Flirting With Temptation

The thought had her stopping dead in her tracks.

It wasn’t wise to be thinking about touching Jack Kincaid. Especially since it appeared that he already had someone to touch his dimple. Besides, hadn’t she decided that Jack was just the kind of man her mother had warned her about? “He will lie to you, and you will believe him.”

Well, she wouldn’t believe him—not entirely. In the two days since she’d made her decision to use the plane ticket Jack had sent her, Corie had clarified her goals, and she had a notebook full of doodles to prove it. The library had given her one week off, and she was determined to make the most of it. Not only was she going to meet the man who might be her father and find out why her mother had run away to hide, but she was also going to live it up while she was in San Francisco. She was going to do things she might never have the opportunity to ever do in Fairview—not with Muriel Ponsonby and the quilting circle hovering over her. One thing she was sure of. When she returned, no one was ever going to even think of her in the same sentence as Harold Mitzenfeld again.

Moving forward, she caught what the two men were saying.

“You’ve got to tell her,” the man with the green shorts was saying.

“I’m going to just as soon as I find the right time—after she settles in a bit,” Jack replied.

Corie saw the other man’s brows rise above the orange-framed sunglasses. “There’s a right time to find out your family has a lurid past?”

Corie stepped forward. “Why don’t you tell me right now?”

For a moment, the two men stared at her, and Corie had the sensation that she was being studied as thoroughly as a biologist might study a smear on a slide. No one had ever looked at her quite this closely back in Ohio. It made her wonder it she’d put her dress on inside out.

And then she made the mistake of looking into Jack’s eyes directly. They were steel-gray, cool and very intent. Where in the world had she gotten the idea that he was charming? Without the dimple and the smile to distract her, she could see that this was an intense and driven man who watched and measured everyone. He reminded her a little of a Brontë hero—Rochester right after he’d nearly run Jane Eyre down with his horse.

Jack’s friend was the first to recover. Holding out his hand, he said, “Franco Rossi, at your service. I’m Jack’s landlord and yours, too. Welcome to San Francisco.”

Pulling her gaze away from Jack’s took some surprising effort, but Corie managed it, then beamed a smile at Franco. “Thank you, Mr. Rossi.”

“Franco, please. We’re going to be neighbors.”

The moment Franco released her hand, Corie extended it to Jack. “What is it that you should have told—” The minute his hand clasped hers, her heart felt as if it had turned right over in her chest. Perhaps it was because she was drowning in those eyes. The longer she stared into them, the more they reminded her of fog hanging thick and dark over the cornfields in Ohio. It wasn’t until he released her hand that she felt the weakness in her knees.

“Are you all right?”

It took her a moment to realize that Franco had asked the question, and another minute to grab on to a thought. Those Brontë heroes might have been short in the charm department, but she was sure her mother would have included them in her first commandment.

Gathering her scattered wits, Corie managed to drag her gaze away from Jack’s and smile at Franco. “It must be jet lag. I felt a little dizzy there for a minute. But I never faint.”

“Good to know,” Jack murmured.

She risked a quick look at him and was pleased to note that this time her heart stayed right where it belonged. “What was it that you were going to tell me, Mr. Kincaid?”

“Jack, please.” He smiled at her. “It’s just some of the evidence that I told you about. We can talk about it over lunch.” He glanced at the nearby beltway that had begun to move. “If you’ll just point out your luggage, we’ll be on our way.”

Very smooth, Corie thought but she knew it was a lie. She was almost sure that Franco had been pressing him to tell her about Benny Lewis’s past.

“This is my luggage,” she said, indicating the duffel she was carrying.

Franco took it from her. “Then we’re off to lunch and after that to Lorenzo’s. He does my hair.” He gave her a little shove into the revolving doors.

When Jack joined her on the street, he said, “Franco says Lorenzo is the top choice of the Hollywood starlets when they come to town. And I told him that if you end up with spiked hair, I’ll have to kill him.”

She couldn’t prevent the laugh. And this time when she met his eyes, it was her stomach that seemed to lurch and then tighten. She threw all her effort into dragging her gaze away from his, and that was the only reason that she saw the man with the gun.

Later, she would recall the other details—that the man holding it was standing by the open door of a car, that he wore a hat and dark glasses and a dog sat patiently next to the white cane he was holding in his left hand. But, at the moment, all that fully registered in her mind was the gun.

A woman screamed. “He’s got a gun!”

“A gun!”

There was another scream and people at the curb began to scatter. As they cleared, Corie had enough time to see the man raise his hand and point the gun into the air. Then someone pushed her into Jack. It was like colliding with a brick wall.

“Get down,” she said.

The sound of the shot split the air, drowning out her words, but Jack was already shoving her to the ground.

3

“LORENZO WILL SQUEEZE YOU IN AT TWO,” Franco announced, closing his cell phone and signaling a waitress. “When Cameron Diaz was late for an appointment, he made her wait three days before he rescheduled.” Pausing, he leaned closer to Corie. “Thank heavens I knew him when he was Billy Lawrence from Trenton.”

Jack leaned back in his chair as a waitress slapped down three menus.

“Three Irish coffees,” Franco ordered before anyone could speak. Then he turned to Corie. “It’s the house specialty. They claim credit for originating the drink here in the U.S., and a shot of strong Irish whiskey will do us all good after that unfortunate incident at the airport.”

Unfortunate incident? Jack studied the two people at the table and stifled the urge to pinch himself. Franco punched more numbers into his cell phone, and Corie stared out the window of the café, looking for all the world like Eliza Doolittle getting her first glimpse of Henry Higgins’s world. Was he the only one who was worried about the “blind” gunman who had shot at them at the airport?

Both Franco and Corie had gotten a look at the shooter. Franco had noticed that the shooter had been wearing a fedora and a tan trench coat. Corie had described the gunman as an older man wearing sunglasses with a white cane and she’d caught just a glimpse of a small, fluffy dog.

The moment she’d spoken the words white cane and dog to the policeman, the hairs on the back of his neck had sprung to attention. Could it have been the same man he’d seen earlier at Pier 39—and later in the car that had backfired in front of his apartment building? That was the question that had been plaguing him as Franco had bundled them into his SUV and driven them to Fisherman’s Wharf. Jack wished that he’d gotten a look at the shooter, but he’d been so focused on getting Corie out of the line of fire, he hadn’t been any help at all. What were the chances of seeing two older men with sunglasses, white canes and dogs in one morning? Ordinarily, Jack didn’t believe in coincidences, but in this case the incident was so…bizarre.

And it had all happened so fast. Even now, his memory of the shooting came in flashes—the deafening sound of the shot, the fear he’d felt when Corie crashed into him, screams and then the screech of tires. He hadn’t seen the gunman at all.

Was he crazy to think that the “blind” man had been shooting at Corie? She’d told the police that the man had fired straight into the air, and several other witnesses had corroborated her account. However, his instincts—the ones that seemed to be operating overtime when it came to Corie—told him not to exclude the possibility that Corie might be in danger. But he didn’t have one shred of evidence, and the police were going with the theory that the gunman was a crackpot who’d fired blindly over the heads of the crowd. That was the slant that Jack had taken when he’d phoned the story into the Chronicle. The afternoon headline would read Blind Gunman Causes Havoc At Airport.

Franco flipped his cell phone closed with a flourish. “Mission accomplished. Marlo, my friend at Macy’s, is rescheduling your fashion consultation for five. That will put a little pressure on Lorenzo, but he’s a genius.” He beamed a smile at Corie. “By tonight, you won’t recognize yourself. We’ll go out on the town to celebrate. There’s a great new place in the neighborhood, Club Nuevo. Lots of singles hang out there.”

“Maybe Corie would like to rest,” Jack said.

“Nonsense.” Corie and Franco spoke in unison and then grinned at each other.

Jack found that the exchange made him feel like an outsider. More than that, it made him feel…jealous?

That was ridiculous. But perhaps not as ridiculous as the fact that he was attracted to Corie Benjamin. The moment that he’d taken her hand and looked into her eyes, he’d felt the pull—basic, elemental. And he’d wondered what it might be like between them. Hell, he was wondering what it might be like to make love to her right now. And that was more than ridiculous. It was impossible. He was responsible for her now that he’d gotten her to come to San Francisco. And she might be in danger. He was definitely not going to act on any attraction he felt for Corie Benjamin.

“Look, Corie.” Franco pointed to the bar. “You don’t want to miss the way they make the Irish coffees here.”

Corie turned in the direction that Franco was pointing. The bartender had a row of glass cups in front of him. With one hand he added whiskey to each and with the other a dollop of whipped cream. She might have enjoyed watching the ritual more if she hadn’t been so aware of Jack sitting next to her. Every time he looked at her, prickles of heat raced along her skin and triggered a strange and rather pleasant tightening in her stomach. The sensations were even stronger now than when she’d first looked into his eyes at the airport. She’d never experienced anything like this before.

Jet lag. That had to be it. But she couldn’t help remembering what it had felt like to lie beneath him for those few moments on the sidewalk at the airport. The press of his body against hers, as impersonal as it had been, had set her mind wondering and her body wanting.

Definitely jet lag. He’d never given her any indication that he was attracted to her. As a ripple of applause began at the bar, she stole a quick look at Jack. Up close, he was much more attractive than he’d been on his book cover. Though it shocked her, she found that she couldn’t look at that longish dark hair without wanting to run her hands through it. And she had to clasp her hands tightly in front of her to control the urge to touch that lean, tanned face.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. His lips were thin, masculine, and set in a grim line. Something tightened inside of her, and she could almost feel what it might be like to have those lips pressed against hers. They would be hard, demanding…

Wrenching her gaze away, Corie stared out the window until her heart slid back out of her throat and stopped beating like a bass drum. If she’d been alone, she would have taken out her notebook and tried to doodle her way to some understanding of what she was feeling. Then again, if she were alone, she wouldn’t be feeling this way, and she was beginning to like it. The man she’d had an affair with in college hadn’t even once made her feel the way she did when she just looked at Jack Kincaid. She risked another quick glance, but Jack was looking at Franco. Her heart sank. Could Jack be having the same thoughts about Franco that she was having about Jack? When a strange bitter-tasting flavor filled her mouth, Corie blinked.

Could it be jealousy she was feeling? Ridiculous. There wasn’t a chance in the world that Jack Kincaid could be attracted to her. Besides, hadn’t she read somewhere that all the best men were gay? So it was hopeless anyway.

“Enjoy,” the woman said as she delivered their coffees and hurried on to the next table.

“To Corie’s San Francisco adventure,” Franco said, raising his glass.

Jack didn’t lift his. “We have to talk.”

Corie and Franco both turned to him.

“Am I the only one who’s at all worried about the shooting incident at the airport?”

Franco’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t like the timing.” Pausing, Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking it over, and it’s possible that the shooter was aiming at Corie.”

Franco whipped out his notebook. “A blind hit man. What a plot point!”

Corie set down her coffee. “He fired the bullet into the air. I saw him and so did several other witnesses. The police concluded he was just some crazy person.”

Jack gave Franco an annoyed look before returning his gaze to Corie’s. “I have a feeling—the same one I get whenever something I’m working on is about to go bad. And I just want to cover all the possibilities so that we can take precautions. It’s possible that someone in the Lewis family might not be too thrilled that you’re here.”

Corie’s expression became thoughtful as she considered it for a moment. “True. But how did the Lewis family know I was arriving today?”

“The person who e-mailed me your whereabouts could also be feeding the Lewises the same information,” Jack said.

“Okay. But if they’re so worried, why did they send a blind hit man to shoot at me?”

“Good point,” Franco said and made a note.

“Okay,” Jack raised both hands, palms out. “You’ve got logic on your side there. But what if the white cane and the dark glasses were a disguise? Maybe he could see perfectly well, and he just dressed that way to get close to you or to make sure that he couldn’t be identified.”

“He’s got a point,” Franco remarked as he scribbled on the page.

“Let me get this straight. He could see perfectly?” Corie asked with a smile. “So perfectly that he aimed his bullet into the air and completely missed me.”

“Now, she’s got a point. I feel like I’m at a tennis match.” Franco’s pen never stopped moving on the page.

A tennis match where he wasn’t scoring many points off his opponent, Jack thought. She had a sharp mind, and at any other time he would have enjoyed matching wits with her. “Look. It’s just possible that I might have seen the shooter this morning when I was running at Pier 39. I saw a blind man there, too, and he was walking his dog. I can’t be sure it was the same man, but later I thought I saw him again in a car that backfired in front of our apartment building. He could have followed me there and then out to the airport.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And there’s something else I haven’t told you about Benny Lewis.”

Corie nodded. “You’re referring to the fact that Benny Lewis used to have mob connections.”

Jack stared at her. “You know about that?”

Franco flicked a glance at Jack. “She’s not the naive little librarian we thought she was.”

Corie’s brows shot up as she shifted her gaze from one man to the other. “It would be a rare librarian indeed who could still be naive with the information highway at her fingertips. I researched everything about the man who might be my father. One of the most informative articles I found was written by one Jack Kincaid for the San Francisco Chronicle. It traced Benny Lewis’s family back to one of the first organized crime families in this country.” She met Jack’s eyes steadily. “And it revealed that you are not welcome on the Lewis estate. I figure that’s one of the reasons you invited me out here. I’m your leverage to get an interview, or whatever it is you’re after.”

“Busted,” Franco murmured.

Jack felt the heat rising in his neck. “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t want to do it over the phone.”

“In your article, you also said that the Lewis Winery and the Crystal Water Spa are legitimate businesses, and that Benny Lewis cut all ties to his organized crime confederates over thirty years ago when he moved out here. Do you have any reason to believe otherwise?”

“Just a feeling.”

“It’s a feeling that Jack’s been nursing for twelve years or so—ever since I’ve known him,” Franco put in. “He’s got nothing to substantiate it.”

Corie frowned thoughtfully. “But if you could connect the gunman at the airport to Benny, then you’d have something more than a feeling, right?”

“The plot thickens,” Franco said.

Jack glared at him. “This isn’t a screenplay.”

Corie took a sip of her Irish coffee, then looked at him. “We should get going right away.”

“You want to go back to Fairview.” Jack didn’t blame her.

“Of course not,” Corie said taking another sip of her coffee.

Jack stared at her. He couldn’t quite keep up with her. She wasn’t angry that he hadn’t mentioned the Lewis family’s early organized crime connections, nor did she seem to be frightened. “Let me get this straight. You’ve known all along that Benny Lewis had mob connections in his past, and now you know that I think he still might. Aren’t you worried at all?”

“Not really. But I didn’t come out here with blinders on. If Benny Lewis is my father, then twenty-six years ago something happened to make my mother run away and live the life of a recluse. I took two weeks to decide whether or not I wanted to come out here and open up that can of worms. And I do. So let’s get started. If there is a connection between that blind gunman at the airport and the Lewis family, then it might have something to do with why my mother hid away all these years. What’s your plan?”

“Plan?”

“Plot point number two. Hero and heroine join forces to solve the crime,” Franco said as he scribbled. “Shades of The Thin Man.”

Corie turned to Franco. “I just love those movies. Nick and Nora Charles were the perfect partners.” She turned back to Jack. “When can we get started?”

Jack frowned. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t work with a partner. I work alone.”

“But you invited me out here, and you need me to gain access to Benny.”

In the short beat of silence that followed, Franco cleared his throat. “She’s got you there.”

Then Corie and Franco merely waited, watching him expectantly. The shy little librarian had a mind like a steel trap and a dogged determination that surprised him and drew his admiration at the same time. Until he figured out how to handle her, his best strategy was to distract her.

“My plan is simple. I’m going to take you to a party Friday night—a reception following the dedication of the new children’s wing at San Francisco Memorial Hospital. It’s being held at the Monahan House, one of San Francisco’s newest and most exclusive hotels. A close friend of mine, Jake Monahan, owns the hotel, and so he’s going to see that we get into the reception.”

“Why can’t I meet Benny sooner?” Corie asked.

“He’s out of the country visiting a new winery that he purchased in southern Italy. He’ll be flying back on Thursday evening specifically for the party on Friday. He and the whole family will be there. It’s a public affair. I figure it’s your best scenario for meeting him.”

“And you’re just going to walk up to Benny and introduce me as his long-lost illegitimate daughter?”

“No. I’ll introduce you as Corie Benjamin.” He drew a photo out of his pocket and placed it in front of her. “Since you look almost exactly like your mother, I’m assuming that he’ll agree to speak with you in a more private arena.”

Corie stared down at the old picture. The first thing that struck her was that the woman sitting in the restaurant booth next to the darkly handsome man could have been her twin sister. Over the years, she had grown used to comments that she and her mother looked alike, but now she was facing concrete evidence of it.

“You’re sure this man is Benny Lewis?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jack said. “I’ve got several other photos of him from that time period.”

Corie felt the prick of tears at the back of her eyes. The man in the picture was so handsome, and the charm was so evident in his smile. Her mother looked so young, and so happy. She touched a finger to the woman’s face and for the first time she let herself believe that the man in the picture might indeed be her father. A rush of feeling moved through her, tightening her throat and squeezing into a little band around her heart. She would be meeting him in a little more than thirty-six hours.

Raising her eyes to meet Jack’s, she said, “I was hoping, but I didn’t really believe it before.”

He reached out and took her hand.

Linking her fingers with his, she met Jack’s gaze steadily. “I do now. I really think he’s my father. And I’m not going to let some crazy man at the airport scare me away.”

“Here! Here!” Franco said as he raised his mug in another toast.

Corie took a sip of her coffee and then said, “But Friday is two days away. Shouldn’t we be investigating something in the meantime? We could go out to the winery and look for a man with a dog wearing sunglasses and a fedora and carrying a white cane.”

Jack bit back a grin. Not only was Corie smart and determined, but she wasn’t going to be easily distracted. “If he was wearing a disguise, he won’t be wearing it the next time we see him.”

“Good point,” Franco said. “You two are about even right now.”

“And you have an appointment at Lorenzo’s at two o’clock,” Jack added.

Franco raised his glass again. “To the new Corie Benjamin.”

Jack took a long swallow of his Irish coffee. While Corie was safely occupied at Lorenzo’s, he was going to modify and expand his plan. First, he was going to have a heart to heart with D. C. Parker down at the homicide division. He needed to know exactly who was e-mailing him. Fast.

Mrs. H,

Just a little update on my research…

I have another great idea—and another great heroine for my screenplay. Renting out my apartment has not only been a financial boon, but it has also increased my creativity. Scenes are just flowing into my mind. Corie Benjamin, my latest tenant, is a whole lot more than the shy little librarian I was expecting. I have a feeling she’s more than my friend Jack was expecting, too! When they met for the first time at the airport, it was as if they were the only two people in the baggage claim area! I’m thinking West Side Story, the dance at the gym—when Tony and Maria meet for the first time and for a moment time stands still.

And it’s my job to give the little librarian a makeover. We’re at Lorenzo’s salon as I’m writing this, and then we’re off to see a personal shopper at Macy’s. Picture the shopping scene from Pretty Woman.

And she hasn’t even tried on the skirt yet! I can’t wait to see what happens when Jack sees her in it! Picture Sabrina when the chauffeur’s daughter comes back from Paris totally transformed! My agent is going to go ballistic!

Ta,

Franco

THE WAITING ROOM of Lorenzo’s salon offered a view of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. Corie might have enjoyed it even more if it hadn’t been for the tight knot of nerves in her stomach.

She’d never experienced anything like the salon, from the red-and-gold brocade drapes and Persian rugs to the exotic scents wafting into the room at regular intervals. But Corie had a hunch that the real cause of the nerves was the fact that Jack Kincaid had taken his leave of them and headed to the Chronicle office. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Silly to feel so alone just because a man she’d met only a few hours ago had left her.

At Franco’s request, Nadia, a pencil-thin girl who had at least seven earrings in each ear, had brought her a glass of white wine. Noting that her knuckles had turned white from gripping the stem, Corie concentrated on relaxing her fingers. She had to get a grip.