With This Fling

His body enveloped her as he moved her around in the dance, his strong arms too solid, his hips anchored against her much too close for decency. They swayed together so erotically that she imagined they must look like two lovers who needed a room.

She knew he wanted to provoke her and she refused, absolutely refused, to give in to an almost overwhelming desire to fling him off her and knock him on his ass for good measure.

“The pulse jumping in your throat is very attractive,” he said, and to her utter horror, he lowered his mouth to her skin.

Flames licked in the wake of his touch, making her insides tremble with excitement. Damn man. Damn dress. And she’d even questioned the low cut of the neckline.

“Just stop it,” she said, and Gerard smiled.

“I’m not harassing you. I’m being honest.”

It took a moment to manage her breathing and find her voice. “Honest? You expect me to believe this three-hundred-and-sixty-degree change of attitude isn’t anything but harassment?”

“I would understand you feeling that way, except for the fact that we kissed.”

“It wasn’t a real kiss, Gerard. It was being here at the plantation. That ridiculous murder-mystery corporate training. All that rich food and stupidity about pirates falling in love. We got…caught up. Let me remind you we agreed to forget that inexplicable lapse of impulse control ever happened.”

“You suggested. I never agreed. I liked kissing you.”

He might have been smiling, but there was nothing amused about his expression. His jaw set in a hard line, his gaze as no-nonsense as she’d ever seen it. The man wasn’t lying and that realization came at her sideways.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you, Harley. You’re haunting my dreams.”

“Get over it.”

“Come at this from a purely pragmatic standpoint.” He ground against her, enough to share the growing erection he hid inside his expensive suit. “We’re attracted to each other. Ignoring the way we feel isn’t working. Our feelings are interfering with our jobs.”

The instinct to deny his claim hit her hard, but Harley didn’t do denial. No matter how much she might want to. She was attracted to him, and everyone within a twenty-mile radius of Eastman Investigations knew they didn’t get along. Josh had even set up the teamwork training session exclusively to help them work together as a team.

“It was one stupid kiss!” she said.

“It was one awesome kiss.”

“Did Lennon put you up to this?”

He lifted a silky dark brow as if daring her to think anyone could possibly make him do something he didn’t want to do. Well, no argument there as she’d had daily proof.

“We need to work through these feelings, Harley, so we can get on with our lives. It’s the only thing to do.”

She would have disabused him of that notion, but he chose that exact moment to bend her back over his arm again when the music slowed to a bluesy tune. Her heart countered by mimicking the tempo with lazy, aching beats.

“We need to explore this attraction to get it out of our systems,” he said. “We need to have a fling.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No. I want you, me, in bed, naked.” His smoky gaze raked over her face as intimately as a caress.

“Just because you want something doesn’t mean it will become reality.” She arched upward, desperate to get away.

He wouldn’t let her go.

Short of throwing him off balance and causing a scene, she had no recourse but to wait until he decided to pull her out of the dip, which didn’t look like it would happen anytime soon. “Forget the damn kiss, Gerard. End of discussion.”

“Let me sweep you off your feet. You’ll like it.”

Unfortunately, she might, and Harley couldn’t live with herself if she did. “Who do you think you are, Prince Charming?”

“You won’t be able to resist me.”

She could only marvel at the man’s arrogance, and his luck. He was beyond lucky that she wasn’t armed. She honestly didn’t know if she could have controlled herself.

“I will resist, trust me. You aren’t Prince Charming and I’m not Cinderella. If I were, you’d turn back into a mouse and this ball would be over.”

“Hello, Ms. Price, Mackenzie,” a deep male voice said. “Enjoying yourselves?”

They both glanced around to find Gerard’s grandfather and his bright-eyed dance partner, Quinevere McDarby.

Gerard had the grace to pull her out of the dip and she sucked in an audible breath that made Miss Q, as she liked to be called, smile.

“Of course they’re enjoying themselves, Stuart,” she said. “If you could just see yourselves, my dears, you look as if you were made to be together.”

As Lennon’s great-aunt and Josh’s great-aunt-in-law, Miss Q had diplomatic immunity from Harley’s opinion. But Gerard, unfortunately, never knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been telling Harley,” he said. “She’s a tough sell.”

“What’s to sell?” Miss Q raked those big baby blues over Gerard approvingly. “Look at him, Harley…he’s perfect.”

For what? To use as a practice target?

She kept her mouth shut. Not only were she and Miss Q clearly of two minds regarding the definition of perfect, but like her great-niece Lennon, Miss Q was one of those impossible-not-to-like types. Hands down, she was the most outrageous woman Harley had ever met, which said a lot since she’d met some real characters in her twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight years.

The way the talk on the street went, Miss Q had been responsible for matchmaking not only Lennon and Josh into their current marital state, but also the new Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Harley didn’t know the details. She didn’t want to know. But when she looked at Gerard and remembered that he was another of the Garden District gang…

She smiled at the elderly couple, a real smile. Lady Luck must have glanced down after all, because if Miss Q took an interest in Gerard’s love life, she just might find a woman to distract him from wanting a fling with her. With Harley’s lack of pedigree, she certainly wouldn’t be on the short list of contenders for the job.

“Miss Q, would you mind if I cut in?” Harley asked, more than willing to suffer another dance to escape Gerard and give this little matchmaker a chance to pick his brain about his preferences. “I was hoping to talk with Mr. Gerard about his work as the district attorney.”

“Of course not, my dear. I never turn down a dance with a handsome man.”

“The verdict is still out on whether or not you’re armed,” Gerard said with a frown. “Should I be worried about my grandfather’s safety?”

“Nothing to worry about, Mackenzie.” Stuart motioned him off. “Your Ms. Price is charming.”

Gerard had no choice but to let her go, but being the man he was, he couldn’t resist a parting shot. His voice was low and silky when he whispered in her ear, “I’ll get you in bed, Harley. Trust me.”

She bit her tongue and made her escape. Stepping into Stuart’s arms, she let him steer her into a dance, his grandson’s threat still echoing in her head.

“So you wanted to talk about my work, young lady?”

Between the question in his voice and the dubiously arched brow, Harley got the impression he didn’t believe her. She decided to be up-front. “To be honest, sir, I wanted to get away from your grandson. I see him all week at work. I need a break on the weekends.”

“My good fortune then. After meeting you, I’d hoped we’d get the opportunity to chat.”

“Really, sir? Why?”

“I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“I do hope you’ve heard more than your grandson’s opinion. If not, I’m sunk.”

Stuart might have been old, really old if she was to guess, but his strong features had weathered the time well. When he smiled, she recognized his grandson in his expression and suspected that one day Gerard would look a lot like this man.

“I have,” he said. “In fact, that’s why I wanted to talk. I like to form my own opinions and the only thing my grandson has said is that you’re a very good investigator. He told me he’s been learning a great deal.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He sounded decided, and Harley liked that he was playing as straight with her as she was with him. “But I suspect that you’re not sure whether to believe me, Ms. Price.”

“Call me Harley, please.”

He inclined his head. “If you’ll call me Stuart.”

“Okay, Stuart. What makes you think I’m not sure?”

“I spent my entire adult life prosecuting criminals. That constitutes a lot of years. I pride myself on having become rather an expert at reading people.”

“That’s a handy skill in my line of work, too. And I don’t question you at all,” she assured him. “I’m reassessing the situation. If that’s all your grandson has said and you still need to formulate an opinion, maybe it’s everyone else’s opinions I should be worried about.”

“Not at all, young lady. Although I must tell you I’m fascinated by the stories. I’ve always found my grandson easy to get along with and, to my knowledge, he hasn’t had problems on the job in the past.”

“Oh, I’m sure he hasn’t. He’s the poster child of patience and ability. I’m the rogue element here.”

“Touché.” Stuart laughed. “I’m biased where Mackenzie is concerned. He’s my late wife’s namesake—Julia Mackenzie Gerard. As I’m so fond of him, I do hope you’ll forgive me. But in order to correct my mistake, I’ll need your take on the stories.”

“They’re nothing more than urban legends,” she said dryly. “Your grandson and I get along fine. Not to worry.”

Stuart shot a glance toward the grandson in question and his matchmaking dance partner. “I’m not worried at all. I believe my grandson may have finally met his match.”

Gerard’s threat echoed in her memory. I’ll get you in bed, Harley. Trust me.

The man had met his match. She just hoped he was as smart as his grandfather to realize it.

2

MAC HAD NO APPOINTMENTS scheduled this morning, but when he arrived at work shortly before nine, Melissa, Eastman Investigations’s office manager, tipped the phone receiver fastened to her head and mouthed, “Your grandfather’s here.”

“In my office?” he asked, surprised.

She shook her head. “Josh’s office, and Harley’s with them. They told me to send you in when you got here.”

Mac strode through the reception area and down the hallway. After knocking on his boss’s door, he found Josh seated behind his desk, his grandfather in front and Harley half sitting on the side, contemplating him stoically.

She was back in black today, the narrow-legged slacks and blazer drawing his attention to the way her body stretched away from the desk, all graceful lines and sleek curves.

He nodded in greeting, then slipped a hand over his grandfather’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

His grandfather glanced up with a somber expression. “Good morning, Mackenzie. I’ve been explaining to Josh and Harley that I seem to have a thief loose in my house.”

Mac sat down beside his grandfather, frowning. The house in question was the house he’d been reared in, a Garden District mansion where both his grandfather and parents still lived.

“What’s missing?”

“Your grandmother’s wedding rings.”

“No chance they were accidentally moved or misplaced?”

His grandfather shook his head. “You know I never move them. I suppose I should keep them in the safe, but…” He trailed off and shrugged.

Mac knew those rings stayed inside his grandmother’s jewelry box on her dresser, where his grandfather could look at them whenever he wanted a reminder of the woman he’d loved for most of his life, and had so recently lost.

“Grandmother’s jewelry should be safe in the house. What did you do after noticing the rings missing?”

“Took a thorough inventory of everything of value I don’t lock up and asked your parents to do the same. All their things are accounted for, but I’m missing my father’s pocket watch and your grandmother’s pearls.”

“You keep the pocket watch in your armoire?”

His grandfather nodded.

“So you’re missing several items from various places. Narrows down the suspect list.” He thought of the few employees who had access to his grandfather’s private apartment. “Have you reported the thefts to the police yet?”

“Apparently there’s a problem with that,” Josh said, and Mac guessed by his tone that he wasn’t happy with this problem, whatever it was. “That’s what we were just discussing.”

After so many years as a district attorney, his grandfather knew enough people in the police department that an investigation should have happened immediately. “What’s up?”

“As I was telling Harley and Josh, once I discovered these pieces missing, I wrote a list of everyone with access to the house. Seemed to be a safe place to start.” He gave a wan smile. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Mackenzie, that list is small. James and Pearl have been with me for years and I trust them implicitly, which leaves me with the cleaning and lawn-maintenance services. As the lawn-maintenance people don’t usually come inside…”

“You’re left with the cleaning service.”

“Right. But I’ve used the same service since your grandmother hired them nearly sixty years ago. You can understand I’m wary about making accusations without proof.”

Mac understood his grandfather’s concern and agreed with his assessment of the house staff’s trustworthiness. Pearl had been stuffing the family full of her Deep South specialties for as long as he could remember and James had spent nearly twenty years trying to direct Mac and his siblings’ activities outside of the house, where the aftereffects were less noticeable.

“I know Mrs. Noralee’s daughter is still running their business, Grandfather, but she has turnover with her staff. It’s possible she’s hired someone she can’t trust.”

“I agree, which is why I called some friends who use her cleaning service to see if they’ve had any problems.”

“Good idea. What came of it?”

“Five other clients with similar losses.” Harley reached for a document in front of Josh, handed Mac what turned out to be an inventory list. She was cool, professional, nothing in her expression letting on that they’d ever discussed a fling during the wedding. “They’re all missing small, high-ticket items that usually aren’t noticed immediately.”

Mac scanned the list, recognized the names. He glanced up at Josh. “Miss Q’s been hit, too.”

Josh nodded. “Basically we’ve got Nice and Neat as the commonality, with a staff of twelve who regularly service the Garden District on rotating schedules.”

Mac turned to his grandfather. “I don’t see why the police can’t investigate, so we can start attempting to recover the stolen items.”

Unfortunately, the chance of recovery was slim, and one look at his grandfather’s expression told Mac he knew it. Which left Mac to vainly question why, out of all the valuables in the family home, his grandmother’s rings—irreplaceable for their sentimental value alone—had been taken.

“That’s why I’m here, Mackenzie,” his grandfather said. “We want to move quickly. We’ve all lost things that mean a great deal to us. We’re pooling our efforts and hiring Eastman Investigations to investigate.”

“I’m still missing something here.” Mac cast a sidelong glance at Harley, found her watching him with an expression that revealed nothing.

“We can’t go to the police because of Noralee,” his grandfather said as if that explained everything. “She’s a good friend. She started Noralee’s Nice and Neat over sixty years ago. Those were different times, Mackenzie. Most women didn’t run businesses back then, especially African-American women.”

Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his hands before him, looked thoughtful. “Noralee was the Eastman’s housekeeper until she approached Josh’s grandfather about investing in her business. He backed her financially and Quinevere used their social contacts to help her find clients. She ran her business successfully until passing it along to her daughter when she retired. Evalee runs it now and has been training her daughter to take over. Nice and Neat has become a family operation with a sterling reputation that we don’t want to damage.”

“Someone is stealing.”

“I agree but until we know if Noralee’s daughter and granddaughter are involved, we’d prefer to handle it quietly. You’ve met Noralee, Mackenzie. She’s older than I am and has worked so hard. We don’t want to see her reputation harmed for no good reason. You need to find out what’s going on. If her daughter and granddaughter aren’t involved, the situation can be handled internally, quietly. If they are, well, at least we can warn Noralee before going to the authorities.”

“What are your thoughts on this?” Mac asked Josh, who rocked back in his chair and shot him a narrowed glance.

“I’ve been backed into a neat corner,” he said.

“Really?”

“Really. Your grandfather has been reminding me how instrumental my grandfather was in starting Nice and Neat. He believes that makes me invested in the outcome.”

“And…” Harley leveled her gaze at him. “Your grandfather threatened to sic Miss Q on him if he doesn’t take the case.”

Mac glanced at his grandfather. “I’m surprised you’re playing the personal card here.”

“Why should you be? It’s one of the few cards I have to play today and I want you to take our case.”

Harley chuckled and Mac looked back at her, even more surprised by her amusement than he was at his grandfather pulling rank. Laughter brightened her eyes and softened the edges of her beautiful face, an unexpected and welcome change from sarcasm.

His grandfather returned her smile. “I want you all to give it some thought before you decide. We’ll pay your professional fees and expenses and in addition, we’re offering generous cash rewards for the recovery of any of the stolen items.”

“I appreciate cash bonuses as well as the next guy, Stuart,” Harley said. “But I see a problem.”

Josh leaned back in his chair, watching her as if he knew what was coming. All eyes fixed on her, waiting.

“We can run background checks on the Nice and Neat employees, but we can’t conduct an investigation any more quietly than the police. If we don’t explain ourselves when we ask questions, we won’t get the answers we need. Now you’re looking at inside surveillance.”

“Which dramatically increases the time it’ll take us to get information,” Josh said.

“Which decreases our chances of recovering the stolen items,” Mac added.

His grandfather waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll work it out. I have total faith in your abilities. That’s why I’m here.”

“Give us twenty-four hours to do some research and discuss the case, Mr. Gerard.” Josh rose, effectively bringing the conversation to an end. “I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know what we come up with. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” his grandfather said.

Mac stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

Leading his grandfather outside, he waited until they were in the parking lot of the upscale professional plaza that housed Eastman Investigations before saying, “I’m sorry they took Grandmother’s rings. I know how much they mean to you. And me, too. I’ll do whatever I can to get them back.”

To Mac, his grandfather looked much the same as he always did. His hair was whiter, his face more lined, but he still stood tall, a proud man with an easy smile. And when he slid his hand over Mac’s shoulder and squeezed, the gesture felt the way it always had—a vote of unfailing confidence.

“I know you will, Mackenzie. I’m counting on it.”

Mac watched his grandfather drive from the parking lot and disappear into traffic, while he considered the various ways to tackle this case. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the elegant diamond and platinum rings in his memory.

“My father used to say my engagement ring was as big as an ice-skating pond,” his grandmother had once told him. “So I’d ask him when he’d ever seen an ice-skating pond, since he was born and bred in New Orleans.”

“When had he?” Mac had asked.

“He hadn’t. He was only teasing me, dear. He could never decide if your grandfather had bought such a big diamond to prove his worth or because he liked to show off.”

This accounting was so different from the grandfather Mac knew that he’d asked curiously, “Why did he?”

She’d gazed lovingly at her rings with one of those expressions that usually warned Mac it was time to dodge a hug. “Your grandfather wanted an engagement ring to always remind me of how much he loved me. He said this was the biggest he could find and it wasn’t nearly big enough.”

Mac had been twelve at the time and remembered feeling uncomfortable with all the talk about love. But as an adult he remembered her words when he thought about his future—he, too, wanted to settle down with a woman he loved with the same devotion his grandfather had shown his grandmother.

And somehow his grandmother had known. After her funeral services, his grandfather had pulled Mac aside and pressed the rings into his hand. “She wanted you to have these, Mackenzie. You were her namesake,” he’d explained. “She wanted to look down from heaven and know you loved someone as much as I loved her.”

Mac had been touched by his grandmother’s regard, but he hadn’t taken her rings that day. He’d known his grandfather would appreciate hanging on to them a while longer and, as Mac crossed the parking lot, he realized his reluctance to give his ex-fiancée those rings should have been his first clue that all hadn’t been right in their relationship.

On some level he’d known his ex hadn’t been his special woman. Fortunately for them both, he’d finally figured out what the problem was before getting himself and a very nice woman involved in a marriage destined to suffer from the same nagging discontent that he’d felt in so many other areas of his life.

He’d spent his whole life maintaining the status quo—thirty-three years of living up to the standards of old-moneyed New Orleans families. He had the education, the portfolio, the toys, the power and the social status to prove it…and a restlessness that had refused to go away.

Until Mac had decided he’d had enough.

Part of his decision to point his life in a new direction was a need to be challenged—by his work and by his pleasures—a part of life he’d ignored for way too long. He’d left his job with the District Attorney’s office and washed his hands of the premeditated mating game he’d been playing since becoming marriage-marketable by society’s standards. He wanted the thrill of the chase and long, hot nights with women who weren’t focused on social standing, prenuptial agreements and gene pools.

What he’d gotten was a hard-on for Harley Price.

Yes, she was beautiful, intelligent and so accomplished as an investigator that his own inexperience had been hammering at his ego. But she was also cynical, impatient and so far removed from her emotions that she had to be the worst possible candidate as a companion to exploring life’s pleasures.

Get over it, she’d told him.

He’d been trying. And while Harley might be willing to live in this state of edgy limbo, he wasn’t. He needed to help his grandfather, not obsess about this woman. He wanted her out of his system, and all he had to do was convince Harley she wanted the same thing.

THE WEEKEND FROM HELL was barely over, and from where Harley sat—the driver’s seat of a friend’s car—the week was shaping up to be just as hellish. Not that there was anything wrong with the antique Firebird. It was a sweet ride—all showy red paint and polished chrome—despite the so-called power steering that was developing her biceps every time she turned the wheel.

The real problem with the Firebird was that she’d rather not have been driving it at all. Her own car had started acting up on her way home from the wedding, the transmission slipping while still on the plantation’s oak-lined driveway. She’d pulled into a gas station to refill her fluids and—hopefully—resolve the problem. No such luck. This morning she hadn’t been able to back out of her driveway.