Wilde Thing

Chapter 12

Liz rolled onto her back and stretched languidly, feeling amazingly rested, considering that Steve had physically exhausted her last night. A dreamy smile touched her lips, and she buried her face into the soft pillow, inhaling the musky scent of sex and the familiar, manly smell that was Steve's alone. A combination of heat and leather, with a faint overlay of the citrus aftershave he wore.

She opened her eyes with a sigh and was disappointed to find that she was alone in Steve's bed, then remembered him waking her at dawn with the slow caress of his hands on her breasts, his mouth on her throat, and his body easing over hers. She'd stirred beneath him, automatically spreading her legs to accommodate his hips as he sank into her and began to move.

Unlike last night's fast and frenzied joining, he'd taken her slowly and lazily, nuzzling her neck, threading his fingers gently through her hair, and arching into her so that his pubic bone rubbed her just the right way. He'd lifted his head, their gazes locking as he watched her expression as he stoked the fire between them. The buildup of her orgasm had been gradual, a tingling, sublime sensation that crested through her in undulating waves of bliss. He came with her on a long, low groan that rumbled his chest against hers.

It had been a lovely way to wake up.

She remembered stroking her fingers down his back and over the muscled slope of his firm butt and recalled the sleepy, instinctive words she'd spoken: "I should go."

"It's already five in the morning. Go back to sleep for a while." His lips drifted affectionately across her cheek, and he withdrew from her soft, satiated body. "I'll take you back to your apartment later."

She'd been unable to resist his sweet, caring suggestion to rest a bit longer, and snuggled back beneath the warm blanket and comforter. She heard him get up and take a shower, but she was too tired and replete to wake up fully and join him, despite how much the thought tempted her. Instead, she'd fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep. And now, as she glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, she realized it was a quarter past eight, when she was normally up by six A.M. to start her day.

She wasn't worried about The Daily Grind. Her morning shift could handle the early Monday rush without her. But she did have an appointment with Antonio today, a meeting she wasn't about to be late for or to miss, considering all that was at stake.

Tossing off the covers, she reluctantly sat up on the edge of the mattress and shivered as the cool morning air hit her bare skin. She found a men's long-sleeved shirt draped over the end of the bed and assumed that it was for her to wear, since Steve had shredded her blouse last night. She slipped into the soft cotton and cuffed up the sleeves a few times since they hung past her fingertips. She had no idea where her panties were, so she went sans underwear, grateful that the hem reached mid-thigh.

She padded into the bathroom, finally seeing his bedroom in the light of day, and took care of business. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she grimaced. Her hair was a tousled mess, and her eye makeup was smudged-a morning-after look she'd been able to spare Steve until today. She used his brush to untangle her hair and restore some semblance of order to the unruly strands, then scrubbed her face clean.

She spotted a packaged, unused toothbrush on the vanity and studied it for a moment, her mind conjuring up all the reasons why Steve might have an extra stash of toiletries on hand. She chastised herself for making a big deal out of the fact that he was prepared for overnight guests, and tried to ignore the stab of jealousy that hit her squarely in the chest, before snatching up the toothbrush, ripping off the wrapper, and using it to scrub her teeth.

But that persistent ache remained, right in the vicinity of her heart-a tenderness and yearning that seemed to grow with each encounter with Steve. It was as if she gave a little part of herself to him each time they were together, each time they had sex.

Last night they'd definitely had hot, uninhibited sex. But this morning… dear God, this morning it had felt like they'd made love in its purest, most intimate sense. Stunned and shaken by the realization, and feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable, she pressed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, struggling to contain the emotions rioting within her. Emotions she was helpless to deny.

But how she felt about Steve didn't change anything-not their arrangement, their business deal, or their temporary relationship.

With that reminder fresh in her mind, she gathered her composure and headed downstairs to face Steve.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Steve flipped through the Monday morning paper, reading the features and articles but not really processing them. His thoughts were on other things… like the woman he'd left sleeping in his bed upstairs. The first woman he'd wanted to wake up to in the morning since his divorce.

He knew he could have easily taken her back to her apartment after their tryst last night, but he'd been completely satisfied to keep her snuggled so trustingly in his arms, her warm, silky body entwined with his. And when the gray shades of dawn had roused him from slumber and he'd opened his eyes to find Liz sleeping beside him, he hadn't panicked or freaked out. Instead, he'd reached out and gently caressed a hand over her hip, and her automatic response to his touch had fired his blood all over again.

Having her in his bed all night long had felt amazingly, perfectly right.

Standing, he went to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot he'd just percolated. He'd been content to live the life of a carefree bachelor the past six years, dating when the urge struck him, without commitments or promises. Keeping his emotions out of the equation had been easy, but this morning he was struck with the realization that it was a matter of finding the right woman who evoked those needs. There was something to be said for a monogamous relationship and having one special woman in his life.

And for him, that woman was Liz.

Their short time together was no longer just about great sex and how compatible they were in bed. Yes, she was his perfect match sexually, open for anything that gave them pleasure, just like last night's erotic fantasy. But it was becoming increasingly obvious to him, with each day that passed, that being her temporary lover wasn't going to do it for him. He wanted-needed-more than a short-term affair with her.

He'd already broken one of his own personal rules by bringing her home with him and letting her stay the entire night in his bed. That had been a huge, unspoken gesture for him, one he hoped would show Liz that he wanted her in his life beyond the brief affair they'd originally agreed upon, and longer than it took to locate her wayward cousin.

"Umm, do I smell coffee?"

Steve turned at the sound of Liz's sleep-husky voice, and his body stirred at the sexy way she filled out his shirt, along with the adorable blush on her cheeks. Oh, yeah, he could get used to having her at his place on a regular basis.

"I just brewed a fresh pot," he said, smiling. "Would you like some?"

"I'd love a cup." She came up to the counter beside him and pushed her fingers through her softly disheveled hair, appearing self-conscious and wary. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spend the night."

Her tone was reserved, as was her expression, which Steve found too ironic since that should have been his reaction to their intimate morning-after situation.

Bringing down a mug from the cupboard, he filled it with steaming coffee and tried to put her at ease. "I wanted you to stay, and I liked waking up to you. No harm, no foul," he teased.

And just in case she didn't believe him, he slipped his arm around her waist, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her with heat and a passion that seemed to grow stronger every time he touched her. Her hands came to rest on his naked chest, and his mouth seduced hers until she finally gave him what he wanted from her-a soft, surrendering sigh, and the tension in her limbs replaced with the lush, feminine press of her curves against his.

Before he gave in to the urge to find out what, if anything at all, she was wearing beneath his shirt, he pulled back and skimmed his thumb along her damp lower lip. "Mmm, you taste minty fresh."

She laughed lightly and moved smoothly out of his embrace, seemingly a bit skittish with all this morning-after intimacy. "Thanks to you." She spooned sugar into her coffee and slanted him a speculative look. "Do you always keep a stash of toothbrushes on hand for overnight guests?"

He'd hoped to ease her misgivings about staying the night, but the glimpse of insecurity he detected in her tone spoke volumes. It also gave him a deeper clue that she was feeling more uncertain about the change in their relationship, and about him.

She was also under the mistaken assumption that he entertained many female guests. He sought to reassure her, to ease the fears and apprehension her deceased husband had no doubt instilled in her.

"I hate shopping, as you'll see by the sorry state of my kitchen cupboards and nearly empty refrigerator, so I tend to buy things in bulk when I can," he told her. "The toothbrushes came five in a pack, and I can show you the other three that are still left if it would make you feel better."

She blushed a furious shade of pink and shook her head. "I apologize. That was uncalled for on my part." She ducked her head and took a quick sip of her sweetened coffee, apparently unable to look him in the eyes now. "You have every right to have women spend the night, and I have no business interrogating you." *

With any other woman, he would have agreed, but Liz wasn't just any woman. Not any longer. He recognized and accepted that fact. And he supposed it was time he offered up a little proof to her of that realization.

Leaning a hip against the counter, he touched his fingers beneath her chin and raised her gaze to his. Her wide eyes flickered with another bout of uncertainty, a vulnerability that wreaked havoc with his insides. A vulnerability he took very seriously.

He drew a deep breath and catered to those shadowed emotions. "Since my divorce, you're the first woman who has slept the entire night in my bed."

She blinked at him, obviously shocked by his confession. Then the significance of his comment sank in, and a quick flash of alarm shimmered in her eyes. Damn, was he going too fast tor her? At this point, he decided he had no choice, because he suspected he only had a handful of days left with her, in which to sway her to his way of thinking. She was more than a temporary lover to him, and he wanted her in his life. Permanently.

Because he loved her.

His heart pounded hard and fast, an adrenaline rush that swept through him as he finally put words to the emotions tumbling around in his chest. He didn't fight the sentiment, didn't deny its existence. Instead, he allowed it to flow through him, and let himself get used to the feeling of knowing that this one special woman complemented him so perfectly, in ways that made him feel whole and complete, physically and emotionally.

He kept his revelation to himself for the time being, because he suspected that if she knew the depth of his feelings for her, she'd panic and withdraw from him more than she already had this morning. And that wasn't a chance he was willing to take with her and their relationship just yet.

"You don't ever have to hesitate to ask me something," he said, filling the silence that had stretched too far and long between them. "If it's a question I can answer, I will."

With that, he crossed the kitchen to the pantry, determined to resume a casual morning routine with her, even though nothing would ever be the same for him as far as Liz was concerned.

He rummaged through the meager contents lining his cupboards and was able to scrounge up a few things to eat. "Looks like you have a choice of Captain Crunch cereal or strawberry Pop-Tarts."

"Breakfasts of champions, huh?" She grinned, her features relaxing once again, which relieved him as well. "Are the Pop-Tarts the frosted kind?"

He heard the hopeful note to her voice and chuckled. It appeared she was a woman after his own heart, in more ways than one. "Yep, sugar-coated for an extra morning kick to go with your caffeine."

She sat down and placed both of their mugs of coffee on the table. "Perfect. I'll take one."

"Good choice, especially since I'm out of milk and you'd have to eat the cereal dry," he added wryly, and set the box within her reach.

She laughed, the sound genuinely lighthearted. Snagging a cellophane wrapper sealing a pair of Pop-Tarts, she ripped it open. "You weren't kidding about hating to shop, were you?"

"Nope." He took the chair next to her and grabbed a pack for himself. "I don't like to cook, either."

She broke off a bite of the strawberry-injected pastry and popped it into her mouth. "Ahh, a true bachelor."

He shrugged. "Fast food works for me just fine, a carryover from my days as a cop, when I worked the swing shift and wasn't home for dinner. And my dad wasn't kidding the other night when he said that my mom is always making up CARE packages of food for us boys. All in all, I eat pretty well." He took a big bite of his Pop-Tart, swallowed, and said, "If you'd like something more nutritious, I've got leftover ribs and chicken from my father's party if you'd like to have that for breakfast."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "No, thanks. I'll stick with the Pop-Tart."

They continued to eat their breakfast, and she cast him a sidelong glance that lingered on the tattoo encircling his arm. It was obvious to him that something was on her mind, and he waited patiently for her to decide whether she wanted to ask the question glimmering in her eyes.

She picked at her second Pop-Tart, and when he met her gaze, she drew a deep breath. "So, I can ask you anything I want, huh?" she asked, taking him up on his earlier comment.

Her tone held a teasing lilt, but his instincts told him her attempt at levity was a cover-up for something far more significant. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

"There's something I've been curious about." She reached out and traced the tribal band encircling his arm. "There's the name Steffie inscripted into your tattoo. Is it your ex-wife's?"

Like many other women who'd asked before her, he almost instinctively evaded the too personal question. But he'd promised Liz that she could ask him anything, and more important, he was ready to let her into that private part of his life-knew it was a huge step in their developing relationship. She knew little about his past, his marriage, and his daughter, and he wanted her to understand who he was really was, beyond the PI she'd hired and the man she shared her fantasies with.

Besides, whatever was happening between them demanded total honesty and complete openness, and he was willing to do his share. "Steffie is my sixteen-year-old daughter, Stephanie."

Liz's soft green eyes widened with astonishment. "Wow, you don't look old enough to have a sixteen-year-old child. I mean, you'd briefly mentioned that you had a daughter, but I thought maybe she was ten years old, tops."

"Thanks for the compliment, but I'm thirty-six, and some days I feel twice as old," he joked.

He watched her mentally do the math in her head as she ate another bite of her breakfast. "Which means you were nineteen when she was born."

He nodded and finished off his coffee. "That's right."

She brushed the pastry crumbs from her fingers, apparently speculating upon that revelation. "So, did you go out and get the tattoo when she was born?"

"No. I decided to get the tribal band after my divorce was finalized. It was one of those spontaneous, rebellious acts I've surprisingly never regretted. As for Steffie's name, at the time I figured she'd be the only woman to forever hold my heart, and I'd never have to worry about having her name erased from the design."

Liz's eyes danced with laughter and something more sentimental. "That's incredibly sweet. She's lucky to have a father like you."

"She's a joy, and I love her very much." Leaning back in his chair, he absently ran his finger around the rim of his empty coffee mug. "Unfortunately, I don't get to see her as often as I'd like, since she lives in Texas with her mother, Janet, and stepfather, Hugh."

She tipped her head and tucked the honey-blond strands of hair that brushed across her cheek behind her ear. "That has to be difficult for you."

"It is. And my parents miss her, too, since she's their only grandchild. But I take whatever I can get with her, whether it's a month in the summer, a week here or there, or even a card in the mail." He smiled, as he always did when it came to his daughter. "She loves to E-mail, so I'm always getting chatty letters from her that keep me fairly up to date on what's going on in her life."

He recalled the latest E-mail he'd received from her, and the pictures he'd printed out on photo paper to add to his collection. He stood, took both of their cups to the sink, and took their sharing one step further.

"Come with me. I want to show you something." He gestured for Liz to follow him out of the kitchen.

He led the way into the living room, to the open oak bookcase against the wall, filled with music CDs, movie tapes, and a slew of photographs. He picked up a framed print of Steffie wearing a softball uniform, at the age of eight, with a gap-toothed smile, and showed it to Liz. "This is my little girl, who isn't so little anymore. When this picture was taken, she was going through a tomboy stage."

"She's adorable," Liz said, and glanced up at him, her gaze traveling over his features. "She has your deep-blue eyes and smile."

"Yeah, she does," he said proudly.

He showed her the rest of the photographs, which ranged from toddler to teenager and the varying stages in between. There were snapshots with him, his parents, and Janet with her new husband, Hugh, at Steffie's eighth-grade graduation ceremony. And then there were the most recent prom pictures his daughter had sent to him.

He showed that one to Liz, as well. "She just E-mailed me this photo, and it nearly killed me to see her all grown up like that."

"She's grown into a beautiful young woman, and her date seems very taken by her."

He frowned. "Yeah, don't think I didn't notice that."

Liz raised a brow, a humorous smile quirking the corner of her mouth. "Are you worried about what's going on in that boy's head where your daughter is concerned?"

"Hell, I know what's going on in his head," he said with a low, fatherly growl of disapproval. "Janet and I started going out when we were sixteen, and it didn't take us long to move past the hand-holding and kissing stage."

She studied another picture, with Janet and Steffie together. "High school sweethearts?" she guessed.

"Yeah. And two years later, fresh out of high school, she got pregnant, and we got married." He grinned wryly. "And yes, before you ask, we were using birth control. Would you believe we were one of the statistical one percent the Pill failed with?"

She cringed, then seemed to recall the comment he'd made a few nights ago when she'd told him that she was on the Pill. "There's no such a thing as too much protection," she said, repeating his words.

"In my experience, anyway. Steffie's proof of that, but I can't imagine my life without her in it."

She was quiet for a moment, then tentatively asked, "Do you mind me asking what happened to your marriage?"

He couldn't deny the curiosity gleaming in her eyes. Didn't want to. "Not at all. Come sit with me." He grabbed her hand and led her toward the brown suede sofa.

Once they were settled next to each other, he stretched out his long legs, crossed them at the ankles, and laced his hands behind his head. "Let's see, where do I begin?"

"At the beginning," she suggested helpfully.

If she was interested enough to listen about his past, then he was more than willing to lay it all out on the line for her. "Janet and I obviously got hitched because she was pregnant, which isn't a great way to start a marriage, but we did love each other, and we were determined to make things work for the baby's sake. For the first two years, I worked back-to-back jobs to make enough money to keep Janet at home with Steffie; then I decided to pursue my interest in being a cop, which didn't thrill Janet, but it was a decent-paying job with great benefits-and every day was a new adventure, which I enjoyed."

Turning toward him, she drew her legs up beside her and pulled the hem of his shirt down over her bare thighs. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"

Because she was beginning to know him well. He kept the remark to himself, certain that was more than she was prepared to handle at the moment. "What can I say. I like the thrill of the chase," he drawled, and winked at her.

She rolled her eyes in amusement. "Go on with the story."

"Anyway, my job as a cop put a lot of stress on my marriage to Janet-along with raising a kid at such a young age. I worked a lot of graveyard and swing shifts, and I took the overtime when it was offered, so we'd be able to put away extra money. Unfortunately, the long hours and the danger of the job started wearing on Janet and, eventually, our marriage. Then I got shot in the line of duty, and that didn't help matters any."

She sucked in a quick, startled breath. "You were shot?"

"Yeah, right here." He lifted his right arm and pointed to a puckered scar hidden within the intricate design of his tattoo. "The tattoo makes for a nice camouflage, don't you think?"

"That it does." She lifted her gaze back to his, and the concern he detected in her expression warmed him. "Did the bullet cause any permanent damage?"

"There was nerve damage, just enough to affect my reflexes when it's cold outside, or when I overuse my right hand or arm. I know my limitations, but my lieutenant wasn't willing to take the chance of having me out in the field and not being able to properly fire my weapon." Looking back, he knew his lieutenant's decision had been the right one to make, no matter how angry Steve had been at the time.

"So, that was a turning point for me, since I wasn't about to accept a mundane desk job," he went on. "That's just not me. I need to interact with people, and I like solving cases. So, becoming a PI was a natural transition."

"And your marriage?" she prompted.

"Pretty much fell apart after I got shot." He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. "It was more than Janet could take, and we both knew that after ten years it just wasn't working out between us, that we were mainly staying together because of Steffie. But neither one of us was truly happy. So, we opted for an amicable divorce."

"It's nice that the two of you remained friends," she said softly.

Steve couldn't imagine their split being any other way, and he wondered if Liz was thinking of the way things had ended for her and her husband, which hadn't been pleasant at all, but strained and bitter because of his deceit and cheating.

He slipped his hand beneath the hem of the shirt she wore, and flattened his palm on her thigh, just to keep some kind of physical connection between them. "Janet and I have a daughter together, and her mental well-being is the most important thing to both of us. She's an amazingly well adjusted kid, despite the divorce, and she gets along great with Janet's new husband, too."

Desire darkened her eyes as he stroked her smooth skin with his thumb, but his caress didn't distract her from their conversation. "Would you have married Janet if she hadn't gotten pregnant?"

The question wasn't an easy one to answer, and it wasn't something he'd really thought about. At the age of nineteen, he'd owned up to his responsibilities and never questioned what he knew he had to do. "I think Janet and I would have stayed together for a while, but I don't know if our relationship would have ended in marriage. Before she got pregnant, she had plans to go to college back East, and I always wanted to be a cop, which she never liked, so and I think we would have eventually gone our separate ways. But there's no use speculating on what-if's, and I've never regretted or resented the way things turned out."

"You're amazingly well adjusted," she joked, a small smile etching her lips.

"Everything in life happens for a reason, and sometimes you just have to roll with the punches." Just like his feelings for her. Unexpected, yes, but not unwanted.

He watched her twist that ring of hers around her finger and knew he'd given her a lot to think about this morning-from his confession that she was the first woman to spend the night, to his past and marriage. Now it was time for her to get into the mind-set of meeting with Antonio.

"Why don't you go get ready, and I'll take you back to The Daily Grind for your car so you're not late to your appointment this morning," he suggested.

She nodded and stood, then glanced back at him. "Do you mind if I take a quick shower here and get that out of the way?"

"The bathroom is all yours," he said, and felt an odd, tangible loss when she moved off the couch and stood. "Use whatever you need."

She fingered the collar of his shirt she was wearing. "Since my blouse is shredded, I'll definitely be borrowing your shirt until I get home, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." As long as you bring it back smelling of you.

She turned and headed out of the living room, and he watched her make her way up the stairs. He ached to follow her, to tell her how he really felt about her, to make her admit that her feelings for him had changed, as well. But Steve knew it was more important right now to give her space to process everything that had happened between them the past twenty-four hours, to bring her around slowly instead of forcing something she wasn't quite ready to face just yet.

Her heart might be there, but her head hadn't yet accepted the truth, and he refused to crowd her, or make her any more wary than she ready was. And ultimately, it was unfair of him to put any kind of emotional burden on her right now, when her focus needed to be on resolving her issues with her cousin.

And Lord knew her issues ran deep. He just hoped that when this mess with Valerie was over, Liz would come to realize that she no longer needed to live her life for others-that it was time she lived her life for herself.

Liz sat as calmly as she could manage, in the chair situated in front of Antonio's desk. Her hands were clenched in her lap, and her stomach rolled nervously as he met her gaze and smiled at her in a way that was easy-going and friendly.

Despite the fact that Antonio pedaled sex for a living, he was, surprisingly, very likable. He was also a good-looking businessman who dressed in high-dollar clothes and jewelry, drove a top-of-the-line Mercedes, and ran what Liz suspected was a multimillion-dollar company. He treated his employees decently and fairly, and from what she'd heard from other operators, that was unusual in this particular business. He also knew how to flatter and bolster a woman's confidence to get what he wanted, and right now that charm was focused on her.

"I'm extremely impressed with your transcripts so far, particularly with your nightly eleven-fifteen P.M. caller," he said, getting right to the crux of his reason for meeting with her. "It appears you've ensnared yourself a steady client who's very interested in meeting you."

"Yes, so it seems," she said, playing along, the warm, sweeping blush on her cheeks very real when she thought about Antonio being privy to the explicit conversations she'd had with Steve. "He's very persistent, too."

"And very loyal to just you, according to the calling pattern he's established." He leaned back in his high-backed, leather chair and regarded her thoughtfully over the fingers he'd steepled together. "How do you feel about that?"

"I'm flattered, obviously, and he seems like a nice enough guy," she said, smiling. "And the extra bonus money coming in from his calls is especially nice."

"Would you like to make more money?" he asked, homing in on that part of her reply, just as she'd intended.

Because of her conversation with Roxanne, Liz knew exactly what he was insinuating, but played it low-key. "Of course I'd love to make more money, but I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"When I hired you on, I mentioned advancement within the company if you performed well, which you have-beyond what most operators accomplish in a month's time." His tone was very complimentary. "A lot of the operators I've employed have advanced on to becoming party girls, which entails attending private parties and catering to a client's requests and desires on a more intimate level. And because I think you're ready to take that next step, I'm going to offer you one of those opportunities, if you're interested."

She feigned a nonchalant shrug. "If there's more money involved, of course I'd be interested."

He seemed immensely pleased by her response. "How do you feel about meeting your client in person and establishing a physical relationship with him?"

If it were with anyone other than Steve, and if it weren't for the sake of needing to make contact with Trixie Lane, Liz would have flatly refused the offer. Hell, she wouldn't even be here right now if it hadn't been for Valerie's disappearing act.

"What's in it for me?" she asked boldly.

He grinned, apparently appreciating her straightforward manner. "Money, of course. A sixty-forty split of a thousand dollars, which is what it costs the client to attend a party."

A thousand dollars. Liz's head spun at the amount he so casually tossed out there. She was stunned and amazed that anyone would pay such an exorbitant fee to attend a fantasy party. Unless… "What do I have to do for that kind of money?"

"Entertain your client for the night, in any capacity he wishes." Antonio shrugged, his expression all business. "Make the fantasies you share with him on the phone a reality."

She'd already accomplished that with Steve, and then some. And now she would be taking their affair into a more public arena, she thought with a shudder, uncertain of what she'd gotten herself into, but determined to see it through.

Antonio went on. "There are many amenities that the two of you can take advantage of and enjoy, along with private fantasy playrooms and sexual stimulants that can be accessed for an extra fee on the client's part."

She couldn't imagine that they'd stick around long enough to indulge in stimulants, or what those playrooms had to offer. Once they had the information they needed on Rob, if they were able to uncover anything substantial at all, she wanted out of there. For good.

She swallowed the hard knot that had gathered in her throat, and pretended enthusiasm. "What do I have to do to set this up with my client?"

"He's already established his interest in meeting you, so tonight when he calls you, extend the invitation for him to accompany you to an Ultimate Fantasy party tomorrow night. If he agrees, then you transfer him over to Doreen, who will handle the monetary details, along with transportation to The Ultimate Fantasy mansion. You'll both be taken there by a private company limousine."

Liz sat quietly, absorbing the details, so very grateful that Steve would be by her side the entire night.

"If you find you enjoy being a party girl, you can make the choice of remaining strictly a party girl, or you can go back to being an operator, or do both. The choice is yours, but the more men you invite to the parties, the more money you make in a night's time."

Liz inwardly cringed, knowing that being a "party girl" was equivalent to working as a high-dollar escort. Was that what Valerie was involved in, of her own choice? The thought made Liz feel physically ill. Then again, she was learning a whole lot of things about Valerie's personality that went beyond the rebellious cousin she'd grown up with and the young girl who'd grown into a woman who needed attention focused on her in any way she could get it. What Valerie was doing was flat-out dangerous, stupid, and selfish to those who cared about her.

And Liz was beginning to wonder if she cared too much.

She immediately shoved that thought to the back of her mind, because it went against everything she believed in when it came to family-even her cousin who'd never wanted to share her mother and father with an orphaned girl who only wanted to be loved and accepted. She'd made a promise to her aunt and uncle to look after Valerie, and it was a responsibility she took seriously.

And disappointing her aunt and uncle again wasn't an option.

They wrapped up the meeting, with Liz agreeing to make the leap to party girl and invite Steve as her first client, for a fee of one thousand dollars. But as she left Antonio's office, it wasn't attending the party she was worried about; it was the money issue that weighed heavily on her mind. Another thousand dollars out of Steve's pocket, and another thousand dollars to add to what she'd have to repay him for his PI services.

She'd planned on signing over her paycheck to him with whatever she earned as an operator, and he'd get back the forty percent of the money she earned after escorting him to The Ultimate Fantasy party, but that didn't cover all his charges to date.

Now this-still more she owed him, and another debt to repay. Another obligation to pile on top of the others.