"Sexy clothes," she murmured, unable to think because she was still stuck on the first thing he'd said—
the guy's gonna be all over you.
Wrong guy, she thought longingly. Then she cursed herself.
Damn it, quit thinking about Max like that.
"Something like what you're wearing right now," he added.
It took her a second to realize that he was referring to sexy clothes. She looked down, unaware that the simple blue sheath qualified. "This?"
He nodded. "I saw you from the back at Frank's party. Even without seeing your face, you were easily the hottest woman in the room."
Despite the suggestive words, his voice held zero emotion. So Kimberly turned away when she felt the warmth of a blush assault her cheeks. She padded across the floor toward the mantel and studied the photos in an attempt to block out the fluttering sensations that rippled through her body. Which one might be Julie? A closer look revealed that none of them could be. She saw two pictures of his parents—an older one and another more recent—and a picture of Max and his three brothers taken long before she'd known him. Still, the exercise hadn't succeeded in distracting her enough. Every part of her body remained completely aware of his presence and what he'd just said.
"I'll get you a cab," Max announced behind her, but she still didn't turn around. She didn't want him to see how his words had affected her, although she kept hearing them over and over again.
A few long minutes later, the beep of a horn outside announced the taxi's arrival, something that Kimberly more than welcomed. She grabbed her purse and shawl, then moved briskly to Max's front door, whisking it open to admit the sound of the rain and a glimpse of the shiny black street.
"Give some thought to your part and establish a character," he told her before she exited.
She turned to peer back up at him, unable to resist a last glance at the man she'd thought she'd never see again. Her heart ached a bit at the sight of him, and at the memories of what they'd once had.
"I'll be by to pick you up at ten tomorrow morning," he told her. "After that, we'll be as good as married."
Chapter 2
I
t was strange to be driving to Kimberly's apartment after all this time. Strange that he made each turn on the route almost without thinking, as though it was still a natural place for him to be going. Just the same, Max couldn't get over the fact that the woman Frank had partnered him with was her.
Max tried to quit seeing all the emotions that had flashed across her face last night, but she'd always been lousy at hiding them. His stomach clenched slightly as he recalled the hurt look she'd worn when he'd refused to let her give her version of the Carpenter case.
But there was a reason for that, and the reason was that it didn't matter. No matter what she said, her actions during the Carpenter case remained a breach of ethics. Nothing she said would ever be enough to make up for her costing him his position at the company he'd worked his entire adult life to be an important part of.
Knowing that no answer would ever satisfy him was one of the things that had made it easier for him to go to Vegas. And besides, Kimberly had walked away. She'd gotten up and walked out of Kessler's office without looking back. It had seemed as if things were finished. As if they had to be.
He didn't like it—not professionally, not personally. But it had seemed as if the smart thing to do was to move on with his life and what had been left of his career. And the smart thing to do now was not to think about the past, as he'd told her last night. Looking back wouldn't do either of them any good.
Max parked his car outside her building and stepped out into one of the first truly hot days of summer. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, the only reprieve a gentle breeze that whispered through the trees lining the mid-city sidewalk Max liked days like this—hot and bright—better than the softer days of a
California
spring or fall. He liked extremes, always had. That's why he'd ended up being a P.I.
Well, the next few days, he thought as he strolled into the lobby, should definitely be extreme enough for him. And admittedly, he'd feel better if he were working with anyone else besides Kimberly Brandt, but he knew he couldn't keep dwelling on that. He had to get on with the business of catching Carlo Coletti.
When he knocked, she came to the door in faded jeans and a T-shirt. He knew it was ludicrous, but for some reason he'd been expecting to see her in that blue dress again. Her shoulder-length hair, which had been elegantly curled and styled last night, now fell around her face in a way that struck him as windblown, and her blue jeans looked soft and comfortable above sock-covered feet. He missed the obvious attributes of the dress immediately—she looked much plainer than she had last night—yet a rivulet of warmth trickled through him when he least expected it. Maybe her casual look reminded him of lazy afternoons spent driving nowhere with the top down, or of rainy days spent on the couch watching old movies and eating pizza between kisses.
Jeez, shake it off, Tate
. He'd gotten lost there for a minute, but he was back now. He forced himself to meet her eyes, although just as quickly, she lowered her gaze to her own T-shirt. "What are you staring at?"
Damn. He'd been looking her up and down as though she wore a negligee instead of a loose T-shirt and jeans. He gave his head a light shake. "Nothing."
"Look," she said belligerently, "if I was supposed to be dressed in character already, you should have mentioned it."
He pushed past her into the apartment, not inclined to explain himself. "What you're wearing is fine for now. Where's your stuff?" He looked around the room at the familiar clutter and the antique furniture she liked, and spotted it himself—a garment bag tossed across the couch and a tapestry suitcase on the floor.
"It's right there—"
But he had already picked both of them up and was headed for the door. "Come on, let's get moving."
"If we're in a race, Tate, I should probably at least put on some shoes, don't you think?"
He stopped and looked back at her from the hallway, unamused. When had she become such a comedian? "Hurry up," he told her.
The way he saw it, he didn't have time to wait on her, and he didn't have time to think about past days spent with her, either. There was a job to be done and the sooner it was done the better. Then he could get on with his life.
* * *
Max's Porsche hugged the curves of the road that led from Kimberly's apartment toward
Beverly Hills
. Out of the corner of her eye, Kimberly watched him drive. His strong hands gripped the wheel tightly, but he leaned his long, sturdy body back in the seat like a man completely comfortable with himself. That was Max, she thought. He'd never lacked confidence.
"Nice day, huh?" she asked.
"Yeah." Short and clipped.
Yep, he had plenty of confidence, but manners had never been his strong suit.
She tried again a few minutes later, asking how his parents were doing. "Fine," he replied, eyes glued on the road.
All right, she got the hint. He wasn't disposed to making small talk.
And it was probably just as well. After all, they weren't buddies. They weren't pals. They were two people doing a job together. That was all.
"You should put your seat belt on," she told him anyway. She'd always been big on seat belts and always noticed when people weren't wearing them.
But he simply cast her an annoyed look in reply.
"The way you drive, you'll need it. Put it on."
After an irritated sigh, Max reached over his shoulder for the belt, muttering something below his breath.
"What?" Kimberly snapped. "I couldn't quite hear you."
"I was just saying," he enunciated insultingly, "that I forgot what a seat belt fanatic you are."
Kimberly rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, then turned to peer out the window.
"We should probably talk about our covers," he said then, surprising her with even that bit of conversation and the almost cordial tone, too.
She nodded. "All right."
He gave her a short glance, then looked back to the road. "We'll keep our first names and my last one, making you Kimberly Tate."
Kimberly nodded again, wishing she didn't like the sound of that so much. This was not a good way to start her freshly reactivated plan of not thinking about him like that.
"I'm a stockbroker. I work for Finch and Company downtown, and I bring home half a mil every year. I've been with the company for ten years and was made a partner after five. I'm a
Los Angeles
native and so are you. We met in college at UCLA. As for our families, should it come up, we'll keep them as they are—same names, same backgrounds, same everything. It'll be a lot less for us to remember."
"What about me?" she asked.
"What
about
you?"
"What do I do?"
"You sit at home all day and be rich. You bask in luxury."
What a drag, Kimberly thought. Then an idea hit her. "Maybe I'm bored with you."
He turned to glare at her.
"Tate, the road!" she snapped.
He turned his eyes back to driving and Kimberly said, "See what I mean about the seat belt?" He ignored her, so she went on. "Anyway, I was thinking about why I would be interested in sleeping with this guy. So maybe it's because I'm bored. Bored with my life of luxury. Bored with you."
"Not possible."
His voice came without inflection as it had last night when he'd told her how hot she was. And she thought of arguing that it certainly
was
possible in the given scenario, but then she remembered the way Max made love. Polite he wasn't, but generous in bed—yes. He put his whole self, his whole soul, into the act. And she didn't know if he was thinking about the same thing, too—the way they used to make love for hours at a time until they were both exhausted and completely sated, but all things considered, she decided it would be simpler not to argue. "Okay then, if that's not the problem, why
would
I consider sleeping with this guy?"
"Maybe you're getting back at me."
"What did you do?"
"Cheated on you."
"You wouldn't," she said, fearful that it sounded more like a jealous plea than a statement. Asinine thoughts of the mysterious Julie came to mind.
"Why not?"
She took a deep breath and felt something slightly wicked, and slightly seductive, shroud her attitude. "Wait until you see me in the dress I'm wearing to dinner tonight, Tate," she told him. "Trust me. You wouldn't."
* * *
"Oh my God."
Max's car had just emerged from a grove of billowing storybook trees on the winding driveway that led to their borrowed mansion. The home before them boasted two incredibly tall columns that stretched from the expansive front porch to an arch at the top of the third story. Part brick, part white stucco, it reminded Kimberly of homes she'd seen on
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
. Nestled deep in the wooded hills, it made her think of a fairy-tale paradise.
"Get used to it," Max told her as she continued to gape. The car came to a halt in the circular driveway that fronted the mansion and Kimberly stumbled out of it, her eyes still exploring the splendor of it all. "You live here, you know. You can't seem too amazed by anything."
"I've got all day to work on that," she told him. "But for now, I can't help it—I'm pretty amazed."
"There's a pool. Did you bring a suit?"
Kimberly glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded, then returned her gaze to the house. She'd figured no decent mansion would be caught dead without a pool. Now that she saw the place, she was surprised it didn't have two or three.
"What's it like?"