Up Close and Personal

His tongue stroked hers, coaxing a sigh from deep in her throat. She wanted to sink into the moment, to stop every clock for an hour—a day, maybe—to savor each conceivable nuance. As it was, sensations bombarded her, dragging her into a sea so thick with longing she couldn’t imagine how she would ever surface.

“Jess.” He whispered her name over her lips between kisses and seemed to urge her body toward him.

Not until then did she realize how perfectly still she sat beside him, only daring to give up her mouth to this man. Old habits were hard to break, but heaven help her, with Rocco, she could see herself making a good dent in her hang-ups.

Inching closer to him, she followed the soft pressure of his hand sliding down her shoulder to the small of her back. She nudged her left breast against him and she hesitated for just a second, testing the feel of it and discovering the touch lit up her insides. Pleasure coursed through her, flooding every nerve ending and urging her to seal her whole body against the fiery heat of his.

All of it was new to her. The immersion. The joy of it. The sense of wanting the kiss to go on forever. She’d always been painfully aware in every encounter she’d ever had with a man, second-guessing every awkward moment.

Regardless of how gentle he was, she appreciated that he didn’t roll her beneath him, Now, lying by his side, she had access to his bare chest.

At almost the same moment she laid a hand on his side, he speared his fingers beneath the jacket she’d never buttoned. He stroked the silky camisole, his hands skimming up her sides until he cupped the undersides of her breasts.

Oh.

The feather-light touch held impossibly devastating consequences. She wore nothing beneath the camisole, the silky fabric providing her last line of defense against the touch that would conquer her completely. She knew it from the way her nipples beaded in anticipation.

He broke the kiss to study her, his blue eyes dark as a turbulent sea. She fell into that swirling chaos, her breath dragging through her lungs with labored effort.

How could she have worked so hard for years to rid herself of sexual difficulties while this man could stride into her life and swipe them away with one incredible kiss?

His thumb stretched over the cup of her camisole to tease the bare skin of her exposed cleavage, his caress patient and thorough. She breathed in his scent, clean and spicy at the same time. The light from the flickering candelabra cast his face in shadows that alternated with a golden warmth.

She wanted this, wanted him, with a hunger that shocked her. Her whole body trembled in breathless anticipation for what would come next. She wanted to be naked with him, burning with him, following this inferno wherever it would lead.

“Damn it.”

He swore softly as his hands vanished from her body with no warning.

“What?” Confused, she tried to read his expression. “I bet there are condoms at the gift store.”

She’d shop personally if he wanted her to. She wouldn’t let anything come between her and—

“No.” He shifted positions, sitting up on the chaise until his feet hit the floor at one end. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Confusion swirled through her as she tried to make sense of what he was saying.

“But I wanted you, too.” And wasn’t mutual consent a beautiful thing? She knew what she’d been feeling hadn’t been one-sided. “I’ve never felt like—”

“Don’t.” He swung on her, that one word a barked command. “Just—don’t.”

He turned away from her to reach for his shirt and all the frustration and anger she’d ever felt about intimacy suddenly simmered hot in her veins. How come sex could never work out for her? She thought she’d been so close this time. Kissing Rocco had been the most physically transporting experience of her whole life. And he had turned away from her as if nothing had happened.

“I don’t understand.” She stood, the tremors of desire that had lit her insides just a moment ago turning to resentment and embarrassment. “If I did something wrong I damn well deserve to know.”

Even if that served to increase her embarrassment. She refused to be kept in the dark over what had gone off course this time. She’d battled too hard for some semblance of sexual well-being to let this guy tear her down.

Standing, he buttoned his shirt as they faced off across the chaise.

“You want to know what went wrong?” He scooped his tie off the floor and wrapped it around the neck of his half-open shirt.

“Please.” Her whole body vibrated with thwarted longing, her cheeks flaming hot along with every other square inch of her skin.

“I’m not a waiter.”

Did he think she would care about his career? Was he embarrassed about his job?

“It doesn’t matter to me what you do for a living.” Heaven knows, she hadn’t exactly strolled out of a middleclass upbringing. She’d gone to bed hungry too many times as a child to ever disrespect what someone did to earn a living. She would have given anything for her father to hold down a job for more than a few weeks at a time. Maybe then she wouldn’t have ended up in foster care by the time she was a teen.

Maybe she wouldn’t have been assaulted because no one was there to help her navigate the confusing waters of sexual relationships.

“You don’t understand. I’m a recovery agent.”

“A what?” She was still trying to figure out what his job had to do with not wanting her.

“A repo man.”

The words possessed a sting she hadn’t expected. After all, more than a decade had passed since she’d put the fears of her childhood behind her. There had been a time when recovery agents, as he called them, had held a hell of a lot of power over her life, thanks to her derelict parents.

But not anymore.

She waited for him to explain himself, her gut twisting with new foreboding.

“I came here tonight purposely to investigate you and see if you were the kind of person who could lie to an old man’s face in order to drive away with an upscale new car.” His eyes turned icy blue again. “I needed to find out if that beautiful body of yours housed the cold heart of a first-rate scam artist.”

HE’D ENVISIONED this moment in his head more than a few times. He’d played it over and over since learning the father who’d raised him single-handedly was in deep financial trouble and that Jessica’s ploy might be the straw to break the camel’s back.

But not once had he envisioned the sputtering disbelief—no, make that fury—on her face.

“What kind of sick joke is this?” She actually trembled with anger, her shoulders shaking with it, and he wondered if he could be missing some piece of the puzzle. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman to play on an old man’s sympathies, but damn it, the Escalade he’d seen in the parking lot told him she didn’t mind reaping the benefits of her deeds.

“It’s no joke.” He reached in his pants pocket for his business license, regretting he’d let things get so far out of hand. He’d overestimated his willpower when he had allowed her to massage him, a mistake that had made it impossible not to kiss her. He’d avoided relationships since his accident, a conscious choice since he hadn’t been fit company for anyone with the anger and resentment weighing bitterly on him at all times.

But, of course, that meant he’d avoided sex, too.

Touching Jessica had been too much, too soon after a celibate stretch. His blood still pounded so heavily through his veins he swore he could hear a percussion section jamming in his head.

“Of course it’s a joke,” she spit back at him, yanking the chopstick device out of her hair until the auburn waves tumbled freely to bounce on her shoulders. “Either that or you’re the sorriest excuse for a repo man I’ve ever met. I have credit card statements that show my payments for the last six months. For that matter, I have the most recent printout in my vehicle. We can retrieve it before I let the security guards all over this hotel know that you’ve been harassing me.”

“A bill can’t always be considered proof.” No doubt she had a house full of bills if she was the kind of person who defaulted on her purchases. “I’d need proof those bills were paid. And the finance company says they haven’t been.”

“I haven’t even received a late notice.” Her voice pitched higher, her frustration level revving up fast for someone he’d suspected of being a smooth operator. From the surveillance tape footage, he’d suspected her game would be tight. But right now she didn’t appear to have much experience scamming anyone. Damn it, he’d approached this thing all wrong. He was better at covert operations, staying behind the scenes and only moving in at night under the cover of dark. That strategy had been his go-to move as a SEAL and it was a strength he’d carried into the repo business. Why couldn’t he have stuck with what he did best?

The answer came to him instantly. He’d messed up because this had been personal. His father had been stressed and Rocco had wanted to clear it all up as fast as possible.

“Look. I’m sorry that I let things get personal.” He’d been an idiot to kiss her, even if it was proving damn tough to regret it. “I planned to come in here and get a feel for what kind of person you are—”

The whole situation sounded ludicrous, all the more so because he’d let himself touch her. Taste her. Want her in spite of everything.

“So help me, if you had dared to make any false accusations in front of my hard-earned clients, I would have sued your sorry ass for everything you’re worth.” She stomped across the floor to retrieve his white jacket and tossed it at him. “In fact, why don’t you give me the name of your company and your supervisor and I’ll make sure that person knows how close you came to landing your company in court tonight.”

A thread of unease tickled his instincts. Either she was a hell of an actress, or he’d wronged her in a big way.

“I saw you on the surveillance tape from my father’s dealership.” He spoke more to himself than to her, going over the evidence in his mind.

But what had he really seen? A black-and-white tape of a woman who looked like Jessica from a foot or two above eye level. A woman with her body. Her hair. And of course, her car.

Ah, shit. All at once it occurred to him that after his preliminary viewing of the tape, he’d handed the case over to his new assistant investigator to do the legwork. Rocco had wanted to move on it quickly and he’d been tied up with other business. Could the other investigator have overlooked something obvious?

“I’m waiting.” She had retrieved the pad of hotel stationery from a small desk and stood with pen poised above it.

Frustration hummed like a deerfly around his head at the possibility that someone at his company hadn’t triple-checked their paperwork. In the Navy, his buddies had always backed him up, but in the outside world, good backup wasn’t a given. Yet another aspect of how life as a civilian sucked.

“I need to check the VIN number on your vehicle.” He set his jacket back down on the chaise, knowing he wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw some proof of Jessica’s alleged fraud for himself.

“Excuse me?” The glare she sent him would have withered a lesser man. “I’m the one entitled to information here and I’ll be damned if I let you wiggle your way out of it.”

Okay, he resented the image of himself wiggling. After all, he hadn’t hurt her—he’d kissed her, for Chrissake.

“I work for myself. I’m the company. Sue me.” He removed a business card from his wallet and slapped it on the minibar. “Now I’m going to check out the VIN on the Escalade and see if you have a legitimate beef before we take this discussion any further.”

He had an extra set of keys in his pocket. He didn’t need her permission to check out a vehicle he was here to take into custody anyway.

Unless, of course, it was a different vehicle.

Anger flared hot inside him as he opened the door into the hall. He’d been overwhelmed with new cases this past week and he’d given a higher priority to firming up new accounts than taking care of detail work on recoveries in process.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jessica had set down her pen and paper before following him into the quiet corridor. “You’re not touching my vehicle without my permission.”

“You can sue me for that, too. First I’m going to find out if there’s been some kind of mistake and we’ve got the wrong vehicle.”

He’d owe her one monster of an apology if that was the case. Except he’d seen the security tape of her buying the car. It had looked just like her, damn it. Same killer body. Same sexy-as-hell red hair. Even the same mannerisms, right down to a little habit she had of spinning her bracelet around her wrist.

“Of course you’re wrong.” She hastened her step, her sweetly endowed form jiggling enticingly with the effort.

Why the hell couldn’t he keep his eyes in his head around her?

He pushed the elevator button to go down to the main floor, intrigued in spite of himself at how quickly she’d transformed from a reserved professional to a hot-blooded lover and then to a spitting-mad, in-your-face, woman as tough as any debtor who’d ever followed his tow truck into the night while shaking a fist.

Now, she gave him a wary glance before stepping into the elevator with him. Folding her arms, she managed to cover only a small portion of her considerable personal assets.

“So what’s a vin and why didn’t you look at it before you attempted to humiliate a taxpaying entrepreneur struggling to make ends meet?”

“Vehicle Identification Number. It’s etched into the dashboard under the windshield of every vehicle made and each one’s unique. Like a Social Security number for cars.” The elevator door opened and he stepped off onto the main floor of the famous Victorian-era hotel. “And I didn’t try to humiliate you.”

It was just that he’d been stressed about his father for months. His dad had taken it to heart when Rocco got a medical discharge and he’d been trying to compensate for the letdown by starting a business that could help the old man. But maybe he’d been so focused on making it up to his father that he’d unwittingly hurt someone else.

The exit was mere steps away and he plowed through it, slowing only to hold the door for Jessica. As much as he hated to be wrong in life, this was one time when he sincerely hoped he’d screwed up. He didn’t want this woman to be a scam artist.

The attraction he’d felt for her had been strong. Immediate. Undeniable. To have those feelings for someone totally lacking in scruples…

Hell. He wouldn’t appreciate what that said about him.

“It’s over there.” Jessica pointed out the massive vehicle spit-shined to gleaming perfection before she smiled at a security guard striding through the parking lot. “And I’m only following you to gloat about this when you find out you’re wrong.”

Her high heels tapped a fast pace, making him realize she needed to take two steps to his one to keep up.

“If I’m wrong—” he dug the paperwork on the vehicle out of his wallet and unfolded it “—you’re going to have a whole world of new problems to worry about. You can forget about gloating.”

The tap, tap of her high heels slowed. Stopped.

“What do you mean?” Her perfume—no, the scent of her soap—rode the breeze off the ocean, winding around him as he compared the digits on the paper to the ones under the windshield.

They didn’t match.

He didn’t know whether to thank God or curse himself. No doubt a little of both was in order. Still, he hadn’t been kidding about this situation only getting more difficult for Jessica.

“I mean you’ve got a woman impersonating you and using your name on a car loan and who knows what else.” Though he hated for her sake that this had happened, he couldn’t help his relief that she wasn’t a scam artist.

“You still think there’s another vehicle with this number you have that’s somehow associated with my name?” The professional woman was back, her brow scrunched as she tried to make sense of the situation.

A situation she didn’t deserve to be in and one he would damn well help her resolve since he’d only added to her trouble.

“Yes. There’s another Escalade purchased under your name by someone who looks a hell of a lot like you and who’s obviously using all your credit information. I’d say you’ve been a victim of identity theft by somebody who knows you very, very well.”

4

“DAD?”

Rocco dropped into his bed late that night, exhausted but knowing he wouldn’t sleep until he’d told his father the news. Moonlight streamed over the bed. He’d never bothered to hang blinds, living out in the middle of nowhere had its advantages.

He just hoped his dad was having a good day and would remember what Rocco was talking about with the Escalade. The old man’s health had been slipping lately, but his doctor didn’t think it was Alzheimer’s. Yet. Still, Rocco noticed gaps in his father’s memory and he worried about doing any kind of work that would make him less accessible when his dad needed something. At least now, as his own boss, he had the freedom to drop everything and lend a hand at Easton Luxury Motor Cars or help his father out at home if he needed anything.

“Ricardo, why do you call me so late?” His father’s accent became stronger when he was tired. He’d come over from the old country in the sixties, but being in the States for forty years hadn’t smoothed the strains of Italy from his speech. “I have to work tomorrow.”

Rocco closed his eyes as he laid his head on the pillow and tried not to think of Jessica Winslow’s massaging fingers on his shoulders.

“I know, Dad, but you made me promise I’d call when I found out anything about the woman who hasn’t made payments on her Escalade.” It was because his father had been so upset about it that Rocco had jumped into his investigative efforts without doing his homework. From now on, he needed to remember his father’s condition could make him more emotional. Less logical. But damn it, that hurt to think about. His father had always been so strong.

“You found the redhead and my car?”

“I found out the redhead was impersonating the real Jessica Winslow and that Ms. Winslow is the victim of identity theft, so I’ll have to do some more digging to find out who really has the Escalade.”

His father cursed in Italian and then in English for good measure.

“They try to break an old man’s bank, but thank goodness, my son, he is too smart for them, no?” Anthony Easton sighed into the phone and Rocco could picture his father lying back down in his bed. “You’re a good boy, Giuseppe, you know that?”

A lump stuck in Rocco’s throat. Giuseppe was his father’s first son by another marriage—a son who’d died in a car accident on a California interstate years ago. A son his father never would have mistaken him for unless he was sliding deeper into dementia.

Or perhaps he was just tired.

“It’s Rocco, Dad. And I’ll let you know when I find the Escalade, okay?”

With a soft grunt, his father seemed to agree before he hung up the phone. Leaving Rocco alone with his worries for the man who’d raised him and a renewed determination to find the woman who had ripped him off.

He just hoped Jessica Winslow didn’t spit in his face the next time she saw him, because he had the feeling he was going to need her help if he wanted to catch the redhead who’d faked her way into a brand-new SUV.

BUMPING AND GRINDING to the wail of Hindi sitar music the next morning, Jessica led the day’s first workshop in the hotel’s double suite. She tried to tune out the hum of anxiety that wove through her head louder than the stringed melody.

A fruitless endeavor.

She’d barely slept the night before, spending hours on the phone trying to find real live people at her credit card companies to report the case of identity theft. The police hadn’t been much help, assuring her she needed to follow the official channels set up by the credit bureaus first before they could get involved.

Eventually, they’d admitted they might be able to help her if she brought them a tape of someone impersonating her in order to secure a car loan. Even so, she needed to contact the finance company first.

And, of course, the mere act of talking to the police set her nerves on edge. She’d had too many run-ins with the cops in her childhood to feel any sort of ease in that situation. Even though she didn’t have anything to hide these days—unlike in the past when she’d been forced to make up long, convoluted explanations for why there had been yelling coming from their apartment or why her parents hadn’t registered her for school in their newest hometown—she still felt tongue-tied and anxious when she tried to recite her story. While part of her couldn’t help feeling a twinge of resentment at Rocco for bringing all this to her doorstep, she knew she should be grateful that he’d alerted her to the identity theft. She’d had a few instances of bills not showing up and a handful of purchases on her credit card that weren’t hers and which she’d disputed with her company, but nothing she’d worried about until now.

Still, she definitely nursed more feelings for Rocco than simple gratitude. She couldn’t deny the twinge of hurt she’d experienced that he’d turned away from their heated kisses so easily. She hated that she’d thought about those moments so often through the night, but that revelation of sensual potential inside her had been as big of news to her as any identity theft.

Between the lack of sleep, financial worries and a body overwrought by desire for a man she should probably stay away from, she wasn’t exactly bringing her A game to the morning belly-dancing class. Securing the good opinion of these students should be her number-one priority.

Like that of the woman tentatively raising her hand…

“How do you recommend we incorporate this into our seduction techniques?” asked the quiet blonde who had been the first to arrive for today’s workshop.

The woman, Bryanna, was best friends with the Hollywood director’s wife, and had confided to Jessica this morning that she feared her husband was on the verge of asking for a divorce.

Jessica weighed her answer as she helped one of the other ladies find the rhythm of the music by gently steering her hips.

“I don’t recommend using this to seduce anyone but yourself.” She spoke from her heart, knowing the answer probably wasn’t what the woman wanted to hear, but hoping the message would make sense anyway.

“How can I seduce myself when it’s me who notices all the cellulite every time I contract my stomach muscles?” Bryanna slowed her undulating movements, her harem-girl dancing costume not as sheer as some the other women had chosen.

Jessica wasn’t sure if she should play it safe and make a few suggestions for setting the stage for seduction, or if she should forge ahead with what she really thought. Bad advice could cost her that coveted word-of-mouth business. But damn it, she had to trust her gut on this.

“The dance is meant to help you see beyond the superficial of the exterior so you can feel the sensuality of the movement and tap into a new wellspring of sexual confidence and well-being.” It might sound New Agey, but the approach had worked wonders for Jessica when she’d been at her most sensually vulnerable.

Other students slowed their dance movements to listen, the flow of sheer silk skirts and scarves coming to a halt.

“What good is reclaiming my sexuality if I don’t have anyone to share it with?” Bryanna straightened, her body rigid with tension Jessica could feel from several feet away.

Or maybe Jessica simply recalled too well what it felt like to experience self-doubt after her own sexual confidence had been scared into hiding.

“Tapping into your own sensual power creates an aura of attractiveness and charisma that draws people, without any effort at all from you.” No seduction necessary.