Dan Cannon sat on his low-slung living room couch facing the wide expanse of floor-to-ceiling window. Rain coated the glass, blurring the panorama of late night city lights. His image reflected in the window as he swirled the whiskey glass absently in his big hand, his eyes staring out at the night without really seeing.

The image of Riley Montgomery kept reappearing in his mind, her lean sensual frame in her trim gray suit and the unmistakable trace of tears in her green eyes. He had to give her credit—whatever baggage dragged her down, she made a fast recovery as soon as she saw him. Her focus on business had snapped into place instantly, and somehow her determined promise for a ‘hands-on’ approach reassured him.

Or maybe, old man, he laughed to himself, what you are experiencing isn’t reassurance. Maybe it’s something more exotic, like, maybe, pure animal lust. He hadn’t felt attraction like this in a long time. Or ever, he questioned, trying to remember. He forced his memory past Bryn and ran smack up against Cathleen. He couldn’t remember feeling desire for Cathleen, although he knew at some point he had. He sighed. The fact that Riley gave zero acknowledgement to his insinuation meant one of two things—either she had no antennae for male/female communication, or she recognized and wasn’t interested. Either way, he felt amused and intrigued.

But whether she intrigued him or not had to remain completely beside the point. This wasn’t about relationships, or anything personal. She came highly recommended, and he had to hope she could find their money hole. A wave of despair swept over him. Wherever the money had gone, it went out the door on his watch. It would take a damn impressive discovery for him to be relieved of the guilt he felt. He shook his head. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed as though he’d never get it quite right with anything in his life.

As for hope, he had learned a long time ago, and in more than one situation, that hope was one of those absurd concepts. He made the best choice, based on the information, that Riley would be competent in her task. That’s what his life had come down to: gather information, weigh options, make decisions. There were expectations, demands, problems, solutions. Problems got solved or they didn’t. One way or another, this problem would be solved and hope would have nothing to do with it.

He had no doubt that other problems would occur and he’d have to solve them as well. That was his job. Tiredly, he accepted that his life was made up of problems and solutions, running off in a long stream into the future like the stripes down a highway. He couldn’t see much else to expect. He tried to reassure himself that success for him meant success for Cannon, more contracts, happy clients, stunning projects of brick or stone taking their places in the real world. Why couldn’t that be enough?

His jaw pulsed, and he threw the rest of the whiskey down his throat before thrusting himself up from the couch. He stood at the window briefly then turned off the lights. The black silk robe brushed open against his boxers as he walked to his bedroom.

“Oh, my god,” Lucy began, her dark eyes darting in excitement. “You are not going to believe this.” She stood the umbrella to drip in Riley’s entry hall and then scooted toward the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine.

Irrepressible Lucy. Riley couldn’t hide her smile. Energy seemed to form mysteriously inside Lucy’s body and radiate outward onto everything and everyone around her. Her dark eyes and curly dark hair constantly darted and tumbled like a mountain stream. Riley shook her head slightly, standing at the kitchen bar watching as Lucy rummaged through the drawers for the corkscrew.

“So I’m in the Perth Center this afternoon, and Charlie is in there hanging his work, he’s got an opening, you know, and you’re going with me, right, tomorrow night?” Her forehead wrinkled as she checked with Riley.

“Yes, I said I’d go.” Actually, she had kind of forgotten. She leaned tiredly on the bar.

Lucy’s curls bounced as she popped the cork out of the bottle. “Well, anyway, he tells me that he overheard Lymon Ames talking about that piece I’ve got in the Halston exhibit, and Lymon said he thought it was powerful, and that he’d like to see more of that artist.” She pulled glasses from Riley’s shelf and splashed them half full of wine. “That artist!” she exclaimed, her smile radiating across the space between them. “That would be me,” she said, swaggering as she handed Riley her glass.

“Shit, Luce,” Riley laughed, “that’s great!” She raised her glass to Lucy’s. “This could be the big break you need. Congratulations!”

“Damn straight,” Lucy replied. “To big breaks!”

Riley suppressed herself for a second then couldn’t keep it inside. “And I had a break of my own—it’s a lucky day for both of us. A new account, a big one. Retainer and everything!”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Damn! That’s fantastic news, Riley.” She lifted her glass. “Congratulations to you! I know you’ve been hanging on by your fingernails.”

The glasses clanged and the two women smiled as they sipped more wine.

“Pretty much down to one fingernail,” Riley mused, examining her hands with an exaggerated gesture. “Yes,” she allowed herself a moment of jubilation. “Yes! It’s fantastic. Big account. Now if I had about ten more of these, I could relax slightly.” She immediately sobered and took a bigger drink of the wine. “But on the downside, I have to deliver. This guy has problems, looks like money is disappearing and on first glance, I think it’s going to be hard to dig out the cause.” She followed Lucy to the couch.

“Worse,” she continued after a moment’s hesitation, “he’s about the most devastatingly handsome man I’ve seen in my life, I mean, killer magnetism. I’ve got to steer wide around this one.”

Lucy’s face shadowed briefly as she took another drink. “Wow. That’s scary. I thought you’d developed some kind of immunity to men.”

Riley leaned her head back on the soft upholstery and then turned to look at Lucy. Did she think just because she commented on a man’s looks that she had suddenly lost interest? She smiled at Lucy, charmed as always by her intense sexuality. Her green blouse draped over her curvaceous chest, and her tight jeans molded her hips and thighs. Riley let her gaze drift down to the jean’s crease through her crotch before bringing her suggestive gaze back to Lucy’s smiling face. “Yeah, I thought so too. Maybe I need a fresh inoculation,” she murmured, reaching over to run her hand over Lucy’s breast. The nipple hardened immediately, and Riley’s mouth watered.

“Shit,” Lucy swore darkly. She set her wine glass on the coffee table. “Inoculation, stat.”

Touch.

Men’s bodies — beautiful places. The top of my list? Collarbone area, from the column of the neck across the ridge to the dome of the shoulder, then down across the swell of pectoral to the taut nipple. Umm.

Warm silken skin over hard muscle. The scent of clean flesh and that faint edge of musk that never quite goes away even when a fresh hint of soap lingers. That delectable flavor of skin that shivers and yields to nipping teeth, the nipple erect and waiting.

Oh, it’s going to be a good day.