Hot & Bothered Read Free

eyes. “I waited for you to come back, you know.”
    She stood very still within his grasp. “Excuse me?”
    â€œWhen you took off. The note you left only said thata family emergency had come up, so I waited to see if you’d be able to get back.”
    â€œYou were the one who set the ground rules of no last names and ‘this week only.’”
    Because until I met you that sort of arrangement suited me fine. “I know.” But his brows furrowed slightly, for while her voice had been perfectly polite, there’d been something beneath the surface that he couldn’t quite identify. Accusation, maybe? Regret?
    Whatever it had been was gone when she inquired coolly, “So what made you think I would have come back even if I could?”
    â€œWishful thinking, I suppose.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “I guess I just hoped you’d resolve whatever the problem was and come back, so I stayed on a couple of extra days, just in case.”
    â€œYou can’t seriously have expected me to return, though. Not when we only had two days left and you’d never said a word to indicate you had any desire to change the status quo.”
    Before he could respond, she dismissed the subject with an abrupt wave of her hand. “That’s ancient history, however,” she said in the same reserved voice she’d used earlier. “So while it’s been very nice seeing you again, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m in the middle of yet another family crisis and I have an appointment with someone I’m expecting at any moment.”
    She was perfectly polite, but the message couldn’t be clearer, and this time he didn’t have the sun shining in her eyes to blame it on. What did you expect, Ace—that she’d offer to take up where the two of you left off? Get a clue. She hasn’t smiled once and if she were any stiffer beneath your hands, she’d be a surfboard. It didn’t say a hell ofa lot for his detecting skills that he just now was getting around to noticing that little fact. His only excuse was that he’d been happy to see her.
    Clearly, she was not as pleased to see him. He dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back. The barefoot twenty-five-year-old of his memory now wore mango-colored linen and a long strand of knotted pearls, and her wild, streaky-brown, waist-length hair was subdued in a cut that curved sleekly just above her shoulders. This was plainly no new transformation, either. It was much more likely that the Tori of his memory, the woman with the sandy feet, frayed cutoffs and tropical-print bikini tops, had been the real aberration.
    For the first time since stepping through the door, he took his eyes off her and glanced around the foyer, taking in its sweeping staircase, black-and-white marble tiles and the opulent art on the walls. Then he turned back to give Tor—no, Victoria —a slow appraisal and his eyes narrowed at the sudden suspicion that popped into his head. “So, tell me. You and me that week—were you just slumming?”
    â€œPlease. It was a long time ago and I truly don’t have time for this right now. My appointment—”
    â€œIs here.” Screw it. She was right; it was a long time ago and some things simply couldn’t and shouldn’t be resurrected. Not to mention that she had some heavy emotional shit going on in her life at the moment and he was here to do a job. Pushing every other consideration from his mind, telling himself she was simply another new client, he thrust out his hand. “John Miglionni, at your service.”
    â€œNo.” Horrified, Victoria simply stared at the extended hand. No way was she touching those long, lean fingers again—the sensory impressions from the first time were still too fresh. “You can’t be.” Shooting a glance at themostly red tattoo beneath the silky black