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Infatuation
Alison Kent


Hell on wheels…in bed someone had written on Rennie Bergen's business card. Now Rennie's card rested with many other men's in the glass "booty"—all up for grabs by the female dating pool in Milla Page's office building. Three dates! That's all Milla needed to write a sexy, juicy story on San Francisco hot spots for her online column.Was it fate she drew Rennie's card? The two of them had a history. Infatuation, wild sex, sneaking around—followed by a painful explosive breakup. But Milla was still hot for him six years later…. And it was clear Rennie felt the same. Could they have a shot at rewriting history?









ALISON KENT

Infatuation







TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND


With thanks to Susan Sheppard, Susan Pezzack,

Jennifer Green and Birgit Davis-Todd—

the Harlequin Blaze editors who have shaped

what I’ve written into the best it can be




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Coming Next Month




1


“MILLA, SWEETIE. Not to be a bitch or anything, but for being the absolutely gorgeous woman that you are? You look like crap today.”

Milla Page glared with no small amount of envy at her coworker’s mirrored reflection. She and Natalie Tate had taken the elevator from their shared tenth-floor office in San Francisco’s Wentworth-Holt building down to the much roomier second-floor ladies’ room since theirs was yet again under renovation.

Looking at the other woman’s caramel skin, deep coffee-colored hair and vibrant green eyes was a welcome change from Milla’s staring at her own reflected deathlike palette of white and, um, even whiter.

That’s what she’d been doing now for five minutes at least, staring and wondering what she’d been thinking, letting herself out of the house this morning without so much as a brown paper bag over her head.

“Crap pretty much covers it,” she finally replied, sighing heavily. “Though originally I was thinking pasty. Like a ghoul. Or a zombie. Maybe even a corpse.”

“Whatever. You’re definitely hovering near the transparent end of the pale scale.” Natalie tossed the words over her shoulder, latching the stall door behind her.

Well, yeah. The ghoul-zombie-corpse-pasty-death look would definitely be the wrong end.

This is what happened, Milla mused, when one stayed out too late, ate too much food, drank too much drink, slept too little sleep, did it too often in the company of men who were poster children for single-hood being a good thing, and had to get up the next morning and do it again that night.

What in the world had she been thinking, taking a job with the San Francisco office of MatchMeUpOnline.com that essentially made dating her career? She was a glutton for punishment. There was no other explanation. Dating as recreation was bad enough, all that waxing, shaving, polishing, styling…and for what?

Shaking her head, she reached into her pebbled leather tote for her makeup bag, setting her blush on the restroom’s brown marble countertop, and wavering between the soft Sweetie Chic lipstick or the bright Chili Pop. She went with the former, certain the latter would make her look like a fat-lipped bloated clown.

Even though she had lived in San Francisco since graduating from university here six years ago—giving her a decade’s worth of experience with the ins and outs of being single in the city by the bay, and earning her the Web site’s choice restaurant and club review gig—she was still at a clear disadvantage when it came to doing her job.

Basing her thumbs-up or thumbs-down on whether or not the hot spots she was assigned to review worked as locations for intimate dates meant…dating. Dating was hardly a solo gig. Dating meant finding men. And since she hadn’t been in a serious relationship since college, finding men meant work.

At least her two female coworkers did what they could to help out. Both Amy Childs and her husband Chris, and Natalie and her fiancГ© Jamal were good at fixing up Milla with really great guys. When it had become obvious that nothing was going to develop but the shared chemistry of friendship, she kept a couple of the men on the hook for regular dates.

Knowing that she would show them a good time, get them into the toniest of places, and pay for the food, how could they say no? And for Milla, it seemed so much easier to deal with the sure thing than with the iffy.

Unfortunately, it also defeated the purpose of what she’d been assigned to do. Gauging a club’s up-close-and-personal potential with a man who was only a friend didn’t always provide her reviews the same zing as would a more, uh, heated encounter.

Then again, if taking that leap into the unknown as she’d done last night was going to mean dragging into work the next day with a ghoul-zombie-corpselike pallor, fuggetaboutit! Except now that she’d been given this newest assignment—the best sort of challenge, her boss, Joan Redmond, called it…Milla groaned, and called it pure torture.

For the next three Friday nights before they headed into the Thanksgiving holiday, she would be torturing herself in a coordinated endeavor with her online counterparts in Seattle, Denver, Austin, Miami and Atlanta as each checked out three new properties in their respective cities. The clubs and restaurants on each city’s list had purportedly been designed to ensure couples complete privacy, offering an anything goes atmosphere.

Milla had not been told that her job was on the line, but the undercurrent was there. Office scuttlebutt had it that the Web site’s advertisers weren’t happy with Joan’s safe, middle-of-the road approach to showcasing the city. They wanted a November full of action. They wanted sex appeal. They wanted heat and steam and the rawest of exposés.

That meant they wanted Milla. And right now, all Milla wanted to do was to go home to bed. Alone.

The thought of spending three weekends in a row reviewing a particularly sizzling singles’ scene held zero appeal. In fact, the only thing keeping her from telling Joan she just couldn’t do it and walking off the job was that her date for tomorrow was Chad Rogers, one of the good friends she’d made through Natalie and Jamal. Whether or not Chad could make the next two weeks was still up in the air.

Natalie flushed, heading from the stall to the sink. She washed her hands, studying Milla’s mirror image with concern while drying. The look was hardly encouraging.

“Let me see what you’ve got in that bag,” Natalie said once she’d tossed the paper towels in the trash and plucked the lipsticks from Milla’s grasp.

At this point, Milla was just tired enough to hand over the management of her entire existence to her trusted friend. Starting with her makeup could not be a bad idea; there was a reason Natalie was in charge of the Web site’s fashion pages. Today she appeared to have stepped out of a Salvador Dali canvas—and she made the rather surreal look work.

“So, tell me about last night,” she said, digging through Milla’s things and coming up with her eyeshadow quad.

Had Milla even remembered eyeshadow this morning? She closed her eyes at the wave of Natalie’s hand. “It was a new Italian place and had the potential to be very romantic. Soft music. One small lamp hanging over each table. And gorgeous floral watercolors.”

“But?” Natalie smoothed the pad of her thumb over Milla’s eyelid to blend the shadow she’d brushed on.

“The tables were practically on top of one another.” She backed away to sneeze, and at her girlfriend’s “Bless you” said, “Thanks. Anyway. Good food and quiet conversation, yes. Under the table hanky panky, no.”

“I don’t care about the food or the ambience,” Natalie said, moving from Milla’s right eye to her left. “That’s your job, not mine. I want to know about your date. Was he one of the recycled men?”

Milla smiled as she did every time Natalie used the expression to refer to the dating pool created by the single women in the building’s various offices. It was in the lounge off this very restroom, in fact, where the Sisters of the Booty Call held their Monday lunch-hour meetings. Milla remembered her very first one, and how intrigued she’d been by what sounded like an urban legend but turned out to be true.

Pamela Hoff, the regal blond financial consultant from the building’s fifteenth floor, was the mastermind behind the tradition. After a streak of bad dating luck had ended with a night out in the company of an uncouth John Wayne-loving buffoon, she’d considered celibacy as an option to finding a suitable man.

Instead when after a lengthy phone harassment campaign he’d arrived in person to see if she’d received his flowers, she’d taken a more proactive approach to the problem, tucking the bouquet into his pants and adding the water from the vase to let him know she meant business.

Giving the cowboy the boot had been a liberating experience. Pamela had determined then and there that the women in the building had to watch one another’s backs, and the dating service was born.

Now, the original etched-glass vase shaped like a boot sat on the center of the lounge’s mahogany coffee table. Any woman who wanted to participate would drop into the boot the business card of a man she’d gone out with, one with whom she hadn’t personally clicked but one who had promise.

She would also write a descriptive note on the back, telling the sisters a little bit about the man. When it was her turn to need a date, she’d draw a card from the impressive collection. It was a good way to weed out the scum and the sleaze, and to prescreen prospective dates.

But it was not a guaranteed road to romance as Milla had been made well aware of last night.

“Well?” Natalie prompted. “And you can open your eyes.”

Milla did, watching the other woman pull concealer and a blush from the bag. “I tossed the card. Another round of recycling will only get up too many hopes. His, and some poor unsuspecting sister’s.”

“If he was such a loser, what was he doing in the boot to begin with?” Natalie asked, blotting concealer over the dark circles beneath Milla’s eyes.

“One of the girls from the travel agency, I think it was Jo Ann, dropped him in,” Milla said, looking up at the ceiling while Natalie worked. “She said they met on a tour of a new cruise ship, and he was the life of the party.”

Her own fault, really. She should’ve known better than to call him in the first place since life-of-the-party guys were so not her style. Not anymore. Not since college and the party that had ended four years of romantic bliss. She’d been wounded by the breakup, yes. That didn’t make her any more innocent than the other man involved.…

Having finished with both sets of eye baggage as well as the blush, Natalie asked, “What do you think?”

Milla turned toward the mirror. Her chunky blond layers framed her face as always, hanging just beneath her chin and flipping this way and that. The ghoul-zombie-corpse likeness was gone. She still looked tired, but at least now she didn’t appear to have fallen from Death’s family tree.

“Nat, you are the best.” Milla wrapped her arms around her friend and hugged. “Now, if I can make it through today and manage to get a full eight hours tonight, I might actually show Chad a decent time on Friday.”

Natalie bowed her head and began packing Milla’s makeup. “Uh, about Friday.”

Uh-oh. “No. Please. Don’t even say it.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Jamal and Chad both got put into surgery rotation,” Natalie explained, zipping the bag and tucking it into Milla’s purse. “Jamal sent me a text message just before I headed down here.”

“Then that does it. I’ll call it off, and spend the weekend sleeping, eating and watching a season or two of my �Gilmore Girls’ DVDs,” Milla said with a sigh, dipping a toe into fantasyland before Natalie smacked her back to reality.

The smackdown wasn’t long in coming. “Don’t make me laugh. You’ll tell Joan…what exactly?”

“Joan will understand a last-minute glitch,” Milla said, fluffing her hair.

“She might,” Natalie said, pointing one finger at Milla’s reflection. “Except your last minute glitch has the potential for throwing off the coordination between all the city Web sites involved in this project. And for giving our advertisers even more to bitch about.”

Natalie was right, of course. This wasn’t just a San Francisco venture. It was part of MatchMeUpOnline.com’s master plan for nationwide domination of online dating. Since she benefited in a very nice financial way, Milla appreciated the company’s vision. But when putting the plan into practice meant one bad date after another, her appreciation dimmed.

She was damned tired. She hadn’t had a real date—a fun, relaxing, nonworking, hot and sexy date—in longer than she could remember. Her social life was getting in the way of her social life, and it stunk. “Okay, Ms. Solutions ’R Us. How am I supposed to find a date on such short notice?”

Natalie frowned. “I thought you had a little black book of sure things.”

“I do.” Granted, a very very little black book. “But if I start using and abusing with this last-minute stuff, how long do you think it’s going to be before these guys start changing their numbers?”

“Give me a break,” Natalie said with a huff. “For a chance to go out with you? I can’t see them caring how much notice you give them.”

“You’re a sweetheart, Nat.” And she really was. But she knew the truth as well as Milla did. “These guys know that going out with me is all about work. Even good friends get tired of the damper that puts on things.”

Natalie turned around and leaned against the countertop. “I’m trying to think of anyone else we know, or someone new in Jamal’s circle, but I’m coming up blank.”

Most of the eligible bachelors Natalie knew worked with Jamal at St. Luke’s Hospital. That was how Milla had met Chad, one of her no-strings regulars. She wondered what sort of reputation she had there; if Jamal’s friends rolled their eyes or ran screaming into the night every time he drafted them into hooking up.

That was exactly what she didn’t want happening. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll check with Amy, and if she doesn’t have any ideas, I’ll call one of the guys in my book. An emergency is an emergency, right?”

“Wait a minute.” Natalie pushed away from the countertop. “Correct me if I’m wrong, girlfriend, but aren’t we overlooking the obvious here? The stash of names and numbers in that boot in the lounge?”

“Yes, but after last night?” Milla shuddered just thinking about a repeat of that particularly bad experience. “Besides, the tradition is that we get together as a group during Monday’s lunch if we’re going to dip into the kitty.”

“Sure, when you’re not strapped for time,” Natalie said, arms crossed, hip cocked, brow lifted in that listen-up look she delivered so well. “I may not belong to your club, but I can’t see anyone objecting to you making a Thursday booty call seeing as how you’re in this bind. Right now, you need to worry about Joan and the advertisers. You get through this Friday, Amy and I will put our heads together and figure out your future.”

“I wish you would. I’m obviously having no luck getting anywhere with men on my own.” Milla chuckled to herself. “At least not anywhere beyond the best restaurants and clubs in the city.”

“Oh, blah, blah, blah, cry me a river already,” Natalie said, taking hold of Milla’s upper arm and herding her toward the restroom’s lounge and the glass boot full of business cards and untapped possibilities. “Pick yourself a good one and hope he’s free tomorrow night so those of us with work to do can get back to it.”

Milla stuck out her tongue as she settled on the sofa and set her purse on the table next to the vase. She pulled her cell phone from the pouch inside, deciding it would be a waste of time not to call from here, and then she picked a card.

“What does it say?” Natalie asked as Milla silently scanned the note scribbled on the back.

“�Great eyes? Check. Incredible smile? Check. Body to make a girl melt inside? Check, check, check. Potential for high-yield capital gains? No, but he’s hell on wheels in bed. And really, isn’t that all that matters?’”

“See?” Natalie said. “There you go. Who better than a hot body to scope out a hot spot?”

That part Milla couldn’t argue with. And since she’d pretty much given up expecting dating to be meaningful or more than the occasional good time, a guy’s potential for high-yield capital gains had dropped off her radar.

It was, however, when she turned over the card and read the name embossed on the front that truth became stranger than fiction. The white rectangle fluttered to the carpet. Natalie bent and picked it up while Milla stared at her fingers that had grown useless and cold.

“�Bergen Motors,’” Natalie read. “�Serving the Bay Area for FortyYears. Rennie Bergen, Sales.’” She tapped her finger along the edge of the card, then stopped as suddenly as she’d started. “You don’t think—”

“No. I don’t think. I know.” Rennie Bergen had been her boyfriend Derek’s college roommate during his freshman year, and as much a part of Milla’s life during that one and the three that had followed as had been research papers and labs.

He’d also been her indiscretion. Her one and only.

Over and over and over again.

“Didn’t you say he disappeared after graduation?”

So much had happened after graduation, she didn’t even know where to begin. “He left the city, yeah. He said he wouldn’t be back until he’d made his first million.”

“Unless he’s selling Lamborghinis, it doesn’t look like he met his goal.” Natalie started to drop the card back into the glass boot.

Milla snatched it away. Her girlfriend had no way of knowing the full extent of what had gone on with Rennie Bergen. No one knew. Things left unsettled when he vanished without a word. Things for which Milla had never forgiven herself. Things over which she still carried guilt.

Not that she wore those feelings on her sleeve, or brought them out like voodoo dolls to stick with pins. They were just there, the same way as were the feelings from her past for any of her friends. Only not the same.

Because more than anyone else in her life, she had hurt Rennie Bergen, and she’d never had a chance to make amends.

Well, now she did, and she had to seize the opportunity that had been dropped into her lap. If she continued to leave the past unsettled, she would never forgive herself. She could only hope that after all this time Rennie would be able to forgive her.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to call him,” Natalie said as Milla got to her feet.

She picked up her purse, tucked her phone down inside, dug for her car keys and sunglasses—and she did it all without giving herself time to examine the emotions that were driving her. She was afraid if she looked at them too closely, she’d stop.

“No. I’m going to see him. Tell Joan I’ll be back when I’m back,” she said, leaving the restroom, heading for the elevator, and praying she wasn’t making the second biggest mistake of her life.



“YO, REN. JIN’S ON THE phone. He says the frame’s got a nickel-sized rust hole on the cross panel support. He wants to know if he should haggle the Captain on the price since it ain’t so pristine as he said.”

Son of a barking dog. Rennie Bergen planted the rubber of his heels on the garage’s slick concrete floor and rolled the creeper out from beneath the panel van that had once been an ice cream truck. The water pump was pissing like a baby kangaroo. Story of his life.

He got to his feet and looked for Hector who was halfway across the hangar-size building and heading Rennie’s way with the phone. If he didn’t find a workable frame and soon…aw, hell, who was he kidding?

It wasn’t the frame that was the problem. It was the entire concept. Turning a VW bus into a submersible had seemed like such a good idea when he’d been six beers under the table and scrambling for new show ideas.

He grabbed the phone from Hector’s hand and yelled at Jin. “You tell the Captain thanks, but no thanks. And if he keeps hitting me with this crap, he can forget seeing another dime of my business, I don’t care how long he’s known my father.”

His voice still echoing, Rennie disconnected before Jin could respond, tossed the phone back to Hector, and headed for the huge stainless-steel sink on the wall outside the office and the john. From the exterior, the garage looked like nothing, a big metal building like any other warehouse or shop. Except it wasn’t.

The garage was home to the cable TV phenomenon “Hell on Wheels.” The show had made Rennie Bergen a star with a cult following few car buffs could claim. That was because few, if any, managed what he and his crew accomplished, turning passenger vehicles into mechanical wonders such as low-rider school buses and rolling techno clubs.

The best part of his success was that he wasn’t a household name. He could still walk down an average city street and never turn a head. He stood a better chance of being recognized in blue-collar neighborhoods where a man’s vehicle of choice was less a reflection of his portfolio or family status and more an extension of his personality.

Rennie had grown up in such a neighborhood. Good people, living and loving paycheck to paycheck, hoping the life they were able to provide their kids would be enough. It had been for Rennie. The summer vacations, the balancing of school and athletics and work, the nightly dinners at seven. The holiday celebrations that included his father’s employees and their families—from salesmen to secretaries to grease monkeys—along with the extended Bergen clan.

It had been an insular world of tightly woven bonds, but growing up in that atmosphere had given him an appreciation for men willing to get their hands dirty while taking care of their own. His first real exposure to the flip side hadn’t come until his freshman year in college.

While his parents had paid what they could of his fees and tuition, he’d held down a job to pay the rest along with his room and board. Living on campus had been easier than spending valuable study time commuting from home when he worked so close to the school.

But his first-year roommate, Derek Randall, one of the privileged and wealthy big men on campus, had been all about paying other men to do his dirty work while taking care of himself. And Derek’s girlfriend, Milla Page…

Rennie shoved off the water and yanked enough paper towels from the dispenser to dry his arms up to his elbows. Derek hadn’t been a bad guy, just from a world Rennie hadn’t been used to. The fact that they’d butted heads so often had been only the tip of the iceberg Rennie had eventually faced, trying to fit in with that crowd before realizing the futility of the effort.

He’d made his way in the world, and then he’d come home, belonging here, comfortable here, employing men who shared his background and his belief that there was no such thing as a job that was too dirty when a little muscle and degreaser made cleanup a breeze. Still, he had to admit it was a hell of a lot more fun working for the man when he was the man and was rolling in a big fat pile of greenbacks.

“Yo, Ren,” Hector hollered. “Today just ain’t your day, man. Angie called up from the showroom. Some blonde’s here to see you.”

Rennie tossed the towels in the trash and glanced at Hector who stood in the doorway of the office. The long-time Bergen Motors’ employee was Rennie’s right hand man. “This blonde got a name? Better yet. Did she bring me a rust-free frame?”

“She didn’t even bring much in the way of a female frame, Angie’s saying.” Hector frowned as he listened to the other end of the phone conversation. “She’s like a stick figure with white skin and white hair, and eyes like big green double spoke rims. Her name is—”

“Milla,” Rennie said, swallowing hard as his gut drew up into the knot of fiery emotions he hadn’t felt in years. “Her name is Milla Page.”




2


SHE LOOKED exactly as he remembered. She’d always been slender; it had been an ongoing source of inside jokes, fearing she would snap in a strong wind, be whipped about on the bay’s waves like driftwood, float on a bank of misty fog. That she would break in two if he wasn’t gentle when they made love.

She’d disabused him of that notion quite forcefully and quite often—often enough that those memories were the first to come to mind when he should have remembered that everything between them had been a lie. Instead, all he could think about was the sex.

She didn’t say anything, just stood in front of him, her feet primly together in shoes he knew cost what was a month’s rent for Hector, Angie and Jin. He didn’t hold it against her. Milla Page was who she was.

He could tell by the way she clenched and unclenched her fingers around the handle of her funky purple purse that he’d been standing and staring way too long.

She was uncomfortable; he gave her the benefit of the doubt, deciding it wasn’t the fault of the neighborhood as much as it was seeing him again.

It probably didn’t help that Angie sat behind the receptionist station punching buttons on the switchboard console, transferring calls and paging salesmen, glancing back and forth between them while neither one said a word.

So Rennie forced a smile and motioned Milla forward, leading the way across the sales floor to the customer lounge, listening for her soft steps to fall behind him. He grabbed a foam cup from the corner table’s stack and poured himself a coffee from the pot on the warmer. Milla shook her head when he offered to pour one for her.

“Still prefer lattes?” he asked, now a fan himself though in a pinch of nerves sludge would do.

“Yes, but right now I don’t think I could swallow anything,” she replied in that voice that still slid over him like the honey she’d loved…so sticky, so sweet, so warm on her tongue.

He nearly choked as he knocked back a slug of the caffeine. He was already wired to the gills and hardly in need of the jolt, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. And he wouldn’t be able to figure that out until he knew what she was doing here.

Why it had taken her six years to look him up.

Why she appeared ready to bolt.

Why he cared when he’d sworn to wipe her from his mind.

Curiosity got the better of his self-made promise. He gestured toward the row of chairs on her right. “Sit. Please.”

She did as he’d asked, or rather as he’d ordered her, choosing the seat closest to where she stood and settling onto the edge. She held her purse tightly in her lap.

Her knuckles stood out like bleached bones beneath translucent skin. Her smile seemed forced and fragile, and that made him groan.

No matter her size, Milla Page was the least fragile woman he’d ever known. If anything, she was unbreakable. Untouchable. Unyielding. And he shouldn’t be feeling responsible for the change.

He moved closer, choosing to leave only one seat between them and angling his body to the side. He liked the idea of the space between them being more for show than effect. He wanted to see if after all this time he could still make her sweat.

Or if there was more to her emotional state than a simple case of nerves. “I guess this is where we do the small talk thing. Unless you want to skip the catching up and just tell me why you’re here.”

“I happened—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head and a laugh that was harsh. “Nope. I don’t buy that you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

He watched as she struggled not to snap back. Her eyes, as always, gave her away. “What I was going to say was that I happened across your business card.”

“So you’re here to buy a car?” The more likely scenario was that she was here to see for herself that he really hadn’t come up in the world.

But she shook her head, surprising him by admitting, “I’m here to see you.”

He grunted, slumped back in his chair. Did she know about his show? Had she come thinking to cash in on his celebrity? Was his financial portfolio more to her liking than had been his empty pockets in college?

“It surprised me…seeing your name like that…I hadn’t thought of you in years—” She caught herself, her mouth clamping shut on her words. She shook off whatever it was she’d been thinking, and started again. “No. That’s not true.”

“Which part?” he asked, the words clattering out on a growl. The sound was an echo of the uproar piston-pumping through his midsection. “That seeing my name surprised you when we both know it shouldn’t have caused a blip on your radar?”

She set her purse on the seat between them and got to her feet, moving across the room to the coffee service before turning around. “I think about you every day, Rennie. I have for the last six years.”

He didn’t believe her. Unbreakable, untouchable, and unable to tell the truth when a lie would do. Even worse was knowing all of that and wishing it wasn’t so.

Wishing she had thought about him as often as he’d thought about her.

He clenched his fist, felt the foam of his cup begin to give. “So, you think about me every day, but it takes seeing my business card to get you to stop by?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t know you’d come back to the city.”

That’s right. He’d told her he was off to see the world. That he wouldn’t return until he’d made his first million. Instead he’d come back after what seemed like a million miles on the road and a million sleepless nights to make his fortune right here at home.

“You could’ve driven by and asked,” he finally said, his jaw tight, shooting his near-empty cup into the brown rubber can in the corner. Drops of coffee spattered across the white liner.

“You’re right.” She walked back into the room, sat in the chair across from his. “I could have and I didn’t. I’m not sure why.”

He knew exactly. And he started to remind her of their last night together, the party, the fight that had grown larger than either of them had known what to do with. But the expression of pain on her face stopped him.

He draped his arms over the backs of the seats on either side, stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. When he rocked his feet, the toe of his boot grazed her lower calf. “I didn’t look you up, either. When I got home. Guess that evens the score.”

“How long have you been back?” she asked softly, looking at his legs rather than meeting his eyes.

Streaks of grease, oil and transmission fluid stained his navy work pants and the once-tan leather of his boots, but none of that was what she seemed to be seeing. “At least five years. I wasn’t gone long.”

Her gaze came up, her curiosity drawing her blond brows together. “I thought you were off to see the world and make your fortune.”

He shrugged, tapped his toe against her calf again. “I did some sightseeing, took on some odd jobs to keep afloat. Didn’t take me long to realize home is where the heart is, I guess you could say.”

He expected her to question his possession of one. A heart. Instead she seemed to close up a bit, her voice taking on a hint of bitterness as she said, “It’s good to know it wasn’t broken.”

He huffed. What? She expected him to admit how hurt he’d been? That he’d spent those months in Australia and New Zealand working her out of his system? They’d never had a real relationship. They’d had lust. And heat. And the sort of sex a man never forgot.

But none of that had anything to do with his heart.

The fluorescent light overhead flickered, reflecting off the lounge’s big windows that looked out over the showroom floor. “I think that’s why we worked so well in bed. We’re both unbreakable.”

The look she gave him was a silent touché, and it set them on a more even footing. Neither had been fair with the other. But they’d both grown up, and the past was in the past—even if he was suddenly having a hard time keeping it there.

He shifted forward in his seat, braced his elbows on his knees and laced his hands between. This close, he could smell her, that subtle scent of a spicy sort of flower, the same as it had always been, reminding him how often he’d turned and expected to find her there since he’d last seen her.

He’d hated himself for that weakness. “I’ve got work to do, Milla. I need to get back. So can we get to the point here?”

She smoothed her palms over the straight black skirt she wore. It made her legs look paler than they were. “I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

A favor? “A favor.”

A hesitant smile crossed her face. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“And what time was that?”

“When I saw your card.”

“But now that you’ve seen me, it doesn’t?”

More smoothing. Some toying and plucking at her hem. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” God help him, he really wanted to know. He reached for her fingers. They were cool and small and so…fragile in his. It was hard to keep his voice steady. “What is it, Milla?”

She raised her gaze to meet his. “Seeing you again…it’s brought back so many things…I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here.”

The fact that he was more interested in what she was thinking now was as telling as deciding they could get back to what she had been thinking later. Why had he assumed that he’d see her again? “What’s the favor?”

“I need a date for tomorrow night.”

“A date?” He hadn’t seen her for six years and she’d come to ask him for a date?

“Actually, for tomorrow and the next two Friday nights,” she added, rushing on. “It’s work-related. I do club reviews for a relationship Web site.”

“Club reviews,” he said, his echo of her words sounding ridiculously inane. He was stuck processing the reality of Milla Page asking him out on a date.

“I know, I know.” She pulled her fingers free and got to her feet, grabbing her purse and heading for the door before he could stop her. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I shouldn’t have come.”

Neither did he, but he’d bet the farm it had nothing to do with needing a date for work. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

She stopped, turned, kept her gaze locked on his as he stood to tower above her. “You don’t have to do this, Rennie. I’ll find someone else.”

“You came to me for a reason, Milla.” When she started to interrupt, he held up one hand. “I’ll be damned if I know what it is, but we’ll figure it out later. Tell me what time and where to find you.”

Her fingers were trembling when she dug into her purse for a pen and her card. She printed an address on the back. “That’s where I live. The other side is work. Call me at six?” When he nodded, she went on. “My cell, office and home numbers are all there.”

“And where are we going?” He studied the card. “So I’ll know what to wear.”

“Oh, it’s a club in the Presidio. Test Flight. The dress is trendy casual.”

“I’ll see what I’ve got in my closet.” She hesitated, as if wanting to respond to what he’d said. He saved her the hassle of asking what he was going to wear. “Don’t worry, Milla. I know how to clean up.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” She reached up to push away loose strands of hair. “I just hadn’t thought that I might be putting you out. If you have other plans—”

“If I had other plans, I’d be keeping them,” he said, glad he didn’t have to test that theory. “I’ll call you tomorrow at six.”

She nodded, turned and vanished from his showroom the same way she’d vanished from his life.

He waited for the hurt to return, for numbness to follow. Instead he felt the same adrenaline rush he got when test-driving one of his show’s new rides.

And right then he knew he was in trouble. He wouldn’t know how deeply until tomorrow night, a thought that sent him slamming out of the showroom to bury himself in work.



HECTOR PRIETO STOOD in the doorway of the shop office and watched Rennie drop back to the creeper and shove himself beneath the panel van.

Whatever had happened between the boss and the stick chick couldn’t have gone down too good. Ren might as well have dragged a storm cloud back with him into the shop.

Gloom and doom. That’s what Hector was feeling. And that was no way to be working when they had so much to do.

His own team of mechanics was in pretty good shape, working to tear down Ren’s Studebaker for a show that would run toward the end of the season. But that didn’t mean anyone could slack off.

“Yo, Angie.”

Behind him, Angie Soon straightened from where she’d been digging through the invoices in Ren’s file cabinet. “I am busy here, Hector. I am not at your beck and call.”

Women. Cripes. Thirty years old, and he still didn’t understand them. Hector glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’m not becking or calling. I wanna know what went down with Ren and the woman who came to see him. Did they have a fight or something?”

“What did I just say, Hector? I’ve been working.” Angie straightened, gestured with both hands, her bright pink nails flashing. “That phone up front doesn’t stop ringing just because Rennie decides to get into it with some woman who drops in out of the blue.”

“Humph.” Hector stepped back into the office. “They got into it, huh? What happened?”

Angie bent over to dig through the files again, inadvertently giving Hector an eyeful. Her blouse gaped open as she flipped through the folders, and he didn’t even think about looking away.

Her breasts were tight and small, covered by a plain pink bra, the skin of her stomach smooth and white beneath. He found his palms itching, and he curled his fingers into them, his mouth dry, his blood hot.

He’d never thought about Angie like that before…

“I don’t know exactly,” she finally said, pulling out one file folder and flipping through the contents, strands of black hair falling into her face. “They were quiet, but neither one could sit still.”

He crossed to the corner and pulled a tiny paper cup from the water cooler dispenser. “Where were they?”

“In the customer lounge. I could only see them through the glass. Rennie had that look on his face. That one where you can tell he’s got something on his mind.”

“Right. The one where he’s not going to talk about whatever it is until he figures it out for himself.” Hector downed the water, crumpled the cup and threw it away. “You think she’s an ex or something?”

Angie shrugged, returning the folder and digging into another. “She could have been. Or she could have been a bill collector. Whoever she was, they definitely weren’t having fun reliving old times.”

Hector found himself smiling. Not so much at the idea of Rennie in trouble with a woman, but at Angie. Just at Angie. And just because. “Ren’s back at work, so I guess there’s no need to be worrying about it.”

Clutching to her chest the folder she’d come for, Angie slammed the drawer with the swing of her hip. “I’m not worrying over anything but getting these missing receipts to the accountant. If you’re worrying, then you obviously have too much free time.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, crossed his arms over his chest, arched a brow. “Maybe I do. Maybe you could help me fill it up.”

She stared at him for several long seconds, strands of hair catching on the folder she held. Her dark eyes were narrow and made up in colors of purple and blue to match her blouse. She kept her lips pressed together, and wore no lipstick.

For some reason her lips being bare like that made it easier for him to see when she started to go mad. “What exactly is it you’re saying, Hector? And be very clear so I don’t start thinking you meant something you didn’t.”

Cripes and double cripes. But since he was already in for a pound… “Tomorrow night. You want to grab a burger?”

“A burger?”

A burger and a beer would be better for a night with Rennie and Jin. “We could go for shrimp. Or steaks. Whatever you like.”

“I like lasagna.”

“Italian’s good. You have a favorite place?”

She nodded. “I do. Thank you for asking.”

“Okay, then,” he said, pushing off the door. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

She walked toward him, walked past him, walked out into the shop. “Don’t be late. And don’t honk. Come to the door. If you don’t, you’ll have to explain to my mamma that you are not disrespecting me.”

“You still live with your mamma?”

She stopped and swung around, one hand going to her waist. “I take care of her. I support her. Do you have a problem with that?”

Hector shook his head quickly. He knew more than enough about supporting his own family, the sacrifices it took, how nothing about it was easy. He’d just never thought of Angie that way. Living like he did…

He’d just thought of her as the girl who answered Bergen’s phones. Not as a girl who might understand his life. “No problem. I was just asking, that’s all.”

Her cute little nose came up in the air. “Okay, then. Tomorrow night. Seven-thirty.”

“On the dot,” he assured her, thinking he really needed to stop looking down girls’ blouses before he did something more stupid than inviting one out to eat.



UNBREAKABLE.

She couldn’t believe he’d called her unbreakable. After all they’d shared and all they’d been through, did he really not know her at all?

Milla stood at the window of her office, staring at the afternoon traffic ten stories below, her late lunch spread out on the desk behind her.

She’d left Bergen Motors and driven for an hour before realizing she’d done nothing but go nowhere. She didn’t like that about herself. The way she so easily drifted, searching, unsatisfied. It was a state with which she’d become too emotionally intimate the last few years.

When she’d finally arrived back downtown, she’d stopped at the deli on the corner for a sandwich, realizing she hadn’t eaten since the night before. But thinking of Rennie made it impossible to think of anything else, no matter all the things on her mind.

Food, work, the new shoes that pinched her feet and she needed to return, the book in her drawer she’d wanted to finish at lunch, deciding on a dress for tomorrow night, the fact that Natalie would be stopping by any minute for a blow-by-blow of Milla’s morning excursion—

“How’d it go?”

Smiling at the confirmation of her uncanny sixth sense, Milla turned, hoping the tracks of her tears had dried. She pulled in a shuddering breath. “I have a date, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s good, and Joan will be pleased, but that’s not what I’m asking.” Natalie closed Milla’s office door, her silk jacket swinging around her hips, her gaze sharp and demanding. “What happened with your Mr. Bergen?”

Hugging herself tightly, Milla avoided her friend’s eyes that saw too much, staring at her soggy sandwich instead. “Not much, actually. We talked for less than ten minutes.”

Gripping the back of the gold-and-blue paisley visitor’s chair, Natalie leaned forward. “Talked? About?”

“Honestly? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Milla dropped into her own chair, pulled a pickle from her sandwich and popped it into her mouth.

“So, what then? You compared notes on the weather? The state of the union? Old times?”

“He said, �What’re you doing here?’ I said, �I don’t know.’ He said, �What took you so long to look me up?’ I said, �I don’t know, but would you like to go out tomorrow?’ He said, �Sure, I’ll see you then.’” She chomped on a tomato slice. “And that was it. Like I said. Ten minutes and absolutely nothing.”

Natalie stepped back and frowned. “But he said he’d go out with you.”

Milla nodded.

“And you’ll talk more then?”

She couldn’t even measure the level of dread in her stomach. “If not, it will be an uncomfortably dull date.”

“Then it is a date?”

All she knew was what she’d told Rennie. “A work date. Not a hot and heavy night on the town.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Milla asked as Natalie finally circled the guest chair and sat.

“It’s not supposed to mean anything. I was just thinking.”

“About?” Milla pinched off a triangle of cheese.

“How two people with the history you and Rennie Bergen share could get anything out of your systems in ten minutes and by saying nothing.”

Another triangle of cheese. Another pickle slice. She tasted none of it. “Who said we had anything to work out of our systems?”

“I did, but no one has to say it to make it so. Just like no one has to say there’s been an earthquake when the cracks in the wall tell the tale.”

Milla chuckled beneath her breath, deciding the sound was a bit too hysterical for comfort. “Are you saying I’m cracked?”

Natalie’s fingernails rat-tatted against the chair’s maple arms. “I’m saying you haven’t been whole since the last time you saw Rennie Bergen.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Milla said, unable to swallow.

“Is it?” Natalie’s dark brows winged upward. “I may not have known you then, but I know you now. And I’ve been waiting a long time for you to make your way back from wherever it was that he left you.”

“He didn’t leave me anywhere,” Milla grumbled.

“Don’t interrupt.” Natalie held up one elegant finger. “You haven’t wanted to face the impact Rennie Bergen had on your life. I figured that first you had to reach your breaking point. Maybe this was it.”

Milla remained silent and continued to pick at her sandwich. It was easier to pick at the veggies, cheese and bread than her life. “Rennie said I was unbreakable.”

Natalie, always so poised, actually squeaked. “What?”

“Unbreakable.” Milla shook her head because she couldn’t think of anything else to do. “He said we both were.”

“And you believed him?”

She didn’t know what to believe. To tell the truth, as often as she thought about Rennie Bergen, she’d never expected to see him again.

They’d come from different worlds, lived different lives. Nothing about their time together had been normal. Even the first time they’d met, what they’d done, nothing about it had been right.

It had all been so very wrong.…




3


Nine years ago…

MILLA SAT ON THE end of the bed in Derek’s dorm, thumbing through his psych text and listening to Nirvana while waiting for him to get back.

An hour ago they’d finished off his roommate’s six-pack, and Derek had decided to replace it tonight. Rennie got in from work at ten and would be looking to unwind. Finding the minifridge empty would make him one unhappy camper.

But it was ten, and Derek was still gone, and Milla wasn’t sure whether to keep waiting and risk his roommate getting pissed or to cut out for home. It wasn’t like she was afraid of Rennie blowing a gasket over them drinking his beer. Really, what could he do?

But Derek insisting they make things right before Rennie got home did make her uneasy. Especially when she took into consideration everything else her boyfriend had told her about Rennie Bergen. About where he’d come from, the way his life was the flip side of theirs.

How he was so hard to read, so quiet. How he kept himself apart from the other guys when they’d all go out to party or to basketball games. How, when he did laugh, his sense of humor was wicked, almost cruel, as if he never had anything nice to say. As if he hated the world around him.

When she combined all of that with the fact that Derek never felt the need to cover his own ass…She swallowed hard, wishing he would hurry up. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told him earlier that she needed to go home. She had a ton of research to do before she could finish her paper.

Just then, she heard his key in the lock. Her fingers curled into the bedspread and she scooted forward, closing up his book and ready to call it a night. Only it wasn’t her boyfriend that walked through the door.

It was Rennie Bergen.

Her heart jumped into her throat and lodged there, making it impossible to breathe without feeling as if her chest were going to explode. God, why hadn’t she left earlier? Why had she come here at all? How was she going to get out of here now without him thinking she was running away?

He was taller than Derek by a couple of inches, his shoulders broader, the look in his eyes older than any of the guys she hung out with. She knew he’d just had a birthday and turned twenty. Derek had thrown him a kegger last weekend, but she’d been too sick with cramps to go.

Now she wished she’d made it so this wouldn’t be their first meeting, here in this very small room while she was sitting alone on a bed. Still, she met Rennie’s surprised gaze head-on, trying to smile—and to find something intelligent to say.

“Hi.” She gave a weak wave with one hand. “I’m Milla.”

Rennie nodded, glanced around the room. “Where’s Derek?”

His voice was gruff and she felt her face flush as his gaze came swiftly back to hers. She gestured again just as uselessly as before. “He went to the store. He should be back any minute.”

Rennie didn’t acknowledge her answer, but flung his duffel bag onto his bed where it bounced. He then crossed to the minifridge that sat between his and Derek’s desks, his strides long, the muscles beneath the fabric of his jeans and T-shirt impossible to ignore. He was built way better than Derek…everywhere.

It was after he’d pulled open the fridge, and had been staring silently into the empty interior for what seemed like forever that Milla found her full voice. “Derek went to get beer. For you. To replace what we drank.”

He closed the fridge door softly. Milla had expected to hear it slam. She watched as he straightened and turned toward her again. The deeply slashed V of his brows and the way his throat was working didn’t exactly frighten her, but did set her even further on edge.

And a big part of that, she feared, was a restlessness caused by the way he looked.

And the way he was looking at her.

His eyes were brown, dark and smoky. Like coffee with rising steam. He had a faint shadow along his chin and jaw, as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. She wanted to touch it. It intrigued her. Derek hardly had to shave at all.

Rennie’s lips were full, both brackets on either side of his mouth deep. He looked like he worried too much, or didn’t smile often enough. He looked like the grooves had set in to stay. And that intrigued her even more.

She didn’t think any guy had ever made her tingle the way she was by doing nothing more than staring into her eyes. It was the way she’d felt when Dennis Quaid kissed Ellen Barkin in The Big Easy. The way she’d felt watching them in bed, aching to feel that same breathless sort of desire.

Sure, she got excited when making out with Derek, and the sex was okay. But she’d never wanted to take off her clothes because of the look in his eyes. Rennie Bergen made her want to get naked.

She groaned beneath her breath. She was in so much trouble here.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice as coarse as the rest of him.

Was that what it was? He wasn’t a gorgeous jock like Derek was? He was rough, and maybe a little bit dangerous because so much about him was unknown? Plus he was older. She shrugged. “Just wondering what’s taking Derek so long.”

He moved toward her, stopping to lean against the end of Derek’s desk, facing the bed where she sat. His hands were so big where they curled over the edge on either side of his hips. “There’s a wreck blocking the entrance gate to the dorm complex.”

Her heart fluttered. “Derek?”

Rennie shook his head. “Two compact imports. And both the wrong color.”

Derek’s classic Corvette was candy-apple red. She breathed easier, then she frowned. “How did you get in? If the entrance is blocked?”

Rennie canted his head toward the door. “A buddy dropped me off about a mile back. I hoofed it.”

That’s right. He’d totaled his car a month ago and was on foot until he got another. And then she remembered more. The Bergen’s family-owned a car lot. “You can’t get a loaner from your dad? Until you find something you want?”

“I have found something I want,” he told her, crossing one ankle over the other and drawing her attention again to the fit of his jeans, to his legs that were muscled and long, to his hips that were narrow and lean.

God, where was Derek? “But no loaner in the meantime?”

He shook his head, his gaze sharp and piercing as he stared down to where she was sitting not three feet away. On the bed. Just like in The Big Easy. “I’d rather work for what I want. Make it mean something.”

Were they still talking about cars? Or was he slamming Derek for having so many things handed to him?

And why was she suddenly so aware of his size? Or hers that was half of his?

“Well, sure,” she said, twisting the silver pinky ring she wore. A gift from Derek. One the allowance his parents gave him had paid for. “But why not take the help in the meantime? Wouldn’t it make your life easier? Give you more time to study and all?”

His expression hardened. “I don’t mind walking.”

Now he was just making her mad. “I don’t mind walking, either. But I don’t turn down help just to make a point.”

He uncrossed his ankles, slowly pushed off the edge of the desk to stand straight. “You think I’m on foot because I’m making a point?”

Right now, she didn’t know what to think. But she did know that she’d hit a nerve, so all she did was shrug. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” he said harshly. “My insurance doesn’t cover a loaner. I couldn’t afford the policy if it did.”

Oh. Now she felt bad. “So, get a loaner from your dad.”

“My dad is the one who taught me to work for what I want,” he said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

Meaning, his dad wouldn’t give him a thing. God, she was so thick sometimes. “Well, then I guess working’s what you’ve gotta do, huh?”

It took a few seconds, but he seemed to relax, blowing out a slow breath. He pulled his hands free from his pockets and shoved them back over his hair, which looked wet, as if he’d just washed it.

Even the grooves on either side of his mouth softened, though they didn’t disappear. “Yeah. For now.”

She thought for a minute; since they were all business majors here…

“If you need tutoring…or help…” She paused, not certain what he might need, what she could offer, if anything useful at all. “Or if you need a car, you can borrow mine. I use it, but sometimes it sits for days.”

His frown returned. “You got a good battery?”

She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t offer the car if I didn’t.”

“No, I mean…” He gestured with one hand. “If you let it sit too long, a couple of months or so, your battery can go bad.”

“Oh.” She’d thought he was being critical when what he was was actually concerned. Didn’t say much for her perceptiveness that she couldn’t tell the difference. “Thanks. But I do use it at least once a week.”

He nodded. “You’ll be fine then. But Derek’s probably told you that.”

Actually, Derek hadn’t told her a thing. “The only car Derek cares about is his own.”

Rennie studied her face for a moment, his expression not quite a frown, but one of confusion. As if what she’d said didn’t make sense. “Thanks. For the offer. If I do use it, I’ll run it by the shop and make sure it’s in good shape.”

Wow. That wasn’t what she’d expected at all. “Why would you do that?”

“Because that’s another thing my dad taught me to do.”

“Take care of cars?”

“Well, yeah. But I was talking about taking care of people.”

“You’re lucky then,” she said, looking down at her hands and wishing Derek would hurry up and get back. Her pulse was racing too hard, her heart softening. “A lot of parents teach their kids that everything is easily solved with money.”

He snorted. “You mean it’s not?”

She smiled, tugged on her pinky ring. “It could be, I suppose, but it means more if you have to work for it, right?”

This time he laughed, chuckled really, the sound deep and full and honest. “I’m a prick. I admit it.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said, a strange thrill spinning in the pit of her stomach, her voice dropping as she added, “I wouldn’t say that at all.”

The seconds that followed ticked by in silence, and Milla wished she could take back her careless words. She was playing with a fire that she sensed could get her burned—and burned badly. Yet she didn’t understand why.

She was happy enough with Derek. She didn’t need the sort of complications a guy like Rennie Bergen would bring to her life. But she couldn’t stop herself from playing with the fire that had started the minute they’d found themselves alone.

She wanted to know if it was her, or if it was Rennie making her feel this way. She wanted to know if this antsy restlessness, this itchy anticipation, was what she should be feeling for Derek.

Finally, Rennie moved, clearing his throat as he walked toward the bed. “If not a prick, then what?”

Misunderstood, she wanted to say. Hard to read. Impossible to figure out. Instead she got up and headed for the door. “I need to go. Tell Derek I waited as long as I could. I’ve got a psych paper coming due, and I need to get back to it.”

“Wait,” he called just as her hand found the doorknob. “Milla, wait.”

Hearing him say her name…She bowed her head, dropped her chin to her chest, her forehead against the door. She didn’t say a word. Just closed her eyes, held her breath and waited for what she’d been wanting so terribly since he’d walked into the room.

She felt him when he drew close. Felt his shadow. Felt his heat. She also felt so small, so fragile…and so in the wrong.

She and Derek were exclusive. That meant being faithful. Not cheating. Resisting the temptation of lust. But, oh, it was so hard to do when her heart was beating as if it had finally found a reason to do so, as if it never wanted to stop.

“Turn around,” Rennie said softly, and without a second thought she did, her hands coming up between them to push him away, to keep their bodies apart. He took hold of her wrists and pinned them to the door on either side of her head.

“We can’t do this,” she argued, looking no higher than the dip in his throat where his pulse hammered and his veins popped. “It’s not fair to Derek.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Derek,” Rennie said, his voice a deep, throaty growl. “This is about you and me.”

“There is no you and me.” She swallowed hard, hating herself for not pulling away, for being too weak to walk out like she should.

Her chest heaved as she waited, her hardened nipples drawing Rennie’s gaze to her bright-red T-shirt. “We’re the only ones here.”

“Rennie, please,” she found herself saying, found herself whimpering, not knowing if she was begging him to stop or to go on.

Her eyes were closed so she didn’t see him lower his head. She didn’t see the way he parted his lips, or the way his nostrils flared. She didn’t see the downward sweep of his lashes that hid the glimmer of emotion in his eyes.

But she imagined it all. And then his mouth was on hers, his body dipping to align with hers, his tongue pushing forward to find hers and play.

She opened her mouth because she had to. And she didn’t even pretend to struggle against his hold.

It was a beautiful kiss, and she wanted to cry. He was tender, the press of his lips firm, yet yielding, the stroke of his tongue like being licked by a flame.

She shuddered and kissed him, giving up the parts of herself she was used to holding back, understanding nothing of the reason for what or why she did.

All she knew was that Rennie Bergen filled the very need he’d brought into existence. A need from which she would never be able to kiss herself free.

It was too much, more than she knew what to do with, more than she was ready for. And it was a very big more she was afraid she couldn’t live without.

Finally she pulled her mouth from his, tugged loose her hands and ducked out from under his body. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go.”

He let her. He stepped out of the way, allowed her to open the door, didn’t stop her from scurrying down the hall. But he did laugh.

She heard it echo behind her. The sound was dry and bitter, as if she’d proved him right. She didn’t have it in her to stay and work for what she wanted.

Like her kind did, she was taking the easy way out.



WHAT IN THE HELL was a girl like Milla Page doing with a guy like Derek Randall? Rennie liked Derek well enough, but the other guy had made it clear that he was in school to party, and Milla was not a party girl. Until tonight, Rennie hadn’t known that. He hadn’t known it at all.

If he were judging her by her looks alone and the fact that she came from money…yeah, he could see her squeaking by in school and having a hell of a good time in the process. She had the face, the body, the perfect tits and ass. But that was such a small part of who she was.

And he wished he hadn’t discovered the truth. That she was nice, thoughtful, funny and smart. Because while Rennie didn’t have a problem with partying, he was here for the degree. And now he was going to have a hard time thinking of Milla as Derek’s—and keeping his mind on school.

He’d seen her with Derek but always at a distance, and hadn’t talked to her until tonight. She wasn’t anything like what he’d expected. A girl dating Derek Randall, the All-American party-boy jock, had to be as shallow and self-absorbed as he was. Milla was anything but. Meaning the best thing Rennie could’ve done was stay out of her way.

Instead he’d done the worst.

He shook his head, whipped off his T-shirt and headed for the shower. He’d cleaned up at work, but didn’t want to be here when his roommate got back. He didn’t want to have to explain where Milla had gone, why she had left.

But he didn’t have anywhere to go, or the money to get him there if he did. Hiding out in the shower made him a prick, but it was better than going off on Derek for no reason but envy.

And it was a hell of a lot better than betraying Milla by throwing what they’d done into her boyfriend’s face.

Besides, the steam and the hot water and the being alone would give him time to think. He needed a workable plan.

One that would guarantee he won Milla Page for himself.



RENNIE SHOOK OFF the past, returned to the present and reached for his cell, wondering what had possessed him to recall the first time he’d talked to Milla. The first time he’d kissed her. The first time he’d realized how perfectly they fit.

Oh, the places they’d gone from there…

And why was he wasting time with a trip down memory lane when he had the whole night ahead to figure out what Milla really wanted? Not to mention get a handle on why he seemed to be so accommodating considering their past.

He’d programmed her numbers yesterday and now hit speed dial while he drove toward the city, figuring no matter where she was, her cell would be the quickest way to reach her.

“Milla,” she said after two rings.

“Rennie,” he replied just as succinctly, realizing for the first time how little they’d ever needed to say to one another, how busy they’d been touching and feeling and teasing, all of it without words.

“Hey. Oh, it’s six. God, this day has been crazy.”

The first jolts of unease rippled through him. “That sounds like you’re thinking of canceling on me.”

“Oh, no, no.” She laughed, a nervous, breathy sound. “Going out is part of the job. I can’t cancel.”

Right. He’d managed to forget that for her this was about work. It wasn’t about him. So, why in the hell was he nearly tripping over himself to help her? “Where are you?”

“I’m still at the office, but I was just getting ready to head home.” He heard the clatter of her keyboard. “I’ve got to shower and change, but it shouldn’t take too long. If you don’t mind waiting, you could meet me there? Or if you’ve got anything you need to do, you could swing by around seven-thirty?”

He found himself smiling and stopped. “I don’t have anything to do, so I’ll see you in twenty.”

“Great,” she said, and reminded him of her address before she disconnected the phone.

Not too shabby, he mused as he headed that way. Who knew dating for a living paid so well…unless she was living above her means or spending her inheritance, still of the mind-set that those who had were somehow more well thought of than those who had not.

Then again, he wasn’t sure she’d ever embraced that ideal as fully as the rest of the moneyed crowd she’d run with. He’d been the lone exception. What had drawn them together came from a visceral, baser place inside both of them and had nothing to do with material things. Their infatuation had been…unexplainable.

All these years later—and for no reason he could fathom—he was hoping to finally solve the puzzle. This time with her might have fallen into his lap, but it still presented the perfect occasion to work Milla Page from his system for good.




4


“MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME,” Milla said, tossing her purse and key ring on top of a wooden secretary in the entryway and setting her cell in a charger there.

“There’s a bar in the kitchen and a freezer full of ice. There’s also coffee in the basket next to the coffeemaker. The living room’s off the kitchen, and I figure you can find the TV. Give me thirty minutes, okay?”

“No rush,” Rennie replied, as she did just that—rushed down the center hallway of her third floor flat in the Inner Richmond Victorian and out of his sight.

Yeah. So far, so bad, he mused with no small amount of self-directed sarcasm. It was always a good sign when a date ran away.

He’d arrived only moments behind her, following her from where they’d parked in the street up the three flights of stairs to her door.

She’d smiled at seeing him, but then avoided his gaze, tossing talk of the weather over her shoulder while they’d climbed.

For all the attention she paid him, he might as well have been a stranger—one with whom she had no history, one to whom she had nothing to say. One who had never meant anything to her, who had never been a part of her life.

It was when she’d dropped her keys while unlocking the door that he’d admitted he wasn’t being fair. In fact, he was being the same prick he’d been too much of the time while in school.

He was older. He should be wiser. And he was—at least wise enough to realize she was nervous.

First it had been the fumbling with the keys, then the mile-a-minute speech, then the flight to her bedroom. Nerves weren’t exactly what he associated with the Milla Page he’d spent four years getting to know, and he couldn’t help but be curious at the change.

He was also surprised that she’d left him alone. Doing so hinted at a level of trust he wasn’t sure he deserved. Taking advantage never crossed his mind, but she had given him free run of the place.

And accepting her unspoken offer might give him an insight, a hint of why she’d come to see him…something he could latch on to that made sense.

Because finding himself in the entryway to her house all these years later didn’t make any sense at all.

He headed for the back of the flat and the kitchen. Nursing one drink now couldn’t help but ease some of the tension he was feeling. Coffee on the other hand might possibly send his blood pressure rocketing before the night even got off the ground.

He found a glass on the bar set up at the end of the kitchen counter, found ice in the freezer, went back for a splash of Scotch and wondered why everything about Milla’s place was so colorless and cold.

Her kitchen was as white as everything else he’d seen so far, the only color break, the stainless steel appliances. The countertops were a white marble with a thin gray vein. The floor was similarly tiled.

Even the items she had sitting out—the coffeemaker, the canister set, the mugs hanging on a rack—lacked any hint of color. Rennie frowned, sipped his drink, moved into the living room toward the TV.

There wasn’t anything he wanted to watch, but at least the noise would give life to the room that made him think of bones bleached to death silently by the sun. This absence of color, of energy, of…soul wasn’t right. It wasn’t Milla.

Remote in one hand, drink in the other, he stood in front of the television and flipped through the channels without taking in any of the flickering scenes.

Milla had been vibrant, passionate. She’d dressed in bright colors. Reds, purples, hot orange. He’d never seen her wearing anything like the black skirt and pale yellow blouse she’d worn yesterday, or the similarly dull combination of pink and navy today.

Then he’d chalked it up to being the middle of a workday and her obvious business attire. Now that he’d seen what he had of her home, he wondered if it was something deeper, something more and telling.

He stopped flipping when he realized the station he’d stumbled on was showing a rerun of “Hell on Wheels.” It was the episode where his team had cut down an ambulance and turned it into a nitro-powered dragster.

And here he was sweating out the submersible idea. Then again, he pretty much sweated everything during the weeks it took to put together each one of the shows.

He didn’t have to do it; even the conversions that bombed were a big hit with the viewers. The show’s audience loved seeing the modification process and watching the crew put the tricked-out vehicles through their paces.

And Rennie, well, he loved getting his hands dirty taking care of his own, doing something that gave so much to so many people including fans, employees, family and friends.

In college, that had been Milla’s role, the nurturer, the caretaker, the one who kept friendships from falling apart, who everyone looked to for answers.

He’d been the one living a dull and colorless workaholic existence. And look at them now, he thought as he sipped at his drink. It was role reversal in action.

When Milla had shown up so unexpectedly and propositioned him yesterday, he’d grabbed at the chance to finally work their past out of his system. Not that it was holding him back, or that he’d let those years eat at him all this time. Not that he hadn’t moved on with his life.

The past was just there, and it didn’t need to be. But now…now he wasn’t so sure he was going to be able to walk away with a clear conscience without knowing more.

Because if there was anything he’d learned in the past twenty-four hours, it was that somewhere, somehow, Milla Page had been broken. And that was the most unexpected discovery he’d made since seeing her again.

“Sorry to take so long,” she said, walking into the living room from the hall.

Nearly choking on his drink, Rennie clicked off the television, hoping he’d been fast enough to keep her from seeing his face or anything of the garage on the screen. He glanced at his watch—he’d been lost in thought for forty minutes—before he drained his glass and turned.

He found her struggling to tug the strap of her shoe up over her heel, found her wearing bright cherry-red. The color had always been one of his favorites. He wondered if she remembered, if she’d dressed with him in mind, if he was going to manage to get through the night without touching her.

When she straightened, her hair fell to frame her face, the shorter strands brushing her chin, the longer sweeping against her neck. In college, her hair had been soft and feathery. Now it was smooth, the ends stylishly flipping this way and that.

She looked great. She looked better than great. The light of which he’d only seen glimpses was back in her eyes. It set his blood to stirring, his fingers to itching, and his body began to warm.

He left the remote on top of the television and crossed the hardwood floor, returning his glass to the kitchen, turning to find she’d joined him. She’d grabbed her purse from the secretary and was now transferring the contents to a smaller bag.

He sat beside her at the table. The piece of furniture, not surprisingly, was painted white, the top inlaid with tiles the color of Ivory Snow. He watched as she sorted through her things. “Don’t you get cold in here?”

She glanced up briefly. “Not really, why? Are you cold? I can turn up the heat.”

“I’m not talking about the temperature. I’m talking about the igloo look you have going on.” His encompassing gesture included both the kitchen and the living room beyond. “Or is white the new black or something?”

This time when she looked up, she seemed confused, but she did study her surroundings for several seconds before returning to the task of switching one purse for the other. “The place had just been painted when I bought it. The kitchen was newly tiled and the countertops were still being installed.”

“Did it come furnished?”

She shook her head. “You can blame me for the dreary decor. I’m not here enough to really notice it, and it doesn’t seem that important when I do. I’ve got too much else going on to worry about adding splashes of color.”

He took that in, but didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say. This was her home. Her supposed castle. He would think it would matter more than it did. “How long have you been living here?”

She closed up the purse he assumed she was carrying tonight and sat back, arms crossed, the fabric of her dress pulling tight over her small breasts. “It was a year in September.”

Fourteen months without pictures. Without color. He wanted to know what kept her too busy to pay attention to her home. Then he changed his mind. He wasn’t here to learn more about her. He was here to deal with what he already knew.

“Not a bad place,” he said. “A little icy. A little plain.”

“Some would say understated. Minimalist even.” Her defensive posture tightened further.

“I’d say boring.”

“What happened to icy and plain?” she asked, one brow lifting.

He shook his head. “Changed my mind.”

“Spoke your mind, you mean,” she said, and crossed her legs.

“Always have.”

“I remember it well.”

“Do you think that’s why we fought so often?” He ran an index finger along the edge of the table’s tiles, watching her eyes as they flashed. “Because I tend to say what’s on my mind?”

She took several seconds to gather her thoughts, smoothing the hem of her dress as she answered. “I think we fought because we were up against more than either of us was able to deal with.”

He snorted. “You mean, you cheating on your boyfriend with his roommate and me going behind Derek’s back to do his girl?”

“Yes.” Her gaze snapped to his. “That’s what I mean. And when you put it like that—”

“How else should I put it, Milla?” he interrupted to ask. “Isn’t that exactly what happened?”

She glanced down at her hem again, glanced back. “Like I said, I don’t think either of us knew how to deal with it then. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever be able to. Or if we’ll be stuck with each other forever.”




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