With This Fling

She gave a shuddering sigh as he eased her back against the pillows, gifting him with a view of her full breasts and blush-colored nipples, delicate shoulders and the contour of her graceful neck up close and personal.

Just where Mac had longed to be. He couldn’t ever remember being broadsided by the sight of a woman before, had never known the sort of anticipation that arced his body from zero to sixty in less than a heartbeat that throbbed so hard it hurt.

His hands actually shook when he maneuvered the leather over her hips and he revealed her sleek curves, her long, long legs with a reverence that was so entirely unfamiliar.

Her cream-colored thong came as a surprise for a woman who went braless and loved leather. Mac wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the sight of that lacy scrap of silk wasn’t it. He had to force himself to keep dragging the pantsuit away because he so didn’t want this show to end.

“Why are you fighting me so hard, Harley?” he asked, his voice raw in the late-night quiet. “You can’t tell me you’re not attracted to me. I know you’re feeling what I do.”

He shouldn’t reveal so much. She’d only use his need against him, but with her stretched out before him, all gleaming skin and sleek curves, his need made him reckless.

“I don’t want to feel anything for you.”

“But you do.” He couldn’t resist the urge to prove it. Trailing a finger up her shapely leg, he touched her warm skin.

“Gerard…” Her voice trailed off, breathless.

“Why not, Harley? A fling makes sense.”

He continued tracing a path up her thigh, a light touch that heightened the anticipation, a small defiance designed to entice the truth from her. Or maybe just entice her.

He wanted her to feel as reckless as he did right now.

Dragging his fingertip beneath her thong, he followed the lacy edge around her hip toward the juncture of her thighs.

She trembled.

He smiled.

She frowned. “Why won’t you take no for an answer?”

“Because I want you. I want you to admit you want me.”

Simple. Honest.

“What difference will it make if I admit it? I still won’t sleep with you.” Raising her arms above her head, she stretched, a languorous display of skin, a move meant to tempt him with the very thing he wanted.

Her move pressed her smooth abdomen into his fingertip, and he knew she was teasing him, inviting him, a boldness inspired by alcohol. But Mac couldn’t resist the opportunity to touch her. Rounding the mound of her sex, he tested her heat through the scrap of sheer silk.

She was hot, moist, definitely aroused.

“You want me.” He bent forward, pressed his mouth to that lacy triangle, breathed a hot breath through the silk.

Her muscles contracted sharply. “I do, but it doesn’t make any difference.”

Hearing her admission was such a bittersweet relief that he almost laughed at the irony. He wanted this beautiful woman sprawled before him more than he’d ever wanted before. His erection throbbed so hard he ached and he couldn’t even test her claim, tempt her as much as she tempted him or try to change her mind.

Because Mac knew she meant what she said.

She might want him, but it didn’t make a difference. She wouldn’t let it. Not when she was sober. Not even now when those heavy-lidded eyes, so lazy with arousal, reminded him that she’d been drinking.

It was over. No matter how Mac came at this, he was pushing the limits of polite behavior. Harley might be arching that smooth body against him. She might be rubbing her sex against his hand and purring breathy little sighs, but her actions didn’t change the fact that had she been clearheaded she’d probably be pointing her gun at his head.

Dragging his fingers from between her legs, he grazed them along her smooth stomach, a safe zone amid all that skin. Then with disappointment bitter in his mouth, he motioned her to roll over so he could pull the comforter out from under her.

She complied without argument, another reminder that she wasn’t in her right mind, and burrowed her face in the pillow. Her red hair waved around her face like a vision from one of his fantasies and he covered her, feeling a sense of loss wildly out of balance with anything he’d ever known before.

“Another question, Harley, and then I’ll leave you alone.” When she nodded, he continued. “What upset you tonight?”

“What makes you think I’m upset?” Her eyes shuttered closed.

“You let me drive you home. If you hadn’t been upset, you’d have drop-kicked me and told me to take a hike.”

She gave a sleepy laugh. “I don’t like you.”

“I know. I don’t like you, either.” He paused. “Well?”

“Bad news. Now go away, Gerard.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “And you were…decent.”

He wondered if she realized just how decent he’d really been. Gazing down at her sleepy expression, he figured probably not, so he accepted her thanks and retreated from the bed. “Sweet dreams, Harley.”

But Mac didn’t go away. Walking from room to room, he searched for clues to help him understand this woman. He wondered what sort of bad news would drive her to drink.

He didn’t have a clue. Companion problems? Ill health? Financial disaster? Death in the family? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t recall ever hearing she had a family. Amazing how two people could work so closely together, butting heads at every turn… He’d have to find out a lot more about Harley’s life if he intended to slip past her defenses.

And he did. Tonight had only fueled his resolve.

Flipping on a table lamp in the living room, he took in an elaborate computer system and a low-slung leather couch. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked an arbor that appeared to back up to the wall of the property. There was expensive music equipment housed in a unit on one wall, but no television.

Given the obvious age of the architecture, Mac suspected the walls had been recently refinished to their pristine condition and the wood beam floor had been brought back and polished to a gleaming luster.

The kitchen appeared to be a work in progress, with partially bald walls half stripped of dated wallpaper. And something about the way a wallpaper scraper and trowel sat side by side in the drainboard with coffee mugs and water glasses made him suspect Harley had been doing the work herself.

Another surprise—he wouldn’t have pegged gun-toting, black-belt, chopper-riding Harley for the home-improvement type. Which went to show how much Mac needed to find out about her before he stood any chance of convincing her to let their attraction make a difference.

While checking out Harley’s desk, Mac felt the first flutter against his cheek. He swatted away the offending critter and, as it was Louisiana in September, just assumed he’d left the door open too long when he’d carried her inside.

It wasn’t until the third bug dive-bombed at him that he took a closer look. Grabbing the lamp from an end table, he noticed a spray of spider veins along the seam of one of her nicely refinished walls.

He hoped that whatever bad news she’d received today hadn’t pushed her too close to the edge, because she was facing even more if she hadn’t already figured out that she had termites.

Making his way back into her bedroom, Mac sat down and considered his best course of action while he watched her sleep.

A headstrong woman with household pests. Well, he’d wanted a challenge.

4

HARLEY’S FIRST HINT that something was wrong came with the feeling someone had unloaded an assault rifle inside her head.

Her second came when the floorboard by her bed creaked.

She zoomed to awake in a second, but didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she flexed her fingers under her pillow, touched the butt of the gun she kept there for emergencies. With a barely perceptible curl of her fingertips, she drew it into her hand. A perfect fit. She thumbed off the safety.

Her heart didn’t pound with fear. Her pulse didn’t rush on an adrenaline wave. Harley just felt…quiet. As if all distractions stopped to let her focus on the matter at hand.

She could hear the fine whoosh of breathing—a man’s, she thought—could feel the air beside her bed stir as he leaned close.

Her muscles flexed in readiness, and in one blast of motion, she aimed the gun exactly where she heard the breathing, opened her eyes to find herself staring at…

“Anthony!”

He didn’t look happy to be staring down the barrel of a gun. Arching a tawny brow, he used a scuffed finger to shift the muzzle away from his face. “Trigger-happy this morning, aren’t we, princess? Must have been a rough night.”

Her heart gave one hard throb and resumed beating. She lowered the gun, flipped the safety back on and returned it under her pillow. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you had to be carried out of Harrah’s.”

The fuzzy memory of Mac Gerard vied for attention in her pounding head, and she rolled onto her back and groaned when her head swam sickeningly. She closed her eyes. “Who narced on me?”

“The Gooch. He said he saw you playing faro and drinking. I had to come find out for myself.”

“You came to check on the chopper.”

“No, princess. I was worried.”

“About your bike.”

“About you.” The mattress sank as he sat on the edge of the bed and she braced herself against the motion. “Look, I brought caffeine.”

“Venti?” She wasn’t offering reassurances or even sitting up for anything less.

“With five shots of leaded.”

“The chopper is fine.”

“I know. I checked the garage before I came in.”

She exhaled a sound that made Anthony laugh. So much for being the number-one concern in this man’s mind.

“Come on, princess. Sit up and drink. You’ll feel better.”

He gave her a shoulder to hang on to while she eased herself up and he stuffed pillows behind her to keep her upright. Then he handed her the cup.

Anthony was right, one sip of high-test brew slowed the rapid-fire pounding in her head. She sighed appreciatively.

“Went that bad with the exterminator yesterday?” he asked.

“The Gooch tell you that, too?”

“He didn’t need to. This is the third time I’ve seen you drink in twenty-two years. I don’t need a P.I. license to know what that means.”

“Ten-thousand dollars worth of bad.”

The amusement fade from his face. “Ouch.”

Ouch, indeed. Where the hell was she coming up with that kind of money? She’d had an idea last night and had taken her paycheck to Harrah’s in a desperate attempt to change her fortune. The drinking hadn’t started until she’d realized that Lady Luck had moved her to the bad luck list.

Now she was going to be behind on her mortgage, too.

She simply couldn’t think about this right now or her head would explode. Closing her eyes, Harley leaned her head back against the pillows and staved off a renewed burst of pounding.

She felt Anthony’s mouth brush against her forehead, a gesture of reassurance she appreciated, even if she didn’t feel reassured. “Don’t worry. Something will break.”

Most likely she’d break before her financial troubles did, but she couldn’t even manage sarcasm right now.

“Ah-hem.”

The deep-throated sound of a man wanting attention jarred the moment and she spun toward the sound to find…Gerard standing in her bathroom doorway.

Wrapped in a towel?

“Great bike,” he said to Anthony in a voice as calm as a breeze off Lake Ponchartrain. “You got a brother named Dominic with the police department?”

Obviously he’d decided not to leave last night. Harley supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that he’d make himself at home without an invitation. Arrogant man. She also shouldn’t be surprised that he’d pegged Anthony as Dominic DiLeo’s brother. The man was a former assistant district attorney who would naturally be acquainted with the New Orleans Police Department where Dominic was a lieutenant. Given the strong family resemblance between all the DiLeo boys…

Swallowing hard, Harley dragged her gaze from the sight of all that bare tanned skin, the definition of a muscular chest, the rippled stomach and narrow waist, the toned legs arrowing down from beneath the hem of the towel.

Her hand shook, and Anthony must have noticed because he plucked the cup away and set it on the bedside table.

“Yeah, I do. Is this the knight in shining armor, princess?” He didn’t wait for her reply, just got to his feet, his expression suddenly closed.

She knew he was gauging the situation and wondering what she’d done while under the influence last night. And whether or not he’d need to kick some ass this morning.

Harley hadn’t done too much—thank goodness!—but she’d never appreciated how small her bedroom was until seeing two big men square off in the middle of it. Anthony was about an inch shy of Gerard, which put her co-worker at an easy six-two. He was as dark as Anthony was light, his near nakedness contrasting sharply with Anthony’s fully dressed self. Gerard was attractive in a polished, sculpted sort of way, while Anthony was more rugged, earthy. That was where the differences ended—they were both virile men radiating testosterone.

To Gerard’s credit though, he looked completely unfazed to be caught standing in a towel, facing what might have been an angry boyfriend or a protective older brother.

“Who are you?” Anthony asked.

“Mac Gerard.”

Anthony knew that name. “So you’re the co-worker from hell.”

He made a dramatic show of dropping his gaze to Gerard’s towel. He didn’t extend his hand in greeting or introduce himself. He didn’t need to. His work shirt had a name badge that read Anthony on the front with his company logo on the back.

“Do I thank this guy for getting you and the chopper home, princess, or do I start swinging?”

“Say thanks.”

Anthony inclined his head and the tension dissolved, just like that. But the standoff wasn’t quite over. Anthony waited for Gerard to back down and disappear into the bathroom.

Gerard didn’t. He folded those strong arms across his chest, leaned casually against the doorjamb and said, “Don’t let me disturb you.”

Harley reached for the coffee, needing another sip to fortify her for what she sensed was coming next.

The Anthony DiLeo show.

True, they were in an off-again phase of their relationship and true, they’d dated other people through the years. But they didn’t double-date. They didn’t even bring dates to the DiLeo family home so they couldn’t chance running into each other. Anthony didn’t like any reminders that she wasn’t sitting around waiting for him to come back to her. He was so Italian that way.

Unfortunately, Gerard had just reminded him.

Heading toward her, Anthony took the cup from her hand and helped himself—even though he didn’t like what she drank. Black coffee, fine. Add five shots of espresso and you could walk on it. He tossed back a swallow as if he drank the stuff every day.

“Did you pick up my suit from the cleaners, princess? I’ve got an appointment at the bank at nine o’clock.”

“The closet.”

He returned the cup and stalked across the room to root through her clothing. Harley could feel Gerard’s gaze on her but couldn’t bring herself to return it. Not because she wouldn’t have enjoyed seeing his reaction to what must look like a good reason why not to have a fling, but because she couldn’t withstand another shot of Mr. Tanned, Muscular and Nearly Naked.

The coffee wasn’t that strong.

Anthony found his suit and reemerged. “Can I leave you alone with this guy?”

He wasn’t really worried about her safety or else he wouldn’t have asked. But he liked to mark his territory to make it clear he’d only stepped out for a while.

“Harley will be fine,” Gerard said before she could answer. “She can give me a ride back to my car.”

“My pleasure,” she said dryly.

Anthony nodded, kissed her on the head, flipped the dry-cleaning bag over his shoulder and didn’t acknowledge Gerard as he walked out the door.

“Did you find everything you needed?” she asked Gerard, to bridge through her sudden awareness that they were alone.

He nodded. “Feeling better this morning?”

“Coffee’s doing wonders.”

He shoved his fingers through his damp hair, making his biceps pop enough to catch her attention. Forcing her attention upward, she met those penetrating eyes and more fuzz cleared from around her brain. Suddenly she remembered being cradled against his strong chest, the way his tight butt had felt between her thighs with the chopper growling beneath them. The way his touch had set her body on fire.

“I’ll get dressed and, whenever you’re ready, we can go,” he said pleasantly. “Sound good?”

She nodded, and he disappeared into her bathroom in a flash of tanned motion. He didn’t ask who Anthony was, didn’t ask about their relationship. For a man who’d been gunning to get her into bed, he didn’t seem interested in her personal life.

Unless meeting Anthony had convinced him to give up his stupid idea of a fling. Or maybe he was just like Anthony—willing to share so long as he got her undivided attention when his turn came around.

The thought alone made her scowl, and she couldn’t decide why she felt so angry—at Anthony and Gerard.

Must be the hangover, because she certainly didn’t care what Gerard wanted. But Anthony…well, okay, maybe she was a bit disappointed, but at least she knew what to expect from him.

ANTHONY DILEO AUTOMOTIVE wasn’t a low-end auto-repair concern run out of the man’s garage. This business rivaled the size of a service department at any car dealership and fitted a few puzzle pieces into place about Anthony DiLeo.

Ambitious. Business savvy. A hands-on owner, if Mac had read the work shirt right. But this character assessment didn’t answer the all-important question—who was this guy to Harley?

Something about their relationship struck him wrong. If they’d been dating, would Anthony have left another man standing half-naked in her bedroom? Mac didn’t think so, but he didn’t have the whole picture—about Harley or her relationship with the auto mechanic. Yet.

Mac needed to clear his head so he could concentrate on his grandfather’s case. In order to do that he needed to deal with the woman who was distracting him. He’d spent the night mulling both the problems and had formulated a rough idea. He just needed to ask a few questions before he implemented his plan.

He was at Anthony DiLeo Automotive for those answers.

Entering through the main office’s glass door, Mac took in the spacious waiting area as he made his way to the desk. The woman behind it sat with a telephone earpiece protruding from her right ear. The epitome of efficiency, this woman juggled a call, credit-card approval and a handheld radio that blared out a question about the whereabouts of someone Mac could only assume was a mechanic.

“I want to see Anthony,” he said.

She glanced up with a pleasant smile. “What do you want to see him about?”

“Personal.”

She pressed a button on a switchboard. “Anthony, there’s a…” She glanced at him expectantly.

“Mac Gerard.”

“…Mac Gerard here to see you about something personal.”

He knew he’d been granted a meeting when the woman stood, leaned over the counter and pointed down a hall leading out of the reception area. “Straight down there, second door on the right. If you get to the garage you’ve gone too far.”

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