by Nika Rhone
Son of a bitch.
He felt her waiting for him to say something. Anything. Finally, right before the doors started to close, she stepped into the elevator, turned, and cocked her head in question.
Caught between being amused at his own expense and embarrassed as hell that he’d allowed her to distract him so much he hadn’t realized he’d never pushed the damn button, Rafe joined her. He watched in silence as she ran her security card through the reader, then pushed the buttons for both of their floors. As soon as the doors slid shut, he could smell her. The sweet and spicy scent that always seemed to follow her wrapped around him, intoxicating him, when all he should have been able to smell was the Chinese food in the sack he held.
This. This was worse than thinking about the piercings. Being enclosed in the small space of the elevator with her, breathing her in, wreaked havoc with his already questionable control. Even worse was knowing she was staring at him. Studying him. Not laughing at him, exactly, but he could still feel her amusement even though she never said a word. It was always this way on the rare occasions they bumped into each other. Him trying to play it cool, and doing something to make an utter ass out of himself instead.
It was like high school and Debbie Waterhouse all over again.
Finally, the elevator made it to the third floor and the doors slid open. As he stepped out, the coward in him wanted to walk away without a word. The stupid in him made him say, “Enjoy your date.”
Moron.
“I always do.”
The suggestive tone in her voice made him look back as the doors were closing. Which was probably her intent. She blew him a ruby-red kiss just before the silver doors met, blocking her from sight and leaving him staring at a distorted reflection of himself standing there like an ass.
“Damn woman,” he muttered, as he pulled his keys from his pocket and walked down the hallway to his apartment. With only four on each of the four floors in the converted warehouse, it made for a nice, comfortable, quiet building. Having a cop living in it didn’t hurt, either. The landlord was no dummy.
He also happened to be Lillian’s father, although that fact was buried beneath several layers of corporate holding companies. Rafe only knew about it because his friend, Peter Beaumont, had let it slip. When Peter first told Rafe about the great apartment with its reasonable rent despite the downtown location, and all the recent renovations and security upgrades, Rafe had been skeptical. Then he’d been suspicious. People didn’t give away choice real estate out of the goodness of their hearts to down on their luck civil servants.
That was when Peter had given up the fact his father, investment wizard Rupert Beaumont, had quietly purchased the building not long after Lillian moved into it a little over a year ago. She preferred to slum it in her converted loft apartment rather than some glitzy high-rise condo with a doorman and a cleaning service, Peter told him, and no amount of argument could dissuade her. So the whole family had caved to her wishes, as they always did. All while Daddy pulled strings from behind the scenes to try and keep her safe from her own willful arrogance.
“Damn woman,” Rafe muttered again as he dropped his keys on the small table inside the apartment door.
“What woman?” His brother, Cristiano, looked up from the book he had his face buried in all week, cramming for an upcoming test at the culinary school he attended. “And what took you so long? I’m starving.”
Depositing the bag on the kitchen table, Rafe went to the cabinet and got plates and napkins. “I had to wait for the elevator.” Close enough to the truth.
Cris pulled several white boxes out of the bag. “I notice you didn’t answer the first question, so I’m gonna guess we’re talking about the sexy señorita from upstairs.” He grinned at the dirty look Rafe shot him. Popping open one of the boxes, he used the included chopsticks to pluck out a piece of spicy chicken. “Come on, hermano, she’s the one woman I know who can make you angry and horny at the same time.”
“Angry, yes.” Rafe took his share of the food before his brother inhaled it all. Horny, on the other hand, he would never admit to, not even to Cris. Even if Lillian had been wearing another of those silky blouses that hugged her perfect breasts, making his mouth water as he wondered what they’d taste like when he licked them. He shoved the thought away and cursed himself, just as he always did when he slipped and started fantasizing about her.
“The only reason she gets you so angry is because you want her and you won’t let yourself have her.”
“I don’t want her,” Rafe gritted out as he stabbed at a dumpling.
Cris narrowed his eyes. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out for drinks?”
The chopsticks paused halfway to Rafe’s mouth. He stared at his baby brother, so similar to him in looks with his wavy black hair and piercing green eyes that people often mistook them for twins. “Try it and die.”
“But you don’t want her,” Cris scoffed, going to the fridge for two beers. “Right.”
“Her brother—”
“Spare me the ‘she’s my friend’s sister’ excuse.” Cris thumped one of the bottles down in front of Rafe. “What would you do if Pete wanted to date either Bria or Bella?”
“String him up by his balls.” It would be the same no matter who was interested in their little sisters. No man was good enough for them.
“And after you got past that part?” When Rafe didn’t immediately reply, Cris sighed. “He wouldn’t be your friend if he was a dick, and the girls have to be able to date someone, so why not someone you already know and like?”
“The girls” were nineteen and twenty-one, and both would have their brothers’ nuts in a vise if they ever heard them discussing who they would be “allowed” to date. But that didn’t stop either Rafe or Cris, or their older brother Eduardo, from sticking their collective big brother noses where they weren’t wanted. It was what the Delgados did. Stuck together as a family, no matter what.
“Okay, fine,” Rafe said. “Hypothetically, I guess it wouldn’t be too terrible if Peter dated one of them.” After Rafe laid down the law about how she was to be treated with the utmost respect, of course.
“So, hypothetically, he would be okay with you dating Lillian for the same reason.”
Rafe hated the little burst of excitement that shot straight from his chest to his groin at the thought. Without that protective layer of his friendship with Peter keeping her off-limits, he was afraid he might be tempted to do something stupid.
Wanting Lillian Beaumont might be an intriguing fantasy.
Having her would be a mistake.
“It’s a moot point, anyway, since she’s not my type.”
Cris’s jaw almost hit the table. “Not your type? Not your type?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, would that be the ‘sexy, hot as hell’ type, or the ‘conveniently right upstairs whenever you want her’ type?
“Try the ‘more money than God’ type.”
It was a good thing their mother wasn’t around to hear the curse that came out of her youngest son’s mouth. “Are you kidding me? That’s the best you’ve got? She’s rich, so she’s not worth your time?”
“More like I’m not worth hers.” He regretted the words the second they were out. “Look, I’ll admit she’s hot. I’m not blind.” Or dead. Because only a dead man wouldn’t react to the sensuality that seemed to roll off her in waves. “It’s not about the money. It’s about her using the money as an excuse to skim along life without making any serious commitments.”
“She has a job. Didn’t you tell me she sold paintings or something?”
“Yeah, but according to her brother, she’s just wasting time while she avoids taking a real job at their father’s investment firm like she was supposed to after college.” In between going out to clubs and parties with the large group of friends she always seemed to surround herself with. Not that he was keeping tabs on her or anything.
“So? Not everyone wants to go into the family business.”
/>
Direct hit.
Everyone in the Delgado brood had found a place in their parents’ successful restaurant. Except Rafe. He’d spent a lot of time there growing up, but he’d never felt the pull to spend his life cooking and creating the way his siblings did. His parents had been disappointed by his decision to join the police department, but they’d supported him in it.
“You know, it doesn’t matter, because I’ve got too much going on right now to even think about getting involved with anyone.” With that depressing yank back to reality, Rafe swallowed the last of his beer. He contemplated getting a second, but the dull ache in his leg told him it was going to be one of those nights where he didn’t get any sleep without the help of the pain meds he hated taking so much, so he got a bottle of water instead. A fact his nosy little brother was quick to pick up on.
Their sisters weren’t the only ones who had to endure unwanted family meddling.
“You overdid it at physical therapy again.” It wasn’t a question.
“No pain, no gain.” Rafe ignored the disgusted grunt his brother gave as commentary. “I know my limits.”
“And you always have to push right past them.”
True. But if he didn’t work a little harder each time, he wasn’t going to improve, and if he didn’t improve, he wouldn’t pass the mandatory physical to be reinstated into the department. And if he didn’t pass the physical…
Then he didn’t know what the hell would happen. Because if he wasn’t allowed to go back to being a cop, he didn’t know who or what he was supposed to be.
Chapter Two
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little bit?”
Lillian stared across the table at her supposed best friend in the world in shocked disbelief. “Are you serious? Weren’t you listening to what I said?”
“I was listening.” Tucking her long chestnut curls behind one ear, Thea Fordham-Doyle leaned her chin on her hand as she looked back at Lillian. Sympathy shone from the deep blue eyes Lillian had always been jealous of. Depending on her mood, the shade of Thea’s eyes could range from warm tropic waters to frigid arctic ice, while Lillian’s own brown eyes were always just…brown. Boring. And if there was one thing Lillian hated, it was being boring.
She also hated not having her friend jump immediately to her defense after she’d outlined the many grievances she had against the jerk who was the bane of her professional existence.
The bane of her private existence was a matter she hadn’t even started on yet. Not that Thea hadn’t already heard her go on about her brooding, too-sexy-for-anyone’s-good neighbor a time or two. Or ten.
“Then how can you say I’m overreacting? Roman Reynolds is a menace! He’s lousy at his job, and he’s out to make me look bad so he can look better by comparison. He went through my desk—”
“You think,” Thea said.
“—and my files—”
“You think.”
“—and I think”—Lillian shot Thea a scowl—“I need to make sure he hasn’t been doing anything else nefarious that could cause any problems. For me or the gallery.”
“You see.” Thea sat back in her seat and waved her hand. “That, right there. That would be the overreacting part. Nefarious, Lil? Seriously?”
Lillian ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass and shrugged. “Nefarious. Devious. Sneaky, scheming, underhanded…pick a word. The point is, I don’t trust him.”
“And it sounds like that’s a smart decision.” Brennan Doyle, Thea’s husband of all of four and a half months, spoke for the first time since Lillian launched into her recitation of her recent work woes. To be honest, he’d been so still and quiet, Lillian had almost forgotten he was there. Doyle’s years as a Marine had trained him well for the security career he’d transitioned into, and it was that expertise Lillian was hoping to tap into now.
“See, Doyle believes me.”
“I never said I didn’t believe you!” Thea bolted upright in outrage. “I just said you were being a little melodramatic about it. Which you were.”
She was. But after the day she’d had, Lillian was pretty sure she deserved to be a little over the top. Besides, that was kind of her thing. Her place in the trio of friends who had been together since middle school. The Royal Court, their security details had dubbed them. Three heiresses who shouldn’t have clicked, but had. Thea was the Lady, everyone’s sounding board and voice of reason. Amelia Westlake was the quiet little Princess, the one they all did their best to protect from her dragon of a mother. And to Lillian had fallen the mantle of their Queen Bee, the one who was always in motion, buzzing from one thought or plan to another and dragging the other two along in her wake.
Growing up the lone girl in a houseful of big, loud, hell-raising brothers, she’d learned fast that to not be lost in the crowd, she needed to be just as loud and adventurous, and a lot more creative. Being the smallest didn’t mean she couldn’t be tough. Something she still struggled to prove to her brothers, and father, to this day.
Which was why she needed to resolve her problems at work without asking for their help. Especially after what had happened last year. One small sign of trouble now, and they’d be hovering over her like a bunch of overprotective Neanderthals.
“If you’re so certain Roman went through your files, then you should say something to your boss,” Thea said.
“I can’t.” Lillian sighed. “Strictly speaking, Roman didn’t do anything wrong, even if he did go through them. They’re about gallery clients and events, which means Roman has the right to look at them any time he wants, the same way I could look at any of the files in his desk. It’s why the drawers are never locked.”
“Then why are you getting so upset?” Thea sounded confused.
How could she not get it?
“Because there was no reason for him to be looking at anything.” And because she felt violated that someone had been poking through her things. Again. “T, he touched my stuff.” At last, she saw understanding bloom in her friend’s expression, but it didn’t give her the comfort she thought it would. It only made the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach cramp a little bit tighter. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she hadn’t conquered her demons after all.
“Was anything missing from the file?” Doyle asked.
Lillian was pretty sure he was aware of everything that happened at her parents’ estate a year and a half ago. But unlike his wife, Doyle’s demeanor held not one drop of pity. It was one-hundred percent professional, and helped drag her away from the downward spiral of her thoughts. She could kiss him. “No, nothing.”
“Added?”
“No.”
“Had anything been altered?”
That one Lillian had to think about. “I don’t think so, but you can bet I’ll be double checking first thing tomorrow.”
“You said the file was for an upcoming event. What could go wrong that would make the evening a disaster for you?”
Lillian laughed. “What couldn’t?” Seeing that Doyle was serious, she sobered. “Well, if nobody showed up, of course, but the invitations have already been sent.” She’d gone to the post office herself, not trusting them to the mail basket on Bernice’s desk.
Paranoid much?
“What else?” Doyle prompted.
“Well, there’s a specific wine Felix always insists on serving. He considers it good luck.” He’d been drinking it the night he’d met his current wife, Felicity, and it had been the only vintage served at the gallery ever since. “Anything else would be…” She gave a dramatic shudder.
Doyle’s lips twitched. “A disaster?”
“Definitely.”
“Anything else?”
“Food, of course. If the food sucks, the sales are sure to be bad too.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Lillian gave a shake of her head. “Art collectors are a strange and fickle bunch.” And some were straight-up eccentric. She had one client who refused to b
uy a painting that had the color red in it. She claimed it was too angry and disturbed her home’s feng shui. So, whenever Lillian had a piece she thought she might like that included the offending color, she just told the client it was a “whimsical shade of cerise” and everyone was happy.
“Okay.” Doyle didn’t sound like he thought very much of her clients.
“Oh, and you don’t have a few wackadoodles that try to hire your services?” Lillian knew full well that he did, thanks to Thea. Doyle had spent six years running security for the Fordham family before he finally pulled up his big-boy pants and asked Thea to marry him. But even that foray into the world of the uber-wealthy hadn’t prepared him for the oddball requests he was fielding now that he’d opened his own security firm. Requests that made her red-phobic client look normal by comparison. Like the woman who had insisted her bodyguard needed to sleep in her bed because she was terrified of being kidnapped in the middle of the night.
As if.
Doyle shot an exasperated look at Thea, who smiled sweetly back. He looked skyward and sighed. “Point taken. So, did any of the pages you felt weren’t in the order you left them have to do with the things that could make or break the showing?”
Lillian closed her eyes and pictured the file as she’d been looking through it earlier. Her brain worked in a very visual way, so her hands moved in front of her, mimicking the motion of turning pages as she thought back to each and every invoice and contract she’d looked at. As she did, her suspicions Roman had been up to no good solidified into certainty.
Eyes opening, Lillian said, “Every one of them. The wine. The food. The rental company we use for the tables, chairs, plates. That slimy bastard is trying to sabotage my show!”
“Or learn the right way to do it so he doesn’t screw up the next time he puts one together.” Thea gave an apologetic shrug when Lillian glared at her. “Playing devil’s advocate here, but you have to admit it’s a possibility, given the way you said he handled the last one he did.”
That was Thea, always looking for the good in people. But damn, she had a point. Roman might have realized he’d missed the bar when it came to his organizational skills, and he might have wanted to find a way to improve before Felix noticed his little pet wasn’t all he pretended to be. And he definitely would want to do it in a way that didn’t include needing to ask Lillian for help.