Книга - Caroselli’s Baby Chase

Caroselli's Baby Chase
Michelle Celmer


When Rob Caroselli discovers Caroline’s pregnant after their amazing one-night stand, he wants to make his gorgeous business enemy his wife.If he has a son, he stands to inherit millions… But his marriage plan will never succeed without the secret ingredient – true love.










“Sorry I’m late.”

Something about that deep voice made the hair on the back of her neck shiver. She’d definitely heard it before. But where…

The breath she had just inhaled backed up in her lungs. Oh no, it couldn’t be.

She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye as he approached the table…and swiftly looked away, heart pounding. He had the same smoldering black eyes, the solid, square jaw, the full lips that had kissed her senseless. But it couldn’t be him. Could it? Her mind must be playing tricks on her.

She had a strict rule of never sleeping with a coworker. Especially one she would be working with directly. And definitely not one whose work she would be putting under the microscope.

“Rob,” Demitrio said. “This is Caroline Taylor. Caroline, this is my son, Rob, our director of marketing.”

She had no choice but to look up, to meet his eyes…




About the Author


MICHELLE CELMER is a bestselling author of more than thirty books. When she’s not writing, she likes to spend time with her husband, kids, grandchildren and a menagerie of animals.

Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, like her on Facebook or write her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.




Caroselli’s

Baby Chase

Michelle Celmer

















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In memory of my nephew Devon,

who in seventeen years touched more lives than most people manage in a lifetime




Prologue


Once a year since her death, on the day of her birth, December thirtieth, Giuseppe Caroselli honored Angelica, his wife of sixty-eight years and mother of his three sons, by making her favorite cake, raspberry walnut torte with dark chocolate frosting.

Caroselli chocolate, of course.

In less than an hour his family would be there to celebrate with him. To pass photos and share memories. On his request, his grandsons Rob and Tony had arrived early. They each sat on a barstool at the kitchen island, watching him carefully measure the ingredients and mix them together, the way they had when they were boys.

From birth, his three grandsons—Robert, Anthony Jr. and Nicholas—had been groomed to someday take over Caroselli Chocolate, the business Giuseppe had built from the ground up, after emigrating from Italy.

What he hadn’t counted on was their being so resistant to carrying on the Caroselli name. And if they didn’t settle down and have sons of their own, the Carosellis would be no more. At least Nicholas now had the marriage part taken care of.

“As I’m sure you already know, Nicholas has forfeited his portion of the thirty-million dollars.”

“He told us,” Tony said, a perpetual frown on his face. So serious, that one. He needed to learn to take life in stride. Have fun.

“That means fifteen million each to you boys if you marry and produce a male heir,” he told them.

“That’s a lot of money,” Rob said. He was the most driven of the three, the one who would no doubt take his father Demitrio’s place as CEO one day. If Demitrio would only put aside his doubts and trust his son.

“It is a lot of money,” Giuseppe agreed. Money that he had no intention of actually giving them. What sort of man would he be if he singled out only two of his seven grandchildren? And as he had suspected, Nick was so happy to be married, so content with his life, he had turned down his share.

One down, two to go.

And Giuseppe didn’t doubt that like their cousin, in the end, Tony and Rob would make the right decision and do him proud.

In fact, he was counting on it.




One


As he watched his date leave the hotel bar wrapped around another man, Robert Caroselli wanted to feel angry or put out, or even mildly annoyed, but he couldn’t work up the steam. He hadn’t wanted to come to this party, but he’d let Olivia, a woman he’d been seeing casually, talk him into it last minute.

“I don’t really feel like celebrating,” he’d told her when she called him around nine. He had already turned off the television and was planning to crawl into bed and with any luck sleep away the next three months or so. It was that or face daily the fact that his family, the owners of Caroselli Chocolate, had lost complete faith in him as a marketing director.

Yes, sales for the last quarter were down, but they were in a recession for Christ’s sake. Hiring Caroline Taylor, a so-called marketing genius from Los Angeles, was not only an insult, but also total overkill as far as he was concerned. But against the entire family, his objections carried little weight.

On top of that he had the added pressure of finding a wife. A woman to give him a male heir. By thirty-one most of his cousins, and the majority of his college buddies, were already married. It wasn’t as if he’d made a conscious decision to stay single. His dedication to the family business had kept him too busy to settle down. He couldn’t deny that ten-million dollars had been a tempting incentive, but fifteen million? That was difficult to pass up. Especially when it meant that if he didn’t get his cut, his cousin Tony would walk away with the entire thirty million. He would never hear the end of it.

But if he was going to find a woman to be his wife and bear his children, it wouldn’t be in a bar. And it definitely wouldn’t be Olivia. Which was why he’d planned to stay home.

“You can’t stay home alone on New Year’s Eve!” Olivia had said. “Who will you kiss? You can’t start the New Year without a kiss at midnight. It’s…un-American!”

She hadn’t seemed too concerned with whom he would kiss when she walked out the door with someone else. Not that he blamed her for bailing on him. He hadn’t exactly been the life of the party. When they arrived around ten, he scoped out a counter-height table with two vacant barstools near the back corner, claimed it and hadn’t moved since. Now he was on his—he counted the empty glasses in front of him—third Scotch and feeling a hell of a lot more relaxed than when he got there.

Alcohol flowed freely at every Caroselli family function—hell, his family would use any excuse to get together, drink and gossip—but Rob rarely indulged. He never much cared for the out-of-control feeling that came with intoxication. Tonight was a rare exception.

From his table he had a decent view of the entire bar, which was crammed above capacity with people, who, from his vantage point, undulated like the waves off the shore of Lake Michigan. Or maybe that was the liquor playing tricks with his vision.

“Excuse me!”

At the sudden shout, Rob jerked to attention. He blinked, then blinked again, positive he was imagining the angel who stood beside his table. A halo of pale blond hair hung in loose curls that nearly brushed her narrow waist, and framed a heart-shaped face that glowed with youth and good health. His gaze slipped lower and he realized that this particular angel had a body made for sin. She couldn’t have been more than a few inches over five-feet tall, but she packed one hell of a figure into her skinny jeans and clingy blue sweater. A complete contrast to the wholesome beauty of her face.

“Is this seat taken?” she shouted over the music. “And just to be clear, I am not hitting on you. I’ve been on my feet all day and there isn’t a single other free seat in this entire place.”

He gestured to the chair across from his. “Help yourself.”

“Thank you.” She slid onto the stool, sighing with pleasure as her feet left the floor. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem.”

She offered him one fine-boned hand with short, neatly filed nails. “Carrie—”

Her last name was drowned out by the blare of a noisemaker. She shook his hand, her grip surprisingly firm for someone so petite and delicate-looking.

“Hi, Carrie, I’m Rob.”

“Nice to meet you, Ron,” she said.

He opened his mouth to correct her, but she flashed him a smile so easy and sweet, so disarming, she could call him anything she wanted and it wouldn’t have mattered to him. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She cocked her head to one side and smiled. “Are you hitting on me?”

He had never been the type to flirt, but he heard himself saying, “Would it be a problem if I was?”

She leaned forward to study him and his gaze was naturally drawn to the deep cleft at the front of her low-cut sweater. “I guess that just depends.”

“On what?”

“Why a man like you would be sitting here alone at eleven-fifteen on New Year’s Eve.”

“A man like me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even try to pretend that you don’t know how hot you are. You should have women crawling all over you.”

“I’m alone because my date left with someone else.”

She blinked. “Was she blind or just stupid?”

He laughed. “Bored, I think. I’m not in a mood to celebrate.”

Although the night was definitely looking up.

“You must have a girlfriend,” she said.

He shook his head.

“Wife?”

He held up his ringless left hand.

She paused, then asked, “Gay?”

He laughed again. “Straight as an arrow.”

“Hmm,” she said, looking puzzled. “Are you a jerk?”

She sure didn’t pull any punches. He liked a woman who was direct and to the point. “I’d like to believe I’m not, but I suppose everyone has their moments.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Honesty…I like that. My answer is yes. You can buy me a drink.”

“What would you like?”

She nodded to his glass. “Whatever you’re having.”

He looked around, but the waitresses in the vicinity were overwhelmed with customers, so he figured it would be quicker to go right to the source. “Be right back,” he said, heading for the bar.

It took several minutes to navigate through the crowd, and another five or ten before the bartender served him. As he walked back to the table, he half expected Carrie to be gone. He was pleasantly surprised to find her sitting there waiting for him, and suddenly grateful that he wouldn’t have to watch the ball drop alone. He might even get a New Year’s kiss out of it. Or maybe that would be pushing his luck. Maybe just a quick one, or if she wasn’t into kissing a total stranger, a peck on the cheek even.

“Here you go.” He set her drink in front of her and reclaimed his chair.

“That took so long, I started to think you left,” she said.

“And I wasn’t sure if you would still be here when I got back.”

“I’m not blind or stupid,” she said with a grin, and he felt a tug of attraction so intense, he nearly reached across the table for her hand.

“Do you live in the area?” she asked, sipping her drink.

“Lincoln Park.”

“Is that far from here?”

“Not too far. I take it you’re not from Chicago.”

“West Coast born and bred. I’m here for work. I’m staying in the hotel. That’s how I wound up in this particular bar.”

“You must have someone back home.”

“Not for a while.”

“Are the men there blind or just stupid?”

She smiled, and he felt that tug again, only this time it was lower, and it wasn’t her hand he wanted to touch. That New Year’s kiss was sounding even more appealing. He would have to call Olivia tomorrow and thank her for dragging him out.

“A lot of men feel threatened by a strong, successful woman,” she said.

Rob had quite a few strong, successful women in his family, and compared to them, Carrie looked anything but threatening. His first instinct, when she had approached his table, was to pick her up and hug her.

“I also have the tendency to gravitate toward men who are bad for me,” she said.

“Bad for you how?”

“I like jerks. It’s my way of sabotaging the relationship before it even begins.” She sipped her drink. “I have intimacy issues.”

“If you know that, then why don’t you date someone different?”

“Knowing what the problem is doesn’t necessarily make it any easier to fix.”

Well, she had the honesty thing down to a science. The women he met typically played up their good qualities, not their faults. Which he couldn’t deny was, in an odd way, a refreshing change of pace. A sort of “this is me, take it or leave it” philosophy.

“When was your last serious relationship?” he asked.

“I’ve never really had one.”

“Really? What are you? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?”

Carrie laughed. “Aren’t you good for my ego. I’m twenty-eight.”

“I’ve never met a woman past the age of eighteen who hasn’t been in at least one serious relationship.”

“Which you clearly find fascinating,” she said, looking amused.

“I do.” In more ways than just that. She was like the perfect woman. Sexy, desirable, with a decent sense of humor and completely uninterested in a relationship. Had he hit the jackpot or what?

“How about you?” Carrie asked. “Ever been in a serious relationship?”

“Engaged, but that was a long time ago. Back in college.”

“What happened?”

“You could say that we wanted different things.”

“What did you want?”

He shrugged. “Marriage, kids, the usual stuff.”

“What did she want?”

“My roommate, Evan.”

She winced. “Ouch.”

“Better I found out what she was like before we were married than after. At that point I decided to focus on my career.”

“So you’re married to your job?”

“More or less.”

“It’s not unusual for me to work fourteen-hour days, so I totally get that.”

She would be the first woman who ever did. And he found himself wishing she were staying in Chicago longer than a few days. She was someone he wouldn’t mind getting to know better.

After talking for a few minutes more, and some serious flirting, they had both drained their glasses, so he hailed a waitress for two more drinks. There was more talking, more flirting—but mostly flirting—then Carrie had a third drink, and by then it was nearly midnight. At one minute till, the music stopped, and everyone focused on the big-screen television over the bar to watch the ball drop.

“So,” Carrie said, “because neither of us has anyone to kiss…”

“I was told that it’s un-American to start the New Year off without a kiss,” he said.

“I guess that doesn’t leave us much choice, then.”

With a grin, he held out his hand and she took it. She slid down off the stool, and didn’t show a bit of resistance as he tugged her closer. He should have been watching the ball drop, but he couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from her face. Standing this close he would have expected to see at least an imperfection or two, but her skin was flawless, her eyes such a clear gray they appeared bottomless. His eyes dropped to her mouth, to lips that looked full and soft and kissable.

Only an hour ago he had been dreading the arrival of the New Year, now he could hardly wait for those last thirty seconds to pass. Then it was twenty seconds, and when it reached ten, everyone in the bar started to count. Except for him and Carrie. Their eyes locked, and they stood so close now that her warm breath feathered against his lips. They waited in anticipation. Five…four…three…two…

Unable to wait another second, he slanted his mouth over hers and the cheers and hoots, the shrill of noisemakers and the chorus of “Auld Lang Syne” being sung—it all faded into the background. Her lips parted under his. He heard her sigh as he sank his fingers through the silky ribbons of her hair, felt her melt against him when he pulled her closer. The softness of her lips, the sweet taste of her mouth, were more intoxicating than any drink. And he wanted her, knew he had to have her, even if it was for only one night.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there kissing, their arms wrapped around one another, but when he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless and Carrie’s cheeks were rosy and hot.

“At the risk of sounding too forward,” she said, “would you like to come up to my room?”

Of course he wanted to. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

That must have been the right answer, because she smiled and took his hand. “I am now. I figure, why not start the year with a bang?”

He grinned, squeezed her hand and said, “Let’s go.”




Two


Start the year off with a bang indeed, Carrie thought as the cab inched along in bumper-to-bumper traffic through the slushy streets of Chicago. Two days later and her neck still ached, there was a bruise on her shin where she had banged it on the headboard, and she had angry-looking rug burns on her knees, but it had been so worth it. She hadn’t been banged so well, or so many times in a row, in years. The man was insatiable, and gave as good as he got. Better even. And as she had imagined, he looked just as good out of his clothes as he did in them. She would even go so far as to say that it was the single most satisfying, fun and adventurous sexual experience of her life. Then he had to go and ruin it by skulking off in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye.

He hadn’t left his phone number, which she could have looked up if she had caught his last name. But all evidence pointed to his not wanting to be found. For all she knew, Ron wasn’t even his real name, and he had been sitting there alone looking for someone just like her, someone to bang in the New Year with. Maybe all he’d really wanted was cheap sex.

Oh, well. At least it had been really good cheap sex. And in her own defense, she’d hit the minibar in her room before she had even ventured downstairs and had been more than a little drunk. It was possible that he wasn’t even as good-looking as she thought. Or that great of a lover.

She wasn’t sure if that should make her feel better or worse.

She had been in Chicago barely forty-eight hours, and already she’d invited a strange man up to her room, had sex and had gotten dumped. That had to be some kind of world record.

But Ron—if that was really his name—wasn’t totally to blame. She did have the tendency to come on a little strong, and sometimes men took it the wrong way. Under normal circumstances she was outspoken. Get her a little tipsy and she had the tendency to say things she probably shouldn’t. According to her stepfather, her sassy mouth had been her biggest problem. And his cure for that had always been a solid crack across said mouth with the back of his hand.

She didn’t recall everything she and Ron had discussed that night, but she seemed to remember some of it being very personal in nature.

“This is it,” the cab driver said as the car rolled to a stop outside Caroselli Chocolate headquarters. As soon as the contracts were signed, and a timetable set, she would look for an apartment or condo to lease. There was nothing she hated more than living out of suitcases for extended periods of time.

She paid him, grabbed her briefcase, climbed out of the cab and walked to the revolving front door, the damp cold seeping through her coat, the heels of her pumps clicking against the slushy pavement. She pushed her way inside, into a lobby of glass, stainless steel and marble, and walked to the guard station, the alluring scent of chocolate drawing her gaze to the gift shop at the other end of the lobby.

“Caroline Taylor. I’m here for a meeting,” she told the guard.

“Good morning, Ms. Taylor. They’re expecting you.” He handed her a name badge that said “Guest,” which she clipped to the lapel of her suit jacket. “Take the elevator behind me up to the third floor and see the receptionist.”

“Thank you.” She walked to the elevator, back straight, head high. There was no lack of security cameras, and it was critical to make a good impression the second she walked in the door. Despite her reputation, and her impeccable record for getting the job done, some people, men of a certain era in particular, sometimes doubted her abilities. and this being a family business, she had no doubt that she would be working with several generations of Carosellis.

As she rode up to the third floor she shrugged out of her overcoat and draped it over her arm. When the doors slid open she stepped out of the elevator into another reception area. A young woman whose nameplate announced her as Sheila Price was seated behind a large desk, and beside her stood an attractive, older gentleman in a very expensive, exquisitely tailored suit. Considering his age, and the air of authority he exuded, she was guessing he was one of the three Caroselli brothers, the sons of Giuseppe who now ran the company.

She walked to the desk, nervous energy propelling her steps. She hadn’t planned to expand her business outside the West Coast area for another year or two, but Caroselli Chocolate was the largest and most prestigious company to approach her thus far, and when they called, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Of course, if she botched it up, it would decimate her reputation and probably destroy her career.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

“Welcome, Ms. Taylor,” the man said, stepping forward to greet her. “I’m Demitrio Caroselli.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she said, shaking his hand, a little surprised that the CEO himself was there to greet her.

“Can I take your coat?” Sheila asked.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, handing it over.

“Everyone is waiting for us in the conference room,” Demitrio said, gesturing down a long hallway lined with offices. “It’s this way.”

Being a private contractor, Carrie answered to no one, and being in such high demand, she walked into every meeting knowing she had the upper hand. That didn’t mean she wasn’t slightly nervous. But she seriously doubted they would have shelled out the expense of a first-class plane ticket and a five-star hotel if they weren’t seriously planning to sign the contract.

“Do you prefer Caroline or Ms. Taylor?” he asked.

“Caroline or Carrie,” she told him.

“We appreciate your coming to see us on such short notice,” he said. “And so close to the holidays.”

“I’m happy to be here.” The assignment back in L.A. that she was supposed to have started this week had been cancelled when the company went under last month; otherwise she wouldn’t have been available until much later this year.

“Is this your first visit to Chicago?”

“It is. From what I’ve seen it’s a beautiful city. The snow will take some getting used to, though.” The hall was silent and most of the offices they passed were dark. “Is it always this quiet?”

“We’re not technically back from the holiday break until next Monday,” he said. “The holiday season is a very busy time for us so we give everyone the first week of the year off.”

At the end of the hall he opened a door marked “Conference Room” and Carrie held her breath as they stepped inside. In front of a bank of windows that spanned the entire length of the room stood a strikingly beautiful young woman who looked more suited to a fashion runway than a company boardroom. On one side of a marble-topped table long enough to seat a dozen-plus people sat two dashing older men and opposite them, two younger men, who frankly buried the needle on the totally hot-and-sexy scale.

Well, damn, the Caroselli family sure did grow them tall dark and sexy.

She assumed one of them was Robert Caroselli, the man whose department she was there to analyze and pick apart. In her experience, that didn’t typically go over very well, and resulted in a certain degree of opposition. Especially when the person in charge was a man.

“Caroline,” Demitrio said, “these are my brothers Leo, our CFO, and Tony, our COO.”

The two older men rose to shake her hand. Tony was shorter and stockier in build. Leo was the tallest of the three and very fit for a man his age. Despite their physical differences, there was no mistaking the fact that they were related.

“Nice to meet you, gentlemen.”

“And this is my niece, Elana. She heads up our accounting division.”

Elana sauntered over to shake Carrie’s hand. Her firm grip was all business, her smile cool and sophisticated, but her dark eyes were warm and friendly. Carrie was fairly adept at reading people, and if she had to guess, she would say that Elana was incredibly intelligent, though underestimated at times because of her beauty.

“On this side we have my nephew, Nick,” Demitrio said. “He’s the genius behind our new projects.”

Nick, the one on the left, rose to shake her hand. He was charmingly attractive in a slightly rumpled I’m-sexy-and-rich-therefore-I-can-wear-a-wrinkled-shirt sort of way. The twinkle in his dark eyes, and slightly lopsided grin as he shook her hand said he was a flirt, while the wedding band on his left hand said he was very likely a harmless one.

“And last but not least,” Demitrio said, while Carrie braced herself, “this is Tony Jr., director of overseas production and sales.”

What about Robert?

Tony Jr. stood so tall that even in three-inch heels Carrie had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. His professional nod and distracted smile said that he had something other than the business at hand on his mind.

“Please have a seat,” Demitrio said, gesturing to the empty chair beside Nick. “We’re waiting for one more, then we can get started.”

She’d barely settled in her seat when behind her she heard the door open, and a deep voice say, “Sorry I’m late. My secretary isn’t back today, so I had to pick these reports up on my way in.”

Something about that voice made the hair on the back of her neck shiver to attention. She’d definitely heard it before. But where…

The breath she had just inhaled backed up in her lungs. Oh no, it couldn’t be.

She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye as he approached the table, his attention on the pile of folders he carried, and when she focused on his face…

She swiftly looked away, heart pounding. He had the same smoldering black eyes, the solid, square jaw, the full lips that had kissed her senseless. At first glance the resemblance was uncanny. But it couldn’t be him. Could it?

He mumbled an “excuse me” as he laid a folder in front of her. On his right hand was a college ring identical to the one she had seen the other night, and as the scent of his aftershave drifted her way, the wave of familiarity was so strong that her heart skipped a beat.

She stared at the folder cover, unable to focus. Hell, she could barely breathe.

It’s not him, she assured herself. It just looks like him, and smells like him, and sounds like him…and wears the same ring as him. But it had to be a coincidence, her mind playing tricks on her.

She had a strict rule of never sleeping with a coworker. Especially one she would be working with directly. And definitely not one whose work she would be putting under the microscope. She’d made that mistake once before, on her first high-profile job with a previous client. Previous because the affair had ended in disaster, the aftermath ugly.

It wasn’t necessary for the entire team to like her, but maintaining their respect was crucial. When she recalled the things she and Ron had said to one another, the things she let him do…the sheer mortification made her want to curl inside her own skin and hide, or slide down out of her chair under the table.

As he rounded the table she kept her eyes on the folder, pretending to read, afraid to lift her head. Maybe if it was Ron, he wouldn’t recognize her. They had both been pretty drunk.

“Rob,” Demitrio said, “this is Caroline Taylor. Caroline, this is my son Rob, our director of marketing.”

She had no choice but to look up, to meet his eyes, and when she did, her head spun and her heart sank.

Unless “Rob” had an identical twin, he was in fact Ron, her New Year’s bang.

Rob blinked, then blinked again. In the conservative suit that hid her pinup model figure, with her granny hairstyle, he almost didn’t recognize Carrie. But the slightly too-large clear gray eyes were a dead giveaway.

She sat frozen, watching him expectantly, and his first thought was that this had to be some sort of prank. Were Nick and Tony screwing with him? He’d bragged to them about the blonde beauty he’d spent the night with. Which his cousins knew was completely out of character for him. He didn’t do drunken one-night stands. Typically, he didn’t do drunken anything.

Was this some twisted practical joke? Had they gone to the hotel to look for her, maybe paid her to pose as Caroline Taylor to mess with Rob’s head?

He looked from Nick to Tony, waiting for someone to say something, for everyone at the table to burst out laughing. And when they didn’t, when they all watched him, looking increasingly puzzled by his lack of a response, he began to get a very bad feeling.

“Rob?” his dad said, brow creased with concern. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” he said, a bit too enthusiastically, and forcing a smile that felt molded from plastic, he told Ms. Taylor, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Not.

When he’d slipped out of her bed, he’d had no intention of ever seeing her again. Talk about dumb freaking luck.

Caroline nodded in his general direction, her head held a little too high, her shoulders too square and her back too straight, as if she’d been cut out of cardboard and propped up in the chair. She was clearly no happier to see him than he was to see her.

“Well, why don’t we get started,” his dad said, and everyone opened their folders. Rob tried to concentrate as they went over the contracts, and discussed Ms. Taylor’s credentials and her projected time line, but he found his mind—and his eyes—wandering to the woman across the table. She downplayed her looks for work, he assumed in an attempt to gain respect from men who might otherwise objectify her or see her as too pretty to be smart. But he knew what she was hiding under that shapeless suit. The siren’s figure and satin-soft skin. He knew the way her hair looked cascading down her bare back in silky ribbons, pale and buttery against her milky complexion, and how it brushed his chest as she straddled him. Even though parts of that night were a bit fuzzy, he knew he could never erase from his mind the image of her lying beneath him, wrapped in his arms, her breathy moans as he—

“Rob?” his dad said.

Rob jerked to attention. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It seems we’ve covered everything.”

Already?

“Why don’t you take Caroline on a tour of the building while the rest of us have a short discussion. I’ll call you when we’re ready.”

They had covered everything, and he hadn’t heard a word of it. Now they would make the final decision, and they were going to do it without him. He’d been clear from day one that he considered her presence there a waste of time and money, and he had never once swayed from that opinion. Still it was a slap in the face to be excluded, not just for him, but for the entire marketing staff that he represented.

Or maybe, getting her alone for a few minutes wasn’t such a bad idea. And meeting her wasn’t “dumb luck” after all. Maybe a little time alone would give him the opportunity to make her see reason. See that she didn’t belong here. Then she would no longer be his problem.

With a smile—a genuine one this time—he rose from his seat and said, “If you’ll follow me, Ms. Taylor.”

She stood, spine straight, shoulders back, flashing the others a confident smile, as if she already knew she had it in the bag. “I look forward to your decision.”

Rob held the door for her, then followed her out, closing it firmly behind him. He turned to her and said in a low voice, “I think we need to talk.”

Her eyes shooting daggers, her voice dripping with venom, she said, “Oh, you think so…Ron?”

He gestured down the hall. “My office is this way.”

They walked there in silence, but he could feel her anger reverberating against the walls like an operatic vibrato.

His secretary’s chair was unoccupied as they walked past, and when they were in his office he shut the door. He turned to face her and thought, Here we go. “I can see that you’re upset.”

“Upset,” she said, her voice rising an octave. “Not only did you lie about your name, but did you have to skulk away in the middle of the night?”

If that’s all she was mad about, he considered himself lucky. “First off, I did not lie to you about my name. I said it was Rob. you called me Ron and I saw no point in correcting you.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t make the connection. Carrie Taylor, Caroline Taylor? You didn’t at least suspect we might be one in the same person?”

“It was loud in the bar. I didn’t even hear your last name. And we never discussed what we do for a living, so how was I supposed to guess who you were? I’ve met a lot of people named Carrie. You don’t have a monopoly on the name.”

“And as for skulking off in the middle of the night?”

“It was not the middle of the night. It was early morning and I didn’t want to wake you. You were so drunk I’m not sure I could have if I tried. And I did not skulk. I got dressed and left, end of story.”

“First off, I wasn’t that drunk. And didn’t it occur to you to at least leave a note?”

“Why would I? We agreed it would never be more than one night. It was over.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know nothing about women do you? You could have said goodbye, told me that you had a good time.”

“I assumed, in our case, actions spoke louder than words.”

She didn’t seem to have a snarky reply for that one. She couldn’t deny it had been damned good for her, too.

“What I don’t understand is why we’re in here,” Rob told her, “when you should be in the conference room telling them you can’t work here.”

Her brows rose. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, first, despite what my family believes, your services are not required or desired by anyone on my staff. And considering the circumstances, I don’t think your presence here would be appropriate.”

“What circumstances are those?”

Was she kidding? “The ones we’ve been discussing since we stepped in here. It’s unlikely either of us could be objective in light of what happened the other night.”

“I don’t know about you, but now that I know what a macho jerk you are, it isn’t going to be an issue for me. In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy it.”

He had been accused of being inattentive, arrogant and at times insufferable, but macho jerk was a new one. “Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

“You can remain completely objective?”

“Yep.”

Rob was not the type of man to behave rashly. He never made a move before he’d had time to completely think through a situation, weigh the pros and cons. So maybe it was pride that propelled him forward, or the satisfaction of proving her wrong, or just compromised judgment that motivated him to take her by the arms, pull her to him and crush his mouth down on hers.

Carrie made an indignant sound and pushed at his chest. She resisted for all of three seconds, then her fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket and her lips parted beneath his.

Having made his point, he should have let go. Instead he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her closer. It had been just like this on New Year’s, his brain shutting down the second he kissed her, his body reacting on pure instinct, a carnal need to overpower and dominate. One that he’d never felt with a woman before her. Because despite her claim, he was not a macho jerk. Of all his cousins and uncles, he was probably the least chauvinistic man in the family. Her gender had no bearing whatsoever on his professional opinion.

Carrie slid her hands up his chest, tunneled them through his hair, taking two fistfuls and jerking his head back so she could kiss—ow—make that bite his neck. Growling, he backed her against his office door, cringing as her head hit the surface with a thunk, cushioned only by the ugly bun in her hair, but it only seemed to fuel her desire.

“I want you right here, against this door,” she said, her eyes locking on his as she slid her hand between their bodies, gripping his erection through his slacks.

Sucking in a breath, he grabbed the hem of her skirt and shoved his hand underneath, sliding it up her leg, and—damn—she was wearing a garter. He had just reached the top of her bare inner thigh, his fingers brushing the crotch of her panties, when his cell phone started to ring.

Damn it. Talk about lousy timing.

Carrie grumbled unhappily as he pulled his hand from under her skirt and backed away from the hand that had been busy unzipping his fly. “Yeah,” he answered.

“We’re ready for you,” his father said.

“Be right there.” He hung up without saying goodbye, so his dad wouldn’t hear his labored breathing, and told Carrie, “They’re ready for you.”

She nodded, her cheeks rosy, pupils dilated. “I just need a minute to catch my breath.”

He shoved his phone back in his pocket and zipped his pants. “Now do you see what I mean?”

“That you have pitiful lack of self-control?” Carrie said, straightening her jacket and smoothing the wrinkles from a skirt six inches too long for her height. “I definitely noticed that.”

“I didn’t see you trying to stop me.”

She looked up at him, her lipstick kissed away, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “You enjoy being right, don’t you?”

“Not always.” Not this time. They had chemistry, but that was about it. With fifteen million dollars riding on his choice, she was the exact opposite of what he was looking for in a woman. Not only did he consider her the enemy, but she’d said herself that she had intimacy issues, and she had never been in a serious relationship. Rob needed a woman with baby fever, someone to marry and pop out a male heir. She wasn’t it, and having her around to tempt him would only make a difficult situation that much more tense.

“So, have I made my point?” he asked Carrie.

“You certainly have,” she said. “We should get back to the conference room.”

They walked side by side down the corridor, an uncomfortable silence building a wedge between them. There was nothing left to say. It had been fun, and now it was over. She would go back to California, and he and his team would work out a plan to beef up sales. And hopefully, sooner rather than later, he would find a woman to give him a son, and everyone would be happy.

The conference room was silent as they stepped inside. Carrie took her seat, and Rob returned to his.

“Sorry to make you wait,” his dad told her.

“I completely understand,” she said.

Rob waited for her to break the bad news, but she just sat there.

“After going over the final numbers,” his uncle Leo said, “we’re pleased to tell you that we agree to your terms and we would like you to start first thing next Monday morning.”

Rob waited for the big letdown, wondered how everyone would take her turning down their offer.

“I don’t come cheap,” she said, then looked directly at Rob. “But I don’t disappoint.”

She may as well have drawn her sword and challenged him to a duel. And clearly she had only been humoring him. She had never intended to turn down the assignment.

If that was really the way she wanted to play this, fine.

You want a fight, sweetheart? Well, now you’ve got one.




Three


After the contracts were signed, everyone filed out of the conference room, shaking Carrie’s hand, congratulating her and welcoming her to the company. Rob watched, gathering the binders—a task typically left for an assistant—growing increasingly impatient as Elana stopped to admire Carrie’s briefcase of all things, and they launched into a conversation about women’s purses and accessories. When he’d run out of ways to stall, he flat-out asked Elana, “Could I have a minute with Ms. Taylor?”

Flashing him a knowing look and a wry smile, Elana said, “Sure, Robby. See you Monday, Carrie.”

Elana knew that there was no faster way to irritate him than to address him by his childhood nickname. The first half of it anyway. It had been years since anyone dare uttered the phrase that had been the bane of his existence from kindergarten to his first year of college.

She left, closing the door behind her, and Rob turned to Carrie, who was sliding papers into her briefcase.

“Well?” he said.

She closed the case and smiled up at him. “Something wrong…Robby?”

That was it—Elana was dead meat. “Why did you lie to me?”

She smiled, the picture of innocence. “When did I lie to you?”

“We agreed that in light of what happened, working together would be a bad idea.”

“No, you said working together would be bad, and I commented on how you enjoy being right. I never said you were right.”

“So you were just screwing with me?”

She propped her hands on the conference table, leaning in. “Not unlike the way you were screwing with me.”

She definitely had him there. And he had best be going, before he told her what he really thought of her. “I’ll see you Monday.”

She smiled brightly. “Sure thing, Robby. Oh, and by the way, the first step will be analyzing your marketing data. I’ll need a few things from you.”

Gathering his patience, he said, “All right.”

“I’ll need all the data you have for the past twenty years.”

He blinked. “Twenty years?”

“That’s right.”

He wondered if she really needed to go that far back, or if she was trying to make his life a living hell. Probably the latter, and could he blame her if she was? But that, she should realize, was a two-way street.

“It could take some time to compile everything. We’ve been in the process of digitizing our older files. Some of it might still be in hard copy.”

“That’s fine. Just have it on my desk Monday morning.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, there’s no one here. Everyone is on holiday vacation until Monday.”

“Well,” she said, the sweet smile not wavering a fraction. “Who better to do it than the director himself. Which reminds me, I’ll need you available, and at my disposal at all times in case I have any questions.”

Gritting his teeth, he nodded, then turned and walked to the door.

“Hey, Robby?”

Jaw tense, he turned back to her.

“I’m not the enemy. This will be as productive or as difficult as you make it. I think you’ll find that I can be very pleasant to work with.”

“So I noticed,” he said, his eyes raking over her. “Will we be meeting for a quickie in my office daily, or just once or twice a week?” He didn’t even like her, but his libido didn’t seem to notice or care. It was telling him to rip that shapeless, ugly suit from her body, to pluck the pins from her granny hairstyle so he could watch her silky blond curls cascade down her shoulders.

She sighed and shook her head, as if she felt sorry for him. “Robby, is that the best you can do? You think I haven’t heard worse? During the course of my career I’ve been called sweetie and sugar and pumpkin. I’ve been groped and fondled, objectified and demoralized. I’ve seen it all, and in the end I always get the job done, and I manage to do it with dignity.”

She slung her case strap over her shoulder and said, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. If you think you’d like to take me on, by all means give it your best shot. But I should warn you, I always get what I want, and I’m not above fighting dirty.”

He should have anticipated that. No one got as far as she had in the business world without being tough as nails. And shame on him for underestimating her.

She walked out, the heels of her shoes clicking as she marched down the hall. He had no plan to demoralize or objectify her, or to call her condescending names. And the only physical contact they might have would be totally at her discretion. He had every intention of treating her with the utmost respect, because he didn’t doubt that she had earned it. His cooperation, however, was another matter altogether.

Rob walked to his office and sat down at his computer to send his staff and his secretary an email dictating what Carrie would need—one they would see Monday when they returned to work. He refused to make his people work a weekend they had been promised as vacation.

There was a knock on his door, and he looked up to see Tony and Nick standing there.

“Hey.” He motioned them in, and Nick shut the door.

“So what was that all about?” Tony asked him.

“Yeah,” Nick said, “what the heck did you say to her when you two left the conference room?”

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Rob could barely believe it himself. “Do you think my dad noticed?”

“Dude, everyone noticed,” Nick said. “You looked as if either you wanted to kill each other, or tear each other’s clothes off.”

It was a little bit of both. “Remember the woman I told you about? The blonde from the bar?”

Tony nodded. “What about her?”

Nick being Nick, he was way ahead of Tony. He started to laugh. “No way. No one’s luck could be that bad.”

“Apparently it can.”

Tony looked from Nick to Rob, and then he laughed. “Are you saying that Caroline Taylor is Carrie from the bar?”

He glared at them both. “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

“More ironic than amusing,” Tony said.

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “But still funny as hell.”

If it were happening to anyone but him, Rob probably would have thought so, too.

“So what are you going to do?” Tony asked.

“What can I do? I already asked her to leave, said it would be a conflict of interest for her to stay, and you can see how well that went.”

“Did you see how much we’re paying her?” Tony said. “Can you blame her for not walking away?”

“Well, I’m going to make sure that she earns every penny.”

Tony shook his head, like he thought that was a bad idea. “You know that if you screw with her, your dad will be pissed.”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

“You don’t think she’ll rat you out?” Nick asked.

“Only if she wants the entire family to know how she and I first met. If it gets around that she picks up men in bars for one-night stands, her credibility will be in the toilet. Every potential future client will believe that a bedroom romp is included in the contract.”

“You don’t think that’s a little harsh?” Nick said.

If she could play dirty, so could he. “I’m not the one who declared war in front of the entire family. And you can damn well bet she plans to discredit me and my team every opportunity she gets.”

“Are you sure? She comes off as smart and savvy but not vindictive.”

If Nick had just heard her in the conference room, he might feel differently. And if she could be ruthless, so could Rob. She was on his turf now, and she would play by his rules.

“Nick and I are getting a late breakfast at the diner,” Tony said. “Are you going to hang around and work, or do you want to come?”

He thought of all the work Carrie expected him to complete before Monday and smiled. “Breakfast sounds good.”

He was getting ready to stand when his office phone rang. It was his sister Megan. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll meet you by the elevator.”

“We’ll get our coats,” Tony said.

“Hey, Meggie,” he said. “What’s up?”

“I just heard from the real estate agent,” she said, her voice squeaky with excitement. “They accepted my offer! The apartment is mine!”

“Congratulations,” Rob said. His younger sister had spent the past nine months looking for exactly the right place, and had been outbid on the first two. “And you’re sure it’s within your budget?”

“That’s my other good news! You know Rose Goldwyn?”

Rob had met her briefly at work, then a few times at family gatherings. She was a recent hire. The daughter of the woman who had been Nonno’s secretary for the better part of his career.

Rose seemed nice enough, but there was something about her, something just a little…off. “What about her?” Rob said.

“She’s going to be my roommate.”

“But you hardly know her.”

“Actually we’ve been talking a lot lately. We have a lot in common.”

“Isn’t she like twenty years older than you?”

“What difference does that make?”

“I don’t know, Meg. Something about her…”

“What?”

“I don’t trust her.”

“Robby, I’m twenty-five” was her plucky response. “It’s not your job to protect me anymore.”

It would always be his job to protect her. She was an infant when his parents adopted her, and although he was six years older, they had always been close. He’d set her classmates straight when they made fun of her for looking “different” than the rest of her family. “Do me a favor and at least have legal do a background check on her. Just in case.”

Her sigh of exasperation meant she was giving in. “Fine, if it makes you happy.”

“It does.” From the hallway he heard a door slam, then after a two-or three-second pause, raised voices. One of them definitely belonged to their father.

What the hell?

“Meggie, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

“Love you, Robby!”

“Love you, too, Megs.”

He got up and walked past his secretary’s desk into the hall. At one end, near the conference room stood his dad and his uncle Tony, and his dad looked furious.

“I was never given a choice,” his dad was saying, to which his uncle Tony answered, “You gave that up when you left her.”

Whatever that meant, his dad’s face flushed deep red and he gave his brother a firm, two-handed shove that sent him stumbling backward several feet into the conference room door.

Rob had seen his dad and uncles argue, and at times it could get heated, but he had never seen them come to blows. Uncle Tony was stocky and muscular, but Demitrio, Rob’s dad, was taller, younger and trained by the military to fight. That apparently wasn’t going to stop Uncle Tony because he looked as if he were about to lunge.

From behind him, Rob heard his cousin Tony yell, “What the hell is going on?” and turned to see Nick and him running down the hall toward the older men. Rob followed them.

Both older men, red-faced and out of breath, jaws and fists clenched, stopped and turned to him.

“What the hell, Dad?” Tony said. “What is with the two of you lately?”

Demitrio turned to Tony Sr. “Why don’t you tell him, Tony.”

“I’d like to know, too,” Rob said. The last time Uncle Tony had been to their house, Rob showed up to find his mom in tears. He wanted to know why.

“Boys, this is between me and my brother,” Tony Sr. said. “There’s no need to be concerned—”

“Dad!” Tony said. “You were two seconds from beating the crap out of each other.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I beat the crap out of him,” Demitrio said, glaring at his brother.

“When you were kids maybe,” Rob said, “but you’re in your sixties. You could have a heart attack.”

“Did I miss the fun?”

Rob turned to see Leo, Nick’s dad, walking toward them.

“They’re fighting,” Tony said, as if he still couldn’t believe it. “Physically fighting.”

“It’s nothing to worry about, boys,” Leo said, laughing heartily. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I had to get between these two when we were kids. It’s that middle-child curse, I guess.” He stepped strategically between his brothers and gave each of them a slap on the back. “Come on, gentlemen, let’s go in my office and settle this.” He turned to Rob and his cousins. “You boys can head on out. I’ve got this.”

Reluctantly the three cousins walked to the elevator.

“So what do you think that was about?” Tony asked him.

“I don’t know,” Rob said. “But it’s been building for a while now. Things have been tense for a couple of months.”

“Don’t forget, Tony’s mom was arguing with your dad at Thanksgiving,” Nick told Rob. Sarah, Tony’s mom, used to date Rob’s dad before he joined the army. The fact that Tony Sr. married her shortly after he left had been a minor source of friction among the three of them over the years. Certainly, it was nothing they would come to blows over now, unless the dynamics of those relationships had changed… .

“Tony, you don’t think that your mom and my dad…”

“Honestly, Rob, I don’t know what to think anymore. But things have seemed off with my parents, as well. I went to a New Year’s party with them and they seemed…I don’t know, out of sync, if that makes sense. They’re typically very physically affectionate with each other, and I barely saw them touch.”

“Maybe my dad can help them figure it out,” Nick said.

“Is your dad still sleeping with your mom?” Rob asked him.

Nick made a face. “Yeah. It’s bad enough knowing about it, but to actually see them…you know…” He shuddered involuntarily. “Talk about scarring a person for life.”

“That’ll teach you to barge into your mom’s house without knocking,” Tony told him.

“I think it’s pretty cool that after being divorced for so long, they reconnected,” Rob said.

“They do seem happy,” Tony told Nick. “Maybe I shouldn’t mention this, but they were at the New Year’s party, too. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and they disappeared long before the ball dropped.”

“Regardless,” Nick said, “I’ll never get how two people who despised each other, and had a messy and uncivilized divorce that scarred all three of their children, could suddenly change their minds and hop in the sack.”

“I’m sure that if they’d had a choice, they would have preferred to be happy the first time around,” Tony said.

Nick shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. So long as I don’t have to see my dad’s bare ass again, they can be ‘happy’ all they want.”

“So, breakfast?” Tony said.

They said goodbye to Sheila as they passed the reception desk, then rode the elevator down to the lobby. Dennis, the security guard, nodded as they walked past.

“Who are you betting on in the playoffs?” Nick asked him, walking backward to the door.

“Steelers-Lions,” Dennis said. “And the Lions will take it.”

“No way! The Lions haven’t won a championship since what, the fifties?”

“Fifty-seven,” Dennis said. “But this is the year.”

Nick laughed. “Dream on. I say Steelers-Chargers, and the Steelers will take the championship.”

Dennis grinned and shook his head. “Keep dreaming, boss.”

Nick laughed as they walked out the door into the bitter wind. Parking was a bitch downtown, so they pulled up their collars and walked the three blocks to the restaurant. The pavement was slick, so it was slow-going, and by the time they got to the diner it was already filling up with the lunch crowd. Every seat was taken and there was a line of people ahead of them.

“Feel like waiting?” Tony asked.

Rob shrugged. “Could be a while.”

“I say we wait,” Nick said. “It’s too damn cold to go back out there.”

“Hey, Caroselli!” someone called. Rob followed the voice, cursing under his breath when he realized whom it belonged to.




Four


“Is that Carrie?” Nick asked.

“That’s her,” Rob said. She sat alone in a booth near the back, and she was waving them over. She was still wearing the ugly suit, but she’d lost the shapeless jacket. She’d let her hair down so it fell in soft waves over the shoulder of a rose-colored shirt made of some sort of stretchy nylon that clung to her curves.

Tony’s mouth dropped open. “Holy hell. No wonder you picked her up. Look at her.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “Her body is…wow.”

Yes, it was, and as much as he didn’t want to, Rob couldn’t help but look. Just as he couldn’t help it the other night either. In her clothes she was smokin’ hot, but out of them she was a goddess. A work of art.

But that was where the attraction ended.

“Looks like she wants to share her table,” Nick said.

“I’d rather wait for a table,” Rob told him. She had ruined enough of his day.

“Stop being a baby and go,” Tony said, giving him a shove from behind. “You’re going to have to get used to being around her.”

But not outside of a work scenario, Rob thought, grumbling to himself all the way to her booth. And while he could have turned and walked out, he refused to show defeat, to let her win. To drive him from a restaurant he’d eaten in weekly for the past ten years.

She smiled up at them as they approached. “Hello, gentlemen. I saw you walk up and thought rather than wait, you might like to share. I stood in line about twenty minutes myself.”

“We’d love to join you,” Nick said, flashing her his “Charming Nick” smile. He and Tony slid into the empty side of the booth, leaving Rob no choice but to slide in beside Carrie, which earned each of them a malevolent look.

The booths weren’t exactly spacious, and with her briefcase on the seat next to the window, there was no hope of putting any real space between them. She was so close he could feel her body heat, and every time either of them moved, their shoulders or arms bumped.

This day was going from bad to worse.

He refused to acknowledge the scent of her perfume, or shampoo, or whatever it was that had driven him mad the other night, or the lusty urges he was feeling as her leg brushed against his. The desire to run his hand up the inside of her thigh again, until he reached the garter holding up her stockings, had him shifting restlessly in his seat.

“Are we a little antsy?” Carrie asked him, but thankfully, before he had to come up with a viable excuse, the waitress appeared.

“Hey, boys,” she said, stopping at the table with a pot of coffee and four beat-up plastic cups of iced water. What the place lacked in class, it made up for in good food and quality service. “What can I getcha?”

Without even looking at the menu, they all ordered their usual breakfast, and after reviewing the menu, Carrie ordered the special, which was a lot of food for a woman her size.

“I take it you gentlemen come here often,” Carrie said, reaching across the table for a coffee creamer, her shoulder bumping against Rob’s.

“Best greasy spoon in the greater Chicago area,” Tony said. “How did you stumble across it?”

“On my way out I asked Dennis where I could get a decent breakfast.” She added a packet of artificial sweetener to her cup. “He told me to come here.”

If Dennis wasn’t such an exemplary employee, Rob might have considered that grounds for termination.

“So what do you think of Chicago?” Nick asked her.

“It’s very cold. And windy.”

“They call it the Windy City for a reason,” Tony said.

“I’ll bet you can’t wait to get back to the West Coast,” Rob said, and she shot him a sideways glance, as if to say, Don’t you wish.

“I think I’ll like it here,” she said. “Though probably more when it warms up a little.”

“Do you know where you’ll be staying?” Nick asked.

“Not yet. I’m hoping to find a rental. I don’t suppose you know a good local agent?”

“My brother-in-law David is in real estate law,” Tony said, pulling out his phone. “He could probably give you the name of someone reliable.”

He found the number in his address book, and she entered it into her phone.

“I miss the days when we used to write things on paper,” Nick said.

“Have you got a piece of paper?” Rob asked, and grinning, Nick held up his napkin. “Pen?”

Nick felt his pockets, then frowned and said, “I used to carry one all the time.”

“I would be lost without my phone,” Carrie said. “My whole life is in this thing. Of course I keep it all backed up on my laptop, which I also could not live without.”

“So what kind of place are you looking for?” Nick asked.

“A two-bedroom apartment or condo, preferably furnished, in a building with a fitness room and a pool, or close to a pool. I like to swim every morning.”

“I think I may know just the place,” Nick said. “My wife, Terri, has a condo that she’s been thinking of putting on the market, but it would probably mean taking a loss. She had entertained the idea of renting it out, but she’s heard so many horror stories about bad tenants that she’s been hesitant. It has pretty much everything you would need, and there’s a fitness center with a pool a couple of blocks away. And it’s not too far from work.”

It also wasn’t too far from Rob’s loft, which didn’t exactly thrill him.

“It sounds perfect,” Carrie said. “I can pay her the full three months up front.”

“I’ll talk to her today and give you a call.”

“Sounds great,” she said, exchanging numbers with him, which irritated Rob even more. It was bad enough that she would be around for three months. Did she have to pretend to be so nice to everyone? Which she was clearly only doing to make Rob look like the bad guy.

“So, on the rare occasions that I might have a free day,” Carrie said, “what attractions would you gentlemen recommend? There are so many things to do in the city, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

His cousins tossed around suggestions like the planetarium and the aquarium and the Museum of Contemporary Art.

“How about you?” she asked Rob. “What would you suggest?”

“The Museum of Science and Industry.”

“Really,” she said, looking thoughtful. “For some reason I imagined your preferring someplace a little less…academic. Like a sports museum.”

“And you assumed that because, why? You know me so well?”

She looked amused, as if this was some big joke to her.

The waitress dropped their food off at the table and when Rob looked at Carrie’s plate, he could feel his arteries tighten. The special consisted of three eggs, four sausage links, hash browns, white toast and a stack of pancakes six inches high. A heart attack on a plate, his fitness instructor would call it. Which was why Rob had ordered his usual egg white vegetarian omelet, lean ham, tomato slices and dry whole wheat toast, of which he would allow himself half a slice. Unlike some people at the table, his goal was to live past his fortieth birthday.

“Do the three of you live in the city?” she asked them, and when her leg bumped his, he wrote it off as accidental, until he felt the brush of one shoeless foot slide against his ankle.

Was she coming onto him?

He shot her a sideways glance, but she was looking at Nick, chewing and nodding thoughtfully as she listened to him describe where each of them lived in relation to Caroselli Chocolate.

Okay, maybe it had been an accident. But what about the way she just happened to get syrup on her fingers, and instead of wiping them with a napkin, sucked it slowly from each digit, one at a time. Which of course reminded him of her sucking on something else.





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