Bachelor Boss

Chapter Two

There was a rap on the door of the guest bedroom as Lucy stood before the open closet, frowning. “Come in.”

Her sister stuck her head inside the room. “Dad called while you were in the shower. He wanted to know how your first day went.”

“I hope you told him I haven’t quit,” Lucy said. “And I didn’t get fired, either,” she continued, muttering under her breath. Though not true, she suspected that was what her family had assumed each time she’d changed jobs.

Her grumble caused a frown to mar her sister’s perfect face as she stepped into the bedroom and swung the door shut behind her. “Are you okay?”

Lucy avoided a probing gaze by turning back to the closet. “Cocktail attire. For an advance party to hype the Street Beat rock music festival at the end of the month. Don’t you think that calls for something a bit less conservative than a little black dress?”

“I don’t know,” Elise replied, coming to stand beside her. “You’re the music lover. Carlo was smart to invite you.”

“Yeah. Smart.” Lucy figured it was more out of convenience than IQ. Carlo had needed a date for the business thing and she’d been the closest available woman. Those short moments of self-delusion when she’d thought her fantasies had come true…well, self-delusion said it all. “Since I’m working for him, I thought I’d better say yes. Though I’m sure he has a black book full of numbers he could have called.”

“He dates. I know that.”

Lucy slid a look at her sister. How much did Elise know? Was she at all aware of Carlo’s feelings for her? Lucy didn’t think so. Even though, when Elsie had married her husband, John, six years before, it had been clear to anyone paying close attention that Carlo had lost the girl of his dreams.

Lucy had noticed because he’d been the man of hers, but she doubted that Carlo had ever deliberately shared with others how being best man at Elise’s wedding had broken his heart. Lucy might have doubted it herself, except on the big day, wearing her own bridesmaid’s tulle, she’d overheard Carlo’s sister guess aloud his bitter secret. Lucy’s own heart had fractured as he’d reluctantly confirmed the truth. The woman of his dreams was walking down the aisle. Away from him.

But it hadn’t changed the way she felt about him, ever. Just as his stiff expression when she’d mentioned her sister made it clear his feelings for Elise were rock solid.

It was why Lucy hadn’t made up her mind about what to do tonight. Should she really go? There was still time to claim a migraine or call in an excuse of stomach cramps.

Still uncertain, she reached for a hanger draped with a stretchy garment in sunset colors and sprinkled with sequins. “What do you think about this?” she asked, holding the various straps and scraps of fabric against her terry-cloth robe.

Elise’s laugh burst out.

“What?”

Her sister couldn’t seem to stop grinning. “Oh, I think you’re going to be good for our Carlo.”

Her Carlo, Lucy corrected. “I don’t understand.”

“Let’s put it this way. Getting out of police work and into his own successful business didn’t lighten up the man.”

“Losing a partner to a bullet might account for that,” Lucy defended, frowning at her sister. “Patrick McMillan was like a second father to Carlo.”

Elise sighed. “It wasn’t a criticism.”

Crossing to the bed, Lucy tossed the dress down and then grabbed a bottle of lotion from the dresser and started to smooth the cream over her legs. “What did you mean by it, then?”

“You’ve seen how he’s changed over the years,” her sister said. “He used to smile more. Heck, he used to laugh. But now he ducks from most of the invitations our group of friends sends out, and when he does say yes, he broods in a corner or brings a date who does all his talking for him.”

Like that too-pretty Tamara? Though apparently she was yesterday’s news.

“I don’t think he knows how to have fun anymore.” Elise nodded toward the spangled dress stretched across the bedspread. “Maybe you could make that part of your job description.”

Lucy’s palm stopped halfway up her shin. “Aren’t you afraid I’d botch that up just like I’ve botched up every other job I’ve had since graduation?” She knew that’s what they all thought, even though leaving her positions in the accounting departments of the law firm, the school district and the insurance company had been completely voluntary. It wasn’t that she hadn’t done good work…it was that she hadn’t enjoyed it.

Elise rolled her eyes. “You’ve been listening to our brothers too much.”

“And Dad. And then there’s Mom, who just keeps giving me these worried glances.” Elise wasn’t so innocent, either. All of them couldn’t fathom why Lucy had yet to find the right job.

“Remember,” her sister said, “you’re the baby of the family.”

“But for pity’s sake, I’m not a baby anymore!”

Elise nodded, then leaned over to pluck the almost-nothing dress from off its place on the mattress. “I’m getting that. But maybe it’s time you made it clear to everyone else.”

Oh, great, Lucy thought. Just another item to put on her list. Don’t screw up the temp job, do get over Carlo, do make clear to the public-at-large that Lucy Sutton was no longer in pigtails and braces.

On that last thought, Carlo invaded her mind again.

I see that you’re all grown-up.

A woman.

For a moment she’d actually believed he did see that. That he saw her. But then she’d mentioned Elise’s name and he’d gone distant and cool. No more masculine gleam in his eyes and no more half smile on his mouth. As usual, for Carlo, it was always Elise.

So why should she go through with this “date” tonight? She could comfortably stay home and still torture herself with that particular piece of knowledge.

But no! She capped the lotion with a vehement snap. Elise was right. Lucy should be out there proving she was no longer the Suttons’ silly youngest sibling. Tonight didn’t have to be about Carlo. Or about Carlo and Elise. Or about Carlo, and never Lucy.

Tonight could be about Lucy alone. If she focused on herself, maybe she could move into the future, leaving him the lone soul left wallowing in what-couldn’t-be. Tonight, she should, no, she would go to the party as a single, sophisticated woman instead of a goosey love-struck girl.

Her older sister wandered off, leaving Lucy alone to finish prepping for the evening. After putting on make-up and smoothing her hair into straight strands with the flat iron, she wiggled into the stretchy dress she’d selected, adjusting the straps over her braless breasts and criss-crossing them on her bare back in order to tie the ends at her waist. Then she inspected herself in the mirror.

Okay. This was no baby-sister kind of dress. She’d purchased it at a boutique in Phoenix, at a supersale that even then cleaned out her clothing budget. The colors—ranging from palest yellow to the most passionate pink—mimicked a Southwest sunset and brightened her blond hair and fair skin. She paired it with high-heeled pink sandals and a raspberry lip gloss guaranteed to last all night long.

Through kisses and anything else, the product’s sexy ad promised.

She didn’t let her mind go there, though then it did, even without her permission. But why not? Maybe she would meet an attractive man at the party. Maybe he would kiss her.

It could happen.

She heard the doorbell ring, followed by the distant murmur of voices. Her brother-in-law, John’s, the deeper rumble of Carlo’s.

Her little shiver was merely because the night was turning cooler, of course.

So stifling any second thoughts, she grabbed a gauzy wrap and her evening purse, then headed out of the bedroom and down the hallway. A single, sophisticated woman on the way to a party.

Despite herself, her forward motion stopped just short of the living room. From her place in the shadows, she took in the tableau in front of her.

Her sister and brother-in-law were seated on the couch, Lucy’s “date” standing before them. Carlo was dressed in ash-gray slacks and a matching ash-gray silky-looking T-shirt, topped by a black linen sports jacket. He looked relaxed and, well, rich, the shine of his loafers mimicking the gleam of his dark hair. His mouth curved in polite amusement as John related something funny about work. After a moment, Carlo’s eyes flickered away from his friend’s face to light on Lucy’s sister’s classic features.

It seemed to her that his smile faded and his eyes turned empty.

Perhaps she made some movement then, giving herself away, because Carlo’s gaze suddenly jumped to where Lucy was lurking. Hoping to cover for her staring, she immediately stepped into the living room, her shoulders back, her hips swaying. A sophisticated, single woman on her way to a party.

A sophisticated single woman who watched Carlo’s carefully blank expression turn to one of blatant disapproval.

Her first-day nerves returned with a vengeance. Hives felt as if they were rising all over her skin. She would have turned and run, but her sophisticated, single-girl high heels allowed for no fast getaways.

Carlo Milano didn’t like parties in general. He didn’t like the one he was headed to tonight in particular. In particular, because he was accompanied by five feet and a hundred pounds of potential danger. Five feet and a hundred pounds of potential danger wearing high heels and a flaming-hot dress.

Closing his eyes as he shut the passenger door on her and the view of her bare, slender legs, he allowed himself a groan. If only he hadn’t broken things off with Tamara, she would be his date tonight.

Tamara and her palpable hopes for a happily-ever-after life story, with him starring as the male lead.

It was why he’d been forced to end what had been pleasantly pleasant enough. When she’d started making noises about shared vacations and opportunities to meet her parents, he’d felt honor-bound to halt her building expectations. He just didn’t think that type of happy ending was written into the Carlo Milano movie script.

Not that he didn’t believe in happy endings. He’d seen his sister and many of his friends successfully couple up. Not for a minute did he doubt their commitments to their lovers. He went to each wedding wishing them all the best.

But at one wedding… At one wedding he’d started letting go of the notion of a lifelong romantic partnership for himself.

Then, when he’d lost his police partner to an unfair and untimely murder…he’d been certain he was destined to do the life thing solo.

Not to mention it just seemed simpler that way.

“La Jolla isn’t in this direction,” piped up the young beauty beside him. “I thought you said the party was in La Jolla.”

He kept his focus out the windshield instead of glancing again at the blonde wrapped in salsa that was little Lucy Sutton all grown-up. Curse whatever combination of curiosity and kindness had prompted him to ask her out in the first place.

Kindness.

Right. The truth was, the water-cooler incident in the break room had snapped something inside of him. One moment he’d been remembering her as a bubblegum-popping tweenie, the next he was seeing her as a woman. Desirable. Beddable.

Though not available, of course. Not available to him, anyway. There were several reasons that made that a fact: she was an old family friend and almost like a little sister to him; her brothers were among his best friends and would beat him to a pulp if he and Lucy hooked up and he ended up hurting her; and he’d never forgive himself if—when—that very likelihood came to pass.

Still, aware of all that, he’d opened his big mouth and extended the invitation.

So here he was with Lucy. Desirable. Beddable.

Pure trouble.

His years as a street cop, then as a detective, then as a security expert had finely honed his instincts, and his instincts said she was mischief in the making. Lucy Sutton wearing that dress and looking like that in it was going to be up to her curvy hips in trouble tonight if he didn’t stay on the ball.

“Carlo?”

He sighed. “We’re making a stop before the party.” Thank God. Anything to minimize the amount of time he’d have to be on guard-dog patrol. “You wouldn’t by any chance dislike loud music and large crowds?”

He caught her grin out of the corner of his eye. “I love loud music and large crowds.”

“Figures,” he grumbled.

She laughed. “Why are we going, then, if you dislike the party scene so much?”

“You know. It’s a work obligation.” His calendar bulged with them. In a convention town that was also home to major league sports teams and that hosted big-name golf tournaments, as well as big-star rock concerts, McMillan & Milano’s services were in constant demand. “The company’s in charge of security for the Street Beat festival three weeks from now and I’ve got to put in an appearance and do the good ol’ grip-and-grin for at least a few minutes.”

Fewer than few, if he could get away with it. If Lucy Sutton had rattled him, not only a family friend but a man known as Mr. Keep-It-Light-and-Loose, what effect might she have on males who were actively prowling?

He shook his head. She was heading for trouble, all right.

Flipping his car’s signal indicator, he turned right into the driveway of a well-maintained two-story, his gaze noting that the landscaping crew was keeping the hedges manicured and the lawns fertilized per his orders. The porch light added a cheery brightness to the entry, complete with a wreath of dried fall foliage on the front door.

“Come in with me,” he suggested to Lucy. “You’ve met Germaine McMillan before, haven’t you? I said I’d stop by and take care of a minor repair for her.”

Again, he kept his eyes off Lucy’s legs as she exited the car. But he couldn’t keep her light scent away from his nose as they waited for Germaine to answer the ringing doorbell. The fragrance had caught his attention in the break room at the office, too, and remembering that brought back that quick flash he’d had of her plump, pretty breasts rising from the white lace cups of her bra.

To distract himself from the memory, he ran his hand over the molding around the doorjamb. Good. The paint was tight.

For some damn reason, so the hell were the muscles south of his waistline.

He could have kissed Germaine for choosing that instant to open the door. Actually, he did kiss her, an obligatory peck on her soft cheek that dimpled as he moved away and brought his companion forward.

“Do you remember Lucy Sutton?” he asked his partner’s widow. “I’m sure you’ve met her before, as well as various other members of the Sutton family over the years.”

“Of course!” Germaine appeared delighted by the company, which was part of the reason why he’d scheduled the stop. Like the landscaping, he could have hired out the minor repair. But without children or grandchildren of her own, Carlo knew the older woman enjoyed his visits. Just as he’d felt obligated to keep Patrick McMillan’s name as part of the security firm the two of them had dreamed up before Pat’s death, Carlo felt obligated to be the family Germaine didn’t have. “Can I get you two some coffee and dessert?” she asked.

They followed her into the immaculate living room, where fresh vacuum trails showed clearly on the cream carpet. “Nothing for me, thanks,” Lucy replied. “We’re on our way to a party.”

Germaine sat down on the floral couch and Lucy followed suit. “I shouldn’t be keeping the pair of you, then.”

Carlo waved his hand. “There’s no rush. We have plenty of time. The party’s bound to be boring, anyway.” And Lucy would be a whole lot easier to watch over among the flower fields that were Germaine’s upholstered furniture than she would be at a party filled with rock musicians, businessmen and media types.

“Oh, you,” Germaine scolded. “A man your age should enjoy a little nightlife.”

Lucy leaned toward her. “We’re not even there yet and he’s already grumping about the music being too loud. Who knew what a fuddy-duddy he’d turn out to be?”

“Fuddy-duddy?” He frowned at her. Fuddy-duddy? For some reason the teasing jab ignited his usually cool temper. “Is that what you think? But coming from someone dressed in nothing more than a scanty pair of handkerchiefs, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Lucy’s spine straightened. She looked a little bit insulted, too. “Handkerchiefs? I’ll have you know this dress is—”

“Outrageous?” Fuddy-duddy. He couldn’t get the insult out of his mind. “An invitation to pneumonia?”

Her berry-colored mouth fell open and her blue, blue eyes narrowed. “You’re—”

“Children, children,” Germaine interrupted, her voice verging on laughter. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

“You’re right.” Annoyed by his own out-of-character reaction to Lucy’s silly jibes, Carlo shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll do better than that and in fact change the washers of the dripping faucet like I said I would.”

Germaine started to rise, but he shook his head. “I know where I’m going and I know where you keep Pat’s tools.”

He couldn’t exit the living room fast enough. If he didn’t already know that Lucy had potential to be a snag in the smooth path of his planned evening, that last exchange would have been proof positive. How the hell had she gotten under his skin so fast?

Fuddy-duddy. Grumping. Good God, he didn’t grump. How ridiculous.

But damn, if the descriptions hadn’t rankled.

Passing the hall portrait of his late partner on the way to the dripping bathroom faucet, Carlo felt his mood dip even lower. As he tinkered, he thought of Pat’s stocky frame and square, capable hands. The man should be here, Carlo thought on a sudden stab of sadness. Pat should be here, working out of his own red toolbox while looking forward to an evening of yet another TV documentary on military history, as well as a slice of his wife’s famous mocha cheesecake.

Instead, Carlo’s partner was gone.

Gone forever.

Upon completion of the repair, his footsteps were as heavy as his frame of mind as he returned to the living room. Hesitating at the archway, he listened to Germaine’s amused voice.

“Then he turned the corner as fast as his old legs could go, wheezing, he said, sure that he’d lost the suspect, only to find the teenager caught on a cyclone fence, hanging upside down by his own oversize trousers.”

Carlo remembered the moment as if it were yesterday and he couldn’t resist adding to the story. “His own oversize trousers that had fallen down to his ankles, leaving his, uh, assets flapping in the breeze.” Coming farther into the room, he couldn’t help but grin at the memory. “Pat picked up the fancy cell phone that had fallen out of the boy’s pocket and took a picture for posterity, while the dumb kid yammered on and on about police brutality.”

He laughed. “Pat told him the only brutal thing about the event was his having to be subjected to a view of the kid’s skinny butt.” Laughing again, he recalled the expression of insulted outrage on the perp’s upside-down face.

“Oh, Carlo.”

The odd note in Germaine’s voice zeroed his gaze in on her. “What?”

She smiled. “It’s good to hear you laugh. It’s good that we can remember my Pat with lightness in our hearts. He’d want that.”

Carlo felt the smile he was wearing die as yet another pang of sadness sliced through him. All that Pat had wanted was to grow old with his beloved wife. Just a few relaxed and peaceful years of happily-ever-after.

He turned away, embarrassed by his sudden grief and just as determined to hide it. His hand speared through his hair and he cleared his throat. “Anything else I can do for you, Germaine?” His voice still sounded thick.

“No, but, Carlo…” Germaine’s own suddenly teary voice filled with a sympathy he couldn’t handle, yet couldn’t run away from, either. Without looking at her, he sensed her rising and he steeled himself, desperate not to be weakened by any more emotion.

But then Lucy was there first, her hand looping around his arm. “Well, then I think we should be going, Germaine. I have to get the fuddy-duddy to the party before he turns into a pumpkin.”

A new jolt of annoyance overrode his other feelings. Fuddy-duddy again! Pumpkin. He shook his head, frowning down into her bright face and naughty smile.

“Brat,” he murmured. Okay, beautiful, but a brat all the same.

Germaine brightened. “Yes, yes. You must go on to your evening out.”

Lucy’s answer was to tug him toward the door. “Did you hear that, Carlo? Let’s get a move on or next thing I know you’ll be too busy filling out your AARP membership forms to find your way to a party.”

Half-amused by her burst of energy and half-bemused by her second round of insults, he allowed her to pull him through the front door and toward his car. Even without a rock band, she was already dancing along the pavement and chattering away about the stars, the clear sky, how happy she was to be back in San Diego, which always held a hint of ocean in the night air.

When he pulled out of the driveway, he realized he was smiling again. Relaxed. She took a breath and he took advantage of the brief moment of quiet. “Lucy, I’m…”

“Feeling better?”

His head jerked her way. Her gaze was on him, her eyes big. Empathetic.

She knew.

She’d known he was close to losing it back there in Germaine’s living room.

It was as embarrassing as hell to realize, but now it was clear that Lucy had intentionally come to his rescue. By stepping in with her sassy attitude and smart remarks, Lucy had given him the time and the distraction necessary to compose himself. Germaine hadn’t needed him dumping his sorrow on top of her own.

Lucy had made sure he didn’t.

“Lucy…” He was at a loss for words, still embarrassed that she’d read him so easily. Swallowing, he tried again. “You…”

She sent him that bright brat smile and fiddled with the hem of her too-short dress. “Look great in a pair of handkerchiefs, right?”

His gaze fell to her half-naked legs, then jumped back to the impish curve of her bright berry mouth. His blood rushed south and he felt that recognizable tightness at his groin. Of course, it couldn’t be because of Lucy and how good she smelled and how delectable she looked in that dress. She was an old family friend, so it wasn’t—