Summer Heat

“But we’re here now and we’re alone.”

“That we are,” she said, knowing the exact moment his lips would touch hers.

From the center of the fountain just a few feet away, ten-foot jets of water spouted and fell in a lighted display. Sam’s lips touched hers and her eyes fluttered shut. The sound of rushing water echoed in the distance but all she could think about was the soft touch of his lips on hers, the warmth of his tongue slipping past her teeth and moving seductively into her mouth.

Wrapping her arms around his neck and tilting her head for better access she took him in, moaning as he sucked her tongue with deep hungry strokes, sinking closer into his embrace as he masterfully seduced her with his mouth.

Never before had she been kissed like this. Surely this must be a dream. Either that or it was forbidden. Nothing that tasted this good, felt this right, could be good for her. Hadn’t she already learned that lesson?

Summer Heat

A.C. Arthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

Welcome to the art world and to the legacy of the beautiful and talented Lakefields of Manhattan. Once again I have given you a family of strong, independent and successful adults—this time in the form of three intriguing sisters—Monica, Karena and Deena.

When I envisioned the perfect woman for Sam Desdune I knew she would have to be multi-dimensional. Sam would want a woman who was independent and sexy, yet compassionate and loving. I also knew that bringing Sam and Karena together was going to take something really special, so I went out on a limb with a beautiful Brazilian beach, an endearing Great Dane and the tried and true tale of Romeo and Juliet.

I hope you enjoy this first look into the Lakefields and stay tuned for more!

As always, I would love to hear from you. I can be contacted at acarthur22@yahoo.com.

Happy reading!

A.C. Arthur

Prologue

August—St. Michael’s, Maryland

Karena Lakefield took her seat on the plane and immediately buckled her seat belt, just as she did when getting into a car. It was just one of those things she was anal about. Actually, if her sisters were telling it, they’d say she was anal about just about everything. She, however, liked to think of it as having an orderly life—everything in its place and all that.

That’s how she managed her business dealings, her family issues and her personal life—otherwise, she would have checked into the sanitarium by now.

She was just about to reach into her bag and pull out her laptop when the seat beside her was taken.

“Hello, again,” Sam Desdune said with an easy smile that once again had Karena’s toes warming.

“Well, hello to you. I didn’t know we were booked on the same flight.”

“Neither did I. Originally I was going to stay another day just to make sure that things went smoothly with Luther’s extradition. But Brock assured me that he’d go down to the police station to personally see the man off.” With that, Sam had packed his overnight bag and headed for the airport, hoping to find a flight leaving for New York sooner rather than later. And lady luck seemed to be on his side—in more ways than one, he noted as he looked into the cheerfully pretty face of Karena Lakefield.

They’d officially met last night at dinner, the one where Brock announced that Noelle would be moving to the East Coast with him—and Jade nearly fell out of her chair. The memory had Sam chuckling. He’d known Trent Donovan for almost ten years. He’d shared some of the Donovan family dinners and enjoyed them immensely, but none as much as last night’s.

The lady with the coal-black hair styled in a short spiky do and dark, seductive eyes was the cause for that.

She was one of the Lakefields of Manhattan. The minute Noelle had said her name, he’d made the connection. The Lakefields ran the most exclusive and affluent African-American-owned art galleries in the United States. And while his brother-in-law, Lorenzo Bennett, had just recently opened his own gallery, Renny had nothing on the Lakefields’ status in the art world.

That’s exactly the impression Karena gave him: refined, delicate, priceless—a piece of art worth buying for whatever price was asked.

“Good. I’m glad that whole episode is over. I feel so bad for Noelle and all that she’s been through.”

“Yeah, but she’s got Brock now, so I’m sure she’ll be well taken care of from here on out.”

“Humph, must be nice,” she said with a frown then looked out the window.

The plane was just about to take off when Karena’s cell phone chimed. She cursed and answered it quickly, looking around to make sure none of the flight attendants noticed that she hadn’t turned it off as they’d asked.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“What? Monica, I’m on the plane. Can this wait until I get home? No, I don’t leave again for another two weeks.

“It’ll be fine if we wait, Monica. Yes. I know.” She rolled her eyes skyward and sucked in a breath as the plane lifted from the ground. The worst parts of flying were takeoff and landing, in her book.

“I know, Monica. Look, I’m hanging up. I’ll call you when I get home.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll call you when we land.”

“Trouble on the home front?” Sam asked when she’d snapped the phone closed, turned it off and stuffed it into her purse.

“Not exactly. My older sister, Monica, is a slave driver.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she manages our family gallery in Manhattan while I do all the buying and supervise the sales division.”

“I see, a family business. I know all about those.”

“Are you in a family business?”

“Nah, I’m one of the apples that fell far from the tree,” he chuckled. “My family owns restaurants up and down the eastern seaboard. But at my P.I. firm I employ mostly family members. My twin sister and Trent’s cousin to name a few.”

“That’s right, you and Trent are good friends. Well, I’ll tell you, people are constantly telling me to get a life, but Monica is the one who needs to take a chill pill,” Karena said with a grin.

“Really? That’s interesting,” Sam said thoughtfully.

“How so?”

“Is Monica involved with anyone right now?”

“No. Didn’t you hear when I said she was a workaholic? The only way she could be involved is if she’s sneaking a man into the gallery after hours, because I swear that girl sleeps there.”

“I think I know somebody who would get along famously with her.”

Karena frowned. “I don’t usually do the matchmaking thing,” she began. “But tell me about him anyway.” She was smiling and turning sideways to look at him.

“He’s my brother-in-law’s older brother. His name is Alexander Bennett, but we just call him Alex. I don’t think he ever peels himself away from his desk either.”

So as the plane soared higher into the clouds, Sam and Karena talked about Alex and Monica, then about their jobs and finally about themselves. By the time the plane landed, they’d exchanged all contact information with a promise to call when they had some free time.

A promise Sam happily planned to keep.

September—Gramercy II Grand Opening, Maryland

“You never called,” Sam whispered over her shoulder.

Karena turned, the smile spreading across her face, slowly but impulsively and probably giving away how happy she was to see him. “Neither did you.”

“Guilty,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing its back. “Forgive me?”

She was still smiling, feeling like a high-school girl on her prom night. “No big deal.” Karena pulled her hand from his, because this was getting too weird.

Sure, she’d met Sam Desdune last month when she’d come to check on her best friend, Noelle. And yes, he was handsome, easy to talk to and had made her flight back to New York very pleasant. But it wasn’t as though he was a long-distance boyfriend—or even a long-distance friend, for that matter.

He lived in Connecticut and she in Manhattan. They weren’t that far away, and yet neither had tried to contact the other after their first meeting. Perhaps the tiny flutters she’d felt while sitting next to him on the plane were really nothing.

“So what do you think?” Sam asked, his gaze moving around the room of the Gramercy II, the sister casino/resort owned by Lincoln Donovan of the Las Vegas Donovans and run by Noelle Vincent, Karena’s best friend and Linc’s sister-in-law.

“It’s fabulous,” she answered without hesitation. “But then if Noelle had her hand in it, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Sam was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, it turned out really well. Linc’s thrilled.”

“That’s wonderful. I know Noelle really wanted to impress him.”

“Well, I’d say she did that and then some.”

Conversation tapered off as they each looked around the room, then as if it were planned, Sam touched a hand to her elbow and escorted her out of the main casino room. They walked along the high-ceilinged corridor with its copper-toned fountain running down one side and lighted walkway along the plush sage-green carpet.

The atmosphere was calming and relaxing, which seemed a bit strange for a casino. Yet it fit this small water community, the splash of decadence and bling mixing seamlessly with the quiet ambiance, creating a unique feel that was sure to attract a lot of customers.

Karena felt the relaxation but instinctively fought it. She had so much work to do when she returned to the city, which was why instead of taking Noelle’s offer to stay at the house she shared with Brock Remington, her boyfriend and Linc Donovan’s cousin, Karena opted to stay here at the Gramercy II for the night and take a flight out first thing in the morning.

Why she couldn’t relax enough to take a vacation was beyond her. No, actually it wasn’t. It was her choice, her goals in life, the limitations she set for herself, all her choice, her doing, her need.

Coming to another airy space centered by a larger fountain, this one with copper railings to keep guests from venturing too close to the water display that was presented every other hour, she and Sam stopped.

“It’s nice here,” she said, tired of the endless quiet between them. It felt odd to be with this man and not talk, because he was so easy to communicate with, unlike other men who would have probably been pawing all over her by now. Maybe Sam wasn’t interested in her in that way. And why should she care?

“It’s quieter here. There were too many people in the other room. I didn’t want any distractions,” he said seriously.

His hand was still on her elbow as they faced each other. “You’re at a casino/resort opening, how could you not want to be in the casino?”

“I’m here to support a friend,” he said, speaking of his best friend and business partner, Trent Donovan. “The Donovans are like extended family to me, so it’s great to see them taking on another successful venture.”

“All the more reason you would want to be out there.”

“Nah,” he said, taking a step closer to her and lifting his other hand to touch her cheek. “Not when I can take advantage of being alone with you.”

Okay, so she wasn’t crazy. The fizzle of attraction she’d felt when they’d met last month hadn’t been a fluke. And it was back, alive and sparkling as they stood, feeling tiny drops of mist as the water show prepared to begin.

“You could have been alone with me before if you’d called,” she said, surprising herself with her boldness. Being with a man wasn’t new to Karena, but she wasn’t the flowers, romance and courting type. Because of her hectic lifestyle and those endless limitations she put on herself, her encounters with the opposite sex needed to be quick and efficient. So if there was something brewing between her and Sam Desdune, maybe it was best they act on it quickly and keep it moving.

“I could and should have. But we’re here now and we’re alone.”

“That we are,” she said, knowing the exact moment his lips would touch hers.

From the center of the fountain just a few feet away, ten-foot jets of water spewed and fell in a lighted display. Sam’s lips touched hers and her eyes fluttered shut. The sound of rushing water echoed in the distance, but all she could think about was the soft touch of his lips on hers, the warmth of his tongue slipping past her teeth and moving seductively into her mouth.

Wrapping her arms around his neck and tilting her head for better access, she took him in, moaning as he sucked her tongue with deep hungry strokes, sinking closer into his embrace as he masterfully seduced her with his mouth.

Never before had she been kissed like this. Surely this must be a dream. Either that or it was forbidden. Nothing that tasted this good, felt this right, could be good for her. Hadn’t she already learned that lesson?

Chapter One

October—Lakefield Galleries, New York City

“Stolen? That’s impossible!” Karena slammed her palms flat on her desk then stood.

Dropping down into the paisley-patterned guest chair across from her was her oldest sister and biggest critic, Monica Lakefield. Monica was the manager of Lakefield Galleries, their family-owned and for the most part family-run art gallery in Manhattan.

In addition to being extremely intelligent Monica was as ambitious, cutthroat and relentless as any Brooks Brothers suit-wearing man in corporate America—a fact she relished.

Karena was two years younger than Monica, having celebrated her thirtieth birthday six months ago. She considered herself ambitious as well, a trait clearly inherited from their domineering father, Paul. But she wasn’t as hard as Monica, not as rigid and stern when it came to business—or everything else for that matter.

“It’s right there in black and white,” Monica was saying as she tossed a manila folder onto Karena’s desk. Sighing heavily, Karena moved to pick up the folder. No way this was happening to her. She’d had a rough enough time trying to sleep last night due to dreams that she definitely should not be having. And now this. It was barely ten in the morning and Monica was delivering this disastrous news.

“Jacques did the appraisal, just like he always does. He checked with the ASA and the ADAA. It’s either a fake or it’s stolen. He has a few more tests to run, but odds are it’s stolen.”

Karena’s fingers shook slightly as she leafed through the pages. Sure enough, there were three reports: one from Jacques, one from the Appraisers Association of America and the final one from the Art Dealers Association of America. Hearing Monica sum up the reports in front of her in such cold and succinct language had her heart pounding, the sound throbbing in her ears.

“I met with him personally. We had breakfast on the terrace in Pirata. He even showed me the cliffs where he liked to paint at dawn.”

“Oh, please. Karena, he played you like a prized violin. He didn’t paint that picture. He’s not Leandro.”

“There’s a mistake. There’s got to be some mistake,” she insisted. Because if there wasn’t, then her sister was right. She’d been played by the quietly handsome man who stood six feet tall with somber brown eyes and nut-brown skin.

His heavily accented voice had been a little hard for her to understand, but it didn’t matter once he showed her the first painting. Immediately she’d fallen in love with the colors, the tone, the simplicity of the piece. She’d had to have it. Lakefield Galleries had to have it.

And now they did. A stolen portrait that could totally destroy the reputation they’d spent years building.

“Did you get any form of identification? I mean, damn, what made you believe it was even him? For more than a year he’s been unreachable, his paintings appearing only in small galleries spread out over the world. Not even his agent has ever met him in person.” Monica waved a hand as she spoke, her signature long painted nails catching bits of the fluorescent lighting.

“I didn’t card him, Monica. That’s not normally how I do business. And remember, he called me.” The call had come just as Karena had returned from Maryland, where she’d been attending the grand opening of the Gramercy II, the casino her best friend, Noelle Vincent, and her boyfriend, Brock Remington, had built.

The resort was the East Coast version of one of Las Vegas’s hottest casinos owned by Lincoln Donovan, of the illustrious Donovan clan. It was through Linc that Karena had met Noelle and forged one of the closest friendships she’d ever had.

The moment she’d stepped off the plane from Maryland and turned on her cell phone, it rang. On the other end, calling all the way from Pirata, a medium-size town in Brazil, was Leandro, the reclusive oil-painting artist now blowing up in the art world. The minute he’d said his name, she’d been ready to board another plane to visit him.

In less than a week she’d been in Brazil, soaking up the gorgeous scenery and sitting across from the man who was about to give her the biggest sale of her art-buying career.

Had he lied to her?

“Maybe you need a lesson in how to do business?”

Both Monica and Karena stilled at the sound of his voice. He’d opened the door and walked right into her office, no announcement from her secretary needed. After all, he owned Lakefield Galleries and the Lakefield Foundation.

“If it’s truly stolen, where did it come from? Because right now there’s no proof that the man I met with wasn’t Leandro,” Karena said, trying like hell to hide the nervousness being in the same room as her father inevitably brought.

He was angry. No, not quite so, more like annoyed. His broad body wore a designer suit as if Ralph Lauren himself had come to the mansion and cut the material around him. His thick wavy hair hadn’t started to fall out, which was more and more common for men over fifty-five these days. Instead, Paul Lakefield’s hair had turned a sparkling gray, taking him from handsome to distinguished in the past five years. His dark eyes were what threw off the otherwise handsome package. Those eyes always seemed to pin Karena with accusation.

Her birth wasn’t a mistake, not entirely, just her sex. Her entire life her father had made no secret of the fact that he’d wanted a son. Proving that there were some things Paul Lakefield could not control, the good Lord blessed him with three daughters instead.

“How did you ship the painting?” her father asked, slipping his hands into his pant pockets.

“Like I always do, Federal Express International, with insurance. I packaged it myself before it left the estate where we stayed. I labeled the box and spoke to the carrier. From that point on anything could have happened.”

Monica was already shaking her head. “Jacques thinks it’s one of the paintings stolen from members of the royal family.”

Karena’s head ached. She wanted to rub her temples but refrained from showing any sign of weakness in front of her father. And her sister, for that matter. Neither of them would understand what she was going through. Hell, she doubted she understood it herself.

“There’s a royal family in Brazil?” Paul asked.

“A prince, I think,” Monica said and reached for the folder, which Karena quickly closed and gripped tightly.

“Great,” Paul huffed. “Now they’ll think the Lakefields are thieves.”

“I doubt they know who the Lakefields are all the way in Brazil,” Monica stated quietly, her eyes sweeping to Karena.

“Exactly my point. Now their first impression of us will be that we stole from them.”

Karena felt sick. Her stomach quivered and her head throbbed so hard she could feel the vibration throughout her entire body. This room was too small for all three of them. In fact, sometimes she thought the whole world was too small for her and her family.

“I’ll take care of it,” she snapped and was already moving toward the door.

“Let me help, Karena. This is our name on the line,” Monica stated coolly.

“No, it’s my buy, I’ll handle it.”

“Yes. You handle it, and do it fast before word gets out,” Paul said solemnly.

Karena opened her mouth to speak then clapped her lips shut.

Three things were drilled into her and her sisters as they grew up in the Lakefield household: Loyalty. Honesty. Respect.

Only her upbringing held the words she’d longed to say to her father at bay, while the terrible fear that she’d truly messed up guided her quick steps.

Samuel Desdune fell back on the ground laughing as his two-year-old blue Great Dane tackled him to the ground, red ball hanging from his mouth.

Fall was just creeping up on the quiet Greenwich, Connecticut, neighborhood he lived in, delivering a crisp morning breeze in its wake. The trees and shrubs surrounding Sam’s waterfront home were just beginning to show signs of color change, and Romeo was enjoying his morning exercise.

It had been a year since Sam had adopted Romeo from National Great Dane Rescue after Romeo’s battle with kidney failure. Initially Romeo had a fear of all men except Sam, which made it quite difficult when Sam’s older brother, Cole, or his father, Lucien, came for a visit. But then his sister Lynn had brought her four-year-old son, Jeremy, over and Romeo’s attitude toward the male gender had changed.

Rolling Romeo off him, Sam retrieved the ball from the dog’s mouth, got to his feet and tossed it the length of the yard once more. Romeo, with his shiny blue-gray coat and long legs, practically leaped across the grass to retrieve it.

Oh, the joys of being his own boss. D&D Investigations was in its sixth month of business. For two years prior Sam hadn’t had a partner, but after the biggest case of his new career so far—tracking and capturing the man who stalked and terrorized the Bennett family—he’d decided a partner would be nice. For that he’d called on his old friend, Trent Donovan, an ex-Navy SEAL with instincts Sam trusted and a kick-ass attitude he admired even though it still scared him a bit.

Trent ran the West Coast location while Sam concentrated on the East Coast cases. Right now they were handling the surveillance of a cheating husband and the disappearance of a four-year-old girl. For both cases, his twin sister, Sabrina, and Trent’s cousin Bailey could hold down the fort. Bree, the nickname he would always use for his twin, no matter who she married or how many kids she had, was a former Marine. She could hold her own, as she’d shown without a doubt when she’d chased and injured the stalker who was about to shoot her husband, Lorenzo Bennett.

Bailey Donovan was, for lack of a better term, a loose cannon. She was antsy and reckless and itching for some action. That’s why Trent had sent her to Sam, because he didn’t have time to babysit her now that he was married and about to become a father.

For now, however, the missing-child case was making good use of Bailey’s excess energy as she followed lead after lead in the hopes of finding the child before Christmas.

Romeo was back, his natural ears flapping against the breeze as he returned the ball once more. “Good boy,” Sam was saying as the cell phone at his hip began to ring.