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  He stepped inside and closed the door. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Oh, Conner, you startled me. I was hoping Mr. Cuddy could give me the budget for the office party. I talked to Ariel, she’s really nice. She said her husband would know—”

  “You were in here alone, with the door closed. Drop the dumb-blonde act, Jillian. You might be able to fool some people, but I happen to know you’re highly intelligent. So I’ll repeat myself. What the hell are you doing in Cuddy’s office?”

  Since her original cover story hadn’t worked at all, Jillian went on the offensive. “What did you come in here for? You didn’t even knock.”

  “I needed something from my office for the meeting. Since I was headed this way, Cuddy asked me if I’d get his…his phone.”

  Jillian couldn’t believe this. Conner was lying, too! He had no more business in here than she did. Cuddy would have known his office door was locked.

  “I don’t see his phone,” Jillian said casually.

  “Guess he didn’t forget it after all. Probably he put it in the wrong pocket or something.”

  “Is that the story you’re going to stick with?”

  He crossed his arms. “Mine’s better than yours.”

  For the span of a few heartbeats they stared at each other, challenging.

  A rattling of the office doorknob roused both of them out of the trance. Conner’s eyes widened with apprehension. “Follow my lead.” Without warning he wrapped his arms around her and planted his mouth firmly on hers.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JILLIAN FORGOT TO BE AFRAID. She forgot why she’d been in Cuddy’s office in the first place. In fact, she forgot where she was and almost who she was.

  Nothing existed except what she and Conner created together with that steamy kiss.

  His mouth was firm, but gentle, too. With one arm he pulled her so close she could feel every contour of his body against hers; his other hand supported the back of her head so he could deepen the kiss, tunneling his fingers through her hair.

  Jillian thought her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. Her blood ran suddenly hot and her hands and feet went numb.

  Conner Blake was kissing her.

  Every adolescent fantasy she had so ruthlessly squelched years ago now burst from the dark lockbox in her mind. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She wanted to push him away and slap him even as she wanted to feel his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her breasts.

  She inhaled sharply, taking in the clean, tangy scent of his skin.

  For the second time in as many minutes, the door burst open. “What the hell is going on in here?”

  Conner broke the kiss and gently pushed Jillian away from him. “Isaac. What are you doing here? I thought the meeting would go on awhile longer.”

  “Obviously.” Isaac Cuddy was the picture of outrage. “What are you doing in my office? I mean, I know what you’re doing, but…”

  “We’re sorry, Mr. Cuddy,” Jillian said. “But the sofa in Conner’s office is hard as a rock.”

  “Your sofa is a lot more comfortable,” Conner agreed. Had he actually winked at her, just now?

  Cuddy opened his door wide and stood to the side. He aimed a particularly disturbing leer at Jillian. “I knew I was right about you. Now get out! And do not come into my office again without an invitation.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Cuddy,” Jillian said, scurrying for the door. Conner whispered something hurriedly to Cuddy, then joined her in the escape, placing a proprietary hand around her waist as they made their way to Conner’s office.

  Conner closed and locked the door. “That was close.”

  Jillian couldn’t have spoken just then if her life depended on it. She was still reeling from the kiss, not to mention getting caught snooping not just once, but twice.

  She was dizzy. Wobbling to the nearest chair, she fell into it and put her face in her hands. She was falling apart—she had to get hold of herself. How was she going to resume any sort of normal behavior after what had just happened?

  “You okay, Jillybean?” Conner asked solicitously.

  Oh, no, she was not okay, and she didn’t think she could tolerate Conner being kind to—

  Suddenly her thoughts sharpened. “What did you just call me?”

  “Oh, um…Jillybean. A high school friend had a sister named Jilly and I used to call her that because she was about the size and shape of…” Now he was staring at her, saying nothing as a dawning horror crept over his face.

  He came closer, making her feel like a squirming butterfly pinned to a board. But she couldn’t escape his penetrating gaze, couldn’t make herself move.

  He’d called her Jillybean, but clearly he hadn’t known. Not until this moment.

  “You’re her.” Then a big grin split his face. “Jillybean, it is you! I haven’t seen you since…since… Oh, crap.” His smile slid away.

  “Since your stupid paper dress melted right off my body in front of hundreds of people!” All at once she had no trouble thinking what to do. Oh, crap, indeed. She slapped him hard enough to loosen a filling or two.

  Her hand stung, but nothing had ever felt as good as that slap. Conner recoiled, his own hand going to the side of his face as if he couldn’t believe what she’d just done.

  She almost couldn’t believe it, either. Holy cow, she’d just assaulted her boss. The jig was up. She’d blown it, and now she’d have to go crawling back to Daniel and admit that her stupid temper had gotten her fired.

  That was assuming Daniel didn’t have to bail her out of jail.

  She waited, trying to control her crazy gasping and machine-gun heartbeat. When he said nothing, she went on the offensive. “If you’re going to fire me, I wish you’d get on with it.”

  “Fire you?” He shook his head. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. I just risked my job to keep you from getting fired. But I also practically molested you. If getting slapped is the only consequence, I’ll consider myself lucky.”

  He thought she’d slapped him because of the kiss? The man was utterly clueless. That was no garden-variety slap; that was a blow born of thirteen years of outrage, simmering on a back burner. It was a strike in the name of all awkward teenagers everywhere who’d been laughed at, embarrassed, humiliated and worst of all, dismissed.

  Obviously the kiss meant nothing to him. Her world had turned itself inside out, but to him it had been a means to an end, nothing more.

  Still, she could salvage her own situation, if she pulled her mind out of the vortex it had flown into.

  “Why would you risk your own neck to save mine?” she asked.

  He raised one eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

  Again her foolish heart skipped a few beats. Until he answered.

  “You’re a very good assistant. I can’t risk losing you.”

  Daniel used to tell her all the time how valuable she was to him, how he couldn’t get by without her, and she had cherished every morsel of praise he’d thrown her way, hoping it would lead to something more.

  She’d learned her lesson about that. Drawing on all of her reserve, she resumed her mantle of cool efficiency. “I’m glad to be helpful.”

  “Now, you want to tell me the real reason you were in Cuddy’s office?”

  “He’s stealing office supplies.” Brilliant! She should have thought of this before. “I’ve twice seen him exiting the supply closet with an armload of stuff he clearly didn’t need to perform his job, but I wanted to be sure. He’s got a label maker and a paper cutter stashed in there. I bet he’s selling them on eBay.”

  Conner didn’t react the way she’d hoped. “Isaac Cuddy is pulling six figures. Why would he risk his job to earn a few bucks with pilfered office supplies?”

  “Because he can? I don’t know. Some thieves steal for the thrill of getting away with something, or screwing the company they work for.”

  Conner still looked bewildered. “Why do you care if he’s stealing? It doesn’t
affect you.”

  “Because he’s a creep who’s a threat to my job,” she said hotly. “When I arrived back at the office on Friday, I found him in here rummaging around in the papers on your desk.”

  Conner’s eyes narrowed. “You should have told me.”

  “He made some extremely suggestive comments and I threatened him with sexual harassment charges—”

  “He did what?”

  “He implied that I had gotten or kept my job through sexual favors. His suspicions are now confirmed, thanks to you.”

  “That rat bastard.”

  “I thought if I had something on him, I could protect myself.”

  “I’ll protect you,” he said in his best white knight voice. “You don’t want to cross Isaac Cuddy. The guy is ruthless. He’ll grind you under his heel. If he says ‘boo’ to you, I want you to tell me. Don’t go taking matters into your own hands.”

  “I will.” Feeling as if one more moment in Conner’s presence was going to make her heart explode, she tried to escape, but he blocked her path.

  “You really are Jilly Baxter? Yes, yes, I can see it now. The eyes are the same. I remember those pretty blue eyes.”

  She narrowed those eyes at him. “You never noticed anything about me. Other than I was the right shape for your paper dress, which would have fit well on a barrel.”

  “I did so notice you. But something’s different—”

  Jillian barked out a laugh. “Everything’s different.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Your nose.”

  “I broke my nose on a diving board, and this is how it came out after the plastic surgeon got done with it, okay?”

  “That’s right, you were a really good swimmer.”

  “I wasn’t good. I never won any medals at the swim meets. I just liked it.”

  “I seem to remember a race we had in your pool. Diving for pennies in the deep end. You almost beat me!”

  “I was good at holding my breath,” she said modestly.

  “Do you still swim?”

  “I swim laps for exercise. Now may I get back to—”

  “How’s Jeff doing? Last I heard he was working for some software company. Bet he’s married with a bunch of kids.”

  “He designs games. Doing very well. Still single.”

  “And your parents?”

  “They’re doing great. And yours?” Years of proper etiquette pounded into her brain prompted her to ask.

  “Both fine. Dad was awarded a big prize last year for his work on biofuels. Mom’s still active with the Red Cross and that Labrador retriever rescue group.”

  Jillian actually smiled. “I remember all those dogs she had. Her foster children.”

  “Hey, we should get our families together. Maybe over the—”

  “No, that’s just not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you crazy? My father would shoot you on sight. You publicly humiliated his little girl, and he has a memory like an elephant. Now, if we’re done with Old Home Week, can I please get back to work?”

  “Sure, of course.”

  Conner let her go, hoping she didn’t see his own roiling emotions. Maybe bringing up the past wasn’t the best way to get on Jillian’s good side. He’d felt a simple desire to connect through good times they’d shared as kids. But Jillian obviously didn’t want to be reminded of those times.

  Just how miserable had he made her, that even her dad had wanted revenge?

  Hell, he had to get his mind off her. His quest to prove Stan’s innocence should be occupying his full attention.

  During his off-hours he’d been talking to Greg Tynes’s family, friends, enemies and ex-girlfriends. None of them had struck him as a likely suspect, but his grieving sister had told him that Greg was scared. He’d seen something, or knew something, that was bad enough to get him killed. And it involved his work.

  That wasn’t much to go on, but Stan had given him keys to every door in the building and told him to do whatever was necessary to find out who had killed Greg Tynes. Now, if Conner could just figure out who in the company had dealings with Greg, he’d know where to focus his attention. That was why Conner had wanted to search Cuddy’s office. The guy was a weasel. It was easy to picture him involved in something bad, and threatening Greg. Maybe even killing him.

  Conner supposed he had Jillian to thank that he hadn’t gotten caught snooping.

  He touched his fingers to his lips as he remembered the kiss. What a surprise that had been. He’d hoped Jillian would play along, but he’d never expected her to respond to his touch. Prickly, cold Jillian was a white-hot inferno beneath her icy exterior, just waiting for a man’s touch to breathe life into the fire.

  She hadn’t been faking it, either. He’d seen her nipples harden to small peaks underneath her thin sweater. He’d seen her pupils dilate with desire, felt her skin heat and her breathing accelerate. Maybe those physiological reactions had been from fear of getting caught, rather than desire, but he didn’t think so.

  All this time, had she felt the same sexual pull as he had? If so, she’d hidden it pretty well, but the cat was out of the bag now.

  He still had a hard time believing this beautiful, slender, graceful creature was his old buddy Jeff’s kid sister. He’d always thought of her as a clever little thing, quick with a smart comeback. He’d known she had a crush on him, too—at least until the science fair. If someone had told him then that he would someday want to make love to her, he’d have labeled them crazy.

  He let himself fantasize about taking her to his bed for all of about ten seconds before reality fell on his head. She was his admin. If he slept with her, he’d be no better than Cuddy. All this company needed was a sexual harassment lawsuit.

  He couldn’t afford to get distracted by a woman, any woman, no matter how provocative. He’d made a reservation today for a flight to Jakarta. The trip was only six weeks away. By then, he intended to have cleared Stan’s name, discovered Greg’s murderer, and recruited someone to replace him as Director of Timber Operations. The rain forest called to him.

  * * *

  JILLIAN HAD NEVER BEEN to Celeste’s house before. They’d met a few times outside of work, but they’d always gone to some public place close to the office.

  She was pleased and grateful Celeste had taken such an interest in her and her career. Most people accepted Celeste for what was on the surface—the outrageous clothes, the rough-as-burlap attitude and a certain lack of flexibility in upholding what she saw as her responsibilities.

  But Jillian had seen a side to Celeste few others had, a soft center beneath that jawbreaker exterior. Daniel had hired her for a reason other than to scare visitors. She’d been a very good cop, he’d told Jillian; an expert with weapons, a keen judge of character, and a vast repository of knowledge about Houston in general and its police department in particular.

  Maybe because Jillian respected her for her role as a trailblazer for women in law enforcement, Celeste had let down her guard in front of Jillian, allowing her to see snippets of the woman she’d once been, before she’d adopted her crotchety-senior facade.

  Her home was remarkably ordinary, given how eccentric Celeste appeared otherwise. It was a tract house in the suburb of Alief; Celeste had bought it thirty years ago, when the subdivision was brand-new.

  “The yard was nothing but dirt and spindly little twig trees,” she explained as she showed Jillian around. Now the house was shaded by gorgeous, mature trees, the lawn a carpet of cool St. Augustine grass. Cheerful petunias lined the driveway while lush azaleas clustered around the front porch.

  Inside, the decor was eclectic, an odd mix of antiques and contemporary of no particular style, but it seemed to work. Each room was painted a different color—olive-green in the entryway, dark gold in the living room, vibrant red in the kitchen. The fireplace mantel was crowded with photographs, primarily of Celeste’s great-nephew, whom Jillian had met at a party that summer at Daniel’s house.

/>   It all looked so normal that Jillian wondered if the eccentric persona Celeste projected at work was her own private joke, and in her home life she was totally normal.

  In the backyard, she had her vegetable garden. Though it was late in the year, her tomato vines were still producing. “Be sure to take a few tomatoes home with you,” Celeste said.

  “Love to.” Jillian wasn’t much of a cook, but she did like salads. “I really appreciate the invitation to dinner. Working undercover is a lot more complicated than I ever guessed. I could use some advice.”

  “I’ll help if I can.” Celeste poured them each a generous goblet of white wine; they sat in the shade on the patio while their dinner finished baking. “If you spot any rabbits going near my squash, let me know. This is the time of day they come out.”

  Jillian realized her friend had an enormous handgun—a Glock, just like the one Jillian had been practicing with on the shooting range last weekend—lying on the glass-top table next to her chair.

  “You don’t actually kill the rabbits, do you?” she asked with some alarm.

  “No, they don’t taste very good. I just scare the stuffing out of them.”

  Jillian wondered if Celeste had shot and eaten a rabbit in the past, or whether she’d just heard they tasted bad. But she didn’t ask.

  “I really had no idea you were so domestic, Celeste,” she said. “A sweet house in the suburbs, a garden, and you cook well, judging from the smells coming from the kitchen.”

  “Just because I’m a career girl doesn’t mean I don’t want a nice home and a hot meal at the end of a long day. When you risk your life every day, a safe haven is important.”

  “Did you ever regret choosing career over, you know, husband, kids, that sort of thing?”

  “What makes you think I chose one over the other?”

  Jillian realized she’d made a conversational misstep. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d ever— It’s just that you never mention— I just assumed you decided to devote yourself a hundred percent to law enforcement.”

  “I was never married. But that doesn’t mean I chose my career over marriage. I always thought I would do both.” Her eyes misted over, and she seemed to be far in the past. “In the 1960s, some careers were opening up to women, but men still expected you to quit working when you got married. I always made it clear I intended to keep my job. That didn’t fly with…some men.”