[English] HOT SECRETS (Bí Mật nóng bỏng)

Author: Lisa Renee Jones

He was sitting at the Manhattan coffee bar in a dark corner, his back to the wall, his laptop on the wooden table, when the waitress set his coffee down and quickly departed without a word. The oversized white mug rested on a saucer and held plain black coffee. He didn’t believe in flavors and sweet things, unless they came in the form of soft, womanly curves the kind he liked to have beneath him, on top of him, and then quickly out of the way. Used and disposed of, and therefore incapable of creating problems he didn’t need, or want, in his life.
Discreetly, he snagged the small data stick that the waitress had slipped onto the saucer, popped it into hisputer, and took a sip of hot coffee.
A few punches on his keyboard and the image of the familiar auburn-haired female who’d be the reason he lived, the reason he got up every day, along with details of her habits, memberships, likes and dislikes, appeared on the screen. Details on a wire to his offshore account scrolled across his page. His gaze shifted to the table directly across from his, and he almost laughed at the assumption that he could be bought, that he wanted the paycheck offered. This was about so much more than money. Because at that table so close he could almost smell the vanilla scent of the shampoo he knew she kept on the edge of her shower was his target, a delicate little flower even if she didn’t know it, even if she played tough in the courtroom. But she’d know when he was done with her. She’d know, because he was going to tear her apart, one petal at a time, and relish every moment of it, too. He’d profiled her, just as she profiled the suspects in the cases she took to trial for the District Attorney’s office. After all, he didn’t earn the name ‘Dirt Diver’ without merit. And just as his target used...

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Prologue

He was sitting at the Manhattan coffee bar in a dark corner, his back to the wall, his laptop on the wooden table, when the waitress set his coffee down and quickly departed without a word. The oversized white mug rested on a saucer and held plain black coffee. He didn’t believe in flavors and sweet things, unless they came in the form of soft, womanly curves the kind he liked to have beneath him, on top of him, and then quickly out of the way. Used and disposed of, and therefore incapable of creating problems he didn’t need, or want, in his life.

Discreetly, he snagged the small data stick that the waitress had slipped onto the saucer, popped it into his computer, and took a sip of hot coffee.

A few punches on his keyboard and the image of the familiar auburn-haired female who’d become the reason he lived, the reason he got up every day, along with details of her habits, memberships, likes and dislikes, appeared on the screen. Details on a wire to his offshore account scrolled across his page. His gaze shifted to the table directly across from his, and he almost laughed at the assumption that he could be bought, that he wanted the paycheck offered. This was about so much more than money. Because at that table so close he could almost smell the vanilla scent of the shampoo he knew she kept on the edge of her shower was his target, a delicate little flower even if she didn’t know it, even if she played tough in the courtroom. But she’d know when he was done with her. She’d know, because he was going to tear her apart, one petal at a time, and relish every moment of it, too. He’d profiled her, just as she profiled the suspects in the cases she took to trial for the District Attorney’s office. After all, he didn’t earn the name ‘Dirt Diver’ without merit. And just as his target used her suspects' habits, their perceived weaknesses, against them in court, he’d use hers against her. He’d taunt her, announce he was coming for her, and watch her pretend indifference, watch her stupidly stand alone. He was going to touch her world, as she’d touched his. Draw out her torture, make her scream his name. Make her beg for her life. And then, and only then, he would kill her.

Chapter One

“What you need is a man.”

Lauren Reynolds groaned at her best friend’s far too loudly spoken suggestion, feeling as if one of the elegant chandeliers of the fancy New York ballroom had just become a spotlight. “Keep your voice down before someone hears you.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Julie chided, her baby blue eyes brimming with as much mischief as the deep V of her sparkling blue gown. “Why do you care what these people think?”

“I have to care, and you know it. These people are my father’s friends and colleagues, who happen to be here to celebrate his birthday. And enough with this ‘you need a man’ stuff you’ve been harping on all week. We can’t all be Marilyn Monroe look-a-likes who can thumb through men like a mailbox full of advertisements. I guess blondes do have more fun and us brunettes are stuck with chocolate and Marie Claire magazines.”

“How very boring.”

“Boring works for me. Between my father’s career and my work, I’m up to my neck with male egos and still sinking.”

Julie set her glass down on one of the several bars in a spacious room with tables filled with delicate finger foods, and plenty of spotlight chandeliers dangling above them. “Finally, we get to the root of the problem. Clearly, you’ve been locked up and sheltered in your daddy’s world too long. You’ve forgotten real men are not politicians.”

“I work for the District Attorney’s office, Julie,” Lauren bristled. “I’m about to go to trial on a murder case with the death penalty on the table, and it won’t be my first. I hardly call that ‘locked up and sheltered.’ And I’m hardly surrounded by nothing but politicians.”

“Oh, please. The DA is not only an elected position, this particular DA is all about playing the game of politics, and you know that.” She studied Lauren a moment, her expression and tone softening before she added, “Look, honey, your lack of male companionship aside, I’m worried about my best friend. You need to get some rest and have some fun. Ever since you started prepping for this trial, you’ve been working around the clock. And before this one, there was another.”

“This one is big,” Lauren argued. “It’s-”

“They’re all big to you,” Julie disputed. “That’s why you’re getting assigned murder cases, not petty theft cases. You work insane hours without complaint, then pull ‘daughter’ duty like some sort of robot.”

“It’s his birthday, Julie.”

“Tonight I understand,” she said. “It’s the many other functions and I do mean many that he insists you attend, that you need to put a stop to.” She lowered her head and softened her voice. “You need a life that isn’t his, which brings me back to the ‘hot male’ category of this conversation, and no, I’m not talking the email version.”

“I just got out of a relationship. I don’t need another.”

“You didn’t just get out of anything. You dumped your cheating ex-fiancé, who was hotter for your father’s power than he was you, more than six months ago. And not without bruises to your emotions and your confidence, which makes me want to find the man and give him a good knee to the balls. I’ll just settle for helping you get back on the horse.”

“Julie,” she ground out. “I’m going to hurt you if you don’t zip it.”

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“You’re beautiful and ***y,” she said, as if Lauren hadn’t even spoken, “and he made you feel like Ugly Betty when you’re Audrey freaking Hepburn. You need a hot man to carry you away and remind you that you are more than the sum of a courtroom or your father’s career aspirations on your behalf.”

Lauren snorted at that. “With my luck, I’d choose an undercover reporter who’d twist me into some sort of floozy which would spiral into a scandal for my father.”

Julie’s eyes brightened mischievously and then widened with delight at her own thoughts. “Actually, Lauren, maybe that’s just what you need.”

“What the heck does that mean?” Lauren asked, frowning, pretty sure what was coming. The push. Julie loved “the push,” what she called her closing arguments on anything, in or out of a courtroom.

“Your father’s about to retire, but he has that Kennedy family grandeur in his sights. He wants you to run for office. He’s not going to give up until he convinces you.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “So you see a scandal can’t really hurt him, but it could help you dodge a political bullet.”

Lauren grimaced. “Apparently you’ve broken our golden rule of sobriety in public and had too much bubbly, because you’re talking craziness. I work for the District Attorney’s office. I have my own career to think about, too, and you know it.”

Julie pursed her perfect lips. “I don’t know anything of the sort. It’s not like you want to run for DA anymore than you want to run for any other appointed office. And you’re in the public sector with a conviction rate that’s well above expectations, so you’re a golden girl.”

“Any scandal I bring to the office, I bring to the DA. Not to mention, I’m not exactly the scandal kind of girl.”

“Oh, good grief,” Julie grumbled. “I was just baiting you with the whole scandal thing, but the fact that you didn’t even get that is telling, and of what, I’m not sure.”

There was an announcement at the front of the room, something about cake and presents in half an hour. Lauren skimmed her hand down her out-of-character siren-red silk gown, her gaze catching on the dainty, silver watch on her wrist, the newest in a broad collection of gifts from her father. Apologies for working late, missing birthdays and any number of other things. She wondered what had earned her a gift on his birthday, and when she’d find out.

Julie touched her arm. “You okay?”

Lauren inhaled and let it out. “Fine. I’m fine. I just need more champagne.”

“Looking for a little tolerance for step-mommy dearest, I take it?”

“Don’t you know it,” Lauren agreed, dreading the inevitable ‘make-nice moments’ with her father’s trophy wife.

“Well, to heck with our sobriety pact,” Julie declared. “A bubbly dose of patience, coming right up.”

Several minutes later, Lauren sipped from a flute and waved at one of her father’s friends across the room. She wondered if the man really was a friend, or just someone jockeying for some position.

Julie leaned in close. “Oh honey, you’re waving at an old fuddy-duddy so I’ve just waved my magic wand. I have the perfect male specimen to carry you away to orgasmic bliss. Mr. Make Every Woman Hot And Bothered himself is in the house.”

“I seem to remember you inferring only minutes ago that there were no men capable of such splendor at these types of events.”

“He’s your ‘midnight fantasy,’” she said, a wicked smile on her lips. “Or so a certain brunette told me just last weekend, after a few glasses of wine.”

Royce Walker. She was talking about Royce Walker. Lauren’s throat went dry at the mention of the ***y State Security Advisor who also ran a private security company with his two brothers. And, most definitely, had been the object of her ‘midnight fantasies’ on more than one occasion. “He’s here tonight?”

“Over here, Royce!” Julie called out and then grinned. “He’s not only here, he’s headed our way. You can thank me later.”

“Oh dear God, Julie,” Lauren chided. “Why did you do that? I have enough stress tonight without this.” And damn it, she needed a little fantasy here and there. She didn’t want it ruined by real life.

“If you won’t take care of you, honey,” she said, reaching out and tugging Lauren’s bodice down an inch, “I will.”

“Good evening, ladies,” Royce greeted her from behind, his voice as rawly masculine as one would expect from a man with a body of a god and long raven hair he’d regretfully tied at his nape for an event such as this one.

Lauren pulled up her dress, and shot Julie a warning look. “We’ll be talking later.”

“Of course,” Julie said with a grin a moment before Royce stepped between them, towering over them. “Hey there, Royce.”

Lauren turned fully to greet him, having only an instant to take in his tuxedo, which fit him to perfection, before her gaze collided with his crystal blue stare. “Hello,” he said, his voice lower now, almost intimate.

“Hello,” she said, willing herself to say something more, but the unexpected direct eye contact sizzled her all the way to her toes and apparently stole her ability to process words.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere keeping your brothers out of trouble?” Julie asked him.

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“As tedious and impossible as that is,” he said, “it would be more pleasant than rubbing elbows with a bunch of wanna be movers and shakers. But duty sometimes requires a tuxedo and nerves of steel.”

Lauren gaped, her reaction instantaneous, her processing skills fully recovered. She might not approve of her father wholeheartedly, but she loved him. “You do know this is my father’s birthday party, right?”

“Ah,” Julie said. “I think I should say ‘Oops’ here because I thought you two had officially met. I’m assuming that’s not the case.”

Royce’s far too sensual lips curved slightly. “Nice to finally meet you ‘officially,’ Ms. Reynolds,” he said, extending his hand to Lauren. “Though we’ve certainly crossed paths at a few events.”

She ignored his hand. “You knew who I was but you still made that comment about my father’s party?”

“When your father invited me here tonight, I suggested he cancel this monkey-suit event and have a family barbecue,” he said. “I even offered to bring the beer and my brothers for entertainment. He wasn’t interested. So yes, I knew who you were when I made the comment.”

“You told my father...” She shook her head. “Did you really?”

He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. And while I was never a scout, I was in the FBI for 7 years, so that’s close enough.”

“And how did my father reply to your suggestion?”

“He told me to ‘wear the damn monkey-suit and get your ass to my party.’”

She laughed. “Oh my God. That’s so my father. You really did tell him that.”

“I’m not known for my decorum, not even when I was a hostage negotiator.” He held out his hand. “Shall we try again? Nice to meet you, Ms. Reynolds.”

She liked him. He was so different from, well, everyone else here, and actually, quite like Julie. She slipped her palm against his, unprepared for the instant tingling awareness that rushed up her arm. “Lauren,” she managed, and to her dismay her voice cracked. “Call me… Lauren.”

He brought her knuckles to his lips, his gorgeous blue eyes lifting to hers. “Lauren,” he repeated softly, before releasing her hand, and man, oh man, she wanted him to touch her again like she’d never wanted to be touched before.

“I see someone I need to talk to,” Julie said. “I’ll be back in a few.” With a turn, and a covert wink at Lauren that said she’d just made up the ‘someone to talk to’ as an excuse to leave Lauren alone with Royce, she disappeared.

Royce leaned an elbow on the bar. “How long have you two been friends?”

“Five years,” she said, happy to have a comfortable subject to talk about. “We met our last year of law school.” Lauren pushed herself up on a bar stool and crossed her legs, her dress riding up a bit above the knee, which she quickly righted.

Royce’s eyes dropped to follow the action, and a combination of nervousness and awareness rushed over her. “You two seem very different,” he commented, his gaze lifting to hers, his elbow settling on the bar.

“And that’s bad?”

“Not bad,” he said. “Just unique. Typically people are who they hang out with. But I guess you’re both attorneys, so that’s a common denominator.”

“I know plenty of attorneys I won’t give the time of day to,” Lauren corrected. “Julie and I share basic values about what is right and wrong and a passion for helping people. Those things are more common denominators for us than one piece of paper that says we get to practice law.”

He arched a brow. “Isn’t she a divorce attorney?”

“She’s passionate about getting people out of bad marriages and into a new life. It’s not always what you do to make a difference, it’s that you really try to make a difference.”

“Sounds like a perfect campaign pitch to me.”

“And let me guess,” she said dryly. ”You heard I was running for office from my father.” He gave a quick nod, and she shook her head. “Of course you did. I love my father, and I’ve supported his career, and I don’t regret that. But no matter how much he commands me to run for office, it simply isn’t going to happen. As in, ever. Under no circumstances.” She lowered her voice. “My life has been completely my father’s in so many ways because of his public position. That ends the day he leaves his office. You have no idea how much I crave that day.” The confession was out before she could stop it. She had no idea why she revealed such a thing to this man, this stranger, but it was done and there was no turning back.

He stared down at her, studying her with unnerving intensity, as if he was reading her soul. He, and her confession, were inescapable. And so she found herself doing the same with him, openly assessing this man she found so alluringly different from anyone she’d ever been with before. The air expanded around them, shifted, thickened. The rest of the room faded away, lost to a sudden, intense crackle of electricity. “I think,” he said softly, “that I’d like to know more about you, Lauren Reynolds.”

Something wonderful, wild, and wicked stirred inside her with his words, with the heat in his expression – something wild, wicked, and oh so unfamiliar. This man didn’t fit that ‘safe’ profile she’d gravitated towards because it was expected of her. There was nothing safe about him, and a lot of that was exciting. But the idea of acting on her feelings sent a rush of tension through her. She bit her lip and cut her gaze to his chest. She might be confident in a courtroom, but she wasn’t Julie; she wasn’t a seductress who knew how to bring a man to his knees. She had Royce Walker’s attention and she didn’t know what to do with it.

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Royce leaned closer, the spicy male scent of him flaring and filling her nostrils, and she fought the unexpected urge to reach out and touch him. “Am I making you nervous, Lauren?”

Her chin lifted, her gaze fixing on his, shocked that he’d read her so accurately. “You really do say whatever you're thinking, don’t you?

“Is there a reason to do otherwise?”

She liked the answer. “You don’t make me nervous.” And he didn’t. She was insecure in ways she didn’t want to be, that she’d tried desperately to overcome since her broken engagement. But in the end, she was left afraid to believe anything was authentic ever again, especially this man, who felt more real than any she’d ever met.

He searched her face a moment, and then offered her his hand. “Then dance with me.”

Before she could think to object, if she even would have, he was leading her toward the center of the room, anticipation pulsing through her like a live charge. She was going to dance with Royce Walker, to feel his big body pressed close to hers, and she was pretty certain it would be politically incorrect to melt into a puddle of warm, wanting female, in the center of her father’s birthday party. She was also pretty sure it was going to happen anyway.

***

Easing through the crowd, Royce repeated Lauren Reynolds’ words in his head. You have no idea how much I crave that day. She had no idea, all right. No idea how much he craved her. How enticed he was by her gorgeous pale skin, how enticed he was by the idea of stripping her na**d and caressing it, tasting it, feeling every inch of it, and her, molded against him. Or how enticed he was by the way her eyes danced with little yellow flecks of color when she felt strongly about something she was saying. He wondered how they would look when she was aroused and wanting. Would they be greener? Darker?

They cleared the path to the dance floor, and Royce eased Lauren onto the tiled circle where random couples moved together to an orchestra number. He braced himself for the impact of touching her, then pulled her into his arms. Their eyes collided, the mutual attraction they shared, that had passed between them in passing glances over the months since he’d taken a public position, wrapped them in warmth. But he’d known it would on some level he’d always known this woman would impact him, that she would stir something inside him he wasn’t sure he remembered existing or feeling since long before he’d joined the FBI fifteen years before, when life inside the bureau had been everything, and yet somehow nothing. There was no denying though, that since he’d taken a more public role to promote Walker Security, the business he and his brothers ran, he’d been drawn to her each time their paths had crossed, no matter how casually or indirectly. Yet, he’d resisted approaching her, all too aware that he didn’t fit into her political world, that his step into the realm of politics was merely a business endeavor, while hers was a lifestyle. That was, until tonight, when she’d declared this world to be her father’s, not her own, and made it clear that everything he’d assumed about her had been wrong. And until tonight when life had pulled them together for all the wrong reasons.

She was small and soft in his arms, and nervous as hell no matter how much she denied it. And while he didn’t want to make her nervous, he liked knowing he affected her, though he shouldn’t, because she was off limits. He had no business flirting with her, no business wanting her, and he knew that. And yet, he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

She melted against him, her head settling on his chest, the soft vanilla and honey scent of her warming him inside out. He squeezed his eyes shut, despising his reason for being here tonight, but incapable of regretting that she was in his arms. Knowing she wouldn’t stay there long, that she couldn’t stay there long. Because the minute he’d said ‘yes’ to this assignment, Royce had said ‘no’ to Lauren.

Chapter Two

Dancing with Royce Walker, there was no denying the simple truth. He did it for her. And whatever it was, it had her body tingling and her blood pumping at lightning speed. She not only wanted this man, for once in her life she wanted more than the fantasy of being more like Julie. For once, for one night, she wanted to let go, she wanted to just let herself go where desire led her, where this man would take her.

His lips brushed her ear. “You smell amazing.”

Lauren’s lashes fluttered before she looked up at him. There was something so powerful, so provocative about this man. She liked to be in control, normally resisted giving control away, which was one of the reasons the courtroom appealed to her. There she was respected, in charge and without her father’s influence. Royce wouldn’t let her have control. She knew this instinctively, but somehow didn’t care. Royce’s power was all his own, not bought or jockeyed for, a lethal quality she found alluring and ***y. A power he owned naturally, like a second skin, that simply existed as he did. And she wasn’t going to let this night with him escape because of insecurity.

She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “You asked if you scare me.”

His gaze dropped to her lips, and lifted. “Actually, I asked if I was making you nervous, not scared.”

“Right. No. You don’t make me nervous. And you don’t scare me.” She allowed herself the freedom, the luxury, to run her hand discreetly across one of his broad shoulders and then down his arm, loving the feel of his muscles. It was bold for her to do so in public, at one of her father’s events, yet all she was thinking about was how every inch of this man was hard, male perfection. “But I think I might be scaring me.”

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His hands tightened on her waist and his eyes narrowed. “Explain.” He pulled her a bit closer. “What’s wrong, Lauren?” He stopped dancing and just stared down at her with intense, probing eyes. “What are you telling me?” Desire spiked between them, and then lingered, a fine mist that seemed to travel over her entire body.

His reaction overwhelmed her, and sent a dash of uncertainty through her. What had made her think she could pull off the coy, flirty thing? She wasn’t Julie. She knew how to play the courtroom game. The bedroom variety was another story. “Nothing. I… It was silly. Forget I said anything.”

Abruptly, Royce took her hand and led her off the dance floor, forcing her to double-step to keep pace in high heels. Too quickly, before she could gain her wits back, Royce had her in a corner, where she leaned against the wall as he rested a shoulder next to her. He was so close and so big that she was successfully blocked from the view of the room.

Looking up at him, feeling a bit intimidated as he towered over her, and a lot nervous about his reaction to her words, she questioned him, “Royce?”

His voice was raspy when he spoke, his eyes so intense she felt they might burn her skin, his voice urgent, and oddly edgy. “What are you saying to me, Lauren? Is something scaring you? Is there something you need to tell—"

“No,” she said quickly, thinking again how terribly, horribly bad she was at seduction. The man now thought she was in some sort of danger. “I mean yes.” She’d gone this far, she wasn’t going to back down. Not when Royce Walker had her trapped in a small corner and she liked it so very, very much. Lauren reached out, forcing herself to act on her desire to touch him, flattening her hand on his deliciously perfect chest. Inhibitions be damned, she vowed. “I… want...”

“You want what?”

“You.” Oh my God, had she really just said that?

His eyes narrowed, his voice lowering an octave. “Are you saying that scares you?”

“In a good way,” she admitted softly, then louder, “In a good way.

Suddenly Julie’s voice broke into their exchange. “Sorry to break up the party, but it’s cake time, and everyone is looking for Lauren.”

Lauren could have screamed at her friend’s untimely interruption.

Royce seemed to agree, flicking a quick look over his shoulder and saying, rather than asking, “Give us one minute.”

Julie cleared her throat. “Hurry.” And then she was gone.

Royce fixed Lauren with a probing stare, his eyes roaming her face, searching, his expression giving away nothing. “You better go be with your father. We’ll talk afterwards.”

Her heart thundered in her chest, and real fear, the kind made of rejection, balled in her chest. No way was she going to wonder what he meant through the rest of the party. “There’s nothing to talk about. You want me or you don’t. Which is it, Royce?”

His reply came in actions, not words. He tipped his head down and brushed his lips across hers. The touch was brief, but somehow possessive and powerful, and a shiver of pure arousal charged down her spine and spread to other, much more intimate places.

“Oh, I want you,” he said, his voice whiskey rough, where it had been a cool breeze only moments before. “Which is exactly why we need to talk.”

Her stomach lurched. Not the ‘talk’ thing again. Why did they need to talk? Talking was what she wanted to avoid. She needed an escape, not an inquiry.

Royce surprised her and laughed. “Stop frowning.” He chucked her lightly on the chin. “Go celebrate with your father so we can get out of here.” His mouth was so near her ear, she felt the warmth of his breath. “Together, Lauren.”

***

Ten minutes later, Lauren was on stage in the front of the room, trying to focus on her father and the birthday gifts he was opening, not on Royce and what would come after the party. But truth be told, her father’s public persona meant far more to him than she did. Oh, he wanted her here, and he wanted her to run for office, but only because it was good for his image, for his politics, for that damn dynasty he, and his father before him who’d also been a politician, aspired to create. And because her political career would keep him in the spotlight without the pressure of holding office.

As usual, her stepmother Sharon stood quietly by his side, her long brown hair swept into an elegant knot at her neck, her exotic features carefully crafted into a mask of happiness and dedication. The press loved her. Her husband adored her for all the wrong reasons.

Sharon’s gaze rushed over Lauren and she moved towards her, her clingy light blue dress bringing to mind the word inappropriate. She was so tired of that word, but the truth was, Sharon was inappropriate. Sharon knew it too, and she knew Lauren knew it. It was her father who didn’t seem to see things clearly. Mr. Practical and Conservative looked the other way for a set of surgically enhanced br**sts that made him feel vibrant and young.

“Lauren, dear,” Sharon drawled, stepping to her side. “You seem distracted.”

Lauren’s teeth ground together but she managed a nonchalant shrug. “You know how I feel about these events.”

Sharon cast her a reprimanding look. “This event, as you call it, is your father’s birthday party.”

Lauren fought the childish urge to roll her eyes, and with it, the pang of hurt inside her, a longing for the family she’d once had, and lost. “I’m going *****ggest we have a backyard picnic or intimate dinner next year. You know, the normal things families do.”

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Sharon smiled, smugness radiating off her like a second skin. “We’re not most families, and thank God for it.”

“Exactly my point,” Lauren mumbled and accepted a champagne flute from a waiter, feeling the hot stare of Royce without even looking at him. But she knew where he was in the far corner, leaning on the bar, waiting for her. She tipped her wrist back to drink and silently vowed that tonight was about indulging, about living a little.

“I see you received the watch,” Sharon said, glancing at Lauren’s wrist. “At least thank us for it.”

Lauren didn’t bother commenting. Sharon would never understand the difference between giving love and buying it. “Where is my dear brother Brad?” she asked instead, unable to stop the intended jab from slipping past her lips. She didn’t like Sharon’s son any more than she liked Sharon. He’d been eighteen and Lauren seventeen when her father had remarried, not three years after her mother’s cancer had shattered her world, and though they were siblings by marriage, his creepy flirtation had been almost instant. Now, seven years later, nothing had changed.

“Brad,” Sharon replied, “is off taking depositions in an important case for your father’s firm, and your father would expect nothing less. In case you forgot, he runs it now, after you refused the job.” Sharon's eyes darted toward Royce. “I see you have caught the eye of the oldest Walker brother. You should be more discreet.”

No, Lauren thought, downing the rest of her champagne. She was tired of discreet. Really darn tired of it and Sharon. She might have said as much, had Sharon stayed by her side one more second.

Lauren’s gaze immediately sought Royce’s and found it. He was watching her exchange with Sharon. He knew they’d fought, she realized. He was too attentive not to have noticed. And oddly, considering the man was a complete stranger, she had this sense that if she needed him, he was primed and ready to act, to be there for her. For a girl who normally valued her independence, Lauren was shocked to find that idea beyond ***y, while still dipping into the realm of being downright comforting. And for the first time all week, she let herself admit that she’d been feeling uneasy, like she needed to look over her shoulder, for no explainable reason. Correction, Lauren thought. No explainable reason besides the obvious that she was readying for a murder trial and dealing with her stepmother both in a two week span. If those two things didn’t deserve a dose of comfort Royce Walker style, she didn’t know what else did.

***

If Royce had ever seen a woman looking for escape, it was Lauren. She didn’t like the politics of her father’s world, nor most definitely the disposition of her stepmother. It was clear to him that Lauren was realizing that she had no real control that it all belonged to her father. She wanted out desperately yearning for freedom. He’d spent years as a hostage negotiator, seen how people dealt with the feeling of being trapped, of having all control stripped. So when Royce watched Lauren reach for yet another glass of champagne, he knew she was in trouble. He knew she never had more than one drink. He knew this from her profile. He knew a lot about Lauren that he’d venture to say she didn’t want him to know. Most importantly, he knew it was time to escort her home before she did something she’d regret in the morning.

He shoved off the bar, intending to go after her, when Lauren headed down the stairs, and began weaving or rather wobbling her way in his direction. In several long strides, Royce was in front of her, gently shackling her arms to steady her. Her hand went to her forehead, distress in her delicate features.

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Thanks. I think”

“You drank too much.” He kept his voice low, and then leaned down near her ear, and whispered. “Perhaps regretting the invitation you gave me earlier?”

He felt her shiver, and then watched defiance flash in her eyes. “No. I’m not.” She paused. “It’s not you. It’s me.” She let out a breath. “It’s my stepmother. It’s the party. It’s my… I’m rambling and I never ramble but I’m only a little bit tipsy. That doesn’t mean I don’t know what I am doing, though. I do.”

She might know what she was doing, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t regret her actions in the morning. He wasn’t in the habit of causing regret in women, and he wasn’t going to start with Lauren. The best thing he could do was get her home safely, and walk away. Lord, please give me the will to do that and nothing more. “Did you drive to the party?”

She shook her head. “I’m a sensible subway and taxi girl. I won’t pay to park a car I barely drive.”

“That leaves you with two options to get home. I can get you a taxi or I can drive you home.” He wanted her to say ‘taxi,’ for her sake, for his. But he couldn’t let that be her answer, not and do his job. He needed to be her ride, to get to her home, to get closer to her.

She didn’t blink, didn’t look away, her voice soft and raspy, and oh so ***y as she said, “You know I want you to take me home.”

The obvious reiteration of the earlier invitation he couldn’t accept no matter how much he wanted to punched him in the gut. “Consider me your ride then.”

A few minutes later, the two of them stood in the lobby of the hotel while a valet pulled his truck to the bottom of several flights of outdoor steps. He slipped his arm around her waist and they headed into an unseasonably cool April evening air. They managed to make it as far as the bottom of the first set of stairs on the terrace area, when they were suddenly swarmed by reporters. Cameras flashed and microphones were shoved in their direction.

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“Ms. Reynolds, how do you feel about the Sheridan execution?”

“Ms. Reynolds, tell us about your new murder trial.”

“Ms. Reynolds, do you consider yourself a legal vigilante?”

“What is Senator Reynolds’ feeling on the death penalty?”

Lauren tried to hide from the flashes.

“Get back,” Royce ordered. “Leave her alone.” He bent close to Lauren’s ear. “Just keep walking, and stay close.”

Someone stuck a microphone in Royce’s face. “Who are you? Are you her date?”

They were only a few steps from his truck when something ice cold splattered all over them. Lauren jumped and screamed. Several reporters cursed. Royce didn’t take time to consider what had been thrown or if there was real danger. Instinct and training had taught him to assume the worst, and act.

He yanked the passenger door open and helped Lauren inside the vehicle. At that moment, an egg smacked into the panel beside him and Lauren gasped at the thump. “What was that?” she asked, leaning toward him. He eased her back into her seat.

“Stay inside,” was his only reply, before he shut her inside the vehicle.

The hair on the back of Royce’s neck lifted as he moved to the driver’s side, and climbed inside the cab. The FBI had taught him to never ignore his instincts, and his instincts were screaming of trouble where he might otherwise find only irritation.

He locked the doors and started the engine. “You okay?” he asked, glancing Lauren’s way as he maneuvered them onto the highway.

She ignored his question. “That was an egg that hit your truck, wasn’t it?”

“It’ll wash off.”

“We should go to a car wash before it destroys your paint job. I feel horrible about this, Royce.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “You have no idea how much I want to wash the cobwebs from my brain right now, while we’re at it.”

“Hey,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. You don’t control what people do.”

“But I should have considered how I might put you in the line of fire. And I would have had I not stupidly drank too much champagne, which is not like me, by the way. I have a murder trial starting in two weeks, and when I juggle a high profile case, on top of the attention I get because of my father, it can get intense. I feel really, really horrible that I dragged you into my mess.”

“You said that already,” he said. “My truck will be fine. Stopping somewhere will only make us a target for ambitious reporters who might be following.” Or someone else who intended for them to stop, and intended to take advantage of the seclusion of a late night car wash stop.

“I’m willing to take the risk to save your truck.”

“I’m not and I have insurance for a reason.”

She hesitated and nodded, then touched her dress and smelled her fingers. “Champagne. I think someone threw champagne at us. Either that or I spilled it on myself and I’m more tipsy than I remember. But then, drunks don’t remember, now do they?”

“You’re not a drunk, and don’t put yourself down for relaxing a little. And yes, what was thrown on us was champagne, which is far better than getting hit with an egg.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I guess there’s that to cling to.” She hesitated, then, “Maybe it’s the tipsy part of this equation for me, but that scene back there rattled me way more than it normally would.” She shivered and hugged herself. “I’ve been around my share of creepy bad guys and I got that same feeling of malice rolling off the crowd.”

“It’s called a typical Friday night in Manhattan,” he said lightly, not about to tell her he’d felt it too, and because he wasn’t supposed to know where she lived, he added, “I need your address for the GPS.” She murmured a reply and he punched the information into the program. “Why don’t you rest your eyes until we get there?”

She nodded and slid down into the seat, a little too willing to do as he suggested from what he knew of her personality. She was rattled all right. She knew she was in trouble.

Chapter Three

Fifteen minutes later, Royce had paid the doorman a hefty tip to park his truck without hassle. Now on the fifth floor of the twenty-story Upper West Side residential building Lauren lived in, he waited while she fished a key out of the small beaded purse she’d gotten from the coat clerk back at the hotel. She produced a silver keychain which she proceeded to drop to the ground.

Royce scooped it up. “Let me,” he offered, and when she nodded, crossing her arms in front of her, he couldn’t help but notice how adorably nervous and vulnerable she appeared. He was being allowed to see what he doubted many had before him. This was a glimpse of what lay beneath the confident Assistant DA’s public persona, and it was so much more than what he gambled on. Lauren wasn’t a spoiled senator’s daughter, or even an arrogant public servant with too much power, as he imagined she might be. She was so much deeper, so much more than her beauty, and she didn’t even seem to recognize it.

He slipped the key into the lock and shoved open the door, flipping on a light and illuminating a marbled floor. He stepped back into the hallway to let Lauren enter, then followed her inside, shutting the door and locking it behind them. He took a step forward, noting the kitchen to his left, at the same time that Lauren said, “Royce,” and whirled around and right into him.

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He closed his arms around her, righting her footing. “Easy, sweetheart. Big guys like me take up a lot of space.” He swiped a strand of hair from her eyes, fighting the rush of desire. “What were you going to say?”

“Kiss me,” she said, and pressed to her toes and melted her mouth against his.

His will to resist this woman, to make sure she was inside her apartment safely, and then leave, faded with the touch of their lips, damn near crumbling into ash when he felt her tongue press past his teeth. A low growl escaped his lips as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding around her back to mold her closer. There was innocence in the kiss, ***uality undiscovered, a trait so rare, so raw, so intimately just for him, that he knew nothing but need possessive, hot need.

Before Royce knew what he was doing, he had her pinned against the wall, his legs trapping hers, his body molding her close. He deepened the kiss, drinking her in, craving more of her, wanting more of her. And when she whimpered, there was no right or wrong. There was only the moment, the woman, the… cold gust of air coming from his right. He stilled, his ears registering the too evident sound of car horns coming from the street level.

Royce tore his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged, hers as well. “Is your window open, Lauren?”

Another loud horn sounded and she stiffened, her eyes going wide. “I never leave my window open.” Her brows dipped. “Is it broken?”

He pulled her into the kitchen. “Stay right here to be safe and let me check it out.”

She nodded. “Yes. Okay.” He started to turn and she grabbed his arm. “Be careful. I have a fire escape. It would be easy to crawl into my window.” She let him go and reached for her purse. “I’ll have my phone in hand in case there’s trouble.”

Royce was already rounding the corner by the time she finished the statement, making sure he was out of her sight when he pulled the gun from under his pant leg. He eased into the darkness of what appeared to be a living room, with a fireplace in the center of the wall directly in front of him which was framed by windows, one of which was open, a curtain fluttering wildly around it. No obvious sign of forced entry, but that didn’t mean anything.

He flipped on a light, taking in the huge, overstuffed blue couch and matching chairs with plush cushions that would be far too easy to turn into a bed. The image of slipping Lauren’s na**d body beneath his on that very couch sent a wave of pure heat through his loins, his c**k thickening uncomfortably against his zipper. Royce scrubbed his face and loosened his tie. Holy hell, he was in big trouble when he was holding a gun, and thinking of turning a living room into a bedroom, instead of who he might need to shoot with that gun.

With the dining room to his left, Royce could see Lauren staring at him over the bar from the kitchen.

She’d seen his gun so he stopped trying to hide it. He motioned to the only other room, which had to be her bedroom, warning her he was headed to her private space.

He entered the room and flipped on the lights, illuminating the elegant antique furnishings that included a large, too suggestive, sleigh bed. The now familiar scent of vanilla and honey flared in his nostrils, taunting him.

Quickly, he surveyed for an intruder, checking the closet, bathroom, and yes, under that damnable taunting bed. When he returned to the living area, he called out, “All clear,” and went to the window, using the curtain to shove it closed, intending to get finger prints later, if he decided the situation merited it.

She appeared at the end of the hallway, her lipstick smudged, her gorgeous green eyes wide with worry. Her gaze lowered to his weapon, then shifted to the curtain he’d pulled shut, dismissing his gun as if it were expected but then, she worked around law enforcement, so maybe it was to her. “Was my window open?”

“It was,” he confirmed and shoved his gun back into the holster at his calf. “But nothing’s out of order that I can see. Why don’t you take a look and be certain?”

She was already scanning and heading to the other room her bedroom where he wanted to follow her, but would not. He stayed by the window and waited until she returned, her shoes gone, and somehow that little detail made his c**k twitch. It was as erotic as if she had taken off much more. This woman got to him; she got to him in a bad way.

“Did maintenance have a reason to be in here?” he asked, stopping near the doorway to the bedroom in case she needed him, or so he told himself.

“No,” she said returning to the living area, stopping just in front of him. “Well, sometimes they do fire alarm inspections. Maybe it was something like that. But they shouldn’t have left it open. I’m calling them tomorrow to tell them so, too.”

He smiled. She was such a contradiction. All sweet and shy, but also feisty as hell.

She cleared her throat. “Um well. So. I guess we are… safe.” She hesitated. “Can I get you something? A drink? Something to eat?”

You. I want you. “I should go,” he said. “Before we both do something you’ll regret tomorrow.”

She stared at him a moment, then crossed her arms in front of herself protectively, as he’d seen her do before, withdrawing into herself. “I understand,” she said. “Thank you for… everything. And I’m sorry for your truck. And the fact that your picture will probably be in tomorrow’s paper.”

He knew right then that she thought he didn’t want her. If he let her believe that, she’d never let him inside these walls, or hers, ever again. And for reasons he didn’t try to understand, that had nothing to do with why he’d sought her out tonight, he couldn’t live with that.

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“I want you, Lauren,” he said, not allowing himself to think about what he was doing, about how she might read his actions when he confessed all to her. There were only the consequences of doing nothing, and those, he simply couldn’t live with. He stepped forward, closed the distance between them. He slid a hand to her cheek. “You have to know that by now.” He bent his head, brushed his lips with hers, a soft caress meant to seal his message, meant to be brief. Her arms uncurled, her hands settling on his chest, the touch searing him with the promise of more. She swayed toward him, her body seeming to melt into his. Suddenly, the brush of his mouth over hers turned to something more passionate, something he’d vowed to leash.

He started to pull back, he meant to pull back, but she moaned, soft and ***y, and he had to have another taste of her just one last taste and then he’d leave. He’d leave but she’d know he wanted her.

Somehow, he ended that one last kiss several kisses later, and before she could protest, he bent down and scooped her into his arms. This woman wasn’t just any woman. She was his duty and… more. She was more. He didn’t know why. He didn’t need to know why. He simply needed to do what was right. And though stripping her na**d and burying himself deep inside her might sound pretty darn right it wasn’t, not now, not tonight. But later. Oh yeah, later, he was going to do that and so much more.

He crossed the room and sat down on the couch the same one he’d imagined her na**d and beneath him on settling her back against the arm and backside across his lap. Over the thick ridge of his c**k he had no hope of hiding.

“We need to talk,” he said, brushing ringlets of long auburn brown hair out of her eyes.

She blinked and shifted just enough to press her soft, round bottom a bit more directly against his erection. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me think. Don’t make me analyze or worry. For once, I just want to escape it all.”

He knew that feeling, knew it all too well. And he also knew it was dangerous; it drove exactly what he didn’t want regret. “Why tonight, Lauren? Why me?”

“I don’t want a politician, or someone my father would approve of, or someone who”

“I get it,” he said, cutting her off, stopping the rest of an answer that had come too fast, too easily, when he was tormented by this woman, by what he was feeling, by why her ‘be careful’ had tightened his chest.

“I’m your rebellion ***, the guy who isn’t good enough for you except when you want to get back at your father? Is that the deal here, Lauren?”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, God, no. That’s not what I was saying.” She brushed her lips over his. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love that you’re everything I never allow myself to experience. You’re… ”

“What?” he asked, feeling a gnawing in his gut. “I’m what?”

“Everything I want to be and I’m afraid I might never be,” she whispered softly, her lashes lowering with the confession. Her emotion, and more of that delicate vulnerability she’d shown him earlier, washed over him, softening him. It hit Royce then just how much trust she’d given him by showing him this side of herself, by declaring her reasons for doing so. Trust he didn’t deserve, trust he was certain she would regret. Resolve formed inside him. He was destined to fail her, but that failure wasn’t going to be now. He wasn’t going to leave her believing she wasn’t gorgeous and desirable.

He scooted her off his lap and settled down on the floor in front of her, his hands sliding up Lauren’s calves, to her knees that she’d primly pressed together. The heady scent of her perfume, her home, her very feminine presence, seeped into his senses.

She stared down at him, a soft ‘doe in headlights’ look on her face. “Royce?” His name was a soft plea on her lips, filled with uncertainty. He’d confused her, sent her mixed messages, in his effort to do what was right.

He felt like a wolf, a hungry wolf who wanted to devour this woman, and there was no way that didn’t show in his eyes, no way the energy, the need he felt for her, didn’t radiate off of him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, softly, calmly, when the rage of hormones inside him was anything but. He kissed her knees, one and then the other, reaffirming his decision to let her pleasure be his tonight. “And I’m going to show you how much I mean that.”

She swallowed hard, her delicate, kissable throat bobbing with the action. “I’m not sure I know what that means.”

He brushed her dress up her thighs. “You will,” he promised and kissed her delicate little knee again.

She laughed a nervously feminine sound. “I’m not sure I know what that means either.”

“You don’t need to know what it means,” he said, his fingers tracing the lace of her thigh high pantyhose, the ***y lingerie choice confirming what he’d always suspected. Lauren might be prim and proper on the outside, but there was a sensual woman beneath the exterior who wanted to come out and play and he wanted to be the man who she played with. He wanted to be that man tonight, but no matter how tempting that might be, tonight wasn’t the night. But he’d be damned if he’d allow her to doubt his desire for her, his absolute, complete attraction to her. “You just need to know how it feels.” His hands slipped inside her thighs, easing her legs apart, his lips trailing a path up one of them.