“Do you have any questions for me?” Kim asked.

  “How much?” Sam returned, turning away from the window.

  “Eleven thousand one hundred and twelve per month. That doesn’t include phone or electricity, but it does cover your share of the concierge’s wages, building security, elevator maintenance, water, liability insurance, and general common area upkeep.”

  “When can we occupy?”

  “As soon as you sign the papers,” Kim said, patting her briefcase. “Building management has informed me that there are four other interested parties, but taking into consideration your connections, they agreed to put a hold on the offices through midnight tonight.”

  Sam quickly erased her frown. “What connections would those be?”

  Kim’s smile twitched. “Walter mentioned that you’re residing at Solano Dorado. That’s Rick Addison’s estate. And I always keep up on the local social news. It’s important to my business. So of course I know that a Samantha Jellicoe’s been dating Mr. Addison. That would be you, I presume.”

  Sending a glare at Stoney, Sam drew in a breath. Alfred the butler never told people Bruce Wayne’s secret identity. “Yes, that’s me. I hope you and the building management are aware that these offices will not be part of Rick Addison’s business.”

  “Of course,” the realtor returned, though from her expression, she hadn’t been aware of any such thing.

  “Then let’s sign those papers.”

  “You’re seriously ready to spend 10K on office furniture,” Stoney said for the fourth time, his gaze on the road.

  Samantha slouched beside him, her feet up on the dashboard as she composed an ad for an office receptionist. “We’re swanky, remember?” she returned, glancing over at him. “I’ve spent most of my life rubbing elbows with rich marks, Stoney. Trust me, I know what they expect, and I know how to make them comfortable. Okay if I use your fax number until we get one set up at the office?”

  “Sure. But don’t you think it’s kind of funny that if you quit spending your Milan retirement fund to make everybody else think you look rich, you would be rich? You can rub elbows with them without faking anything, baby.”

  “I’m not faking. I’m setting up an…ambience. It’s good business.”

  “Yeah. If it doesn’t give me a heart attack first.”

  She laughed. “And we thought thievery was dangerous.”

  He snickered. “Your dad would be so pissed off at you, spending your cash to go legit.”

  “I know.” Samantha shrugged, crossing out a line. “I’m not Martin.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Give me a couple of days to look into office furniture styles and shit.”

  “With Kim along to give you advice?”

  Stoney grinned. “That is a fine idea, honey.”

  “Okay. I can work on getting clients, and you give me a couple of ideas about furniture.”

  “Works for me. Still not as fun as being in Venice, but…Uh-oh.”

  “What?” She looked up, to find him gazing down the street toward his house. Sam straightened.

  A sleek green Jaguar, looking completely out of place in the old, shabby neighborhood, crouched at the curb. The driver was nowhere in sight, but of course she knew to whom it belonged. He’d made good time. Really good time.

  “You want me to turn around?” Stoney asked dubiously.

  “No. He probably heard your truck coming from a mile away, anyway.”

  They turned into the driveway. Stoney hung back, but she couldn’t really blame him. She and Rick had argued before, but this wasn’t about a thing or an incident; it was about them.

  The front door was unlocked, and with a breath she pushed it open. She had a snappy entrance line ready, but when she saw him sitting at the nondescript Formica table in the kitchen and drinking lemonade from one of Stoney’s palm tree glasses, she changed her mind. Neither did she care to put into words how…satisfying it felt to see him, or how her heart beat fast when he met her gaze. “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  Cobalt blue glanced toward the wall and Stoney’s sliding eyes cat clock. “In Florida? Nearly two hours. At Walter’s, about ten minutes.”

  “You busted my lock,” Stoney said from the entryway.

  “I’ll buy you a new one,” Rick returned, rising. “I took the liberty of throwing your knapsack into the car.”

  She frowned. “You can’t—”

  He lifted a hand. “You owe me a garage door and four tires. I would consider us even, though, if you’d come back to Solano Dorado with me.”

  “Bribery?”

  “A business transaction. And besides, I’d like to yell at you, and I’d hate to have to do it here in front of Walter.”

  “I’d hate that, too,” Stoney put in, strolling into the kitchen with the stack of paint samples they’d collected.

  “Fine,” she grumbled, not wanting Rick to think she needed Stoney for backup. “But don’t expect me to apologize for the door or the tires. Or anything.”

  “We’ll negotiate,” he returned, pulling a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket. “This came for you.”

  “You read my mail?”

  “It was on my office fax at Solano Dorado.”

  “But you read it.”

  “It came to my fax number, darling.”

  She still didn’t like it one damned bit. He’d been in town for half an hour, and despite knowing that she wanted him to back off, he couldn’t resist snooping. Silently she added that to her list of grievances. Taking the fax, she offered Stoney a peck on the cheek as she headed back out the front door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “At the office?”

  “Sure.”

  That sounded cool, to actually have an office where she could meet people. Previously it had been mostly his kitchen table or dark restaurants or untraceable phone calls.

  “So did you like the office Walter found?” Rick asked, catching up to her on the sidewalk.

  “Yes.” Silence. “We leased it half an hour ago.”

  He pulled open the passenger door of the Jag and offered a hand to help her in. Sam avoided his fingers, though, as she slid onto the warm leather seat. Touching him was important, and he liked the physical contact between them.

  “Might I see it?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Hm.” He dropped in behind the wheel, and in a moment they’d peeled off down the street. “When I needed help solving a theft, I recruited you.”

  “No, I recruited you.”

  “Yes, maybe, but I agreed to it. Thievery is your area of expertise. Business is mine. Why won’t you let me help you?”

  “Rick, drop it, or the next time I take a trip you’re not going to be able to find me.”

  He glanced at her before returning his attention to the road. “No. Look at it like I do, Samantha. This is obviously important to you. If you exclude me, then I’ve lost too much of you.”

  “You’re jealous of me getting a job?” she asked incredulously.

  “I’m jealous that you’re trying to push me out of this part of your life, the part that’s excited about trying something new and looking to the future.”

  Well, it was an explanation she hadn’t expected. And it made her arguments seem selfish—though that had probably been the idea. He knew how to put together a persuasive proposal, after all. Hell, he did it for a living. But she hadn’t been butting into his latest deal. “Sounds good, slick, but I said no.”

  “I got that. You disabled my car so I couldn’t follow you, if you’ll recall.”

  “I’m not trying to exclude you from knowing what’s going on with me, Rick, but I don’t want you to do this for me. I don’t know why you don’t get that.”

  “Try explaining it to me instead of just telling me to back off.”

  She sighed. “Okay. I’ve…I’m good at everything I try, you know?”

  To her surprise, he gave a brief chuckle. “I’ve noticed that.”

  “But I’ve never tried this. And if you do the work, then it’s not mine, and it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean I’ve done it.” She thudded her fist into her thigh. “Does that make sense?”

  They drove in silence for a moment. “Yes. More than I care to admit.”

  “It’s about fucking time.”

  “Might I at least recommend clients?”

  “As long as you don’t assume I’m going to jump at every bone. I know swanky people, too, but mostly because I’ve robbed them.”

  “Good, and good God. Take a look at your fax.”

  She’d nearly forgotten it. Digging into her bag, she pulled out the sheet of paper and unfolded it. “Charles Kunz. He’s a manufacturer, isn’t he?”

  “Plastics. His son Daniel and I play polo together. The father’s a bit…abrasive, but—” He stopped, shooting a look at her. “You haven’t stolen from them, have you?”

  “Nope.” Sam forced a smile. “I’m going to get that question a lot, aren’t I?”

  “Probably. Would you tell me if you had broken and entered?”

  Probably not. “Maybe.”

  “Anyway, he wants to set up a meeting with you.”

  She perked up. “See? I haven’t even been in town for twenty-four hours, and I’m getting clients already.”

  “You can use my office at Solano Dorado, if you’d like.”

  Whether he was just being generous or not, she didn’t like it. “Don’t piss me off again. I’ll grab some folding chairs and meet him at my office tomorrow. It should be passable, if Stoney’ll pretend to be the receptionist.”

  “I doubt folding chairs and Stoney will impress Charles Kunz.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “From the fax, he knows I’m just setting up,” she returned, glancing at the sheet again. “And I’ll have an ad for office help showing up in the paper tomorrow or the day after.”

  And she still hadn’t given an inch. Richard wasn’t accustomed to apologizing, and he knew he probably could have done a better job of it, but dammit, she could give him a little credit. Taking a breath, he concentrated on the road for a few moments, on the way the concrete and steel made way for palm trees and beach as they crossed the southern bridge, and on the way the sun reflected warm through the tinted glass of the Jaguar.

  “Is Florida going to be home for you?” he finally asked, taking the main road cutoff leading to estate row.

  Although he kept his eyes on the road, he could feel her glance. “I like it here,” she said slowly. “Do you?”

  “I wouldn’t have bought Solano Dorado if I didn’t.”

  “But you have that tax thing where you can only spend ten weeks a year in the States.”

  “I can be here longer. I just have to pay more.”

  “How much more?”

  He pressed a button on his key chain and the heavy metal gates of Solano Dorado swung open. They headed up the long, winding drive past stands of palm trees and low hedges of tropical plants. “Not enough to keep me away if you want my company.”

  She cleared her throat. “I want your company.”

  He wanted to shout and sing and screw her until she begged for mercy, but instead he pulled up in front of the house and shut off the car. Be patient was his mantra where she was concerned, though he often quashed it in favor of enjoy it while you can. “That’s a good thing, considering that I find your company rather refreshing, myself.”

  Reinaldo emerged from the house, but Rick beat the housekeeper to Samantha’s car door and pulled it open for her. This time when he offered his hand she accepted it. She had apparently decided he’d at least made his point, then. And thank God for that, because if he didn’t get his hands on her in the next hour he was going to do himself some serious bodily injury.

  “Hey, Reinaldo,” she greeted the housekeeper, smiling.

  “Miss Sam,” the housekeeper returned in a light Cuban accent, “I’m to tell you that Hans has stocked peppermint ice cream and Diet Cokes.”

  “Is Hans married?” she asked, slinging her knapsack over her shoulder and strolling up the shallow steps to the front doors.

  “Only to his antipasto,” Richard put in, not giving her time to reconsider her phrasing. “Married” was one of those words she avoided, along with “love” and the combination of “future” and “together.” He understood that, and he made allowances for it. With the way she’d grown up, the fact that she was able to admit to wanting him around at all was rather amazing.

  She laughed, leading the way into the foyer. Catching up, he wrapped his fingers around hers and joined her on the way down the long hallway and up the stairs to what had previously been his private rooms, and were now theirs.

  As soon as they were inside he closed the door and turned to pull her up against his front. “Hello,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her sweet mouth.

  Her free hand slid around his shoulder. “It’s only been like one day.”

  “And a whole other continent. I missed you, Samantha. I can’t help it.”

  “I’m just irresistible.”

  She settled into him, arms around his waist and her face upturned. Richard kissed her slowly, deeply, relishing the sensation of her in his arms. When they were apart he always thought of her as being taller and sturdier; in reality she was slender and petite, and seemed totally unsuited for the life of crime she’d been living—and excelling at.

  He wanted her badly. This was one of those times he intended to enjoy the moment. Slipping his hands beneath her pink, lacy-sleeved T-shirt, Richard ran his palms along the warm, smooth skin of her back, then twisted his fingers into the material and tugged it off over her head.

  As he lowered his mouth to her throat she went boneless, and he swept her up into his arms and made his way to the bedroom with its huge blue bed. One-handed, she managed to undo his belt before he set her down, and she tugged it free as he sank over her on the soft coverlet.

  “Rick?” she whispered, her voice not quite steady.

  “Hm?” he returned, unfastening her cute pink bra and spreading his fingers across her pert tits.

  “I’m glad you came to Florida.”

  He unzipped her jeans and yanked them down past her knees. “So am I.”

  She kicked her pants off completely. “I mean, I missed you, too. A little. Even though you’re a jerk.”

  Unfastening his own jeans, Richard shoved them down and slid over her again, slowly sinking the length of his cock into her hot, tight depths. “You only missed me a little?” he managed, beginning his plunge.

  “Christ. Maybe more…than a little.”

  “Good.” Grunting, he continued his rhythmic assault while she clutched his shoulders, her legs sweeping around his hips as she met him thrust for thrust. With a gasp she arched her back and came. Faster than he wanted, he felt himself building too far to stop, so he gave into instinct and pumped into her hard and fast until he found his release.

  “I’m going to have to stop using the word ‘little’ when I discuss you,” she panted, guiding his face down to her shoulder as he relaxed against her.

  “I’m going to have you start writing my fan club newsletter,” he returned.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t want that.”

  Four

  Friday, 8:31 a.m.

  Samantha, with Rick seated beside her, drove the Bentley Continental GT to Worth Avenue. The car fit the street and the building to perfection, and if Rick hadn’t gifted her with it, she would have purchased something like it. She’d long ago learned that blending with marks—clients—was the best way to earn their trust, and she couldn’t very well set up a high-class security business and keep driving a Honda Civic. She hid a smile. Besides, that Civic had been stolen and then, with Stoney’s help, ditched months ago.

  “Are we going to Tom’s office?” Rick asked, leaning an arm along the window frame.

  “No. Mine.” She slid into an open spot along the street and put the car in park. “You said you wanted to see it.”

  His gaze was on the tall building owned by Donner, Rhodes and Chritchenson on the far side of the street. “I do, but—”

  “Come on. This way,” she interrupted, enjoying his confusion. It didn’t happen very often. “And no business advice.”

  “I’ll do my damnedest.” He followed her into the oppos ing building, through the tasteful lobby, and into the chrome elevator. “Five floors,” he noted, taking in the short row of buttons and then the lighted one in the middle. “Third floor for you.”

  “Not the entire floor.”

  He smiled at her. “Not yet, anyway.”

  There he went again with his little pushes, trying to convince her to open offices worldwide and become some megasecurity advisor queen. The idea did appeal to her—for sometime in the future, if the legit career thing worked out. On the other hand, if she pretended to go along with his world-domination theme, it would give her an excuse to spend the weekend every so often in…Venice, say. Sam shook herself. Even with a chance to touch a Michelangelo and earn another million bucks, she was not going to Venice. Not, not, not.

  She led Rick through the suite door and into the empty reception area. “Stoney’s picking up some furniture catalogs.”

  Rick nodded but didn’t say anything as they meandered through the unfurnished offices and the backside of reception. She tried to pretend that his opinion didn’t matter to her, tried to pretend that his approval wasn’t important whatever she might say to him—and not just as a multibillionaire businessman, but as her…lover, and her friend.

  “It’s champion,” he said after a moment, smiling as he took another turn around the side office she’d already decided to claim for herself. “Well done, Samantha.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rick paused at the window. “And Tom’s going to fill his knickers when he finds out your office is across the street from his.”