Hard To Handle

She considered pouring her drink over his head as she passed, but couldn’t justify wasting a perfectly good diet soda on a classless jerk. Instead, she shot him a cold look and kept moving.

In an era where reed-thin models graced the covers of nearly every magazine on the stands, she had the kind of body that had gone out of fashion five decades ago. As one of her previous lovers had told her after she’d shown him the exit, she had a body made for sin, but the heart of an ice queen.

She’d laughed in his face as she held the door open for him, all because he’d kept pressing her for a commitment. She’d warned him she wasn’t into exclusive relationships, but he hadn’t listened. Why was the concept of a no-strings affair so difficult to grasp? Men did it all the time, but when a woman wanted to do the same, she was called coldhearted or worse. She’d already found and lost her one true love—if such a thing even existed—but it had ended badly and she had no desire to repeat the experience. Ever.

“Don’t you just love a good buffet?” Lauren said when Mikki reached their table, now laden with small oval platters, one of them heaped with various tidbits and a small sampling of the goodies from Rory’s shop—thankfully prepared by Rory and her competent staff. Rory had lightened up and hadn’t forced Mikki to actually keep her word when she’d arrived to help. She’d even added a prize of her own to the cause with a day behind the scenes at Lavender Field along with a month’s supply of baked goods.

“Who wouldn’t?” Mikki answered, carefully setting their drinks amid the array of food. “There’s always bound to be just the right combination to sate most any appetite.” She paused while handing Lauren her drink to blatantly follow the progress of a tall, athletically built Adonis with sun-kissed blond hair and a confident swagger striding toward the black-and-white-tiled dance floor.

Rory made a minor adjustment to the shimmering lilac shawl draped loosely over her shoulders before taking a tentative sip of her white wine. “I have a feeling she’s not talking about the food,” she said to Lauren over the din of conversation.

“Does she ever think of anything besides sex?” Lauren returned with a laugh, taking her drink from Mikki.

Mikki perched on the stool and carefully tugged down the hem of her short, black sleeveless dress. “Not really,” she said, before taking a sip of soda. God, what she wouldn’t give for a real drink. She’d even settle for one of Lauren’s favored frou-frou blended numbers—a sign of true desperation.

Lauren let out a weighty sigh. “Don’t you ever want more from a relationship than sex?”

“Sex is the only relationship I’m interested in, thank you very much.” A long and lean stud looked her way. She smiled at him and slowly lifted the delicate white-gold chain around her neck, the small suitcase charm Maureen had given her upon arriving swinging enticingly in front of her cleavage. His deep-set eyes filled with regret as he shrugged and displayed empty hands.

She let out a sigh. Damn. No key. Not every guest at Clementine’s had opted to purchase a lock or key ticket, although they had paid the rather steep entrance fee to the private party. The few moments she’d had to speak to Maureen upon arriving, her friend had been ecstatic about the money being raised for Baxter House. There’d even been a sizable donation from one of the wealthy and privileged Telegraph Hill set.

“Don’t you ever look at a guy—like him for instance—” Lauren inclined her head in the keyless stud’s direction “—and wonder if he could be the one?”

Mikki forced a laugh. She’d found “the one” once and, as a matter of self-preservation, she’d pushed him away. Hell would freeze over before she ever went there again. She had too many skeletons in her closet and preferred to keep them locked away, something a serious relationship wouldn’t permit, not when trust required a certain level intimacy she had no interest in exploring.

Keep it simple, keep it short, keep them from getting close enough to see what she kept hidden in the closet. That was her motto, and she was sticking to it—with the tenacity of a pit bull.

“The one to make me scream with pleasure?” she replied with her usual flippancy whenever Lauren started with the Cinderella propaganda. “All the time.”

“No,” Lauren said, her tone serious. “Settle down. Buy real estate.” She studied the creamy liquid in her glass, appropriately called a White Knight. “Have a family.”

“I don’t need a man for that,” Mikki said with more brittle laughter. “Just a better-paying job.” She let out a weary sigh. “I don’t have the intrinsic need most women do to nest. I’m a realist, Lauren. Not a romantic.”

Lauren lifted her clear hazel gaze to give her a pointed look. “What about a family?”

Mikki shrugged, but the unexpected weight settling on her shoulders refused to budge. “You, Rory and Mom are my family.” She downed a large portion of her diet cola. The sorry substitute did nothing to quell the sudden sharp craving for something a whole lot more potent than an innocuous soft drink.

“I meant a family of your own,” Lauren pressed. “You’d make a great mother, Mikki. I hope you realize that someday.”

No way. Not her. Never.

She knew exactly what her sister meant and she resented the reminder. She suffered with more sorrow than she’d ever admit to over her decision to never have children. But she couldn’t change the past. She was who she was—a Correlli. And the bloodline ended with her. Period. She’d learned to accept her fate—why wouldn’t anyone else?

But something deep in Mikki’s chest still caught and squeezed hard anyway. It wasn’t the sharp pang of longing. Or was it? Maybe it was another one of those annoying ticks from her biological clock that hadn’t caught on that Correllis had no business breeding. She kept hitting the snooze button, but every so often the what-ifs managed to sneak past her barriers to tweak her self-pity nerve. She couldn’t change who or what she was: the last woman who should ever consider having a baby.

“Motherhood doesn’t interest me,” she said a tad too snappishly. Guilt instantly slammed into her at the flash of hurt in Lauren’s eyes.

Shit. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but Lauren was hitting a nerve she didn’t appreciate having nudged. What was done was done. And she’d gotten over it a lifetime ago.

“You’re wonderful with kids.” Rory tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Just as long as they belong to someone else,” she reminded Rory. “When you two decide to start having babies, count on me to spoil them rotten. Now, can we please change the subject before I break out in hives?”

A server neared and Mikki signaled to place another order. She would have sold her soul and then some for a something strong enough to anesthetize her mind. She loved Lauren but, dammit, she had no desire to navigate an emotional obstacle course.

The server took his sweet time coming their way, giving the craving gnawing at her time to build. Her hands trembled, so she fisted them in her lap and attempted to concentrate on the rich red-and-gold, bordelloesque decor of Clementine’s. The need for a shot of bourbon only grew stronger. After four years of sobriety, it annoyed the life out of her that she still had to fight off such strong temptation for a drink—for several drinks—but she’d learned early on that some days were easier to get through than others.

She dug her nails into her palms as the server finally approached. “There’s a twenty in it for you if you’re back in less than five minutes,” she told him, placing an order for another two glasses of soda and another round for Lauren and Rory.

Opening her black silk evening bag, she pulled out her car keys and set them in front of Rory for safekeeping. “Just in case,” she said tightly. “It’s one of those days.”

Rory’s expression instantly filled with concern, but Mikki shook her head, signaling she didn’t want to discuss the war going on inside her. She’d get through this, just as she always did. One second at a time if necessary. Ridding herself of her car keys was merely a precaution.

Contrition clouded Lauren’s eyes. Reaching across the table, she gave Mikki’s hand a light squeeze. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

She looked at Lauren and tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but could only manage a slight grimace. “Forget about it,” she said with as much sincerity as she could muster. “I already have.”

A lie. A big fat one, but she wasn’t about to hurt Lauren’s feelings further or cause either of her sisters more worry. Mikki’s ghosts were her problem.

She knew they were only concerned about her, and with good reason, but she wasn’t about to blow all her hard work because of a silly reminder that she’d willingly chucked her own glass slipper out the window. She’d made her choices and, for the most part, was perfectly content with her life. She had a job she loved, a small but close circle of friends and her odd, mismatched family. If she needed a man, she found one to ease her frustration. On those occasions between lovers, she took care of her needs the way any woman with a healthy sex drive did—by making sure there were plenty of batteries on hand.

The server returned in record time. As Mikki paid him and included the bonus she’d promised, Rory said something she didn’t quite catch, but the urgency in her voice had Mikki looking up to follow her sister’s gaze.

There wasn’t enough alcohol in Clementine’s to numb her. Not when she found herself gazing at a pair of familiar dark brown bedroom eyes she’d never been able to forget, no matter how many vices she abused to banish them from her mind.

The buzz of conversation, the raucous beat of the music and the colorful changing lights from the dance floor faded. Rory’s hand settled on her arm, but Mikki took no comfort from the supportive gesture as she returned the stare of the one man she’d hoped to never see again—Nolan Baylor.

Her heart gave a sudden traitorous lurch. Damn.

The passage of time had been good to him. His shoulders seemed wider than she remembered and his biceps, emphasized by the snug fit of the sleeves of the dark, charcoal-gray polo shirt he wore, were definitely thicker. His waist appeared leaner, too, but he still possessed the same rugged good looks she’d always preferred.

A slow, sinful smile tipped his mouth. The lines of his face were more angular now, too, she realized. Sharper. Harder. Just like the challenging glint in his eyes.

Every step that brought him closer filled her with tension.

His smile deepened.

A flash of silver caught the light. Apprehension slid down her spine, chilling her. Dangling from her ex-husband’s long, tanned fingers was a small white-gold key.

2

MIKKI WAS EVEN MORE beautiful than Nolan remembered. Seeing her again had him recalling plenty, too. Not just how incredibly sexy she looked in that skimpy black dress clinging to her voluptuous curves, but the passion and how they’d never been able to get enough of each other. The laughter, the good times and, unfortunately, the arguments and mistakes made by two people who’d been too young and headstrong were equally prominent.

Mikki always did have a short fuse. One look reminded him of just how volatile she could be as her shock segued into apprehension, followed by a distinct flare of hot temper evident in those sapphire-blue eyes that defied her heritage.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Not the greeting he’d hoped for, yet no less than he’d expected, or even deserved, for that matter. “Nice to see you again, too, Mikki,” he said, tucking the key into his pocket.

“The name is Michaela,” she said with an unmistakable chill. “Only people I care about call me Mikki.”

A smarter man than he would’ve taken her icy retort as a signal to keep his distance. God knew they could be poison to each other, but that hadn’t ever kept them apart for long in the past. Probably because the makeup sex had always been phenomenal. Besides, when it came to the onyx-haired, curvaceous spitfire with contempt in her eyes as she stared at him, he never had been all that bright.

“Is that any way to greet an old…” He intentionally left her hanging. Behind him, his oldest friend, Tucker Schulz, muttered something about a death wish. “…Friend?”

Mikki shifted nervously on her stool, then issued a short, derisive bark of laughter. Her hand trembled as she reached blindly for her drink. The contents sloshed close to the rim and she shot him another frosty glare. “That isn’t the term I’d use.”

He chuckled. “No, I don’t imagine you would.” Any one of the choice phrases she’d occasionally hurled at him whenever he’d riled her hot Sicilian and fiery Irish blood were no doubt already hovering on her tongue.

Before the night ended, he thought, she’d have more than enough opportunity.

After the way they’d parted, with her calling him a selfish, egotistical bastard and him responding with equally hateful words he wasn’t exactly proud of, he hadn’t expected her to welcome him back to San Francisco with open arms. If she was this ticked off at just seeing him, she’d rupture something vital when she learned he’d moved back for good. And that was only the beginning.

He’d anticipated her anger, but he sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for the stirring of his blood. An unfortunate miscalculation on his part, he decided, because he really should have been prepared for nothing less. He might be older, but he’d just been handed proof he hadn’t gained an ounce of wisdom where Mikki was concerned.

The passion between them had always been white-hot and explosive, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough to keep them together. He understood now their relationship had been built on sexual attraction, which hadn’t prepared either of them for the day-to-day struggles of marriage, let alone coping with the problems that eventually led to their divorce.

“You remember Tuck,” he said, needing a diversion. He stepped aside in hopes of allowing his libido a chance to cool. Not that he actually believed it possible now that he was within touching distance of her again. She was the kind of woman that dug under a man’s skin. And stayed there.

“Oh, my God. Tuck.” A genuine smile softened her expression as she came off the bar stool and moved right past him to greet Tucker with a warm hug. “It’s been such a long time,” she said, stepping back. “You’re looking yummy. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“As little as possible.” Tucker gave her an appreciative once-over. “Since you and Nolan split, he’s taken to working hard enough for both of us.”

She made no comment, not that Nolan expected her to. Slipping her arm through Tuck’s, she steered him toward the table. “I don’t think you’ve ever met my sisters. Rory Constable,” she said, indicating a woman Nolan hardly recognized. Mikki’s older sister had matured into an elegant, Rubenesque beauty. The Rory he remembered had been a friendly frump in granny glasses and long hair, a golden retriever following on the heels of her Birkenstock sandals.

“And this is Lauren Massey.” She looked to her sisters. “Tucker Schulz. He and Nolan have been friends for…” She smiled at Tucker, studiously ignoring Nolan.

“More years than I care to keep track of,” Tucker returned with a dimple-deepening grin as he eyed Lauren. His gaze then skimmed over Rory. She stared into a glass of white wine, her complexion becoming ruddy.

Mikki cast a quick, nervous glance in Nolan’s direction before turning back to Tucker. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I was just leaving.” Rising up onto her toes, she reached across the table for a set of keys in front of Rory. The hem of her slinky black dress hiked up a good two inches to reveal her shapely thighs. More than his blood stirred as Nolan took in his fill.

Rory lifted her gaze in time to beat her to the keys. She slid them off the table and into her handbag. “Actually,” she said with a hint of a smile on her lips, “we’ve only just arrived.”

He didn’t miss the heated glare Mikki shot her sister or how Rory’s smile shifted into a distinct retaliatory smirk.

Lauren suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said quietly, slipping off the red-padded stool. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

He knew how Mikki’s mind worked. No doubt she considered Lauren’s abrupt desertion and Rory’s non-compliance as a betrayal, but one she’d easily forgive. When Mikki loved, she did so with her entire heart, no holds barred. He’d seen it in the way she’d always looked out for her sisters and in the little things she’d once done for him. Like the times she’d wait up for him to come home from whatever crappy job he’d been working to help support them, even though she’d had an early class in the morning. Or the time she’d skipped classes for a week and refused to leave the apartment because he’d been knocked on his rear end by a nasty flu bug.

Tucker took the stool Lauren vacated and caught the attention of a passing waiter.

Mikki snatched her purse from the table. “I have a sudden need for fresh air.”

“Good idea.” Nolan came up behind her, fighting the need to touch her, to skim his hands over the generous dips and swells of her bombshell curves. He fished the white gold key out of his pocket. “I’ll join you.”

She stiffened. “That won’t be necessary,” she said tightly.

He dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you wander outside all on your own at night?”

The scent of her cologne teased him, resurrecting another long-forgotten memory. They’d been in law school, a time when he’d rarely had more than a couple of quarters to rub together. He’d taken on a tutoring job to earn extra money to buy her a stupid bottle of expensive perfume for Christmas. He’d be a fool to read too much into the fact that she still wore the scent, but that didn’t prevent the razor-thin slice of satisfaction from knifing through his common sense.

“‘Gentleman’?” She pulled away and pinned him with her gaze. “I wouldn’t use that term where you’re concerned, either.”

Selfish prick, more likely.

“Ouch,” he said, gripping his chest in a mocking gesture.

Facing Tucker, Mikki said, “Good to see you again, Tuck.” She cast a look in Rory’s direction and mouthed something he couldn’t see but that sent Tuck’s eyebrows skyward.

Swiping one of the tall, narrow glasses from the table in front of her, she quickly drained the contents, then exchanged the empty for the full one to carry with her. She bolted toward the back of the bar to the outdoor deck with its inspiring view of the harbor. He admired the brisk swing of the black fabric covering her sweet, rounded ass. How could one woman have that much power? he wondered, feeling as if he were tied in knots he’d never unravel.

He let out a sigh and turned to Rory. “I get the feeling she’s not too happy to see me.” He’d always liked Rory, but he wasn’t about to hazard a guess as to whether she currently returned the sentiment. Rory’s devotion to her sisters was as fierce as Mikki’s protectiveness of them.

“Can’t say I blame her,” she said without an ounce of sympathy.

Neither could he, but after all this time he’d thought Mikki’s temper might have cooled. At least a little. Apparently all that hot blood in her veins ran deeper than he’d anticipated. He only hoped she hadn’t inherited her ancestral desire for vendettas or he’d be a dead man before midnight.

Tucker clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck, pal.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it.”

“You’ll need more than that when she finds out you’re back in town for good,” Tucker reminded him. “And why you’re here tonight.”

Tuck had a point. “Know where I can get a deal on a bulletproof vest?”

Now that he thought about it, full body armor sounded like a wise choice. And some riot gear. A few stiff shots of tequila to bolster his courage couldn’t hurt, either.

He left his friend in Rory’s capable hands and took off for the bar, placing an order for a Mexican boiler-maker, a double shot of Cuervo Gold with a beer chaser. As he waited for the bartender to return, a leggy redhead sidled up beside him with a smile that promised ample warmth against the evening chill. Once upon a time he would’ve taken advantage of the blatant come-on, but after Mikki, he just hadn’t been all that interested in other women. Besides, he hadn’t shelled out a sizable donation to Maureen Baxter’s pet cause to ensure he’d be given the key to Mikki’s locket because he’d been in a generous mood. He and Mikki had unfinished business.

“You look like you’d be a perfect fit,” the redhead purred, showing off the locket wedged between her impressive cleavage.

He wasn’t so much as tempted. “Sorry. This key is spoken for.”

She let out a breathy sigh. “Pity.”

He shrugged apologetically, unmoved by her practiced pout or her sleek curves wrapped in glittering electric blue. The redhead sashayed away, her attention already on another prospective key holder.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the highly polished wood of the bar, he debated the wisdom of showing up at Clementine’s. He’d always been more of an adventurer than a deep thinker, preferring instead to move on with the business of living. There were easier avenues he could’ve taken, and he almost wished he’d given his half-witted plan to catch Mikki off guard more thought. Unfortunately the pressure from the senior partners to tie up a financially hazardous loose end quickly before finalizing the partnership agreement hadn’t left him much time to carefully consider his options. And he did have a responsibility to the firm he couldn’t ignore.

Initially he hadn’t paid much attention to the buzz around the office about the key party until he’d happened to overhear a trio of paralegals mention that Maureen Baxter was the driving force behind the fund-raiser. He’d been fairly certain Mikki would somehow be involved in the cause, so he’d placed a call to Maureen. Not only had she confirmed his suspicions, but he’d impulsively purchased two key-holder tickets along with the promise of a very sizable donation if Maureen guaranteed him the key to Mikki’s locket.

At first Maureen had staunchly refused—and he did appreciate her alliance to Mikki—but when he’d upped the ante, her ethics had taken a back seat to the money he’d promised to add to the coffer. To insure she wouldn’t suffer second thoughts, he’d doubled his original offer and had his assistant show up at Maureen’s office with a check in exchange for the key he wanted. In return, he’d received a pair of keys, one clearly marked for his use; the other he’d planned to give to Tucker.

Fingering the trinket in his palm, he didn’t harbor an ounce of guilt for buying Maureen’s cooperation. He did, however, carry more than a doubt or two about why he’d gone to such extreme. Granted, the news he had to deliver would best be served in person, but it sure didn’t necessitate a donation large enough to cover a respectable percentage of the funds needed for the building of Baxter House. Mikki would be livid when she found out what he’d done and, worse, why he’d done it.

Convincing Tucker to come with him hadn’t been an easy feat, but when Tuck’s sisters and sisters-in-law had ganged up on him, his long-time friend hadn’t stood a chance. The irony of the situation hadn’t been lost on him. As Tuck had gleefully pointed out, the first time Nolan had ever used the money and influence he’d run from most of life, it was to guarantee him a night with a woman who’d rather eat ground glass than be with him.

The bartender finally showed up with the tequila and beer, and Nolan immediately threw back the Cuervo, followed by a hefty swallow of the ice-cold Dos Equis that failed to alleviate the burning in his gut. Whether the booze or his unexpected physical reaction to Mikki was the cause, he couldn’t be sure. Quite frankly, he doubted it made a difference. In the end, he’d probably never understand the emotional hold she had on him.