Two security experts must work too closely for comfort in Addison Fox’s The Rome Affair

Jack Andrews has once again snatched a covetable job from the House of Steele. But now that the assignment has gotten complicated, he must call upon the last person he wants to ask for help: Kensington Steele. Jack never flinches at danger, but working side by side with his fascinating, sexy competitor might be more than he can handle.

When the assignment brings them to the Italian vineyard of a corrupt diplomat, Kensington vows to keep things professional, even if working as a team fans the flames of their mutual desire. But once a murderer begins stalking them, they realize getting close may be the only way they’ll survive….

“I told you yesterday we weren’t going there.”

“Why not?” Jack demanded.

“It’s messy and complicated, not to mention unprofessional,” Kensington insisted. “We’re working on a job. I’m not going to be seduced by some simple words and those come-hither eyes of yours.”

Her comment left her open and he prided himself on being a man who didn’t miss an opportunity. “What will you be seduced by?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But I did.”

“Why do you keep pushing this?”

Why did he keep pressing the issue? And when, exactly, had that little devil planted itself on his shoulder, intent on ruffling her very smooth feathers?

Whatever the reason, it really didn’t matter any longer. He was captivated by her. And he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to do his level best to show her.

“Because I’m interested, Kensington.” He leaned into her, the small space making it a short trip. “Very interested.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome once again to the House of Steele miniseries. The Steele siblings—Liam, Campbell, Kensington and Rowan—are the founders and operators of a high-end security firm, the House of Steele.

The Rome Affair features the oldest Steele sister, Kensington, electronic forensics specialist and self-proclaimed manager of their family operation. Kensington’s used to dealing with demanding, elite clients, but she never expects she’ll need to partner with another firm to get a job done.

Jack Andrews has had his eye on Kensington and her family firm for quite some time. He’s intrigued by the dark-haired beauty and relishes competing with her on jobs. He has deep respect for her skills, and when he lands an assignment investigating a foreign ambassador for the Italian government, he knows he can’t do it alone.

I had so much fun writing The Rome Affair. Italy was the first foreign country I ever visited and it remains a favorite to this day. The old world charm, the incredible food and the endlessly gorgeous vistas made it a joy to revisit with an eye to some of its most romantic places.

I hope you have as much fun reading Kensington and Jack’s adventures—and their deep fall into love—as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Best,

Addison Fox

The Rome Affair

Addison Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ADDISON FOX

is a Philadelphia girl transplanted to Dallas, Texas. Although her similarities to Grace Kelly stop at sharing the same place of birth, she’s often dreamed of marrying a prince and living along the Mediterranean.

In the meantime, she’s more than happy penning romance novels about two strong-willed and exciting people who deserve their happy ever after—after she makes them work so hard for it, of course. When she’s not writing, she can be found spending time with family and friends, reading or enjoying a glass of wine.

Find out more about Addison or contact her at her website—www.addisonfox.com—or catch up with her on Facebook addisonfoxauthor and Twitter @addisonfox.

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To my big, wonderful, loving, crazy family. You’ve gifted me with the joy of holidays together and big Sunday dinners, wedding dances and summer picnics. You are my lifeblood and support system, my friends and my relatives. You are my heart.

And to my sister, Beth, because really, could I write a book with Rome in the title and not dedicate it to you?

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter 1

New York City—Today

Kensington Steele picked up the two dozen long-stemmed red roses—freshly cut and still quivering from their time in the florist’s freezer—and dropped them into the trash. Although it pained her to throw away such a thing of beauty, she couldn’t hold back the anger at the card that had accompanied the red blooms.

To a most worthy opponent—

Looking forward to next time.

Jack

“Bastard.” She muttered the word under her breath as her gaze danced from the card to the glorious beauties that winked from the top of her office garbage can. On a weary sigh, she reached in and retrieved the roses. With the exception of one slightly bent stem and a few missing petals on the flowers that edged the bouquet, her aim had been quite good.

Further proof he’d purchased excellent flowers from one of the city’s top suppliers.

Kensington laid the roses back in the large white flower box and resolved to have her assistant handle the arranging. At least she could get them out of her sight.

A loud honk outside pulled her attention from the flowers, and she crossed her office to the windows that fronted the family brownstone that now served as the headquarters for the House of Steele. Their Upper East Side street was normally quiet and the racket currently taking place on the street below—two cabdrivers who’d clearly disagreed on who had the right of way on the tight street—was rare.

About as rare as losing a major contract.

The word bastard rose once more to her lips but she tamped it down. She wasn’t a sore loser and didn’t hold those who were in high regard. But damn it, her bid package had been flawless. So had the one two months ago when she’d gone up against Jack Andrews for the museum job in Memphis. And three months ago on the gallery opening in San Francisco. And five months ago for the Ming Dynasty artifact recovery in Hong Kong.

The man kept beating her out on key proposals and she had no idea how he was doing it. It clearly wasn’t location based because each job was vastly different from the other. She’d had yet to find any other obvious connection, either.

So how was it every time the House of Steele went up against Andrews Holdings they lost?

The knock on her door pulled her attention from the drama on the street below. Her assistant, Molly, stood at the door, a thin tablet in hand. “You ready for our morning status?”

“Can I ask a favor first?”

“Does it involve delivering anything to your brother at home again? I’m still convinced I interrupted a rather delicate moment between him and his fiancée.”

Kensington smiled at that. Molly had, in fact, interrupted Campbell and Abby in a moment in flagrante delicto. Of course, that’s what he got for attempting a morning quickie when there was work to be done. “Not at all. Would you mind getting those roses out of my sight?”

Molly let out a long, low whistle. “These are gorgeous. When did they arrive? I’ve been here since eight-thirty and we haven’t had any deliveries.”

“Bright and early this morning. Nothing like being served up a portion of crow over your first cup of coffee.”

Her assistant set her electronics down and picked up a few of the stems. “These look like flirtation and romance far more than arrogant gloating. Who’s the new man?”

A light zing of awareness skimmed her spine, but Kensington banished it. Just like she banished any of the nine million other delicious thoughts she’d had about Jack Andrews over the past six months. “Trust me. They scream gloating arrogance.”

“Gloating arrogance in a sexy package.”

“Perhaps.”

“Why are the petals all wonky on this side?” Molly turned a few of the blooms over, her concern evident in the lines that crinkled her forehead.

“They’ve already spent a few minutes in the trash.”

Another low whistle left Molly’s lips before she tossed Kensington a broad smile. “Oh, my, my. I think I read this just right. There is a romance afoot.”

“There’s no romance.”

Molly waved a hand over her head as she walked out the door, the roses spilling from the crook of her arm. “Save your breath, oh, straitlaced one. Thou doth protest too much.”

Kensington clamped her mouth shut, her assistant’s words hitting home with the force of a battering ram.

It was long moments later when she finally took a seat at her desk, the morning’s drama fading so that she could concentrate on work.

But damn it if the sweet, fresh scent of roses still lingered in the air.

* * *

Jack Andrews tossed some money to the driver and slid across the backseat of his cab. The impressive Upper East Side brownstone stood five stories above him as he walked toward the front stoop of the headquarters of the House of Steele.

A small shiver of anticipation gripped him, the sensation something of a surprise after far too many years of minimal interest in anything.

It was a calculated risk to come here. Just like the roses.

Would she see it as a taunt? Or would she give him the time and hear him out?

The crisp notes of early December whipped around him and Jack huddled deeper into his wool coat as he took the front stoop two steps at a time and hit the doorbell. He’d lived in Chicago for the better part of fifteen years and he still hadn’t adjusted to cold weather.

A small buzz and the sound of the front door clicking gave him entrance. As he stepped into the warmth, he wasn’t surprised to see a large man hulking in the hallway, ready to greet him. Although the brownstone housed a business, no one walked in off the street. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Kensington Steele.”

“Ms. Steele has no appointments on her agenda. I’m afraid you’re going to need to leave.”

Jack took a moment to strip off his gloves. His gaze took in the large marble-floored entryway, the dark-paneled study he could see off the hall and the small camera that sat in the far corner of the elegant foyer, capturing visitors. The brownstone might have been built more than a hundred years earlier, but he had no doubt it was outfitted from top to bottom with the latest security and technological capabilities. “Please let her know Jack Andrews of Andrews Holdings is here.”

“Ms. Steele isn’t taking visitors.”

“She’ll see me.”

The man stepped closer, his predatory gleam hard to miss. Jack knew his six-one wasn’t small by any means, but the muscles stalking him across the hall had to have him beat by at least three inches and a hundred pounds.

The sound of heels clicking on marble pulled both their attention toward the long hallway that led to the back of the house and that shiver gripped him once more.

Tighter, this time, like a fist wrapped around the base of his spine.

“Mr. Andrews. I wasn’t aware you felt it necessary to make house calls all the way from Chicago to gloat. I would have thought two dozen long-stemmed roses were more than adequate to make your point.”

Kensington waved off the large man in the foyer. “Thanks, Brandon. Although I wouldn’t say Mr. Andrews is a welcome visitor, I’m hardly going to kick him out.”

The hulking man shot him one last dark look before taking a wary stance against the wall. “If you change your mind, Ms. Steele, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you.”

When Jack simply stood there, taking in the long, artful waves of her dark hair and the mile-long legs that stretched from beneath her power suit, Kensington swept out a hand. “You coming, Mr. Andrews?”

And damn if he could hold back the grin that tugged the corners of his mouth at her prim tone. “Of course.”

Curious, he pressed her. “You really keep security out in the hallway all day?”

“Brandon has better things to do than spend all day hanging out in my hallway. He’s obviously decided to make an exception for you.”

Jack filed away the interesting fact that the House of Steele felt it needed some degree of hired muscle in-house as he followed her down the long hallway. She led him into a large dining room opposite a swinging door to what had to be the kitchen. “Your home is impressive.”

“It’s my business now.”

“Can’t it be both?”

A small nod had that lush hair drifting around her shoulders. “I suppose so. It’s also why we still keep a few bedrooms ready on the top floor. One of us often crashes here.”

He stripped off his coat and didn’t miss the scrutiny of her gaze before she moved quickly toward the sideboard and busied herself with a waiting coffee service.

Hmm...interesting.

They’d only been in each other’s company a few times, but each time had captivated him more than the last. He’d thought her unaffected, but perhaps he’d been hasty—too stunned by his own attraction—to recognize a fair bit of it in return.

“Please help yourself to coffee to warm up. The wind’s brutal out there.”

He used the few extra minutes to take in the room. The brownstone was a classic and even as it screamed subtle opulence, it whispered something else far more powerful.

Home.

He stalled over his cream and sugar, curious to get more personal details out of her before she firmly shifted things to business. “This is your family home, yes?”

“My mother’s family, actually. She grew up here and her mother and grandmother before her.”

He knew of Kensington Steele’s lineage—it was hardly a secret among New York’s elite. Her parents, Charles and Katherine, had delighted society when a woman with some of New York’s bluest blood married into one of Britain’s most elite families.

Katherine Kensington Steele’s lineage had given her first-born daughter her name.

And it was an accident on Charles and Katherine’s twentieth anniversary trip that had left the home he now sat in—and a world of hurt and grief—to their four children.

“The Kensington family home.”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful. Now it’s functional, too.”

“I’d like to think so.” Kensington took a seat at the head of the table, the subtle power play intriguing him like nothing else could have. “What can I do for you, Mr. Andrews?”

That cultured tone did something to his insides, he admitted to himself. The tones weren’t quite British, yet they were sharp with the same elocution the Brits had made their own. Her voice made him think of how he wanted to poke underneath the surface.

“First, let’s get this out of the way. I have no reason to gloat and that’s not why I’m here. You’re a worthy opponent and I respect your business.”

Her raised eyebrows let him know exactly what she thought of his statement, but she kept her voice level. “I thought the note that arrived with your flowers suggested otherwise.”

“I don’t know. I’ve always found a little spirited poking is healthy for business.” He leaned forward, pleased when her crystal-blue gaze stayed level on his. “Nothing like a sense of competition to keep a person engaged.”

“I have no interest in being poked.”

“Oh, really?” He couldn’t hold back the smile.

“Really.” The light flush that was visible at the V of her blouse suggested she wasn’t unaffected and he couldn’t resist one more attempt at ruffling her. “Because partnership does have its benefits, Kensington.”

“I’ve got enough partners, Jack.” The fingers of her right hand trembled ever so slightly before she wrapped them around her coffee cup. “What I want is the opportunity to work with new business prospects.”

“What if I can offer you that?”

“Excuse me?”

He’d spent the past few days thinking about the solution he was about to offer her and could only curse himself he hadn’t come up with it sooner. “Business partners. It makes sense.”

“I don’t need a business partner. My brothers and sister and I run the House of Steele as a family. We’re not selling.”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, especially since I’ve no interest in selling or merging Andrews Holdings.”

The sharp set of her lips faded and the same shrewd sense—the one that had allowed Kensington to lead their family enterprise into a wildly successful business in a handful of years—took over. “What did you have in mind?”

“You and I went up against each other on the Rome job.”

“As well as Memphis, San Francisco and Hong Kong.”

He ignored the litany of their recent skirmishes, instead focusing on the reason he’d come. “I’m talking about Rome. I met with the Italian embassy on Monday and was smugly told I nearly didn’t get the assignment.”

“Why not?”

“I maintain a small firm, by choice. Seems the Italians were looking for something a bit more expansive. There was a fair amount of infighting among the selection committee before I gained the nod.”

“I still don’t see how this involves me.”

How did he explain it to her? He prided himself on reading his adversaries—and he typically put clients in that category until proven otherwise—but the meeting with the embassy’s staff had caught him unawares. “They’ve changed the scope of the assignment.”

“How so? It’s a pretty straightforward protection detail with a bit of snooping on the side. Eyes and ears on the ambassador and his surroundings on his upcoming diplomatic mission.”

“The Italians have begun to suspect Hubert Pryce of some unsavory practices.”

Confusion stamped itself immediately on her face, but underneath he saw the flicker of interest. It was subtle, he’d give her that, but it was there all the same. She leaned forward a bit more eagerly and a small spark lit that vivid gaze. “I’m not following. A host country has to accept an ambassador from another country and can, at any point, dissolve the relationship, declaring the diplomat persona non grata. It’s a basic tenant of the Vienna Convention.”

“The Italians think it would be worth their while to follow Ambassador Pryce for a bit longer.”

“Why? He comes from a small country in central Africa. If they’re concerned, and I can’t imagine why they are, they need to remove him from his post. They’re within their rights to do so and no explanations are needed.”

Jack briefly toyed with filtering the limited information he had but realized it was, at best, unfair and, at worst, dangerous to keep her in the dark. “Tierra Kimber may be small, but the country has seen incredible growth in the past decade as a major center for both diamonds and fashion.”

Kensington took a sip of her coffee, her expression thoughtful as that interest honed to a sharp point. “They’re not even a top-ten player in Italy’s economy. I realize Pryce’s family background is European and he’s spent considerable time cultivating a reputation across the region, but the Italian government is under no obligation to allow him to remain in Italy if they have any concerns whatsoever.”

“Hubert Pryce is the tip of the iceberg if what the Italians suspect him of is true.”

“And what’s that?”

“If they’re correct, he’s smuggling diamonds through the Italian wine trade.”

* * *

Kensington exhaled a harsh breath, shocked at Jack’s suggestion. “The man is incredibly well respected. What proof do the Italians have to even suggest something like this?”

Jack pulled a small tablet from his pocket and turned it on, flipping to a document before handing the device to her. Their fingers brushed momentarily and her gaze landed squarely on his at the contact. She swallowed hard as that intense, dark brown gaze captured hers.

Because she’d already overplayed her hand with the scrutiny, she decided to go for broke and look her fill. The hue of his eyes was a color match for his almost-black, close-cut hair. She saw some threads of gray at the temples and wondered at that. Her research indicated he was no more than thirty-six, but the lines at the corners of his eyes added to the gray, suggesting a man who worked and played hard.

“How much research did you do on Ambassador Pryce prior to the assignment?” Jack asked.

“I put together an extensive dossier. Although born in the small nation of Tierra Kimber, he’s from a well-respected European family and was educated in the United States. He spent his formative years at Choate, then on to Yale. He spent another decade in the U.S., working in the New York office of his family’s financial firm before returning to live in Tierra Kimber. His reputation is sterling.”

“Well, the Italians don’t think so. They’ve become increasingly convinced his interests aren’t quite on the up-and-up and that he’s been abusing his ambassadorship to move diamonds.” Jack pointed to the tablet. “Take a look at that document.”

She flipped through the various pages, immediately lost in a series of email exchanges that had obviously been intercepted and cobbled together. Although nothing about any individual email seemed off, taken as a whole it was more than obvious something was afoot. “An ambassador’s communications are protected. How’d they get these?”

“They didn’t share that information with me.”

A strange, unwelcome panic gripped Kensington, twisting her stomach into knots. “Jack. You shouldn’t have this.”

“They’re my client. What I probably shouldn’t be doing is sharing this with you.”

“No, I mean you shouldn’t have this. Pryce has full diplomatic immunity. He’s not subject to the same laws as others and possession of this communication is violating another basic tenant of the Convention.”

“It’s my job. Would have been your job had you won the bid.”

“We’d have stepped out of it.” Even as the words left her lips, she knew that wasn’t entirely true. She and her siblings had built their business taking on the jobs others didn’t want or weren’t capable of.

And connections like the Italian government—connections who needed outside help and who would sing the House of Steele’s praises for a job well-done—were always worth her time.

“You’d have really walked away?”

“I’d certainly have taken it to my family and we would have considered it as a team.”

“The buck stops with me at Andrews Holdings, which is why I have team members who act as operatives, not partners. I’m not walking away from the assignment, but I’m not bullheaded enough not to realize when I need help.”

“And you think I can provide that?”

“I know you can.”

The curiosity that had curled in her belly the moment she realized Jack Andrews was in her home rose another several notches. “What do you want from me?”

“Join me. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

“I’m not spying on Hubert Pryce.”

“Consider it a high-level investigation.”

Kensington knew full well she needed to let this go. She’d lost the bid and no matter how badly that galled her, she did not need to be brought in after the fact on a project that already had serious changes from the original brief—and international criminal implications.

And she especially needed to walk away because Jack’s offer had her more than a little intrigued.

She hadn’t been in the field in quite some time, deferring the majority of their business to her siblings while running things back at home. Over the past few months that lack of activity had begun to chafe.

Her brother Campbell was the hacking wiz, but she had a special skill when it came to digging up information, following threads. Campbell knew how to get into a system, but she knew how to forensically audit that system forward and backward.

Money. Leads. Connections.

Her innate tenacity, stubborn will and a strange tendency toward little sleep had ensured she was more than adept at tugging on threads until she unraveled the right mix of details.

And although she could do plenty of digging from right here, safe and sound at home, she’d begun to fear the lack of action would make her soft. “How do the Italians plan to get around Ambassador Pryce’s own security detail? I’m sure his protection is considerable.”

“The Italians work in tandem with the Tierra Kimber government to ensure the safety of Pryce, his family and the staff he employs. When he’s in Italy, he’s under the protection of the Italian government.”

“And they’re proposing to just sneak you in?”

“Sneak us in, although it’s really not that sneaky. Pryce already knows several people are assigned to his protection and he’s expecting a mix of men and women. Much of his work takes place in more relaxed settings, and it helps to have pairs working together. We’ll mix and mingle as guests at his events, and we’re expected to function as knowledgeable members of his staff.”

“And you don’t think he’ll make both of us.”

“That’s why we’re not sneaking. We both run well-respected security operations that Pryce has likely heard of. He’ll know who we are from the get-go.”

“And you think that’ll be enough?”

“I know so.” That dark gaze evaluated her once more and Kensington couldn’t stop the light line of gooseflesh that tickled her skin.

This man did something to her.

But did she dare spend time in his company? Intimate time that would require them to become allies, working toward a common goal?

Could she really stay away?

* * *

Jack glanced around the inner sanctum that was Kensington Steele’s office. He’d imagined her repeatedly, here in her element, but now that he had a true picture of her work space he could see where his musings fell short.

In his mind’s eye she conducted business behind a small, delicate writing desk. Instead, the large cherrywood monstrosity she currently sat behind looked more as if it belonged in a ship captain’s office than that of a modern-day righter of wrongs.

Although he hadn’t imagined the desk correctly, he had pictured her space as neat, tidy and efficient and she didn’t disappoint.

“What’s that look for?” She glanced up from where she tapped on a few keys at the computer just before the gentle whir of her printer started up.

“I took you for the neat and orderly type.” He pointed toward the desk. “But I didn’t expect you’d sit behind a desk the size of a frigate.”

“How else do you think I can file everything and keep it neat and orderly? If I sat at a small desk, I’d have piles everywhere.”

“Fair point. It doesn’t change the fact that this isn’t quite how I imagined you.”

“You imagined me?” Delicate eyebrows arched over those expressive eyes.

“Several times.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on. We’re going to work together. You need to feel you can talk to me.”

“If, Jack. If we work together. I haven’t made a decision on that yet.”

He suspected she’d made up her mind and was simply analyzing how she was going to close the deal. “I thought it was when.”

Those eyebrows rose another fraction of an inch. “That’s exactly my point. I’ve not decided yet and your ridiculous insistence on flirting isn’t helping.”

“And here I thought it was a bit of fun.”

At the word fun the suspicion in her gaze turned decidedly unreceptive. “If you’re after a bit of sport then you’ve got the wrong girl.”

“I’m quite sure I’ve got the right girl.”

Her eyes widened as his words registered and Jack sensed he was in imminent danger of overplaying his hand. “Look. Whatever you need to decide isn’t going to be found in this office. Let’s get out and you can see my style. See how I work. If you’re not convinced we’d make a good team, then you can cut and run.”

“I never cut and run.”

“Prove it.”

Chapter 2

Prove it.

Jack’s words still rumbled around in her mind like the silver ball in a pinball machine, racing to and fro and ringing a hell of a lot of bells.

In for a penny, Steele.

“Why are we going to Midtown?” She snuggled into her coat, the blast of heat inside the car welcome after the frigid wind had chilled her as they hailed a cab at the top of her block.

“Come on. Don’t tell me a well-heeled city gal like yourself has never been to the diamond district?”

“I’ve been there. I remember going with my father years ago when he bought a present for my mother.”

“Then you can show me the ropes.” He shot a meaningful look at their cabbie, and she held any remaining questions. Whatever the man had up his sleeve didn’t lend itself to discussion in front of others.

The trip across town passed quickly and in moments they were back in the cold, moving at a fast clip through the steady throng of people that always filled the heart of the city’s business district.

“What are you hoping to find?” Her breath puffed out in a fluffy white cloud as they began to pass buildings with bright display windows and heavily padded doors.

“I want to ask a few questions.”

“Right. Because we’re just going to walk in and ask some of the savviest dealers in the world if the diamonds they’re selling are being smuggled.”

“That wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“So what are we going to do?”

His smile was broad—bordering on conspiratorial—before he gestured to a door up ahead. “I want to see how fast you are on your feet. Consider yourself suddenly affianced.”

“Excuse me?”

The heavy puff of breath that expanded on her words faded from view as Jack pulled her up to a cagelike door and hit the buzzer to be let through. His arm wrapped through hers as he pulled her close.

“Aren’t you excited, darling?”

In for a penny.... That crazy voice admonished her once more before a strange sense of fun and purpose filled her. She linked her arm more tightly with his and dropped her free hand to his chest. “Quivering with anticipation, Pookie.”

She had a moment of brief satisfaction when a sly grin filled his face before the door clicked open. Behind the bars of the door, they were greeted by an older, slender man dressed all in black. Another large man stood behind him at a respectful distance, the approach surprisingly similar to that of the security team she employed at the House of Steele. “May I help you?”

“We’d like to do some diamond shopping.” Jack hesitated a moment before he continued. “Larry Coleman suggested I visit your establishment.”

The mention of the mysterious “Larry Coleman” seemed to do the trick, and after a few basic pleasantries, the proprietor pulled open the metal door and welcomed them in, gesturing for them to remove their coats. The large man never moved from his position behind the proprietor as another assistant stepped forward from a small alcove to take their coats. “We’re glad you’re here, Mr. Andrews. Ms. Steele. What are you looking for today?”

“The perfect engagement ring.” Jack’s proud voice echoed in her ear as he pulled her close once more. A strange little shiver gripped her. It was silly really seeing as they absolutely were not shopping for engagement jewelry—but the moment struck her as momentous all the same.

Shaking off the flutters, she moved farther into the narrow store, following the proprietor’s gesture before he turned to face them both at a long glass counter. “What did you have in mind?”

Jack squeezed her hand. “You’re on, baby.”

His expectant smile had her stumbling for the briefest moment before his words from earlier rang in her ears. I want to see how fast you are on your feet. “I’d love to look at something emerald cut.”

“Excellent choice. Your long, slender fingers will set off an emerald-cut stone to perfection.” The man stepped behind the counter and pulled out a tray of loose stones. She didn’t miss his subtle yet assessing glance at the two of them as he unlocked the jewelry case. “May I ask what number of carats you were considering?”

“Six.” Jack’s voice was deliberate when he spoke, and Kensington fought to keep her jaw firmly hinged.

“Darling. Isn’t that a bit elaborate?”

He pressed a quick kiss to her temple before whispering in her ear. “Not for you, my love.”

An errant shiver ran down her spine and Kensington pushed it away in the face of whatever charade Jack had cooked up for the visit. She knew her life had been one of distinct privilege—she could hardly claim otherwise—but a six-carat diamond was an extravagance she’d never even considered.

Even if it was all made up and only for show.

The proprietor blinked twice, the only sign Jack’s request had him ruffled, before tapping on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

They stood close, their gazes bent over the counter as they waited for the man to return. She kept her voice low—a skill she’d honed to an art form years before with her siblings whenever they wanted to eavesdrop on their parents from the stairwells—and a smile firmly painted on her face for the security cameras that were no doubt recording them from four different angles. “You couldn’t have started with something a bit more modest?”

“No.”

“Jack. This is too much.”

The sound of the proprietor returning from the back had him leaning in once more, his breath a quick rush in her ear. “I consider it a worthy investment.”

“We have some lovely selections for you to look at.”

Kensington tried to keep her mind on the game and off the lingering shivers coursing up and down her spine at the close contact and the sweet endearments.

It’s all for show. It’s all a game. It’s just a job.

She kept up the internal litany of admonishments, willing the truth of the words to sink in.

But no matter how rational and calm she fought to stay, nothing would change the fact that Jack Andrews stood next to her, their bodies flush, as they looked at engagement rings.

“The stones are loose but I have a few in settings so you can get a feel for some of the designs. We, of course, are happy to put you in touch with designers should you so choose.”

The proprietor separated out a few loose stones on a small velvet square, then added some rings in settings. He selected one and held it out to her. “Please. Try it on. I find brides have a better sense of what they’re looking for once they’ve seen the ring on their hand.”

Bride.

The word stuck in her mind, derailing every other thought with a heavy thud.

“Here, darling. Let me help you.” Jack reached for her hand, giving it a light squeeze before taking the ring from the proprietor.

The ring slid on, the fit perfect, and before she knew it, she had a six-carat diamond engagement ring winking off her left hand. “It’s beautiful.”

“No. You’re beautiful. The ring dims in comparison.”

A tight knot gripped her throat before her gaze slid to Jack’s. That knot only tightened when she saw something haunting and serious in those dark depths. She glanced down at her hand once more before the moment could completely overwhelm her.

And was blindsided by a memory.

Even though it had been more than fifteen years, Kensington could still see her mother’s diamond as it sparkled from her left hand. Although not as large as this one, she and her sister, Rowan, had always been fascinated by the ring and often begged to be allowed to try it on.

“Someday I’ll have a ring like this.” She held her hand up to the light, the heavy diamond sliding toward her pinky because the ring was so loose. “And a big wedding at the Plaza, with Daddy walking me down the aisle.”

Her mother’s smile was soft and gentle. “What about the young man?”

“What young man?”

“The one you’re going to marry.”

“What about him?”

“You seem to have a pretty good idea of what the wedding will be like. What do you think he’ll be like?”

“I don’t know.” Kensington hadn’t been able to hold back a small giggle. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. I always get lost thinking about the wedding.”

“Let me give you a suggestion, then, heart of my heart.” Her mother had reached for her hands and Kensington could feel the slight weight of the ring where it pressed into her the side of her fingers. “Marry for love.”

“But that’s what I’m talking about. Getting married.”

A warm smile had filled her mother’s face and for the briefest moment Kensington held her breath.

Like her mother was going to share something important.

“The wedding is a wonderful beginning, but that’s all it is. A beginning. The marriage will be yours for life. It will be what you make of it.”

“I certainly hope it’s not full of smelly boys like Liam and Campbell.”

Her mother had laughed at that before pulling her close in a tight hug. “I promise you. When the children are your boys, you’ll feel entirely differently.”

Her mother then pressed a kiss to her head and Kensington had reveled in the quiet moment, just the two of them. She loved her family—even the smelly boys despite her protests—but with three other siblings it was rare to get one-on-one time with either of her parents.

She’d pulled back with a start. “How will I know I’m in love?”

“That’s the great mystery that no one can explain until it happens.”

“What mystery?”

“That even if it seems impossible to imagine, one day you’ll meet the right person and you’ll just know.”

Kensington pulled herself from the memory—one she’d not had in years—as Jack smiled down at her. “What do you think?”

“It’s too much.”

And she knew her words were about far more than the ring.

* * *

Jack squeezed Kensington’s hand once more and hoped the gentle reassurance would ensure she stayed with him and in character. They had to see this through and the only way to do that was to keep up appearances. “It’s not too much.”

He turned toward the shop owner, pleased to see the calculation behind the man’s calm gaze. The guy knew a buyer when he saw one.

After a small cough the proprietor gestured to the velvet square on the table. “Perhaps we can look at some of the diamonds, and then we can return to the question of which setting is ideal.”

Kensington slipped the ring off and laid it on the velvet square. “By all means.”

The owner busied himself with the loose diamonds he’d laid out earlier, displaying them in a single row on the black velvet. Jack marveled how something so small could command such a premium. Even at six carats, the relative size of each diamond was tiny.

Yet despite their size, wars were fought over them and funded by them. Rulers had gone to battle to possess them. Thieves made their lives—or lost them—stealing them.

Gemstones were man’s folly. Beautiful baubles that often owned the possessor’s soul far more than the possessor owned them.

It made Kensington’s reaction to the ring that much more interesting. She appreciated the ring; that was evident. But where most women would be preening under the charade, he sensed a distinct discomfort at the extravagance of the piece.

The jeweler extended a loupe and Jack leaned forward to inspect one of the loose stones. He listened intently as the jeweler described various properties before handing the loupe to Kensington. Their fingers brushed, and Jack held his hand against hers a moment longer than necessary.

The woman was intoxicating.

He’d heard of her, of course. Although the House of Steele hadn’t been in business all that long, the Steele siblings had created quite a name for themselves and their family enterprise. Add on that the family name was well-known to begin with and it had been easy to find out more about the delectable Kensington Steele after their first encounter about a year ago.

She was cool, yet he wouldn’t go so far as to say icy. Rather, she had a calm, stoic demeanor that didn’t ruffle easily. That she’d shown even the slightest stammer over the ring was out of character.

And it gave him a tiny bit of hope things truly weren’t one-sided between them.

Which, Jack had to admit, was a rather large change. He’d spent the first thirty-five years of his life diligently avoiding romantic entanglements, so the fact that he was even toying with this strange attraction to the woman was more than a bit unsettling.

“What do you think, Mr. Andrews?”

Jack pulled his errant thoughts off of the soft sweep of hair that fell over Kensington’s shoulder and the graceful arch of her neck and turned to face the jeweler once more. “I think it’s time for Ms. Steele to decide.”

Her head snapped up from where she viewed one of the diamonds. “Jack. Are you sure? We just started this process.”

“When you know, you know.”

“But—”

He smiled and tapped on the counter. “Please, darling. You’ve already made me the happiest man on earth. Now select something that makes you happy.”

He didn’t miss the ever-so-slight raise of her eyebrow, or the hard glint in her crystal-blue gaze, but to her credit, she gave nothing else away.

“I like this one.” She pointed to a stone on the edge of the velvet. “It’s magnificent.”

“As are you.”

Without waiting for any further encouragement, he leaned in and captured her mouth for a kiss. The slight “oof” of surprise was the only clue that his actions caught her off guard, and he used that small moment of shock to press his advantage.

The hard wall of the glass counter pressed into his hip and Jack turned them both so they were flush against each other. His hands drifted to her waist and he pulled her flat against him, satisfied when her arms lifted to wrap around his neck.

The tilt of her head and the soft acquiescence of her lips opening under his gave him the second opportunity to press his advantage. His tongue met hers and a wave of heat and need crashed through his system so hard he had to wonder how he was still standing upright.

He might not have expected her oversize ship captain’s desk. And he might not have figured the roses would set her teeth on edge.

But he had imagined the power of her kiss.

Rich. Lush. Enticing.

Reality was so much better.

A light cough pulled them both from the moment and he lifted his head and smiled at her before shooting a broad wink to the jeweler. “I’m sure we’re not the first ones to do that, are we?”

“Not in the least, sir.”

The proprietor’s ready sense of humor went a long way toward diffusing the raw need that had gripped him with iron talons. “So what’s next?”

“It’s time to select a setting.”

“Darling.” Kensington’s voice was a low purr. “Perhaps we can set an appointment and do that tomorrow. This has been the highlight of my day, but this trip was an unexpected surprise. You need to get back to work.”

He made a show of checking his watch before nodding. “You’re right, as always.”

“I’ll just wait over there while you finish up.”

Her tone was low and quiet, but he took great delight at the small quaver that tinged the edges.

* * *

“Slam dunk.”

The cold wind wrapped around them once more as she and Jack fought the Midtown rush of humanity. She could practically feel the excitement vibrating off of him. “What could possibly make you think it was a smart idea to spend so much money?”

He shrugged, the casual move at odds with the gravity of what he’d just done. “I can always resell it.”

“That diamond was crazy expensive.”

“So?” A genuinely puzzled expression filled his features. “It’s certainly not going to lose its value.”

“Yes, but—” She broke off, well aware she was veering dangerously close to harpy territory. What did she care how he spent his money? And he had a fair point—the diamond could always be resold, so his overall risk was minimal.

A small kernel of disappointment unfurled in her stomach like the first shoots of spring, and she resolutely tamped it down. Today was a charade, nothing more.

Reading anything more into it wasn’t only stupid, but it also was a recipe for professional disaster.

Whatever Jack Andrews wanted from her, these strange sparks of emotion that kept swamping her certainly weren’t it.

“I just want to know why you ended the fun so soon.” He wrapped his arm around her once more as they got to a corner crosswalk.

Shaking him off would be petty, she reasoned, so she stayed put as they waited for the light to turn. “By leaving, now you have a chance to go back. We certainly couldn’t ask him his opinion about diamond smuggling on our first visit.”

Admiration filled his face in the subtle crease of his smile. “Excellent point.”

“Bet you didn’t think I had it in me.”

“Oh, I had no doubt about that part. I just wanted to see the amazing and awesome Kensington Steele in action.”

The light changed and the people around them began to move, but Kensington planted her feet against the onslaught. “Are you teasing me?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what did you really think about our visit to the diamond district?”

“I think that you really are amazing and awesome.”

“Would you be serious?”

“I am serious, but—” He reached for her hand and pulled her along through the crosswalk. “I think we also learned several very valuable things this morning.”

“Such as?”

He dug a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket. “Take a look at the provenance on this diamond.”

The thin sheet flapped in the breeze as Kensington took off her glove before reaching for the paper. She scanned the contents quickly, not sure of what had him so pleased. “It’s got all the basic details of the diamond. The four Cs, its ownership.”

He leaned in and pointed toward a small detail at the bottom of the page. Her eyes widened as she finally realized what he was getting at. “It was mined in Tierra Kimber.”

“Exactly. That’s what we use when we go back. You, my socially conscious fiancée, are going to suddenly get some remorse about that diamond I just purchased.”

“And when I show my concern that these diamonds might be a front for war and bloodshed?”

“It will be up to our smart and savvy jeweler to quickly assure you why you’ve no need to worry your pretty little head about it so he can keep his sale.”

“Do you think he knows anything about our problem?”

“Not really. He’s a jeweler, not a high-level operative. And although I rarely put anything past anyone, the man’s been in a family business his entire life. He’s a cog in the wheel, nothing more.” He pointed toward a deli a few storefronts ahead of them. “Let’s go eat.”

“I need to get back.”

“It’s nearly one o’clock. You need to eat.”

The hand that rested low on her back steered her toward the front door of the deli. “You’re pushy.”

“I’m not pushy in the least. I maneuver people. There’s a difference.” He opened the door for her, and Kensington couldn’t argue with the warmth that reached out and beckoned them in. “Besides, I’m hungry.”

“I’m not easily maneuvered, Jack.”

“No. You like to do the maneuvering. It’s a trait I can not only relate to, but also admire.”

“I do no such thing.” The words that left her lips branded her as a liar, but she couldn’t hold them back. Maneuver sounded so manipulative. And cold.

And she was neither.

She just knew how she wanted things done. How to handle a situation to minimize risk and get the best possible outcome.

“Sure you do. It’s one of the reasons we’re going to have so much fun in Italy.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“But you will.”

She stopped inside the door, and the urgent need to make her point ensured her feet stayed firmly planted. “This isn’t a joke and I’m really not sure I’m going to do this deal with you. We’re opponents.”

He pressed closer to her as a group of suits bustled past them and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Then let the games begin.”

Chapter 3

Kensington speared a forkful of salad and surreptitiously watched Jack across the table. She was still wondering how her morning had turned into a field trip and a meal, all with a man who got her dander up and her antennae quivering on high alert.

The man was a force of nature—that’s all there was to it.

She watched as he polished off a corned beef sandwich with a side of chips and marveled that the broad physique under his suit jacket could be sustained with such hearty lunch choices.

“You haven’t said much.” His gaze danced over her face as he took a sip of his soda.

“Just processing the morning.” A funny thought popped into her head and she set down her fork. “Who is Larry Coleman, anyway?”

“An old friend from college. He’s on wife number three and he’s used that jeweler for years. Makes a special trip from Chicago to New York and everything. Based on his repeat visits, I figured I’d get the attention of the jeweler pretty quick.”

“You can’t be old enough to have friends on their third spouse.” The words were out and bouncing between them like an errant ping-pong ball no one could catch.

“When you’ve got a large bank account and a roving eye like Larry does, thirty-five is plenty old to be on number three.”

“Are you on any number?”

Smooth, Steele. Why not just ask him if there was any reason to be feeling guilty for the sexual buzz that’s still humming in your veins at that kiss.

“Nope. You?”

“No.”

“Ever get close?”

The words were casual—too casual—and she fought to pull her hormones out of the equation for a moment and focus on him. “If skirting the edges of relationships that usually fail between dates five and seven is getting close, then yes. However, I think a more accurate answer is no way.”

“Shame.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a shame the five-through-seven guys can’t see what I see.”

“What’s that?”

“A vibrant woman with a lot to offer.”

She sat back and tossed her napkin on the counter. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”

“And I wasn’t casting my reel.”

“So what’s your point?”

“You’re a beautiful woman with a wicked intellect to round out the package. If a guy’s cutting and running after a handful of dates, then he’s the one with the problem.”

She had no idea why she was pressing the issue, but a retort was out of her mouth before she could even think to hold it back. “Conventional wisdom would suggest my career ambitions are the problem.”

“Most people who spout conventional wisdom don’t have all that much of it.”

“Thanks, Mark Twain.”

“You’re welcome.” He snagged the wax paper that had wrapped his sandwich. Casually, he wadded it up, his gaze speculative from across the table, and she suddenly felt like one of those diamonds he’d inspected with the jeweler’s loupe.

Her mind raced over the events of the morning. The flowers. His visit to her office. The trip to the jeweler. “What do you really want from me? I’d wager a rather large sum you don’t spend your days traipsing through Manhattan with your other professional enemies.”

“I never traipse. And I’d hardly call you an enemy.”

“We’ve been up against each other for several jobs. I’d hardly call us compatriots.”

He snaked out a finger and ran it down the top of her hand, tracing over each knuckle with exquisite care. The sensation was wicked in the extreme, and a tight ball of need centered low in her belly. “We’re not enemies. Especially not after what we discussed this morning about the job in Rome. I want your help with the ambassador.”

“What makes you so sure I’m your girl?”

“You’ve got the talents I need. You already know the job and the players. You’re smart and you pay attention.” He ran that long finger once more over her hand. “And if I play my cards right, there may be a lot more kissing.”

She snatched her hand back, unable to bear that seductive touch a moment longer. “This is a job, not a flirtation.”

“Can’t it be both?”

She bit down on a retort, well aware her actions in the next few minutes would determine the course of their professional—and personal—relationship moving forward. “I don’t take assignments because they’re fun.”

“Why work then?”

“Because it’s my job. My livelihood.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the process.”

* * *

When Kensington said nothing, he pressed a bit harder, his curiosity growing stronger. He could still feel the softness of her skin imprinted on the tips of his finger, and a strange need to understand her better gripped him. “Why were you the one to end up with all the responsibility?”

“In my family?”

“Yes, but professionally, too. The House of Steele’s reputation is tied to all four of you, but you’re clearly seen as its public representative. I have to imagine that has carried over to the more personal side of your family dynamics.”

“At times.” She nodded slightly, as if deciding something, before she pressed on. “Do you have siblings?”

“Two sisters.”

“How do the three of you get along?”

He thought of the two women he loved to distraction, both of whom were happily married and raising children in the Seattle suburb where he grew up. They’d saved him—ensuring he had a soft place to land no matter how far he roamed—and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for them.

“Really well. They’re both older than me. They wanted different things but are happy with their lives. And other than constantly pressuring me to settle down and do my duty to populate the world, we’re close.”

“So they live normal lives?”

The word normal caught his attention, and he thought of the unpleasant childhoods he and his siblings had endured. Sidestepping the thought, he kept his voice even and ignored the whispers of the past that skittered around his ankles. “As much as anyone can claim that description.”

“My bigger point is, they have families. Regular jobs.”

“Sure.”

“That is so not my family.”

Jack couldn’t dismiss the feeling that some answer—some clue to who she was—danced just out of his reach. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not bad—it’s just different. We’re different.”

“Do you support each other?”

“Of course. We drive one another crazy but we support each other without question.”

“Sounds like a family to me.”

The warmth that briefly tinged her features as she talked about her family faded. “Yes, a family I’m responsible for.”

“They’re all adults. Successful, accomplished ones. Why are you responsible for them?”

“I need to hold us all together.”

“No. You feel the need to be in control, and there’s a difference.”

* * *

A heavy chill that invaded the bones wrapped Giuseppe DeAngelo’s body like a tight blanket. He added as much urgency to his steps as his old bones would allow as he walked from the main farmhouse to the vineyard.

The grapes.

Per favore, Dio.

The prayer was a litany in his head, over and over as he shuffled toward his beloved fruit. They hadn’t had a winter this cold in years and he was increasingly concerned their methods to keep the vines insulated weren’t going to work.

His gaze scanned the rows of grapes, their slender vines covered by geotextile fabrics to stave off the cold. He abstractly wished for one to wrap around himself as he plodded determinedly onward.

Giuseppe bent over the first row he came to, lifting the fabric to touch the vines underneath. His breath came out in heavy puffs and his back ached as he bent forward, but all he cared about was ensuring his vineyard stayed safe. The pain was worth it to protect his grapes.

He ran his fingers over the thick vegetation, his knotty hands trembling as he considered the vines. They’d worked through the previous afternoon to put the blankets into place. The cold vine bent pliably in his hands and he took his first easy breath as he resettled the covering in place.

The grapes were all right.

Grazie, Dio. Grazie.

He puttered down several rows, his actions the same as he lifted the blankets, checking the vines underneath. His breath puffed out in hard, heavy bursts but he paid no attention as he continued to walk the neat, even rows.

The vineyard had been in his family for generations. He’d already made plans to give it to his grandson, his own son off in London having his life’s adventures. Adventures that didn’t belong on a farm. His Gianni had never been tied to the land, but his grandson, Marco, loved it as much as Giuseppe.

Grazie, Dio. Again, his prayer of thanks and gratitude flooded his mind. His vineyard would live on.

Heavy shouts, muffled through the thick morning air, pulled him from his morning prayers. Had Marco come to help him?

Giuseppe walked toward the sounds, the heavy air distorting them. When he finally reached the end of a row, three down from where he’d begun, he saw he was right. “Marco!”

His grandson hunched over, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black leather coat. “Nonno.” Grandfather.

“The grapes are fine. The fabrics worked.”

“It’s too cold out here for you. Go back inside and pour the coffee and I’ll join you. I’ll be in shortly.”

“Bah!” Giuseppe waved his hand and moved closer. Why had he heard raised voices? Marco was alone. “I’ve been walking these vineyards since I was small. A bit of cold air won’t chase me inside.”

“Nonno. Please go back in.”

Giuseppe shook his head, suddenly aware of the strange urgency that gripped his grandson. Marco shifted from foot to foot, his dark eyes flashing like those of a scared horse. He took the last few steps to the edge of the vines and nearly fell to his feet. “Marco!”

Another man stood a short distance away, a gun wavering in his outstretched hand.

“I asked you to go inside, Nonno.” Marco’s voice broke before the man holding the gun stepped forward.

“I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

Giuseppe’s mind raced as he took in the scene before him. He’d been so worried about his precious grapes, he’d never realized there was a threat to them far greater than the cold. “What is this about?”

The man with the gun waved it in Marco’s direction. “You really don’t know? You can honestly tell me you have no idea what’s going on?”

“I want to hear it from my grandson.”

“I failed, Nonno.” Marco lifted his head, his eyes filled with tears. “I failed you and I’m sorry. So sorry.”

They were the last words Giuseppe DeAngelo would ever hear.

* * *

Kensington pulled the small bowl of oatmeal from the microwave and padded to the drop-leaf table that filled the corner of her kitchen. She added several scoops of blueberries to the steaming oats, then took a sip of her coffee as her breakfast cooled.

The thoughts that had filled her mind, leaving her tossing and turning until three, didn’t fade as she stared at the kitchen without really seeing it. Instead, she saw the hard lines of Jack’s face.

You feel the need to be in control, and there’s a difference.

Was it true?

On some level she knew that it was, but it wasn’t the entire story and it was unfair to paint her with that one-dimensional brush.

Their conversation had spun out from there, each of his questions more probing than the last. She’d made a valiant effort to defend herself, but in the end, none of it had mattered.

None of it had erased that small moue of sympathy that curved his lips in an understanding—and, to her mind, pitying—smile.

“You don’t understand, Jack. Do you and your sisters regularly put your lives in danger?”

“They don’t. I do.”

“My point is, that element isn’t a part of your family dynamic. Isn’t a part of how the three of you interact in your relationship with one another.”

“So you think your family dynamics have some influence on your life?”

“I think everything has an influence on our lives. And I think four adults who consistently put their lives in jeopardy have a funny way of looking at the world.”

“You fix the world. And you understand that need in each other. What can be so wrong about that?”

That question had hovered between them for a few moments before she’d managed to excuse herself and grab a cab back to the office, unescorted.

There wasn’t anything wrong with how she lived her life. And she was proud of the work they did. Proud of what she, Liam, Campbell and Rowan had created.

But none of it changed the fact that they lived lives outside the mainstream. Campbell and Rowan had both found their way to love, despite the rather evident dysfunction in their lives, but it didn’t mean she and Liam were guaranteed the same.

And it certainly didn’t mean questioning the shortcomings of her life with a total stranger over lunch was even remotely productive.

“So why are you giving him the satisfaction of giving it one more moment of your time?” She muttered the words to herself before digging into her oatmeal. She’d gotten through only a couple of bites when her apartment doorman buzzed her. She snagged the small phone—connected to her lobby—from the counter. “Good morning, Mike.”

“Ms. Steele. I know it’s early but a Jack Andrews is here to see you. He said it’s urgent.”

The urge to say she wasn’t available was strong, but it wasn’t Mike’s problem she was frustrated and annoyed with Jack. Mike dealt with threatening visitors, not ones who simply didn’t know how to use a damn phone at six-thirty in the morning. “Please send him up.”

She glanced down at her oh-so-attractive flannel button-down pajamas and hightailed it to the bedroom. A pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater lay on a small chair where she’d left them the night before, and she quickly changed into them. A glance in the mirror had her cringing—seriously, did the man not know you didn’t just drop in on a woman?—before she threw up her hands at the loud knock on her door.

Less than a minute later, Jack was barreling into her apartment, his face set in grim, determined lines.

“What’s the matter?”

“Have you made your decision on Rome?”

“I told you yesterday I’d think about it.”

He moved in, settling his large hands on her shoulders. “Can you speed up the decision?”

“What’s happened?”

“Something big and I can’t tell you if you’re not in. All the way in.”

The light flair of flirtation and humor she associated with him had vanished from his face. In its place was a formidable bear of a man. Strength carved itself in the hard planes and angles of his body and she fought the light frisson of anxiety that skated over her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

“Why is this so important to you?”

“You’re the one, Kensington. You know the job. You know the players. You know how to play the security detail to maximum advantage.”

“I’m not the only professional out there.”

“You’re the one I want and I don’t have time to get anyone else up to speed.”

She fought the delicious rush at his words. He wanted her for a job, nothing more, she reminded herself.

And when had she begun thinking otherwise?

In for a penny...

Her grandfather had used that adage so many times that Kensington had adopted it as her own. With one last glancing thought that her sanity must have abandoned her around the time she put the damn ring on the day before, she lifted her head and nodded. “Fine. I’m in. Now will you tell me what happened?”

“The agent the Italian government has in place was shot this morning.”

“Was he killed?”

“Almost. It was set up execution-style. The only thing that saved him was a last-minute burst of speed and quick thinking from his grandfather, who had a heavy pair of vine clippers in his pocket.”

“And the grandfather?”

“Died before the paramedics arrived.”

“Is the agent coherent?”

“Barely. He’s been in and out of consciousness all day. We need to get to Italy and find out what he knows, from him if at all possible. Are you with me on this?”

“Sì, Signor Andrews. It looks like we’re headed to Rome.”

Chapter 4

Kensington leaned her chair back and settled into her first-class seat. The day had sped past in a blur—arrangements for the company and her apartment, postponing some meetings, shifting others to Campbell and Rowan, double-checking details and packing all seen to with frenetic motion—and it was only now, nearly midnight by her body’s clock, that she’d finally slowed down. Her half-drunk glass of Chianti sat on her tray table next to an unopened book.

Her gaze drifted to the window, the Atlantic nearly forty thousand feet beneath them like a dark abyss.

“You going to get some sleep?”

Jack’s words distracted her from her thoughts and she turned away from the window. “Eventually. I don’t sleep well.”

“You get a remarkable amount accomplished for someone who must be perpetually tired.”

She shrugged, not quite sure how they’d drifted—yet again—to one of the odd facets of her personality. “I get by. And coffee’s a dear, dear friend.”

“Have you tried massage?”

“Yep.”

“Aromatherapy?”

“Yep.”

“Acupuncture?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

His smile was quick and immediate, even as his words were surprisingly gentle. “People swear by it.”

She fought the shudder and reached for her wine. “And they’re welcome to it.”

A wicked gleam lit that dark brown gaze, adding a new dimension to the smile. “Have I discovered something the great and powerful Kensington Steele is afraid of?”

“I’m fine with needles for basic health reasons. To voluntarily have them stuck all over my body? No way.”

His gaze drifted, a lazy perusal over her shoulders, and she fought another shiver—this one far more delicious than the last.

How did he manage to do that?

What should have seemed lascivious—or at the least a bit inappropriate—instead made her feel attractive. And, funny enough, cherished.

As if catching himself, Jack’s gaze snapped back to his own wineglass as he lifted it from his tray. “I wouldn’t go anywhere near it, either.”

“Yet you think I should?”

“Hey. I’m the idea guy. You need to relax, so I offered up a few suggestions.”

“I don’t need to relax.”

“When was the last time you got eight hours straight?”

“I don’t need eight hours.”

“Modern medical wisdom would suggest otherwise.” He paused and shifted in his chair, that gaze once again direct and all consuming. “So when?”

“I haven’t slept straight through the night since I was fourteen.”

She saw the question in his gaze—and the ready awareness he’d somehow overstepped—but still he pressed on. “Why is that, Kensington?”

“My grandmother woke me in the middle of the night to tell me my parents had died. I’ve never slept fully through the night since.”

* * *

Jack cursed himself a million times the fool for this stubborn line of questioning. He knew he was a ruthless bastard when he got his teeth around something, but even he respected a certain degree of personal privacy.

The loss of her parents certainly qualified on that front.

The proverbial “I’m sorry” sprang to his lips but he kept it to himself. Of all the things he should say, a pithy platitude wasn’t it. “That’s a long time.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to let on you know a woman’s age?” A wry smile ghosted her mouth and the urge to lean forward and press his lips to hers gripped him with sharp claws. But again, he held back. Tamped down on the obvious and reached for her hand instead.

“It was more a reference to how young you were when you lost them. And, for what it’s worth, I find a few years on a woman gives her character.” He lifted her hand to his lips, unable to fully resist. “Makes her beauty more authentic somehow.”

Her hand flexed under his, but she didn’t pull it back. “I told you at lunch yesterday we weren’t going there, Jack.”

“Why not?”

“It’s messy and complicated, not to mention unprofessional. We’re working on a job.”

He kept his fingers locked around hers but resettled their joined hands on the small armrest between them. “A job that requires us to have each other’s backs.”

The lightest stain colored her cheeks and he couldn’t restrain the very real interest that tightened his stomach once more. He was interested in her—hell, he’d have to be long past dead not to be—and the time in her company only made it more urgent.

More necessary.

“I’m not going to be seduced by some simple words and those come-hither eyes of yours.”

Her comment left her open, and he prided himself on being a man who didn’t miss an opportunity. “What will you be seduced by?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But I did.”

“Why do you keep pushing this?”

Why did he keep pressing the issue? And when, exactly, had that little devil planted itself on his shoulder, intent on ruffling her very smooth feathers?

Was it the moment he saw her fluster ever so slightly in her home office? Or was it the moment he stared down at her in the jewelry store, a diamond ring shining boldly off her left hand? Or was it the moment he pressed his lips to hers, the rich, ripe taste a succulent feast?

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter any longer. He was captivated by her. And he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to do his level best to show her.

“Because I’m interested, Kensington.” He leaned into her, the small space making it a short trip. “Very interested.”

He brushed his mouth to hers, the small puff of air against his lips as she sighed the sweetest victory.

The rich Chianti she’d ordered was a bold match for the taste of her. Where he’d had the advantage of surprise while they’d stood at the jeweler’s the day before, here he had the luxury of time. The darkened interior of the airplane cabin cocooned them as one moment spun into the next.

Another soft sigh left her lips, the sound echoing in her throat in counterpoint to the increasing urgency of the kiss. Her hands gripped his shirt at the shoulders and he felt the flex of her fingers along the base of his neck.

And then she surrendered.

One last sigh—was that contentment or acceptance?—drifted from the back of her throat. She tilted her head to give him better access before pulling him closer. And the delicious play of her tongue over his had need coursing through his body in hard, pulsing waves.

He knew there was a woman underneath that calm, cool exterior very few saw. How enticing, then, that he’d be fortunate enough to get a glimpse.

His hands skimmed the width of her shoulder before dipping down her arm, then snaking over her waist. The firm muscles over her hip bone captivated him and he allowed his fingers to drift over the edge of her slacks. The heat of her skin branded him and the soft flesh sent another shock of need spiraling through his system.

With a last muffled protest from his conscience, he pulled back, breaking the erotic contact.

Those lush blue eyes were wide with shock and need, her large pupils a ready sign of her arousal. “Now do you see why we can’t do this?”

“That kiss only reinforced my point, darling.”

“Exactly.” She shifted and lay back against her seat. “We’ve got a job to do and we need to keep our heads in the game. Neither of us have worked this hard to throw it away on a few moments of fun.”

She bricked up her personal walls with swift efficiency, her emotions winking out like a light.

And we’re right back to that calm, cool exterior, he couldn’t help thinking before the urge to bait her got the better of him. “Hide behind your work all you want, Kensington. I’m quite good at multitasking when I put my mind to it. And I’ve got absolutely no problem juggling my personal life with my professional one.”

She sat back up at that, the sexual haze in her gaze vanishing as good old-fashioned ire rose up to take its place. “I’m not hiding behind anything.”

“You sure about that? Because I wasn’t just kissing myself.”

“Oh, for God’s sake—enough. We’re grown-ups. We can behave like rational, professional adults.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling.”

“I don’t need to tell myself anything. I get along just fine.”

Jack wasn’t sure what it was—the subtle challenge or just this strange madness that gripped him every time he was in her presence—but he knew he couldn’t back down. He leaned forward on one elbow, his gaze unwavering on hers. “Know this. When we do make love—and believe me, we will—I’m going to strip away every bit of that prim, proper exterior to reveal the woman underneath.”

“This is a ridiculous conversation. Only I choose whom I share my bed with.” Her words were flat but the clear notes of irritation sparked underneath each syllable.

“Then you know damn well the next man you share it with is going to be me.”

Jack lay his head back on his seat, but just before he closed his eyes, he had the satisfaction of seeing her mouth screw up in a small, thin line. He was just petty enough—and aroused as hell—to feel a perverse sense of satisfaction.

Served her right.

Now they’d both spend the damn flight clamped in the shockingly uncomfortable jaws of arousal, the promise of explosive passion winking just out of reach.

* * *

Jack’s words echoed in her thoughts throughout the flight and on their cab ride from the airport. The statement that she’d share his bed as if it were a fait accompli. Or worse, as if she had no choice in the matter.

But do I?

That small, irritating voice that had ridden her thoughts throughout the long, overnight flight chimed in with a mad disclaimer.

And a very real part of her knew it was true.

No matter how she attempted to think her way out of this attraction to Jack, she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t make sense of this raging need to see where things would go between them.

Hell, she didn’t even know the man. How could she possibly think of sleeping with him? Of giving her hormones the upper hand.

The disconcerting thoughts gave way as she finally registered the view out her window. The streets of Rome enveloped them, and it was only when they passed by the Spanish Steps that she began to relax and give herself over to the moment.

Rome.

The Eternal City.

And a personal favorite since she’d been a small child. She, Rowan and her mother had come here when she was twelve for a girls’ weekend, just the three of them. It had been a spontaneous trip, in reaction to a weekend her father, Liam and Campbell took on a campout upstate.

Even after all these years, she could still taste the sweet gelato they’d shared in one of Rome’s many piazzas. Could still remember her mother’s encouragement to lean forward and take a sip from one of the fountains around the city, all which had run with fresh water since the Roman Empire.

And she’d never forget the light gleam in her mother’s eye as they’d walked past a gaggle of Italian men who offered up appreciative stares and comments in their native tongue.

She’d been scandalized at the time, and it was only later, as they crossed the Tiber to visit the Vatican, that her mother had explained how the men competed against each other while also saving face by acknowledging the women around them.

“Sort of like how Liam keeps looking at his muscles in the mirror?” Rowan’s question had her mother’s light laugh floating on the afternoon breeze as they crossed the old bridge.

“It’s a bit like that.” Her mother pulled both of them close. “He thinks we don’t notice when he does it.”

“That’s because he’s stupid. All boys are stupid.” Kensington couldn’t resist offering this tidbit up. It had become her favorite litany, even if she didn’t think all boys were stupid. Especially one in particular who’d caught her eye at school.

“No, sweetie, they’re not. They’re just different from us.”

Kensington shook off images of the young boy who’d caught her attention in math class and focused on making her point. “Like this weekend. Who wants to go sleep in a tent?”

She enjoyed the sounds of the city keeping them company and couldn’t imagine trading this for a night spent under the stars.

Rowan’s argument was swift, winging back within moments. “Hey. I like sleeping outside.”

“You can have it.”

Her mother tugged them both closer for a hug. “Girls. We’re all entitled to like what we like. And your brothers are entitled to the same courtesy. All I’m trying to say is that men see the world differently than we do.”

“Is that bad?” Rowan voiced the question first, and for some reason Kensington was glad she had.

Although she had her brothers as ready—and gross—objects of the male species, lately she’d begun to notice that some of the boys at school didn’t seem quite so gross. There was Jonathan from math class, who had caught her attention with his cute smile and his big feet that he never quite tripped over. And Jeremy in gym kept teasing her every time they had to partner up for tennis. And there was Paul, who asked her to dance at the last social.

She didn’t think any of them were gross.

“We’re here.”

Jack’s voice pulled her from her thoughts and it took Kensington a minute to reorient herself. “Already?”

“Already? We’ve been sitting in traffic for the past half hour.” He pointed toward the window. “I thought you looked a million miles away, and you clearly were if you missed the drive.”

“I was actually right here in Rome. My mom, sister and I took a trip here when I was a kid and I was thinking about a conversation we’d had.”

“It must have been a good one if you’re smiling like that.”

“Like what?”

“Memories have misted your eyes to a soft, bluish-gray.”

The compliment pulled her up short and she wasn’t sure what to say beyond a soft, “Oh.”

“It’s lovely.” His dark eyes were inscrutable but it was the husky timbre of his voice that tugged at her.

Not all boys were gross. She’d learned that early and had continued to appreciate the lesson. And with one look at Jack Andrews, she could only concur with her mother’s words of wisdom—some of them grew up into dynamic, interesting men.

Their driver pulled up to their hotel on the Via Veneto, the lush accommodations rising several stories above them as they came to a stop. She grabbed her bag but stopped for a moment, unable to hold back a response. “It was lovely. My mother gave Rowan and me several important lessons about boys that weekend.”

“Anything you’re willing to share?”

The flirtation was as easy as breathing. “Oh, nothing you’re not already aware of. Men like to posture and preen in front of women.”

The puzzled look that filled the hard lines of his face had her immediately thinking of what he must have looked like as a little boy. “You mean that’s some sort of deep, dark secret?”

“It is to twelve-year-old girls who don’t understand why strange Italian men are shouting words of adoration at their mother.”

“Ahhh. The mating ritual of the European male. I can see how that would be an eye-opener.” He paid the driver, and they slid from the car. He reached for her bag before gesturing her forward through the large revolving door that fronted their hotel. “For what it’s worth, I avoid showing my appreciation with whistles, catcalls or anything that can be construed that I spend my days hanging around on street corners.”

She couldn’t resist turning toward him and pushing a bit on the events of their flight. “So sexual innuendo at thirty-six thousand feet is more your style?”

“I prefer to think of myself as a man who takes bold action when required.”

Jack pressed a hand to the base of her spine as he guided her through the lobby toward check-in. The heavy width of his palm had sparks shooting up and down her back, and she couldn’t hide the small, feminine smile, so like her mother’s on that long-ago day.

For all her self-inflicted browbeating in the car, she’d fallen right back into Jack Andrews’s orbit. And damn it if she wasn’t enjoying the ride.

He pulled her to a halt in the lobby, the bustle of mid-day activity crisscrossing all around them. She nearly stumbled at the sudden stop, but Jack held her in place, his hands firm.

That dark, fathomless gaze drank her in as he stared down at her, and she couldn’t shake the very real sense he was going to kiss her again. Her breath caught in her throat for the briefest moment as the muscles in her knees gave way with a light tremble.

But instead of doing the expected, his lips veered off to press against her ear. His warm breath sent shivers coursing through her, but it was the dark, husky words that had heat curling in her belly.

“And I rarely miss an opportunity.”

As they moved determinedly on toward the check-in desk, Kensington could only muster up one thought.

Point, Mr. Andrews.

* * *

Whatever sexual innuendo had threaded through their travel to Rome, all evidence of it had vanished two hours later as she and Jack sat with the head of the Italian Special Forces assigned to the Tierra Kimber case. Dante Ferrero had the swarthy good looks of his countrymen, set off by a blazing pair of blue eyes that, Kensington was quite sure, had set the hearts of his fellow countrywomen on fire since his youth.

Despite the man’s attractive features and intense focus, she couldn’t help comparing him to Jack. Where Dante’s appeal was nearly blinding upon first notice, Jack’s was more subtle. And far more predatory.

He had a masculine grace that was unexpected in a man with such a large frame. And where it would be easy to assume Jack’s power lay in his ability to use blunt force, it was actually his more subtle approach—and shockingly sharp intellect—that were the real weapons in his arsenal.

The man was lethal.

And she suspected far too many enemies had learned that lesson a moment too late.

Pulling herself from her reverie, she flipped once more through the briefing packet Dante had given each of them. She needed to shake off whatever fanciful notions had gripped her and get her damn head in the game. Jack Andrews was just a man. A powerful one, yes, but a man all the same.

So why couldn’t she keep herself from adding up the various attributes that continued to intrigue her beyond measure?

Focusing on work—the age-old remedy for pushing problems to the back of one’s mind—she turned to Dante. “Mr. Ferrero, you and your team continue to maintain Ambassador Pryce is using his position to move diamonds and, based on this dossier, likely drugs, as well. Those are serious charges. I must ask again why you simply don’t have him removed from his position. The Italian government is well within its right to do so.”

“The benefit of getting to the bottom of the corruption outweighs the potential political embarrassment.” Dante paused briefly, as if weighing his words, before adding, “The highest leaders of the Republic are in accord on this matter.”

“But what if he’s innocent?”

Dante smiled, but the gesture never reached the icy blue of his eyes. “Ever the optimist, Miss Steele?”

“I prefer to think of myself as practical and pragmatic. I rarely have reason to be optimistic in my line of work.”

The smile broadened and she sensed an underlying approval in his response. “As Mr. Andrews and I discussed yesterday before your trip to Italy, we’ve let the ambassador know you both will be joining his security detail. He has no reason to think this is anything beyond routine.”

“And he asked no questions?”

“Your reputations precede you both. Ambassador Pryce is delighted to make your acquaintance.” Dante nodded slightly. “Yours in particular, Ms. Steele.”

Jack’s grip on the papers tightened before he leaned forward. “The ambassador does understand we’re there as hired employees.”

“Of course. But Ms. Steele’s reputation is quite...distinguished.”

“As an expert in her field, no doubt.”

Jack’s ready defense opened another soft spot and Kensington fought to keep the discussion on point. “If Pryce knows what my firm is capable of, he must be curious as to why we’ve been hired, too. Especially as it’s really Mr. Andrews who’s been given the job.”

“Not at all. As I said, the ambassador and his staff have been informed the matter is routine and that senior-level intelligence is being added to his security detail. I think you would call it a ‘special assignment.’” Dante hesitated—if she’d not been watching him so closely she’d have missed it. “Again, I must stress, he is delighted you will be there, Miss Steele. Your grandfather’s reputation in international circles is well-known and well respected. Further, the details of your beauty have not been exaggerated. Pryce will be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Although she suspected Dante believed he was delivering a compliment, Kensington fought the urge to leap across the desk and throttle him. “I’m hardly here as an escort to the ambassador, Mr. Ferrero. Rather, I’m a paid operative who can either save his ass or put it in a sling. I understand the latter option’s not been made clear to the ambassador, but I certainly I hope it’s crystal clear to you.”

Dante nodded. “As clear as the waters of Lake Como.”

“Excellent. I’m glad we understand each other.”

While the flash of male posturing—and the clear frustration lingering in the tight lines of Dante’s mouth—wasn’t lost on her, she’d learned early how to make a hasty retreat. She suspected the good inspector wasn’t immune to concern for his team member, so she’d start there. “How is Marco? We’d like to speak with him if we may.”

“It can be arranged but it’s possible you won’t get many details at this point. As of this morning, his medical team has confirmed that he continues to lapse in and out of consciousness.”

“Have you accounted for the ambassador’s whereabouts on the morning of the attack?” Jack waved the slender file Dante had shared. “Nothing’s been updated here since late last week.”

“Yes.” Dante pulled another piece of paper from a slim folder on his desk. “We also have been monitoring both him and his key staff members for the past three months.”

“Is that why the assignment’s changed since your original outreach?”

Dante’s eyes widened at the question. “I’m sorry, Miss Steele. I don’t understand your meaning.”

“The request you put to both my firm and Mr. Andrews’s firm was to provide security detail to a high-ranking diplomat. Yet here we are, tasked to find intelligence on the same diplomat. None of that was in your original request.”

“Are you suggesting there is a problem?” The clipped tones were cold. Why was this the piece that pushed him over the edge? Any hint of politeness had vanished from both his tone and manner.

Deliberately ignoring the censure, Kensington pressed on. “I’m suggesting you purposely withheld information as our firms bid on the project. I’d like to understand why.”

Dante sat back, the dismissive move screaming his meaning far louder than his words. “Perhaps Mr. Andrews hasn’t found the proper partner for this assignment.”

Before she could respond, Jack stood. “I’ve found the right partner. No need to worry about that.”

Dante never moved from his seat. “Are you sure, Mr. Andrews?”

“Quite. What I’m not sure is why your organization thinks that an outside firm is the way to handle this problem. It implies you can’t police your own.”

Dante’s blue eyes flashed with cold fire and he leaned forward at the taunt. “We can handle our problems just fine.”

“Yet you’ve sought my help, and by extension, Miss Steele’s, to provide plausible deniability when this eventually blows up.”

Whatever else he might be, Dante Ferrero was a cop and it was that trait that ultimately won out. “One of my men is in the hospital, struggling in and out of consciousness and fighting for his life. I want nothing more than to get the bastard who did it, but it seems my government has overruled my eager need for justice. Your firm’s investigation adds a certain legitimacy to my concerns about the ambassador.”

“And if things do blow up and Pryce is guilty of what you suspect?”

“Then you and Miss Steele have my full blessing to take him down.”

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