to their entourage.”

With his money, he could have a fully staffed maternity ward on set if he wanted to. And she had no doubt he would if shooting on his latest Trent Savage pic went longer than expected. She’d never seen a couple as devoted to each other as Nick and Holly. It was almost enough to make her forget what a fucking farce love could be.

Almost.

They lapsed back into silence. Devin focused on the blurred buildings speeding by outside the grimy window. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore Gabe, sitting only inches away. His thigh brushing hers when he shifted. The scent of his cologne—citrusy, with a hint of cedar—teasing her senses.

Majorly pathetic.

“Can I ask you something?” His words tumbled out, like he was afraid if he didn’t say them at light speed, they wouldn’t come out at all.

“Uh, sure.” She turned to him with a shrug. “I guess so.”

“Would you say I’m...” He raked a hand through his close-cropped, chestnut hair. “Do you think I’m, well, boring?”

Devin almost choked. Boring? Seriously? Of all the words in the English language, boring was just about the last one she’d choose to describe Gabe Nelson. A little straitlaced, maybe. Serious. Panty-meltingly hot. But boring?

Hell, no.

She opened her mouth to answer but Gabe waved her off. “Never mind. Your hesitation speaks volumes.”

His shoulders stiffened and he turned his back to her to stare out his window.

Shit. What was it about this guy that always made her say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing? It was as if she was a tongue-tied teenage girl with a crush on her best friend’s hunky, totally hands-off younger brother.

Which was exactly what she was. Except for the teenage part.

Before she could figure out a way to straighten him out while salvaging her pride, they pulled up outside her apartment building and Gabe hopped out of the cab, holding the door for her.

“Keep the meter running,” he instructed the cabbie. “I’ll be right back.”

She brushed past him, ignoring his outstretched hand, and he followed her up the steps to the main door.

“Thanks,” she said, digging in her purse for her key. Where the hell was it? All she wanted was to get inside, change into sweats, scarf down a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Toffee Bar Crunch and forget this whole humiliating night. “Look, about what you asked earlier, in the cab. You’re not boring. A little repressed, maybe.”

“Repressed?”

“You know. Old-fashioned. Conservative.”

She let out a yelp as Gabe spun her around, pressing her against the door with his hips. “How’s this for conservative?”

“This” was his hands on her shoulders, his lips crushing hers. After a moment of shock, her body responded to him. Her purse slipped from her fingers, her keys forgotten, and her arms came up to circle his neck. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him tight. Her lips parted and he didn’t waste any time in taking advantage, stealing his tongue into the opening and sweeping it across her lower lip.

Hot flipping damn. She was right about those lips of his. She could kiss them for hours. Days, even. And that naughty tongue...

She mentally struck straightlaced off her list of adjectives for him.

Not to be outdone, she met him lick for lick, running her tongue over his teeth and into the corners of his mouth. With a moan, he nudged her legs apart with his knee and moved between them. She could feel his rock-hard thigh pressing against her core.

She was ready to hook one leg around his hip and grind against him like a stripper on a pole when he broke off the kiss as abruptly as he’d started it.

“Christ, Devin, I’m...”

She pushed against his chest, resisting the temptation to grab his designer shirt in her fists and pull him back to her. “If you say you’re sorry, I’ll...”

He backed away, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “Knee my balls right through the roof of my goddamned mouth?”

“Something like that.”

“Then I’ll just say good-night.” One corner of his mouth curled into a half smile. “And sweet dreams.”

She slumped against the door, needing something to keep her vertical, as he climbed into the cab and drove away. Only when the taillights disappeared from view did she let herself slink to the ground, fumbling for her purse in disbelief.

Dudley Do-Right had done what no man had done before.

He’d left her wanting more.

2

“HEY, NELSON. BOSS wants to see you.”

“In a sec.” Gabe’s fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never straying from the computer screen. “I’m almost done with this motion.”

“Boss says now.”

Gabe looked up at his second-in-command, Jack Kentfield. “What gives?”

Jack lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? But you’re wanted on the seventh floor ASAP.”

“Great.” Gabe hit Save, closed the document and pushed away from his desk. Being summoned to the penthouse could only mean one of two things. Either he’d screwed up and was going to have his ass handed to him or he’d pleased the powers that be and was getting a commendation.

He wasn’t in the mood for either.

“Good luck,” Jack called after him as he headed for the elevator. “If you’re not back in ten I’ll send up a search party. Or start a memorial fund.”

“Make sure you hit up Tim in elder abuse.” The elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped in. “He owes me twenty bucks.”

The doors slid shut, leaving Gabe alone to wonder which fate awaited him upstairs. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done to warrant an ass reaming. Although, to be honest, his mind hadn’t totally been on his work since that night with Devin in the park last week. And on her doorstep.

Their kiss had been nothing short of explosive. Way more intense than anything he’d experienced before. He prided himself on his control. His ability to think before acting. All that had gone the way of the cassette tape when Devin surrendered to him, her soft lips parting under his, her full, warm curves molding to him.

A stirring below his belt buckle made him shake his head and silently scold himself. Down, boy. Big meeting coming up. Think clean thoughts. Mom. Apple pie. A busload of nuns on their way to a prayer meeting.

Gabe squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been a selfish, impulsive bastard to kiss her, but at least one good thing had come of it. Now he understood why Kara’s rejection had left him more numb than hurt. He’d been an idiot, proposing to her for all the wrong reasons. Thinking he could choose a life mate based on shared interests and political expediency. Thinking passion would come later and build slowly, like a roller coaster climbing that first hill.

It wouldn’t. And it wouldn’t have been fair to her. Or him.

With a ding, the elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped into the inner sanctum of Manhattan District Attorney Thaddeus Holcomb. Teddy to his friends. Mr. Holcomb to his underlings at One Hogan Place.

“Gabe.” Doris, Mr. Holcomb’s secretary from what seemed like the dawn of time, beckoned him closer with a wrinkled finger. “He’s waiting for you.”

She ushered him into an office three times the size of his own. Instead of a regulation-issue gunmetal gray desk like Gabe’s, the current district attorney sat behind a massive oak table. Matching bookshelves lined the walls, bright blue statute books and thick legal treatises artfully arranged alongside plaques, trophies and the occasional family photo.

“You wanted to see me?” Gabe took a seat in one of the two leather armchairs in front of the table.

Holcomb closed the file he’d been reading. “Nice work on Patterson. Convincing Judge Morrison to let in the defendant’s statement.”

“Thanks.” Gabe relaxed into the soft leather. Looked like it was going to be door number two.

“Any word on sentencing?”

“It’s scheduled for next Thursday.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

Holcomb cleared his throat. Gabe steeled himself. Now came the real reason for their little tête-à-tête. Holcomb pushed the file across the table. “The police made an arrest in the Park Avenue homicide case last night.”

Gabe nodded. It’d been all over the morning news. A handyman was accused of sexually assaulting and murdering an eighty-five-year-old woman and her live-in nurse. A witness saw him leaving their apartment shortly before the bodies were discovered. “He’ll be arraigned tomorrow. Kentfield’s handling it.”

Holcomb shook his head. “I want you on this case. It’s a publicity magnet.”

Gabe folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Jack might be a bit of a prick, but he could handle the press as well as anyone. There had to be more to this than the boss was letting on. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.” Holcomb shrugged, his innocent expression making Gabe even more convinced the DA had a secret agenda. “You’re my best prosecutor. You’re taking this one. End of story.”

Gabe picked up the file and stood. He knew when to press his luck and when to walk away. “No problem.”

“I’m not done yet.” Holcomb motioned for Gabe to sit back down, so he did. “There’s another matter we have to discuss.”

“Is there a problem?” Gabe’s frown deepened.

“I understand you’re thinking about running for this position when I retire next year.”

“Yes, sir.” Running for public office was the next logical step in Gabe’s career plan. First district attorney, then the state legislature and maybe even Congress. He figured he’d have to wait a few years before starting down that road. But Holcomb’s announcement that he wouldn’t run for a third term had sped up Gabe’s timeline a bit.

“I expect you’ll want my endorsement.”

“I was hoping.” Holcomb just admitted Gabe was his best prosecutor. That had to count for something.

“You’re an excellent lawyer, Gabe. The youngest man ever to head Special Victims.” Holcomb tilted his chair back, and Gabe’s heart rate kicked up a notch. This was it. Holcomb was going to give him his thumbs up. And with his backing, Gabe would be the front runner for DA.

“But I can’t endorse you.”

Wait, what?

The “thank you” he’d been about to utter stuck in his throat. Gabe barely suppressed a cough. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s more to being district attorney than trying cases.” Holcomb crossed one ankle over his knee. “You’re the face of the division. The people’s representative.”

“And you don’t think I’m ready for that?”

Holcomb twisted the gold signet ring he always wore on his right pinkie finger. “I don’t think the people of Manhattan are ready for you.”

“What’s that mean?” Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been crusading for justice ever since fourth grade, when he’d begged to be appointed hall monitor so he could help stop the bullying that went on behind the teachers’ backs. Now the feeling of his well-orchestrated future slipping away washed over him like fog. Cold. Damp. Foreboding.

“Let me put it to you this way.” Holcomb tented his fingers under his chin. “Remember the grand opening of the Family Justice Center?”

Gabe shuddered.

As if he could forget it.

The ceremony had been the one and only time Holcomb had asked Gabe to stand in for him. And it was a disaster from beginning to end. All his courtroom skills had deserted him. He’d flubbed the deputy mayor’s name, accidentally insulted the governor’s wife and dropped the cartoonishly large scissors trying to cut the damned ribbon.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, the worst came later, at the reception, where he had to mix and mingle. Make small talk. Be charming.

He’d tried. But the harder he did, the more awkward the conversations became. He was about as charming as a cardboard box. He’d ended up leaving early, claiming he had to prepare for a trial the next day.

He could face a panel of black-robed Supreme Court justices. A jury of his peers. But put him in a room and make him talk to strangers one-on-one?

Crash and burn.

“Stick to your comfort zone.” Holcomb spun his chair around to reach for something on the credenza behind him, dismissing Gabe. “Shaking hands and kissing babies isn’t your forte. And it’s a job requirement for district attorney.”

“I can learn,” Gabe insisted. “Give me a chance.”

Holcomb twirled back around to face him, considering him through narrowed eyes. “Tell you what. The Feast of San Gennaro is in a few weeks.”

“Right.” Everyone knew that. The Italian street fair was one of New York City’s biggest and most popular events.

“I make a point to attend every year. Come with me, prove you can fit in with the crowd, and I’ll reconsider.”

“Fit in?”

“Meet people. Talk to them. Show me you can convince them to vote for you.”

“It’s a deal.”

Gabe rose, and Holcomb followed suit, extending his hand. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He was going to need it. Because he had less than a month to learn how to “fit in” with the masses who populated the festival. And no freaking clue how he was going to do it.

* * *

“NOT IN SERVICE my ass.” Devin punched the End Call button on her cell phone.

Her boss and mentor, Leo Zambrano, looked up from the triceps he was tattooing and smirked. “You realize you’re talking to an automated message, right?”

“That low-life, rat bastard PI’s disconnected his phone.” She circled her station at Ink the Heights, the Washington Heights tattoo parlor where she’d worked since she was eighteen and Leo had caught her camped out in the storeroom. Instead of the boot, he gave her an apprenticeship, and he put up with her even on days like today. It was a damned good thing her next customer was running late. In this mood, she might accidentally stab him with a needle.

“The one Manny referred you to?” Leo wiped a spot of blood from his customer’s arm with a paper towel and studied his handiwork. The dark outline of a phoenix rising from the rubble of the Twin Towers stood out against Hector’s olive skin. “His cousin’s friend’s sister’s boyfriend, or something?”

“Yep. The jackass totally screwed me. Took my thousand-dollar retainer, told me he was on the trail of a hot lead then disappeared.” She paced between her station and Leo’s, needing some way to work off her anxiety short of tipping over the autoclave and dumping sterile instruments all over the floor.

“Can’t Manny track him down?” Their errand boy knew everything about everyone in the Heights.

Devin shook her head. “He tried. Says the guy dumped his cousin’s friend’s whatever three days ago and hopped a plane to Miami. Probably his first stop on his way to San Juan. How am I going to find Victor now? All I hit on my own was dead ends. And I can’t afford to pay anyone else. Hell, it took me months to scrape up that thousand.”

She balled her hands into fists. It wasn’t just the money that got to her, although losing a grand sucked big time. It was that for the first time in years she’d felt like she was getting close to finding her brother, only to have that hope snatched away, leaving her empty, depressed and mad as hell at the snatcher.

Then there was the article she’d read a few weeks ago in the Times about a group home for mentally disabled adults in the Bronx that was shut down after reporters for one of the local news programs found residents being verbally abused, pushed, kicked, starved and even spat on. What if Victor was in a place like that? “I swear, if that little pissant shows his face in this neighborhood again I’ll...”

“Kick him in the balls?” Leo smirked and went back to tattooing. “Like you did to Fast Fingers Freddie?”

“Worse. More like rip them off and shove them down his lying throat.”

“I could loan you—”

“No.” She stopped pacing to stare him down. “I’m not taking your money. Haven’t you rescued me enough?”

“You’re the one bailing me out these days. You’re good. Better than good. I keep expecting you to toss me for one of those fancy places near your apartment downtown.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I have a fondness for aging bobos with a hero complex.”

“And I’m partial to smart-mouthed muchachas who insist on doing things their own way.” Leo set down his needle, took another swipe at the tattoo with the paper towel, and covered it with a bandage. “That’s it for today, Hector. We’ll start on the shading next week. Same time.”

“Thanks, man.” Hector flung a few bills onto the counter on his way out. “See you in seven.”

Leo peeled off his gloves, threw them into the trash can reserved for medical waste and crossed to the Keurig machine on the other side of the room. He held up a K-Cup. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” Devin checked the clock above the sink. Three twenty-five. Almost half an hour past her client’s appointment time. Probably another case of cold feet. “I’m wound up enough already.”

Leo shrugged and started his cup brewing. “So you won’t take my money. What’s next? The police?”

Devin choked out a laugh. “What’s the point? The scumbag’s long gone, and the cops aren’t going to chase after him for a measly thousand bucks.”

“How about Holly’s brother?” The machine stopped gurgling, and he removed his mug, taking a long, slow sip of the dark roast. “Doesn’t he work for the DA’s office?”

“Gabe?” She turned her back to Leo, emptied the autoclave and tossed in a handful of fresh tools to be sterilized, glad for the excuse to hide her reddening face. “What about him?”

“He saved your sorry ass when you ran into him last week. Maybe he can help again.”

Ran into him. That was a major understatement. But she’d only told Leo that Gabe had found her in Central Park and taken her home. And she wouldn’t have even told him that if he hadn’t asked about the bruises on her upper arms from where that fuckup Freddie had grabbed her.

“My ass is not sorry, and he did not save it.” She released her hair from its messy ponytail, gathered it up again and secured it with the scrunchie she held in her teeth. “I took care of myself. And Freddie. Mr. Clean didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”

“Well, Mr. Clean looks like your best bet to get your money back. Maybe even find Victor.”

Devin stopped, her hand on the pressure switch of the autoclave. She knew she’d never get the cash back. But it hadn’t occurred to her that Gabe could help find her brother. “How so?”

Leo lifted one shoulder and sipped his coffee. “He’s in Special Victims, right? He must know people in Child Services.”

Damn. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

Only one problem. It would mean indebting herself to the man she wanted to jump every time she got within ten feet of him. The one she should be avoiding like day old alcapurrias.

Her best friend’s off-limits, way-out-of-her-league baby brother.

It wasn’t just his relationship to Holly that made Gabe untouchable. It didn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out he was built for commitment. Marriage. Two point five kids. A minimansion in Scarsdale. The whole nine yards.

And Devin...wasn’t.

She flipped the switch on the autoclave and sighed, her breath stirring the loose strands that had already escaped her ponytail.

“I know that look.” Leo leaned against the counter, setting his mug down behind him. Above his shoulder, framed photos of her work—and his—hung against the backdrop of the cheery lemon-yellow wall, constant reminders of how far she’d come since that fateful day when Leo had taken her in off the street. But not far enough for a smart, sophisticated guy like Gabe. “It’s your I-am-an-island look. The one you give when you want to scare everyone off and convince them you can go it alone.”

Sure. Fine. Let’s run with that.

“There’s no shame in relying on your friends every once in a while, hermanita.” He crossed to her and tugged her ponytail. “That’s what we’re here for.”

She softened at the use of his nickname for her. Little sister. “I know. I’m just...”

“Not used to depending on anyone. I get that. But this is Victor we’re talking about. Your brother. Who you haven’t seen in, what, twelve years?”

She winced, remembering their last minutes together. Her shaking with rage, screaming obscenities at the social worker who had dragged Victor away. Him clutching his favorite stuffed animal, a ratty armadillo, his sweet face wet with tears. Both of them scared shitless. “More like fifteen.”

“That’s fifteen years too long.” The bells hanging over the top of the door tinkled and he went to the sink to scrub his hands, preparing for their new arrival. “If you won’t take my money, at least promise you’ll think about calling Gabe.”

Devin’s stomach sank at the thought of facing Gabe again, but that was nothing compared to the way it pitched and rolled when she considered the alternative. Victor, stuck in a house of horrors like the one she’d read about it the paper.

“All right. You win.” As usual. She started toward the front of the shop to greet Leo’s next customer. “I’ll think about it.”

What the hell, she thought as she pasted on a smile. It wasn’t as if she could stop thinking about Gabe anyway.

3

PINSTRIPED SUITS. Pencil skirts. Pocket squares.

She was surrounded by yuppies.

They should post warning signs. Caution: Smart Phones at Work.

Devin slowed her steps as she neared One Hogan Place, home of the New York County District Attorney’s Office. She glanced down at her outfit. She’d gone as conservatively as she could, given the limits of her wardrobe—a plain, black T-shirt, khaki cargo pants and black Doc Martens. Clean. Neat. Well-pressed. But compared to the Wall Street types, she looked like a refugee from a doomsday cult.

“Move it or lose it, honey.” One of the pinstripe-suited businessmen shoved past her, knocking her oversize bag off her shoulder, no doubt late for some all-important meeting.

“Thanks, asshole.” She managed to pick up her bag, narrowly missing being trampled by a candy-apple-red stiletto.

Now she remembered why she hated the financial district.

Her Greenwich Village neighborhood, and even the Heights, had a cool, edgy vibe. Sure, people there worked hard. But they knew how to play, too. Here, everything was go-go-go 24/7. Even play was work. Gotta swim more laps than the next guy. Beat him at racquetball. Be the best on the golf course. Or whatever these uptight overachievers did in the name of relaxation.

Yet another reminder of why she and Gabe would be a match made in purgatory. Okay, so the guy kissed like a porn star. But aside from that, he needed some serious help in the recreation department. Probably wouldn’t know fun if it jumped out of his briefcase and bit him in the oh-so-delectable ass. Certainly not her kind of fun.

And after a lifetime of struggling, Devin was all about fun.

But not now. She was here for one reason and one reason only.

To find Victor.

She pushed open the ornate brass door. The cool, conditioned air blasted her in the face as she crossed the lobby to the concierge. “District Attorney’s Office?”

“Reception’s on the third floor.” He gestured toward the elevators behind him.

“Thanks.”

Her boots echoed on the marble tile, and she ignored the stares of the preppy elite as she jabbed at the elevator button. She breathed a relieved sigh when the doors slid open and she could escape into the quiet of the thankfully empty car.

She slumped against the wall, watching the indicator on the ancient elevator inch its way from one to three. For the thousandth time, she mentally rehearsed her speech.

Hey, Gabe. Thanks for rescuing me in the park last week. Even though I really didn’t need rescuing. Can I ask you for one more teeny, tiny favor? Help find my brother who got separated from me in foster care when I was thirteen.

Ugh. It didn’t sound any better in her head than it had in the living/bedroom of her tiny studio apartment. But she was running out of options.

Devin groaned. She hated, hated, hated asking for help. Especially when she didn’t have anything to offer in return. Well, nothing a guy like Gabe would want, anyway.

She ran through a few more variations of her speech but wasn’t any closer to knowing what she would say when the doors opened.

“Can I help you?” A pretty, way-too-pert receptionist greeted Devin when she stepped off the elevator.

“I’m here to see Gabe Nelson.”

“Do you have an appointment?” She clicked a few buttons on her desktop computer. “I don’t see anything on his schedule until after lunch.”

“Um, no. Not exactly.” Devin tugged self-consciously on her T-shirt. “I’m a friend of the family.”

A scowl creased the receptionist’s forehead. “Let me see what I can do. Who should I tell him is here?”

“Devin.”

“Just Devin?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Devin hitched her bag up on her shoulder and crossed her arms. “He’ll know who it is.”

The receptionist waved her over to a line of chairs against the wall, and Devin sat while the woman spoke in low tones into the telephone. A few minutes later, Gabe rounded the corner, the confused expression on his face not detracting one damned bit from his hotness. In a charcoal-gray suit, pale blue dress shirt and burgundy tie, his dark-framed glasses made him look like a grown up, uber-sexy Harry Potter.

“Devin. What brings you here? Everything okay?”

She stood and wiped her damp hands on her cargo pants. “Can we talk in private?” The last thing she needed was the entire office hearing her sob story. Bad enough she had to tell Gabe.

“Sure.” He led her past the receptionist and down a narrow corridor to his office. It was Spartan but functional. Government-issue desk. Two guest chairs. Filing cabinets along the walls with an array of photos. She spotted Holly, Gabe’s parents, his younger sister, Noelle, and what she assumed was Ivy, his twin, a fashion photographer who was always off on some shoot or another. One big, smiling, happy family. Something she sure as hell never had.

He crossed to a minifridge in the corner, opened it and held up a plastic bottle. “Want a water? Or I can have Stephanie get you some coffee?”

“Water’s fine, thanks,” she croaked. Nerves were strange things. Moistening her palms. Drying her throat.

He handed her the bottle, took one for himself and sat behind the desk, motioning for her to do the same in one of the guest chairs opposite him. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

He cracked open his water bottle, tipped his head back and took a long chug. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and she crossed her legs to control the tingling at her core.

Fan-fucking-tastic. First chest hair. Now this. What would set her off next? His toenails?

“I brought you something.” She dug into her handbag. Starting with a little bribe couldn’t hurt. “To say thanks. For the other night.”

Gabe tilted his head and gave her a cocky smile.

“The cab ride. Freak.” She plunked a Tupperware container onto the desk. “Arroz con pollo. It’s homemade.”

“You cook?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t say whose home.”

He laughed, a low, smoky sound that made her insides flutter. “You came all the way downtown to bring me food?”

“You looked a little peaked.” She twisted off the cap of her water bottle and sipped, the liquid soothing her throat but doing nothing for her overheated libido. “But if you don’t want it, I can take it back.”

He slapped a palm on top of the container and slid it toward him. “My mother always told me it’s rude to refuse a gift.”

Devin looked down at her lap and pretended to be fascinated with her fingernails, hoping it masked the stab of longing at the mention of his mother. All her mother had ever taught her was how to roll a joint and make a mean vodka martini. Like James Bond, shaken, not stirred. Oh, and that nothing—and no one—was forever.

“So.” Gabe put the container in the fridge and sat back at his desk, resting his chin on his fist. “Here we are. In private. Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?”

She shifted to the edge of her seat and raised her head to meet his gaze. Damn, those storm-cloud eyes were distracting. All dark and distant and moody. She blinked twice to break the spell. “I need your...”

The words stuck in her throat, and she started again. “I need your help to find my brother.”

There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

He sat silent and unmoving, the eyes behind his glasses unreadable, the only sound in the room the hum of the minifridge.

No, it wasn’t so bad. It was worse.

* * *

HOLY SHIT.

She had a brother? And, more importantly, she didn’t know where he was?

He’d barely had time to process this information, much less respond, when the door burst open and a slick, blond head popped in.

“Where’s the Rasmusson file?”

Only Jack would enter his office without knocking. And only Jack would hone in on Devin like a heat-seeking missile, sidling into the other guest chair and pulling it closer to her.

“I gave it to Stephanie.”

So you can beat it. Now.

“Well, hello, gorgeous.” Gabe’s skin prickled as Jack eyed Devin up and down, lingering a little too long on the tattoo peeking out from the V neck of her T-shirt. Was that a bird? Or a butterfly? Knowing her, it was probably something more provocative, like an arrow with the words “place tongue here.”

“Gabe’s been holding out on me. I’m Jack Kentfield, the real brains of this operation.”

Gabe kicked at the leg of his desk. So much for his psychic powers. Jack wasn’t going down without a fight. “Easy, Casanova. How do you know she’s not a victim? Or a witness?”

Jack shrugged. “You always meet with them in the conference room.”

“Devin Padilla.” She held out her hand to him. “I’m friends with Gabe’s sister Holly.”

“Any friend of Holly is a friend of mine.” Jack brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, making Gabe’s skin crawl all over again.

“Please. You’ve met my sister what, twice?”

“Three times, but who’s counting?”

“You, apparently.” Gabe clenched and unclenched his fists under the cover of his desk, fighting the urge to pop his colleague in the jaw. The only thing that stopped him was Devin, who was looking at Jack as if he was dog doo on the bottom of her boots. “Now, if you don’t mind, I was about to take Devin to lunch.”

“You were?” She cast a sideways glance at him, her forehead wrinkled.

“Fine, I can take a hint.” Jack got up and crossed to the door, throwing one last parting jab over his shoulder. “You know, Gabe, Holcomb wouldn’t think you were such a stick-in-the-mud if he knew you hung out with someone as hot as Devin. Probably endorse you on the spot.”

“Endorse you?” Devin leaned in, resting her elbows on her knees. “For what?”

“Never mind.” Gabe took off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn Jack and his big mouth. Gabe wasn’t sure how he’d gotten wind of what had gone down with Holcomb. Gabe sure as hell hadn’t told him. But the guy had an uncanny knack for digging up dirt. Suddenly, transferring him to Public Assistance Fraud seemed like a brilliant idea.

Gabe rolled his chair back and stood. “Let’s go.”

He moved to a coatrack in the corner of the room for his suit jacket and she followed. “You don’t have to take me to lunch.”

“I don’t want to risk any more interruptions.” Or give Jack another chance to hit on her.

“I’m not dressed for any place fancy.”

“You’re perfect for the place I have in mind.”

Half an hour later, they were seated across from each other at a table at the Big Apple Burger Bar.

“So.” She bit into her burger, closed her eyes and moaned. Her tongue darted out to catch a rivulet of juice but not fast enough to stop it from running down her chin. He gripped the edge of the table, white knuckled, resisting the impulse to wipe—or, better yet, lick—it away. There was something about a woman who enjoyed her food that got him right in the groin.

Devin opened her eyes and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Who’s Holcomb? And why does he think you’re a stick-in-the-mud?”

“Nice try.” Gabe took a bite of his burger. “But we came here to talk about you. And your brother.”

She licked her lips and his nether regions stirred again.

“I’ll pry it out of you eventually,” she said. “You know I will.”

“I’m up for the challenge. First tell me about your brother. How can I help?”

“You know people in Child Services, right?”

“Sure.” His mind whirred, trying to come up with a reason why Child Services would be involved. Was her brother a minor? Had he run away? Been abused? Abandoned?

She munched on a French fry. “Victor and I were separated in foster care when he was ten and I was thirteen. I haven’t seen him since. He’s the only family I have left. I filled out an application with the adoption information registry, but...”

“Let me guess. Nothing.” Gabe was all too familiar with the registry. It only worked if both parties signed up.

“Yep. I’m not even sure whether he was adopted or stayed in the foster system until he turned eighteen. And the PI I hired was a total bust.”

“And now you want me to see what I can find out.”

“In a word, yes.”

“I’ll do what I can.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. He’d figured Devin had had it rough as a kid. He just didn’t know how rough. It made him even more eager to help her, if he could. “But if your brother was adopted, and the adoption was sealed...”

“I know. It’s an uphill battle. But I have to find him, Gabe. He needs me.”

Her hand shook, causing her to drop the fry hovering at her mouth, and Gabe frowned. Something more was going on. Something she wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell him. But he wasn’t going to press her. Not yet.

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. A jolt of lust traveled up his arm and through his chest.

Jesus Christ.

What the hell was wrong with him? The woman was distraught, and here he was acting like an overeager teen on his first date.

Gabe gave her hand a quick squeeze and let it go. “I’ll do my best. I promise. I’ll make some calls tomorrow and let you know what I can dig up.”

“Thanks.”

She gave him a sad pseudo smile, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Okay,” she said finally, plunking her water glass down on the table. “Now that that’s settled, I want the whole stick-in-the-mud story.”

Damn. He thought she’d forgotten. Should’ve known better.

“It’s not all that exciting.”

Kind of like me.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She pushed her chair back from the table, stretched out her long legs and crossed her arms, waiting for him to begin.

“All right, but don’t blame me if you’re bored. Seems to be a common complaint where I’m concerned.” He wanted to bite back the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

“Ah, we’re back to that again.” She bit her lip, a move only slightly less enticing than licking them. “Look, about that night...”

“You don’t have to explain.” He reached for his burger.

“Yeah, I do.” The tone of her voice—low and somehow desperate, almost urgent—stopped him, and he put the sandwich down. “You’re not boring, Gabe. And if Holcomb’s telling you that, whoever he is, he’s a moron.”

“He’s my boss. And I’ll let him know you feel that way. I’m sure it’ll make a big difference.” He didn’t feel inclined to mention that his ex-girlfriend was on the Gabe’s-a-snoozefest bandwagon, too.

“I’m just trying to help. You don’t have to get all snarky on me.” She shot up, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor, and reached for her gigantic shoulder bag.

“Devin, wait.” He half rose and put a hand on her wrist, deciding it was better to risk another sexual lightning bolt than let her leave in a huff, and she hesitated. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s a sore spot with me.”

She lowered herself back into the chair, dropping her purse beside her. “Apology accepted. Now what can I do?”

“Nothing.”

She rolled her cornflower-blue eyes, eyes that seemed so at odds with the rest of her coloring. Pale mocha skin. Jet black hair. “That’s not what your friend Jack seemed to think.”

“He’s not my friend.” And he wasn’t exactly thinking with the head on his shoulders.”

“You want your boss to endorse you for something, right?” Devin plowed on as if he hadn’t even spoken.

Gabe took another swig of root beer and nodded. “District Attorney when he leaves office.”

“And he won’t because he thinks you’re too stuffy.”

“In a nutshell.”

“So let’s unstuff you.”

“Unstuff?” His voice rose an octave, and several people turned to stare at them. Could this get any more embarrassing? What was it with him and public humiliation lately? Maybe he should avoid restaurants altogether for the foreseeable future.

“Sure.” She got up and walked around the table, surveying him from every angle as if he was a prize steer. He half expected her to pry open his mouth and check his teeth. “You’re good raw material. I can work with that. And let’s face it, I’m probably the least repressed person you know. By a long shot.”

Raw material? What did she think this was? Cool Eye for the Uptight Guy?

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.” She sat back down across from him, pinning him with those blue eyes, now a deeper almost denim. “Consider it payback. For Victor.”

“I haven’t found him yet.”

“But you agreed to try. That counts for something.”

“You’re Holly’s friend.” And, since their kiss, the object of his late-night fantasies. Yet another reason this idea of hers had train wreck written all over it. “It’s the least I can do. I don’t need to be paid back. I’ll take my chances at the Feast of San Gennaro.”

She tucked her hair behind the ear with four piercings. “What’s the feast got to do with it?”

Damn. It was like looking at her made his brain shut down, leaving his mouth to run free. “Holcomb wants me to go with him. Prove I can relate to the ‘common man,’ whatever that means. Get them to vote for me.”

“That gives us...” She pulled her smartphone from her pants pocket and scrolled through her calendar. “Almost six weeks. Plenty of time.”

“Time?” He pushed his plate away. “For what?”

She whipped out a notepad and pen from the depths of her bottomless handbag and started scribbling. “For me to loosen you up.”

4

“YOU WANT TO take me where?” Gabe crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. It had been three days since Devin had announced her plan to “unstuff” him, and truth be told he hoped she’d forgotten the whole thing. Then she’d shown up at his Tribeca apartment looking like a cast member from Hair and said she was taking him to...

“A rave,” she repeated, adjusting the fringed tube top she’d paired with a denim miniskirt and white gogo boots. The movement did wonderful things for her breasts. “It’s an all-night dance party.”

“I know what a rave is.” Gabe smirked. “I crawl out from under my rock once in a while.” Plus, he had a case a couple of years ago involving a rave.

“Well, come on, then. We’re burning midnight.”

He looked down at his polo shirt and khakis. Another ten minutes and she would have caught him bare chested and in sweatpants, his usual bedtime attire. “Don’t you think I’m a little underdressed?”

She shook her head, her long, dark hair, held off her face by a floral band, rippling. “Anything goes at these things.”

He grimaced, remembering his case. Teenagers, illegal substances and slam dancing were a lethal combination. “So I’ve heard.”

“If you’re talking about drugs and sex...”

He raised an eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you really think I’m so stupid I’d put your job at risk?”

“No, I don’t think you’re stupid at all.” She might not have an Ivy League education like most of his colleagues, but he’d pit her street smarts against their book learning any day.

“Not all raves are dens of iniquity. True rave culture is about peace, unity and respect. It’s about expressing yourself in any way you feel comfortable, in a place where you feel no fear, just love and joy from everyone around you.”

He snorted. “You sound like a greeting card.”

“Very funny. You need to loosen up, and this will get you out of your comfort zone and in touch with younger voters.” She tapped one patent-leather toe on the linoleum. “Now quit stalling and let’s go.”

Busted.

He picked up his keys and wallet from the hall table, stuffed them in his pockets and closed the door. He wasn’t pleased that Holcomb seemed to think he needed fixing, but Devin was front and center, ready, willing and able to help him “express himself.” Might as well get it over with. “Where exactly are we going?”

She started down the corridor. “A vacant warehouse in the meat-packing district.”

He trailed after her, admiring the way the skintight skirt cupped her ample bottom. Why did the bad girls always look so good?

They stopped at the elevator and he pressed the down button. “How do you find out about these events? Is there some sort of website or something?”

“There are message boards and forums.” With a ding, the elevator door slid open and she got in. “But I found out about this one from some friends. That’s how I know it’s okay.”

He followed her inside and hit the button for the ground floor. “So my job’s safe. I still don’t understand how going to a rave is supposed to get Holcomb to endorse me.”

“Your boss wants you to be more relaxed, more spontaneous, right?” She did a little shimmy, bringing her backside dangerously close to his groin. “There’s nothing more freeing than dance.”

Oh, yeah, that was freeing, all right. Any more freeing and he’d take her right there in the damned elevator.

He stabbed at the button again, as if that would speed their trip. This night was going be torture. In more ways than one.

Ding.

The elevator opened and Gabe hightailed it out of there. Maybe outside the cramped car he stood a chance of resisting her.

Right. And maybe he stood a chance of serving on the United States Supreme Court. She bent down to pull up one of her boots, simultaneously lifting her skirt and lowering her tube top, and he swore under his breath. Like she wasn’t showing enough skin already.

“I’ll get us a cab.” Without so much as a backward glance, he strode across the lobby, through the door and to the curb, his arm raised. The sooner this evening started, the sooner it would end.

“Not so fast.” Devin yanked his arm down and dragged him toward Canal Street. “Tonight we’re slumming it.”

She pointed down the block toward the subway station.

“You consider the subway slumming it?”

“No. But I figured you would.”

“I take the subway. On occasion.”

“Oh, yeah?” She paused at the top of the subway stairs and faced him. “When was the last time?”

He lowered his chin. “Okay, so it’s been a while. But only because I started biking to work when the weather got warm.”

Her eyes traveled the length of his body and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “It shows.”

She brushed past him and headed down the stairs, giving him another view of her spectacular ass. He stood for a minute, his mouth open. Christ, she was bold. He’d never had a woman check him out so blatantly. He wasn’t sure if he liked it.

Okay, that was a lie. He liked it. A lot.

“Are you coming or not?” Devin called from the bottom of the stairs.

Not yet. But maybe later...

He bounded down the steps, shaking off that thought as quickly as it had sprung up. Figuratively and literally. “Right behind you.”

The subway ride was uneventful. If Devin singing with a street drummer and helping a guy dressed as Spiderman find his cell phone could be called uneventful. All in only three stops. When they got off, she led Gabe a few blocks to a large brick building.

“This is it?” He looked around. Quiet. Deserted.

“Just wait.” She knocked on the heavy metal door.

“Dev!” The burly, bald-headed man who opened it greeted her with a bear hug. “Where you been, girl?”

“Here and there.” She hugged him back. “Got room for two more?”

“For you, of course.” He opened the door wider and eyed Gabe. “Who’s your friend?”

“Carlos, this is Gabe. He’s a virgin,” she said with a wink.

“A what?” Gabe choked.

“She means it’s your first rave.” Carlos ushered them in and closed the door. “Don’t worry. Devin’s a real pro. She’ll take care of you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Gabe muttered.

Carlos showed them down a long hall and then a flight of stairs. As they descended, the insistent beat of techno music grew stronger, vibrating through the soles of Gabe’s loafers and up his body.

He bent his head so his mouth was at Devin’s ear. “This might be a good time to confess I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll lead.” She grabbed his hand. “Just stick close and follow me.”

“Have fun, kids.” The music was deafening now, and Carlos had to yell to be heard as he swung open the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Gabe nodded in acknowledgment, not even bothering to try to shout over the noise, and he and Devin stepped into what seemed like another dimension.

The big open space was wall-to-wall people of all ages, from college kids to baby boomers. Some were dressed in street clothes like him. Others wore all manner of costumes: tutus, hot pants, sequined bras, fluorescent wigs, outrageous hats and glasses. Gabe could have sworn one woman’s dress was made entirely of duct tape.

A huge stage filled the far end of the room, showcasing a DJ behind a wall of electronic equipment. Giant screens displayed images from an elaborate laser light show.

“Come on,” Devin said, drawing him into the crowd. “Let’s dance.” Or at least that’s what he thought she said. They didn’t teach lip-reading at Columbia. Or Officer Development School.

The crush of bodies on what Gabe supposed could be considered a dance floor pressed them together, chest to chest, hip to hip. Laughing, Devin threw her head back and raised her arms. Then she started moving, swaying, undulating against him and he thought his cock would burst through his khakis.

“What are you doing?” he mouthed.

She smiled and looped an arm around his neck, tugging him impossibly closer. He tensed, certain she could feel his erection straining against his zipper.

Christ. What had happened to his legendary self-control? The guys at work called him Mr. Spock, and it wasn’t because he had pointy ears.

Gabe gritted his teeth and focused on a spot somewhere just above Devin’s left shoulder. Anything to distract him from the seductive way her breasts shimmied under her tiny tube top.

With her free hand, she grabbed his waist. “Move those hips,” she shouted. “You’re as stiff as a freaking statue.”

Oh, he was stiff all right. But not in the way she meant. “I told you, I can’t dance.”

She rose up on her toes to speak into his ear. “Just think of it as sex standing up. With your clothes on. In public.” She gave him a wicked grin. “You can do that right?”

He smiled back. “I can try.”

“Good.”

She started swaying again, using the hand at his waist to make him move with her. After a minute, he relaxed and gave in to the rhythm of the music and the soft but insistent pressure of her hand. With each step, each brush of her chest against his, his pulse quickened and his breath grew more ragged.

Gabe dragged his gaze from Devin’s and scanned the crowd. It was either that or go from the simulated sex she called dancing to getting down and dirty for real right there in the middle of the floor.

A few gyrating bodies away, a man in a leather vest and pants was doing his best impression of moonwalking. He turned, and his eyes locked on Gabe. A slow, sardonic smile spread across his face as he held out his thumb and index finger in the shape of a gun. He pointed it at Gabe, then shifted his aim to Devin before pulling the imaginary trigger.

Fuck. Gabe knew that ugly mug. Had seen it in court every day for three months, felt those eyes boring into the back of his head from the gallery when the jury announced its guilty verdict and the judge pronounced sentence—life in prison without parole.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” he yelled, unwrapping Devin’s arm from around his neck. “Now.”

“What—”

“No time for questions.” He pulled her farther into the fray, away from both the mock gunman. And, unfortunately, the door they’d come in. “Is there another exit?”

“This way,” she hollered back, taking the lead and pushing through the crowd toward the stage. “Like Carlos said, I’ll take care of you.”

* * *

“WHAT THE HELL was that all about?” Devin asked when they were finally outside the building and she didn’t have to scream her lungs out to be heard. One minute she was sure Gabe had been about to let go, to give in to the music and the crazy, crazy lust swirling between them. The next, he’d bolted for the door, colder than a flat frog on the Cross Bronx Expressway.

“Not yet.” His eyes flicked from left to right, settling on an alley alongside the warehouse. “Come on. We can hide down here for a few minutes. I want to make sure we’re not being followed.”

“Followed?” She struggled to keep up with him despite her long legs. “What is this, CSI?”

“No.” He ducked into the alley, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the shadows with him. “This is real.”

The tone of his voice made goose bumps rise on her arms.

“What happened back there?” she whispered.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Then why am I cowering in an alley at one in the morning?”

He put a hand against the brick wall and let out a long, slow breath. “Let’s just say I ran into someone I’d rather not see.”

She surveyed the overflowing dumpster, the abandoned refrigerator, the puddle of something a little too close to her left boot that didn’t look or smell like water. Mr. Clean had to be desperate to drag her into this cesspool. “You must really hate this guy. What’d he do to you?”

“It’s what I did to him.” Gabe gave her a sidelong glance. “I put his younger brother in prison.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “I can see how that’d piss him off.”

“The guy was guilty.”

“I believe you. But I’m guessing big bro was harder to convince.” She wrinkled her nose. “How long do we have to hide down here? It smells like a sewer. And I think there’s something moving in that pile of newspapers.”

“Just a few more minutes.” He poked his head around the corner then pulled it back again. “Until I’m sure the coast is clear.”

She flexed her tired toes in her boots and looked for someplace to sit down. Her choices were a plastic milk crate with a hole through the bottom, an overturned five-gallon bucket that looked like it hadn’t been washed since Obama took office or the suspicious newspapers. She gave up and leaned against the wall next to Gabe. “Not exactly what I had planned for tonight. But at least it’s out of your comfort zone.”

“I think it’s safe to say this entire evening’s been out of my comfort zone.”

She turned her head to study him and found his eyes on her. Something in his stare made her breath catch, and it was a second before she could form a coherent sentence. “I don’t know. I thought you were doing pretty good in there. A few more minutes and you’d have been glow-sticking with the best of them.”

Or I’d have been dry humping you in the middle of the dance floor.

She tried to tell herself what she felt for him was purely physical. Gabe was a certified hottie. She’d have to be six feet under not to want him. That must be why her knees were wobbly and her heart was practically pounding out of her chest. Well, that or their sprint to the alley.

The trouble was she suspected it was something more. She was starting, God forbid, to actually like the guy. When she’d shown up at his apartment, unannounced and dressed like a throwback from the sixties, she’d half expected him to slam the door in her face. Instead, he’d been a good sport, going along with her crazy plan and letting her drag him and his two left feet onto the dance floor. Hell, she’d even been having fun until he went all cloak and dagger on her.

“Glow-sticking?” He shifted closer to her and rested his forearm against the wall above her head. The stench of the alley faded, replaced by a mix of toothpaste, soap and his woodsy cologne.

“It’s pretty self-explanatory.” She swallowed hard to relieve the sudden dryness in her throat. “You...”

“Quiet.” He held up a hand.

“What the...?”

He cut her off with a finger on her lips as the sound of footsteps and distant chatter grew louder.

“Damn it, we lost him.” A male voice, tight and gruff.

“Are you sure it was him?” Another man, this one higher pitched.

“Sure, I’m sure. Do you think I’d forget the face of the scumbag who locked Frank up?”

“What’s a district attorney doing at a rave?”

“How the fuck should I know? Maybe he’s undercover.” The footsteps stopped and Devin could just make out two hulking shadows at the mouth of the alley. Their backs to her, they looked like linebackers, big and bulky and capable of inflicting serious bodily injury without breaking a sweat.

Shit. The night had gone from bad to worse to flat-out disastrous.

She held her breath and shifted nearer to Gabe, who slipped his hand from her mouth to her wrist and pulled her around the Dumpster.

The sharp rasp of a match strike echoed in the muggy August air. “How about that chick he was with? Sweet piece of ass.”

Instinctively, Devin lunged toward the voices, but Gabe held her back, wrapping a protective arm around her waist and tugging her against his rock-solid torso. She pressed her lips together, her heart beating fast from the threat of being discovered—and from Gabe’s hot, hard embrace.

“Put that damn thing out. We don’t have time for a smoke break. They can’t have gotten that far. Come on.”

The men moved off, their steps and voices fading into the darkness.

“Christ, that was close.” Devin let out the breath she’d been holding and shuddered, prompting Gabe to wrap his other arm around her and draw her closer. “Think it’s safe to head out?”

“Too soon.” His mouth was at her ear, his lips tickling the lobe as he spoke. “We need to give them a head start.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He was too tempting, too close, the inexplicable pull he had on her too strong to resist. She spun in his arms so that the fringe on her tube top swung wildly, brushing his chest. “Got any ideas how we can pass the time?”

“Oh, I’ve got ideas.” He loosened his hold and tried to step away from her, but she followed him, twining an arm around his neck to keep him from escaping.

“Let me guess. Charades? Would You Rather? Pin the Banana Peel on the Dumpster?” Her hand threaded through the short crisp hairs at the nape of his neck, and she guided him with one knee, backing him up against the exposed brick of the warehouse. “Or maybe something a little more...intimate?”

“You realize we’re on a public street, right?” He looked both ways like he was casing the area for witnesses. “Anyone could come along and find us. Hell, someone almost did.”

She laughed softly and tossed her hair, making sure to give him a whiff of her perfume. Chanel No. 5. Endorsed by Marilyn Monroe and guaranteed to drive a man wild. Was that what she’d been planning when she’d given in to a last-minute whim and dabbed it on before leaving her apartment? She shook off the question and trailed a finger down his arm. “That didn’t stop you from making out with me on my doorstep.”

“I wasn’t...myself that night.”

Her wayward finger traveled up his chest and undid one of the buttons on his polo. “And you are now?”

“I’m not sure anymore.”

She eased a leg between his, rocking into him.

He moaned. “You make me crazy.”

“Crazy can be good.” She tilted her head to run her lips along his jawline. “Very, very good.”

“Or very, very bad.” His silky voice was almost a caress, so low she barely heard him.

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

With a groan, he turned his head and their mouths met in a frenzy of need. His hands came up to cup her face, his grip gentle yet firm enough to keep her lips exactly where he wanted them. Devin sighed and relaxed against him, needing the support since her legs felt like two strands of overcooked spaghetti. She may have been the one to start the fire, but Gabe’s kiss left no doubt who was in control now. And while she wasn’t normally into the whole dom/sub thing, it was different with Gabe. Giving in to him felt right. Safe. And at the same time scary as shit.

After what could have been one minute or twenty, he lowered his hands to her shoulders and the kiss softened, his mouth more patient than plundering. She reached up to undo the last button on his polo, needing to see more of him, feel more of him, when something in the air made her break off.

“What’s that smell?” She gave a little sniff.

He ran a hand through his hair and frowned. “We’re in an alley. Everything smells. You’ve got to be more specific than that.”

“I’m glad one of us can crack jokes.” The pile of newspapers rustled and Devin had the sudden suspicion that whatever was under there was black and white and the source of the scent that interrupted their kiss. “Think we can get out of here before this night gets any freaking worse?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Gabe titled her chin so she was forced to look at him. Instead of the annoyance she expected to see, his eyes sparked with mischief. “It’s had its moments. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got in store for me next.”

“Next?” Was he serious?

“But not tonight.” He let go of her chin and took her hand. Together, they left the dim alley and stepped into the streetlamp-flooded street. “We’ve had about as much fun as I can handle in one evening.”

5

“WHAT’S THE MATTER with you, man?” Cade Hardesty flopped into the bleacher seat next to Gabe and nudged him with his elbow. Beer sloshed from his plastic cup onto Gabe’s Top-Sider shoes. “Not a cloud in the sky, the Yanks are ahead by three and Sabathia just struck out the side. And you’re sitting there looking like you lost your best friend.”

Gabe dabbed at the stain on his left shoe with a napkin. “Maybe I’m rooting for the Sox.”

“Fat chance,” Cade said when the cheering died down from Teixeira’s lead-off single. “Your mind’s been somewhere else the whole game. Bad week at work?”

“You could say that.” The Park Avenue case was turning out to be a huge headache. No physical evidence. No motive. Nothing even missing from the apartment. And the only witness who could put the defendant in the area at the time of the murders was waffling more than Brett Favre in the off-season. It’d be a miracle if Gabe got it past the grand jury.

He wasn’t having any better luck with Victor. Gabe had managed to dig up the name of his old caseworker, but she wasn’t returning his calls. Maybe Monday he’d track her down at her office. Better that than disappoint Devin.

Devin.

Two times he’d been alone with her, and both had ended the same way. With him hot, hard and horny. He had to keep reminding himself that their arrangement was a business deal, nothing more. That they couldn’t keep their hands off each other was just an added complication. And the last thing he needed in his life right now was complications. Not when he was so close to climbing the next rung of his career ladder.

“Wanna talk about it?” Cade drained his beer and waved to the pretty, ponytailed vendor making her way up the aisle.

“What are we, girls?” Gabe sneered. “What’s next? We paint our nails and give each other makeovers?”

“Hardly.” Cade winked at the vendor and gave her a twenty. She blushed and handed back his change and two beers, one of which he passed to Gabe. “Ten bucks says next round I get her number.”

“No bet.” Gabe shook his head. He wasn’t an idiot. Women flocked to Cade. He had an easygoing charm Gabe had never been able to master. Plus, the guy looked like a California surfer: buff, blond and perpetually happy. The polar opposite of Gabe, who had once been called Heathcliff on the moors by a particularly astute lit major he’d dated.

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