THE REGAN FACTOR

An Ellora’s Cave publication written by

Elizabeth Jewell

MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-499-X

Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-500-7

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), & HTML

© Copyright Elizabeth Jewell, 2003.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave.

Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. USA

Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK

This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax,

or any other mode of communication without author/publisher permission.

Edited by Ann Richardson
Cover Art by Bryan Keller

Prologue

I really shouldn’t be here. Regan glanced back toward Warren’s office door as she

opened his desk drawer. Her documents had to be here somewhere.

Blast that Warren, anyway, for never returning her phone calls. He got off on little

things like that, taking advantage of any opportunity to lord it over her. And this time he
actually had some control—she couldn’t finalize her project requirements without his
feedback, and the documents were due Monday. She’d hoped to work on them over the
weekend.

“Damn.” Nothing in that drawer. She yanked open another, frustration overriding

any sense of impropriety. That wasn’t it, this wasn’t it, that—

“What in the world is this?”
The TeleStar user guide and detailed requirements were held together with a binder

clip. Regan recognized the documents immediately, partly from the “Restricted Material
” banner emblazoned across the bottom of each page. She’d signed off on the project just
yesterday—and Warren had never been on the extremely short list of those with access.

For a few moments, she could only stare at the documents, trying to think of a

legitimate reason for Warren to have them. Maybe Dale had called him in at the last
minute. He would have mentioned it to Regan, though. It wasn’t like Dale to overlook
details like that, especially since Regan had been TeleStar’s lead developer.

Her hands shook. Carefully, she replaced the documents in the drawer.
It was possible, she thought as she poked through another drawer, that Warren, on

one of his usual monumental ego trips, had convinced one of the less experienced
members of the TeleStar team to show him the specs. Certainly it would be a classic
Warren move—he was always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

Yes, it was possible, but Regan didn’t buy it. She’d spent too many years getting

herself into trouble not to recognize the vibes that surrounded it. Still without the new
project requirements she’d come for, she glanced again toward the door, then opened
Warren’s last desk drawer.

The drawer held file folders—and Warren’s day planner. Regan stared at it, chewing

her lip.

“Yes,” she said finally, and took out the leather-bound book.
Most of it was marked up in Warren’s personal code. Regan knew some of it—she’d

snooped through his day planner before, back when they’d been dating. A lot of the
notations had to do with his wife’s schedule, so he could work his girlfriends in around
her. Regan’s lip curled as she skimmed the evidence of his philandering. He was good
at it, she’d give him that. It had taken her weeks to see through him.

This month’s entries were different, though. There were phone numbers on

individual days instead of neatly listed to the side. There was no indication who the
numbers belonged to. Then, on Monday’s square, he had written, VAC, MDWS. PW-TS.
VAC meant Vacation. MDWS probably stood for the Meadows, a resort Warren
belonged to, where he liked to take his girlfriends. PW she had no clue about, but TS
might be TeleStar. So PW, she thought, was probably somebody’s initials. Somebody
who likely didn’t work for Markham Telecomm.

Carefully, Regan closed the book and laid it back in the drawer. This was hardly

concrete evidence, but Regan’s instincts filled in the rest. Warren had the restricted
documents not for his own ego gratification, but to pass on to someone else.

Leave it alone, she told herself. Even if she was right, what exactly was she supposed

to do about it?

But she’d sweat blood over TeleStar. It was one of those special projects that could

make or break careers at Markham Telecomm. Regan had hoped it would make hers. If
Warren was selling it to a rival company, that was betrayal of the worst sort.

She pushed the drawer shut. Her hands were shaking again. This was one of those

times, she thought, when it was important to step back and think things through
logically before she did anything. Her documents were nowhere to be found, and the
small hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. She should go back to her office
and think. Maybe she could figure out how to get into Warren’s computer for more solid
evidence.

She closed the office door behind her and had taken two steps down the hallway

when Warren himself rounded the corner. Tallish and blandly handsome, he gave her a
warm, personal smile that she now recognized as his generic greeting to members of the
opposite sex. Some things you just had to learn the hard way.

“Warren,” she said. “Just the man I wanted to see. I need your comments on the

project requirements I gave you last week.”

Warren gave a precise nod. “Of course. Come on, I’ll get them for you.”
His self-assured, confident manner told Regan he hadn’t even looked at the

document, or, if he had, he hadn’t understood any of it. She followed him back into the
office and he retrieved the document from the credenza—the one place Regan hadn’t
looked.

“Here you are,” he said, and gave her that smile again.
Regan took the documents, careful not to touch him. She’d touched him far too often

before she’d found out he was married. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, looking
for some indication of uneasiness or guilt.

On a sudden whim, she said, “You know, it could wait til Monday if you need to

give them another quick look. I don’t have to have them to Dale until the end of the day.
”

“Can’t. I won’t be in Monday. Won’t be in all next week, in fact.”
Regan nodded. That meshed with the day planner notation, though his name wasn’t

on the list of scheduled managerial vacations. “Really? I didn’t know you were going on
vacation.”

“Sort of a last-minute decision,” he said. “I was on a standby list at the resort.”
“The Meadows?” Again, it fit the notes in his planner. Wheels began to turn, the

ones that always led Regan into trouble.

“That’s right. The Meadows. It’s a nice place. It’s too bad you never let me take you.

”

Warren had bought Regan a membership to the posh resort when they’d been

dating, hoping, no doubt, that it would be the gift that got her into bed with him. Her
instincts had won out, though, and she’d dumped him before they’d spent any time
there. The reference to their past life was meant to make her uncomfortable, so she just
gave him a twisted little smile. “Well, have fun.”

He smiled again, and Regan moved toward the door.
As she stepped into the hallway, she heard a drawer open. Surreptitiously, she

glanced back over her shoulder. Warren took the TeleStar documents out of his desk
and put them in his briefcase.

Trouble. Definitely. The air fairly thrummed with it. She headed back to her own

office, adrenaline pumping.

I could use a vacation, she thought. She had a feeling Warren was about to put himself

into an extremely compromising position. All she had to do was show up and take
pictures.

She picked up her phone, forgetting her resolution to think things through before

acting. Warren had made her life miserable long enough. It was time to return the favor.

“Warren Cassidy,” she said as she looked up the number for the Meadows, “your

ass is mine.”

Chapter One

So this was it. At least it was a nice place, Burke thought, unlike some of the other

places he’d followed Regan O’Rourke over the years.

He pulled his battered pickup into a spot near the lobby. He put the truck into park

but didn’t shut it off. This was his last chance to turn around and leave this whole thing
alone.

He’d sworn off looking after Regan eight years ago. “You’re eighteen now,” he’d

told her at her birthday party. “Anything you screw up from here on out is your own
problem.” And he’d never seen a girl look so grateful. Burke hadn’t blamed her. The
years of surrogate uncle-ing—or whatever you wanted to call it—had been hard on him,
too. So he’d stayed out of her life as much as he could, considering her brother was his
best friend.

But this morning, when Paul O’Rourke had called him, half-frantic because Regan

hadn’t made her usual Monday night, “I’m fine so leave me alone,” phone call, Burke
had found it hard not to get a little concerned.

So here he was, sitting in his truck next to a sign half-choked with bougainvillea, that

said, “Welcome to the Meadows. An Exclusive Members Only Resort.” What kind of
trouble Regan could get into in a place like this was beyond him, but if there was
trouble to be found, she would find it.

It still wasn’t too late to turn back. He closed his eyes, wished he’d gotten three or

four more hours of sleep, shut off the truck and got out.

Behind the main building, with its riotous landscaping of tropical flowers, a

jumbled line of small cabins marched back to disappear beyond a rise dotted with palm
trees. The rush of ocean was a constant in the distance, so the beach wasn’t far. Not that it
was very far from anywhere on this stretch of Southern California coast.

The woman behind the front desk fit in perfectly with the interior decor. Both

woman and décor were the result of a great deal of money, carefully applied. Both
leaned toward the cold and impersonal. The woman gave Burke a long, sweeping look,
during which her mouth pursed up as if she’d just sucked a lemon. Burke wondered if it
was the too-casual T-shirt or the nearly worn-through knees of his jeans. Or maybe the
prissy little chick was hiding a primal desire for him.

“May I help you?” she said in a clipped tone. Yeah, she wanted him, all right. Once

again, Burke wondered what Regan was doing here. This wasn’t her kind of place at all.

“My name’s Burke Camden,” Burke said. “I—”
“Do you have a reservation?”
“No, I—”
“An appointment?”
“No—”
“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. No one is allowed on the grounds without an

appointment or a reservation, and there are no additional appointments available today
for tours or membership applications.”

Burke hesitated, running through a list of options in his head.
“I’m here to meet someone,” he finally said, figuring, I’m a private investigator, have

you seen an insane red-headed woman, would probably get him thrown out. “She invited me
here as her guest. I assumed she had made a reservation for me.”

The woman poised elegantly manicured hands over her computer keyboard. “

Name?”

“Burke Camden.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I mean her name.”
Burke met her gaze evenly. He’d dealt with her kind before—in fact, she reminded

him of his ex-fiancée’s sister. Like dogs, they tended to buckle under steady eye contact.

“Regan O’Rourke,” Burke answered.
The woman’s eyes flicked back to her computer, to look at the screen, of course, but

Burke could tell by the twitch of her mouth that he’d cowed her.

“I do have Ms. O’Rourke listed as a guest. Does she know to expect you?”
“She knows I’m on my way. I tried to call ahead of time, but I wasn’t able to get

through to her.” Which wasn’t quite a lie. He’d called several times and left messages, as
had Paul, but none of the calls had been returned. If Regan had bothered to listen to
them, she’d know Burke was coming.

“I assume she gave you a guest pass?” The receptionist had rallied, challenging him

again to direct eye contact.

“She did,” said Burke easily, “but I walked out of the house without it.”
“I see.” Her voice was clipped again, her eyes blatantly calling him a liar.
Burke shrugged, offering her a smile. “What can I say? Some women like ‘em big

and dumb.”

The receptionist glared a few more daggers, then picked up her phone. “I’ll contact

Ms. O’Rourke. She’ll have to vouch for you directly.”

“Fine.”
Burke wandered over to the leather modular couch and sat down. It was teal green

and smelled new. He wondered what the receptionist would think if he stretched out
and took a nap.

Paul had called him at nine this morning—normally not a problem, but Burke had

been out until six a.m. taking incriminating pictures of a California congressman
humping an intern. He’d come back to his boat and buttoned down the stateroom,

planning to sleep until noon.

No such luck. And he couldn’t operate on so little sleep anymore. Couldn’t do

one-armed pushups, either. He was just plain getting old.

Regan’s disappearance had him worried. Paul had been nearly frantic, and even

given his tendency to overreact, Burke couldn’t blame him. Regan had a talent for
getting into trouble through sheer impetuousness. She’d mellowed a bit over the past
few years, but Burke couldn’t bring himself to assume she was all right just because she’
d disappeared to a high-class resort.

The receptionist was talking quietly on the phone. Burke wondered if she’d reached

Regan, or the machine. Unable to resist the temptation anymore, he closed his eyes and
leaned his head back on the couch. Images of Regan floated through his head, Regan
with her wild red hair and a temper to match.

He was going to look pretty ridiculous when she kicked him out on his ass.

* * * * *

Regan threw her camera onto her bed and followed suit with herself. Surveillance,

she’d decided, was not for wimps. She’d been tailing Warren since she got here, and the
most incriminating thing he’d done was fondle his bleached-blonde, silicone-breasted
companion while lounging on the clothing optional beach. It figured he’d bring a date to
a hand-off. The asshole really thought he was untouchable.

She wished she’d listened to that little voice she’d tried so hard to cultivate—the one

that told her not to be so impetuous. Trouble was, no matter how carefully she’d
nurtured it, it had never learned to talk quite loudly enough.

On the table next to the bed, the message light on the phone blinked red. As she had

last night and this morning, Regan ignored it. She could only assume Paul had tracked
her down, which meant he’d probably used his key to her apartment and snooped
around her computer desk. For that he deserved to be punished. It was ludicrous that a
twenty-six-year-old woman couldn’t get a few days to herself without Big Brother
hunting her down.

She picked up the camera and regarded it thoughtfully. She’d taken a couple of

shots of Warren coming into the resort, and a couple of him with his hands all over his
bimbo. If nothing else, maybe she’d send copies of the latter to Warren’s wife. If she didn
’t already know what a rat her husband was, it was time she found out.

Regan wanted to see the hand-off, though. She wanted to find out who was buying

the restricted TeleStar information. If she could get that on film, it would be a major
coup.

Would the evidence be admissible in court, though? She frowned, again wishing she

’d moved a little more slowly, maybe taken time to do some research. She could have
asked Burke—

The thought surprised her, and she cut it off fiercely. She hadn’t talked to Burke in

years, and she didn’t intend to start now.

Still, he was a P.I.—
This time she didn’t have to cut the thought off. The ringing of her phone did it for

her. She gave it a sour look, considered ignoring it, then squirmed on her stomach across
the bed to pick it up.

“Ms. O’Rourke?” It was a woman’s voice. At least it wasn’t Paul.
“Yes?”
“I’m very sorry to bother you, but there’s someone here in the guest services

building who claims he’s here as your guest.”

Regan rolled her eyes heavenward for patience. Surely Paul wouldn’t go that far. “

Who is it?”

“He says his name is Burke Camden.”
Burke. Think of the devil. Regan didn’t know what to say for a moment.
“Ms. O’Rourke? Do you know this person?”
“Yeah,” said Regan. One word, she thought, and she could have Burke tossed out

on his interfering can.

On the other hand, he was a P.I.
“Yeah, I know him,” she went on. “I’ll be there in five.”
Regan rolled off the bed. On the way out the door, she caught a glimpse of herself in

the mirror. She’d almost forgotten what she was wearing—or, rather, wasn’t wearing. She
grinned.

Burke hadn’t seen her in a long, long time.
This was going to be good.

* * * * *

The ringing of the phone kept disturbing Burke’s attempt at a nap, so he thumbed

through brochures and schedules while he waited. The place was not only nice, it was
pricey as hell. But they had everything you could want in a resort: tennis, volleyball,
swimming, badminton, mud baths, saunas, masseuses—even a clothing optional beach.
That would appeal to Regan. She’d been sneaking down to Black’s Beach to sunbathe
naked since she was sixteen.

“Mr. Camden,” the receptionist said.
Burke looked up, then stood slowly, blinking in surprise.
They’d found Regan, all right. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten her clothes. She wore a

brief cotton cover-up over a bikini that looked like it was made out of dental floss. Wild
red hair tumbled down over shoulders pale as milk. She looked mad—but sometimes it
was hard to tell with her.

Burke reminded himself he’d seen Regan in less—naked, even. Of course, she’d

been five years old at the time. She hadn’t even had earrings then, much less the ring in
her navel or the three-inch dragon tattooed over her right breast. Oh, yeah, and she hadn’
t had breasts, either.

Burke looked resolutely at her face and said the first thing that came into his head. “

You should have returned my phone calls and let me know you didn’t have any clothes.
I could have brought you some.”

“Give me a break,” said Regan. “This is perfectly appropriate beach attire.” She

crossed her arms under the small, firm, barely-covered breasts Burke was trying so hard
to ignore. “What exactly are you doing here?”

Burke glanced at the receptionist, who was again eyeing him with great skepticism.

Fortunately, just then her phone rang, obliging her to answer it.

“Why don’t you come sit down for a minute?” Burke said quietly. “So we can talk.”
Regan considered. She knew she’d already made her decision, and it was probably

the wrong one, but she had to at least try to give it some thought. “All right,” she said. “I
’ll give you a couple of minutes.”

She sat down on the couch, the cushions warm against her bare legs. Burke sat back

down across from her. She smiled a little at his obvious discomfort. She’d changed quite
a bit since her eighteenth birthday. It pleased her that he’d noticed.

“Paul sent me,” Burke said, rubbing his hands on his jeans.
“There’s a news flash. Why don’t you go back to your little boat and call Paul and

tell him I’m quite grown now, and I don’t need him sending his personal police squad
after me anymore.”

“He’s worried about you,” Burke replied, his voice low but intense. “You missed

your regular check-in.”

Regan rolled her eyes, partly in disgust at her brother, partly in annoyance at

herself. How could she have forgotten the weekly, “I’m fine, now leave me alone,” call?
“I’m just here to enjoy myself.”

“Then why didn’t you let Paul know where you were?”
“I don’t have to tell Paul everything. You might be better off asking why he felt the

need to hunt me down, and why you said how high when he asked you to jump.”

Burke didn’t even flinch. “He’s paying me my regular daily rates plus expenses. I

figured finding you would be easier than another divorce case.”

“So you found me. Now go away.”
Burke gave her his P.I. look, flinty and assessing. “Are you after Warren?”
“Paul said something about Warren?”
Burke withdrew a Meadows brochure from his hip pocket and held it up. “What

exactly are you up to?”

Regan snatched the brochure from his hand. It was the one she’d scribbled on while

she was making her reservations, things like, “Die, Warren, die,” and “Warren Cassidy
is a scum-sucking pig.”

“You’ve been snooping through my apartment!” She’d suspected as much, but

Burke’s admission made her furious. “What is with you?”

“Paul was worried, so we went to check things out.” He snatched the brochure back,

holding it up out of her reach when she lunged after it. “That’s evidence, and therefore
mine.”

“I ought to charge you both with breaking and entering, or home invasion or

something.” She stopped, studied him, chewing on the inside of her lip. “All right, yes. I
’m after Warren.”

“Why?”
“I think he’s up to something.” She shrugged. “Of course, I have no experience with

this kind of thing, so there’s every possibility I could screw up and get myself into all
kinds of trouble.”

Burke gave her another of his many looks. This one said, “I know what you’re up to

and I’m not going to fall for it.” Aloud he said, “What are you trying to say, Regan?”

“I’m saying that if you stick around, you could help me out and make sure I don’t

succumb to any foolish impulses. You know how I am. I get into trouble so fast it makes
your head spin.”

“I’m not staying,” Burke stated, far too firmly for Regan’s taste. “You’re coming

home.”

“Like hell I’m going home! I spent good money on this vacation and there’s no way I

’m just packing up and leaving.” She crossed arms and legs resolutely, daring him to try
to change her mind. “You can stay or go, suit yourself, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“What exactly is it you’re trying to do?”
Regan pushed her tongue into her cheek and considered. Burke waited, big and

solid. Dependable. Maybe it was time to swallow her pride, no matter how much it
galled her.

Burke raised his eyebrows. They were solid like the rest of him, thick, straight and

brown.

“All right,” Regan said. “I have reason to believe Warren might be here for more

than just recreation and philandering.”

“Philandering?”
“The woman he’s with isn’t his wife—”
Burke shook his head. “I just got off a divorce case.”
“This isn’t a divorce case. This is bigger. This could actually be illegal.”
Burke lifted an eyebrow, then the other rose to meet it. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes. And I’m really not sure I can handle this on my own.”
Burke just looked at her. His expression said, “I’ve got to be nuts for even listening

to this.”

“I’ll pay you,” she said. Suddenly it seemed vital that he stay and help her. He was a

professional, after all, and as much as she wanted to deal with this situation herself, she
also wanted to be sure it was done right. If Warren was really passing off TeleStar to a
rival company, he needed to have the book thrown at him by a professional.

To say Burke seemed reluctant would be an understatement. “Give me one good

reason why I should stay.”

Regan regarded him. She knew exactly where to hit him and she wasn’t above doing

it. “If you walk out of here and I get myself into trouble, you’ll never forgive yourself
and neither will Paul.”

Burke’s intense, green-brown stare could cow the strongest of men, and Regan had

seen it do just that. But she knew it too well, and only returned it placidly. After a
moment he turned away in what she knew was a moment of weakness. She brought out
her last weapon.

“Burke, I need your help.”
He turned back toward her with the look of a man who knew he’d been had. “One

day. I’ll give you one day. But you’re paying me time and a half.”

“Forget it. You’ll get your regular daily rate.” Giving him no chance to argue her

final offer, she rose from the couch and went to the desk.

“We’ll take that guest pass now,” Regan said to the receptionist as Burke stepped

up behind her.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I can’t do that.”
“And why is that?”
“There are no accommodations available.”
“You didn’t say anything about that before,” Burke protested over Regan’s

shoulder.

“At the time, there was an open cabin. But while you two were having

your… discussion… someone else called and took it.”

“That’s all right,” said Regan, nonplused. “Mr. Camden will be staying with me.”
“Wha—” Burke started. Regan kicked him neatly on the shin. Burke choked on his

own words and clenched his teeth so hard Regan could hear it.

The receptionist lifted an eyebrow. “Are you certain, Mr. Camden?”
“Yes,” said Burke in a strangely high voice.
“He’s sure,” said Regan. “G’head and get him that pass.”
A few minutes later, Burke limped down the sidewalk after Regan, carrying the

overnight bag and shaving kit he’d brought along just in case Regan didn’t come to her
senses right away. Regan had slung Burke’s camera equipment over one shoulder. The
leather cases weren’t as secure as he would have liked, and he winced as they bounced
against each other, set in motion by the sway of her hips.

“Lucky you had your cameras with you,” Regan commented.
“They were still in the truck from last night. And could you be a little more careful?”

“Oh. Sorry.” She closed her hand around the camera case, holding it stationary

against the camcorder while her hips continued to sway. Burke found himself
mesmerized by the movement. Resolutely, he moved his gaze to a neutral point
between her shoulder blades.

She had an uncertain tan on her face, arms, and legs, but the rest of her was pale as

cream. She wasn’t even terribly freckled, unusual for a natural redhead. Her hair drifted
against the middle of her back as she walked and Burke found himself unable to take his
eyes away from the hypnotic movement.

“I hope you’re using a good sunscreen,” he finally said.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, the sun turning her bright hair to fire. “SPF 50.

”

“That’d do it.”
He saw no further need for conversation, if it was going to be this pointless, and so

fell silent as they turned toward a group of cabins. Regan opened the door to one of the
attractive little wooden buildings and waved Burke inside.

It was a small but comfortable space, and Burke was relieved to see two queen-sized

beds as well as a kitchenette, a couch and a TV.

“Make yourself at home,” Regan said. She went to the closet and pulled out a long,

flowery bathrobe. Burke breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled it on over her inaptly
named cover-up. It settled down against her, floaty but opaque enough to obscure the
lines of her body.

“Thank you,” he said.
Regan grinned. The expression illuminated her face, which tended to look petulant

even when she didn’t intend to. Her lower lip was a shade too full, her eyes large and
slightly down-tilted. When she really tried to look sad, it could be devastating.

Now she was just being rotten. She opened the robe again, posing provocatively,

one hip thrust toward him. “This really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Burke tossed his overnight bag on one of the beds. “Yes, it does.”
“Why? Are you really so offended by the human body?”
Burke looked into her face, studiously avoiding the sleek, lovely expanse of her

body. She folded the robe back around her, the edge of the dragon tattoo peeking out
past the lapel.

“You’ve gotten a few things pierced since I saw you last.”
Regan moved the robe again, flicking the ring in her navel with a forefinger. “You

like?”

“No, I don’t. And why the tattoo? It’s awful.”
“Paul’s got one.”
“That’s different.”
“Why? Because he’s a guy?”
Burke sighed and shook his head. “You are not one bit less argumentative than you

were at the age of three. It drove me nuts then, too.”

“Because even then I was always right. And teenage boys hate to be proven wrong.”

She sat down on the couch, arranging the robe demurely across her thighs. Just when
exactly had she grown up? Burke wondered. Even looking right at her he had difficulty
shaking the image of the chubby fifteen-year-old he’d dragged out of a college frat party.
She’d had on six inches of make-up and a pushup bra.

This was not that girl. She pushed her hair back behind her ear. Burke suddenly

realized he was staring, and that he was strangely warm. In all the wrong places.

“If it bothers you so much, maybe you should just go.”
It took a moment for her words to register. When they did, Burke said, “Huh?”
“I said if it bothers you, you should just go.”
“I heard you.” She had turned to look at him again. She looked sad, and he knew

she wasn’t doing it on purpose.

She also looked grown up, and very, very good.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe I should go.” But he just stood there by the

bed, looking at her.

“I shouldn’t have strong-armed you into staying,” she went on. “I just—” She broke

off and looked away, chewing her lower lip.

“What?” This was getting very strange. Something moved in the air between them,

something Burke had never felt before.

“I thought I had everything figured out when I planned this. Now I’m beginning to

wonder if I can pull it off at all. When you showed up—well, things started to look
promising again.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
Regan hesitated, then seemed to accept the inevitability of the question. “All right.

Warren Cassidy works with me. I also dated him for a while.”

“And he’s married.”
“Right. But I didn’t know that when I was seeing him.” Regan took a deep breath.

She’d never really intended to unload this on anyone, but if she had to, she supposed it
might as well be Burke. “When I found out about his wife, I broke it off, of course. I was
really angry. I told him I was going to tell his wife, and he threatened to get me fired. So
I filed a sexual harassment suit. Or I tried to. It didn’t get very far. He got to Human
Resources before I did and they believed his story over mine.” She shook her head. “So I
dropped the suit.”

“Why didn’t you just leave?”
“I couldn’t. I needed the job, and I had a feeling there was more to Warren than just

obnoxious fornication and sexual harassment. I just knew he was dirty. And now I have
reason to believe he’s selling restricted information to a rival company.” She shook her
head. “I know he’s a pig in his personal life, but I just can’t believe he’d jeopardize the
company. I wanted to get some really hard evidence, so I followed him here.”

Burke nodded. There really was a case here, which was a good thing. While the

analytical wheels turned, it was easier to ignore the strange currents in the room.

“So maybe you see my dilemma.” Regan’s voice was steady and calm, no hint of

pleading in it, her eyes carefully guarded. “I don’t want to ask for help, but it would
make things easier.”

Burke shook his head, not dismissing her, just rattling thoughts around. He saw

Regan swallow, and her eyes darted away from his face, toward the door.

“I’ll understand if you say no,” she said, the quaver in her voice so faint someone

who didn’t know her would have missed it entirely. “I’ll leave you here to think about
it. If I come back and you’re gone, I’ll understand.”

She stepped to the door, let the robe slip off her shoulders, tossed it onto the bed

and slipped pale and nearly bare out into the sunlight.

Flummoxed, Burke sat heavily down on the bed next to his bag. One thing was

certain about Regan—life around her was never dull.

He really should just leave. Regan was fine—he could go back to Paul with that

information and consider his duty discharged.

But, as Regan had said, if he left and something happened to her, he’d never forgive

himself. He knew Regan, and if there was trouble to be found, she’d be knee-deep in it
before he could walk to the parking lot.

So stay a day, he suggested to himself. See what’s going down. Then if she can handle it,

leave her on her own.

He should leave. Regan was an adult now, and didn’t need him to take care of her

anymore. On the other hand, Regan had asked for his help, and never before in her life
had Regan O’Rourke asked him for anything.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Burke picked up his overnight bag and unzipped it.

* * * * *

Regan strolled down the sidewalk toward the beach, trying to look nonchalant,

trying not to feel that Burke and Paul had both betrayed her. Paul for not letting her take

care of herself, and Burke for being Paul’s lackey.

It was ridiculous, she knew—she couldn’t have it both ways. But after yesterday, she

was more certain than ever that she’d taken on more than she could handle. Burke was a
P.I.—he was used to this kind of thing.

He wasn’t going to stay, though. She was certain of that. She’d asked too much of

him. So she was in this by herself, in spite of her suspicions.

Paul and Burke had both told her countless times that this would happen to her

someday. That she would push someone too hard, too far. Burke, in his tightass
uniformed cop days, had painted her a particularly grisly picture.

“You never think about who you’re trying to screw over,” he’d told her. She’d won a

good bit of money that night cheating at poker in a game arranged by one of her less
savory high school acquaintances. Not until Burke had pulled her out had she
discovered her opponents included a drug dealer. “I can’t watch you twenty-four hours
a day, and God knows I don’t want to find your body in some Dumpster.”

She’d been more careful after that night, because Burke had frightened her. But now

she’d again jumped into a situation she thought she could handle, and found herself
over her head.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Regan sank down onto a wooden bench next to the

sidewalk. She laid her head in her hands, thinking, trying to line up all the threads of her
situation.

She wasn’t sure what made her look up just then, but when she did, she smiled.

Down the sidewalk came Burke. He’d changed into a bathing suit, a baggy boxer type
that made his legs look miles long. His arms were tanned, his chest and stomach paler
under a pleasant smatter of brown hair.

He stopped in front of her. He was huge, standing there looking down at her, sun at

his back, like some sleek god of air or fire. She caught her breath. Was this really Burke?
Her Burke? He was beautiful. She suddenly found herself wondering what his skin
tasted like.

Her smile faded a little and she swallowed.
“Well,” she said, when a semblance of her composure had returned. “At least you’re

not quite as white as a dead carp.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, and sat down.

Chapter Two

“For starters, I think we need to just forget about avoiding this guy.”
Regan frowned, not sure she’d heard right. “You think it’s a good idea to let him

know I’m here?”

Burke shrugged, squinting against the sun. Red and gold glinted in his wavy brown

hair. “I think it’s going to be impossible to avoid him. Plus if you try to avoid him and
he sees you, it’ll make you look suspicious.”

Regan tried to remind herself she’d wanted Burke’s help. So far she wasn’t very

comfortable with either his presence or his suggestions. “You’re sure this is a good plan?
”

They still sat on the wooden bench. Burke rattled a handful of pebbles in his hand,

then tossed one onto the sidewalk with a plink.

“I think it’s the best idea.” He shrugged. “If you were here by yourself, it probably

would be better to try to go incognito.” He gave her tattoo a pointed look. “Not that that
would be particularly easy for your Rodmanesque self.”

“Oh, please. It’s one itty bitty teeny tiny little tattoo.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Now that I’m here, though, there’s less reason

to avoid him. If he sees you with me, he’s less likely to be suspicious, and he’s also less
likely to threaten you.”

“Why? Because you’re so big and scary?”
“Exactly.”
Regan shifted on the bench. She didn’t like sticking to things. She would have

changed into a pair of shorts back at the cabin, except she was intrigued by the way
Burke’s eyes bulged out every time he looked at her.

“So how do I introduce you?” she asked.
He gave her a look—“Have you not been paying attention, for you should hang on

my every word.” Which was quite a lot to pack into a look, but Burke managed it.

“As your accountant.” The thick sarcasm didn’t escape her.
She matched his look with one of her own. “Don’t you think it’d make more sense if

you were my boyfriend?”

“Of course I should be your boyfriend. Come on, Regan, keep with the program.”
Regan pushed her hair back. “Look, Burke, I respect your professional opinion, and

your experience, but I’m getting hot sitting here and I have a feeling I’m going to leave
about a half inch of flesh behind when I stand up.”

Burke made a visible effort to compose himself. “All right, maybe it’s time to take a

break.”

Burke stood, deliberately forcing her to look up at him. She’d thought he’d

presented a powerful presence in his police uniform, but that was nothing compared to
what he looked like in nothing but swim trunks and his own hair. Again she felt
displaced, as if she didn’t know who he was, or what to expect from him.

“But we will talk later.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Regan remembered

what it was to be fifteen and under his scrutiny: intimidated, angered by the
intimidation, and automatically rebellious. “I need to know about all your evidence,” he
said, his voice quiet but modulated to an intensity that made Regan look right into his
face. “No matter how trivial you might think it is.”

Regan nodded. He was right, of course. She needed to turn off this automatic

inclination to do the opposite of whatever he told her. She needed to get rid of some of
these other reactions, too. Like the way all her blood seemed to be moving too fast,
driving her body temperature up. Or the urge to see what the hair on his chest would
feel like under her fingers. Or what his nipples tasted like.

“All right, fair enough,” she finally said.

Burke nodded decisively. “Fine. Right now let’s see about acting normal for a while.

”

“Great,” said Regan, and carefully peeled her thighs off the bench. “How about a

walk on the beach?”

* * * * *

It seemed an innocuous enough suggestion to Burke—walk along the beach for a

bit, loosen up, maybe come up with some kind of a game plan before plunging into the
investigation. The beach ran the length of the resort, so it would give Burke a chance to
scope out at least part of the territory. He also might meet some of the other guests.

The sand slid soft under Burke’s feet, the sun almost uncomfortably hot on his bare

shoulders. The constant throb of the waves drowned out the conversation of other beach
patrons. Regan walked a few feet behind him. Occasionally he caught a flash of her
auburn hair in the corner of his eye, as the wind lifted it, and spread it across the width
of a warm breeze.

Taking this case might not have been his first choice for how to spend the next few

days, but at least it had brought him to a pleasant location. The sun was warm, the sand
soft, the women lovely—

Burke came to a sudden halt, staring. Then he realized he was staring and looked

away, feeling heat fill his face, and it wasn’t from the sun.

“Regan,” he said, his voice strained thin.
“Yes?”
“That woman over there,” he said. “She’s naked.”
He dragged his eyes away and looked at Regan.
And blinked.
She was naked, too.
The dental floss bikini hadn’t covered much, but now he realized exactly what a

profound difference it had made. The Regan in the bikini had seemed to him to be a girl
pretending to be grown up. But this Regan was a woman.

He tried very hard not to look at the evidence, but with it displayed so blatantly he

found his efforts to be futile. The breasts, small but perfectly formed. The slope of her
hips. The glint of the ring in her navel. And—though he did his best to keep his eyes
from going there—the coppery curls between her legs.

“Put your clothes back on,” he snapped, the curtness of his voice surprising him.
Regan’s eyes sparked. “It’s perfectly legal on this beach, and you can’t stop me.”
He couldn’t explain it to her. Couldn’t tell her what seeing her sleek, nude body was

doing to him. He wasn’t ready to admit it to himself—how could he bring himself to
explain it to her? So he just stood there, staring at her, trying perhaps to stare her down.
He wasn’t sure. His brain was too muddled up with the blinding image of her. It was
making afterimages in his retinas, she was so clear and clean and bright.

Under the force of his glare, she tilted her head back and smirked. “Feel free to drop

your shorts.”

“Not in your lifetime.” Maybe if he hadn’t just gone startlingly erect. Or maybe not.

Definitely not.

“Typical male. You like to look, but you won’t display.” She spread her arms and

twirled around once, giving him an intriguing look at her tight, round ass. “Well, I’m
going to work on my tan.”

Resolutely, he looked away from her. “What tan?” He resumed walking, looking

straight ahead. “You’ve never had a tan in your life.”

“Then give me some points for persistence.”
He looked at her, then away, as she deliberately thrust her breasts at him. She

seemed determined to remind him she was all grown up, taking a “you’re not the boss
of me,” stance. Overdone, as usual.

He shook his head sharply, jolting his brain back to the problem at hand. “Let’s just

get on with this.” Regan jogged to catch up, walking shoulder to shoulder with Burke as
he continued. “If Warren is really involved in some kind of industrial espionage, why
would he be doing it here?”

Regan shrugged. “He took a sudden, unplanned vacation. There were some

mysterious notations in his day planner I’ll have to tell you about later. Based on that,
my guess is he’s meeting somebody and the vacation is a cover.”

Burke shook his head. “You snooped through his day planner? Why didn’t you just

hack into his computer files? You could have gotten all the evidence you needed and
avoided all this surveillance.” He knew she could have, too. Her first year of college, she
’d been caught hacking into a secured database under the tutelage of a boyfriend who
didn’t exactly have her best interests at heart. The head of the computer science
department had put a stop to it. He could have thrown her out of school; instead he’d
convinced her to take one of his classes. As Paul told it that was all it had taken to get
her hooked. Nice, Burke thought, that at least one of her escapades had led to something
positive.

“I thought you knew all this professional stuff,” Regan chided. “I want legally

obtained evidence—it tends to stand up better in court.”

“Correct, of course, but I’m surprised you held back long enough to think about it.

We’ll just have to keep watching him to see if we can figure out what he’s up to.” As he’
d hoped, concentrating on the facts helped him ignore his hormones and her blatant
nudity. “Have you seen anybody else here that you recognize?”

“Not yet.”
“If you do, you’ll let me know, right?”
“Of course.”
Burke’s easy walk turned to a trudge as he continued, turning his attention to the

beachfront cabins and the people wandering the sand. Clothing optional it might have
been, but a good many people had opted for clothes. Strangely, most of them were men.

Burke wondered if Regan was right, that men in general maintained a double

standard about nudity. Why? Pure chauvinism? Or were they all afraid of being judged
by the size of their dicks? Which of those was his own problem? Then he decided it didn
’t matter. If he was insecure, he was getting too old to do anything about it. Plus, he’d
discovered over the years, introspection was a serious waste of time.

Still, his curiosity had been piqued, and he couldn’t help the next question. “Is this

kind of thing a hobby of yours?”

“What?” She turned to face him, walking backwards. Burke allowed himself one

quick sweep. What she lacked in curves she made up for in panache, carrying herself
with a complete lack of self-consciousness. There was something truly appealing about
a woman who wasn’t concerned about her looks. Not that she had anything to be
concerned about. Unconventional she might be, with her pierced navel and the little
tattoo—which, truth to tell, he was starting to like—but there was nothing at all wrong
with her body.

“What?” Regan repeated, and Burke realized his mind had wandered so far he’d

forgotten what he’d asked her. He shook his head and a piece of short-term memory fell
back into place.

“Running around naked in public. Is it a hobby these days? I figured you would

have outgrown it.”

“Sure, when I’m allowed.” She smirked. “I think if everybody was naked, we’d all

be a lot more sensible about each other.”

“Oh, really.”
“Absolutely. Which is why you should take off your pants.”
“Not today.” He peered across the beach toward the line of cabins. “Is there any way

to find out who’s staying here this week?”

Regan shook her head. “I doubt it. They’re pretty tight-lipped about things like that.

There are people here we won’t see at all, because that’s the way they want it.”

Burke nodded and shrugged. “It probably wouldn’t help much, anyway.”
Suddenly Regan grabbed Burke’s arm. “There’s Warren.” Regan pointed quickly,

then turned away, still walking.

Burke turned a surreptitious glance in the direction Regan had indicated. The cop

instincts clicked in. Five ten, five eleven, one sixty-five or one seventy, light brown hair.
Smarmy smile. General jackass. And a woman on his arm who was, quite simply,
stunning.

“Quit drooling,” Regan said, her voice hard.
“I wasn’t drooling. I was just wondering why he’d leave you for that obviously

vacuous little bimbo.”

Regan snorted. “Yeah, right. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Her boobs are as big as my head.”
“There is that—” He broke off, frowning. The more immediate question was what

Regan had ever seen in Warren to begin with.

As if reading his thoughts, Regan said, “What can I say? He seemed like a

stabilizing influence at the time.”

“Since when do you judge men by their possible stabilizing influence?”
“When they have enough money to take me places like this.”
Burke frowned, studying her face. She was carefully expressionless, the slight pout

of her lower lip meaning nothing, the arch of her auburn brows daring him to read
anything at all past her mask.

“I didn’t know you were so shallow,” Burke said, feeling strangely disappointed, or

betrayed.

Regan shrugged. “It was more than that. It’s hard to explain.” She turned suddenly,

walking the other way. To Burke’s surprise, she unknotted the little bundle of her
cover-up, pulling it on as she went. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Strange, he thought. She didn’t mind baring her skin, but when he got a little bit

under it, suddenly she wanted to cover it up. Frowning, wondering what it all meant,
Burke followed her off the beach.

* * * * *

Later, they sat at a table at an al fresco coffee shop near the tennis courts. Why

anyone would want coffee in the middle of the day, Burke didn’t know, but Regan—
back in her swimsuit, thank God—was sipping some kind of iced crappuccino. Coffee
was to wake you up in the morning, not to relax you in the afternoon. It was to be
consumed hot, black, and strong enough to make your eyes water. Thus espresso wasn’t
a bad thing. But screwing up a perfectly good slug of caffeine with steamed milk—not to
mention ice—was just dumb. So Burke had a Coke.

Other people sat nearby, enjoying the shade of the table umbrellas. The woman at

the table behind them exuded a strong odor of coconut and vanilla that made Burke
queasy. She smelled like a piña colada.

“Uh oh,” said Regan suddenly, so low Burke barely heard her. “Jackass at ten o’

clock.”

Burke glanced toward Warren, who was still with his busty companion. “Look cool,

he sees you.”

Warren had, indeed, caught sight of Regan and was approaching their table. Burke

sipped his Coke and judged the man’s expression. It couldn’t decide whether to settle
on surprise or consternation. Burke, on the other hand, had no trouble deciding on
dislike.

As they approached, Warren’s companion gave Burke an easy once-over, then

smiled. Burke smiled back. So Warren’s girlfriend wasn’t all that devoted. That could be
a good thing.

“Regan?” Warren said, coming to stand next to their table. Burke kept looking at the

girlfriend, just to see what she might do. He noticed, too, that her breasts barely moved
when she walked. Fake, then. It figured.

“Hi, Warren!” said Regan, giving Warren a bright grin. “I wondered if I might run

into you.”

“What are you doing here?” Warren seemed nervous. Burke turned his attention to

Regan. Very smooth, she was, betraying nothing, showing only pleased surprise that she
’d run across someone she knew.

“Well, you did buy me that membership, and it seemed a shame to let it go to waste.

”

“You didn’t mention you were coming here when we talked at work.”
“I thought I’d surprise you.” She gave Warren’s companion a coy sideways glance.
“Why don’t you join us?” Burke put in. Regan wasn’t babbling yet, but he didn’t

want her to go on too long in that vein.

“Oh!” Regan turned toward Burke with an apologetic smile. “Warren, this is my

boyfriend, Burke.”

Warren shook Burke’s hand, then sat down. “This is Bliss.” He reached up to take

his companion’s hand as she took a seat next to him.

“Bliss?” Regan repeated, disbelief creeping into her tone.
“It’s my stage name,” the silicone-breasted blonde explained. “My real name is

Martha—Marty, actually. I prefer that, if you don’t mind.” She lifted an eyebrow at
Warren, who shrugged, his eyes tightening. Obviously he preferred to be in the
company of a Bliss rather than a Marty.

“Stage name?” Burke repeated. “You’re an actor?”
“No. I’m an exotic dancer.”
“I see.” That would make the silicone tax deductible. “So, have you visited the nude

beach?”

“Clothing optional,” Marty corrected. “Of course I have. I’m actually much more

comfortable with my clothes off. It’s so freeing, don’t you think?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t tried it yet.” Was everybody in this place a blatant

exhibitionist?

“Burke’s a bit repressed,” Regan volunteered. Burke gave her a loving look in lieu

of kicking her.

“Oh, but you have to try it,” said Marty, touching Burke’s hand.
“Maybe I will. Regan keeps telling me I need to get in touch with myself.”
Apparently unhampered by thoughts of decorum, Regan kicked him in the shin.

Burke reached across the table to squeeze her hand a little too tightly. “She’s so good to
me.”

Marty smiled at him, her eyelids lowering. Burke winked at her. Warren looked

from one to the other, then stood.

“Well, I think we’ll be going. We’re both having an herbal mud bath before dinner.”
“Have fun,” said Regan.
Warren drew Marty away from the table, but not before she managed another

deeply meaningful look at Burke.

As they walked away, Regan watched thoughtfully, sipping at her coffee-crap.
“So,” she said finally. “Do you think this could play into our hands?”
“What?” Burke had turned his focus to putting the pieces of the case together, but

all they wanted to do was swim aimlessly around in his head.

“That Miss Bliss obviously wants in your pants.”
“You mean Marty?” Burke nodded, intrigued that Regan had picked up on the

signals. “It very well could. It never hurts to have an ally in the enemy camp.”

Regan gave him a searching look. “And how far would you go to be sure she was an

ally?”

Regan realized as she asked it that the question was much more serious than she’d

intended. Waiting for his answer, she watched amusement, then irritation, move through
his eyes.

“Why would you care?”
“I don’t care,” Regan snapped. “I just wondered, that’s all.”
“But why would you even wonder? Do you think I’d sleep with her to get her to

help us out? Do you really think I’d use somebody like that?”

Regan opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. She hadn’t thought of it in

those terms. She’d only recognized her own jealousy…

Jealousy? Where had that come from?
“For that matter,” Burke went on, his mouth twitching as he reined back a smile, “do

you think sleeping with me would be the kind of experience that would make a woman
putty in my hands?”

Regan wanted to slap him. “How could it not be?” she said, the sarcasm like knives.

But an image formed in her mind of Burke in bed, arching over a woman’s body…

Her body…
She could almost feel the width of his hips between her thighs, the lift of his back

under her hands. Her fingers would slide into the groove of his spine… Never in her life
had she given any thought to Burke’s dick, but suddenly she found herself wondering
about length, girth, how far he could thrust it into her, how hard—

Burke grinned smugly. “You’re right, of course.” He sucked down the last of his

Coke and stood.

Regan couldn’t look at him. She’d never thought of Burke this way before. Certainly

she’d never had trouble looking at him for fear of what he might read on her face. She’d
always seen Burke as an unwanted guardian non-angel, kind of a nosy uncle. Why did
he now inspire this taut heat? More than that—a comfortable taut heat.

She stood, and he offered her his hand. Surprised, a little reluctant, she slipped her

fingers into his and let him lead her down the sidewalk.

* * * * *

They spent the rest of the day acting like a happy couple, romping about in the

bright California air. Burke seemed almost comfortable with the role. At dinner he
chatted with the other couples at their table, showing no indication he was anything but
Regan’s content lover.

It wasn’t until they were finishing dessert that Regan noticed something was wrong.

Her eyes went wide and she leaned toward Burke.

“Burke,” she said in an undertone, “did you put on any sunscreen at all before you

left the cabin this afternoon?”

“No. I couldn’t find any. I figured it didn’t matter because I don’t really burn.”
“Think again, Lobster Man.”
Burke looked alarmed. “What? What are you talking about?”
Regan shook her head. It was hard not to be amused, but from the looks of Burke’s

arms, he was going to be in a lot of pain in a few hours. Regan imagined there was a
good deal of damage under the T-shirt he’d tossed on before dinner.

“Maybe you don’t normally burn, but I’d guess you don’t normally spend the entire

day in nothing but swim trunks, either.”

Somewhat to Regan’s surprise, Burke didn’t argue or contradict her. Instead he

looked pained and more than a little embarrassed as he looked down at his brightening
arms.

“Great. You’re right—that was stupid of me. I didn’t even think about it.”
Regan stood, tapping Burke on his shoulder, which was fast turning an interesting

crimson. “Don’t worry about it yet. I’ve got some stuff back at the cabin that should take

care of most of the pain and keep you from peeling. I brought a truckload, just in case.”

“Okay, it’s worth a shot.”
Back at the cabin, Regan dug a jar out of a drawer while Burke looked at himself in

the bathroom mirror. The brighter lights in the small bathroom emphasized the damage,
making Regan wince when she looked at him.

His lower arms and his legs where the swim trunks hadn’t covered them looked all

right, as did his face, all probably used to exposure from time spent on a boat deck in a
T-shirt and shorts. But his back, chest and shoulders varied from an uncomfortable pink
to a wretchedly painful scarlet.

“You know,” said Burke in a plaintive tone, “now that I can see it, it’s really starting

to hurt.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice it before.”
He looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Well, sunburns have a nasty way of

sneaking up on you.”

“That they do. Now, why don’t you just lie down on the bed and I’ll take care of

you.”

“Just give it to me.” He reached for the jar. “I can reach the worst of it.”
Regan moved the jar out of his reach. “Maybe so, but you can’t see all of it. You’ll

miss spots, and you’ll be miserable tomorrow.”

“I’m perfectly capable—”
“Besides, who’s had more experience with major sunburn? I’m the one who runs

around naked in public, remember?”

Her logic didn’t keep him from making another lunge for the jar. “Maybe so, but—”
“But nothing. Now lie down.”
Grumbling, he met her halfway by sitting on the bed. Regan opened the jar and

scooped out a generous glop of green, minty gel.

“What is that stuff?” Burke asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Aloe, mostly.” She smeared it across the upper portion of his chest and up toward

his shoulders. The gel was light and cool, and his burned skin sucked it up like a desert
drinks rainfall. “Good thing I brought a lot of it.”

Burke snatched the jar from her hand before she realized he was going for it. “I’ll do

the front,” he said. “I can see the front just fine.”

Regan’s mouth tightened, but at the last moment she decided to capitulate. “Fine.

But if you miss anything, I’m going to feel free to help.”

He gave her a withering look. As usual, she refused to wither. Instead she crossed

her arms firmly under her breasts and watched him. His eyes flickered down, finally
settling on the tattoo.

“Why don’t you put on a robe or something?” he muttered.
Regan laughed. “I’ve been walking around in this bathing suit all day—and naked,

if you’ll remember—and now all of a sudden you want me to wear a robe?”

“We weren’t alone then.” Looking studiously away from her, he slathered another

good-sized glop of gel across his chest. Regan shook her head and went to the bathroom
to retrieve her robe.

When she came back, Burke was slathering gel down the lower half of his abdomen.

Regan stopped almost mid-step, staring at him. At his hands, as they moved so close to
such intimate areas of his body. His movements were quick and utilitarian, not meant to
be provocative, but every hormone in her bloodstream stood at hot attention.

With an effort, she dragged her eyes away and walked to the kitchenette. The cabin

was equipped with a basic set of dishes, including a half dozen glasses. She picked one
up and filled it with water from the sink.

“You should drink a lot of liquids,” she said. “Sunburn can suck you dry, and being

outside like this makes you sweat a lot.” She walked back to him, holding the glass out
to him.

“Set it down on the nightstand,” he said. “I’ve got stuff all over my fingers.”
Of course he had stuff all over his fingers. Feeling stupid, Regan put the glass on the

nightstand.

“You can do my back now,” Burke announced.
Regan shook her head. “Not quite yet.”
She took the nearly empty jar and inspected him. His skin had soaked the gel up so

readily it was hard to tell what he might have missed, but Regan had a good eye for
distinguishing the tighter, still untreated patches of skin.

“This is always a danger zone.” She scooped out a finger full of gel and smeared it

down the side of his neck, from just under his ear to the strong curve of his collarbone.
She did the same on the other side—and then he looked at her.

Regan stared. Something lay in his eyes, something she’d never seen before. She

might have called it shock, but it wasn’t so abrupt, or so glaring. It was unexpected
realization, uncomprehending comprehension.

And fear. And need.
“I, uh… ” she said after a moment that seemed to go on forever, filled with the

brown hazel of Burke’s depthless eyes, “I need to get some more of this so I can do your
back.”

Forcing herself to turn away, she retrieved another jar of gel from the little

bathroom. Looking around the small, porcelain space, she realized they’d have to share
it in the morning. A soft shiver moved over her skin.

He had stretched out on his stomach on the bed, head cradled on folded arms. Long,

lean, and red-skinned, he filled the narrow bed. The clean lines of his body drew her
eyes, the long, deep indentation of his spine, the ridges of his ribs, the flattened curve of
his flank. His buttocks rose in a sleek, cotton-covered arc from his waist. Regan was
tempted to grab them, to see how they fit into her hands.

She swallowed again and sat down on the bed next to him. Spreading a glob of

green gel over his shoulder blades, she wondered where her mind had gone.

She had no business thinking of him like this. He was eleven years older than she

was. He had been a fixture in her life, helping Paul raise her after their parents had died.
He’d rescued her from herself, helped her shape something out of a life that had seemed
out of her control. Hell, he’d even helped Paul explain sex to her when Paul had found
himself not up to the task.

How, then, after all that, could she respond to him on such a primal level? What had

made her perceptions change so quickly and so utterly? Why did she want him so

much?

Her hands shaped the lines and forms of him, as if she smoothed them into being

out of clay. Her own body felt soft and malleable, wax partially melted by the heat. He
could touch her, mold her into whatever strange, new creature she was becoming. The
thought made the hot melting pool between her legs, her sex wet and aching for him to
fill it. He was hard and soft, clean lines and curves. His body sank down to his waist,
rose again to those firm, round buttocks. Heat rose to her face as she slathered the firmly
muscled flesh. He shifted a little under her touch, as if with pain. As red as the skin was,
she had no doubt it was tender.

Finally she finished. She rubbed the remaining gel into her own hands and patted

his shoulder. “Okay, you’re done.”

He lay still, his breathing deep and steady. Regan smiled wryly. He’d fallen asleep

under her ministrations. So much for arousing his grand passion.

Because he was asleep, because he wouldn’t know she had done it, she slipped her

fingers through his thick, brown hair.

“Goodnight, Burke,” she said.

* * * * *

Burke wasn’t asleep. Rather, he lay as still as he could trying to control the most

stubborn hard-on he’d ever had in his life.

Having her put on the robe had been a huge mistake. After seeing her bare and

nearly bare all day, getting used to the curves and colors of her flesh, the way her
muscles moved under her skin, he found himself tantalized by seeing that flesh covered.
The skimpy robe offered flashes of breasts he knew were curved to feminine perfection.
And he couldn’t shake the image of her taut stomach, the silver curve of the ring in her
navel, the triangle of copper curls between her slim thighs.

So now he was hurting. Literally and figuratively, from the sunburn, from his own

stubborn, uncontrollable desire, and most of all from guilt.

The Camdens and the O’Rourkes had been next-door neighbors all those years ago,

when a nine-year-old Burke had befriended a seven-year-old Paul, bonding over a pile
of baseball cards. Regan had been born two years later. Never before in their long
acquaintance had Burke thought of Regan as anything other than a friend. Someone he
was obligated to protect, because her brother was his best friend, and because the
siblings had been left so suddenly alone. He’d looked out for her, helped Paul raise her.

Now his body was telling him Regan was a grown woman, desirable and altogether

legal. His mind kept seeing her as a twelve-year-old kid devastated by the deaths of her
parents, determined to take all that anger and loss out on the twenty-one-year-old
brother who was all she had left.

So far his body was winning, though he could tell his mind wouldn’t easily give up

the fight.

Maybe there was no point waging the battle at all.
He rolled over. Regan jumped, startled. He knew from her unguarded caress, the

way her fingers had combed through his hair, that she’d thought he was asleep.
Otherwise she never would have expressed any kind of affection. That, more than
anything else, made him think his need was something he wasn’t obligated to ignore.

He sat up and looked at her. All of her. Up and down, from her face, her odd, almost

frightened expression, to the curves of her hips and thighs under her filmy robe. He let
himself remember what lay beneath the nearly see-through material—the curves of her
breasts, the pink, pouting nipples, the red-gold curls obscuring her sex.

Reaching out to her, he curled his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled

her to him, until her lips were only a hair’s breadth from his.

“What do you want?” he whispered. “Think hard. What do you really, truly want

from me?”

He set her back a bit and she just looked at him. The fear had faded from her eyes.

To his surprise, no shield of indignation or haughtiness came up to replace it. She was
open to him for a long moment, her eyes carrying a different kind of fear—fear with a
strange wonderment in it.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I thought I did, but I don’t.”
He drew her back to him, gently. “Is it this?”
His mouth met hers. It was strange at first, because he’d never thought before of

kissing her. But when the taste of her hit his tongue, he could think of nothing else.

He pulled that taste into him, savoring it. She tasted like no woman he’d ever tasted

before, and the flavor spread through him in waves of arousal, as if something in his
nervous system were attuned to exactly that stimulus on his taste buds.

She made a noise in the back of her throat, but she didn’t pull away. So he moved

closer, touched his tongue to her lips, prodded until she opened to him.

Why? Why did this feel so incredibly, perfectly right? It should have felt wrong. He

had known her for so many years, and nothing like this had ever happened before, had
ever even been hinted at. It was a shock, an anomaly, and somehow it seemed like
something that had been meant to happen since the beginning of time.

He slid his hands down her back, bunching up the robe as he went, finding his way

to her skin. Finally he cupped her buttocks, only the barely-there bikini between his
fingers and her heat.

The kiss had deepened in the meantime, dragging them both relentlessly in. He

lifted a hand to her breast, cupping the soft roundness, teasing her nipple with his
thumb. He half-expected her to pull away from that but she didn’t. She moved closer,
the sounds coming from her now more plea than protest. Something in her wanted this
as much as he did.

There was no thinking about it anymore. He had been reduced to pure sensation

and a hard knot of lust. Letting go of the curve of her ass he grabbed her hand and
pushed it between them, against the hard jut of his cock. Her fingers curled
automatically around it, through the fabric of his trunks.

Jerking her closer, barely aware of what he did, he clasped her ass again, worked his

fingers under the bits of fabric that constituted her bikini. Pressed forward, between the
hot, wet lips of her sex, inside her—

She shoved back, hard. Nearly lost her balance as she forced herself away from him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her voice shook. Her eyes, still

half-glazed with lust, sparked more with fear than anger. This had caught her off-guard,
too.

His fingers were still hot from her arousal, from being inside her body. “Don’t tell

me you didn’t want that.”

“I don’t want that.” The more anger she forced into her expression, the less her voice

shook. “Not from you.”

She pushed herself away, backing across the room until the backs of her legs hit the

other bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said dryly. “I guess I misread your signals.”
Her anger flashed hard then, burning the fear out of her expression. “You’re just like

the rest of them. I should have known. I’m nothing but tits and a cunt to you, is that it?”

He clenched his teeth. “You know that’s not true.”
“Then don’t touch me.”
She spun, headed into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her. He sank

back into the bed. The pain from the sunburn had come back with a vengeance in spite
of the aloe cream.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Three

Regan woke to the sound of computer keys tapping and Burke mumbling under his

breath. She rolled over, bleary.

“What’s going on?”
He looked at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She sat up and pushed a hand through her tangled hair. “I’m not sure you did—”
She stopped. Just stopped. There had been more words, but they jammed up in her

throat, then disappeared.

For those few seconds, she had forgotten last night. It was as if her recall had hit a

reset button to put her memories back to what they had been before. Before she’d let him
kiss her, touch her. Before his big, blunt fingers, pressing inside her, had given her that
taste of what he could do to her if she let him. Just that touch, that slight invasion, not
even enough to quite be called sex, had sent her body vibrating, put her on the teetering
edge of an ecstasy more intense than any she’d ever experienced.

Now he sat at the desk, a too-familiar god in nothing but black cotton boxers. The

muscles between his shoulder blades shifted as he typed. He was sleek and golden and
she shouldn’t have stopped him last night. She should have given in, let him fuck her
into unconsciousness. It would have been good.

Burke glanced up, as if only then noticing her sudden silence.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head and it felt like someone else was doing the work,

pulling her head back and forth on a taut string. “I just—nothing.”

Her arms felt weak. She’d slept on them wrong, she decided. But that didn’t explain

why her legs tried to wobble when she slid out of bed, or why she suddenly couldn’t
bear to look at Burke. A vision passed through her head, of him rising from the chair,

dropping those boxers, then bending her over the bed and taking her, hard. She half-ran
to the bathroom and shoved the door shut behind her.

Her face in the mirror looked desperate. Resolutely, she schooled her features. She

splashed cold water on her face, then let the image of Burke and his boxers creep into
her consciousness. Okay. She could handle this now.

Yeah, right. If she’d been a man, she’d have had to take a cold shower before she

showed so much as her nose out the bathroom door.

Luckily she’d left her robe hanging in the bathroom last night. She pulled it on,

thought about Warren and her reason for being at the Meadows in the first place, then
once again braved Burke and his black boxers.

He’d pulled on a pair of jeans in her absence. She didn’t know whether to be

relieved, or embarrassed at the thought he might have done it because he’d noticed the
effect he had on her. Whatever the case, it didn’t help. The jeans were pleasantly snug
but not too tight, and shaped his thighs like the hand of a sculptor.

“How’s the sunburn?” she asked, to redirect her thoughts. His shoulders and back

still looked red, but not as raw and painful as yesterday.

He moved his shoulders as if testing the fit of his skin. “Not bad. That stuff you

used really helped.”

“You should probably get another coat today. And definitely a good dose of

sunscreen before you go back out.”

“Yeah, probably a good plan.” His attention was back on the computer, though.

Regan peered over his shoulder.

“What exactly are you up to?”
“Just a background check on your friend. See if he has any priors, that kind of thing.

”

“So did you dig up any dirt?”
“No, he’s clean. Now if I could just get Marty’s last name… ”
“You think she might be involved?”
“No, actually, I don’t. But I’d rather have too much information than not enough.”
Regan nodded, watching him work. Presently she realized the movement of his

hands had mesmerized her. Shaking her head to clear it, she forced herself away from
his side and into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

Burke joined her a few minutes later. Regan retrieved a mug from the cupboard and

filled it, then passed it to him.

“I hope it’s strong enough for you,” she mumbled, barely managing to transfer the

mug to him without touching his fingers.

He smiled. “It never is, but thanks for trying.”
She smiled back and glanced up, avoiding eye contact. He leaned back against the

cabinet, moving his shoulders and grimacing as his reddened skin stretched across their
breadth. Regan found her eyes focused on a point directly between his nipples, where
the crisp brown curls looked the deepest and springiest.

“I should tell you,” he said, “I went out last night.”
Her eyes sprang to his face. “When?”

“Just past eleven. I was having trouble sleeping, so I went to check on our suspect.

He and Marty were just finishing the late dinner, so I followed them back to their cabin. I
figured if Warren was planning a handoff, it wouldn’t be in broad daylight.”

She wondered why he’d had trouble sleeping, but didn’t dare ask. Had he been as

affected by last night’s near-encounter as she had? He’d been good and hard last night,
his dick thick and long under her fingers when he’d shoved her hand into it. It occurred
to her that she’d never had anything quite that big inside her that wasn’t
battery-powered.

Well. Time to stop thinking about that.
“So did you see anything?” she said.
“Not a thing. They went to bed. Obviously last night wasn’t the night.”
Regan sipped her coffee, chagrined at yet another example of her investigative

incompetence. “I should have thought of that.”

“Probably, given your own penchant for sneaking off in the middle of the night.” At

her sharp look, he smiled. “It’s okay. I’m the professional—it’s up to me to think of these
things.” He downed the last of his coffee, even though it had to still be scalding hot, and
pushed away from the counter. “By the way, even though I came here to convince you to
come home, I’ve decided to stay until we get this thing figured out.”

Regan nodded. She should have been pleased. Instead she felt patronized. “So you

think it might be a real case?”

“I think there’s a good chance.” He paused with one hand on the bathroom door. “If

I can crack this, it could be a nice career boost for me.” He flashed her a grin and
disappeared into the bathroom.

“Well, goody,” said Regan into her coffee. “Ever so glad I could help.” She wrinkled

her nose as she swallowed, then splashed the rest of the coffee into the sink. “Jerk.”

* * * * *

A short time later they headed out into the sun, this time both slathered with

sunscreen. Regan had managed to calm down, reminding herself she wanted Burke to
be here, that in all likelihood he’d present her with a bill when this was over. It was a job
to him, so she shouldn’t take his attitude personally, even if it did feel like he’d come in
and run her over like a semi truck.

Of course, a lot of that feeling could be blamed on the traumatic effect he had on her

hormones. Especially after last night.

Regan tried not to think about it, and soon was presented with a distraction when

their path intersected that of Warren and Miss Bliss.

Warren made a none-too-subtle move to veer away, but Bliss seemed oblivious to

his efforts, leveling a smile on Burke.

“Why, hello again, Mr. Camden,” she purred. In an apparently automatic reflex, she

pushed her chest out and up, lifting those full, round, silicone-laden breasts so Burke
could get an eyeful. Obligingly, he looked. Something green and bilious bubbled in
Regan’s gut.

“Good morning, Marty,” Burke said too pleasantly. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” He gave

Regan a look, and for once she was at a loss how to interpret it. It seemed deep and

meaningful, but beyond that she had no idea.

“Absolutely wonderful,” Bliss concurred, laying a hand on Burke’s arm. “Maybe

you’d like to join us for breakfast?”

Regan opened her mouth to say no, but Burke said, “Of course,” before she could

even draw breath. And he gave her yet another look. This time she understood: “Back
off, I’ll handle this.” But she didn’t have to like it.

She could only assume Burke had a plan as he followed Bliss to a table on the

restaurant’s patio. Regan couldn’t fault her choice—if she had to spend a meal in the
company of Warren, it could at least be al fresco.

They ate and chatted. Much to Regan’s relief—which she had no desire to examine—

Burke turned his attention to Warren, asking leading but careful questions. Regan
recognized his effort to ferret out clues, but it was largely unsuccessful.

“I don’t really like to talk about work when I’m on vacation,” Warren finally said.
“You don’t like to talk about work when you’re not on vacation,” Bliss said with a

laugh. Regan noted the comment. The Warren she’d known had been more than happy
to brag about his company, taking credit for things he had nothing to do with, acting like
he was CEO instead of middle management. He spent money like a CEO, too. That didn
’t seem to have changed.

Then Bliss turned to Burke. “You two are coming to the party tonight, aren’t you?”
“Party?” Burke repeated.
“It’s a weekly event. If you don’t have a tux, you can rent one. It’s really fun. Open

bar, live band, big dessert table at midnight.”

Burke nodded, and Regan could see the investigative wheels turning behind his

eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Regan added her own decisive nod. “We’ll be there.”
They chatted a bit longer, but Warren had been devouring his breakfast like a man

three weeks starved, and when he finished he gave his coffee a last, peremptory sip and
pushed his chair back.

“Well, Marty, we’d better go or we’ll miss our appointment at the spa.”
Marty glanced at her watch, started to say something, then thought better of it. “We’

re getting massages,” she said. “I can’t wait.”

She gave Burke a final, lash-lowered look, then followed Warren away from the

table.

Regan waited until they had departed, taking part of her green-eyed monster with

them, then said to Burke, “I get the feeling you have something planned for this party.”

He nodded. “First I plan to rent a tux. Then I plan to mingle, and try to get some

information out of our friend Marty.”

“You’re going to spend the evening with that slutty stripper?”
Burke cocked an eyebrow. “Jumping to conclusions, aren’t we? When you were

seeing Warren, were you that slutty tattooed girl?”

Unaccountably, Regan blushed. “I didn’t know he was married. And I don’t take off

my clothes for a living.”

“Nope.” He put his napkin on the table and stood. “For you, nudity’s just a hobby.”

Somehow, Regan managed to stifle the urge to kill him. She glared up at him as he

stood waiting for her, an annoying half-smirk curving his mouth.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” she finally snapped.
“Why? Because I’m right?”
She got up and left the table, but she didn’t answer him.

* * * * *

Of necessity, they spent most of the morning and an unexpected amount of money

on Burke’s tuxedo. Only one had come close to fitting his six-foot-four-inch frame, and
that had needed alterations. It hadn’t been ready until an hour before the party. Regan
had half-hoped Burke would pick up the bill, but instead he stood smiling while Regan
dug through her purse for a credit card.

It was worth every penny, though, Regan thought later as Burke adjusted his cuffs in

front of the mirror. He looked like a god. Not that gods generally wore tuxedos, but if
they would look like Burke did, then they should.

Her own dress was pretty eye-catching, as well, if she did say so herself. Made

entirely of lace, it fit her so tightly she’d had to take the ring out of her navel to prevent
an unseemly lump. It made a great effect, though—the ivory lace against her too-pale
skin, the nearly transparent places where it was hard to tell if you were looking at fabric
or skin. Judging by Burke’s pop-eyed look, the ensemble worked perfectly.

“The James Bond look suits you,” she said, straightening his bow tie.
He frowned. “The Madonna look suits you. I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Well, it’s hardly appropriate attire for a teenager.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a teenager.”
“Yeah.” The strange soberness on his face unsettled her. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
He stared at her for what seemed a long time, then swallowed and turned away. “

We’d better get going, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll be late.”

Regan started to speak, but nothing came. Finally she nodded and followed him out

the door.

* * * * *

Burke had never been much for parties, and formal soirees made his skin crawl. He

was already tired of wearing the tuxedo. But, for whatever reason, he didn’t have the
urge to turn and run like hell out the door when he walked into the big banquet hall.
Maybe it was the prospect of looking at Regan all night. She looked like an angel. A
slinky, sexy, almost dangerously exposed angel, but still an angel.

The food certainly didn’t look promising. The front table featured caviar in several

bright arrangements. Pretty as it was, it was still fish eggs. Hoping they might have
something more palatable, and hoping food might take his mind off Regan’s dress, not
to mention the body it barely covered, Burke headed for the other hors d’oeuvres table.

They garnered more than a few stares, most directed at Regan. Not surprising.

Burke still hadn’t figured out exactly how much skin she was showing. The arrangement

of the ivory lace made it nearly impossible to tell. She cast a few careless smiles around
the room, waved to someone, then picked up a cracker and smeared it with red caviar.

“How can you eat that stuff?” Burke said, reaching for rumaki.
“Same way you can eat that nasty little liver wrapped in cholesterol.” She gave a

pretty little shudder, then bit into the cracker, obviously enjoying herself. Burke couldn’t
rein in a vague scowl. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Not having fun?”

“Not yet.”
He scanned the room, wondering if it was too much to ask for the handoff to take

place at the party. Warren and Marty were at the far end of the room. Burke wondered if
Marty might know anything about Warren’s business dealings, but she’d said he rarely
if ever talked to her about work.

He turned back toward Regan, which was the wrong thing to do, because of that

damned dress. She had picked up a plate and filled it with strawberries. As she lifted
one to her lips, closing them around the huge, red berry, Burke froze. The damn
strawberry was shaped exactly like the head of a cock. It was too easy to imagine her
mouth on him instead of the fruit, her tongue sliding, teeth nibbling, his cock slipping
past her lips, into her mouth, butting against the back of her throat…

“You want something to drink?” he snapped.
Regan jerked toward him. “Are you offering, or is it a rhetorical question?” she said,

her tone clipped with surprise and offense.

Burke pulled at his tie, which, along with the rest of his tuxedo, felt too tight,

especially in the crotch. “I’m offering.”

“Then I’ll have a fuzzy navel.”
“With or without jewelry?”
She rolled her eyes. “Without. And without ice, too, if you don’t mind.”
Burke stalked across the room to the bar, wondering if they had a bottle of whiskey

he could upend down his own throat. If he got drunk enough, maybe things would start
to make sense.

He settled on a Seven and Seven, and a sip told him they’d gone a bit heavy on the

Seven, as the whiskey burned his throat a little. Good. That was the way he liked it.
Looking at Regan’s drink, he could see the schnapps sitting at the bottom of the glass.
The bartender had been pretty generous there, too.

“Burke?”
The familiar voice sent him into further turmoil, then he calmed. Marty at least had

something to do with the case. Interrogation he could deal with. Schooling himself to
think of her as a source, or maybe an accomplice, he turned and smiled wide.

“Marty. You look lovely.”
She did, too, in a dark blue dress that covered her from neck to wrist to ankle and

concealed absolutely nothing. She sidled toward him—about the only move she could
accomplish in the tight sheath—her smile just a shade below blatant provocation.

“So do you, dear.” She slid a hand down his lapel. “Just wonderful. But you should

be carrying a martini.”

“Shaken not stirred?” Burke said, and she rewarded his lame joke with a tinkle of

laughter.

“He’s handsome and clever.” Then she smiled again, and this time it was a fresh,

honest smile, not the artificial attempt at seduction. “Well, maybe just handsome.”

Burke laughed. He couldn’t help liking this woman, in spite of the company she

kept. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

She made a pretty scowl and a vague gesture toward the other side of the room. “Off

somewhere. Another woman seems to have captured his eye.”

“I can’t imagine how.” Burke started back toward the hors d’oeuvres table and

Regan. Marty trailed after, the dress turning her walk into a swanky slink. On her it
looked absolutely natural, like the sleek movements of a big cat.

“You’re too sweet,” Marty said. They walked a few more steps, then she shrugged. “

Warren has a wandering eye. It’s just the way he is.”

“Do you think his wife knows?” Burke wasn’t certain why he’d said it, but Marty’s

reaction made him glad he had. Her mouth tightened and her eyes slid to one side.

“I had my suspicions,” she said, “and I assume you wouldn’t say that unless you

were sure.” She looked back at him, a question in her eyes that wasn’t quite a plea.

Burke nodded. “I’m sorry, Marty. Regan works with him. She found out the hard

way, herself.”

Marty “tsked.” “Poor thing. Must have been difficult for her.”
“What about you?”
Marty made a dismissive gesture. “I’m used to this kind of thing. I’m supremely bad

at judging the character of men.”

Burke nodded, but he knew she was brushing it off too easily. He could see the pain

in her eyes. He’d seen it a hundred times before, when he’d confronted mistresses, or
confirmed the infidelity of a husband to a suspicious wife. He’d even seen it in men’s
eyes from time to time, though they were better at hiding it.

They had reached the hors d’oeuvres table, and Burke found himself looking into

another familiar expression. This one was on Regan’s face, and if it had been loaded, he
would have dropped dead on the spot.

Jealousy. Definitely an interesting development.
“I hope you’ll save me a dance,” Marty said, touching Burke’s sleeve as she picked

through the plates of food. She avoided the caviar, Burke noticed.

Burke met her warm smile with one of his own, deliberately ignoring the increased

intensity of Regan’s glare. “It would be an honor.”

Marty looked back across the room then and frowned. Following her gaze, Burke

saw Warren. Warren gave Marty a perfunctory wave.

“I’d better go,” she said, returning the wave without enthusiasm. “Looks like he’s

been spurned.”

“So spurn him yourself,” Burke suggested.
Marty grinned. “I plan to soak him for a few hundred more bucks first.”
Burke laughed. Marty went refreshingly against stereotype, and Burke appreciated

that.

Apparently Regan didn’t.
“That was nice and cozy,” she said, her voice venomous.

Burke looked at her for a moment, fighting his initial impulse to egg her on and see

what would happen. He was fairly certain it wouldn’t take much for her to blow up into
a righteous fit. He’d seen her do it before, but that had been years ago, and he’d hoped
she’d grown out of it.

But this was more than a possible tantrum. Something darker, deeper, and more

adult lurked in her eyes. She was angry, yes, but he couldn’t tell what else was going on.

Finally he put his arm out and tucked her against him. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t

like her, but she might be able to help us. She’s not so keen on Warren as he’d like to
believe, and she just might bust him for us if we give her a chance.”

Regan blinked, fighting to keep her mouth from pouting. Not that she was

successful—her mouth pouted naturally. “Just save me a dance, too, all right?”

Burke gave her a squeeze. “Of course.”
She leaned into him, then pulled away and slipped into the crowd.

* * * * *

More than an hour later, Regan saw Burke dancing with Miss Bliss. He had her

tucked in a little too close, and she moved sinuously against him while he smiled,
chatted and seemed to be unaware of the huge bulge of her breasts pressed against his
chest.

Again Regan wondered at the depth of her own anger. She felt completely out of

control, as if the rage drove her without her input. Watching Burke with Bliss made her
understand how crimes of passion could be committed.

Her mind flashed with images of Burke arched over Bliss, sunk hard inside her,

riding her, and in that moment she felt like she could have torn Bliss’s chest open with
her bare hands. That body, those wide shoulders in that charcoal tux, that ass that
shaped the back of his pants, the cock that changed the drape in the front—those were
hers, dammit, and that bitch Bliss had no fucking business touching any of it.

She sipped her drink. She’d switched to Diet Coke after only two mixed drinks,

realizing the alcohol was intensifying her emotions. Then she’d found a place in the back
of the room where she could stand and nurse the Coke forever, trying to find the
equilibrium she seemed to have lost.

On the dance floor, Burke and Bliss circled a little closer. Burke looked up, saw

Regan and smiled. To her own surprise, Regan smiled back. Only after he’d turned
away again did a blush begin to creep up her chest and into her face. There’d been
warmth in Burke’s smile, of a kind she’d never seen before. Not from him. Not from
anybody, to tell the truth. And she began to understand.

She was tired of betrayals. Warren had betrayed her by lying to her about his wife,

about his intentions toward her, about everything. Now she was betraying her longtime
relationship with Burke by letting desire slip into the equation. Never mind if he felt the
same way—her wanting him turned everything inside out. Made everything wrong.

She leaned against the wall behind her, letting her head fall back, closing her eyes.

Why was it wrong? Burke was a decent guy, and good-looking. She could do worse.

And she had done worse. All her life. And Burke had always been there to bail her

out. A relationship with him would be walking into a tangled mess of control and power

trips. He’d never get past thinking of her as a kid. She’d never stop fighting for control of
her own life.

With a disgusted snort, she pushed herself away from the wall. Why was she even

thinking this way? Getting together with Burke wasn’t a possibility. It was stupid even
to think about it.

She turned to set down her drink on a nearby table and found herself in his arms.
“Are you ready for that dance now?”
She looked up at him and felt her body go hot and weak. Dumbly, she nodded. He

slid his arm around her waist, took her other hand in his, and moved her out onto the
dance floor.

A few seconds passed before she realized they were waltzing. Paul had taught her

to waltz, about a million years ago, during one of those rare times when they’d been
getting along. One of those times when they’d both felt terribly alone, and had needed
each other. Those times weren’t so rare, but the times when they led to siblingly
closeness were. Most of her relationship with Paul had involved arguing, fighting,
jockeying for dominance.

As had most of her relationship with Burke.
She stepped back away from him, because his nearness confused her. He looked

down at her questioningly.

“I’m sorry about… earlier.” Someone had to make the first move.
Burke nodded, but said nothing. Regan cleared her throat and tried another

approach. “Did she tell you anything useful?”

“Not really. He hasn’t talked to her much about work—she doesn’t even know for

sure what he does.”

“So we’ve hit another dead end.”
“Not necessarily. She’s also mighty angry with him. I told her you were interested in

setting Warren up for a fall, and she was more than willing to go along with that.”

“I guess she really isn’t so keen on him.”
“Apparently she was until she got here. Since he’s been here he’s hit on a half dozen

other women, and last night while they were having sex he called her Gloria.”

“She told you that?”
Burke grinned. “She’s a very open person.”
“A little too open,” Regan muttered.
Burke leaned back, trying to catch her gaze. “There we go again. Are you jealous?”
“Why would I be jealous?”
“I don’t know. Because she’s blonde and beautiful and makes heads turn?”
Regan started to break away. This was not what she wanted to hear from him. But he

caught her as she moved, pulling her back up against him. They were no longer
dancing, just standing near the edge of the dance floor, Regan rigid in Burke’s firm
grasp.

“Because if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, “you weren’t paying attention

when you walked into this room tonight. I don’t think there was a man in the place who
wasn’t staring at you.”

“That’s because I go out of my way to be shocking,” Regan said, averting her eyes.

Burke was skirting close to a compliment, but she didn’t want to hear it. If he said she
was beautiful, it wouldn’t mean any more than hearing Paul say it.

“No, it’s because you’re beautiful.”
She gave him a sour look and started to open her mouth to retort, then she couldn’t

say anything at all because he leaned down and kissed her. A soft kiss, not quite
passionate, far more than friendly.

He drew away and she stared at him. “What was that for?”
“For the hell of it,” said Burke, brittleness edging his voice.
She backed away, out of his arms, the kiss still branded in warmth on her mouth. “I

have to go to the ladies’ room.”

The bathroom had a lounge, and Regan managed to get to the couch in spite of the

weakness in her knees. Somebody had left a dog-eared book on the overly curlicued
table. Regan picked it up and opened it, staring at the pages without reading.

That kiss had been far too good. From any other man it would have been welcome,

especially if it had been accompanied by the volatile chemistry which had been
snapping between her and Burke since he’d arrived. But from Burke—

No, she had to admit it. From Burke it had also been welcome. Weird and confusing,

yes, but also gentle and beautiful and filled with a promise of something Regan had
never considered possible.

She closed her eyes and turned a page, just to hear the whisper of the paper. Her

mind went wandering through memories of Burke.

Of all the moments available, her mind decided to light upon the night her parents

had died. She started to block it out, to force her thoughts elsewhere, but then she let it
come. There was something there she needed to feel.

She’d been so happy for her parents that weekend. At least she hadn’t had to live

with the guilt of her last memories being a childish snit. They’d gone to L.A. so Regan’s
mother could attend an audition. She’d been an actress before Paul’s birth, and had
intended to go back into it, but there were always other priorities, and then Regan had
come along. It just wasn’t meant to be, she’d always said, usually while ruffling Regan’s
coppery hair, looking at her daughter with that unmistakable, melting look of love.

At least, then, Regan had never had to live with the fear of having been resented by

her parents. She’d often imagined what her mother would look like on screen, with her
red-gold hair and green eyes, and the figure she’d kept together even after two
pregnancies. So when she and Regan’s father had headed to L.A., it had been with Regan
’s blessing.

Her mother had called that night, late, before they’d started for home. Regan

remembered the lilting excitement in her voice. She didn’t think she was going to get the
part, but it had been so much fun.

Halfway home, a drunk driver had crossed the median.
After the knock on the door, when the police had come, much of that night was a

blur to Regan. Numbness, disbelief, tears, rage—she vaguely remembered striking a
uniformed chest over and over while the man’s voice droned on above her head—and
then, suddenly, Burke. Big, sober and quiet, just there, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Come with me,” he’d said. She and Paul had gone, neither of them thinking to

question.

They’d gone to his parents’ house. They looked so old, Regan thought. She didn’t

know the story then, but she would hear it later. Marguerite Burke and John Camden
had married late in life, so late they had assumed there would be no children. But Burke
had come. Regan remembered looking at them and thinking, God, they’re so old. Then,
Why are they still here and my parents aren’t? It was wrong. The old ones should be dead,
not her vibrant mother, her steady father.

Mrs. Camden had given Regan a cup of tea, and smiled so gently, with sadness

moist in her eyes. Regan took the cup and stared at it. Steam curled from the brown
surface, smelling of chamomile. Regan looked into it and saw her own face. Saw her
mother there. Her hand shook. Hot tea splashed out and scalded her. She threw the cup
to the floor and it shattered into shards of flower-spotted porcelain.

She ran then, not knowing where she was going. No one stopped her as she

slammed out the front door into a darkness starting to mist with rain. She kept going,
blindly, toward the street. The wet asphalt looked like a silent, unmoving river in the
starlight.

A hand closed on her arm before she reached the road, and Burke turned her around

to face him. She began to shake. The misty rain tasted salty on her lips. The air smelled
wet and alive.

“I’m here,” Burke said. “No matter what, I’m here.”
She had fallen into his arms then, just a twelve-year-old kid, torn apart and bleeding

from her soul. She’d felt his heartbeat against her face, and he’d squeezed her so tight
she’d lost her breath for a time.

It had felt so good to be in his arms. Safe, protected, as if nothing could ever hurt her

again.

It had felt that good tonight. Different, though. Grown up.
Feeling the tears begin to prickle again, Regan took a deep breath and let her head

fall back against the couch. Where was this all going? She didn’t want to know—wanted
to know desperately.

Finally, she looked back down at the book in her hands, which she hadn’t really

looked at when she’d picked it up. It was a recent bestseller, some kind of romantic epic,
if Regan remembered correctly. She’d never quite understood that kind of book. Maybe
now, after everything that had happened, it would finally make sense to her. Smiling
wryly, she turned back to the first page. Maybe she would even learn something.

Chapter Four

When Regan made her hasty departure, Burke started to follow, then stopped a yard

or so from the bathroom door, closed his eyes and took a long breath. It was probably
better that she’d escaped him. He had no idea what he would have said to her if she
hadn’t. Sorry I kissed you? That would be a lie. I want to make love to you? More honest, but
not the right thing to say. Not yet. It was a hopeless question with no good answer.

Finally he turned and headed back toward the party. He had no desire to dance with

anyone else, or to eat any more prissy finger food. But he should wait for Regan.

Finally Burke glanced at his watch and realized fifteen minutes had passed. What

could be taking her so long? While he frowned at the closed door, Marty happened by.

“Anything wrong?” she asked, catching his expression.
“I don’t know. Could you do me a favor?”
“Maybe.” She looked a little coy, but Burke was certain her concern was genuine.
“Regan’s in the ladies room. Could you check on her for me? Just see if she’s okay?”
“Sure. Did you two have a fight?”
Burke shook his head. “You know, I’m not even sure.”
Marty grinned and touched his arm. “That’s the way it is sometimes.”
She headed for the bathroom. A pretty brunette asked Burke to dance and he

politely declined. Everyone in the room seemed happy, gyrating to the buoyant music,
drinking, eating fish eggs on crackers. Nobody else seemed to be eaten up by turmoil.
Just him.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d kissed her. It had just seemed like the right thing to

do. But Regan’s reactions to his compliments and to his kiss had told him that the
conventional approach wouldn’t work with her. They had too much history between
them for him to make the same kind of advances he would make with another woman—
the kind of advances he’d made last night, which had obviously been a mistake. Nothing
but honesty would work.

Not that he hadn’t been honest when he’d told her she was beautiful. Not that the

kiss hadn’t been an honest expression of how he felt. But to get to the rest of it… he had
to figure it all out for himself first.

Marty came back out of the ladies’ room. “She’s in the lounge reading a book.”
“A book? Where’d she get a book?”
“I don’t know. Anyway, she doesn’t appear to be coming out any time soon.”
Burke should have been angry, but he wasn’t. He felt a little sad instead, and

frustrated. But he knew it was time to back off. “If you see her again, could you tell her I
went back to the cabin?”

“Sure.” Marty reached up and slipped a hand behind his neck, then pulled his head

down. Burke wasn’t sure what to expect, but he didn’t fight her. She placed a soft,
friendly kiss on his cheek. “Good luck,” she said. “Regan’s a good woman.”

A good woman, he thought later as he jerked a T-shirt over his head. He’d known

she was a good kid—had always known that even when he’d been chasing her down in
bars or holding her hair while she threw up beside his squad car. But a good woman—
that was something new.

But there was no denying it. Regan had grown up. And Burke, who had for years

wished she would straighten up so he could stay out of her life, now wanted back in it
in a big way. But was it the right way?

He sat down at his desk and gave his laptop a long, brow-knitted look, thinking he

could get some work done. There wasn’t much he could do right now, though, not until
they had more evidence. He decided instead to go for a run. That way he could think.

The evening breeze smelled like the ocean. He paused on the porch to stretch,

closing his eyes and thinking of the sound of gulls and the splash of the waves against

the dock, against the sides of a moored boat, of the movement of the deck beneath his
feet. He missed his own bed, the gentle rocking that put him to sleep at night, the sound
of the ocean and the smell of it. He thought Regan would understand that. Alicia
certainly hadn’t.

He didn’t think of Alicia often—not anymore—and when he did he was never quite

sure what to make of it. It had seemed a good thing at the time—a fiancée of old La Jolla
money, her father active in local politics, all possibly contributing in the long run to a
lucrative career path for Burke. But the case that had thrown them together had quickly
torn them apart.

It hadn’t just been the case, though. Burke knew that now, and, if he was honest with

himself, he’d known it then.

He started his run, jogging out onto the trails under the silvery moonlight and the

added brightness of streetlights set along the path. They were too bright, Burke thought,
and the atmosphere would have been nicer without them. Not as safe, though, the cop in
him conceded, and he jogged from pool to pool of too-bright light. On the other hand,
not too many muggers out here.

His hamstrings felt too tight even after the stretching session, and his shins hurt a

little. He eased up his pace. He was worn and torn, he thought, walking on the edge of
old.

Regan was young. Fresh. Nowhere near a mid-life crisis.
Regan was also very much Regan.
Burke pressed his forearm against his forehead as he ran, feeling the sweat

beginning to accumulate. He thought about Alicia again but somehow not so much
about Alicia as about Regan.

There had always been some hesitation in his relationship with Alicia. As if he stood

right on the brink but could never quite take that final step. He’d bought her a ring but
they’d never set a date. They’d talked about married life but never discussed the details.
Something had held them apart even before the case had blown up in his face.

Occasionally, Burke had wondered what that something had been. Usually it was

when he had begun that tangled process of beginning a relationship with another
woman, and found himself again unable to take those last few steps that would put him
on the path of commitment.

Burke’s breathing had settled into a steady, even pattern. He slowed down a little.

His hamstrings had finally loosened up. He took longer strides, feeling his hip joints
work. It felt good, as if someone had oiled the stiffness out of him. He turned a corner
that would take him on a long loop back to the cabin.

There had been one night, he thought, ages ago, when for a moment he’d thought he’

d understood things about himself, about where his life would take him. But he had
pushed that moment away, its implications too difficult, too disturbing.

Regan had been thirteen. Teetering on the edge of womanhood and teetering alone.

She needed her mother, Burke had thought. Someone to explain to her why the
hormones raging through her system had her crying one minute and howling with
laughter the next. She needed to understand that, any day now, she would take that last
step into puberty. Then, in a few weeks, she could laugh it all off as PMS.

Burke hadn’t come by this knowledge automatically, of course. Seeing Paul at his

wit’s end with his Jekyll-and-Hyde sister, Burke had gone to the library and checked out
a few books with hideously embarrassing titles like, What’s Happening to my Body? For
Girls, and How You Become a Woman. He’d read them behind closed doors, then had gone
on with his life, visiting the O’Rourkes, pretending he didn’t now hold this heavy, secret
knowledge and waiting for the opportunity to use that knowledge for good.

The opportunity had come during a fairly routine dinner visit that had suddenly

turned ugly. It had taken only a brief, careless comment from Paul, something about
Regan maybe wanting to borrow some pimple cream to take care of that thing on her
nose.

She’d stormed out, nearly screaming with anger, shooting tears. Burke gave Paul an

arched look, then pushed away from the table and followed her into the back yard.

She was sitting on a patio chair, face in her hands, sobbing. The wrenching sound of

it made Burke wonder if he should have followed, if perhaps he should turn around and
go back inside, leaving her alone with her tears, the moonlight, and a few shreds of
pubescent dignity.

In the end, he didn’t leave. He pulled up another chair and sat down next to her. He

laid a hand on her shuddering shoulder—a big hand, he noticed, brown-skinned from
the sun and cloddish against her smallness.

“It’s hard to believe this now,” he said gently, “but it will be all right.”
“Oh, Burke,” she sobbed, lifting her face so he could see the thick sheen of tears that

covered it. “You are such a freaking idiot.”

And then she’d leaned toward him and buried her face in his chest to sob. Words

came out here and there but nothing he could make sense of. Something about Paul.
Something about her skin being too small. Something about her mother.

Finally she’d cried herself out and simply hung there, her face against his broad

chest. Burke had pushed her hair back, tilted her face up to look at her. He wanted to see
in her eyes that she was all right.

What he saw was something else entirely. The moonlight lined her face and showed

him something strange—a woman’s face, yet still Regan’s face. It was the woman she
would become in a few years, exposed by the light of a full, turgid moon.

Burke knew that woman. In a strange, heart-piercing flash, he recognized her. Not

just because she was Regan, but because of something else, something moving beneath
the surface that needed time to grow and blossom and become.

Wait, it had said to him. Wait for me.
And ever since then, whether he’d been aware of it or not, he’d been waiting. Now

the waiting was over. It was up to him to reach out to that something which was Regan
grown, Regan desirable, Regan the source of this ache which had devoured his body
and now set to work on his soul.

In a way it seemed wrong, but he knew it was right. Had known that strange night

eleven years ago, but had pushed it aside because she was just a kid, and how could he
possibly have feelings of any non-platonic sort for a kid? But what he had felt hadn’t
been wrong, or perverted, or even sexual. It had just been there. It had been fate.

He stopped by the cabin door. The lights were on—Regan had come back. Burke

stood for a moment on the step, feeling and smelling the sea-scented breeze. Then he
opened the door and went inside.

She must have walked in the door just ahead of him; she still held her little purse

and turned it in her hands as she smiled weakly up at him.

“So where did you run off to?” Her voice was mild, holding no accusation, but

edged with embarrassment, as if she were admitting she’d deserved his abandonment.

“I went for a jog,” Burke said. He returned her smile as best he could, knowing his

effort to be shaky at best.

Regan’s gaze slid away from his. She turned to lay her purse down on the bedside

table. The light shimmered along the lace of her dress. Again Burke wondered how
much of what he saw was lace and netting, how much bare flesh. His memory flashed a
picture of what she’d looked like naked and easy on the beach. His hands ached to touch
her. He could feel her heat on his fingers, the memory of penetration.

She looked back up at him. “I’m sorry about… before. It was— I mean, it just— It

was stupid, that’s all. Rude. Just… stupid.”

“It’s all right,” he said. He opened his arms. “Truce?”
She nodded, sheepish, and walked into his arms. Burke shifted, pulled her a little

closer and then stopped.

Regan’s head lay against his chest and she was very still. Then her arms came

around him, her hands slipping under his T-shirt to touch his skin. Her hands were
small and hot, like soft flame licking his skin.

It was Burke’s turn to be still, absorbing the feel of her palms on his back. Her small

form began to tremble in his arms, like a captured bird.

Burke reached up, cupping his hand at the back of her neck and gathering her thick,

red hair into his fist. Then he pulled down, gently, turning her face up to his.

Her expression was soft and open, inviting. As he looked down at her she closed her

eyes and her lips parted. Burke needed no further encouragement.

The first kiss had been spontaneous, a spur-of-the moment test to see how she

would react. Her response had been much as he’d expected—willing, then unsure.
There was no way for this not to be confusing. But Burke had never felt so strongly for a
woman.

Now Regan’s mouth moved softly against his as he began his tentative exploration.

Her hands moved up his back, tracing the muscles on either side of his spine, her fingers
finding the spaces between his ribs. No woman’s touch had ever set him so on fire. This
was a mistake. He couldn’t stop with just the kiss. Not with her so obviously willing. He
picked her up and carried her to the bed where he’d spent the last two nights aching for
her. She writhed under him and he found the hem of her lace dress, yanked it up.
Something tore, the lace too fragile to survive his lustful urgency.

She was naked under the lace, and she opened all her hot, wet secrets to him as he

lowered himself over her. He kissed her hard, drawing in the heat of her mouth while
his fingers found the heat of her sex. She tasted of alcohol and woman. A soft sound rose
from her throat as her tongue met his, dancing, caressing…

Alcohol.
How much had she had to drink? He hadn’t kept track, and he hadn’t seen what she

might have had after he’d left. She hadn’t seemed drunk, but she might have had enough
to cloud her judgment, or her responses. She pressed closer to him, into his kiss.
Carefully, he drew away from her.

She looked up at him, eyes clouded with passion, only gradually dissipating in

surprise.

“What?” she said.
“Are you sure?”
The surprise in her eyes changed to understanding. Behind it was sadness, and

before she looked away Burke thought he saw a flash of anger. She writhed under him
again, this time getting away, pulling the torn lace of her dress back into place. Pushing
out from under him, off the bed, she took a few steps across the room.

“I don’t know,” she said after a moment. She turned back toward him, her face under

control again. “I don’t know, Burke. I just don’t know what’s going on here.” She took a
step toward him, then back, then stepped to him again, touching his chest. “I don’t know
what I’m feeling. I don’t understand why things have changed.” Again she moved away,
several steps this time, and folded her arms over her breasts. “This is too fast.”

Burke shook his head, though he understood what she meant. “I’ve known you

since you were born.”

“Not like this.”
She stood looking at him, her face unable to hide the anguish of her confusion.

Finally he lifted his hand, helpless, unsure what to say.

“Look,” he finally said. “I’ll go take a shower. You have a couple of cups of coffee,

clear your head, then when I’m done, we’ll talk.”

“Talk?”
“Just talk.”
He headed for the bathroom.
“What do you mean clear my head?” Regan said as he moved by her.
“You tasted a little tipsy.” He shrugged, smiled a little. “I’ll be done in a half hour

or so.”

He closed the door gently behind him. Regan stood staring at it for a moment, then

stepped out of her heels.

She wiggled out of the tight lace dress and put the ring back in her navel. Then she

looked at herself in the mirror by the bed, at her red hair and porcelain skin, at the tattoo
curving above her right breast. It had never occurred to her to wonder what Burke might
think of the ring, or the tattoo. Paul hated them, she knew. But they made her feel
powerful, deeply rooted in her own femininity and her own self. Was it too much to
hope that Burke might be able to accept her for exactly what she was?

She went back to her bed and pulled on her nightgown. She would have preferred to

wear nothing but now it seemed awkward. Never before had she felt so strange in her
own skin. Her body seemed to know what it wanted, and had no qualms about reaching
for it, with or without her permission. She needed to tame it, cover it, so she could
control it.

In the kitchenette, she brewed coffee. Much as she hated to admit it, Burke’s advice

had been good. She wasn’t drunk, but she’d had a little more to drink than she’d
allowed herself recently. It was another issue of control. She’d lost control a few too
many times in her hoyden days, drinking herself silly, getting herself into trouble. Burke
had always been there to pick up the pieces.

Now control had become imperative. Paul had taken too much of it away—now she

grabbed it with both hands whenever the opportunity arose. Which meant moderation
with alcohol. Which meant no fucking men she had no business fucking.

But Burke, as usual, had steered her down the right path. What other man would

have backed away, based only on the possibility she might be fogged by alcohol?
Especially once he’d gotten her half-undressed, gotten his fingers inside her. But he’d
backed away, and not because he’d wanted to.

She supposed she should have been grateful, but instead it made her angry. He was

controlling her again, making sure she didn’t get into trouble.

Well, maybe she wanted to get into trouble. Maybe she wanted be screwed

senseless by this man who up until a few days ago had been the last man she would
have picked as a potential lover. Maybe she just wanted a test ride. What could it hurt?

She poured coffee and drank it black. It was decent coffee—and it had better be,

Regan thought, for the price she’d shelled out for this room. The caffeine hit her hard,
making her dizzy. So much for clearing her head. She went to the couch and sat down.
Tired, confused, muddled, and not in much of a coffee mood, she closed her eyes.

A moment later the bathroom door opened. She looked up to see Burke, hair wet,

moving quietly toward the bed. Awfully short shower, Regan thought, then her eyes
found the clock. A half-hour had passed. She must have fallen asleep, but it hadn’t felt
like that. It had felt like she’d just closed her eyes, then time had folded and Burke had
walked into the room.

“You’re done,” she said, her voice rough.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“I didn’t think I was asleep.”
He smiled a little. He looked tired. “Do you feel any better?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I think I need to sleep.”
“Then sleep.”
“No. You said we’d talk.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but in the end he didn’t. He came to the couch

and sat next to her. “You’re right. I did.”

Regan looked away from him, suddenly unsure what to say. “ I think… ” She forced

her eyes back to his face. “I think this is an artificial situation. We’ve been thrown
together into close quarters and sometimes things just get… weird when that happens.”

Burke nodded slowly. “So you want to cool it?” If she hadn’t been looking, Regan

might have missed the disappointment in his eyes.

“Yeah.” She stood up, crossing the small room in four strides. “Whatever’s going on,

I don’t think we should pursue it.” She turned back toward him, twisting her hands
together, desperately trying to think of something else to say before she told Burke all
she really wanted was to take him to bed. “I really do need some sleep. I’ll uh… I’ll see
you in the morning.”

“Yeah. In the morning.”

Chapter Five

She was right, of course, but that didn’t help Burke sleep any better. He couldn’t

stop thinking about the way she’d felt under him, the way she’d tasted. He dreamed
about her, dancing in that lace dress, writhing under him half-out of it.

He woke as soon as the room began to lighten and watched the growing sunlight

touch her face. She lay with her hands curled against her cheek, her mouth pouting. The
blankets had hitched down below her breasts, and the flimsy nightgown did little to
disguise their curves, or the dark circles of areolae, the softly pebbled nipples.

She was right. They’d been thrown together into close quarters, and weird things

were happening. He should have left right at the beginning, not let himself mistake Paul
for his conscience. His only choice now was to wrap up the case as quickly as possible,
go home, and let things go back to what they had been before.

Trouble was, he would never be able to look at her the same way again.
He’d gotten a good run last night, but it seemed prudent to head out again, to jog

his body into some form of submission. So he slipped out of the cabin, leaving her
asleep. He was looser this morning after last night’s workout, not tight and sore as he’d
expected. Maybe he wasn’t as old as he’d thought.

The trail was different in the daylight, bright and warm, a breeze cooling him even

as exertion brought out a gleam of sweat on his skin. Vacationers were out here and
there, some on the trail, some lounging on their porches.

He hadn’t realized the path he’d taken last night went past Warren’s cabin. It almost

didn’t register this morning, until he saw Marty lean over the rail and wave to him. He
waved back, then realized she’d changed her “hello” wave to a beckoning one. Burke
raised his eyebrows questioningly, slowing his pace. Marty nodded and waved him
over again.

He veered off the path and joined Marty on the porch. She was frighteningly chipper

for the hour, wearing bright flowered shorts and a crop top along with her bright smile.

“Good morning,” Burke said, standing at the base of the porch steps.
“Hi,” said Marty. “Come on up. Warren headed out for an early volleyball game. I

think that slutty little barely-pubescent tart from last night invited him.” She rattled off
the accusation in a remarkably perky voice. “He’s a pig. Did I tell you that?”

Burke smiled, admiring her fortitude as well as her humor. Stripper or no, she was a

nice woman. “Yeah, I think you mentioned it. So did Regan, as a matter of fact.”

He glanced over his shoulder, almost afraid the mention of her name would invoke

her. He had some doubt about what her reaction to this meeting might be.

Marty gave a wry smile. “Well, I might deserve to get stuck with a pig, but Regan

certainly doesn’t.” She pushed the door open and waved for Burke to follow her. “We
might as well take advantage of the moment,” she said. “If there’s anything here that can

help you out, this is the perfect time to see about hunting it up.”

Inside all was quiet. No sign of Warren, except for a collection of his dirty clothes

strewn across one of the beds. “Sorry about the mess.”

Burke stepped past her, automatically scanning the room for Warren’s computer.

But, although the investigative track ran foremost in his mind, other things were moving
through, as well.

“Now, why would you think you deserve to get stuck with a pig? Particularly a pig

like Warren?”

He turned to face Marty, brows raised. Warmth had filled her blue eyes, but it was

laced with regret, and maybe a little pain. Burke frowned, wondering what exactly was
going on here, and if he’d stepped into something he should have made more effort to
avoid.

But Marty only closed the door behind her and leaned against it, hands behind her

back, probably folded around the doorknob.

“I was married once,” she said quietly. “I didn’t let it put any limits on me, if you

know what I mean. So I suppose it’s only fair that I fall into the same trap I set for all
those men, way back when.”

“It can’t have been that long ago,” Burke said.
He sat down at the desk, opening Warren’s laptop and turning it on.
Marty laughed, the sound like drops of crystal. Burke looked over his shoulder at

her, surprised at the girlish openness in her face.

“Bless you,” she said. “But I daresay I’m nearly as old as you are.”
Burke grinned. “Well, I’m not ready to cash in my chips, so I’d say you’re probably

still in pretty good shape.”

“I should hope so.”
She came to stand behind him, leaning over his shoulder to look at the computer

monitor. The computer had finished booting, and Burke was looking through the
directories, trying to find anything that looked incriminating. Her smell drifted over him
as she joined him—a floral perfume that would have been easy to overdo. She hadn’t,
though.

Burke let himself draw the odor in, finding himself wondering what kind of

perfume would smell good on Regan. Something spicy, he thought, with a bite to it.

He shook his head. In another time, another situation, he might have pursued the

vague electricity he felt between himself and Marty. But he was old enough to realize it
was purely physical, and that it wouldn’t last.

Regan, on the other hand—
He shook his head again to dispel that thought. It was still too strange, too new, to

think of Regan in those terms. Plus he’d promised her he’d leave it alone. He couldn’t
set it aside for very long, though. What flowed between them was just too thick to
ignore.

“Find anything?”
Burke jerked himself back to the present, surprised to see that his hand had kept the

mouse moving, apparently on automatic, searching the directories. The one he’d just
tried to open was asking for a password.

“This looks suspicious,” he said. “Now if I only knew the password.”
Marty picked up a book from the desk—Net-Surfing for Bozos. She opened it and

withdrew a yellow sticky note from inside. “Try this,” she said. “It’s his Internet
password, I think.”

Burke gave her a look. “He keeps it written down?”
“He’s not just a pig—he has an ego so big it’s indistinguishable from stupidity.”
“Let’s hope he’s dumb enough to use the same password on everything.” He typed

the password in. “‘Don Juan.’ I see what you mean by the ego.”

To no one’s particular surprise, the directory opened, displaying an array of files

which Burke was certain Warren had no business possessing. He picked up a disk from
the desk, popped it in and started copying.

“He’s even dumber than we thought,” he told Marty, who laughed.
“He couldn’t be much dumber than I thought,” she said. “Not at this point”
Burke turned to look at her while the computer saw to its copying. “Why did you

come here with him, if you dislike him so much?”

Marty shrugged. “I had my suspicions about him, and it’s been my experience that a

place like this is a good test of a man. If he sticks by you, he’s all right. If his eyes go
a-roving, then you’re better off elsewhere.”

Burke nodded. The disk was full. He switched disks and started another copy

process. “And his eyes have definitely been a-roving.”

“If his eyes roved any further, I don’t think he’d be able to get them back.” She

sighed. “I was afraid of that, but I had my hopes.”

“I’m sorry,” said Burke, and he truly was. Like Regan, Marty deserved much better

than Warren.

Marty shrugged. “Oh, well. Apparently I’ll have my revenge.”
The twinkle in her eyes was mostly mischievous, but there was enough malice in it

to make Burke certain he never wanted to cross this woman’s path the wrong way. In
that way, she was very much like Regan.

“Yours haven’t, though,” Marty went on.
“What?” Burke frowned, not certain what she meant.
“Your eyes. They haven’t roved.”
Burke cocked an eyebrow. “Roved from who?”
“From whom,” Marty corrected, with an utterly charming smile. “From Regan, of

course.”

“I don’t— Regan’s not—” He stopped, not certain what he’d intended to say, even

less certain it would have been the truth.

“Sure she’s not.” She chucked him in the shoulder in a gesture entirely friendly and

not at all seductive. “Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Burke’s mouth set in a tight line and he switched disks again, directing the

computer to copy the last of the files. “I’ve known Regan forever. It’s never been like
that.”

“She’s grown up. Feelings change.” She paused, looking at him. Burke looked back

and found her gaze to be far more evaluating—and potentially perceptive—than he was

at all comfortable with. “Why are you holding back?”

“I don’t know.” He popped the disk out, closed up the directories and shut down

the computer. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Her hand closed on his shoulder, warm, comforting, and still not at all seductive. It

wasn’t what he’d expected of her. She’d seemed like the man-eater type, who would take
whatever she saw if she liked it, regardless of what attachments might already exist. But
in the last few minutes she’d offered a more genuine, uncomplicated friendship than
Burke had encountered in a long time.

“Don’t think yourself out of something good,” she said gently. “There are times

when thinking’s not the greatest idea, and this is one of them.”

Burke pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward the door. “This from the

woman whose boyfriend’s eyes are a-roving.” It was mean, he knew, but she was
making him uncomfortable. Honest offers of friendship often did that to him.

She only smiled. “I never said I practiced what I preached. But I can see what’s

happening between you two, and I think you’d be a fool to turn your back on it.”

Burke grabbed the doorknob, twisting it harder than necessary. “It’s complicated.”
“The best relationships always are.”
She stepped past him out the door. He followed, and as they stood on the porch, she

put her hand on one of his cheeks, then rose on her toes to kiss the other.

“Best of luck,” she said. “I hope you nail Warren’s ass to the wall.”
Burke smiled, realizing he would be wise to loosen up. She meant well, after all,

and she’d been a great help. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll try not to ask anything more of you,
but this will help us out a lot.” He waved the disks. “Maybe we’ll see you at dinner.”

“I hope so.”
He touched her hand and stepped off the porch, then turned away, wondering if

Regan would be waiting for him.

* * * * *

Well, this was just perfect. Just frigging perfect.
Regan had awakened and stepped out onto the porch to test the morning air,

wondering where Burke might have gotten off to. Standing in the bright morning in
nothing but her nightgown, she glanced down the row of cabins to see Burke stepping
away from the porch of the cabin where Warren and his little stripper friend had been
fornicating.

Trust a man to be totally unable to see past the boobs, fake or not.
Her jaw began to ache and she realized her teeth were clenched. Carefully, she

loosened them, but the knot that had grown in her chest wouldn’t follow suit. It was full
of unreasoned fury, and green as it could be. She couldn’t stop to see the illogic of it.
Burke wasn’t hers, so why would she be jealous?

Burke resumed his morning jog, heading toward the shorter loop of the trail, and

Miss Bliss stepped back into her cabin, closing the door behind her. Regan’s teeth
clenched again. Without pausing to think about it, she stalked up the sidewalk to Bliss’s
front door.

She banged on the door far harder than necessary. Fist stinging, she waited. Bliss

opened the door. Regan shoved past it, stopping just short of pushing Bliss back into the
room.

“Couldn’t stand it, could you?” Regan snarled.
Bliss took a step back, safely out of range if Regan decided to swing at her, which

Regan was seriously considering.

“Regan, I’d suggest you calm down, or I’m going to have to call security.” Bliss’s

calm, even voice managed to get through to Regan, who took a deep breath and closed
her eyes a moment.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Then they can throw me out and you’ll have him all to

yourself.”

Bliss shook her head. “I’m sorry, Regan, but you seem to have things greatly

misconstrued.”

Regan stared at her. What the hell was a stripper doing using a word like “

misconstrued?” “Wasn’t one of my leftovers enough for you? You took Warren and now
you have to try for Burke, too?”

Anger flashed in Bliss’s eyes, and Regan knew she’d pushed the right button. But

she wasn’t sure Bliss deserved it.

“You’d already dumped Warren when I ran across him, and, as far as I can tell, you

and Burke are hardly an item. So maybe I’ve picked up one of your leftovers—and
believe me, I regret it—but as far as Burke goes, maybe I’m just smart enough to see
what you’re too stubborn and blind to figure out.”

Regan had never wanted to hit someone so much in her whole life, and she wasn’t

entirely certain how she managed not to do it. But her hands curled back into fists at her
sides, and she struggled to speak past the lump of rage in her throat.

“You stay away from him.”
For a moment the anger and energy crackled between them like lightning. Then, to

Regan’s befuddlement, Bliss laughed.

“That’s what I thought.” She reached out to Regan, cupping her shoulder in an

almost motherly gesture. “You and Burke, you’re both fighting it so hard it’s going to
kill you if you’re not careful.”

Regan’s rage fell away, replaced by a confused helplessness. She knew what Bliss

meant, but she wouldn’t acknowledge it. She couldn’t.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” Bliss stepped away, toward the kitchenette. “Would you like

something to drink?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Regan paused. “But thank you.”
Bliss tossed her a smile, then opened the refrigerator, withdrawing a cardboard

quart of orange juice. “You know, if I thought I had any chance at all, I wouldn’t hesitate
to pursue your Burke. He’s exactly the kind of man every woman would like to find
wrapped up in her quilts every morning. I don’t know why you’re fighting it so hard.”

Fighting what? Regan almost said, but she knew. And she wasn’t entirely sure why

she was, either. Except that Burke was Burke, had always been Burke and would always
be Burke. She couldn’t think of him as a lover, though her heart could feel it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words off her tongue before she realized she’d meant to

speak them. “I shouldn’t have come barging in here like this. You were right—I
misconstrued.”

Bliss smiled as she swigged straight from the orange juice container. “Don’t worry

about it.”

Regan managed a small smile. “Thanks for, um, not calling security.”
Bliss grinned. “Next time I’ll call them before you come in the door.”
Sheepish, Regan headed back to her cabin. Burke would be back by now, she was

certain. She started down the sidewalk.

What would he say? Would he admit to having seen Bliss or not? Regan wasn’t sure

what she would do or say either way. The emotions that had taken her over were
tumultuous and strange, and they hurt.

She stopped in front of the cabin door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Burke was straddling a chair at the desk, the computer humming as it booted. He

looked up as she came in.

“Regan, you’re back,” he said. “Great. Come here and look at this and see if you can

tell me what it is.”

Regan came to stand behind him, leaning over his shoulder to look at the laptop. “It’

s code for TeleStar,” she said, her stomach going cold and empty. “Where did you get it?
”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and Regan held her breath.
“Our new cohort in crime,” he said. “Marty let me into her cabin and I copied the

files off Warren’s computer.” He laughed, but there was little amusement in it. “He
really screwed up when he pissed her off, let me tell you.”

Slowly, Regan let her breath out. He hadn’t lied to her. For no reason she

understood, except that she suddenly needed to touch him, she laid a hand on his
shoulder.

He stilled as she touched him, then his shoulder moved a little under her fingers.
“At least now we have something to go on,” he said, his voice quieter than it had

been before.

“Not enough,” Regan answered. Her own voice felt thick. “We need to know who he

’s passing it to, and when.”

“Yeah.” Burke paged through the code. Regan wondered what he was looking for, if

anything—she knew he couldn’t read it. Finally he closed off the file. “Well, we’re not
going to find it here. Let’s go grab some breakfast.”

* * * * *

Although they’d found proof of Warren’s crime, and it looked like Regan’s initially

impulsive, mostly unfounded suspicions were leading to a real case, Regan couldn’t be
happy about it. Instead she was unsettled enough she couldn’t finish her breakfast.
Disturbed enough to bow out of a volleyball game she should have enjoyed. So she
went for a walk while Burke, apparently undisturbed, wowed the other volleyballers
with his wicked serve.

The feelings Burke had stirred up in Regan had confused her enough—now she

found herself facing a similar mish-mash about Warren. She was angry about what he

had done to her, no question of that, but now that she’d found a route to revenge, she
wasn’t sure she could follow through. Never mind he’d asked for it, that he’d actually
broken several laws and endangered the livelihoods of everyone who worked at or held
any stake in Markham Telecomm. What would happen to him now wouldn’t just
embarrass or humiliate him. It would literally destroy his life.

It was a good thing, she supposed, that she’d called Burke in and let him stay. He

could do what needed to be done without the hindrance of emotional involvement. It
was hard to admit it, but Regan, working alone, probably would have backed off.
Emotional impetuousness could only carry her so far.

The same held true, she thought, with Burke. Impetuousness, acting on the basis of a

physical response, could only take her so far. She had to put a stop to it before it got too
complicated.

But there was still that small part of her that wondered what it would be like to carry

their relationship farther. That wondered what it would feel like to take him inside her.
To ride him until he begged for mercy. That did more than wonder—that wanted to find
out—

She was trapped in the thought, feeling heat build under her skin, when a hand

caught her shoulder. She jumped sideways so abruptly she ended up hopping off the
side of the sidewalk.

“Oh, my goodness!” Marty came to a stop just behind Regan on the sidewalk. Regan

regained her composure with some difficulty. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Marty went
on. “Though, as absorbed as you looked, I guess I should have been more careful.”

“It’s okay,” Regan said, summoning a sheepish smile. “You’re right. I was in outer

space.”

Marty’s answering smile was friendly. She took a step closer and spoke in an

undertone. “Did the information Burke got this morning help you any at all?”

“Yes. Yes, very much.” Regan lowered her voice to match Marty’s. “It’s related to a

highly restricted project. Now if we could just figure out who he’s passing it off to and
when… ”

“I might be able to help you with that.” Marty edged closer, laying a hand on Regan’

s arm. “I heard him on the phone earlier today, talking about meeting someone after
dinner. He hasn’t said anything to me about it, so I have to assume I wasn’t meant to
hear.”

“After dinner?”
“We’ve been going to the late seating, so it would be eleven-thirty at the earliest,

probably closer to midnight.” She grinned. “Maybe you should stake out our cabin.”

Regan grinned back. “Actually, that sounds like a really good idea.”
Marty patted her shoulder. “Go for it.”
“I think I will,” said Regan, and went on her way.

Chapter Six

Regan was standing watch at the window when, at eleven twenty-five, the lights

flipped on in Warren and Marty’s cabin.

“It’s showtime,” she announced.
Burke looked up from where he had been preparing his cameras. He had a

camcorder as well as a thirty-five millimeter camera with a telephoto lens, both
equipped with night vision attachments.

“Are you ready?” Regan asked.
“Absolutely.” He stood, sliding the camera strap over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
A thrum of excitement began under Regan’s breastbone as she grabbed the

camcorder and tailed Burke to the door. Burke, too, was taut and intense.

The humming tension had begun when Regan had relayed the information she’d

gotten from Marty. Burke had immediately energized, and the effect had spread quickly
to Regan. They were onto something real here, and apparently it had fired up Burke’s
investigative engines.

Regan had never seen him lit like this. In spite of her own misgivings, she was

enjoying it. It was sexy. Add the sway of his hips in those tight jeans, and the resolutions
she’d made earlier seemed hasty and ill-considered. Her sex had gone hot and damp,
remembering the invasion of his long fingers. It was hard to ignore, but she pushed it
back. She had to think about business right now.

They slipped silently across the small lawns, down the sidewalk, then took quick

refuge in the bushes under the cabin window. Burke levered himself up on the outside
sill while Regan made herself small next to the bush.

“What’s going on?” she asked after a moment.
Burke hesitated, then cleared his throat and lowered himself to the ground. “

Well… whenever the handoff is, I don’t think it’ll be any time soon.”

Regan peered at his face and was surprised to see embarrassment there, discernable

even through the darkness.

He averted his eyes. “It’s hard to tell exactly what’s going on through the curtains,

but I’m seeing an awful lot of bare flesh.”

Regan’s own face went hot, not so much from the thought of Marty and Warren

cavorting, but from other images that sprang into her mind, involving Burke stripped
and sweating.

“This is weird,” she muttered. “Maybe we should go.”
She shifted, but Burke’s hand on her arm stopped her.
“She told you to stake the place out, right?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then she knows we’re here. Besides, I can’t see much through the window, and it’s

not like I’m going to hang on the sill or anything. We’ll just wait until Warren leaves,
then follow him.”

He was right, of course. Feeling sheepish and out of her depth, she muttered, “This

is just weird.”

Burke gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. “I know what you mean. I’ve done

stake-outs like this a million times, usually with the express purpose of catching people

naked together, but it’s never been anyone I knew.” He settled down next to her behind
the bushes. Out of the edges of his eyes, he again gave her that odd look. “I guess it’s
even weirder for you, since you… ?”

Regan gave him a dark look. “Since I what? Since I slept with him? Well, I didn’t, but

it’s still weird.”

Burke was silent for a moment. Something in him seemed to ease. “I’m glad. I

just… I couldn’t imagine you with him. I mean, I could, but, frankly, it made me sick.”

“If it’s any consolation, that thought makes me sick, too.”
“Actually, imagining you… with… anybody makes me sick.”
Even with you? The words almost fell off her lips, but at the last moment she took

refuge in offense. “Burke, I’m twenty-six.”

Burke rubbed his upper lip, still not looking at her. “What did you see in him,

anyway?”

Regan shrugged, not wanting to dredge up the memories. “He’s smart and

attractive. He’s charming on the surface, until you meet Mr. Ego. He likes to spend
money on his girlfriends, which can be flattering—and fun—and he never asked for a
commitment. At the time, it seemed like what I wanted.”

Finally, she looked at him. He, too, had turned, so that their gazes locked as she

shifted. Even in the darkness she could see the strange intensity in his expression. She
could not, however, interpret it. It was dark but threaded with heat, and made a molten
trail down her back and belly. She felt a need to say something just to change the mood.

“You were engaged once, weren’t you?” She wasn’t sure where that had come from,

except that as long as they were airing all her dirty laundry they might as well air some
of his, too.

Burke nodded. “Yeah. That was a while ago.”
“She was one of those high-class La Jolla bitches, wasn’t she?”
Burke quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I wouldn’t put it quite that way—” He stopped,

then grinned. “Then again, maybe I would.” Regan had to echo the smile—it was one of
those that created a feeling of instant connection. The melting feeling returned, but it
was more comfortable, like something that had been sitting under her skin for a long
time.

“Alicia,” Burke said. “Her name was Alicia. She was—well-familied.”
“Like I said. A high-class bitch. So what did you see in her?”
“Her father was going to make me chief of police.”
Regan thought about that for a moment, and realized she knew Burke well enough

to know he never could have followed that path and been happy.

“Not what you wanted.” Her quiet voice held too much warmth as she realized she

probably knew more about him than Alicia ever had. It made her feel good, but she didn
’t want to feel good. Not about this.

“No. Not at all. I mean, there were other things, but in the end we just weren’

t… right.”

Regan looked up at the window behind them. The lights were still on, but had been

dimmed.

“So what happened?”

His hesitation surprised her. Regan tried to interpret the currents while she waited.
“A case happened,” he said finally. “A friend of hers was murdered—well, not

really a friend, I guess, but somebody she knew. You might have heard about it. She was
the daughter of somebody on the mayor’s staff.”

Regan nodded. “I remember.” It had been a nasty case, as she recalled. The girl had

gotten into drugs and ended up paying for it with her life. Regan had been nineteen at
the time, and she remembered thinking, There but for the grace of God—and Burke. “I didn’t
know you were involved in that case.”

Burke nodded, his eyes distant. “Alicia’s father made sure I was. It was a

high-profile case—a perfect stepping stone for me to walk on my way to a higher office.”
He shook his head. “It seemed like that was the only thing that mattered. A beautiful
woman was dead and the only thing they seemed to see was how I could work the
situation to my benefit. Then when we found out who did it—”

“That’s right. It was that guy, what’s-his-face, that you and Paul used to hang out

with.”

“Yeah. He was fine in high school, but then he got into dealing. I’d tried to arrest

him before, but I’d never been able to get enough evidence. I never dreamed he’d kill
anybody, though.” He paused, glanced back up toward the window, then back down at
his hands, folded in his lap. “Anyway, it all fell apart after that.”

A twinge of ache clenched on Regan’s heart at the distance in his eyes. “Did

they… blame you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It was just— The way they reacted to the murder, and

then my connection to the killer. And we didn’t love each other. If we had, it wouldn’t
have made so much of a difference. So we broke it off.”

Regan nodded. “It’s strange,” she said, her voice so quiet she wasn’t completely

sure she spoke at all. “I’ve never heard this story before, but you know everything there
is to know about me.” She looked up at him through the darkness, trying to see what lay
in his eyes. “I have no secrets from you.”

He lifted his hand and touched her, his fingers slipping behind her earlobe, down

the line of her jaw. The soft intimacy made her shiver.

“All women have secrets.”
His fingers paused at the point of her chin, lifting it. Her eyes fell to his mouth,

watching the movement there as he smiled. She wanted to kiss him, deep and hot, to
taste the shapes and textures of his mouth. She lifted herself, moving her lips toward
his…

The cabin door opened. Burke jerked around, fading back into the bushes as he

readied his camera. Warren closed the door carefully behind him, touched something
inside his shirt pocket, then headed down the sidewalk, away from them.

“C’mon,” Burke whispered. “Let’s go.”
They gave chase. Burke was surprisingly silent for a man his size. He must have

learned to be furtive in P.I. school. Regan followed as quietly as she could, her inability
to concentrate canceling out the advantage of her lighter stature. It was too hard to watch
where she was stepping with Burke half-hunched over in front of her, those jeans
hugging the taut curve of his buttocks.

She tucked both hands under her arms to keep them still. They felt like they had a

life of their own, as if they might reach out and fondle Burke if she didn’t keep them
under control.

Warren took a long, circuitous route. After a few minutes, Regan wasn’t even sure

where they were anymore. All was strangely silent, then Regan remembered the pool
party scheduled for tonight. Everyone was probably either there or in bed asleep.

It wasn’t until Warren stopped that Regan regained her bearings. The roundabout

route had taken them to the entry gates of the resort. Warren stopped and looked at his
watch.

“This could be it,” Burke whispered, readying his camera. He steered Regan into a

stand of bushes near the fence. “Start taping.”

She remembered then that she had the camcorder. She hefted it, adjusting the night

vision attachment. Burke took up a position behind her, shooting still shots over her
shoulder.

Lifting the camera to her face, Regan began to record. The night vision attachment

made everything dark and green and strangely highlighted, like swimming through her
own hormones. Behind her, Burke leaned against her shoulder to steady his shots.

Regan closed her eyes, but it didn’t shut out Burke’s scent. It flowed all over her,

filling her throat, her head, denim and soft man-musk. The smell was like an entity in
itself, a sexual jinn that could take over her mind if she let it.

She opened her eyes again to see a security guard approaching Warren. He looked

vaguely familiar—Regan must have seen him on duty before.

“Busted,” she muttered. This wasn’t going to be their lucky surveillance night, after

all.

“Give me the camcorder.”
Burke’s sharp whisper didn’t register right away, mostly because his order didn’t

make sense to her. Then he reached around her and took the camcorder. “Give me the
camcorder and turn around.”

She let go and turned around. Burke set the camcorder on the ground, then shifted

so his camera lay on her shoulder. One arm closed around her and drew her close. He
ducked his head quickly to line up the shot, then straightened a little and laid his
forehead against hers, clicking off still shots all the while. From where Warren stood, it
would look like they were having an intimate discussion, or making out.

Regan’s hands folded together against Burke’s broad chest. She couldn’t stand to be

this close to him; her body wanted to melt into his. She could barely think.

“What’s going on?” she managed.
“The handoff,” he said. His voice was little more than breath stirring across her face.

“Warren’s giving this guy the disk.”

Regan held very still. She felt her heart speed up in her chest, heard it pounding in

her ears, and wasn’t sure if it was because they’d finally been successful, or because
Burke’s arm had tightened across her back, drawing her into his firm warmth.

“They’re talking… ” Burke’s voice continued, murmuring. “Warren looks nervous.

He’s looking this way—”

Suddenly Burke tipped the camera down so it would be hidden by Regan’s

shoulder and bent his head. His mouth took hers, hard and fast, demanding.

Regan’s brain emptied completely. Suddenly she had no idea where she was, what

she was doing, or why it was important not to crush the lump of metal between them.
All she knew was the heat of Burke’s mouth, the movement of his tongue against hers.
The pounding of her heart rose to a frantic patter.

Then suddenly he drew away, his lips a moment from hers.
“They’re gone.”
“What?” Who was gone? What the hell was he talking about and why the hell didn’t

he just keep kissing her?

“They’re gone,” he said again. His breath came too fast, making his whisper ragged.

“I think we… we got… I think… ” And then he stopped trying to talk at all, fastening his
mouth again to Regan’s, devouring her. The camera slid down between them as he
dragged her closer. Regan’s hands moved up under the edge of his shirt, molding to the
heat of his skin. Damn. She’d known they’d go and do that if she let them.

Her entire spine was on the verge of turning to hot wax when he jerked his mouth

away and took a step back. One hand still held the camera against her while the other
jumped away from her waist, then settled back against it, as if the attraction were too
strong to resist.

“We can’t do this,” he rasped. He bent to pick up the camcorder. “Not here.”
“Yes, we can,” Regan answered. Burke had stepped back, but not so far that she

couldn’t touch him, and his skin burned hot under her fingers. She grasped his arm, her
fingers pressing hard into his bicep. Her own desire had sent up musky threads between
them, and she could feel his in the hot, rapid breaths coming out of him to brush against
her face. “We most certainly can.” Roughly, she yanked him back to her, looped her arm
behind his neck and dragged his face down until she could grab his mouth with hers.

She had firm hold on the initiative now, and firm hold on his cock with her other

hand. It strained hard against his jeans, a hard line tilting just to the left of his zipper.
She drew her hand over its length.

As her fingers measured and teased, her desire came to sudden, intense life, the

flame shooting from between her labia straight back to her cervix, until the whole,
widening channel of her vagina had turned hot and liquid, contracting on the void
where that big, solid cock should be right now, immediately, as soon as possible.

But he made a sudden sound and jerked back, just as her tongue had found a

perfect angle against his, just as she had thoroughly absorbed the taste of him into her
mouth.

“Not here,” he said. “Not like this.”
“Why not?” Her fingers squeezed tighter on his erection. “You know you want it.

Fuck me. Right here.”

He pushed her back, his eyes gone hard. “The last thing I want to do is fuck you,

Regan.”

She tilted her head toward him, seductive. “I seem to see a great deal of evidence to

the contrary. You want me. You want that gorgeous cock right hard up inside my cunt
—”

He grabbed her face in his hand, stopping her. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
Angry now, she jerked free. “Why? You think I’m too young?”

“I think you’re trying to make this cheap. So you don’t have to think about it too

much.”

That hurt. She didn’t know why. It made her feel like he’d stuck a needle into her,

penetrated her skin with it, and come out with something he had no right to have. “Fuck
you, Burke.”

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”
What the hell was he playing at? They could be naked on the grass by now,

scratching and howling. It would have been a lot better than this. This felt like therapy or
something. She sneered. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Do you even know what I want to do to you right now?”
“I could guess.”
“I don’t think you have half a clue.”
“Then maybe you ought to just show me. Or maybe you don’t have the balls.”
His mouth tightened. Suddenly he bent, pushed his shoulder into her midsection,

and picked her up, still balancing the cameras in his other hand. Then he turned,
holding her tight against his shoulder, and headed back to the cabin.

Okay, this was interesting. A little Neanderthal, but still interesting. He had his

hand on her ass to balance her and the contact had brought back what little of the fire
had faded while they’d been distracted by argument.

At the cabin, he let go of her long enough to open the door and kick it closed, then

walked to the bed and bent, dropping her off onto the mattress. After a moment to set
the cameras down, he crawled into the bed on top of her.

He was almost scary now. She’d always known how big he was—he’d loomed over

her more than once to emphasize a point—but being pinned under all six feet four
inches of him made her far too aware of her own smallness. His big hands pulled at her
clothes, jerking her shirt off her. Following his lead, she worked at the button of his
jeans.

Then he stopped. He pushed up away from her, propping himself on one hand

while the other trailed gently up her belly. He touched the catch on the front of her bra,
then popped it open. Then, instead of suckling her, or even touching her, he just looked.
His gaze drifted over the curves of her breasts and the look in his eyes made her throat
ache.

Finally, he drew his hand over one breast, cupping it so the nipple stood up firm

against the middle of his palm. He looked into her eyes then, while his hand moved
gently in a circle and her nipple drew that circle on his palm.

“These are beautiful,” he said. “You are beautiful.” Then he lifted his hand to cup

her face, and bent to kiss her, and the kiss was so achingly tender that tears sprang to her
eyes.

After a time he drew back and studied her face again. “You getting it now?” She

nodded. His thumb brushed across her lips. “You want me to fuck you, maybe I’ll do
that later. But right now you’re going to be made love to. You have any objections to
that?”

She did. Many, many objections. Because she really, really didn’t want him to open

her up and play with her deepest feelings the way she knew he would. But something
here moved her even more deeply than the primal urge that wanted him inside her so

badly she could scream. Something she’d kept buried so long she could barely feel it
anymore. She felt it now, and it dared her to let him inside. Not just inside her body.
Inside her heart, where no man had ever been.

Defiant, she stared right back into his moss-colored eyes. “No. No objections.”
He smiled a little. “Good.”
And he kissed her again, his mouth making music against her own. She’d never

been kissed like this before, as if there were nothing else in the world as important as his
lips against hers, as the soft tangle of tongues and the movement and gentle rhythm that
he made.

She didn’t want gentle. Gentle was confusing. She pushed harder up against his

mouth, and he broke away.

“No,” he said.
“Burke—”
“No. If you can’t handle this, then we stop now.”
She swallowed, staring up into his determined face. Could she handle this? No man

had ever touched her like this. Like he really meant it. Like sex was more than just a
quick collision of mutual lust. If she let him do this to her, it was going to mean
something. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted that.

She was, however, entirely sure she wanted him, so she nodded.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
It was just sex. Nothing new. She told herself that firmly as he bent back into the

kiss, then let his mouth leave her mouth and wander down her throat, her chest, onto her
breasts. His tongue twirled against her nipples, pulling them erect, then he let his mouth
draw one in, suckling hard. She whimpered; it hurt but at the same time it felt so damn
good.

He eased off a little, one hand trailing down her side, over her ribs, down to her

flanks and across the soft jut of her hipbone until his fingers brushed her curls. The
tickle of his touch against her hair made her cry out again. She was so close already, and
he’d hardly gotten started. Was he just that good, or was it something else? Something
far more primal and frightening than pure physical attraction?

Right now she had no desire to answer that question. She wanted only to fall into the

huge, light-filled abyss he was creating for her.

He shifted his mouth to the other breast, gave it the same attention he’d given the

first. She was writhing under him by now, barely able to contain the intensity of
sensation. She’d always been a talker during sex, throwing out lewd instructions in
blunt, harsh language. But with Burke she couldn’t even make a coherent syllable. It was
all throaty moans and incoherent mewling that seemed to be wrenched from somewhere
behind her heart.

When his fingers slid inside her she almost wept. Two, then three, long and wide

and blunt, stretching her and dragging against her sensitive inner tissues. The tips
curled up, pressing hard against the top of her vagina, finding the hypersensitive spot
there and working it. It had taken her longer than that to find it herself the first time.
How had he known? Other men had fumbled looking for it; others had never found it at
all.

It didn’t matter, though, because now he worked it hard, driving almost unbearably

intense sensation through her. She clutched at his shoulders with both hands, riding his
fingers, riding the flame.

The heat filled her, poured into her cunt—and suddenly it didn’t seem such a blunt

or awful word anymore; it was an open word with an open vowel, ready to be filled and
being filled even as she keened and strained against Burke’s hard body, as he worked
her along the knife-edge of need and sensation, almost too much, almost hard enough to
fall into pain but not quite and then it was washing up and over her, sweeping her away
like a riptide and she howled as it tore her under and drowned her.

His mouth found hers and consumed her desperate voice. She had never come so

hard or so high before. It wouldn’t stop. The pulsing just went on and on, pounding
until she thought she would die with it. Then he pushed her thighs farther apart with his
own, and before she could even think about it he was inside her.

He was big. It was to be expected, given the size of the rest of him, but the actual

penetration shocked her at first. She hissed out a breath and he slowed, not quite all the
way inside, then drew back out and slid in again, a little farther this time.

“It’s okay,” she managed, surprised she could form words at all. The intense orgasm

had readied her for this—her body wept readiness, slick and wet and hungry. He came
all the way inside and she felt the head of his cock strike her cervix, a little too hard. Her
cunt—open, filled up—felt thick with him.

He began to move and she could do little but cling to him, working her hips to

match his rhythm. His cock had stretched and opened her more than she’d ever been
opened before, making vulnerability where before there had been none, because he
filled her so deeply and completely. Her arms slid under his, clutching his back as he
rode her. His rhythm quickened, his breath quickened and turned harsh in his throat,
but when she looked up she found his eyes not closed but ready to lock to hers.

It was too much. She didn’t want this. But she couldn’t look away, and her gaze

remained snared deep in his own as he pumped into her, harder and harder, as she
clutched hard at his body with her thighs, as he finally let out a deep, trembling,
half-moan of a sigh and came, hard and deep inside her.

It seemed to go on for minutes, an hour, then suddenly her body clutched up on him

again, her vagina seizing his cock, and she, too, clenched and pounded into an orgasm
that caught her completely by surprise.

He smiled a little, watching her come, then lowered himself against her and kissed

her forehead.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, and pressed his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes

and drew a long breath.

Regan slipped her hands down his back and suddenly the surety and the rightness

of it scared her to death. Yet still her body accepted him, her arms clinging to his strong
warmth. His cock softened and slid out of her, leaving an almost painful feeling of
emptiness.

She forced herself to let him go, to push at his shoulders. “You’re squashing me.”
“Mmmm. Sorry.” His voice hummed with satisfaction. He rolled off her to lie beside

her, then turned and drew her against him so her back spooned into his front.

Okay, she thought, the fear thrumming inside her. This wasn’t too bad. It seemed

safer if she wasn’t looking at his face. He shifted a little, pulling her closer. She fit against
him, curve to curve, as if they’d been poured into a single mold. It felt good, if only she
could keep herself from thinking about it.

“Regan,” he said after a time. His voice had changed a little, becoming cautious. “

What about… ” He trailed off, his hands moving on her again to trace her curves.

“What?” she said, wondering what he was worried about.
Burke’s hand slid down her side, pausing on the crest of her hip. “Protection, Regan.

We didn’t even think about protection.”

Oh, so that was all. Regan smiled relief that he hadn’t said something else. Like

something that might have forced her to acknowledge the emotion that had made this
simply the best sex she’d ever had.

“Forget about it, Burke. I’ve been on the Pill since forever. My cycles have always

been wonky. And I know you give blood.” She closed her eyes and snuggled back into
his warmth. “If there’s anyone in the world it would be safe to have a mindless fling
with, it’s you.”

His body tightened behind her and Regan opened her eyes. It had hurt her, too, to

denigrate what had just happened, but it had to be done.

“Is that all this is to you?” Burke said finally. His voice held no emotion. “A

mindless fling?”

Regan turned over to face him. She was so soft inside, hot and lethargic with

satiation. She wished she could tell him.

“That’s all it can be, Burke.” She reached up and stroked his stubble-rough face. “I’m

sorry.”

He turned his face against her hand, kissing her palm. The brush of his lips against

her skin made her want to take back what she’d said and give herself to him,
unequivocally, forever.

His voice brought her back to herself. “I’m sorry, too.”

Chapter Seven

Burke woke early. Morning had barely begun to seep in through the windows,

filling the small cabin with a murky half-light. He swung out of bed and looked across
the room at Regan.

He’d hoped to wake up with her still cradled in his arms, but he’d had to banish her

from his bed at two a.m. when she, innocently asleep, had shoved him out of bed.
Something about landing on the carpet on his face had destroyed the romance of early
morning cuddling. He’d picked her up and carried her across the room, tucked her in
and kissed her, and she’d never stirred.

The thought brought a soft smile to his face. He still couldn’t believe what had

happened. That they’d actually made love. Then the smile faded as he remembered her
reaction. Just a fling, she’d said.

Well, Burke had his own opinion on that.

He grabbed a robe from the bathroom, then went out to the porch where he could

watch the rest of the morning arrive. He didn’t want a fling, he decided. He couldn’t
make love to her and then act like it hadn’t happened. What would Paul think? That
Burke had taken advantage of his sister and then run…

Burke kicked the porch rail. What the hell difference did it make what Paul thought?

This had nothing to do with Paul. It did, however, have everything to do with the fact
that, after a lifetime, he had fallen in love with Regan O’Rourke.

What the hell? Where had that come from? In love with her? Sure, he loved her. He’d

always loved her on some level. He just… all it was… it was just a change in…

He kicked the porch rail harder. He had no idea what it was. And he had a feeling

Regan wasn’t going to make it any easier to figure out.

He went back in the house to pull on a pair of shorts, wrote Regan a quick note, and

headed out for a jog.

* * * * *

By the time he got back, he’d been thinking about the investigation long enough to

distract his mind, and had exercised enough to distract his body. Regan wasn’t in bed,
and he heard the shower running. He picked up his laptop and went back out to the
porch.

The investigation would be his saving grace. He’d let it take over his mind, fill

himself up with facts and pictures and investigative protocol. And if Regan wanted a
fling, that was what she would get.

He was kidding himself if he thought that would work.
Still, he did have work to do. He’d leave the resort today to get the pictures

developed, then he’d scan a couple into the computer so he could send them out via
e-mail to his contacts. Maybe he’d get lucky and someone would be able to identify the
handoff man. In the meantime, he’d send out some inquiries to see what he could find
out about Warren’s financial status and various other tidbits that might make the pieces
of the puzzle fall into place.

He was absorbed in his work when a hand slid over his shoulder and every thought

in his head ran out through his ears.

“Working?” Regan’s voice slid in to fill the space his thoughts had left. She stepped

around him and sat down next to him on the step. She had pulled on her flighty little
robe, but it did little to disguise the fact that she wore nothing beneath it.

“Yeah.” He looked down and realized his fingers had kept typing without direction

from his brain. Fortunately, they’d typed things that made sense. “I’m just sending off
some e-mail to see if I can get any leads.” He finished a message and dropped it into a
folder to send later. “I’m driving into town to get the film developed. Want to come
with?”

Regan shrugged. “Sure. I’ll buy you breakfast.”
That didn’t sit right at all. “My treat,” Burke corrected as he logged off. “And,

um… maybe we can talk.”

“About what?”
Burke looked at her. The robe had slipped down on one side, baring one creamy

shoulder and the top of one breast. Her tattoo looked funny this morning, like a blemish
rather than a part of her skin. Odd. It hadn’t looked like that last night. Not that he
should be thinking about last night.

“About how to dress when you expect to be out in public.” He turned off the

computer. “Get your fanny inside and put on some clothes.”

She grinned and jumped up. “Yes, sir.” Then she sidestepped him and dropped the

robe on the porch, skipping naked into the cabin.

Burke shook his head. No wonder he loved her. She was impossible. He picked up

the robe and followed her in.

She sat on the bed, pulling on a pair of socks. Of all things to put on first when you

were buck naked, socks seemed about the silliest. Burke tossed her robe on the bed. She
looked up at him and smiled, and something about the movement drew his attention
again to the tattoo. He frowned. Then, on an impulse, or maybe a hunch, he reached out
and rubbed the little dragon with his thumb.

Red and black color came off onto his thumb, leaving the dragon wingless.
“Your tattoo’s coming off,” he said, the frown of concentration changing into a grin

which felt embarrassingly goofy.

Regan glanced down, looking a bit sheepish. “Oh,” she said. “I guess I’d better put

on a new one.”

She started toward the bathroom, but Burke caught her by the shoulder. “The tattoo

is fake?”

She shrugged herself free and turned toward him, squaring her shoulders. Burke

couldn’t tell if she was angry or about to laugh. “Of course. I’m not that stupid. Tattoos
are permanent.”

“And this isn’t?” He flipped the navel ring with a finger, then jerked back,

wondering if he’d hurt her.

Apparently he hadn’t. “Not really. If I leave the ring out, the hole’ll grow shut. But

tattoos—I mean, you have to use lasers to get them off.” She gave a delicate little
shudder. “Plus I hear they really hurt.”

Burke shook his head slowly. “And getting things pierced feels good?”
“No, not really, but it’s only a couple of seconds. Tattoos take longer.” She turned

toward the bathroom, effectively dismissing him.

“So how does that one come off?” he called after her.
“Baby oil,” she hollered back, and slammed the bathroom door.
Burke laughed. Then he sat down and laughed some more. He wondered if Paul

knew.

The thought of Paul sobered him a bit, and he decided that what Paul didn’t know

probably wouldn’t hurt him.

* * * * *

Regan put on a new tattoo—this one a little bluer and maybe a shade crooked, she

wasn’t sure—and they drove down the long winding coastal road, past Burke’s marina
to his regular photo developing shop. They dropped off the pictures, Burke making
sure the canisters of film went directly into the hands of someone named Tony, then

went for a late breakfast at Burke’s favorite diner.

So this was Burke’s world, Regan thought as she poked a piece of pancake into the

yolk of her egg. Breakfast at whatever hour of the day—the waitress had actually asked
him what meal he wanted—sleeping in a boat, driving around after this and that or
whatever. Only being able to trust one or two people to develop your film, because
there was a chance something might be leaked, and leaking was bad.

“Why don’t you have a digital camera?” she asked suddenly, the thought having

only just occurred to her. “It would help with all your secrety private eye stuff if you
didn’t have to have film developed.”

“Can’t afford the night vision stuff and the telephoto lenses for one yet. It’s on my

list.” He pointed at her plate with his fork. “How’s the pancakes?”

“Great,” she said. “Maybe a little greasy.”
Burke smiled. “Typical. Be glad you didn’t order the sausage. This isn’t the greatest

place for food, but they’ll cook me breakfast at two in the afternoon if I ask nice.”

Regan studied his face, looking at the lines and the shape of his jaw. “You should

grow a mustache.”

He looked perplexed. “What?”
“I said you should grow a mustache. It would look good on you.”
Burke shook his head. “Are you deliberately trying to change the subject?”
“No. There’s just a lot of space between the bottom of your nose and your upper lip,

and a mustache would balance it a little.”

Burke put on a soulful expression, then reached out and closed his hand over hers. “

If I grew a mustache, would you stay with me forever?”

Regan playfully slapped his hand away, but inside something twinged. “Knock it

off, Burke. You’re being a dork.”

He withdrew his hand and his smile faded. “I don’t want a fling, Regan.”
She felt her mouth tighten as her stomach knotted up. “I’m sorry, Burke. We both got

out of control and I don’t think we should read any more into it than that.”

“I’m not reading anything. I’m just feeling… I don’t know what, for sure, but it’s not

what I feel when I have a fling.”

Regan viciously stabbed her pancakes until they fell apart into nearly unidentifiable

piles of syrupy mess. “The sex was good, Burke. Take it or leave it.”

“Regan—”
“I mean it, Burke.” She pointed her fork at him. “If you ever want it again, you’ll

shut up.”

He shut up. And when he did, Regan wanted dreadfully to be inside his head.

Because she wanted to know if he’d shut up so he could get laid again, or if he really
did want more than just a fling.

Somehow she thought it would be very dangerous to find out.

The pictures weren’t done when they stopped back after breakfast, so they went

back to the marina. Burke escorted Regan into his boat.

“Little Squirrel,” Regan said with a grin. She’d forgotten about the boat’s decidedly

un-masculine moniker. She remembered the story behind it, though—the boat had
belonged to Burke’s father. His mother had insisted he name the boat after her. Not
wanting to christen the boat Marguerite, the elder Mr. Camden had used his wife’s
nickname, instead.

Burke just smiled at Regan’s comment. “Dad’d haunt me if I changed it.”
He’d stopped by the post office on the way, and tossed the pile of bills and junk

mail on the coffee table in the main saloon. It had been a long time since Regan had been
here, and she had forgotten how much room there was in the place. The trimmings were
a bit dark, primarily mahogany and brass, but light from the good-sized windows
prevented gloom. Except for the linear configuration, it was much like a small
apartment.

“Want something to drink?” Burke asked, heading for the galley. “Beer? Pop?

Five-day-old coffee?”

Regan wrinkled her nose, flopping down on the sofa. “No, thanks. I had enough

sludgy coffee at the diner.”

“Hey, I like that coffee.”
“You would.” She let her gaze rove the narrow room, wondering what it would be

like to live here. She’d change the carpet, she thought, and there just might be room for a
bigger TV. Maybe she could even learn to cook, just so she could putter around that
little galley…

Regan shook her head. Why was she thinking like that? She herself had decided her

fling with Burke wasn’t going to lead anywhere. Certainly not to her puttering in his
galley. Still, there was something comfortably domestic about lounging here on the
couch while Burke sorted the mail.

She could get used to this far too easily, she thought. She was comfortable with him,

she liked him, and he was oh, so very good in bed. What more could a woman want?

Maybe that was the problem. Not that she wanted anything from him, but that she

wanted far too much.

“Damn!” Burke exclaimed, shattering her thoughts.
“What?” Regan wondered how serious it could be—he was, after all, just looking at

the mail.

He glanced at her and she again felt that wave of comfortable domesticity. “They

raised my insurance rates again. I ought to just cancel the damn policy. It’s not like I ever
float this thing anywhere.”

The idea sparked something in Regan. “Maybe you should,” she said before she

could stop herself. “You could cruise to Maui or something. It’d be great—all alone in
the open ocean—” She broke off at his look. “What?”

His smiled warmed her, like filling her skin with sunlight. “You’d like that?”
There’s a catch, she thought. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Then maybe I’d do it.” He folded the letter from the insurance company and slid it

back into the envelope. “That’d be a heck of a fling, though.”

That was the catch. Quite an obvious one, too, and she’d still walked right into it.

She found herself lost for words—an alien sensation. She opened her mouth and closed
it, he grinned and she looked away, fuming.

“How long can those pictures possibly take?” she muttered.
“What was that?”
She speared him with a look. “I said I’d like a beer.”

He laughed and tossed her a bottle. It was warm, but she drank it anyway.

She didn’t ask for a tour, afraid she might get ideas if she saw Burke’s bed. Burke

finished sorting his mail, wrote checks for a few bills, checked his answering machine
and made a few phone calls.

Regan paced the main saloon, played solitaire, poked her nose around a few safe

areas of the boat, all the time trying not to fantasize about being Burke’s wife. There was
a vague smell in the head, so she let that convince her she would never want to live on a
boat. Therefore she couldn’t pursue a relationship with Burke.

Finally the photo shop called. Burke wound up what he was doing and they went to

get the film. A tense silence reigned on the drive back to the Meadows as Regan looked
through the photos, picking out the best of the batch to be scanned into the computer.

“You still don’t recognize him?” Burke asked.
Regan shook her head, squinting at one of the pictures. “No. He looks vaguely

familiar, but really vaguely, if you know what I mean.”

Burke smiled a little. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. He actually looks a

little bit familiar to me, too, but after a while all the crooks start to look alike.”

“I’ll bet it’s somebody from Novotel,” Regan said. “There’ve been a couple of

instances lately where they’ve beaten us to the punch on some new technology
applications. The suits were asking around, wondering what was going on.”

“Why would Warren do something like that?”
“Money. What else? I always wondered how he could afford his house, his car, his

wife and his girlfriends on his salary.”

Burke nodded sagely. “Then I guess this will be my first industrial espionage case.”
“Kind of different from your usual caseload, isn’t it?”
Burke shrugged. “True. Usually it’s just messy divorces.”
“Hardly in the same league as industrial espionage.” Regan realized then she was

trying to bait him.

He cast her a sidelong look, as if coming to the same conclusion. “Maybe not. But it

pays okay.”

Regan considered apologizing, but gave him a crooked smile instead. He smiled

back, showing teeth, the smile a bit feral. She had a sudden urge to touch him, but didn’
t. It was like wanting to stroke a tiger at the zoo. Beauty and danger, controlled
wildness. He was all of that, and all of its opposite, but he was just Burke.

She cleared her throat, trying to clear the confusion away with it. Looking back at the

stack of pictures, she picked out one.

“This one’s the best.”

Less than an hour later, she stood watching while Burke used a hand-held scanner to

convert the image into a graphics file. It wasn’t a great shot—even with the night vision
attachment for the camera it had come out shadowed and grainy—but Burke was able to
enhance and lighten it a little on the computer. The face remained blurry, but with
enough detail that someone might be able to identify it.

“Too bad we couldn’t get a better picture,” Regan said as Burke sent the image off

via e-mail to a select few of his connections.

“Yeah. But this’ll have to do. Maybe we can dig up something on this end.”
Regan nodded. “In the meantime, what do you say we go relax a little? Have some

fun?”

“I really should stay here and wait in case we get any information.”
“No. Sorry. Won’t work. It’ll look too suspicious if we all of a sudden hang out in

the cabin all day. I know this is a big place, but it’d seem weird if we didn’t cross paths
with Warren at least once.”

“All right. You’re right. It’ll be a while before we’re likely to hear anything, anyway.

” He stood and stretched, then looked at her with that feral grin. “Then again, if nobody
sees us for a while, maybe they’ll think we decided to spend the day in the cabin for a
really good reason.” As if the grin wasn’t enough, he waggled his eyebrows.

Regan felt herself flushing, but she fought it hard and set herself for battle. She wasn’

t going to let him charm and beguile her into going back on her resolutions. They were
not going to have a relationship, and she wasn’t going to continue with their fling until
she was sure he understood that. “And what reason would that be?”

“Well, I don’t know. But the idea I had involved nudity.”
“We can go to the beach for that.”
“Won’t we get arrested?”
Regan was doing more than flushing now; she was melting. How could she keep her

cool when he kept setting her alight without even touching her? “As shy as you are
about taking your pants off, I doubt you’d do anything we could get arrested for.”

He reached toward her and ran a thumb down her cheek. “You blush so pretty,

Regan.”

Her face went so hot she was surprised he didn’t jerk his hand back in pain. She

twisted her face away and brushed past him, headed for the door. “Well, you need to
grow a mustache.”

Burke watched, smiling, as she stormed out of the cabin. He’d affected her, just as he

’d intended. At this rate all he had to do was sit back and wait, and she’d come around
all on her own. She might have said she just wanted a fling, but if what he read on her
face was any indication, what was going on inside her head—and hopefully her heart—
was entirely different.

He waited a few minutes before following her. Thoughtfully, he rubbed at his upper

lip. Maybe he would grow a mustache, at that.

Chapter Eight

Regan did go to the clothing optional beach, hoping Burke’s hang-ups would keep

him from following her. But when she got there she suddenly felt strange about taking
off her clothes, and even stranger about the possibility Burke might show up and find
her lounging naked in the sand.

What difference did it make? He’d seen her more than unclothed—he’d seen her

naked in every sense of the word, her emotions right beneath her skin, lost in her own
passion. He’d been inside her, for God’s sake. What possible difference would it make if
he saw her nipples out in the sunlight?

She left her bikini bottoms on and lay down on her stomach on her beach towel

because she felt less vulnerable that way. She should have gone somewhere else, she
thought, but still clung to the hope that Burke wouldn’t follow.

He did, though. She saw him coming, big and brown-gold in the light, and hid her

face the crook of her elbow. She could barely see him in the corners of her vision, and
her eyes moved involuntarily to maximize her view.

“Need help with your sunscreen?” he said, and sat down right next to her on the

sand.

She said nothing, but he apparently needed no answer. He picked up the bottle and

squeezed a glop of its contents onto her back. She felt the cold lotion land on her
oversensitized skin like a rock. When his hands began to spread it over her she thought
she was going to combust.

“Don’t want you to burn,” Burke said.
“Then get your hands off me,” Regan muttered into her arm. To her mortification,

Burke chuckled. He wasn’t supposed to have heard her.

His big hands kneaded her shoulders, then slid on a layer of lotion down to the

small of her back.

“If all you want is a fling,” he said, “I’m prepared to accept that. But don’t expect me

to ignore you the rest of the time we’re here. It’s like giving somebody a forkful of
chocolate cake and then expecting him to leave the rest untouched in the middle of the
table.”

“Great. Now I’m chocolate cake.”
She felt his shrug through his hands as they shifted a little. “If you just want a fling,

that’s the most appropriate comparison I can think of. If you want something more—
well, then we’ll come up with more substantive metaphors.”

She started to turn over, remembering just in time that she was topless. Then she

remembered it didn’t matter, and turned over, anyway. His eyes held hers and for a
moment she forgot what she was going to say as she saw all the possibilities there.
Through sheer force of will, she dragged back her resolve.

“You understand why this can’t continue once we leave here.”
“No, I don’t. Maybe you should explain it to me.”
“Because it’ll go away on its own. When we leave, everything will fall back into

place and this will just be… over.” It didn’t even convince her.

Burke smiled—patronizingly, Regan thought. “It sounds good, I guess. But last

night didn’t feel all that casual to me.”

No, it hadn’t. It had felt like something she could live with forever. But she couldn’t

say that, so she said nothing.

Burke reached out and touched her cheek, his hand full of the coconutty smell of her

sunscreen. “I’m going to leave,” he said. “I have some work to do. I’ll be there when you
come back. And from here on out, everything is up to you.”

Regan’s eyes narrowed. How dare he say exactly what she wanted to hear? She

couldn’t even be sure he meant it. Burke had the nerve to smile at her annoyance.

“Get out of my life,” she said, not sure she meant it.
He laughed and stood, leaving her alone while she heaved a double handful of sand

after him.

Well, he’d pissed her off, Burke thought later, but it was probably for the best.

Regan angry was, after all, Regan at her very best.

Hard to figure, though how being consummately sensitive could get him into so

much trouble. Maybe it was because he was being calculatedly consummately sensitive.

He booted up his computer. He’d checked his e-mail about an hour ago and found

nothing, so he’d gone for a jog, then come back to check again. He hadn’t seen Regan. He
considered sending Marty out to find her, if he could find Marty, but decided that might
not be a good idea. He didn’t think there was much love lost between the two of them.

Thoughts of Regan faded as he scanned his current e-mail. More than one looked

promising. Reading through them, he nodded as pieces fell together.

Six different respondents had ID’d the picture as one Anthony Peters, a highly

positioned employee at Novotel. As far as Burke was concerned, six IDs were enough.
Plus the initials, AP, matched the notes Regan had found in Warren’s day planner. He
sent out more queries that might bring more pieces together, then gave himself a mental
pat on the back. He was good. No doubt about it.

Now if he could just exercise the same level of finesse with his personal life, he’d

have it made.

He thought about that as he pulled up a game of Freecell. He’d never felt this way

about anyone—certainly not Regan. But now he suddenly felt as if he couldn’t go on
without knowing she would be with him.

The game couldn’t hold his attention. He lost two in a row—more frustrating

because supposedly every game of Freecell was winnable. He snorted his disgust, then
turned the computer off and headed out into the sun.

He wondered where Regan might be. He could check the beach again, but he had a

feeling she’d vacated, to avoid burning herself to a crisp if nothing else. That left a great
deal of space to cover, and he didn’t feel up to it. She’d come back to the cabin
eventually. So he started down the sidewalk, heading for the small cluster of restaurants
near the center of the resort.

He’d planned to get a Coke, but instead found himself in the middle of a maelstrom.

Warren and Marty sat at a table outside the coffee shop. Or at least Warren sat. Marty
was half out of her chair, shouting, while Warren cowered under her verbal onslaught.
Two other couples hunched over drinks at other tables, trying to watch without
appearing to be watching, and looking like they really wanted to be elsewhere, but didn
’t want to miss anything.

Burke paused near the edge of the brick patio, completely understanding the air of

horrified fascination. But he stayed not because he wanted to see the sparks fly, but
because he wanted to be there if Marty needed him.

“I’ve had as much as I can take, Warren!” she shouted at him, straightening as she

leveled this last blow. “It’s bad enough you’re cheating on your wife—do you really

have to cheat on your mistress, too?”

With that, she spun on her heel and stalked away, going past Burke without even

seeing him. He reached toward her, but rage—and the sparkle of unshed tears—had
blinded her.

Burke speared a look at Warren. He sat hunched in his chair, trying to finish his

drink in nonchalance while every other eye in the place slid surreptitiously toward him.

Well, his hell had just begun. Burke broke into a run to follow Marty. When he

thought he might be in earshot, he called her name.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted back, her voice thick and breaking.
He caught up with her and managed to get hold of her shoulder. She came

reluctantly to a halt. “Marty, are you okay?”

She jerked herself free, face averted. “I’m fine.” She sounded anything but. “Just—”

She stopped, then turned toward him. Burke swallowed at the twisted pain on her face.
“I’ll be all right eventually. I just want to be alone, all right?”

He started to reach for her again, but stopped himself. “All right. If you need me—”
She nodded and managed a smile. “Thanks, Burke. Thanks for caring.”
Burke watched her go, then looked down, surprised to discover his fists were

clenched. He headed back toward the coffee shop. If Warren was there, he was going to
shove both his fists and a couple of potted plants down the asshole’s throat.

Warren wasn’t there. Burke ordered his Coke with a good-sized slosh of rum in it.

He was going to have Warren’s hide. Not just for Regan, but for Marty, too. Because
neither of them had deserved to be hurt, and Warren deserved to be hurt very, very
badly.

* * * * *

Regan spent the day wandering the resort, dropping in on a volleyball game here, a

badminton match there, stopping for iced coffee and a snack, watching a particularly
buff fellow vacationer jog the trails. Once she saw Burke, from a distance, and wondered
what he was doing, if he was thinking about her. Then she forced herself to remember it
didn’t matter.

Just before dinner, she returned to the cabin, finally feeling like she could talk to

Burke without ripping his shirt off. Burke sat on the front porch, his laptop balanced
across his thighs. Regan boldly stepped up and sat down next to him, expecting to see a
card game on the monitor. Instead she saw columns of numbers and names. It looked
like somebody’s bank statement.

“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Tracking down some information,” Burke answered, as if he wasn’t the least

surprised that she’d sat down next to him and let her thigh brush against his.

Regan decided to ignore the contact. “What kind of information?”
“Bank records right now.”
“Why?”
“Just tracking the fortunes of our two main suspects.”
Regan’s breath caught a bit in anticipation. “And who is our second suspect?”

“Anthony Peters. He works at—”
“Novotel!” Regan struck her fist into the opposite hand. “I knew it!” She wiggled

next to him, settling more comfortably on the step. Burke’s hand paused over the
keyboard. “So what exactly are you doing?” Regan asked.

“Looking for unusually large deposits or withdrawals.” His voice sounded tight.
“And did you find any?”
“Several, actually.” He loosened up as he warmed to his subject. “They coincide

nicely, too. Peters withdraws, Cassidy deposits. But there are other things, too.” He
frowned, paging through records, and seemed suddenly to forget Regan was there at all.

Irked, Regan nudged him. “What kinds of things?”
Burke looked up at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Well, Warren seems to

have lost a lot of money in the stock market, starting about two years ago. Peters, on the
other hand, seems to have made a great deal, and Warren has recouped most of his
losses in the past few months. I’m going to request some additional information to see if
I can confirm my suspicions.”

He fell silent again. Regan nudged him harder this time. “Which are?”
Again, Burke looked surprised he’d been poked. “Oh, insider trading mostly.

Considering what I think might be going on, I think I can get the records easily enough.”

Insider trading. Regan’s stomach roiled. This was worse than she’d ever imagined.

This could land Warren in jail.

Her mouth hardened. If Warren was breaking the law, then Warren had asked to end

up in jail. But she didn’t think she’d ever be quite comfortable with that.

She touched Burke’s knee, disconcerted again. “I, uh, I’m going to go wash up so we

can have dinner.”

Burke looked up at her with a question in his eyes, and for a moment Regan was

certain he was going to ask it. Then he just said, “Okay,” and turned his attention back
to the computer.

Which, frankly, was just as well.

* * * * *

Marty, rather conspicuously Warrenless, joined them at dinner.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said in response to Regan’s less-than-enthusiastic

greeting.

“No,” Regan said, looking at Burke. Burke was looking at Marty with

older-brother-like sympathy. On second glance, Marty looked like she’d been through
the wringer—tired, and with a red puffiness under her eyes. Regan felt a surge of
sympathy. Not holier-than-thou pity-sympathy, but genuine woman-to-woman
commiseration. “No, I don’t mind.”

“I thought you would have left by now,” Burke said, looking over his food.
“I considered it. But when I cooled off and went back to the cabin, Warren told me it

was all a big misunderstanding, and he really wanted me to stay.” She smiled bitterly. “I
didn’t believe him, of course, but I figured if I stuck around I could charge another really
big lobster and a bottle of champagne or two to his bill.”

Burke laughed. Regan did, too—she couldn’t help it. Warren had really cooked his

own rear, getting tangled up with Regan, then Marty. Regan surprised herself by
wishing they could have teamed up earlier. They could have driven Warren to depths of
insanity heretofore only imagined.

“You’re an evil woman,” Burke said appreciatively. “So where is he now?”
“I have no idea. After he decided I’d been placated, he left. He told me it was to give

me time to think and be alone, but I think he went to meet up with his new girlfriend.”

Regan shook her head, partly in commiseration, partly in amusement. “His new

girlfriend?”

Marty nodded. “I think he thought I was going to be a little dumber. I mean, come

on, he thought I was going to believe all that sensitive ‘I’ll give you time alone to sort
things out’ crap?” She waved it off with a sigh and a gesture that couldn’t quite achieve
nonchalance. “I can’t really do anything but feel sorry for him. Lord knows I can’t waste
time feeling sorry for myself.” She brushed the hair back from her face, gathering herself,
and suddenly Regan realized she was beautiful. Really, truly beautiful. And all Regan’s
dislike and mistrust melted away. In another flash, she realized she actually liked Marty.
Now, that was an interesting turn of events.

“He’s a little, little man,” Marty said. “His self-esteem is all tied up in his wallet,

and he just doesn’t have the cash to support his own ego. There’s really nothing he can
do but self-destruct.”

“He already has,” Regan said quietly. The comment earned her a sharp look from

Burke. He probably didn’t want her to reveal too much about what they’d learned so far.
That made sense to Regan, so when Marty lifted an eyebrow, Regan just gave her a
sympathetic smile. Marty turned to Burke.

“So you think this investigation is going to pay off?”
Burke nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s going to pay off quite nicely.”
“Good. Now let me order that lobster.”
Later, as they walked back to the cabin, Regan asked Burke, “Do you think she’ll be

okay?”

“Yeah, I think she will.”
He took her hand, squeezing it gently. The gesture was friendly more than romantic,

yet it sent shivers of warmth down her body. His big hand engulfed and protected hers.
Not even Regan, who had made herself an expert at denial, could deny the strength of
the emotion.

He let go of her to open the cabin door, and Regan suddenly felt cold and bare,

alone.

It’s not real, she reminded herself. It’s not real. Once you leave here, he’ll be just plain Burke

again.

But she wasn’t certain she believed it.

* * * * *

Burke threw himself into his work that evening, mostly to keep his mind off Regan.

She sat in her narrow twin bed, reading a book and twirling strands of red hair around
one finger. She looked sad. Her natural expression in repose, he had to remind himself

more than once. Because if he forgot that, he could let himself believe she felt alone, or
that she was caught in longing, and in a few minutes she would get up off the bed, come
up behind him and slide her hands inside his shirt. Or down his pants.

She wouldn’t, though, he thought, or if she did it would be because she wanted their

“little fling” to last a few more days, not because she wanted it to turn into something
permanent. He could understand her hesitance—until now their relationship had
contained not even a hint of what had happened here, and he was certain the artificiality
of the atmosphere had more than a little to do with it. But Burke found himself less and
less able to ignore the strength of it.

He tried to imagine going home and returning to his life as it had been, and he

couldn’t do it. He couldn’t imagine going on without any further contact with Regan. It
scared him, so he could understand that Regan would find it disturbing, as well. And he
didn’t even want to think about what Paul’s reaction might be.

It didn’t matter, though. There was no way he would ignore it, no way he could be

persuaded just to let it go. It had already filled him up too much.

He sneaked a glance at her. As he looked up, she looked down, with a flash of green

eyes, burying her gaze back in her book. Burke looked back at his computer and smiled.
If that look was any indication, hope of her turnaround wasn’t completely misplaced.
There’d been some warmth in it, and certainly yearning. And the fact he hadn’t been
meant to see it made it that much more revealing.

Finished, he shut down the computer. Then he got up, stretched, and walked into

the bathroom, taking his shirt off on the way.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said. Regan’s head jerked up as he walked by her,

and he noticed with amusement her struggle to keep her eyes on his face. “Feel free to
join me.”

Her eyes shot back to her book. Burke smiled and went on his way. He doubted she

would take him up on his offer, but he left the bathroom door unlocked just in case.

Regan read the same sentence six times. The only word she could remember was “

the.” There were a couple of them. All the other words had something to do with Burke
naked in the shower.

When he turned the water on, she slammed the book shut—a bit hard to do

convincingly with a paperback—and banged her head against the wall behind her a
couple of times. That didn’t help. She heard the slight changes in the sound of the falling
water as he moved under it, and pictured him lathering up, his hands moving over his
own rough hair, over his chest and belly, his thighs—

There was no point denying it. Whatever had grown between them wasn’t going to

be satisfied with one or two encounters. Her body wanted his. No emotion involved, her
heart would stay untouched, and when they left here she could go on about her life.

Ignoring the little voice in the back of her head that kept saying all that was a load of

crap, she dropped her sweatpants on the floor, tossed her T-shirt over her head, and
stepped into the bathroom.

The steam enveloped her immediately, clinging to her skin. Behind the semi-opaque

plastic shower door, Burke stilled. Through the steam that had collected on the door, she
saw him turn his head. Regan pushed open the door, then stepped out of her panties

and into the steam-filled shower.

Burke turned toward her with a smile. The smugness in it made Regan

uncomfortable. He was far too pleased with himself.

“You came,” he said, his voice betraying nothing.
“Not yet.”
He only laughed, and took her into his arms.
The heat and the steam filled Regan’s head, making her loose and languid as Burke’

s hands shaped her body, moving slickly over her skin on a cushion of water. It didn’t
matter that there would be nothing else to it—that it would be over in a matter of days.
All that mattered was that she wanted Burke, and she wanted him now.

Her hands slid down his broad back, cupped his buttocks and pulled him to her

until his thick, heavy cock settled against her stomach. She rotated against him, stroking
him with her belly, the water making his skin move slick and easy against hers.

It felt good, the stiff prodding of his cock making circles against her soft belly. It

must have felt good to him, as well, because after a time he closed his eyes and made a
low, male sound of satisfaction deep in his throat. The water pounded around them. She
reached up, pulled his head down and kissed him.

The hot water from the shower rained over them, pouring over his face, into her

mouth as she sought after his mouth, pressed it open. She kissed him hard and he tasted
like rain. His hands slid down her wet body, cupped her buttocks and lifted her until
she was off her feet. She lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist. Her tongue
tangled languidly with his for a few more seconds, then she let his mouth go and tipped
her head forward to whisper in his ear.

“How about now? Will you fuck me now?”
He smiled a little. “Is that what you want?”
She wriggled against him. His hard cock was trapped between them, her movement

rolling it against her stomach.

“That’s exactly what I want,” she said, amused at the glazed look that had come into

his eyes. “No teasing, no twaddling, no foreplay, just take me out of here, set me on the
sink and fuck me hard.”

“It sounds so romantic when you put it that way.”
“I’m not after romance.”
He sobered. “I know. Maybe that’s the problem.”
Her head shot forward and she caught his lip between her teeth, nipping just a little

too hard. “Don’t start, Burke.”

“Ow,” he said, then wrapped one arm hard around her while he reached past her

with the other hand to turn the shower off.

There. That was better, she thought as he pushed the sliding shower door open and

carried her out. He set her down on the counter next to the sink and kissed her hard, his
hands lifting her legs until her knees pressed up under his arms. She tilted her hips
against him so that his cock slid deeper into her ready folds and suddenly he just
grabbed her, moved her, and plunged hard inside her.

Yes, this was it. Just a good, quick, mindless fuck on the bathroom counter. None of

that lovemaking bullshit he’d oh so gently coaxed out of her last time. This was the way

it was supposed to be. A good hard pound, his dick good and hard and deep inside her.
Crude, animal. Brutal in its way.

But then she made the mistake of opening her eyes, and found his looking down

straight into hers, searching for something he could only find by looking deeper than
she ever wanted him to look. And suddenly she couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t drag
herself away from this far too personal invasion. It opened her up too much, she couldn’
t stretch her soul around it. The brute, physical penetration she could handle, her body
could accept it, but this—

“Don’t,” he said. His eyes locked to hers, he came up hard inside her, until she

almost hurt with it. It was good pain, though, pain that set her body alight with need
and desire and the trembling edges of the ride to orgasm.

Don’t what? she almost said, but there was no point. She knew. Don’t look away, don’t

deny this, don’t press it down so hard and deep that you can’t feel it, so that it becomes just another
piece of armor between your heart and what you know damn well is happening here.

Just don’t.
His hips shifted back, the long, hot bulk of his cock dragging at her as he slid

partially out. He bent and let his lips brush her forehead, so soft, like rose petals, like
whispers, like love. Then he dug his fingers into her hips, hard enough to leave bruises,
and slammed himself home into the slick sheath of her body. His eyes went dark as he
let himself go.

“God,” he said, and as many times as she’d heard a man invoke a deity during

orgasm, she’d never heard it sound so much like a prayer.

This was scaring her. This was not the way it was supposed to be. She hadn’t even

climaxed yet, and she already felt wrung and satiated. Then, still pulsing the last
remnants of his own release, Burke reached between them and touched her clit.

It was all it took. Not a roll or a press or a tap, just that single, feather-light touch

against the seeking, turgid pearl of her clit and she heard her own voice rush out of her
throat in a startled shout as her body clenched, released, pulsed and threw her to the
stars in glorious convulsions of beauty.

Not fair, she thought, sagging against him, when she had finally regained some

semblance of control. Not fucking fair. Or not-fair fucking. Whatever.

And suddenly she found it hard to imagine what it would be like not to wake up in

his bed, not to have him always within touching distance, and that scared her more than
anything else.

He nuzzled her neck, his breath warm against her skin. “Was that what you wanted?

”

She only hummed a little, a sound of wordless satisfaction, because an honest

answer to that question was far more than she could handle right now. Not even close, her
stubborn, cynical brain insisted, but another voice inside her wailed in aching, almost
primal need, Yes. Yes, and always yes.

She pushed her head against Burke’s wet shoulder and forced herself not to think.

Chapter Nine

He was working when she woke; it seemed he was always working. For a moment

she wished she could have awakened with him in her bed, curled warm and solid next
to her, then she remembered she didn’t want that, didn’t want him that close and
intimate.

She watched for a time from the bed. He sat at the desk, wearing only his jeans, chest

and feet bare, fingers flying across the keyboard, then tapping the side of a steaming
coffee mug while he perused the monitor.

“What are you working on now?” she asked finally.
He glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Just compiling this data for Markham

Telecomm.”

Regan sat up, pushing her hand through her hair. As usual in the morning, it was

hopelessly tangled. “What data?” She crossed the room to stand behind him, looking
over his shoulder at the computer monitor.

“All the evidence against Warren. I’ll turn it over to the bigwigs at Markham, then

let them decide if they want to get the SEC involved.”

“SEC?”
“Securities Exchange Commission. They’ll be interested in seeing what Warren and

his friend have been up to.”

Of course. Regan frowned, waiting for her brain to clear. Her hand fell to Burke’s

shoulder, fingers tapping absently. Abruptly she let go of him and went to the
kitchenette, muttering, “Coffee.”

She had set the coffee to perk when Burke rose from the desk and came to stand

behind her. He laid his hands on her waist, smoothing her light white nightgown against
her skin.

“Are you all right?”
She started to look at him, but at the last moment she realized she didn’t want to. “I

don’t know. I just—I never imagined putting anyone in jail. Not even him.”

His hands tightened, comforting, but she didn’t want to be touched. She stood still,

not willing to move his hands away from her, wishing he would move them himself.

“It’s all right, babe,” he said gently. “I’ll take care of it from here on out. This is my

area of expertise, after all.”

Babe, she thought, and I’ll take care of it. Her mouth tightened and she moved away

from his hands, toward the bathroom.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she said. “Keep an eye on the coffee, would you?”
Burke watched her go, warm from touching her. He understood how she felt—he

still felt it every time he worked a case. The power he held, to end or begin another man’
s life, or to close a chapter in the life of a victim. He didn’t know if he deserved that
power—suspected most times that he didn’t—but often he felt he wielded it with care
and sometimes grace. But it took a lot of getting used to. Regan should never have had
to face anything like this. She should have been sheltered from the pain and the heavy
weight of the decision, of the results of the actions she had put into motion.

She wasn’t responding to it well, so he should spare her from it. It was his job and he

would do it.

She came out of the bathroom after a few minutes, wearing jeans and a tight white

T-shirt that bared her midriff. The navel ring glinted and Burke felt a sharp stab of desire
at the sight of it. Regan went to the kitchen counter and poured a cup of coffee, drinking
it black and hot, only wincing a little as she swallowed. She pushed a hand through her
hair, easing the thick mass of red waves away from her face. Her mouth was full and
sad, her finely shaped russet eyebrows drawn together minutely.

Burke took a step toward her and she looked up, one brow rising, daring him to

come closer. He stopped, puzzled. She was becoming increasingly harder to read.

“I understand all this bothers you,” he said carefully. “It’s hard to deal with. But I

don’t want you to worry. You were right to bring me in on this, and I’ll be sure it all gets
wrapped up the right way. From here on out, you don’t have to involve yourself at all if
you don’t want to.”

She looked at him, raising the other brow but otherwise betraying nothing at all in

any movement of her face. After a moment she lifted her coffee cup to her lips and
drained it. Then she set the cup back down on the counter.

“I’m going for a walk.”

* * * * *

It had happened again. She should have known it would. All Burke had ever done

was save her from herself. She should have known better than to involve him in the first
place.

Now it was too late to turn back. He was right about one thing—she needed him to

close this case, because there was no way she could handle something this big by
herself. It had to be done right, and it had to be done ruthlessly. She didn’t hate Warren
enough to carry it all through, and she didn’t know how to separate herself from those
feelings. Burke didn’t have to worry about emotion. To him this was just a job. He could
do it cleanly and coolly.

But she had to get away. Burke had insinuated himself into more than just her life

this time. He’d wormed his way into her heart. She couldn’t think of him at all now
without wanting to feel his hands on her, without wanting to see him arched above her,
his face empty of all but passion, while he stroked the deepest parts of her, made
himself part of her.

Sex had never been that big a deal for Regan. She’d discovered it a little earlier than

Paul would have liked, but later than many of her acquaintances. She’d found it
interesting and occasionally enjoyable, but it had never really marked her. It had always
been a weapon for her, a way to gain power when her life had been so closely
controlled. She hadn’t been promiscuous, but she hadn’t been exactly chaste, either.

And never, ever, had it involved anything more than her body. Until now.
She’d always loved Burke, though most of the time she wouldn’t have admitted it.

But now she had a horrible feeling she was in love. Completely and irretrievably.

She shifted position in the place she’d claimed under a shade tree, drawing her

knees up to her chin. Her eyes burned and a bit of the burning came free, rolling down
her cheek. It surprised her.

But if it hurt this much now, then now was the time to end it once and for all. In love

with Burke or not, she couldn’t let him take over her life. He’d already taken over her
case, to save her from the emotional turmoil and the difficulties of putting Warren
behind bars. And he’d taken over her heart, so that it was becoming increasingly difficult
to imagine going back to her life as it had been—a bit crazed but consistently Burke-less.

She put both hands against her knees, palms toward her face, and buried her mouth

against her own skin. For a moment she thought she felt a sob in her chest, but it slipped
away.

She’d been doing fairly well for herself, she thought. She’d become independent,

separated herself from Paul enough to feel like her own person. She couldn’t let Burke
ruin that, and if she let this go any farther, that was exactly what would happen. He
would take Paul’s place in her life, and she would once again be ruled, controlled,
regulated within an inch of propriety.

This time the sob came, and she choked on it. She had to leave him. It was the right

thing to do—the only thing to do.

But she didn’t have to do it today.

* * * * *

Burke could tell Regan was unhappy at breakfast, but his sensitivity ended there.

The source of her upset, or what he might be able to do to help, was anybody’s guess.

She brooded through the morning, and finally left to go for a walk, or so she said.

Burke let her go and didn’t ask what was wrong. If she needed time to herself, that was
her own business.

In the meantime, all his evidence was falling together nicely. Apparently Warren

had sold proprietary information to Novotel, then bought Novotel stock, only to sell it
when the value went up after Novotel scooped Markham Telecomm on the
technological advances Warren had passed along. Sneaky, effective, and more than a
little illegal. Amazing as it might seem, Regan’s investigative instincts had been right on
the money.

Regan returned in time to accompany Burke to lunch, and seemed happier. He

smiled and put his arm around her waist as they walked to the dining hall. She was
happy, and that made Burke feel good. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted to make
her happy for the rest of her life. Most of all, he wanted her to realize that what they had
together meant much more than a summer fling. Maybe that was why she was smiling
now; maybe she finally understood that. Burke was afraid to ask.

After lunch they had a surprise guest—Marty, looking tired.
“Is he going to hang?” she asked as Burke pulled out a chair for her and fetched a

glass of water.

“Not too many states hang anymore,” Burke said, “but I think we’re looking at a

pretty substantial jail sentence.”

Marty’s eyes widened as she took the water glass from Burke’s hand. “I didn’t

realize it was that bad.”

“I told you he was a pig,” said Regan. The sympathy she’d felt before for Marty

apparently hadn’t been a fluke. The poor woman had come here expecting some fun,
and instead she’d gotten caught up in all this. One could say she deserved it for the

company she kept, but Regan knew from experience that Warren, as company, was hard
to judge correctly without long-term exposure.

“I’m sorry,” Regan said. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this.”
Marty drank her water with the grace of a woman sipping wine, set the glass down

on the table just as delicately. “Everybody makes mistakes. I’m just glad I could help.
And I’m glad somebody got something positive out of it.” She smiled and sipped again
from her glass. “If it hadn’t been for Warren’s little games, you two never would have
gotten together.”

Regan’s face went hot and she tried very hard not to look at Burke. But she looked

anyway. He was trying very hard not to look at her.

But we’re not together, Regan wanted to say, but she couldn’t make the words come.

Marty winked at her, the weariness suddenly only a shadow. Regan swallowed and
wondered, when she broke things off with Burke, how much of her would die.

Hard to believe, Regan thought that evening as she packed, that today was already

their last day. She felt disconnected as she folded clothes, laying them in piles in her
suitcase. She forgot about her shoes, and had to push two pairs down between
already-packed stacks of shirts.

“You could save some space if you moved things around a little,” Burke said.
The calm, matter-of-fact comment blew the fuse that had been smoldering all day.
“Oh, really?” Regan wheeled on him, her voice low and angry. “Well, then, why don

’t you just pack the damned thing yourself?”

She picked up the suitcase and dumped it against his wide chest, then stormed into

the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Boy, that was stupid, she thought as she leaned over the sink trying to collect

herself. But, stupid or not, she knew why it had happened. Because Burke’s comments
had underscored all the reasons Regan had for leaving him. Even with something as
simple as packing a suitcase, he couldn’t keep from sticking his nose in.

Even with something as simple as packing a suitcase, she couldn’t keep from going

ballistic.

It was hopeless. She could want it and want it, but that simple fact remained the

same.

She still had packing to do, but it could wait. She turned on the water and began to

fill the tub.

Perplexed, Burke stared at the bathroom door Regan had just slammed. What had

he done? He’d only been trying to help. She’d always been mercurial, but this was
taking it to a new extreme.

He picked up the clothes that had fallen on the floor and put them back in the

suitcase, shoes on the bottom, other items neatly folded and arranged to maximize the
available packing room. That was all he’d intended to do in the first place, just help her
pack her things a little more efficiently.

The water came on in the bathroom. She was filling the tub. Fine time to take a bath,

he thought, then the image of her lounging naked, maybe with some of that bubble bath

provided by the resort, the bubbles clinging to her pale skin, the milky curves of her
breasts—

He forced his attention back to the suitcases. He really did need to finish packing.
After a time, the water stopped running. He heard soft splashing. His body wound

up tight in response. He wanted her.

This might be his last chance. If he could make her crazy with wanting him, nuts

with needing him, maybe he could change her mind about the nature of their
relationship. Maybe he could get her to realize this was meant to be, that for all those
years, this intimacy had been waiting in the wings.

He went to the bathroom door. As his hand closed on the doorknob, he suddenly

realized she could have locked him out. If she had, this would be over before it began.
But the knob turned, and the door opened to let out a drift of steam.

Regan glared up at him from the tub. The piles of bubbles over the surface of the

water barely camouflaged her nudity.

“What?” she snapped.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and came toward her.
She looked puzzled and angry for a moment, then her face softened. He liked it

when she softened, when she let her barriers drop. She was so afraid of losing herself, he
thought. So afraid to let go.

He knelt next to the tub, half expecting her to heave soapy water at him. But she

only sat staring at his throat. Staring, but with distant eyes, as if her thoughts were
elsewhere. The rhythm of her breathing had changed, quickened, shallowed. A faint
flush had risen in her cheeks, but perhaps that was from the hot water in the tub, rather
than arousal.

Her eyes came back, focusing on him, shifting their attention to his face. He smiled a

little, then let his gaze rove her body, fixating on the places where water lapped flesh.
The movement of the water exposed a tantalizing arc of pink on her breasts from time to
time, but never quite as far down as her nipples.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He still wasn’t sure what he’d done, but he knew an apology

was what she wanted to hear.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.” A momentary flash in her eyes

was replaced almost immediately by sadness.

But Burke grinned. “You’re right. I don’t. But the last thing I want to do is make you

mad. I’m afraid you might hurt me.”

She rolled her eyes, but a little smile teased the edges of her mouth. “I would, you

know.”

He cupped her face in his hand. “I know.” Then his hand fell from her face down

into the water, onto her thigh. The movement displaced the bubbles, giving him a
glimpse of the bright curls brushing his fingers.

Regan’s hand closed over his. “I think there might be room for two.”
There really wasn’t room for two, especially when one was six foot four, but Regan

was immediately glad she’d made the suggestion. He gave her a sly smile and began to
unbutton his shirt.

Her eyes went to the open V of his shirt, the soft blue cloth and the smatter of hair in

the hollow of his throat. And the slow exposure of more skin, more hair, of the curves of
his pectorals as he eased open one wooden button after another.

Although she’d been naked in the tub throughout their exchange, only now did she

begin to feel truly exposed. Only as he began to expose himself did she begin to feel
vulnerable. She fought the urge to cover her breasts, reminding herself they were
already mostly obscured by the bubbles.

He pulled his shirt off, unfastened his jeans. She watched the movement of muscle

under his skin, his slow, languid movement, his eyes on her, moving across her body,
finding even what still lay hidden under the water. He was smiling, wickedly,
seductively.

Then, quickly, he shucked his pants, stepped out of them, and stood there a

moment, letting her look.

Look she did, taking in the wedge of his beautiful body, the wide shoulders and

trim waist, everything in between. His cock, thick even at half-mast, twitched when she
looked at it. He grinned and stepped into the tub.

It became immediately apparent that there was no way they were both going to fit

into the tub. She tucked her legs up as he tried to find a spot for himself, but her feet
ended up under his ass, anyway.

“This is not going to work,” she said, trying not to laugh, because laughing right

now, tangled up naked with him, would be too intimate.

But he reached across the tub and caught her under the arms, pulling her to him. He

lay back, drawing her with him, until she lay across him, and suddenly there was room,
as long as she was willing to accept the stretch of his naked flesh against hers as he
settled her on top of him. Willing to accept it when he pulled her down to him and
kissed her. Her back was cold now, having been pulled out of the warm water, and his
mouth was hot, hot and needy and seeking, demanding things he had no right to ask.

She should have stopped it right then, knowing she had to protect her heart,

knowing she had to cut this off, and hard, if she was going to be able to function in any
way close to normal after it was over. But she pressed harder into him, filling her mouth
with his.

This is not a fling. The annoying little voice buzzed in the back of her head until she

wanted to swat it away. You want him too much for this to be a fling. You want to keep him.

So what? Maybe she did want to keep him. Own him. And if it could have been that

way, maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad, but she knew Burke too well. He was not a
man to be owned. He was a man to own and control. He’d always been there, lurking all
around the edges of her life to be sure she stayed out of trouble. If she let him into the
center of her life, it would be no different.

No, it would be different. It would be worse.
But she couldn’t stop kissing him. It was like trying to quit halfway through a bag of

M&M’s—an effort of will simply beyond her ability. He just tasted so good, all the
textures and movements of his tongue, his lips, bringing desire to pool in her pelvis,
stoking the fire she’d tried so hard to resist. She moaned deep in her throat—

And he laughed.
She jerked back, offended. “What the fuck?”
“Nothing. Not you.” He shifted stiffly under her, grunting. “I’m bent in half. If we

stay in here much longer you’re going to have to use a crowbar to get me out.”

That drew a smile out of her, part amused, part embarrassed. She leaned back. “You

want to take this into the bedroom?”

“Only if you’ll let me.” His eyes twinkled at her.
In response, she pushed herself out of the tub and grabbed a towel, wrapping it

around her. She tilted an eyebrow at him, then turned and walked into the next room.

He was right behind her before she realized he’d followed her. Gathering her up

into his still-wet arms, he lifted her and tumbled with her onto the bed. She laughed. She
hadn’t meant to, but she couldn’t help it. He laughed, too, grabbed her and flipped her
over to face him, then kissed her, the water from his wet hair dripping into her face.

Regan let him, still wondering why she was letting this happen. She should be

letting him go, letting him fall out of the place in her heart he’d decided to occupy. But
her body ached for one last encounter before it was forced to give up this Burke-drug
forever.

It would have to be on her terms, though. When his hands slid down her body,

easing her into his pattern of seduction, she batted them away. She would be in charge
this time, this last time. She wouldn’t leave him thinking he had controlled their affair.

Almost frustratingly, Burke seemed willing—if not happy—to go along with Regan’

s intentions, making no protest as she rolled him over and straddled him.

“You couldn’t have dried off a little?” she asked. The sheets were already drenched

under him.

He grinned. “I did. A little.” He reached up to cup her breasts and she pushed his

hands away again. “No. You do what I say this time.”

“Okay.”
Not even a token show of resistance. How disappointing. She leaned over him,

pinning his wrists to the bed. He was still hard, his cock prodding against her, nearly
penetrating her as she wriggled on top of him. She shivered a little, thinking of having
him inside her again. She might as well admit it to herself—she’d never had sex as good
as she’d had with Burke.

Or maybe she shouldn’t admit it. It might mean something. This had to be mindless

and intense, and it had to be totally under her control, because this was going to be the
end of it.

She bent her head to his, kissed him hard, trying to bruise his taste into her own

mouth. As much as she needed this to be over, she didn’t want to forget it. Not any of it.
He moved a little under her and, instinctively, she moved with him and found him
suddenly inside her, rising high up into her in a slick, almost accidental thrust. She
gasped. He filled her up so tight and full, and her body clenched on him automatically,
feeling the length, the thickness, the friction.

Then she found herself looking right down into his face, meeting his eyes, and it was

almost more than she could bear. His green-brown eyes were full of emotion—damp,
wrung-out, intensely intimate emotion—maybe it was love but she didn’t even want to
think that, much less see it or feel it.

So she closed her eyes and rode him hard, drawing herself up and down on the rigid

length of his cock until her thighs burned with the exertion and her vagina felt almost
raw with the friction. She wished he would come, so she could stop—she wished he

would never come so she could ride him like this forever.

Too much. She was feeling too much; her heart was starting to hurt. She slid off him

abruptly. A lump rose in her throat. Was that it? The last time he would ever be inside
her? She forced the thought back, looking up again at his face. His expression held a
question. She answered it by bending over and licking him, her tongue circling the
engorged head of his cock, sliding down the length of it.

It was slick with the salty-musky taste of her own arousal. This is what I taste like, she

thought. If he put his tongue inside me, this is what he would taste. She closed her eyes,
shivering, not sure why the thought affected her so strongly. Maybe it was just the
image, of his head between her thighs, the thought of his tongue maneuvering and
penetrating her…

But this was her show, her turn. Opening herself to him like that would make her

vulnerable, and right now she needed to be in control. She tightened her mouth on him,
just under the ridge of his glans, sucked until he made a choked, gasping noise, then
drew him in harder, deeper.

She knew what guys liked, and she was good at this. There truly was no better way

to dominate a man. She wanted him wrung out and helpless, wanted to see complete
mindlessness in his eyes when he came. Toward that end, she pulled him in as far as she
could without choking on him, took a moment to feel the slide of his glans against the
back of her throat, let him pull out, drew him back in—

He was trying to set the rhythm, pulsing into her mouth, but she broke his stride,

altering the movement by holding still, not letting him move. While she waited for him
to get the message, she lifted his scrotum in her hand, shaped his testicles with her
fingers. He shivered under her. She let his cock out of her mouth and lipped his balls,
drew his testicles into her mouth one at a time, letting her tongue find the smooth globes
beneath the skin of his scrotum. His hips bucked and he said, “Regan, please—”

Good. He was begging now. That was a good thing. She should finish him off now,

hard and fast, let him come in her hand, or between her breasts. Toward that end, she
grasped him firmly again, her fingers curling around his cock, and knew immediately
that she couldn’t do it like this. Just one more time, she had to have him inside her.

She swung a leg back over his body, pushed him into her with her fingers. He lifted

his hips under her, driving in deep, his head going back. He was right on the edge, his
fists clenched in the blankets, his body taut, and when he looked up at her again his eyes
had gone from hazel to an odd, clear green.

He lifted his hands, holding them open, palm out, toward her. Without thinking, she

lifted her own hands, folded her fingers between his. Only then did she realize her
mistake. He tightened his grip on her, looked right into his eyes, pulsed up into her
hard and strong, and came.

She couldn’t look away. He had hold of her with his hands, but not that tightly, and

that wasn’t it at all. He was looking right into her face as he emptied himself into her,
and she could see into depths and darknesses and open places in his eyes she’d never
imagined existed.

He finished, let his breath out in a long, ragged, satisfied gasp. Letting go of her

hands, he sat up and gathered her against him, kissing her, soft and gentle. Loving.

She let him. She didn’t know why she let him. It was a kiss that went straight to her

heart and made her feel things she had no desire to feel. But she let him finish it, let

herself feel. Something inside her wanted it, was maybe afraid she would never
experience anything like this again.

But when he released her hands reached between their bodies, his fingers sliding

between the wet folds of her labia, she pushed his hand away. “Forget it.”

“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
She rolled off him, walked toward her own bed, dragging her towel behind her.
“You’re not going to stay and cuddle?” Burke sounded plaintive, but also like he

wasn’t serious about it.

“In that wet bed? I don’t think so.” She slid into her own bed, pulled the covers over

her and closed her eyes.

She could still feel him inside her, and it took her a long time to fall asleep.

* * * * *

It was a dream, surely, she thought, when she felt hands on the insides of her thighs,

lifting her legs apart. Then she blinked, and she was awake, and Burke had put his
tongue against her clit, soft and gentle, flat, then curled, then harder, prodding her with
the tip of his tongue.

She was so surprised she didn’t even think to do anything about it. Looking down

toward him, she could see little more than the silhouette of his head between her legs, a
glint as a finger of light touched the moisture on his tongue, her labia. He licked the
inside of her long outer lips, then her inner lips, then found her clit again.

His tongue moved in languid circles until the pearl of flesh had gone hard and

hungry, then he plied it oh so carefully with his teeth, then his tongue again until she
arched under him, trapped inside a single heartbeat, a single moment of ecstasy that
seemed to lift her like a wind under her back, and she let the wind move through her in
a long breath that somewhere along the way turned into a sob.

He chuckled a little as she came back down, her body pulsing like the ripples in a

pond, his tongue against her clit acting as the pebble that had started them. She blinked
up into the darkness. He moved away from her, slid his hands up her legs, over her
belly, her breasts, then kissed her softly before he left her alone in her bed.

Damn that Burke, she thought when she’d finished shuddering. Always has to have the

last word.

* * * * *

Burke had never been so thoroughly worked over in his life. Waking up slowly,

with the sun touching his face through the window, he felt just plain happy. And ready
for more.

He rolled over in the bed and hit the wet place where they’d brought half the

contents of the tub with them. It was cold now, and uncomfortable.

He rolled back into the dry area and looked at the other bed. She wasn’t there, either,

and the bed was neatly made.

Burke sat up, rubbing his face. Where was she? He’d assumed they would leave

together this morning, maybe meet back at his boat to wrap up the case. He’d wanted to

show her exactly what he had, so she could look it over before he turned it over to the
authorities.

Well, maybe she was just in the bathroom. Trouble was, the cabin echoed with

silence.

He rolled naked out of bed to confirm that she was, indeed, gone. Lock, stock and

barrel, suitcase, shoes and makeup bag. There was a note on the counter next to the sink.

Dear Burke, it said. Decided to leave early since you seem to have everything well in hand. It’s

been fun. Later, Regan.

Well, hell. This made no sense. She’d asked for his help and he’d given it. He’d

given himself to her, and she’d taken that, too. And last night she’d made love to him
like she’d really meant it. So what was this?

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was getting a headache.
He should just let her go. If he pursued this, this wouldn’t be the last headache he’d

suffer.

Then he thought about last night’s sex. About the warm happiness he’d woken up

with.

Who cared about headaches? That was why God made aspirin.

* * * * *

Regan was unpacking when Burke arrived. She’d only been home a few hours, and

was surprised to see him—she’d hoped the tone of her note had been a clear enough
dismissal.

Apparently Burke wasn’t easily dismissed.
“Have you had dinner yet?” he said, breezing past her into her small, bright,

cluttered apartment. He looked strangely at home, she thought, his battered jeans and
faded T-shirt blending into the havoc of her personal space.

No, she told herself sharply. He’s wrong. Way wrong. So wrong.
“No, I haven’t had dinner yet.” She crossed her arms firmly across her chest. “Why?”

“I thought we could go grab something while we talk about this.” He waved a

manila folder.

“What is that?”
“The case file. I wanted to go over it with you before I did anything else.”
Regan twitched an eyebrow. This was unexpected. He’d taken the case and run—she

’d assumed he had nothing more to say to her about it.

“Why do I need to look at it?”
“You don’t need to. I just thought you might want to. It’s your case, after all.”
She shrugged. “Not really. Not anymore.” She just wished he’d leave. Having him in

her apartment was too homey. She wanted him to sit down on the couch, maybe pop up
some microwave popcorn, grab a beer and watch ESPN while she complained she was
missing something on another channel. She wanted him to leave her toilet seat up and
squeeze her toothpaste tube from the middle. Maybe even leave that annoying razor
stubble in her sink.

“Just leave it here. I can look at it when I’m done unpacking.”
Burke gave an exasperated sigh and threw the folder down on the coffee table. It slid

a few inches; its contents slid a few more, dumping a couple of photographs onto the
floor on the other side of the table.

“Why did you leave?”
Regan couldn’t look at him. “Because I wanted to.”
He shook his head wearily. Why couldn’t he just give up? “When we made love that

last time. I thought it meant—“

“What?” She broke through, harsh and rude, because she couldn’t bear to hear what

he was going to say. “That I was going to be your happy little mistress? That you finally
got me to submit to your masculine charms? Not likely.”

He watched her placidly, waiting to see if she was done. “No. I thought it meant you

’d changed your mind.”

Regan swallowed a huge lump that had come from nowhere. He just wasn’t playing

fair. “No,” she lied. “Not a chance.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to go away.” Tears burned hot behind her eyes. “I want this to be

over. I need this to be over.”

He shook his head again, this time resigned. “All right. Fine. Look at the files. You

can mail them back to me.”

And he left. Just like she wanted him to.
She’d wanted him to stay.

* * * * *

Burke was confused. It wasn’t the first time he’d been confused by a woman, but it

was the first time he’d wanted so much to be un-confused. Trouble was, he didn’t even
know where to start.

He sat that night sprawled on his couch, watching the weather. The Pacific was calm,

with no storms projected for a while. Not for the first time, he thought about turning the
boat loose for a good, long stint at sea. Only this time he didn’t picture himself alone. He
pictured Regan puttering in his kitchen, or sprawling naked across his bed as they
rocked across the ocean. He thought about a few days ago when she’d been here,
listening to his insurance woes, and how good it had felt for her to be here. He’d never
been able to picture Alicia on the Little Squirrel, but Regan was a different story. She’d
leave his toilet seat down and squeeze his toothpaste from the end and probably shave
her legs with his razor. At night they’d make white-hot love and then not get dressed
until noon the next day. No one would care, out in the middle of the ocean.

He sighed and changed to ESPN. He just didn’t know how to make it happen. The

whole thing was beyond his ability to fathom.

He’d hoped maybe she’d relent and bring his case file back in person, but it showed

up a few days later at the post office. There was nothing left but to hand the evidence
over to the bigwigs at Markham Telecomm and let them deal with the rest.

That was the only thing about his life right now that he understood. The Regan

factor, as usual, remained impossible to calculate.

Chapter Ten

Life had become a ticking bomb. Regan knew Burke had handed the results of the

investigation over to the suits at Markham, but nothing had happened yet. She knew it
would take some time for them to go over the information, and if it ended up with the
SEC, they’d undoubtedly take some time with it, as well. But it was strange to go back to
life as usual, without even a breath of rumor hinting at Warren’s imminent downfall.

It was even stranger to go back to life without Burke.
It took concentrated effort to excise him from her thoughts. She found herself

watching TV and laughing, then wondering if Burke would have laughed, too. Or she’d
make spaghetti and wonder how much Parmesan he liked, if he appreciated mushrooms
and roasted garlic as much as she did.

Paul came over two nights after she came home, just to be sure she was still

speaking to him.

“You didn’t know what was going on,” she said, “so I guess I’ll forgive you. This

time.”

“So how is Burke?”
Fantastic. Incredible. Big and hairy and hung like a god. “He’s fine.”
“Well, it’s good to have you home.”
“It’s good to be home.”
But it wasn’t.

* * * * *

It was some measure of Burke’s desperation that, after three nights of tossing and

turning and not a great deal of sleep, he decided to look to Paul for advice. Paul was,
after all, Regan’s brother, and so should have some insight.

He needed to talk to Paul, anyway. He’d figured up the bill for his week of

investigating—not that he was going to ask Paul to pay it. Once this story broke, the
increased business would more than make up for a week’s work.

He might just bill Regan, though.
Paul wasn’t going to like this—Burke knew that. He wasn’t going to be happy at all

about his little sister finding love—or at least sex—in the arms of his best friend. But
once he thought about it, surely he’d come around. After all, all he had ever wanted was
to be certain of Regan’s well-being. He would understand that Burke would never hurt
her, that he would treat her well and take good care of her. That was what was important
in the long run. Paul was a reasonable, logical man. Not at all like his sister. Not one bit.

It wasn’t the first time Burke had walked down the semi-hallowed halls of Harrison,

Parker and MacAllister. It was the first time he’d been intimidated by the tall oak doors

and the general air of superiority.

In spite of work Burke had done for various employees of the firm, Paul was the

only attorney there who ever greeted Burke with honest interest. Everyone else seemed
to wonder why an up-and-coming attorney would associate with a grimy P.I. on
anything other than a professional basis. But Paul had an unflagging sense of loyalty
that Burke hoped would play in his favor.

Paul’s secretary had said Paul was available, and that Burke should just go on in.

She’d always seemed to like Burke, and gave him a friendly smile as he knocked on
Paul’s tall, oak, suddenly intimidating office door.

“Come in!” Paul barked from behind the door, sounding dangerously close to

annoyed. Burke shifted the manila folder in his hands and opened the door.

Paul’s desk had once been big, shiny, and impressive. Mahogany, Burke thought.

But Paul was its fourth occupant, and it had collected numerous scuffs and bruises
along the way. Paul could have requested a new one—he had enough clout in the firm
now—but he’d told Burke the desk just had an aura about it, as if it had absorbed the
wisdom of its previous occupants.

Burke had wondered why, if the previous occupants had been so wise, they were no

longer with Harrison, Parker and MacAllister. Now, walking into the office and
remembering the story about the desk’s wisdom, he wondered if Paul wasn’t so
different from Regan, after all.

The thought did nothing to reassure Burke, even when Paul looked up from his

work with a bright smile. Paul’s brown hair stuck up, as it did when Paul had been
thinking too hard. He shoved his hands through it a lot when he concentrated, so that it
looked like all the activity in his brain had tried to escape through his scalp and had left
his hair all spiky as evidence.

“Hey, Burke,” Paul said. “What’s up? Finally decide to bring me my bills?”
Burke cleared his throat. He’d never felt so discomfited in Paul’s presence before.

Couldn’t have anything to do with the fact you boinked his baby sister, could it? Trying to
pretend the thought hadn’t just drifted across his mind, Burke displayed the envelope
full of receipts for his Regan-finding mission. “I have them,” he said. “But I think maybe
I’m not going to give them to you.”

Paul frowned. “Why not?” He opened a hand toward the empty leather chair in

front of his desk. “I told you I’d pay you.”

Burke tossed the envelope casually onto the desk, then sank into the chair just as

loosely. It was a nice chair, he thought, comfortable, a reassuring place for distraught
women seeking divorce, or unfairly wronged victims of crime. Or almost ex-friends who
’d been intimate with people they shouldn’t have been intimate with.

He reminded himself he was here to plead for himself, not against, and turned his

thoughts back to the case. “It’s not every day I get to close the books on a case of
industrial-espionage-slash-insider-trading. It was kind of a rush. And it’ll be good for
my reputation. As soon as this thing breaks, I expect to have my pick of customers.”

Paul grinned crookedly. “So you owe me one.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” He poked at the envelope, making it lie a little

straighter on Paul’s immaculate desk. “Anyway, payment isn’t really necessary under
the circumstances.”

Paul was still grinning. That wouldn’t last much longer.
“Yeah, you did a good one there, Burke. I knew Warren was a scumbag, but who’d’

ve dreamed he was into that kind of thing? How’d you pull it off?”

“Regan,” Burke said simply. “She fell into it by accident, and I just picked it up and

ran with it. She’s a hell of a woman, your sister.”

He paused, and into the pause Paul inserted an appropriate brotherly sound of

admiration. Burke moistened his lips, and went on.

“Which brings me to the next subject.”
“Which is?”
Burke’s hands felt nervous and clammy as he reflexively popped his knuckles. “

I… there’s something we need to talk about.”

A frown beetled across Paul’s forehead. He had no idea where Burke was going

with this, and Burke knew it. Best get it over with as quickly and mercifully as possible.

“It’s about Regan.” He stopped. He didn’t know what to say next. If things

continued as they had, the affair at the Meadows would prove an aberration. There’d be
no need for Paul to know.

But that wasn’t what Burke wanted. He wanted Regan back in his life, body and

soul. And, most importantly, back in his heart. He couldn’t settle for anything less.

Paul was staring at him, eyebrows raised, completely unprepared for the blow

Burke knew was coming.

“What about Regan?” he said.
Tell him or not tell him, Burke wondered, then he heard his own voice say, “I’m in

love with her.”

He’d intended to be a little more subtle. He shut his mouth before anything else

came out of it.

Paul’s face had gone white, his eyes burning. In that moment he looked

frighteningly like Regan, without the red hair but with all the temper. Burke held very
still, waiting for the storm to pass.

“What did you do to her?” Paul’s voice grated through clenched teeth. His fists

clenched on the desk.

At first Burke wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What do you mean, what did I do to

her?”

Paul pushed his chair back and came to his feet, anger blazing in his eyes.

Instinctively, Burke did the same, his body tensing, prepared for the attack he sensed
was coming.

“Did you sleep with her?” Paul’s voice was quiet and strung with menace.
Burke took a step away from the chair, giving himself room to maneuver if he

needed it. He’d expected Paul’s reaction to be negative, but this was a bit much.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
Paul came around the desk, keeping one hand in contact with the wood. “The hell it

isn’t. She’s just a kid, Burke! What the fuck were you thinking?”

A searing ball of fury rose in Burke’s throat, turning the edges of his vision red. How

could Paul dare to think he would hurt her? He’d taken care of her for years—how could
he do anything else now? “She’s twenty-six years old, Paul. And I wasn’t her first.”

Paul hit him. Hard. A burst of pain filled the side of Burke’s face and he tasted

blood beneath his tongue. He took the punch, absorbed it, then slowly opened his eyes,
standing very still. Paul stood in front of him, chest heaving, fists still clenched.

It took a great effort of will not to smash Paul’s face in. Burke waited a moment, a

moment more, until he knew he had control. Then he reached forward, gathered up Paul
’s lapels and lifted him off his feet, setting him hard against the office wall. The
movement put Paul’s eyes on a level with Burke’s.

“Now you listen to me,” said Burke, “and you listen very closely. I have never—

never—done anything to hurt Regan. If you’ll recall, I’ve spent a good deal of time
protecting her from herself. I didn’t hurt her this time, either. What happened between
us was mutual.”

“Was?” Paul’s voice was choked. Seeing that much of the fury had faded, Burke

eased him back down to the floor. Paul straightened his lapels and his dignity and
glared up at Burke. “So it’s over? You just had an affair and then you dumped her?”

Burke resisted the urge to let down his guard—Paul’s voice was still too edgy. “

Actually, she dumped me. She thinks it’s over. I beg to differ, but I don’t know exactly
how things stand right now. I do know that I’m not going to walk just because you have
your head too far up your damned ass to figure out what’s going on around you. In fact,
I’d thought you might come down on my side in this.”

Paul shook his head, his expression one of disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You

thought I’d help you get her back?”

Yeah, it did sound pretty stupid now. Credit three less-than-restful nights for Burke’

s illogical hope. A little more sleep deprivation and he’d start thinking Regan would
move into his boat, put on an apron and cook him dinner.

But he couldn’t stop now. He’d put his feet on the road, and he wasn’t going to back

up until he was absolutely sure this was a dead end.

“Think about it.” Paul was a lawyer—surely he could follow some simple logic. “

Would you rather see her with somebody like me, or with some nutcase with tattoos
and a stud in his tongue?”

“Someone like you,” Paul admitted readily. “But not you.”
“Why not me?”
Paul shook his head. There was a guardedness in his eyes Burke had never seen

before—not, at least, directed at him. It was the look Paul reserved for clients about
whom he harbored serious doubts. It made Burke’s stomach heavy and cold.

“I’m sorry,” Paul said. “I can’t help you. There’s right and there’s wrong, and this is

wrong. You do what you want, but don’t expect my blessing.” He stepped back toward
the desk. “I think you should go now.”

Burke nodded and stepped backward toward the door. “I love her, Paul. I think I

always have.”

He went back out and closed the door behind him, not even looking at Paul’s

secretary as he trudged back down the intimidating hallway, between the tall oak doors.
This just got worse and worse the more he tried to make it better.

The most horrible part of it didn’t occur to him until the next day.
He’d told Paul he loved Regan. What if Paul told her?

Chapter Eleven

Warren was gone. Regan still couldn’t believe it.
She’d been home a week. This morning, Regan’s boss, Dale Masters, had asked her

to go through Warren’s desk, separating out his personal effects. Apparently Warren
had been escorted out of the building yesterday morning. “And it’s not over,” Dale had
said, which meant the SEC hadn’t even started with Warren yet.

Regan laid a picture of Warren’s wife down in the bottom of a box. She’d found the

picture in a desk drawer, easily accessible to Warren, but hidden from anyone who
might visit his office. She thought about what had started all this, of what her motives
had been. Had she been looking for revenge for herself, or for this lovely, dark-haired
woman? She didn’t know anymore. She didn’t know much of anything anymore, it
seemed.

The next item she picked up was Warren’s day planner. She laid it down in the box,

then, on an impulse, took it back out and opened it. His wife’s phone number was
written on the first page.

Regan had no idea what drove her as she picked up the phone and dialed the

number. She knew very little about Warren’s wife, other than that she worked as a
hospital administrator. She wasn’t even sure which hospital.

“Mary Ann Cassidy,” a voice said after a few rings. Regan was surprised she’d

answered—she’d expected her to be somewhere with Warren, or at least taking the day
off to recover from yesterday’s events. As it was, Mary Ann’s voice sounded weak and a
bit watery.

“Um, hi,” Regan started, not at all sure what she was going to say. “You don’t know

me. My name’s Regan O’Rourke.”

A small noise came from Mary Ann’s end of the connection, and Regan paused,

almost certain the woman had just hung up. But then Mary Ann said, in a stronger voice,
“Go on.”

“I… ” Regan swallowed. “I work with Warren. Anyway, I know about what

happened yesterday, and I just wanted to say that if you need anything… ” She trailed
off, not sure what exactly she was saying, totally at a loss as to why she had felt driven to
reach out to this woman, except that they had both been wronged by the same man.

Mary Ann made another small, indecipherable noise, and when she spoke a sob

lurked in her voice. “Thank you, Regan. That’s… that’s very kind of you.” A pause, then,
steadier, “I’m leaving him.”

“Good for you,” said Regan. “Listen, I know this is hard, and I won’t keep you any

longer, but please, if you need anything, don’t hesitate. I’m in the book—Regan O’
Rourke.”

“Thank you.”
Gently, Regan hung up the phone, then put her face in her hands.
An hour later, she taped the box shut and walked back to her cubicle. On her

terminal was a yellow sticky note.

“Drop by when you get a chance. Dale.”
Regan peeled the yellow paper free and crumpled it in her hand. Why would Dale

want to see her? Maybe to be sure she’d gotten Warren’s things taken care of. She sat
down and skimmed her e-mail to be sure nothing vital waited, then left the office again
to traipse down the hall to Dale’s.

He was on the phone when she stopped in front of his open door. At her questioning

look he gestured for her to come in and sit down. Regan sat demurely. Dale was one of
very few people who could make her self-conscious. He was the epitome of
buttoned-down white collar, in a neat dark blue suit and a not-too-garish tie,
salt-and-pepper hair trimmed neatly around his ears, horn-rimmed glasses obscuring
his eyes just enough to make them difficult to read.

He wound up his call and hung up the phone, then turned to Regan, folding his

hands on the desk in front of him.

“How did it go?” he asked. “Did you get Warren’s things packed up?”
Regan nodded. “It’s all set. There’s only one small box of personal things—the rest

is all ours.”

“That’s about what I expected.” He studied her a moment, then leaned back in his

chair. “I’ve been giving some thought to this situation. I’m left with a leadership vacuum
—actually, truth to tell, I had a vacuum while Warren was here. His experience was
mostly in marketing, and he didn’t know much about handling programming
professionals like yourself.”

Regan moved her head a little, hoping the motion looked positive. So far, she had

no idea what he was getting at.

“Anyway,” Dale went on, “I’ve been thinking it might be a good idea to have

someone in that position who knows something about programming. Someone who
could actually step in and do the code if it became necessary. Someone who could read
through it and have some idea whether it will work up to our standards. What do you
think about that?”

“I think it’s a very good idea. In fact, I think I said something similar at our last staff

meeting.”

Dale smiled. “Yes, I believe you did. Which is one of the reasons why I’d like to see

you move into that position.”

Regan had no idea what kept her mouth from falling open. “Me?” she said, the word

cracking a little as she shoved it past the lump of shock.

Dale’s small smile widened. Regan was certain she’d never seen him look so

amused. “That’s right. I’ve been very impressed with your work. You’re one of the best
coders we have, and you’ve performed superbly as a project leader on several
occasions. I think you have exactly the type of expertise which would bring strength to
Warren’s old position and make up for the losses he brought about.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Think about it,” said Dale. “There’s a raise involved, as I’m sure you’re aware.

There’s also an increase in responsibility, but I’d say you’re capable of handling it.” He
hesitated, and his smile became warm, almost fatherly. “I know you’re a free spirit,
Regan, and I don’t expect you to change. In fact, I think your independent attitude will
be an asset in this position. We need innovation and courage. We need you.”

“I’m flattered, Dale.” This was huge, too much to take in. “I’ll think about it. I really

will. And thank you.”

Back at her desk, she folded her hands and set her chin on them, wondering. She’d

never dreamed anything like this would drift her way. Yes, she’d always done her job to
the best of her ability, but she liked programming and had always expected to follow
that path. This was unexpected. And wonderful.

Yes, definitely wonderful. She felt the slow smile on her face before she felt the

surge of pride and happiness in her stomach. Really wonderful.

She picked up the phone. It had rung twice before she realized she’d dialed Burke’s

number.

Quickly, smile fading in her own shock, she hung it back up.

* * * * *

Regan went home in a daze. She still couldn’t believe Dale had offered her Warren’s

job.

She really couldn’t believe she’d accepted it.
She’d intended to give it a few days’ thought, but, sitting in front of her computer

that afternoon, she’d had a sudden impulse. A flash of insight, or just stupidity, the kind
of urge she’d been trying to ignore or at least control. But this time she decided to follow
it.

So she’d marched down the hall to Dale’s office and accepted the position. He’d

been pleased—more than pleased, really—and she’d been flattered by his enthusiasm.
He’d also give her the rest of the day off. Tomorrow she would start moving her things
into Warren’s old office.

With a couple of extra hours to kill, she’d taken herself to dinner, then stopped by

the store for a celebratory pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

Three-quarters of the way through the ice cream, she decided it was time to let

someone else know. Her fingers started fluttering. Typing the pattern of Burke’s phone
number, she realized, and made them stop.

Strangely, she wanted to tell him more than she wanted to tell anyone else, even

Paul. And there had been this weird, nagging feeling in the back of her head for days
that there was something else she needed to tell Burke. Something important. But no
matter how hard she concentrated on it, she couldn’t quite pin down what it was.

Unless it had something to do with the way she kept thinking about him, about the

way his hair looked with the morning sun gilding it, about the way he smelled first
thing in the morning. Or the strange lump which seemed to have grown somewhere
between her heart and her stomach, so that she couldn’t quite take a deep breath
anymore. Or the way she kept turning over in bed in the middle of the night and
reaching for him, only to touch her extra pillow, or a fold in the quilt.

But she had no intention of telling him any of those things.
She set the ice cream aside and laid her hand on the handset of the phone on the

table next to the couch. As she sat there tapping the plastic with the tips of her fingers,
someone knocked on the door.

Regan nearly jumped out of her skin. Heart still pattering, she went to answer the

door.

It was Paul.
“Good, you’re home,” he said. “Can I come in?”
Regan shrugged, defenses popping up. Paul looked worried—the kind of worried

that usually meant Regan was about to get a good talking-to. The kind of worried that
usually made her tell him to go away and come back later when he could treat her like
an adult.

This time she stood aside and let him in, though. She wasn’t sure why, but maybe

she’d figure it out before he left.

“Um, how are you doing?” he said as he fell onto her couch. His voice was strangely

hesitant. He looked harried, his face creased into a frown and most of his dark brown
hair standing on end.

“I’m fine,” she said, sitting down in her armchair. She picked up the ice cream and

scooped out a big spoonful, licking it off the spoon as if it were in a cone. “You look like
crap. Want some ice cream?”

“No. No, not really.”
“Good, because that was really just a rhetorical question.”
He managed a twitch of a smile. “I knew that.” Then he frowned. “Are you polishing

off an entire pint?” At her nod, he added, “Is it good news or bad news?”

Regan smiled. He was a pain, but he knew her better than anyone.
Although, she thought, Burke would probably have asked the same question.
“Good news.” She cleaned off the spoon and stabbed it back into the ice cream,

which was nearly gone and getting soft. “Warren got canned, and Dale gave me his job.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “That’s a pretty big promotion.”
“Yes, it is.” She hadn’t understood until now how purely proud she felt of herself.

Not only proud, but deserving, and vindicated.

“That’s great!” He shook his head, looking like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Wow.

That’s fantastic.”

“Yes, it is.” She scooped up the last of the ice cream and finished it off in an

undignified slurp. “Now, what brought you charging over here looking like somebody
just shot your cat?” Whatever it was, she thought, she could handle it.

Paul’s frown returned, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, as if

he had a headache. “Burke came to see me today.”

All Regan’s haughty confidence froze up inside her, not sure what emotion it should

become. Surely Burke wouldn’t have been stupid enough to tell Paul what had
happened, especially not since Regan had broken it off. “He did? What did he want?”

“I thought he wanted to drop off the bills for the investigation, since I told him I’d

pay him to find you.” He opened his eyes and lowered his hand, looking directly at
Regan. “He told me you and he had had an… encounter.”

Anger. Definitely anger. Rage, in fact. “He told you what?” Paul opened his mouth

to repeat it, but Regan lifted a hand. “Never mind. I heard you. And what exactly made
him think this was something he should share with you?”

Paul threw up his hands. “He wanted my approval. I think he wanted me to help

him get you back. It was nuts.” He looked at her sidelong then, as if realizing maybe he’
d said too much.

He certainly had. Way too much. “Oh, he did, did he? Isn’t that nice. And it’s even

nicer that you found yourself compelled to tell me.” Her voice had edges in it that could
have flayed him alive, if he’d bothered to pay attention.

“I wanted to be sure you were all right.” This was his justification, she knew, the

part where he told her everything wonderful he’d done for her, all for her own good,
and hadn’t he fixed her life up ever so nicely? “It was all so weird—he said he was in
love with you, of all things, and I just wanted to be sure—”

“He said what?” The anger came mixed with tears now, hot and ready to fall out all

over her face. All the days they’d been together, he hadn’t said those words, and now he
could say them to Paul, who messed them all up and turned them into something awful.
“Well, I have news for him, and maybe you could just relay it, since you seem to take
such delight in being the messenger. I never want to see him again.” She said it with
conviction, but something broke inside her as the words came out. This was all wrong,
such a mess, not what she’d intended at all.

She loved him, too. But in the face of all this, that didn’t matter.
Paul’s big-brother face came on as he nodded his approval. “That comes as a great

relief to me, because I told him I completely disapproved of the entire situation. I mean,
it’s just not—”

“What?” Regan had always been skeptical about the idea of spontaneous human

combustion, but suddenly she believed in it, because it was happening. Right now.
Inside her head. “What the hell business is it of yours? Why should you have any say
whatsoever in what I do with my life? If I want to see Burke, I will, and it’s none of your
damned business. Do you understand me?”

“But you just said—”
“I don’t care what I just said!” Regan was fairly screaming now, and she thought she

could feel flames coming out of her nose and ears. Maybe even her eyeballs. “I am so
sick and tired of you trying to run my life! I am twenty-six years old! I’m an adult! Leave
me the hell alone!”

The flames in her eyeballs had really been tears, and now they streaked hot down

her inflamed face. She couldn’t recall ever having been so completely, consumingly
furious.

Paul’s expression had changed, softening, saddening. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I—”
“I know,” Regan broke in, her voice paler but shaking hard. “I know, Paul. But I can’

t hear it right now.” She swiped angrily at the dampness on her face. “Maybe you
should go.”

He backed toward the door. “Okay.” His hand closed on the doorknob. “I’ll talk to

you later.”

“Yeah, maybe.”
She turned her back on him so she wouldn’t have to watch him leave.

Chapter Twelve

Burke was a complete idiot. It was the only conclusion he could come to after

twenty-four hours of hemming and hawing, trying to figure out how to avert
catastrophe.

He’d tried calling Paul, but Paul was either out or deliberately avoiding Burke’s

calls. There was no question of calling Regan—what in the world would he say to her?

Tell her you love her, idiot.
But not only was he not quite ready to tell her that, he was afraid it would scare her

right out of any hope he had of winning her. In her mind, love was probably a
controlling emotion—everything else seemed to be.

Though, he had to admit, it was pretty scary from this end, too. But he’d said the

words now—though to the wrong person—and he wasn’t going to take them back. He
just needed to get them properly directed.

So what, now, did he do with this little bombshell? Keeping it to himself was

probably the safest course. He could go on with his life, she could go on with hers, and
maybe someday he’d find somebody else who made him feel like things finally made
sense.

That option didn’t hold much appeal. Once already he’d almost married a woman

he didn’t love. The only thing he could think of stupider than that was to leave a woman
he did love.

So how to tell her? This would be a nice place, he thought, sitting on the deck of the

Little Squirrel, watching the sun set bright behind the Pacific while a coolish breeze came
up off the water. A little table, a glass of wine, some fancy crackers and pâté…

But there was no point going down that road. Regan would never show up here on

any pretense Burke could think of. The only other choice was to go to her. Which might
not be a bad idea if he could get to her before Paul opened his big mouth.

He leaned over the deck railing as the sun went lower, watching the ocean lap

against the boat’s hull. Absently, he fingered his upper lip. He hadn’t shaved it since the
day before he’d left the Meadows. Maybe the mustache attempt would be enough of a
peace offering. Maybe some flowers would be better. He could pick some up on the way
over.

* * * * *

An hour later, he stood in front of Regan’s door with his near-mustache on his lip

and a dozen roses in his hand. Maybe he could get things smoothed over. Then maybe
Paul would speak to him again, too.

Or maybe he was about to turn his entire life into a gigantic pile of shit.
He took a deep breath, smoothed his shirt—he’d bought a new polo shirt on the way

over, too—and knocked.

Regan answered the door and lifted an eyebrow at the sight of him. Her red hair was

prettily mussed, as if she’d just gotten out of bed. Burke clenched his teeth. Maybe she
wasn’t alone. If there was a man in there with her…

“Hi, Burke,” she said, and her voice sounded weary. “Come in.”

She stepped aside and he went into the room. She was alone as far as he could tell. A

paperback book lay on the table, open, face down and spine cracked. Next to it sat a tall
mug of iced tea.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Burke said.
“Nothing,” said Regan.
Suddenly awkward, he held out the flowers. “For you.”
She took them. Her mouth twitched but didn’t quite smile. “They’re lovely,” she

said. She put her face into the dark roses and indulged in a long sniff. Then she looked
straight at him and said, “The answer is no.”

Burke felt more than awkward now—he felt stupid. “The answer to what?”
Regan twiddled the flower petals with her fingers. “Paul stopped by last night.

Apparently you and he had a little conversation?”

Burke’s mouth tightened. “He had no right to tell you about that.”
“You’re right. He didn’t. But the answer’s still no. We’re not having a relationship.”
Burke had no idea what to do. He thought maybe it would be all right if he sat down

on the couch, but even that was iffy, so he didn’t try it. The flowers were gone so he had
nothing to do with his hands. And Regan was looking at him as if she were about to ask
him to leave. Or maybe she was about to cry. He thought maybe he could deal with it if
she cried.

She didn’t cry. She walked into the kitchen and proceeded to set up a vase for the

flowers.

“I’m sure you can understand why,” she said, filling the vase with water. “I think it

was pretty clear there at the last, before I left you at the Meadows. I spent most of my life
being bossed around by Paul and rescued by you. I don’t need you to rescue me now. I
certainly don’t need you to boss me around.” She put the flowers in the vase. She had
delivered her entire speech in a rock-steady, almost conversational voice. Surely this
had affected her more than that. Surely she had some feelings, something inside her
fighting to be let out.

Burke finally sat down on the couch. Somehow it seemed safe, with her in the

kitchen. And she seemed calm, not likely to start screaming or throwing things. He
watched her as her small hands arranged the flowers, shifting the smaller blooms to the
front, the larger ones to the back, distributing the baby’s breath. After a moment his
mouth opened and he started to speak. He hadn’t known it was going to do that, so he
just listened, curious as to what was going to come out.

“Everything Paul did, he did because he loved you. I know that sounds stupid, or

trite, or whatever, but it’s true. He wanted more than anything to hold the family
together. You made it awfully tough on him. There were a couple of times I ran offense
for him while he did every damn thing he could to keep the social workers from putting
you in a foster home.”

Her eyes rose from the flowers, met his. They had widened a little, though her soft,

downturned mouth held firm. She hadn’t known this.

“That’s right,” Burke went on. “Some of your little stunts made it damned hard to

keep things under control. But I pulled a few strings here and there, and promised I’d
look out for you. And you kept trying to blow it, over and over again, out of pure
selfishness.” He stopped, realized where all this was going and decided to go ahead,

anyway. She couldn’t get much angrier at him, after all. “And know this, too—
everything I did, I did because I cared about you, and about him. Maybe for a while we
had to play rough to keep you straight, but that’s all over. This control stuff is all in your
head. You grew up a long time ago. Let it go.” He stood, nerves gone now, replaced by
a heavy feeling of helplessness. He had done all he could. “Enjoy the flowers.”

Her mouth opened, then clunked closed. He heard the sharp sound across the room

as he reached for the doorknob. His hand turned it, the metal smooth in his hand. But
there was one more thing left to say.

“I love you, Regan.” He didn’t look back at her. “Don’t ever forget that.”

She stood staring at the flowers for a long time. No one had ever talked to her like

that. Without malice, but full of truth. Or what Burke perceived as truth.

Maybe it was true. She’d gone through twenty-six years without ever really thinking

much about what their childhood had been like for Paul. To have taken on all that
responsibility at nineteen, to have been so determined to keep the family together, and
then to have been kicked in the teeth by all that remained of that family.

She cupped the big rose blossoms in her hand. They were almost purple. She didn’t

think she’d ever seen roses quite that color before.

As she watched, a small, hot drop fell on one of the velvety purple petals.
She blinked. Then she went to the other room, picked up the phone, and called Paul.

“Come over here,” she told him instead of “Hello.” “Bring your own ice cream.

Better make it a quart—it’s going to be a long night.”

* * * * *

The next evening, Burke sat on the couch in the living quarters of the Little Squirrel,

reading a book and listening to the rain drum on the upper decks. He stroked his
almost-mustache as he read—a habit he was scarcely aware of in spite of its newness.

The book was supposed to be a thriller, but it dragged, bogged down in details

Burke had no interest in. Finally he slammed it shut.

He should call Paul. Their last encounter still rankled. He felt at loose ends,

knowing neither of the O’Rourkes ever wanted to see him again.

No, it was more than that. He felt lost. They were the only family he’d had since he’d

lost his parents, and it hurt to be without them.

He went to the galley to get a beer. He should just suck it up and call Paul. It

wouldn’t kill him to apologize, especially since it looked like any hope he had of
winning Regan over was dead. Regan had never liked him much, anyway, until this last
bout of strangeness, so at least if he made up with Paul, things would be sort of like they
had been before.

He took a long drink of his beer. If he downed a few of these, maybe he’d have the

courage to pick up the phone. If he drank too many, he might end up calling Regan.

Before he could achieve either result, someone knocked on his door. Burke looked

at the door questioningly, wondering if he’d imagined the sound. He wasn’t expecting
anybody, it wasn’t Girl Scout Cookie season, and you’d have to be nuts to be out in this

rain, anyway.

So maybe it was Regan. The thought carried him to the door, and he opened it just

as a second series of knocks sounded.

It was Paul, drenched and bedraggled. He wedged himself down the stairs into the

saloon.

“Why the hell can’t you live in a house like a normal person?”
Burke grinned at Paul, who glared back, shaking the rain out of his hair.
“I’ll get you a beer,” Burke said. “Don’t drip on my carpet.”

A few beers later, they sat on the couch watching ESPN. They’d said very little, but it

didn’t matter. The conflict was over—it was a man thing.

During a commercial break, Paul took a swing of his beer and said, “Have you seen

her?”

Burke shook his head. “I tried to. It didn’t go very well.”
“Has she called you since then?”
“No.”
Paul lifted the beer bottle to his lips but didn’t tip it back far enough to drink. After

a moment, he lowered it again. “We talked last night. Whatever you said to her, it made
an impression. She actually apologized.”

“For what?”
“For everything.” He shook his head bemusedly. “For things I didn’t even

remember happening.”

Burke nodded, numb. He’d put as much as he could on the line for her, and now, if

she refused to take it, he had nothing left. But if he’d helped her and Paul smooth things
over, maybe it was worth it.

Paul picked at the label on his beer bottle, peeling off a corner. “You know, the more

I think about it, the more I think I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

Burke eyed him narrowly. “What do you mean?” They were beginning to get drunk

—if there were accusations or revelations to come, this was the time for them.

“There was always something about the way you related to her,” Paul said, his eyes

on the TV. “She listened to you when she wouldn’t listen to me. There was a connection.
Something. I just—I didn’t expect this.”

“None of us did.”
“She’s running away from it.”
Burke glanced at Paul, but he didn’t look back. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Still think it’d help if I talked to her? Because I will if you want me to.”
Burke almost laughed. “No. Bad idea.”
This time Paul drank, smiling grimly as he swallowed. “Yeah. Bad idea.”

* * * * *

The pain in Regan’s chest had changed. It had been two days since Burke had

walked out of her apartment, two days since she and Paul had sat up all night hashing
out the past and realigning the future. The dull throb had started that night, just below

her breastbone. Now it was different.

The talk with Paul had been catharsis at its best. They’d put everything out on the

table, beaten it to death and put it away for the last time. Regan had cried. She thought
maybe Paul had, too. But even after that, Regan still hadn’t felt right. Something inside
her was still missing. Something was still wrong.

This morning that something had loosened, or changed. But she couldn’t afford to

sit around and think about it. She had work to do—a lot of work.

That afternoon she sat in a meeting, going over the stages of production of a new

product with a group of developers. Suddenly, pointing at the white board, she realized
ten faces looked expectantly at her, waiting for her guidance. She controlled the room.

She smiled, finally understanding. She went on.
She finished the meeting, barely paying any attention to herself, then went back to

her office. There’d been a puzzle in her heart, and the pieces were falling together. She
could feel it, as if her molecules were rearranging.

Let it go, Burke had said. And, finally, she had.
Everything was different. She wasn’t a kid any more. She was a Project Manager at a

major telecommunications company. She was her own woman, and had been for quite
some time. She was strong, she was invincible—

“Oh, shut up,” she told herself, grinning.
She got up and ran down the hall to Dale’s office. He looked up with a question on

his face.

“I need the rest of the day off,” she said, the words stumbling over each other. She

was grinning like a fool, she knew, but it didn’t matter.

“What’s up?” Dale asked.
“Just something I need to take care of.”
“How did the meeting go?”
“It went great. I sent you an e-mail.”
“All right. Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It was a beautiful, sun-drenched drive to the marina. She could only pray Burke was

there, and not out somewhere working a case. She drove too fast. The beating sun, the
sound of pounding surf, matched the rhythm of her haste. Finally, she parked at the
marina and ran to Burke’s boat.

Burke stood on the deck of the Little Squirrel, leaning over the rail and facing out to

sea. He straightened when Regan’s feet hit the wood of the deck, then stood still, staring
at her. He wore a blue tank top and white shorts, and his feet were bare.

Regan stopped. She couldn’t go any closer. The spark flared between them even at

this distance; if she moved any closer that spark would burst into flame before she had a
chance to say anything. Her blood ran hot and she could feel it pulsing under her skin,
carrying the need to every cell of her body. How could she have thought to leave this
man? Her heart pounded, and she stood still as he finally turned and took three steps
forward to fill the Burke-shaped hole in her existence.

“Regan?” he said.
She nodded, as if she needed to acknowledge her own identity. But she didn’t,

because it was right there, bright and strong. Burke presented no threat to it, only an

addition. Why had it taken her so long to realize that?

“I, um… ” Burke started, then lifted his hands, lowered them again uncertainly. “I

can’t say I was expecting you.”

“No.” She wanted this feeling to go on forever. The lines of connection ran back and

forth between them, the currents binding them together, strengthening the bonds, which
Regan no longer wanted to escape.

The pause grew into a hesitation, then into waiting. Finally Burke said, “Was there

something you wanted to say?”

“I love you.” She blurted it out so there would be no question of taking it back. In

that moment she felt rash and brave, foolhardy, throwing herself into the fray.

In that moment, she felt whole.
Burke smiled. “Good.”
There was more to say, but it could wait until after they had closed the distance

between them, until after Burke had put his arms around her and drawn her against him.
He didn’t kiss her—just held her there against his chest so she could hear his heart
beating under her ear. His body was big and warm within her arms. He held her tight,
but let her breathe.

Finally he shifted and kissed her gently, on the top of her head. Old reflexes

wondered if he was patronizing her, but she batted them away. Literally, with her
hands.

“What was that?” Burke asked, bending back with a puzzled expression.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” She set herself away from him a little so the heat building

between them didn’t distract her so thoroughly. “Burke, I need to know. Paul—“

He waved her silent. “I talked to Paul. We’re fine.”
“Good.” The strength of her relief surprised her. She wanted Burke, knew it was the

right thing, but even so she wasn’t sure she could act on that if it meant destroying the
friendship that had molded her life. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She closed her hands
around his arms, enjoying the textures of his hair under her palms, the rigidity of his
muscles and the softness of his skin. “I love you,” she said again, and smiled.

“You said that.”
“I know. I just like the way it sounds.” And the way it felt to be brave enough to say

it.

“I have to admit it sounds a lot better than, ‘It was fun but I never want to see you

again.’”

“I’m sorry, Burke. It was wrong. I could say I didn’t mean to hurt you, but deep

down I think I did. It seemed like the only way to keep from hurting myself.”

He caught an errant strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear where the breeze

couldn’t find it. “I know. What changed your mind?”

“I finally let it go.”
He led her downstairs and she sat down on his couch. He looked at her for a

moment, thinking that he’d never seen anyone look so wonderfully right on that couch.
Then he sat down next to her and kissed her, as if he’d never kissed her before, as if no
one had ever kissed anyone before, and it was all new for them to discover.

After a long time he bent back so he could look at her, brush her hair back from her

face, and marvel that this vibrant flame of a woman had come back to him. He wanted to
see that flame burn every day, not just in his bed, but in every moment of his life. The
knowledge that she finally trusted him not to quench it made it all even sweeter.

“It turns out you were right,” she said, stroking his mustache with the ends of her

fingers. It looked marvelous, she thought. Scrumptious, and it hadn’t even grown in all
the way yet. “I’ve been living my life blind to everyone but myself, protecting myself
from things that didn’t exist. And I was selfish. I realized it after I talked to Paul.”

“You were hurting.”
“Not all the time. It just became a habit. But, you know what?”
“What?”
“I still am selfish. Selfish enough to want you all to myself. Selfish enough not to

care what Paul or anyone else thinks. I need you in my life, Burke. Please tell me I didn’t
screw things up so badly that I can’t have that.”

“You didn’t. I don’t think you ever could.” He grinned. “Face it. We’re stuck with

each other now.”

She grinned back, and her heart felt light. “I can think of worse things. How much of

my stuff do you think will fit on this boat?”

“Whatever you think is important. Or we can sell the boat and get an apartment after

we get married.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, surprised at the complete lack of fear his comment

triggered.

“That was a pretty poor proposal, Mr. Camden, but I think I’ll accept it.” She flipped

herself around into his lap. “Now, carry me to your bed. I want to try it out.”

Burke did exactly as he was told, which made Regan think there was some hope for

him, after all. He carried her into the berth and laid her down on the bed, which was
both larger and more comfortable than she had expected, then stretched out next to her.

“Comfy?” he asked.
She rolled toward him, embraced him, and rolled back over so he was on top of her.

“Now I am.”

“You sure? I thought you liked it on top.”
She shook her head. “I’m thinking maybe it’s your turn.”
He smiled softly, kissed her just as softly, and for the first time since they’d collided

at the resort—for the first time ever, with anyone—she let herself go. Let herself feel.

The tears came almost immediately. He pulled back, looking into her eyes with

concern. “Regan?”

“Don’t stop.” She swallowed. “I love you, Burke. I love you so much.” Tears choked

the words, but she meant them. It felt so right to say them now, here, in his arms.

He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, finally her lips again. “Is it okay if I

make love to you? Because that’s what I really want to do right now.”

“You need to promise me something first.”
“What?”
“You need to promise me a good fuck once in a while. You know, mixed in with all

the lovemaking.”

He grinned. “I can do that. I have no problem with that.”
“Then make love to me.”
So he slid her shirt off her, his hands gentle on her body. She watched his fingers

mold her breasts, watched her nipples rise as he touched her. It was hard for her to
believe, now, that she had denied herself this for so long, this feeling, this emotion. Or
maybe not so hard to believe, because it was powerful, intense, and deep enough to
drown in. But she wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

He learned her body again with his hands, with his lips, felt and tasted her, and she

let him guide her through what should have been familiar territory but wasn’t. She let
herself pay attention to what he was doing, no longer afraid he would pull her into
places she was afraid to go. Because she knew, now, that he wouldn’t hurt her unless she
let him. She had no intention of letting him.

His mouth caressed her breasts, pulled her nipples in against his tongue, one then

the other. She slid her fingers into his hair, combing through its soft strands. The
mustache added a tickle of sensation against her skin as he drew his lips down her belly,
licked her navel, nuzzled the curls between her legs.

He fitted his tongue carefully between her labia, touched the nub of her clit, just

barely, just there. Kissed her thighs, came back up to kiss the points of her hips, the dip
of her belly. Slipped his fingers gently into her sex, parted her, eased inside her.

She’d never liked playing the passive role during sex, but this was good. Because he

wasn’t just satisfying himself on her, as other partners had. His attention was all for her,
focused on her body, her skin, her pleasure. It was as if nothing else in the world
existed. This was the way it should be, she thought. This kind of focus, this kind of
intensity.

She made herself hold still and not try to reclaim the upper hand while he drew her

gently along, building the wave with his fingers inside her, his thumb circling her
growing pleasure as the soft pearl of her clit grew and hardened, as the fire became
unbearable, then rose and broke over her. He held her, kissed her face, and her arms
automatically went around him, clinging to him until the tumult had passed.

“Now?” he said then, and she nodded. He lifted himself over her and her body

answered his, her thighs opening to him as he moved forward, as he slid his way home
into the dark channel of her body. She accepted it, accepted him, accepted the weight of
him on her, the implied dominance that was not dominance at all. She was as protected
by him as she was overwhelmed by him, as accepted as she was accepting.

His size, the depth of his penetration, was no longer a surprise to her, and her body

accommodated him without protest. It just felt so good to give herself up to him, to let
him take her, and claim her, knowing she claimed him back with every breath, every
sigh, every soft moan of contented pleasure.

When he came she climaxed again, with him, the deep, feral pounding bringing

tears with it. She looked up into his face, and let him see her eyes.

* * * * *

Burke proposed again the next day, with wine, candles, and an actual ring. She said

yes again, and just for kicks they tried out the berth again. It still worked.

The small wedding was three weeks later, on the deck of the Little Squirrel.

Afterwards, Regan hugged her brother for the first time in recent memory. She really
meant it, and it felt good.

Later, as they sipped champagne and watched the sun go down, Burke asked Paul,

“So, what do you think now?”

Paul shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s still pretty weird, but I think I can get used to it.

Just don’t get your tongue pierced, okay?”

Burke’s hearty laugh puzzled Regan. “What was that all about?”
“Never mind,” he said, and put his arm around her.
The handful of guests dispersed shortly after sunset. The newlyweds went below

decks, where Regan’s handiwork had brightened things here and there. Many of her
possessions were still in storage, but that round of negotiations could wait until after the
honeymoon.

They made love to the rhythm of the rocking boat, then in the morning Burke

weighed anchor. As the sun rose, he steered the Little Squirrel out toward the open ocean,
where they would find beauty, and freedom, and the beginning of a new life.

It was everything she hadn’t expected, but everything she’d ever wanted.