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Lucy was like a little sister to him…except she wasn’t.

Lucy was just a kid…except she wasn’t any more. Lucy didn’t want him to kiss her… except she was swaying towards him, and her gaze was fixed on his mouth as if she were willing it to come closer to hers.

Carlo found himself moving nearer.

Was he really this weak? Apparently he was. Or the attraction was just that strong.

Now was the last chance to dredge up his common sense, to gather his brain cells together, to do something rather than give in.

Lucy swallowed again. “What would it take for me to get a bite of that pie?”

His laugh was low. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

She didn’t move as he took the fork out of her unresisting hand and set it on the table. She didn’t blink as he drew her against him. And she didn’t make a sound as he finally succumbed to temptation and lowered his mouth to taste hers.

CHRISTIE RIDGWAY

is a native Californian and a born romantic. Her babysitting money was all spent on red licorice and romance novels, which makes it all the sweeter to now be writing love stories herself!

A USA TODAY bestselling author, she lives in Southern California with her three heroes – her husband and two sons. Visit her website at www.christieridgway.com.

Bachelor Boss

Christie Ridgway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To all the little sisters out there who were never

taken as seriously as they should have been –

not that I know anything about that!

Chapter One

Lucy Sutton disliked first days.

Standing before the half-open door leading to her new boss’s office, Lucy admitted to herself that in truth she hated first days. As family legend had it, she’d hidden at the back of her closet on the first day of kindergarten. While that wasn’t clear in her memory, she could recall in vivid detail the first day of high school, the way the tag on her new shirt scratched the back of her neck, how she’d scratched at her nerve-induced hives. The worst, however, was the first day of a new job. Without a mother’s hand to hold or a gaggle of girlfriends with whom to get through the hours, that initial eight-to-five at a new place of employment could be excruciating.

Which didn’t help explain why Lucy had put herself through quite a few of those new days since graduating from college with an accounting degree three years before.

Swallowing to ease her dry mouth, she reminded herself that despite how her employers had liked her and her work, each of those three number-crunching jobs had not been quite right for her. Still, she knew that more than one of her relatives thought it was Lucy who wasn’t right for successful employment. That was family legend, too, that Lucy, nicknamed “Lucy Goosey” thanks to one of her ultraperfect elder siblings, was just too flighty and too fluffy to take anything seriously—or to be taken seriously by anyone.

Worst of all, though, was how legends like those had an uncomfortable way of becoming fact.

“Not that legend,” Lucy murmured to herself, steeling her spine and scratching at a rising bump on her left wrist. “This time I’m going to show every other Sutton that I’m as capable as they are.” This job would be different.

Even though it was only temporary secretarial work, she’d stick with it and succeed. Then she’d move on to finding the very best place for herself and her accounting skills. The right position was out there and this was her stepping stone to it.

Her gaze slid over to the nameplate on the wall beside her new boss’s office door. Carlo Milano. She had something to prove regarding him, too.

Specifically, that she was over him.

Taking a deep breath, she rapped gently on the grained wood.

“Come in,” a man’s voice called out.

Lucy found herself hesitating, and instead of moving forward she thought back to the last time she’d seen Carlo. It had been at a big do a couple of years before at her sister, Elise’s, home. He’d been making one of his rare appearances, leaning his rangy, six-foot-two body against a wall in a corner of the kitchen, dressed casually in jeans and a button-down shirt. Yet he’d looked anything but casual, his incredible face serious and leaner than ever, as if any soft and approachable thing about him had been pared away.

Pared away by heartaches she knew he wouldn’t speak of.

Oh, she’d attempted to lighten his mood that night. Nobody ever said Lucy wasn’t one to bring fun to a party. But after trying to get a laugh—she would have settled for a smile!—out of him with an amusing story about an old roommate, Carlo had merely shaken his head.

“Goose,” he’d said gently—yes, he’d actually called her Goose—“Use your pretty smiles and your charming wiles on someone who’ll appreciate them.”

Then Carlo had drawn his knuckle down the side of her suddenly heating cheek. In response, and on impulse—another of her weaknesses according to family lore—Lucy had risen to tiptoe and tried one last thing to give Carlo a little jolt of life by brushing her mouth against his.

Seven hundred and thirty-four nights had passed since then, and her lips still burned at the memory.

Her pride still smoldered around the edges, too—because within seconds Carlo had pushed her away and left his corner…never to be seen by her again.

Until now.

“I said ‘come in.’” Carlo’s almost impatient-sounding voice interrupted her reverie.

Showtime, she thought, and with one last stroke of right-hand fingernails against her itchy left wrist, Lucy walked into the office.

Her breath caught.

Carlo’s massive desk stood in front of her, the leather chair behind it empty, but the wall behind that—ah, that was really something, a whole expanse of glass that revealed a spectacular view of San Diego Bay. It looked like a huge, ten-by-twenty-foot postcard, in which Crayola sky-blue met grayer-blue waters dotted with sailboats and motorboats and yachts. The watercrafts’ movement created frothy, egg-white trails across the Pacific’s surface and was the only proof they were actually moving and not just part of a lifelike painting titled Stupendous Southern California.

It was a multimillion-dollar view that made clear to Lucy that Carlo Milano, longtime family friend and former cop, had struck gold in his high-priced and highly regarded events security business. Obviously he was busy enough to need her to fill in for his secretary for the next three weeks. The man who was her new—albeit temporary—boss had done well for himself.

But where was the man who was now her boss?

From the corner of her eye she caught movement at the far end of the room, beyond a spacious seating area that included a love seat, coffee table, two chairs and a built-in bar. A man in a dark jacket was standing there, his back half-turned to Lucy, his attention on a woman in an exquisite, powder-blue suit with matching sling backs. Shiny, pin-straight hair fell in a bright chestnut waterfall toward her waist.

The nape of Lucy’s neck burned and new hives popped out on her arms. Her hand reached up to finger the ends of her own wheat-colored, wavy hair. In her beige heels, khaki skirt and plain white blouse, she’d never felt so, well…washed-out.

And so like a third wheel. The pointy toes of Little Blue Suit’s little blue shoes were just inches from the toes of Carlo’s cordovan loafers, and the beautiful woman looked one breath away from latching on to his mouth.

What should Lucy do now? Interrupt the moment?

Surely not. Surely it would be better to backpedal out of the office. A woman who wanted—no, needed—to succeed at this job should go back to her desk. A woman who needed—and yes, wanted—to prove to herself she was over her unrequited crush on her boss should do nothing to bar the man from getting lucky.

Or from Carlo getting kissed. She should be happy for him as she snuck away. That’s what a grown-up, dignified, over-the-infatuation woman would do.

Grown-up, dignified, over-the-infatuation Lucy heard her throat clear. Not too loudly. But loud enough that her presence couldn’t be avoided or ignored.

Argh. How could she have done something so intrusive? Now Carlo wasn’t going to be pleased. Now she wasn’t feeling the least bit adult and dignified during her first moments on the first day of this new job. And then she heard herself make that attention-demanding, throat-clearing sound again.

Carlo’s head turned. He looked her way. “Hey.”

Lucy’s heart wobbled. There it was, that handsome face she’d never forgotten, those dark eyes taking her in. She couldn’t read their expression. Displeasure? Or was that relief?

She wiggled her fingers in return greeting. “Hey.” She hoped she looked more together than she felt. Dignified, remember? Adult. But…but…Carlo about to be kissed by someone else! Did her weird reaction to that show on her face? “I’m sorry, but you, um, you told me to come in and…”

“No problem.” He was moving away from the woman in the teensy suit. Her expression was annoyed, but Carlo didn’t appear to be the least affected, let alone angry that Lucy had interrupted his tête-à-tête. If a kiss had been in the offing, he didn’t seem worried about the missed opportunity.

Her spirits lifted a little. Maybe this particular first day wasn’t going to be too bad, despite her fears. As a matter of fact, Carlo did look somewhat pleased as he came toward her. See? It was all good. He didn’t appear aware of that little crush she’d once had on him. He may not even recall that impulsive lip-lock she’d laid on him herself two years ago.

Though his nonreaction at the time had only added to her embarrassment, now she was grateful that he seemed to have forgotten it. Yes, in his eyes at this minute she must appear dignified, not to mention all of her twenty-five grown-up years. She took his attitude as an omen for her upcoming job success.

“Damn,” he said as he came to a stop in front of her. His long arm reached out to muss her hair the way an uncle would do to a favored young niece. “Long time no see, Goose.”

Apparently if she hadn’t interrupted a smooch between Carlo and Little Blue Suit, it would have been a kiss-off kind of kiss, anyway. At least that’s what he intimated to Lucy—“Please, Carlo, no one calls me Goose anymore,” she’d said firmly—when, after ushering his chestnut-haired guest from the office, his first request as her brand-new boss was to ask her to send two dozen roses to the lady who’d just departed. Recipient: a Ms. Tamara Maxwell. Message line: It wasn’t you, it was me.

He didn’t quite meet her eyes when he imparted that interesting nugget, but muttered as he turned back to his office, “Look, we only went out a few times and she didn’t get it. I don’t do the couple thing.”

Lucy got it. She’d always gotten it, though the knowledge had never seemed to cool the particular thing she had for Carlo. Besides the paycheck, putting out that fire for good had been the most pressing reason to accept the job at his company.

When she’d moved back to San Diego, her dad, who was old friends with Carlo’s dad, suggested she fill the temporary position at McMillan & Milano before she started a serious search for an accounting position in town. It was supposed to be a favor to Carlo, but it worked for Lucy, too. Moving back to California from Arizona had left her strapped for cash, and acting as his secretary would solve another lingering problem.

The way she figured it, three weeks at McMillan & Milano would finally, for-once-and-for-all, extinguish what she’d always felt for him.

Heck, she decided, watching him walk away from her without a second glance and remembering how easily her humiliatingly juvenile nickname had tripped off his tongue, by quitting time today her libido should finally have heard the message. There was no hope. Carlo would never look at her with the kind of heat a man should hold for a woman.

The idea didn’t depress her in the least.

Really.

So she went about her duties, finding this office not so different from any other—including walking into the break room in the late afternoon to find the water cooler drained desert-dry. Stacked on the floor beside it were several full, capped bottles.

“‘Water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink,’” Lucy murmured, paraphrasing Coleridge to the empty room. She hadn’t just crunched numbers at school. Shaking her head, she pushed up the cuffs of her sleeves. Even though she wasn’t the one who’d tapped the last of the liquid, everyone knew first-day employees couldn’t leave the rest of the staff waterless.

No matter that at five foot two and a mere few orders of French fries over her ideal weight, it would be a struggle to replace the bottle. The task was still up to Lucy.

The empty one was a snap to lift away from the top of the water cooler. The blue cap on the closest full bottle took only seconds to peel off. Then, staring down the plastic barrel at her feet as if it were a wrestling opponent, she bent her knees to grasp it around its cool, rotund belly. As she straightened, she staggered on her feet, her heels clattering against the smooth hardwood floor.

Oh, Lord, don’t let me drop this.

“Goose, what are you doing?”

Instinct had her swinging toward the voice—Carlo’s voice—but that only made her more unsteady on her business-beige heels. Before she could do more than wheeze, there were a man’s arms around her—Carlo’s arms. Her back was up against his chest, her butt pressed to his—

“Stop,” he ordered into her ear.

“I wasn’t thinking anything!”

“Obviously not. You’re too small to take care of this. I meant ‘stop trying to help.’ Let go and let me have the bottle.”

“Oh.” She dropped her hands from the heavy plastic, but that still left her in the circle of Carlo’s arms. His warmth was at her spine, his delicious aftershave in her nose, his breath stirring the hair at her temple.

As a wild rash of prickly awareness broke out like more hives over her skin, she dipped under his arm and freed herself from his faux embrace. Without a glance at her, he stepped forward to flip the bottle on top of the cooler.

He turned to find her fanning her face.

“Goo—Lucy…” His voice trailed off as his gaze dropped lower. His eyes widened, then he looked back up. “You, uh, have a couple of buttons that came loose.”

She glanced down, gasped. In her struggles with the water bottle, apparently some of the buttons on her all-business blouse had popped free, revealing most of her white lace demibra. Her face burning, she clutched the shirt’s edges together with one hand while hastily refastening with the other.

“Relax,” Carlo said. “It’s just me.”

“Yeah. Just you,” Lucy repeated.

Just the man she’d dreamed about since she was fifteen years old.

She managed to get decent once more, but was still struggling with the top buttonhole when her new boss made a brotherly noise and moved in as she continued to fumble. “Here. Let me finish it up.”

He was wearing an easy, indulgent smile as he pushed her hands away and reached toward her collar. For an instant, his fingertips brushed the hollow at her throat and she jerked in helpless reaction, her pulse pounding against his touch. He froze, his fingertips now only making contact with button and fabric.

Still, his nostrils flared and she could smell her perfume rise around them, the scent surging stronger as her heart continued to hammer in her chest.

He cleared his throat. “Goose,” he said. “You smell like a girl.”

A nervous bubble of laughter escaped her throat. “Carlo, I am a girl.”

“Right. Yeah.” He made quick work of the stubborn top button, then retreated toward the doorway. There, he shoved his hands in his pockets and cocked his head, studying her. “Actually, you’re more than a girl. You’re a woman.”

“You noticed?” If it hadn’t been obvious before, this little comment made it crystal clear that the kitchen-kiss two years before hadn’t even rated his attention.

He leaned one shoulder against the jamb and gave her a half smile. “Now I think I’ll find it hard to forget.”

The deep note in his voice stroked like a brush down Lucy’s spine, bumping against each vertebrae. Her tongue swiped at her dry bottom lip and she watched his eyes follow the movement.

Suddenly, her heart sped up again, her pulse fluttering against the place at her throat that still throbbed from his accidental touch. Was…was Carlo looking at her with a masculine kind of interest?

She took in the gleam in his deep-set, dark eyes and then tried to find more clues in the aquiline line of his masculine nose and the sensual curve of his full mouth. He was a beautiful man, every artistic angle of his face a testament to his Italian heritage—but she couldn’t read his expression.

She licked her bottom lip again.

Carlo abruptly straightened, his gaze dropping away. “So, uh, Goose—”

“Lucy.” And didn’t that answer her question? No man would feel the least bit of lust for someone he thought of as “Goose.” Disappointment coursed through her, even though she’d taken the job for this—to finally accept there was no mutual heat between her and Carlo.

No heat. No hope.

“So, Lucy, I suppose I should get back to work.”

With an inward sigh, she followed him with her gaze as he strode down the hall, admiring the way the European cut of his pale blue dress shirt accentuated the muscled leanness of his back and waist. She didn’t try to find a word for how she felt about the curve of his tight, masculine behind in the dark slacks.

Three weeks, Lucy. Three weeks to look, but not touch. Three weeks to accept, finally, that’s all you’ll ever have of him.

A few minutes before five, she was congratulating herself on making it through the could-be-disastrous initial day, when a messenger appeared with a high-priority package for Carlo. Fine, she thought, she’d deliver the slender cardboard envelope and bid him good-night at the same time. Then her first day on the job, and her first day with Carlo, would be behind her.

At her tap on his door, he called her inside. This time he was sitting behind his desk, file folders in front of him, his computer screen angled just so.

He looked up as she entered. “Lucy. Just the person I’ve been thinking about all afternoon,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Her fingers squeezed the package. “Me?” The view behind him was still awe-inspiring, but she couldn’t drag her gaze away from his face to appreciate it. He’d been thinking about her?

“I realize I don’t know what brought you back to San Diego.”

“Oh.” What to say? Dissatisfaction with the jobs she’d found in the accounting industry she’d spent four years preparing herself for? It made her sound so flighty. So, well…ditzy and goosey, especially when every Sutton sibling had gone straight from graduation to climbing the ladder of success in the corporations they’d joined right after college. “Of course, you know I’m from here, and…”

“Your father mentioned something to mine about disappointments in Phoenix?”

She shifted her weight on her feet. “Well…um…” Her face was heating up again and she didn’t know what more to say. While she knew the jobs in Phoenix had not been quite right for her, would Carlo, like her family, only see her as unable to settle down?

“I got to thinking you might have had man trouble.”

Lucy blinked. Man trouble? The only man trouble she’d had recently was the trouble she had forgetting about Carlo and the feelings for him she couldn’t seem to stamp out. “It’s not—”

“I admit that until just a couple of hours ago I was still picturing you at about fourteen years old in my mind. Banged-up knees, a mouthful of braces and all those white-gold curls.”

Terrific. While she’d been tossing and turning at night, wondering what it would be like to be with him, his lingering image of her was something that sounded horribly close to Pippi Longstocking.

Carlo cleared his throat. “But now I see that you’re all grown-up. Like I said earlier, a woman.”

Hmm. That sounded more interesting. And even more interesting than that was the way he was staring at her mouth again. Could it be…?

Uncertain, Lucy held her breath as the atmosphere in the room seemed to ripple with a new, tingly charge.

He jerked his gaze from her mouth to her eyes. “And I was thinking maybe you’re here because someone broke your heart.”

“Oh. No. N-not yet.” Because so far she hadn’t quite accepted she could never have Carlo. And now, with this new shimmer of tension in the room, she was even less sure it could never be.

No, Lucy. No! Don’t delude yourself!

Listening to her common sense, she interrupted the drift of the conversation by sliding the priority envelope in front of him. “Anyway, this just came for you. It looks important.”

When he picked it up, she turned. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Carlo.”

“Wait.”

She didn’t spin back around. “It’s after five.”

“But we’re old friends, and I was thinking that since you’re doing me the big favor of filling in—” His voice broke off. “Damn.”

Curiosity reversed the direction of her feet. “You were thinking…?”

He was staring down at what looked to be a pair of tickets in his hands. “I was thinking, no, I know,” he said, grimacing, “that I could use a date for tonight.”

Lucy swallowed. “Is there someone you’d like me to get on the phone for you? Tamara, or…?”

“You, Lucy.”

“Me?” She was beginning to sound like an echo machine.

Carlo was up and around his desk before she could run for the door. Not that she really wanted to. Not when he came close enough to do up her buttons again…or undo them.

The air was jittering with tension. And heat. Or maybe that was just her. No. No. Carlo was standing over her and she saw his nostrils flare as he took in another breath of her perfume. He was looking at her in a manner that surely he wouldn’t waste on Pippi Longstocking.

You smell like a girl.

I see that you’re all grown up.

A woman.

“So will you go with me to a party tonight?” he asked.

She curled her fingernails into her palms. “Oh, well…”

“I can introduce you around. Maybe find you—”

“The man I’ve been missing?” Lucy couldn’t say what made her utter the words. They came out of nowhere, sounding a little hoarse, a little flirty, a little like she was flirting with him.

She felt both appalled and excited. Outside of a few jokes and that one humiliating kiss, she’d never been overt when dealing with him.

Carlo’s brow lifted, and a corner of his mouth ticked up, too. One of his fingers reached out to wrap itself around a lock of her hair. He tugged. “Lucy. Is that what you’re looking for?”

Her tongue trailed across her bottom lip and she lowered her lashes—again in what seemed a totally unthought-out, yet obviously flirty way—to gaze at him through them. “It depends on how far I’ll have to go to find him.”

Carlo shook his head, an amused, masculine smile quirking both corners of his mouth. “My, my, my. You have grown up.”

Enough to know what this was. No mistaking it now. Carlo was looking at her with a new kind of interest, with the sort of heat she’d only fantasized about before. Her blood raced through her body, waking up thousands of nerve endings with the thrilling news.

Carlo’s looking at me the way a man looks at a woman!

His knuckle ran down her cheek and she felt it all the way to her toes. “Eight o’clock,” he said. “Cocktail attire.”

“Yes.” Yes, yes, yes!

“Where shall I pick you up?”

The racing movement of Lucy’s blood stopped, stilling in one fell swoosh. That shimmering heat continued between them, but she wondered for just how long.

“Where, Lucy?”

“My sister’s. Until I find my own place, I’m staying with Elise.”

And then Lucy had her answer. The tension, the temperature, the thread of attraction running between them didn’t last even another moment, instead dropping like an anchor from one of the boats traveling through the bay she could see over his shoulder. She leveled her gaze at the pretty sight, even as she noted the unpretty view of Carlo’s expression closing down.

His hand dropped, his feet stepped away. “I’ll be there at eight.”

He didn’t renege on the invitation. Former cop, old family friend that he was, he wouldn’t be out-and-out rude to her. Even if it meant picking Lucy up at the home of her married sister.

Her sister. The unrequited love of Carlo Milano’s life.

Chapter Two

There was a rap on the door of the guest bedroom as Lucy stood before the open closet, frowning. “Come in.”

Her sister stuck her head inside the room. “Dad called while you were in the shower. He wanted to know how your first day went.”

“I hope you told him I haven’t quit,” Lucy said. “And I didn’t get fired, either,” she continued, muttering under her breath. Though not true, she suspected that was what her family had assumed each time she’d changed jobs.

Her grumble caused a frown to mar her sister’s perfect face as she stepped into the bedroom and swung the door shut behind her. “Are you okay?”

Lucy avoided a probing gaze by turning back to the closet. “Cocktail attire. For an advance party to hype the Street Beat rock music festival at the end of the month. Don’t you think that calls for something a bit less conservative than a little black dress?”

“I don’t know,” Elise replied, coming to stand beside her. “You’re the music lover. Carlo was smart to invite you.”

“Yeah. Smart.” Lucy figured it was more out of convenience than IQ. Carlo had needed a date for the business thing and she’d been the closest available woman. Those short moments of self-delusion when she’d thought her fantasies had come true…well, self-delusion said it all. “Since I’m working for him, I thought I’d better say yes. Though I’m sure he has a black book full of numbers he could have called.”

“He dates. I know that.”

Lucy slid a look at her sister. How much did Elise know? Was she at all aware of Carlo’s feelings for her? Lucy didn’t think so. Even though, when Elsie had married her husband, John, six years before, it had been clear to anyone paying close attention that Carlo had lost the girl of his dreams.

Lucy had noticed because he’d been the man of hers, but she doubted that Carlo had ever deliberately shared with others how being best man at Elise’s wedding had broken his heart. Lucy might have doubted it herself, except on the big day, wearing her own bridesmaid’s tulle, she’d overheard Carlo’s sister guess aloud his bitter secret. Lucy’s own heart had fractured as he’d reluctantly confirmed the truth. The woman of his dreams was walking down the aisle. Away from him.

But it hadn’t changed the way she felt about him, ever. Just as his stiff expression when she’d mentioned her sister made it clear his feelings for Elise were rock solid.

It was why Lucy hadn’t made up her mind about what to do tonight. Should she really go? There was still time to claim a migraine or call in an excuse of stomach cramps.

Still uncertain, she reached for a hanger draped with a stretchy garment in sunset colors and sprinkled with sequins. “What do you think about this?” she asked, holding the various straps and scraps of fabric against her terry-cloth robe.

Elise’s laugh burst out.

“What?”

Her sister couldn’t seem to stop grinning. “Oh, I think you’re going to be good for our Carlo.”

Her Carlo, Lucy corrected. “I don’t understand.”

“Let’s put it this way. Getting out of police work and into his own successful business didn’t lighten up the man.”

“Losing a partner to a bullet might account for that,” Lucy defended, frowning at her sister. “Patrick McMillan was like a second father to Carlo.”

Elise sighed. “It wasn’t a criticism.”

Crossing to the bed, Lucy tossed the dress down and then grabbed a bottle of lotion from the dresser and started to smooth the cream over her legs. “What did you mean by it, then?”

“You’ve seen how he’s changed over the years,” her sister said. “He used to smile more. Heck, he used to laugh. But now he ducks from most of the invitations our group of friends sends out, and when he does say yes, he broods in a corner or brings a date who does all his talking for him.”

Like that too-pretty Tamara? Though apparently she was yesterday’s news.

“I don’t think he knows how to have fun anymore.” Elise nodded toward the spangled dress stretched across the bedspread. “Maybe you could make that part of your job description.”

Lucy’s palm stopped halfway up her shin. “Aren’t you afraid I’d botch that up just like I’ve botched up every other job I’ve had since graduation?” She knew that’s what they all thought, even though leaving her positions in the accounting departments of the law firm, the school district and the insurance company had been completely voluntary. It wasn’t that she hadn’t done good work…it was that she hadn’t enjoyed it.

Elise rolled her eyes. “You’ve been listening to our brothers too much.”

“And Dad. And then there’s Mom, who just keeps giving me these worried glances.” Elise wasn’t so innocent, either. All of them couldn’t fathom why Lucy had yet to find the right job.

“Remember,” her sister said, “you’re the baby of the family.”

“But for pity’s sake, I’m not a baby anymore!”

Elise nodded, then leaned over to pluck the almost-nothing dress from off its place on the mattress. “I’m getting that. But maybe it’s time you made it clear to everyone else.”

Oh, great, Lucy thought. Just another item to put on her list. Don’t screw up the temp job, do get over Carlo, do make clear to the public-at-large that Lucy Sutton was no longer in pigtails and braces.

On that last thought, Carlo invaded her mind again.

I see that you’re all grown-up.

A woman.

For a moment she’d actually believed he did see that. That he saw her. But then she’d mentioned Elise’s name and he’d gone distant and cool. No more masculine gleam in his eyes and no more half smile on his mouth. As usual, for Carlo, it was always Elise.

So why should she go through with this “date” tonight? She could comfortably stay home and still torture herself with that particular piece of knowledge.

But no! She capped the lotion with a vehement snap. Elise was right. Lucy should be out there proving she was no longer the Suttons’ silly youngest sibling. Tonight didn’t have to be about Carlo. Or about Carlo and Elise. Or about Carlo, and never Lucy.

Tonight could be about Lucy alone. If she focused on herself, maybe she could move into the future, leaving him the lone soul left wallowing in what-couldn’t-be. Tonight, she should, no, she would go to the party as a single, sophisticated woman instead of a goosey love-struck girl.

Her older sister wandered off, leaving Lucy alone to finish prepping for the evening. After putting on make-up and smoothing her hair into straight strands with the flat iron, she wiggled into the stretchy dress she’d selected, adjusting the straps over her braless breasts and criss-crossing them on her bare back in order to tie the ends at her waist. Then she inspected herself in the mirror.

Okay. This was no baby-sister kind of dress. She’d purchased it at a boutique in Phoenix, at a supersale that even then cleaned out her clothing budget. The colors—ranging from palest yellow to the most passionate pink—mimicked a Southwest sunset and brightened her blond hair and fair skin. She paired it with high-heeled pink sandals and a raspberry lip gloss guaranteed to last all night long.

Through kisses and anything else, the product’s sexy ad promised.

She didn’t let her mind go there, though then it did, even without her permission. But why not? Maybe she would meet an attractive man at the party. Maybe he would kiss her.

It could happen.

She heard the doorbell ring, followed by the distant murmur of voices. Her brother-in-law, John’s, the deeper rumble of Carlo’s.

Her little shiver was merely because the night was turning cooler, of course.

So stifling any second thoughts, she grabbed a gauzy wrap and her evening purse, then headed out of the bedroom and down the hallway. A single, sophisticated woman on the way to a party.

Despite herself, her forward motion stopped just short of the living room. From her place in the shadows, she took in the tableau in front of her.

Her sister and brother-in-law were seated on the couch, Lucy’s “date” standing before them. Carlo was dressed in ash-gray slacks and a matching ash-gray silky-looking T-shirt, topped by a black linen sports jacket. He looked relaxed and, well, rich, the shine of his loafers mimicking the gleam of his dark hair. His mouth curved in polite amusement as John related something funny about work. After a moment, Carlo’s eyes flickered away from his friend’s face to light on Lucy’s sister’s classic features.

It seemed to her that his smile faded and his eyes turned empty.

Perhaps she made some movement then, giving herself away, because Carlo’s gaze suddenly jumped to where Lucy was lurking. Hoping to cover for her staring, she immediately stepped into the living room, her shoulders back, her hips swaying. A sophisticated, single woman on her way to a party.

A sophisticated single woman who watched Carlo’s carefully blank expression turn to one of blatant disapproval.

Her first-day nerves returned with a vengeance. Hives felt as if they were rising all over her skin. She would have turned and run, but her sophisticated, single-girl high heels allowed for no fast getaways.

Carlo Milano didn’t like parties in general. He didn’t like the one he was headed to tonight in particular. In particular, because he was accompanied by five feet and a hundred pounds of potential danger. Five feet and a hundred pounds of potential danger wearing high heels and a flaming-hot dress.

Closing his eyes as he shut the passenger door on her and the view of her bare, slender legs, he allowed himself a groan. If only he hadn’t broken things off with Tamara, she would be his date tonight.

Tamara and her palpable hopes for a happily-ever-after life story, with him starring as the male lead.

It was why he’d been forced to end what had been pleasantly pleasant enough. When she’d started making noises about shared vacations and opportunities to meet her parents, he’d felt honor-bound to halt her building expectations. He just didn’t think that type of happy ending was written into the Carlo Milano movie script.

Not that he didn’t believe in happy endings. He’d seen his sister and many of his friends successfully couple up. Not for a minute did he doubt their commitments to their lovers. He went to each wedding wishing them all the best.

But at one wedding… At one wedding he’d started letting go of the notion of a lifelong romantic partnership for himself.

Then, when he’d lost his police partner to an unfair and untimely murder…he’d been certain he was destined to do the life thing solo.

Not to mention it just seemed simpler that way.

“La Jolla isn’t in this direction,” piped up the young beauty beside him. “I thought you said the party was in La Jolla.”

He kept his focus out the windshield instead of glancing again at the blonde wrapped in salsa that was little Lucy Sutton all grown-up. Curse whatever combination of curiosity and kindness had prompted him to ask her out in the first place.

Kindness.

Right. The truth was, the water-cooler incident in the break room had snapped something inside of him. One moment he’d been remembering her as a bubblegum-popping tweenie, the next he was seeing her as a woman. Desirable. Beddable.

Though not available, of course. Not available to him, anyway. There were several reasons that made that a fact: she was an old family friend and almost like a little sister to him; her brothers were among his best friends and would beat him to a pulp if he and Lucy hooked up and he ended up hurting her; and he’d never forgive himself if—when—that very likelihood came to pass.

Still, aware of all that, he’d opened his big mouth and extended the invitation.

So here he was with Lucy. Desirable. Beddable.

Pure trouble.

His years as a street cop, then as a detective, then as a security expert had finely honed his instincts, and his instincts said she was mischief in the making. Lucy Sutton wearing that dress and looking like that in it was going to be up to her curvy hips in trouble tonight if he didn’t stay on the ball.

“Carlo?”

He sighed. “We’re making a stop before the party.” Thank God. Anything to minimize the amount of time he’d have to be on guard-dog patrol. “You wouldn’t by any chance dislike loud music and large crowds?”

He caught her grin out of the corner of his eye. “I love loud music and large crowds.”

“Figures,” he grumbled.

She laughed. “Why are we going, then, if you dislike the party scene so much?”

“You know. It’s a work obligation.” His calendar bulged with them. In a convention town that was also home to major league sports teams and that hosted big-name golf tournaments, as well as big-star rock concerts, McMillan & Milano’s services were in constant demand. “The company’s in charge of security for the Street Beat festival three weeks from now and I’ve got to put in an appearance and do the good ol’ grip-and-grin for at least a few minutes.”

Fewer than few, if he could get away with it. If Lucy Sutton had rattled him, not only a family friend but a man known as Mr. Keep-It-Light-and-Loose, what effect might she have on males who were actively prowling?

He shook his head. She was heading for trouble, all right.

Flipping his car’s signal indicator, he turned right into the driveway of a well-maintained two-story, his gaze noting that the landscaping crew was keeping the hedges manicured and the lawns fertilized per his orders. The porch light added a cheery brightness to the entry, complete with a wreath of dried fall foliage on the front door.

“Come in with me,” he suggested to Lucy. “You’ve met Germaine McMillan before, haven’t you? I said I’d stop by and take care of a minor repair for her.”

Again, he kept his eyes off Lucy’s legs as she exited the car. But he couldn’t keep her light scent away from his nose as they waited for Germaine to answer the ringing doorbell. The fragrance had caught his attention in the break room at the office, too, and remembering that brought back that quick flash he’d had of her plump, pretty breasts rising from the white lace cups of her bra.

To distract himself from the memory, he ran his hand over the molding around the doorjamb. Good. The paint was tight.

For some damn reason, so the hell were the muscles south of his waistline.

He could have kissed Germaine for choosing that instant to open the door. Actually, he did kiss her, an obligatory peck on her soft cheek that dimpled as he moved away and brought his companion forward.

“Do you remember Lucy Sutton?” he asked his partner’s widow. “I’m sure you’ve met her before, as well as various other members of the Sutton family over the years.”

“Of course!” Germaine appeared delighted by the company, which was part of the reason why he’d scheduled the stop. Like the landscaping, he could have hired out the minor repair. But without children or grandchildren of her own, Carlo knew the older woman enjoyed his visits. Just as he’d felt obligated to keep Patrick McMillan’s name as part of the security firm the two of them had dreamed up before Pat’s death, Carlo felt obligated to be the family Germaine didn’t have. “Can I get you two some coffee and dessert?” she asked.

They followed her into the immaculate living room, where fresh vacuum trails showed clearly on the cream carpet. “Nothing for me, thanks,” Lucy replied. “We’re on our way to a party.”

Germaine sat down on the floral couch and Lucy followed suit. “I shouldn’t be keeping the pair of you, then.”

Carlo waved his hand. “There’s no rush. We have plenty of time. The party’s bound to be boring, anyway.” And Lucy would be a whole lot easier to watch over among the flower fields that were Germaine’s upholstered furniture than she would be at a party filled with rock musicians, businessmen and media types.

“Oh, you,” Germaine scolded. “A man your age should enjoy a little nightlife.”

Lucy leaned toward her. “We’re not even there yet and he’s already grumping about the music being too loud. Who knew what a fuddy-duddy he’d turn out to be?”

“Fuddy-duddy?” He frowned at her. Fuddy-duddy? For some reason the teasing jab ignited his usually cool temper. “Is that what you think? But coming from someone dressed in nothing more than a scanty pair of handkerchiefs, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Lucy’s spine straightened. She looked a little bit insulted, too. “Handkerchiefs? I’ll have you know this dress is—”

“Outrageous?” Fuddy-duddy. He couldn’t get the insult out of his mind. “An invitation to pneumonia?”

Her berry-colored mouth fell open and her blue, blue eyes narrowed. “You’re—”

“Children, children,” Germaine interrupted, her voice verging on laughter. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

“You’re right.” Annoyed by his own out-of-character reaction to Lucy’s silly jibes, Carlo shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll do better than that and in fact change the washers of the dripping faucet like I said I would.”

Germaine started to rise, but he shook his head. “I know where I’m going and I know where you keep Pat’s tools.”

He couldn’t exit the living room fast enough. If he didn’t already know that Lucy had potential to be a snag in the smooth path of his planned evening, that last exchange would have been proof positive. How the hell had she gotten under his skin so fast?

Fuddy-duddy. Grumping. Good God, he didn’t grump. How ridiculous.

But damn, if the descriptions hadn’t rankled.

Passing the hall portrait of his late partner on the way to the dripping bathroom faucet, Carlo felt his mood dip even lower. As he tinkered, he thought of Pat’s stocky frame and square, capable hands. The man should be here, Carlo thought on a sudden stab of sadness. Pat should be here, working out of his own red toolbox while looking forward to an evening of yet another TV documentary on military history, as well as a slice of his wife’s famous mocha cheesecake.

Instead, Carlo’s partner was gone.

Gone forever.

Upon completion of the repair, his footsteps were as heavy as his frame of mind as he returned to the living room. Hesitating at the archway, he listened to Germaine’s amused voice.

“Then he turned the corner as fast as his old legs could go, wheezing, he said, sure that he’d lost the suspect, only to find the teenager caught on a cyclone fence, hanging upside down by his own oversize trousers.”

Carlo remembered the moment as if it were yesterday and he couldn’t resist adding to the story. “His own oversize trousers that had fallen down to his ankles, leaving his, uh, assets flapping in the breeze.” Coming farther into the room, he couldn’t help but grin at the memory. “Pat picked up the fancy cell phone that had fallen out of the boy’s pocket and took a picture for posterity, while the dumb kid yammered on and on about police brutality.”

He laughed. “Pat told him the only brutal thing about the event was his having to be subjected to a view of the kid’s skinny butt.” Laughing again, he recalled the expression of insulted outrage on the perp’s upside-down face.

“Oh, Carlo.”

The odd note in Germaine’s voice zeroed his gaze in on her. “What?”

She smiled. “It’s good to hear you laugh. It’s good that we can remember my Pat with lightness in our hearts. He’d want that.”

Carlo felt the smile he was wearing die as yet another pang of sadness sliced through him. All that Pat had wanted was to grow old with his beloved wife. Just a few relaxed and peaceful years of happily-ever-after.

He turned away, embarrassed by his sudden grief and just as determined to hide it. His hand speared through his hair and he cleared his throat. “Anything else I can do for you, Germaine?” His voice still sounded thick.

“No, but, Carlo…” Germaine’s own suddenly teary voice filled with a sympathy he couldn’t handle, yet couldn’t run away from, either. Without looking at her, he sensed her rising and he steeled himself, desperate not to be weakened by any more emotion.

But then Lucy was there first, her hand looping around his arm. “Well, then I think we should be going, Germaine. I have to get the fuddy-duddy to the party before he turns into a pumpkin.”

A new jolt of annoyance overrode his other feelings. Fuddy-duddy again! Pumpkin. He shook his head, frowning down into her bright face and naughty smile.

“Brat,” he murmured. Okay, beautiful, but a brat all the same.

Germaine brightened. “Yes, yes. You must go on to your evening out.”

Lucy’s answer was to tug him toward the door. “Did you hear that, Carlo? Let’s get a move on or next thing I know you’ll be too busy filling out your AARP membership forms to find your way to a party.”

Half-amused by her burst of energy and half-bemused by her second round of insults, he allowed her to pull him through the front door and toward his car. Even without a rock band, she was already dancing along the pavement and chattering away about the stars, the clear sky, how happy she was to be back in San Diego, which always held a hint of ocean in the night air.

When he pulled out of the driveway, he realized he was smiling again. Relaxed. She took a breath and he took advantage of the brief moment of quiet. “Lucy, I’m…”

“Feeling better?”

His head jerked her way. Her gaze was on him, her eyes big. Empathetic.

She knew.

She’d known he was close to losing it back there in Germaine’s living room.

It was as embarrassing as hell to realize, but now it was clear that Lucy had intentionally come to his rescue. By stepping in with her sassy attitude and smart remarks, Lucy had given him the time and the distraction necessary to compose himself. Germaine hadn’t needed him dumping his sorrow on top of her own.

Lucy had made sure he didn’t.

“Lucy…” He was at a loss for words, still embarrassed that she’d read him so easily. Swallowing, he tried again. “You…”

She sent him that bright brat smile and fiddled with the hem of her too-short dress. “Look great in a pair of handkerchiefs, right?”

His gaze fell to her half-naked legs, then jumped back to the impish curve of her bright berry mouth. His blood rushed south and he felt that recognizable tightness at his groin. Of course, it couldn’t be because of Lucy and how good she smelled and how delectable she looked in that dress. She was an old family friend, so it wasn’t—

Oh, fine. What the hell. Why deny it? He was a man, with all the normal male responses. The truth was, old family friend or not, Lucy Sutton turned him on.

The admission sent his cop instincts hog wild again. This time they had another loud-and-clear message. Be careful, they told him. Be very careful.

She was still the little sister of some of his best friends, Elise and the sisters’ brothers, Jason and Sam.

The Suttons and the Milanos had been connected for years and would continue to be connected for years to come.

So don’t risk introducing awkwardness into the mix.

So don’t risk getting too close to a woman who’d already shown herself adept at understanding his moods.

He took another breath of her sweet, feminine perfume. Yeah, Milano, don’t risk getting too close. Because of the two people sitting in the butter leather seats of his Lexus, he had the sudden premonition that the one most likely to get into trouble tonight was him.

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