When they hit the dance floor, Judd pulled London snug against his body.

Wrapping one arm around her slender waist, he reached up with his other arm to tuck her head against his shoulder. Her breath warmed his skin through the thin material of his shirt.

He rested his cheek against her bright hair and the golden strands stuck to the stubble of his beard. Reaching between their bodies, he opened her leather jacket and drew her close again, his chest pressing against her soft breasts beneath the silvery material of her dress.

She shifted and her soft lips touched the side of his neck.

He gritted his teeth to suppress the shudder threatening to engulf his body … and for the first time in a very long time and a very long line of women, he felt on the edge of losing control.

Then the door to the bar burst open and London’s driver, bloodied and battered, staggered into the room and dropped to the floor.

The Hill
Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL ERICSON lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website, www.carolericson.com, “Where romance flirts with danger.”

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Judd Brody—A private investigator whose current client, an heiress with a stalker, proves to be more than he bargained for, both professionally and personally. But their pasts are intertwined, and helping her just might help him solve the mystery of his father’s suicide.

London Breck—This socialite heiress has a lot on her plate; what she doesn’t need is someone stalking her. The sexy P.I. she hires as a bodyguard can do more than protect her—he just might end up saving her life.

Spencer Breck—London’s father may have passed away, but he still throws a long shadow over Judd’s past and London’s future and may hold the key to both.

Jay Breck—London’s uncle had a falling out with London’s father. Could the rift between the brothers be the source of London’s current turmoil?

Niles Breck—London’s cousin has millions to his name, but his desire for more will get him in trouble.

Roger Taylor—He already helps London manage Breck Global Enterprises, but he wants more from her and may decide to take it.

Richard Taylor—He’s been running Breck Global Enterprises for a long time; it’s only natural he’d resent any interference from London.

Wade Vickers—London’s half brother seems content with his role in his father’s company, but does his cool exterior mask a raging jealousy?

Captain Williams—This SFPD detective knew both Judd’s father and London’s father, which means he knows all their secrets, but do they know his?

To all the ladies at GIAMx2

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Cast of Characters

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Your father was murdered. You could be next.”

London Breck jerked her head up from the slip of paper and caught the waiter’s arm as he turned away. “I’m sorry. Who gave this to you?”

The young man’s eyes widened and London released her death grip on his white jacket.

“Like I told you, Ms. Breck. I found the folded piece of paper on my tray with your name written on the outside. I—I don’t know who put it there...and I didn’t read it.”

She crumpled the note in her fist and dropped it into her evening clutch, trading it for a ten-dollar bill. “That’s okay. Thanks for delivering it to me.”

The waiter pocketed the money and scurried away without looking back.

Someone had decided to play a joke with that note, or it signaled the opening gambit of some sort of scam. London tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. If this con man believed he could pull a fast one on her or Breck Global Enterprises, he hadn’t met their legal team.

She straightened her spine and turned to face the room, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. It was an occupational hazard—if one could call glad-handing and raising money an occupation. But it was the only one she’d ever had, the only one she’d ever trained for.

She swept a champagne flute from a passing tray with practiced ease and turned her attention to the crowd jamming the Fairmont Hotel’s ballroom. Which well-heeled donor or wannabe had left that note? Scanning the room, her gaze tripped over the hottie in the corner.

Even though his crisp tux conformed to the dress code for the evening, he had outsider scribbled all over his amazing body. The tux couldn’t mask the sheer power of the man, and it had very little to do with the way the material puckered and stretched across his massive shoulders, crying out for a good tailor.

His stance, his demeanor—okay, the dark sunglasses—marked him as a member of the bevy of body-and security guards that littered the room, jealously watching their clients or their clients’ jewels or both. Probably not the author of the note, but definitely worth a closer inspection.

The note almost forgotten, London squinted at the pretty people bedecked in diamonds and designer duds and wondered which one had invited that powerful panther into the midst of the pampered trust-fund babies and oily politicians.

“Don’t you know squinting like that will bring on the wrinkles, my dear?”

London rolled a sip of champagne on her tongue as she eyed her cousin. Speaking of trust-fund babies...

“Have you seen Roger tonight?”

“Your square-jawed, preppy suitor?” Niles shook his head. “For someone practically running the company, he sure misses a lot of soirees, doesn’t he?”

She drew her fingertip around the rim of her glass. She didn’t want to talk about the company. “Did you bid on something fabulous, Niles?”

“Of course I did. It’s all rather too late, though, isn’t it?” He plucked a cracker brimming with caviar from the tray on the table and studied it before popping it into his mouth.

“Too late?” She steadied herself for one of her cousin’s acidic barbs.

He brushed his fingers together. “Here we are raising all this money for heart disease, but your father, Spencer Breck, already bit the dust, leaving you gazillions of dollars and handing you the reins of Breck Global. Should’ve had this fund-raiser before he kicked the bucket.”

“I can always count on you to say the right thing at the right moment, bringing light and comfort.”

Niles clicked his tongue, a decidedly feminine gesture she was sure Mr. Dark Sunglasses over in the corner had never made in his life.

Then Niles leaned in, his booze-soaked breath tickling her ear. “This is your cousin Niles. You don’t have to pretend with me, my dear. I know you despised the man as much as I did.”

He threw his silk scarf over his shoulder and waltzed away, throwing a kiss at a dowager across the room.

Maybe Niles had written that note to stir up trouble. She wouldn’t put it past him. His own father had left Niles gazillions of dollars, but it was never enough for Niles.

Besides, Niles and his father, her late uncle Jay, might have despised Spencer, but her relationship with him had contained many more nuances than simple dislike.

She placed her champagne glass down next to the plate of caviar. The abrupt action caused the sparkling liquid to slosh over the rim. A waiter appeared as if by magic, whisking away the glass, replacing it with a fresh one and blotting the drops of champagne from the white tablecloth with a thick napkin. He even swapped out the plate of caviar, although none of the liquid had touched it.

The dull throbbing in her head from earlier in the evening made a repeat performance. She had to get away from the chatter.

She turned and collided with a brick wall—a brick wall in a fine wool suit. The man with the sunglasses caught her arm with a surprisingly gentle grip.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was a deep baritone that sent shocks of awareness up her spine.

He wasn’t wearing sunglasses anymore and she stared into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “M-my fault.”

He released her arm and strode past her.

She watched his broad back as he cut a swath through the partygoers. He landed in front of Bunny Harris and ducked as the older woman whispered something in his ear.

Watching the exchange, London sucked in her lower lip. Was he one of Bunny’s escorts? If so, the old dame’s taste in men had gone up several notches.

London slipped out of the room and headed for the ladies’ restroom. On the way, Captain Williams from the San Francisco police department stopped her.

“This is a wonderful benefit, London. I’m sure your father would’ve been proud.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

He shook a finger in her face. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Les? I’ve known you since you were a little girl, but you’re a grown woman now. Les will do.”

“I’ll try to remember that...Les. If you’ll excuse me.” She’d been inching away from him during their conversation and was able to turn and make a break for it. If Captain Les Williams thought she had any pull to get him the chief’s job, he’d better start kissing someone else’s backside. Her father, with his connections to the SFPD, hadn’t been able to do it, so she sure as hell couldn’t.

She pushed through the ladies’ room door. A couple of women were primping at the vanity and stopped their gossip long enough to smile at London in the mirror.

She nodded and swept past them to the restroom. Leaning against the tile counter, she dug into her clutch for an ibuprofen. She cupped some water in her hand from the faucet and swallowed the gelcap.

The voices of the women in the outer room rose and then a man burst through the bathroom door, holding his hand in front of him. “Don’t be alarmed, Ms. Breck. I’d just like to ask you a few questions. Ray Lopez from KFGG. You might’ve seen my show.”

She’d need to pop another ibuprofen at this rate. Instead she wedged a hand on her hip. “Really? You’re following me into the ladies’ room to get an interview?”

“Just a comment.”

“You can’t call my office?”

He spread his hands as he smiled. “You know and I know it’s not that easy to reach you at your...office. Just a quick question about your father’s death.”

One of the women from the other room had followed the reporter into the bathroom and skewered him with an icy gaze. “Security is on the way.”

He shrugged and stepped closer to London.

“I’ve already done that interview, Mr. Lopez—just not with you.” She turned toward the mirror and ran the pad of her thumb over one eyebrow.

“You didn’t answer this question. Did you find your father’s death suspicious?”

“Not at all.” She backed away from the mirror and tucked her bag under her arm, brushing past Lopez. Had he written the threatening note to manufacture some story? Why would he ask that question? She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking him about his motives.

As she took one step out of the lounge, a security guard barreled past her. “Sir, you’re not allowed in the ladies’ room. I’m going to have to escort you out of the hotel.”

Lopez craned his head over his shoulder to give her one last look as the security guard hustled him toward the escalator.

She blew out a long breath. She couldn’t even escape notice in the ladies’ bathroom. She’d had enough, enough of the pretense and the fake smiles and the eager reporters...and the vaguely threatening notes. Her father had passed away just last month—of natural causes. Surely she could be excused for having a headache and leaving the shindig early.

She plucked her phone from her purse and called her driver. “Theodore, I’m ready to go. Meet me in the side alley. I don’t want to go through the front entrance.”

“Paparazzi stalking you again, Ms. Breck?”

“You have no idea.”

“On my way.”

When she entered the ballroom, she located her cousin, who was telling some risqué story and taking liberties with the truth. She crooked her finger at him and he broke away from his adoring audience.

“I’m getting out of here. People already think I was terribly brave making an appearance so soon after Dad’s death.”

“Especially since he did go off rather abruptly.”

Was everyone drinking the same water? Lifting her shoulders, she said, “He did have heart disease.”

“Although all his money allowed him to manage it quite well.”

“Did you send me a note tonight, Niles?”

“A note?” His tweezed eyebrows shot to his hairline. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Had she really expected him to confess? Of course, maybe she’d just put him on notice.

She flicked her fingers at the room, still buzzing with activity. “Could you please do the honors for me? Announce the winners of the silent auction, thank everyone for coming and so on and son on.”

He patted her arm with his long, thin hand. “I’d be happy to, my dear. You go home and get a good night’s sleep and dream of your billions.”

She sighed. “You’re not exactly in the poorhouse, cousin.”

“Ah, but your father was the lucky one—and the greedy one.”

“I already have a headache. Let’s not get into family politics.” She kissed the air somewhere near his cheek and pivoted on her heel.

She nearly bumped into Bunny Harris at the coat check, hanging on to a much younger man’s arm, but not the man with the sunglasses. “So sorry, Bunny. Are you off already?”

“Don’t worry, London. I made a sizable donation to the cause. Your father was one of my oldest friends. I’ll miss him.”

“Thank you.” London’s gaze strayed over Bunny’s shoulder to her model-handsome companion lounging against the coat-check window.

Bunny slid her ticket across the counter with one manicured fingertip. “Oh, this is...”

“Lance.” The man reached around Bunny, extending his hand. “Ms. Breck.”

“Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand and then dropped it. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Lance draped Bunny’s fur around her shoulders and they descended the escalator to the lobby of the hotel.

Shaking her head, London dipped her hand into her purse for the claim ticket and felt the note. She pulled it out with the ticket and examined the block letters written with a black felt-tip pen.

She’d hold on to it for a day or two in case there was a follow-up and then turn it over to Breck Global’s security team. It could very well be that reporter trying some angle.

The coat-check clerk plopped her leather bomber jacket on the counter. “Cool jacket.”

London smiled, handed her a tip and headed for the escalator, hugging the jacket to her chest. When she hit the first step, she gathered the skirt of her long dress in one hand and lifted it.

She glided into the lobby and a bellhop sprang to life. “Do you need a taxi, Ms. Breck?”

“No, thanks. My driver’s waiting.” Technically, Theodore was her father’s driver, but she didn’t have the heart to let him go, even though she felt silly with a driver.

She stuffed her arms into her jacket and pulled out her phone to check the time. If Theodore had taken the car back to her father’s Pacific Heights mansion, it shouldn’t take him more than ten or fifteen minutes to get here.

She parked herself in front of a rack of flyers and studied the trips to Alcatraz and the wine country for a few minutes. Then she glanced over her shoulder at a few people crisscrossing the lobby. No photographers, no Ray Lopez, although they could be waiting for her out front. She pushed through the side door of the hotel. Lifting her skirts, she traipsed down the steps and shoved open the heavy metal door to the outside.

It slammed behind her.

The dark alley glistened with moisture. Theodore hadn’t made it yet. She squinted toward the street, partially blocked by a Dumpster.

He must’ve taken the car somewhere else on his break. She turned toward the side door and grabbed the handle, pressing it down. The door didn’t budge.

A footstep crunched behind her, but before she had time to turn around, an arm hooked around her throat.

She should’ve braved the paparazzi.

Chapter Two

Locked in a stall in the men’s room, Judd slipped the velvet pouch crammed with jewels into the inside pocket of his dinner jacket. He patted his .45 tucked into the shoulder holster on the other side.

He had no idea where Bunny Harris would wind up with that gigolo she’d picked up tonight, but at least her jewelry wouldn’t be with her.

He shoved out of the stall and nodded at the man washing his hands at the vanity, who’d caught his eye in the mirror. The dude had been talking to London Breck earlier—probably a relative. As far as he knew, the richest woman in the city didn’t have a husband or even a boyfriend. The tabloids linked her with a new man every other month...not that he followed the tabloids except for business.

The man at the sink and London had the same look—blond, Nordic, cold. Although London was a beautiful girl, she wasn’t his type, even with all those dollar signs after her name.

Judd washed his hands, accepted a warm towel from the attendant and slipped a five in his basket. He turned toward the door.

“Care for a spritz?”

Judd stumbled to a stop and glanced over his shoulder at the mirror.

The Breck relative held up a bottle of cologne, aiming it at him. “It’s a good scent...manly.”

“That’s okay.” Judd held up his hands. “I’m good.”

He heard the hiss of the spray bottle behind him as he dodged through the bathroom door. Rich people.

Checking his watch, he jogged down the escalator. Bunny had told him she’d send her car back for him at the side entrance to the hotel. He waved to the hotel clerk and gave a fist bump to one of the bellhops.

“Later, man.”

He took the steps down to the side door two at a time and pushed through to the alley. Darkness enveloped him as his shoes crunched broken glass. He tilted back his head to look at the lights on the outside of the hotel, which had been smashed.

His head jerked up at the sound of scuffling down the alley, and he noticed a car parked at the end, blocking the entrance to the street, contributing to the darkness.

He plucked a small but powerful flashlight from his pocket and aimed it in the direction of the noise.

A man wearing a ski mask looked up from the woman he was dragging behind him by the throat.

“Hey!” Judd sprinted toward the scene.

The man dropped his victim and rushed to the waiting car at the end of the alley. Tires squealed and the car peeled out before Judd could reach it. He flicked his light at the retreating vehicle, but someone had removed the back license plate.

A woman coughed behind him and he spun around and strode back to her. The sparkly material of her gown was twisted around her legs and she couldn’t stand. He scooped her up and set her on her impossibly high heels. No wonder she couldn’t run away from her assailant.

She brushed strands of blond hair from her face. That silvery hair seemed to be the only source of light in the alley—that and the sparkles on her black dress and at her throat.

She coughed again, swore like a sailor and spit onto the concrete. “My God, if he wanted the necklace, why didn’t he just ask?”

Judd found himself looking into the perfect face of London Breck, a little disheveled and mad as hell, but those qualities only seemed to enhance her beauty.

Her eyes widened and sparkled, matching the diamonds around her neck in brilliance. “You!”

“What the hell are you doing out here in the alley?” He bent over and swept her handbag from the ground. Odd the thief hadn’t snatched that.

She grabbed it from him and folded her arms over her body. “Waiting for my driver. You?”

“Waiting for Bunny Harris’s driver.”

She swayed toward him and he caught her before she toppled over. She smelled...expensive, except for the odor of leather coming from her jacket. Who wore a jacket like that with a haute couture evening dress?

“Whoa.” He pointed to her feet. “If you hope to stand upright on your own, you’d better straighten out that dress.”

“I hate long dresses.” She leaned forward and placed her hands on either side of a hole in her dress below her knees and pulled it apart.

The bottom part of her dress, which seemed to be made of different material from the top, ripped off, and she dropped the silky material, which probably cost more than his motorcycle, into a puddle in the alley.

“There.” She thrust out her hand. “London Breck. Thanks for saving me from whatever that was.”

“Judd Brody.” He clasped her long, slim fingers in his hand, but if he expected a limp, girly handshake from her, he was wrong. She gave his hand a firm squeeze and dropped it.

“That was a robbery, wasn’t it?” His gaze shifted to the bright bauble stuck on her right ring finger and the diamond bracelet now peeking from the cuff of the jacket.

She trailed her fingers across her throat. “At first I thought he wanted my necklace, but he was using it to choke me and drag me. He was pulling me to that waiting car.”

“A kidnapping?” He lifted one eyebrow. “I suppose you’re worth a few bucks.”

She snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. My cousin wouldn’t pay one dime for my release, and I’m sure my board of directors would be happy to get rid of me.”

A black limo pulled into the alley, bathing it in bright light. Judd cupped a hand over his eyes and squinted.

The car door swung open and a massive figure rolled from the car. “Miss Breck? Are you all right? I’m sorry I’m late. I had a little mishap on the way over.”

She waved. “I’m fine, Theodore. Mr. Brody here rescued me from a would-be robber.”

“What?” Theodore waddled toward them. “I told you not to be waiting in this alley.”

“I expected you to be right here to whisk me away.” She patted the big man’s arm. “Not that I blame you, Theodore. Sh—stuff happens.”

Theodore grabbed Judd’s hand and shook his arm as if he wanted to yank it off. “Thank you, sir.”

Another limo pulled into the alley and honked.

“Now, who is that?” Theodore tugged his cap over his eyes to shield out his headlights.

“I believe that’s Ms. Harris’s driver for me.” Judd straightened his jacket and patted the hidden jewels.

Theodore tilted his head at him. “You one of Bunny’s young men?”

London coughed and clapped a hand over her mouth. As long as Theodore had been working for the upper crust of the city, he’d never learned to filter his speech. She liked that.

“God, no. I’m working for her tonight...as a bodyguard.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” London sniffed and ran her hand beneath her nose. “It’s the least I can do. Theodore can take us.”

“That I can,” her driver added.

A drink with the rich and beautiful London Breck? Why not? Another way to make his older brothers jealous.

“Sure.”

“I’ll go tell Bunny’s driver. I know him.” Theodore turned and made his way down the alley, momentarily blocking out the headlights and casting him into darkness again with London.

She suddenly looked vulnerable with her silvery-blond hair half-down on one side and her ripped couture dress.

Judd tapped his neck. “Are you okay?”

“Throat’s a little rough, but I’ll live.”

“Do you want to report it to the cops?”

“Did you get a license plate or a good look at the driver or my attacker?”

“The car didn’t have a license plate and the driver was wearing a ski mask just like your assailant’s, except for the white zigzag down the front.”

“Then, no. I don’t need the publicity.”

Theodore shifted his formidable presence to the side and the headlights lit up the alley again. The beams picked up London’s sparkles—her hair, her jewels, her dress—and she blazed to life. How had he ever imagined this woman had one vulnerable bone in her body?

“You get a lot of that, don’t you? Publicity, I mean.”

Spreading her hands, she shrugged. “Comes with the territory.”

Theodore called from behind her, “I sent Mrs. Harris’s driver away. Are you ready, Miss Breck?”

“After the night I just had? You bet.”

She spun around on her high heels and picked her way through the puddles in the alley to the waiting town car.

Judd’s gaze locked onto her swaying hips in the glittering material below the bomber jacket and the endless legs below the jagged hem of the skirt. London had a tall, slim build, but he wouldn’t call her skinny.

Wouldn’t kick her out of bed, either.

He motioned for the driver to get in the car first and held open the door as Theodore squeezed behind the wheel. Judd slammed the door after Theodore and ducked into the backseat.

It smelled like brand-new leather, which felt as smooth as butter beneath his fingertips as he adjusted himself on the seat next to London.

The glass between the front and backseats slid open. “Where to, Miss Breck?”

“How about Sneaky Pete’s in the Lower Haight?”

“I don’t think it’s very safe down there, Miss Breck.”

“I’m going to be with Bunny Harris’s bodyguard, and he’s—” she patted his chest “—packing heat.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“To the practiced eye.” With her hand still on his chest, she ran those practiced eyes down to his thighs and a slow heat simmered his blood.

“And here I thought we were headed someplace upscale and trendy.”

“I just want a quiet drink. Disappointed?” She snatched her hand back and dropped it into her lap where her ripped dress had ridden up, exposing her creamy thighs.

“Doesn’t make any difference to me, but if we’re headed that way, I need to make a stop first. Is that a problem?”

“Not for me.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Theodore?”

“Not a problem, sir. Where to?”

Judd pulled the bag of jewels from his pocket and tossed it on the seat between him and London. “I need to make a deposit at Bunny’s house.”

“I know exactly where the Harris house is. It’s not too far from Mr. Breck’s residence. We’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes.” The privacy glass magically slid into place while Theodore backed the car out of the alley and rolled onto the street.

“I’m sure this was your idea.” London caressed the velvet pouch. “Bunny is notoriously careless, especially when she’s met a new young stud.”

“I noticed.”

“Do you guard her body or her possessions?”

“This is a one-night gig for me. I was helping out a buddy, and the directive was to watch the jewels. When it was clear she’d made plans after the gala with someone she’d just met, I insisted she leave her jewels with me.”

“You’re one of those Brodys, aren’t you?”

Why wouldn’t she know his family? Hers had been in this city longer than his. He hunched forward and inspected the mobile liquor cabinet in front of him. “Yep.”

“Congratulations.”

“For what?” He lifted the lid from a cut-glass decanter half-full of dark amber liquid and sniffed the rich aroma.

“After all these years, it looks as though your brother and that true-crime writer uncovered the truth that your father wasn’t the Phone Book Killer.”

“I guess so.” He investigated another decanter.

“You seem rather nonchalant about it all.”

“Happened a long time ago.” And he’d sealed off that part of his life in a cold little box in one corner of his heart. He’d let his older brothers gnash their teeth over the stain on the family name. He’d schooled himself not to think about it...or his father.

Her hand covered his, grasping the decanter. “Do you want a drink?”

That smooth skin against his did things to his insides. Was she that smooth all over? That perfect? He’d have fun getting her a little dirty.

His gaze wandered to the tinted glass. Would Theodore mind? This backseat afforded plenty of room to twist this leggy blonde into a pretzel. But she deserved more than a quickie.

He stared into her murky green eyes. “I can wait.”

As her hand left his, she trailed her short, polished fingernails across his skin and he suppressed a shiver.

This one might be made of ice, but she liked to play with fire. He’d seen the tabloids—London Breck jumping naked into a fountain, London Breck running away from home at seventeen to join a rock band on tour, London Breck getting arrested in Qatar for having one of the world’s largest diamonds in her possession, which she’d claimed a married sheikh had given her.

Slumming it with a lowly P.I. could be her next crazy prank.

Hell, he was game.

What made him think she wasn’t his type? Any gorgeous woman who was up for a good time was his type.

The car slid to a smooth stop at the gates of a mansion in Pacific Heights. The city lights created a twinkling river before them.

The intercom clicked on and Theodore’s voice rumbled across the speaker. “I don’t know if we can get past the security gates, sir.”

“Mrs. Harris and I made arrangements. Pull up to the call box, Theodore.”

The car turned into the driveway and stopped at the intercom at the gate. Judd punched the button and held it in.

“Hello?”

“This is Judd Brody.”

“Of course, Mr. Brody. Mrs. Harris left instructions.”

The gate eased open and Theodore drove the car around the short, circular drive in front of the Victorian mansion. Did London live in a place like this up here?

“I’ll be right back.” Judd swung open the door before Theodore could get out and open it for him. He strode up the front porch and rang the doorbell, which chimed somewhere deep in the house.

The door opened a crack and an eyeball assessed him. Then the crack widened and the pinched face of Bunny’s butler appeared.

Judd held out the pouch. “Mrs. Harris wants these to go right back in the safe.”

“Yes, of course.” The butler snatched the pouch with long, bony fingers and pressed it to his heart. “Thank you, Mr. Brody, for looking after Bunny’s treasures.”

“I think someone else is looking after her treasures now.”

He left the butler standing at the door with his mouth gaping open, launched off the porch and grabbed the handle of the car door.

He fell onto the seat and ran a hand through his hair. “On to Sneaky Pete’s.”

The car lurched forward and London fell against his shoulder. She took her time getting back into her own space. So she felt it, too?

He’d better maintain control. The drive to the Haight wasn’t that long—not nearly long enough for what he planned for London.

He cleared his throat. “Do you live in Pacific Heights?”

“No.” She shook her head and her hair shimmered. “I live on Nob Hill, but my father has a place here. I’m not moving.”

He shot a quick glance at her luscious lips, now pressed into a determined line. His simple question had changed the mood in the car.

London kept her hands in her lap and stared out the window. She seemed to have lost interest in their flirtation, so maybe he wouldn’t be getting lucky with an heiress tonight.

Theodore pulled the car to the curb, but this time Judd didn’t beat him to the door. Theodore opened London’s door with a wrinkled brow beneath his cap. “I don’t like this, Miss Breck.”

“It’s all good, Theodore. Do you want to join us for a drink?”

He crossed his arms, resting them on his big belly. “I don’t drink and drive. Never have, never will.”

Judd clambered from the car and eyed the seedy bar with the psychedelic mural on the outside wall and a flickering red neon sign. “I’ll take care of her, Theodore.”

“Thank you, sir.”

London heaved an exaggerated sigh, but she didn’t protest. “You can take the car home, Theodore. We can get a taxi later.”

“I have my own code. I take you somewhere, and I bring you back. Call when you’re ready.”

“If you insist.” She winked at Judd.

“Hold on.” Judd shed his dinner jacket, shrugged out of his cummerbund and pulled off his bow tie. He tossed them into the backseat of the car. “I don’t want to be overdressed.”

London tugged her motorcycle jacket closed over the sparkly material of her dress. “You have a point.”

Judd opened the door of the bar and ushered her through. The neon motif from outside carried forward to the interior. Standard-issue neon beer signs flashed on the walls, and a jukebox in the corner cranked out a hard-rock tune. If smoking in bars were allowed in this city, this would be a smoke-filled room.

Instead patrons cracked peanut shells and dropped them on the floor as they gathered around tables or hunched over the bar. A few couples danced on the wood floor of a small room off the main bar. Nobody looked at them twice.

Rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt, Judd led London to a table near the jukebox and slid onto the wood bench across from her. “Come here often?”

“Every once in a while.” Her gaze scanned the tattoos spilling down one of his arms, and she pointed to the long bar of scarred wood. “We can order at the bar. The waitresses here are few and far between.”

“I’m in no hurry, are you?” He caught the eye of a waitress in a pair of short shorts and a tie-dyed T-shirt tied under her breasts.

She scurried over, balancing a tray of drinks with one hand. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a beer, whatever you have on tap.”

“I’ll take the same.” London turned wide eyes on him. “How did you get her to come over here so fast?”

He shrugged. “I just made eye contact. It works better than yelling.”

Her gaze dropped from his face and meandered across his chest, where he’d undone the first few buttons of his shirt. His flesh warmed in the wake of her inventory.

“Yeah, whatever.” She folded her arms on the table. “So what do you normally do for a living when you’re not helping out friends guarding jewels for rich, frisky matrons?”

“Guard jewels for rich, frisky matrons.”

“Really?”

He stretched his legs out to the side of the table. “I’m a private investigator and bodyguard. Usually my assignments are more long-term than this one. I just got back from a job in Saudi Arabia.”

“I know a few people in that part of the world.” She flashed her teeth in more of a grimace than a smile and drummed her fingernails on the table. “Is it interesting work?”

“It can be. There’s a lot of travel involved, which I like.”

“I like to travel, too.” She stopped fidgeting and pressed her palms together. “Things will be a little different for me now, now that...”

“Your father died. Sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“He left you in charge?”

Her eyes narrowed and glittered. “You sound surprised.”

“You sound defensive.”

She puffed out a breath, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Let’s just say I’m dealing with a lot right now. Lots of unhappy people never expected Dad to put the reins of Breck Global Enterprises in the hands of his flighty daughter.”

“You’re his only child?” He knew that, of course, even if he didn’t follow San Francisco society closely, except when he needed to for his clients. But he stubbornly wanted to pretend he knew nothing about her famous family.

“Only legitimate one.” She rubbed her chin. “I do have a half brother. I’m sure my father would’ve preferred me as the bastard and Wade as the legitimate son. You have three brothers, right?”

He raised his brows but held his response as the waitress delivered their drinks and a bowl of peanuts.

The waitress asked, “Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, thanks.” He tipped his chin at London. “You?”

“Not after all that rich food at the benefit.”

He sipped the dark, malty beer through the thick head of foam and met London’s purposeful look over the rim of the glass.

“Three brothers? I know one’s a cop in the city, and then there’s the one who was working with that writer.”

“You seem to know a lot about my family.”

“The Brody family is in the news almost as much as my family.” Her lips puckered and she blew on the foam in her glass.

“For very different reasons.” He shifted his gaze away from that kissable mouth. He’d let her make all the moves.

“While you’re all busy delivering justice, the Brecks are delivering...money.”

“Both equally necessary. Besides, I don’t deliver justice. I just look out for pretty people and their pretty things.”

He didn’t believe in justice—not after losing his father when he was practically a baby and then his mother to drugs and alcohol. Sean had been a great big brother, but a sibling was no substitute for a mom and dad.

“Thank God for that.” London clinked her mug with his.

The song on the jukebox had changed to a slow ballad all about how love hurt, and Judd took a swig of beer. Hell, love didn’t hurt, not if you dropped it in its tracks.

London rapped her knuckles on the table between them. “You wanna dance?”

“You’re kidding.”

“There are some couples out there.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the postage-stamp dance floor.

“That doesn’t mean we have to join them.”

She tugged on his rolled-up sleeve. “Come on. I promise not to jump on the tabletop.”

Her cool fingers brushed against his skin, causing a thudding ache in the middle of his belly. “Have you been known to do that? Jump on tabletops?”

Her fingernails dug into his forearm. “Don’t pretend you don’t know about me, Judd Brody.”

Busted. He jumped from the booth. If this was some weird mating ritual she had, he’d play along.

When they hit the dance floor, he pulled her snug against his body. Who did she think she was toying with, some upper-crust rich boy? He didn’t play games. If a woman signaled interest the way London was doing, he’d take her up on the offer every time.

Wrapping one arm around her slender waist, he reached up with his other hand to tuck her head against his shoulder. Her breath warmed his skin through the thin material of his shirt.

He rested his cheek against her bright hair, and the golden strands stuck to the stubble of his beard. Reaching between their bodies, he opened her leather jacket and drew her close, his chest pressing against her soft breasts beneath the silvery material of her dress.

She shifted and her soft lips touched the side of his neck.

He gritted his teeth to suppress the shudder threatening to engulf his body. Her expensive perfume enveloped them, and for the first time in a very long time and a very long line of women, he felt on the edge of losing control.

Then the door to the bar burst open and Theodore, bloodied and battered, staggered into the room and dropped to the floor.

Chapter Three

London screamed at the bloody mess that was Theodore’s face and twisted out of the comfort of Judd’s embrace, pitching forward. Judd curled one muscular arm around her waist to steady her.

He tucked her behind his large frame and strode toward Theodore, who had collapsed in a heap.

She made a grab for Judd’s belt and hooked two fingers through the loop, following him as people cleared a path to Theodore’s inert form.

Judd yelled over his shoulder at the bartender, “Call nine-one-one. Now!”

He crouched beside Theodore, feeling for his pulse. “Towels, I need some clean towels to stop this bleeding.”

“I-is he still alive? Has he been shot?” London had never seen so much blood. She unbuttoned Theodore’s shirt at the neck.

“He’s still breathing, and I don’t see any bullet wounds.”

The waitress who had served them earlier rushed from behind the bar with a stack of white towels. “Is he okay?”

“He’s lost consciousness.”

One of the bartenders knelt beside Judd with a pitcher of water. “Ambulance is on the way. Do you need this?”

London dipped one of the towels in the water and dabbed Theodore’s split lip as Judd pressed another against the gaping wound on his head.

Taking Theodore’s big hand in hers, London squeezed it and whispered, “You’re going to be okay.”

The wailing sirens scattered the crowd of people hovering over Theodore. When the EMTs rushed in, Judd talked to them as they worked on their patient.

Once the EMTs bundled Theodore into the ambulance, a police officer approached Judd. “Do you know the victim?”

Judd turned to London. “He’s her driver.”

“Black limo? License number—” the officer flipped open a notepad “—BGE21?”

London’s heart fluttered in her chest. “That’s right. What happened to Theodore? Where’s the car?”

The officer tapped the pad of paper against his chin. “The car’s registered to Spencer Breck and Breck Global Enterprises.”

“That’s me.” London waved her hand. “I’m Breck Global Enterprises.”

The cop’s eyes widened for a second and then shifted to the diamond necklace around her throat. “Of course, Ms. Breck. The car—your car—was found idling at the curb by the park. The driver’s-side door was open and it looks as if the car had rolled partially into the street and then was hit by another car.”

Judd’s head shot up. “Was there blood near the car? On the seat?”

“Exactly. It appears that someone pulled the driver from the car and beat him on the street. His plans to steal the car were probably thwarted when it rolled into the street and got hit.” The officer’s eyebrows met over his nose. “And you are?”

“Judd Brody.”

“Brody...”

“He’s my friend. Is that what you think this was? An attempted car theft? Of a limo?”

“Could’ve been kids looking for a joyride.” He scratched his chin and eyed Judd. “Aren’t you...?”

Judd sliced his hand through the air. “I don’t think kids could’ve done that much damage to a big guy like Theodore.”

Good to know she and Judd were on the same page. Wedging her hand on her hip, she said, “I don’t think kids would be out to steal a distinctive limo, either.”

“That might be just what they wanted. We don’t have any witnesses. I’m amazed your driver made it this far in his condition. He should’ve just called the cops himself.”

The officer asked them several more questions and told her where the ambulance had transported Theodore. He had a daughter in New York and one in Atlanta, and she intended to call both of them just as soon as she checked up on Theodore herself.

How could this happen? Theodore had never run into any trouble driving her father around. She couldn’t even keep her employees safe. How was she supposed to run a company? Maybe she did need Roger’s help.

She arranged for a tow service to take the limo back to her father’s place, and Judd called a taxi.

London twisted her fingers into knots. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve insisted that he take the car back instead of waiting around in this crappy neighborhood.”

“The only people who deserve blame are the dirtbags who tried to jack Theodore.” He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek with the rough pad of his finger. “There’s no way you were going to convince Theodore to leave you. He takes pride in a job well done.”

“You’re right, but we should’ve gone somewhere else.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “I need to stop being the wild-child free spirit.”

He wedged a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head back. “Who says?”

His soft touch and low voice caused tears to prick the backs of her eyes. How had he gone from sexy alpha male on the dance floor to this man with the understanding eyes? And why was she falling under his spell so quickly?

She jerked her head away and ducked to peer through the window. “I think our taxi’s here.”

They climbed into the backseat and she put her hand on his forearm, which tensed beneath her fingers. “Your jacket’s in the back of the limo.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t think I’ll be needing it anytime soon.”

“Where do you live?” She leaned forward in her seat.

“We’ll have him drop you off first.”

She gave the taxi driver her address and fell back against the seat. “I hope Theodore’s going to be okay. Maybe we should follow the ambulance.”

“And have you create a media circus? Not a great idea. Theodore lost a lot of blood, but I’ve seen guys a lot worse off than that after fights. I think he’ll pull through.”

“Thanks to you. Is all that first aid—” she waved her hand in the air “—part of your job?”

“Yeah. I spent several summers working as a lifeguard in Santa Cruz, so I had all that training, which comes in handy now.”

She closed her eyes. Was there anything this man couldn’t do?

Too quickly, the taxi pulled in front of her building.

Judd tapped the driver’s shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

He took her hand to help her from the car and dropped it all too soon as they walked to the front door of her building. She entered the code to open the door and turned on the step. Under better circumstances she’d invite him up for a cocktail, see if his slow seduction on the dance floor would come to fruition.

Now she just wanted to wash her hands, still smudged with Theodore’s blood.

“Thanks for everything tonight, Judd Brody.”

“You’re welcome, London Breck. Do you need me to walk you up to your place?”

She pointed inside the lobby at the security guard sitting at the desk watching TV monitors. “Twenty-four-hour security here. I’m not the only celebrity in the building.”

“Good, but don’t forget how the evening started, with you being attacked in an alley.”

Judd didn’t even know about the threatening note. “I guess Theodore and I both had targets on our backs tonight.”

His brow furrowed. “Yeah, you did.”

He obviously wasn’t going to sweep her into his arms for a good-night kiss, no matter how much she needed the comfort, so she stuck out her hand. “Good night.”

“Goodbye.” He gave her hand a hard squeeze and then turned away.

Ouch. That had a ring of finality to it. Why shouldn’t it? They were two strangers thrown together by two extraordinary events. They’d shared a little flirtation, but so what? A man like Judd Brody must have had many little flirtations to his credit...and many notches on his bedpost.

She had more important matters to think about anyway. She waved to the security guard as she crossed the marble-tiled lobby. She had to grow up and take charge of a multibillion-dollar enterprise—and Judd Brody couldn’t help with that at all.

* * *

THE FOLLOWING DAY, London scooted the plastic chair closer to the bed and patted Theodore’s arm. “I don’t get why someone would want to carjack a limousine. And why did you go to the bar instead of calling the police?”

Theodore moved his head from side to side and groaned.

“Keep still.” She reached for the plastic cup on the table beside his hospital bed and held the straw to his swollen lips.

He sipped some water and then waved it away. “Pulled me out of the car, and I lost my phone in the fight. I wouldn’t let them...wouldn’t let them take the car.”

“That’s just silly. Why are you protecting a heap of metal? You should’ve let them have the damn thing and saved yourself.”

“Couldn’t let them. Had to protect you.”

“Me?” She folded the sheet under his side. “I wasn’t even there. I was perfectly safe at the bar with—at the bar.”

She’d fallen asleep thinking about Judd’s arms wrapped around her on the dance floor, about the way the warm skin of his throat felt against her lips. Then she heard his goodbye. Curt. Final.

“If they got the car...they could get you.”

Her gaze darted to his face and she flashed on the threatening note from last night. “What does that mean?”

But Theodore had closed his eyes, and his breathing deepened.

His nurse bustled into the room. “Is he sleeping? I gave him something for the pain.”

“How much longer will he be here?”

“You’ll have to ask him. You’re not next of kin, and we can’t reveal those details.”

London rolled her eyes and rose from the chair. “His medical expenses are covered by an insurance policy with Breck Global. I have his medical card.”

“If you can drop that off at the nurses’ station, they’ll take care of getting that to billing.”

Ten minutes later, London retrieved her Mini from the hospital’s subterranean parking garage and decided to check out the limo, which the tow truck had brought to her father’s place. Why had Theodore thought he was protecting her by not allowing the carjackers to take the car? Maybe he hadn’t wanted them to get the keys or the car registration, but the registration listed the address of BGE, not her place in Nob Hill.

She maneuvered through the traffic on Van Ness and turned toward Lafayette Park, rolling through the well-ordered streets with their manicured lawns. The tow-truck driver must’ve used the remote control in the limo for the gate, because he’d parked the car in the driveway.

London opened the front gate to the mansion with her key. The couple who looked after the house was still living here. London didn’t have the heart to turn them out any more than she could let Theodore go.

The limo sported a dent in the left front panel and a smashed window. The cops had tried to lift prints from the vehicle, but hadn’t had any luck.

She opened the door and shivered at the sight of Theodore’s blood on the leather seat. She’d get the car detailed at the same time she dropped it off for bodywork. Peering under the seats, she spotted Theodore’s cell phone and pulled it out.

He had left the sliding partition between the front and back seats open and a heap of material caught her eye—Judd’s dinner jacket. A thrill of excitement zipped up her spine. Now she had an excuse to call him. Then she remembered his abrupt goodbye. Victor at the house could earn his salary by returning Judd’s jacket to him.

Grabbing the handle of the back door, she yanked it open. She fell across the seat and buried her face in the fine material of Judd’s jacket, inhaling the masculine scent that clung to its folds.

“Ms. Breck?”

She recognized Anna, the housekeeper’s, voice, and rolled to her back, hunching up on her elbows. “Hello, Anna.”

“Are you okay?”

Anna’s lips twitched with disapproval and London knew whatever response she made, Anna would never think she was okay. Anna had been around since before her mother died, had been around for all the craziness and the acting out and...all the other stuff.

“I’m fine. Victor told you what happened to Theodore, didn’t he?”

“Foolish man.” Her nostrils flared. “He should’ve let them have the car.”

“That’s what I told him, but he said he was protecting me.”

Anna’s face puckered as if she’d just sucked a lemon. “Are you going to get the car fixed?”

“Yes, I was just—” She plucked at Judd’s jacket. “My friend left his jacket in the car.”

Anna screwed her face up even more, leaving no doubt about what she thought London and her so-called friend had been doing in the backseat of the limo.

She should’ve been so lucky.

“Maybe Victor can return it to him.”

“Of course. Are you staying, Ms. Breck?”

“No. I just wanted to get my friend’s stuff.” And roll around in it while I think of his hard body.

The old London would’ve voiced those exact words just to see Anna’s face implode, but the new London, the CEO London, kept those thoughts to herself.

“You can give your friend’s items and an address to Victor. He’ll be happy to return them.” Anna’s rubber-soled shoes squelched on the damp flagstones as she went back to the house.

When London heard the front door shut, she collapsed against the seat again, against Judd’s jacket, her arm dangling to the floor of the car. Her fingers met the stiff cummerbund Judd had discarded and something else—something soft and fuzzy.

She closed her hand around it and held it above her face. She drew her brows together. It was a beanie, a watch cap. No, a ski mask.

A ski mask with a white zigzag down the front.

Chapter Four

Judd tossed his cell phone onto the desk and leaned back in his secondhand chair, which squeaked in protest. He wanted to find out how Theodore was doing, but he couldn’t get anything out of the hospital and he didn’t have any pull with the SFPD with his brother Sean still on a leave of absence.

He watched the pedestrians in the street from his small second-story office in North Beach. He had only one room with an old desk, two chairs, a bookshelf and a dying plant, but it kept his clients away from his apartment.

Yawning, he scratched the stubble on his chin. He’d had a cancellation and should be using the downtime to do some paperwork, but he hated paperwork. He needed an admin assistant, but didn’t like people poking around his business, and there wasn’t enough room in this office for a second person.

He grabbed his phone again and traced the edges with his fingertip. It would be easy enough to leave a message for London at the BGE offices. She did still have his dinner jacket from last night. He could use that as an excuse.

Smacking the phone against his palm, he swore. Why did he need an excuse? She wasn’t the queen. He could call her if he wanted to call her.

He dropped the cell on his desk again. He knew damned well her wealth and power weren’t deterring him from contacting her. It was the way she made him feel—and those feelings had danger written all over them.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Let it go, Brody.”

“Let what go?”

He stared at the vision outlined by the open door of his office as if he’d conjured her from his mind. London had one hand on her hip and the other supporting her on the doorjamb. Faded denim encased her long legs and a pair of high-heeled boots hit just above her knee. A green sweater with a dipping neckline matched her eyes, and she’d pulled her silvery-blond hair into a ponytail that fell over one shoulder.

Danger.

“How’d you find me?”

“You’re kidding, right?” She launched into the room, sweeping a bag from the floor on her way in. “I have BGE’s formidable resources at the tips of my fingers.”

“How’s Theodore doing?”

“He’s out of danger. I called his daughters this morning, and one is coming out in a few days.”

“That’s good.”

Dropping the bag at her feet, London scanned the room. “This sort of reminds me of Philip Marlowe’s office.”

“Um, I don’t have any palm trees swaying in the Santa Ana winds out my window.”

She spun around, arms flung out to her sides. “You know what I mean—cramped quarters, battered old desk, piles of paper all over.”

“You make it sound so...charming.” He pointed to the bag on the floor. “Are those the rest of my clothes?”

“Yes.” She folded her hands in front of her, an expectant look on her face.

She must’ve wanted to see him, or she would’ve sent one of her lackeys over here. Did she want him to ask her out? Continue their game of flirtation? Take her across his battered old desk?

He cleared his throat and wedged one motorcycle boot against the edge of the desk—just in case.

“I—I have a proposition for you.”

A pulse thudded in his throat. He liked propositions from beautiful women. He could sweep all this junk off his desk in two seconds. “Yeah?”

“I want to...hire you.”

He crashed to earth but kept his expression immobile. “To do what?”

“To do what you do.” She flicked her fingers in the air. “To be my bodyguard.”

He clenched his jaw. Bad idea. Instead of dating him, did she think she could keep him on a chain, yanking him this way and that, barking orders? He didn’t roll that way.

“No.” He let his foot drop heavily to the floor.

She blinked and then widened her eyes. “Why not? That’s your profession, isn’t it? If it’s the money—”

He held up a hand. “I know you’re good for it, but I don’t do that type of bodyguarding.”

“What type?” She tilted her head and her ponytail swung to the other shoulder.

“The general you-can-be-my-lapdog-and-carry-my-shopping-bags type.” He pushed to his feet and folded his arms across his chest, flexing just in case she didn’t get the message.

Her lips parted and a rosy flush spread across her cheeks. “I’m not—you’re not—it’s not like that.”

“Really.”

“I need a protector, not a lapdog.” She reached into the bag, pulled out his dinner jacket and tossed it onto the desk. She threw the cummerbund over her shoulder onto the floor. Then she straightened to her full height, plus five-inch heels, clutching a black watch cap to her chest.

“I need protection from this.” Pinching the cap between two fingers, she dangled it in front of him.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the ski mask with the white lightning bolt down the front of it. “Where’d you find that?”

“It was in the backseat of the limo.” She jiggled it so that it danced between them. “One of the carjackers, because Theodore confirmed there were two, must’ve lost it in the struggle. The same ski mask he wore when he attacked me outside the hotel last night.”

“Let me see it.” He held out his hand and she dropped it onto his palm. He stretched it out and traced the white pattern. “It’s definitely the same one.”

“Someone attacked me last night and then followed the limo and for whatever reason tried to steal it from Theodore.”

“Sure looks that way.” He poked his fingers into the eyeholes of the mask. “Maybe he got a good look at your diamonds and decided to go for them again.”

“Then there’s the note.”

“The note?” He jerked his head up as London plunged a hand into her purse.

She pulled out a white piece of paper and waved it at him. “I got it last night at the benefit. Someone dropped it onto a waiter’s tray and he delivered it to me.”

“Would you stop—” he snatched the note from her “—waving things in my face.”

He unfolded the notepaper and read aloud. “‘Your father was murdered. You could be next.’”

“Looks like they planned to make good on that threat last night.” She hunched her shoulders and hugged her waist.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“The note? I honestly never connected it with the events of last night. I thought the first was an attempted robbery and the second a carjacking. It occurred to me briefly when I saw Theodore in the hospital this morning and he said something about trying to protect me.”

He flicked the paper with his finger. “The wording is weird. ‘You could be next’? Why didn’t he write ‘you are next’? ‘You could be next’ implies a conditional situation. You could be next if you do this or that.”

She snapped her fingers. “That’s why I need you.”

“The two events are definitely connected, but we don’t know if they’re related to this warning.” He slid one corner of the note beneath the blotter on his desk. “Do you think your father was murdered?”

“I didn’t before last night. He had heart disease and he’d already had bypass surgery, but he didn’t take care of his health—drank too much, had too much stress and his exercise consisted of walking from his golf cart to the tee.”

“Was an autopsy done?”

“For a man as wealthy as my father? Of course. Atherosclerosis—blocked arteries.”

“The note could be some kind of scam.”

“I thought of that.”

“What would the motive be?”

“Money, always money.” She hooked a thumb in one pocket of her tight jeans. “So do you accept my proposition? I’ll make it worth your while.”

He kicked the leg of the single chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat.”

She perched on the edge of the wooden chair, clutching the arms. “Does this mean yes?”

“Uh-huh.” He yanked open a desk drawer, pulled out a file stuffed with blank contracts and dropped it on the blotter. He raised an eyebrow at her stiff posture. “Relax. I just want to review my terms with you. I’m not gonna require your firstborn or anything.”

A blush rushed up her throat, flooding her cheeks and turning her creamy complexion a mottled red.

He needed to tone down the teasing. She couldn’t seem to handle it in her agitated state. He also needed to keep this as professional as possible to cool the attraction between them. He’d be no good as a bodyguard if he spent his time lusting after the body he needed to guard.

“Here’s my standard contract.” He flipped open the file and slid a stapled set of papers toward her. “If you want your attorney to review it...”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She plucked it from the desk and flipped through the pages. “Since it’s a boilerplate, can we make adjustments as needed? I have several events coming up—there may be some travel.”

“Of course. There’s a section of the contract that deals with that—page three. Once you review and sign it, I’ll ask for a retainer and we can get started.”

“How much?” She dipped her hand into her purse and pulled out a checkbook. “I want you to get started right now. I don’t need to review the contract. I trust you. You already saved my life once, and you were there for Theodore.”

He sat back in his squeaky chair and steepled his fingers. Finding that ski mask had really spooked her, or maybe the note had done the trick.

She didn’t even blink an eye when he told her the amount for his retainer. She scribbled out the check and slid it in front of him. “Where do we start?”

“Before we get started, I have a question for you.” He picked up the corner of the check and tapped the edge on the blotter. “I’m assuming Breck Global Enterprises has a security force.”

“We do.”

“Why not enlist their help? You could probably pluck a bodyguard from the staff—someone already vetted and polished up to the BGE standards.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “They’re not my people. I haven’t been at the company that long.”

“You don’t trust them.” This introduced a new twist to the plot. “Who’s been running BGE since your father’s death? I’m assuming you’re still...getting up to speed.”

She jumped from the chair and it spun out behind her and hit the wall. “I am still getting up to speed, but I’m a fast learner and I’ll get there.”

“Wow.” He raised one eyebrow and settled his boots back on the desk. “You need to chill. If you act this defensive around all the muckety-mucks at BGE, they’re going to seriously doubt your abilities even more than they apparently do now.”

“Damn.” She turned and hit the wall with her palm. “It’s just that everywhere I turn, I have people questioning me. It’s Dad’s fault. He never groomed me to take over the company.”

“Did he groom someone else? Another relative?”

She puffed out a breath and swung the chair back in place. “Not really. He acted like he was going to live forever, even after the bypass. My cousin Niles has an interest in the company, and my half brother works there. He’s a numbers guy. To answer your previous question before I went ballistic on you, Richard Taylor has been running the show since Dad’s death. He and...his son have been my constant companions lately.”

He rubbed his knuckles against the stubble of his beard. This looked to be an easy job—expectant relatives or coworkers got their noses out of joint when the old man handed over the reins of his company to his inexperienced daughter, and they decided to use a few threats and scare tactics to get her to decline the responsibility and return to her partying ways.

Gripping the back of the chair, she leaned forward, her silky ponytail falling over her shoulder. She parted her luscious lips and the scent of her expensive perfume washed over him.

This could be an easy job, or it could be very, very hard.

“You think you can help me?”

“That’s what you’re paying me for.” He picked up the check and dropped it into his desk drawer. “First things first. I want to have a look at your place, check out the security there. When’s a good time for you?”

“Right now, but you saw my building. It’s like Fort Knox.”

He shoved out of his chair and hunched over his desk. “Are you going to let me do my job, Ms. Breck, or are you going to try to run the show?”

“London. Call me London. After all, we shared a beer and a dance and...other stuff.”

It’s the other stuff that had him worried. “You didn’t answer my question, London.”

“I have enough shows to run, Judd. You can have this one.”

“You didn’t drive over here, did you?”

She snorted. “I didn’t want to draw the attention of the paparazzi. So I snuck out and took a taxi.”

“Are you okay riding on the back of a bike?”

Her gaze dropped to his boots. “A motorcycle?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve spent my share of time on the back of motorcycles.”

I’ll bet you have.

“I’ll take you back to your place and have a look around, check out your security and make some notes.”

“Sounds good to me.”

He locked up the office behind them and followed her downstairs to the street, her high heels clicking on the steps. When they got to his Harley, he unlocked the helmet from the side. “You can wear this. If I get pulled over for not wearing a helmet, I can always have my brother Sean fix the ticket for me.”

“Ah, nice to have connections.”

“Just kidding.” He placed the helmet over her head and buckled the strap beneath her chin. “My brother wouldn’t fix a ticket for me or anyone else. Take this, too.” He swung his jacket over her shoulders. The wind would blow right through that low-cut sweater.

She shoved her arms through the sleeves and zipped up the jacket.

He straddled the bike and tilted it to the side. “Hop on. I have a backrest, but you might want to hold on while we’re going uphill so you don’t shift back and forth.”

Placing one hand on his shoulder, she climbed onto his Harley. Her knees touched his thighs and she put her hands on either side of his waist while sitting upright. That erect posture wouldn’t last long once they started going up and down the hills of the city.

He revved the engine and took off from the curb. When the bike jerked forward, her hands clutched his shirt.

As they idled at a red light, she yelled in his ear. “Do you remember where my place is?”

He nodded once. How could he forget? She lived in one of the most exclusive buildings in the city, in an area where the old robber barons used to have their mansions before the earthquake and fire destroyed most of them.

He climbed a hill with a picture-perfect view of the Transamerica building, and London tightened her grip around his waist as she slid back on the seat. As they rolled down the next hill, her body slammed against his.

“Sorry!” The wind snatched her word and carried it away.

As it should. He didn’t need an apology for the pressure of her soft body against his back, her arms wrapped securely around him, the scent of her perfume drugging him. Even her legs tightened against his hips.

He’d have to find another hill to descend.

All too soon he pulled up to the curb in front of her building. He cranked his head over his shoulder. “I’ll let you off here and park between those two cars.”

He steadied the bike as she clambered off, and then he backed into the space.

She was still fussing with the strap on the helmet when he joined her on the sidewalk.

“Let me. It’s a little tricky.” He flicked open the catch with his thumb and pulled the helmet from her head.

She tossed her mane of silver hair, which had escaped from her ponytail, back from her flushed face. “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. That was always my favorite.”

“Was it?” A strand of hair clung to the gloss on her mouth and he brushed it aside, the tip of his finger skimming across the smooth skin of her cheek.

Her chest rose and fell as her tongue swept along her bottom lip. Her half-closed lashes fluttered.

If he ever saw an invitation to a kiss, this ranked right up there with the best of them. Did she taste expensive, too? Like Cristal champagne and succulent strawberries?

The cold, hard cash—or at least the cold, hard check she’d written to him that was waiting in his desk drawer—had him pivoting away from her charms. Planting one boot on the step to her building, he smacked the heavy door to the lobby with the palm of his hand. “This is the first line of defense?”

She blinked. “Uh-huh.”

He tried the door handle and the solid door didn’t budge.

“There’s a code.” She pointed to the silver keypad to the right of the door, which he’d seen her use last night to gain entry.

“Wait.” He held up his hand and started randomly punching buttons on another keypad on the other side of the door.

After several tries, a voice came over the speaker. “Yeah?”

Judd leaned forward. “Forgot my code.”

The door clicked and Judd shook his head at London. “Fail.”

As they stepped into the marble lobby, she pointed to the security guard at the front desk in front of his monitors. “Backup.”

The guard looked up from his magazine and pushed his hat back from his graying hair. “Hello, London.”

“Hey, Griff.” She wedged her hip against the desk. “Griff, this is Judd Brody. I hired him for some extra security, so you’ll be seeing his face around here for a while. Judd, this is Gene Griffin, but we all call him Griff.”

The older man didn’t even rise from his chair, and Judd leaned over to shake his hand. “Retired cop?”

Griff grinned. “That obvious?”

Obvious he’d found himself a cushy job while collecting his pension. “I have a couple of brothers who are cops—it’s just the look.”

He walked behind Griff and hovered over his shoulder. “Why is that monitor dark?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I’m not the tech guy. It’s been reported and someone’s going to come out to work on it.”

“Which area does it cover?”

“The garage, I think.” He slapped his magazine down on the desk and tapped a few keys on the keyboard, which did nothing at all. “Yeah, that’s the garage.”

“What are your shifts here?”

Griff shot a look beneath shaggy eyebrows at London, who lifted one shoulder. “Eight to four, four to midnight, and midnight to eight. It’s twenty-four-hour coverage.”

“Do you ever leave the desk?”

The guard picked up his celebrity magazine and shook it out. “When nature calls, buddy.”

“Lunch? Patrols around the building?”

“Yep.”

“Any coverage when that happens?”

“Nope.”

Judd rapped on the desk with his knuckles. “Thanks for the info, Griff.”

He hadn’t meant to piss off the old guy, but some people took his tone the wrong way. Hell, London had hired him to protect her, not make nice with lazy security guards. The guys on the night shifts had to be better.

As he followed London across the lobby to the elevators, he glanced up at the cameras in the corners—visible and easy to dismantle or block.

London stabbed at the elevator call button and hissed, “Why were you interrogating Griff like that? He’s a good guy.”

“He’s a retired cop who found himself an easy gig where he can sit on his ass and read celebrity rags.”

“Shh.” She put a finger to her lips, her sculpted eyebrows colliding over her nose.

The elevator doors whispered open and he stepped into the mirrored car after London. “Just calling it like it is. I’m here to assess the risks to your security and I just found two of them. You don’t let random strangers into the building just because they buzz your place, do you?”

“No, sir.” She trailed a finger across her left breast. “Cross my heart.”

He dragged his gaze away from her cleavage and backed up against one mirrored wall. “Good, because that’s just stupid. What’s the point of having a coded key entry?”

“No point at all.”

“Are you making fun of me? Because this is serious. This is your security.”

Her smile twitched at one corner. “It’s just that you got all stern on me and poor Griff.”

God, he must’ve come across like his brothers. He folded his arms across his chest. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

“And I appreciate that.”

The elevator dinged to a stop and the doors slid open onto a quiet hallway. The shiny marble from the lobby had been replaced by carpet so thick his boot would probably leave a crater in the pile.

“How many places up here?” He glanced down the hallway. Technically she had the penthouse, since her place occupied the top floor of the building, but it looked as if she shared the space with at least one other unit.

“Two.” She had her keys in her hand.

“Who’s your neighbor?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Is the other place for sale?”

“No.” She spun around at her door. “I own the other place. I bought it when the previous owner gave it up.”

He held up his hands at her defensive tone. “Hey, I’d do the same.”

She shoved her key into the dead bolt and froze. “Judd.”

“What?”

“I always lock my dead bolt, and it’s not locked.”

Adrenaline shot through his system and he reached for the weapon in his gun bag. “Step back, London. Let me go through first.”

She unlocked the door handle and he twisted it. He raised his gun, easing the door open.

He took in the scene before him. Either London Breck was one messy heiress or her place had been tossed.

She gasped behind him and let loose with a string of profanities.

Her place had been tossed.

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