TOO HOT TO HANDLE

by Robin Kaye

  Sourcebooks Casablanca™ An Imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.* Napekville, Illinois

  Copyright © 2009 by Robin Kaye

  Cover and internal design © 2009 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover photo © Dreamstime.com/ Pomortzeff

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410 (630) 961-3900 FAX: (630) 961-2168 www.sourcebooks.com

  Printed and bound in the United States of America QW 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Friends are my favorite characters to write. They're the people who tell it like it is, hold your feet to the fire, love you, laugh and cry with you, and share your joys and sorrow as well as their own.

  Friends are a huge part of my life, and I've been blessed with the best friends a woman could have, so here's to you.

  Gregory Olsen, Cary Dominguez, Charlie Dodge, Ken and Dianne Tyson, Millie Gemando, Leslie Hourdas, Jennifer Griffith, Cheryl McKissick, Becky Hazel, Rhonda Plumber, Deb Barger, Debbie Styne, Jennifer Shark, Kevin Dibley, Ana DaSilva, Dalia Schulman, Amy Green-Phillips, Robin Linear, Jeannde Hersom, and April Line.

  Chapter 1

  Ghosts don't have sex, do they? Annabelle Ronaldi wasn't 100 percent sure of the answer. Floating between sleep and wakefulness after a night of way too much champagne, she figured she'd either had mind-blowing sex with the ghost of her dead boyfriend, Chip, or his double. She crossed her fingers for the latter.

  She'd only slept with two men, so the chances she'd increased that number by 50 percent beat the hell out of the odds of her waking with a ghost—especially when she thought about it in a semisober state. A state she hadn't been in the night before.

  She had to admit her relationship with Chip would have been a lot better if he'd been half as good in bed alive as his ghost was last night—if, in fact, it was Chip's ghost sleeping beside her. Which brought her back to her initial question regarding the ability of ghosts to have sex—really, really good sex.

  Annabelle opened her eyes and screamed. Loud.

  The guy asleep next to her awoke and sat straight up as she jumped out of bed. "My God, you're real." Yep, definitely real, and very much alive.

  He stared at her with such heat she was surprised she wasn't incinerated. Which, under the circumstances, would be preferable to standing there like an idiot. An idiot wearing nothing but a blue garter. She ripped the sheet off the bed, leaving him naked, only he didn't look like an idiot. On the contrary, he looked … big and um … happy to see her. Very happy. Annabelle was speechless.

  "Belle." He scooted toward her. She backed away until she hit the dresser with a thunk. Belle? Chip never called her Belle. If she hadn't almost totally dismissed the whole ghost question as a possibility, being called Belle would have cinched it.

  "Hey, take it easy. I'm not gonna hurt you."

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm Mike. Mike Flynn, your brother-in-law's best friend; we met at the wedding. You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "No kidding." He didn't seem like the ax murderer type, not that she knew what that type looked like, but she was pretty sure it required an ax, and he didn't have one or anywhere to hide one either. She found herself staring at … him. Probably not the polite thing to do. Annabelle took a deep breath and moved the direction of her stare past his washboard abs and nice chest, straight to the eyes of Chip's double. He looked almost exactly like Chip, a.k.a. Christopher Edmond Van Dyke Larsen, except for the eye color, a slight bump on his nose, and the size of a certain appendage.

  "Hi … um."

  "Mike. Mike Flynn."

  "I knew that." You'd think she'd offered to sell him the Brooklyn Bridge, and he wasn't buying. "I've never done this before—"

  "This, meaning brought home a nice guy, had mind-boggling, earth-shattering, world-rocking sex?" He winked at her. "Yeah, if it makes you feel any better, I don't make a habit of it either—especially the part where the beautiful woman can't remember my name. Aside from that, I can't think of a more pleasurable morning."

  Annabelle's wish to disappear wasn't happening, so she had no choice other than to deal with whatever this was.

  "Anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you're embarrassed? Well, you're pretty much beautiful all the time."

  She shifted her weight from foot to foot. "So, we really did, um, you know?"

  "Oh yeah. Several times."

  Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. Maybe he didn't look and sound like Chip. Maybe she'd had a mental breakdown. Lord knew, with everything she'd been through recently, taking a vacation from reality wouldn't be that big of a stretch.

  Pictures of the two of them stumbling through her new apartment undressing each other flitted through her mind like a grainy sex video. She winced again as she remembered the sound of ripping fabric and her bubbling laughter when she'd realized her little black dress had suddenly become a lot smaller. If her memory was correct, she was surprised her dress hadn't spontaneously combusted from the heat they'd generated.

  "You want me to give you some time? I'll take Dave for a walk."

  "How do you know Rosalie's dog?"

  "I'm Nick's best friend, remember? I've known Dave since Nick and Rosalie got together."

  "Oh, right."

  "I'll take Dave out, pick up some breakfast, and then we can talk, and you know, do the first date thing."

  "The first date thing?"

  "Yeah, you tell me your middle name. I'll tell you mine. We can do a fast run-through of our families, occupations, and the normal stuff. Then, us sleeping together won't seem so premature."

  "It won't?"

  "Well, like I said, I don't make a habit of ravishing women within hours of meeting them. In fact, it's never happened before. I figure exchanging the first date info is worth a try. What do you say?"

  "Okay." She squeezed her eyes shut and thought he'd leave—at least temporarily. Then he moved closer and cupped her face in his hands. Before it registered in her addled mind, he pressed soft kisses on her eyelids, then her lips. She opened her eyes, and he smiled at her as if she were the most adorable creature on earth. The man obviously needed to get out more.

  Mike brushed one more kiss on her shoulder, which seemed to be hardwired to her nipples. Her breath caught in her throat, and Mike gave her a very satisfied smile before he searched for his clothes.

  She had never seen that satisfied a smile on any man she'd shared a bed with. Though, it's not like she'd slept with many men. There was Chip, then … ugh … Johnny, and now … um. Mike. Right, Mike.

  Dave, the dog she was watching until her sister came back from her honeymoon, strolled into the bedroom with a pair of jockey shorts in his mouth. She'd hazard a guess they were Mike's. She winced. "Sorry about that."

  Mike pulled on his gray pinstripe suit pants and zipped them. "Hey, have you seen my shirt?"

  "It's in the living room."

  "Ah, so now you remember. Sure helps the ole bruised and battered ego."

  Before she could think of anything to say, the phone rang. Annabelle peeked at the clock. Since it was still early, it must be Becca. "I'm sorry—"

  Mike held up his hand
. "No, it's fine. Go ahead and take your time. Dave and I will be back."

  Mike turned and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  She threw herself on the bed, pulled the sheet over her, and reached for the phone. "Hello?"

  "So, you did survive the wedding. See, you were worried for nothing."

  "Becca? You don't by any chance have a cousin in New York, do you?" She heard Mike whistle for the dog, the jangle of the choke collar striking dog tags, then the front door closing.

  "A cousin?"

  "Yeah, a male cousin, about thirty, blond hair, gray eyes, totally hot. A cousin who looks a lot like Chip. Exactly like Chip, except his lips are a bit fuller, his nose looks like he's broken it more than once, and well, he has bigger … feet."

  "Bigger feet? Annabelle, are you all right?"

  She felt like screaming, "No, I'm not all right." How could someone wake up wondering if they'd had sex with a ghost and be even remotely all right? But Becca would drop everything, jump on the first train out of Philadelphia, and run straight to Brooklyn if she thought Annabelle needed her. As much as she loved Becca, she wasn't sure she could handle everything that calling Becca into this situation would entail.

  "I'm fine. I just met this guy yesterday. His name is Mike Flynn, and he has an amazing resemblance to Chip. He must be related to you somehow."

  "Annabelle, my brother's been gone two years. Don't you think it's time you let go?"

  "Geez, Bec. I just said that I met a guy who looks like Chip. I'm not hanging on to Chip's memory. Hell, I've moved on. Up until a few weeks ago, I was engaged."

  "To the scum-of-the-earth mortician."

  "Johnny wasn't that bad."

  "Johnny was caught with his pants down, the makeup lady's skirt up, doing the nasty right next to a corpse—"

  "Yeah, Mrs. Nunzio." Annabelle crossed herself. "God rest her soul."

  "Face it. That pretty much screams scum-of-the-earth behavior."

  "Fine, if you want to get technical about it. But Johnny had nothing to do with Chip."

  "Johnny had everything to do with Chip. Everything you've done since Chip's diagnosis has been a direct result of Chip. Including planning to marry the scum-of-the-earth mortician."

  "Look, sweetie, as enlightening as this conversation is, I don't have time to talk right now. I have to get dressed. Was there something you needed?"

  "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. It must suck going to your own wedding as a guest and not the bride."

  "I'm fine."

  "Liar. You're way too shallow to be fine. No matter how much you love your sister, and I know you do, the fact she hijacked your wedding day has to chap your ass. It would rankle an angel, and we both know you're no angel. I know you didn't take this lying down."

  "Actually, I did." To prove her point, Annabelle sat up and kicked the sheet off her naked body. Naked except for the scratchy blue garter she wore high on her thigh. "Oh God." She'd forgotten about that.

  "Okay, that's it. I'm on the next train to New York. You're scaring me."

  "No. I'm fine, really. I … um … I just noticed the time, and well, I have to … meet someone for breakfast, um, brunch, and I'm not dressed. I promise to call you back later. I swear. I'm fine. Really."

  "Okay, but I know something's up. I'll talk to you later this afternoon. If I don't hear from you, I'll be there in the morning banging down your door."

  "I promise I'll call. Bye." She hung up the phone and groaned. Her head ached, her teeth were fuzzy, and she was pretty sure someone had spiked her champagne with battery acid. She pulled on her robe and stumbled into the bathroom.

  Mike was right about one thing—her memory was coming back. She'd been at her sister Rosalie's wedding reception. The wedding reception Annabelle had planned, the wedding reception she'd dreamed of since she got her first Wedding Day Barbie, the wedding reception that would have been hers if she hadn't broken her engagement to Johnny. Watching her sister living her dream wedding mortified her enough, but then she'd seen Chip's double talking to her new brother-in-law, Nick.

  He had the same broad shoulders and dirty blond hair that was long enough to curl up over his collar. And the similarities didn't stop there. No. He had the same posture, the way he stood with his feet spread and hands on his hips as he laughed. It had made the hair on her arms stand up and had her fighting the urge to cross herself.

  Chip's double had turned and stared directly into her eyes. Annabelle remembered grabbing the chair beside her as her head spun, gray narrowing her vision. She'd dropped her glass. She'd heard it break. She'd heard the buzz of three hundred people conversing, but it had all seemed so far away. Still, she'd been unable to take her eyes off the man walking toward her.

  He'd been rushing, yet moved in slow motion. His warm hand grabbed her elbow. "Sit down before you fall down."

  "Chip?" she'd mumbled.

  "I'm Mike. Are you okay?" He pushed her into the chair and crouched in front of her as he held her wrist and glanced at his watch.

  "Fine." She'd pushed away from his grasp and rubbed her arms, trying to dispel the chill.

  His eyes were different from Chip's; they were gray and assessing. Chip had one brown eye and one half brown and half green, lit with a constant sense of wonder. It must have been magical to see the world through Chip's eyes. He only saw beauty. He left everyone else to deal with reality.

  "You don't look so good."

  "Thanks, that's what every girl wants to hear."

  "I mean you don't look well. I'm a doctor. Have you eaten today? Are you taking any medication?"

  "Look, Doc, I'm not sick. I thought I saw a ghost, that's all. I was wrong, obviously, since you are definitely not a ghost."

  "Huh?"

  "You look a lot like someone I used to know." Annabelle rose, and Mike followed suit. "It was nice meeting you—"

  "Mike."

  "Right." She'd walked blindly to the other side of the room, wishing she could leave. Only the fear of her mother's wrath had kept her from going any farther than the deserted terrace overlooking Park Avenue.

  Later, she'd been too drunk to remember to drop the bouquet after she'd caught it. Mike caught the garter. And before she could duck out, she'd been forced into a chair in the middle of the dance floor while, to a chorus of wolf whistles and clapping, Mike very slowly slid the garter and his hands beneath her dress and high onto her thigh. The higher his hands went, the darker his eyes became. She was still trapped by his gaze as he helped her out of the chair and into his arms for the obligatory dance. The next thing she knew, they'd been in a cab on their way back to Brooklyn.

  Annabelle wished her mind were like an Etch A Sketch, and she could give her head a good shake and start with a clean slate.

  Mike left Annabelle's apartment with Dave ambling beside him. He walked right to the nearest light post and banged his head against it. Hard.

  "Fuck." He opened his eyes and saw an old lady, a lace shawl covering her head and rosary beads hanging from one hand. The scowl she shot him had him ducking his head in shame. "I'm sorry," he said as she passed.

  She muttered something in Italian. Shit, he was batting a thousand this morning.

  "Great show, Mikey. Now tell me what the hell you're doing with my dog, outside my sister-in-law's apartment, at the crack of fuckin' dawn."

  "Nick? What are you doing here? You just got married less than twenty-four hours ago."

  Mike tried unsuccessfully to keep the dog from jumping on Nick.

  Nick handed Mike a couple of the bags he held so he could pet Dave. The expression on Nick's face made Mike thankful that Nick wasn't the violent type. "No, don't tell me." He studied Mike, seeing all the signs of the morning after that it was. "You didn't sleep with my sister-in-law, did you?

  "Do you really want to know the answer to that question?"

  "What, you've gone through all my old girlfriends, and you're starting on family now?"

  "It's not my fault your old g
irlfriends ran to me for solace. With my work hours, it's almost impossible to sleep, much less meet women. It's been five or six years since I had the time or opportunity to meet a woman without the letters MD or RN after her name."

  Mike had had bed buddies, and even a couple relationships that went beyond sex, not far beyond, but there were a few he'd felt an emotional connection to.

  Nothing had prepared him for Annabelle Ronaldi. She was almost too hot to handle. When he touched her, the charge he'd felt was only slightly weaker than the one he'd gotten the day he'd been playing in the wet basement and come close to dying of electrocution. "Annabelle's different."

  "Yeah, she's my fuckin' sister-in-law. You couldn't find another chick to sleep with?" Nick raised his arms and slapped them against his thighs, obviously forgetting that he carried several bags from the deli and bakery down the street. "From the look on your dopey face, I guess the answer to that question is no. And I'm thinking now is not a good time to stop by the apartment and pick up that bag Rosalie left."

  Mike couldn't hold back a smile. "You're right both times."

  "I'm gonna pretend I didn't see you."

  "Isn't Rosalie going to wonder why you didn't stop?"

  "I'll tell her to buy a new one. Besides, you know how much Lee loves chocolate. She's gonna take one look at these chocolate-covered doughnuts, and she'll forgive me for forgetting to look for her bag. I'll tell her I couldn't stand to be away from her. After all, it's the truth."

  Nick took his bags back.

  Mike knew exactly how Nick felt. Well, almost. The gods had smiled on him last night, because the first time his eyes met Annabelle's, she seemed to have the same reaction to him. Annabelle was the type of woman who made him glad he wore loose-fitting pants, not only because she was beautiful and sexy, but because she'd stared at him as if she couldn't believe her eyes. From that moment on, her eyes never left him. He might as well have been the only man in the room.

  Mike wasn't going to let her get away. He just needed to make sure she'd never forget him again.

  Annabelle tossed on a pair of yoga pants and a workout top and stepped out of the bedroom as Mike and Dave returned.