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  But with his logic returning and the realities of his high-stress, low-fun life surrounding him from every angle, he knew that keeping Harley in his life past this afternoon could never happen.

  At the fourth ring of the phone, his answering machine engaged. Perhaps she couldn’t find the phone. She could be in the shower. With the machine tucked into his private study, he didn’t bother leaving a message she couldn’t possibly hear. He waited fifteen minutes, then tried again.

  No answer.

  He dialed the cellular phone in his truck, but when the call transferred to his personal voice mail, he hung up and checked his watch. With two-thirty just a few minutes away, Grant couldn’t imagine why Harley hadn’t answered. How long did she take to shop? Camille often shopped for days, literally, when she had a clear line of credit and the use of her father’s Learjet.

  Of course, Harley was nothing like Camille. She actually liked being touched. Welcomed it. Invited it.

  Pulling at his collar, Grant loosened his tie and tried his home number one more time. Without prompting, a dozen possibilities for her absence flew through his mind. Maybe she’d decided to take advantage of the warm weather to relax by the pool. Maybe her memory had returned and she’d left to find Moana. Maybe she’d taken the four hundred dollars and his truck and cut out without a backward glance.

  “Damn it, Harley, answer the phone!”

  “Hard to do since I’m right here.”

  He jumped at the sound of Harley’s sultry voice and slammed down the phone.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Riordan.” His secretary slipped in behind Harley, clutching her wedding planner to her chest like a shield. “She said you expected her.”

  Not like this. His gaze fell first to her shoes—which in itself, surprised him. But then Grant had a thing for spiky black pumps. The kind with a strap encircling the ankle. The kind a woman could use to walk all over a man like him. From her heels, his perusal traveled up her legs—lean, toned legs—legs specifically made to wrap around a man’s waist. Tight.

  Her sheer black hose, lined in back with a naughty seam, disappeared beneath a sinfully short skirt. If her suit hadn’t been a brilliant red, he might not have noticed it at all. Accessorized with black wrist gloves and a large-brimmed scarlet hat, Harley’s ensemble probably looked benign to a casual observer. One who didn’t know what she did for a living. One who hadn’t spent the better part of the day fantasizing about her.

  “Did I need an appointment?” Her grin, just shy of being shrewd, curved her dark lips. She slid her sunglasses down her nose and winked as if her appearance was simply a little private joke. Private, maybe. A joke? Grant wasn’t laughing.

  He was barely breathing.

  “It’s all right, Mandy,” he said to his secretary after a generous gulp of the cold coffee he’d left in his mug. “I have been expecting to hear from Harley this morning.” He threw a slightly admonishing and completely counterfeit look at Harley. “Though I did expect it to be via telephone.”

  “I decided to do a little…research…and I couldn’t wait to meet you back at your house.”

  “At your house?” Mandy’s blond eyebrows rose so high they vanished beneath her carefully coifed bangs.

  Harley removed her sunglasses completely and extended a gloved hand. “I apologize. I was in such a hurry to talk to Grant, I didn’t properly introduce myself. I’m—”

  “My cousin.” Grant came around his desk, fighting the urge to pull Harley away from Mandy as if a touch would reveal their sham. “From Ohio. Amanda Drexler, may I introduce my cousin, Harley. Monroe. My mother’s side. She’s staying with me a few days.”

  Relief washed the paleness from Mandy’s face and she shook Harley’s hand enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you, Miss Monroe. I didn’t know Grant—Mr. Riordan—had any cousins. Are you first cousins? Second?”

  Harley answered for him. “Third, actually. Twice removed.”

  The addition, so offhanded, added credence to Grant’s lie in a way that made him marvel. Her head injury hadn’t slowed her mental reflexes in the least. He wondered why someone so quick-witted and resourceful would choose stripping as a profession.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Drexler. I didn’t know Grant had such a lovely secretary.”

  Harley’s backward glance seemed to ask, “No scandals, right?” but her grin at Mandy proved convincing and his secretary’s smile calmed the rapid beating in his chest. Though well-meaning and loyal, Mandy had been distracted for the last few weeks preceding her wedding. Tomorrow she would marry Steve, Grant’s guest of honor at last night’s gathering. The wrong innocent remark could initiate a tidal wave of trouble. Steve and Grant had been friends since childhood. Steve knew damned well Grant didn’t have any cousins in the whole United States, much less in Ohio.

  Of course, Steve also knew Harley was a stripper—if he didn’t have his own case of memory loss from the amount of beer he’d consumed the night before. Grant doubted this blushing bride-to-be would be so gracious if she’d seen her intended pawing Harley last night. In her ignorance, Mandy beamed as if she’d discovered some delicious secret.

  “Please, call me Mandy. How long are you here for?”

  Harley stepped toward Grant. A scent, vaguely familiar and clearly erotic, drifted from her skin. Only after inhaling deeply did he recognize the fragrance. His cologne. Mixed with Harley. The result sent him stalking back to his desk. He tore open the first envelope in a stack of mail and pretended to return to his work.

  Harley followed him across the room at an unhurried pace. “Never can tell. This trip wasn’t, to say the least, planned very well.” When she leaned on his desk, her suit jacket folded open just enough for him to glimpse a scrap of black lace.

  Madness stirred.

  “Thank you, Mandy,” Grant interrupted, tossing the unread letter aside. “I can manage for the rest of the afternoon.” He glanced at his watch. “You should have been out of here two hours ago.”

  “I didn’t want to leave until Mr. Phipps left your office. I haven’t been with the firm that long,” she explained to Harley. “With our honeymoon and everything…”

  “You’re the one getting married tomorrow?” Harley asked.

  Mandy’s toothy smile stretched even farther across her face. “I can hardly believe it myself.” Mandy backed toward the door. “Mother’s expecting me at the salon in an hour. We’ll see you at six, Grant?”

  “St. Bartholemew’s. Six sharp.”

  “The rehearsal dinner will be right after, at Don Gianni’s. Oh, Miss Monroe, Steve and I would just love for you to come. You could meet Grant’s friends and keep him company. I’ve been trying for months to convince him to bring a date for the wedding. You are third cousins, right? Hardly related at all.”

  Grant’s lungs stopped pumping air. No, they weren’t related, but that wasn’t the reason he had to keep his distance. Harley drove him crazy. Her eyes quickened his pulse. Her voice turned his insides to hot lava. Even now, standing in his office with his secretary only a few feet away, he could feel the pressure of his swelling sex against his zipper. If he were another man, he’d order Mandy to go to her appointment immediately so he could lock the door and make love to Harley on his imported leather couch.

  But Grant wasn’t another man. He had a reputation to protect. Responsibilities to his firm. To his grandmother. Harley, on the other hand, was a dream—a tangible illusion he could never maintain in his world. Strippers, even classy ones, didn’t easily blend into the conservative enclave he currently called home. At least, not for long. People like Wilhelmina Langley and Howell Phipps had ways to root out a stranger’s deepest, darkest secrets.

  He desperately sought some foolproof excuse to deny Mandy’s invitation, but he came up blank. He couldn’t afford another foray into fantasy. Neither could she. How could they spend an entire evening lying to his friends, especially when the guys all knew the truth?

  He nearly choked when he saw how Mandy’s invitation l
it Harley’s face.

  “How could someone say no to an offer like that?”

  5

  “REALLY,” HARLEY CONTINUED, oblivious to the gagging sound that erupted from the back of Grant’s throat. “It’s so sweet of you to think about someone else right before your big day.” Harley took Mandy’s hand again and patted it with a warmth that seemed older than the both of them combined. “I have plans tonight with an old friend who lives nearby. Your invitation’s so considerate, I hate declining.”

  Mandy frowned in disappointment. “I understand.”

  Last night in his kitchen, Grant would have bet his entire lost fortune that Harley hadn’t the capacity to be dishonest. Yet in potentially explosive situations, she made a convincing actress.

  Mandy had already opened the door to exit when she turned. “But Grant, I’m sure you’d like your cousin to meet your friends some other time.”

  “Of course. Next time she visits.”

  “Why wait that long? What about tomorrow at the wedding? It’s only a couple of hours in the evening and you can leave the reception any time you like. You want her to come with you, don’t you, Grant? To keep you company?”

  Grant wasn’t as adept at acting as Harley. He couldn’t see Harley’s face, but he knew from the passing seconds of silence that she had no intention of fielding this question for him. The truth was, if Steve hadn’t asked him to be the best man and Mandy hadn’t been the finest secretary he’d ever had, he would have found an ironclad excuse not to attend the ceremony. Weddings reminded him of Camille and Camille reminded him of his ulcer. Of course, with Harley to distract him, the whole ordeal just might be tolerable.

  What the hell, he thought. If she’s going to drive me crazy, I might as well enjoy the ride.

  “Mandy, I’ve learned it’s not wise to argue with a nervous bride. I’d love Harley to come with me.”

  Mandy clapped her hands together triumphantly. “It’s settled then. I’ll make a few quick changes to the seating arrangements and we’re all set. I’m so glad Grant won’t be alone on what promises to be the most romantic night of the year!”

  Before he could remind his matchmaking secretary that Harley was his cousin, supposedly anyway, she’d bounded from the room and closed the door behind her. Harley extracted a pin from her hair and removed her hat, sailing it across his desk like a Frisbee.

  “I’d bet big money Mandy used to be a cheerleader.”

  Grant lifted the broad-brimmed hat from its landing spot on the day’s stock reports. “University of Florida. All four years.”

  “I like her.” Harley tugged at her gloved index finger. “She obviously thinks a lot of you, to care about your personal life like she does.”

  With undivided attention, Grant watched Harley struggle with the glove. When she used her teeth to loosen the snug material, his mouth dried. She had such perfect lips. Curved. Silken. Beneath her lipstick lived a soft blush color that would likely darken to a rich shade of pink when he kissed her.

  He cleared his throat. “Mandy’s a good person.”

  Harley slid the glove from her hand, revealing nails sleek with a crimson coat of glossy color. The women he knew would never dare wear such a shade. Not unless they meant to draw attention to some new bauble they’d recently acquired. But Harley didn’t need jewelry to attract his attention to her hands. The memory of her soft palms cupping his stubble-rough cheeks still lingered, along with the tortuous warmth of her fingers curled against his chest.

  He was a goner.

  She’d pinned her hair away from her face, but her layered style left wisps fringing her face, drawing attention to her liquid sapphire eyes. And though she’d probably meant the suit to be conservative, more than just the color made the outfit nearly as sexy as her leather pants and jacket. The cut emphasized her firm breasts, tapered waist and God help him, her magnificent legs. Harley wasn’t tall—her legs weren’t long—but with curses to the madman who invented pantyhose, Grant couldn’t resist fantasizing about guiding those legs around his hips while he took her on the ride of her life.

  “Regretting it already?”

  He snapped from his revelry with an unattractive snort.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That expression on your face.” She removed the other glove and tucked them in her tiny purse. “I’m assuming you’re regretting giving in to Mandy. It’s okay if you want me to back out. My going to the wedding is a big risk. What if someone recognizes me?”

  Leaning sideways, Harley propped her hip on his desk and looked at him expectantly. “Grant?”

  He wanted to tell her how beautiful, how utterly sexy she was, but he couldn’t afford the luxury. Despite his own desires, he and Harley needed to concentrate on her amnesia. On finding her friend Moana. On unlocking her past.

  On keeping him from ravishing her on his desk.

  He slid his letter opener into a manila envelope and sliced sideways with a vengeance. “Mandy wasn’t about to take no for an answer. We’ll just have to play it by ear.”

  Harley glanced away. “Sounds like a plan.”

  The brief glimpse of disappointment he thought he saw disappeared when she snapped open her purse and pulled out a scrap of paper.

  “Here.”

  Grant looked down at the company name, Sunshine Cab, and the Tampa address. “What’s this?”

  “Our first clue. I coerced the dispatcher into telling me that a driver named Hank dropped me off last night.”

  “So you did more this morning than blow my money on that outfit?”

  “A heck of a lot more.” She slipped her hand back in her purse and tossed over two hundred and fifty dollars and change onto his desk.

  He quickly tallied the damage. “You got that get-up for less than two hundred bucks?” Her clothes might have been sexy, but they didn’t look cheap.

  “I wouldn’t have if I’d shopped where you sent me. Mrs. Langley told me about this consignment shop on Grove Street. I bought this outfit, a pair of jeans, several pairs of shorts and tops, three pairs of shoes, some makeup and an adorable mini dress. I thought the clothes would last a few days, but I didn’t count on being invited to a wedding…”

  Harley’s explanation had died away in his mind the minute the name “Mrs. Langley” registered in his brain. Actually, he’d heard her speak, but the words failed to make sense.

  “Who?”

  Her eyes widened. “Mandy, your secretary. Remember, she invited me to the wedding tomorrow? I’ll need something to wear. She’s already seen this and I…”

  “No, I mean, who sent you to the consignment shop?”

  Harley’s perplexed look made his heart stammer. Hadn’t he mentioned that she should stay clear of his neighbor? Hadn’t he warned her that of all people in the entire town of Citrus Hill, Mrs. Wilhelmina Langley was the last person who should learn that Grant had a beautiful woman staying in the First Investment corporate mansion?

  Hadn’t he written DO NOT TALK TO THE TERMINATOR ACROSS THE STREET in bold black letters across the top of the note he’d left?

  “Mrs. Langley. That sweet woman that lives across the street from you.”

  Obviously not.

  “Oh, Lord.”

  As if falling from the top of a high-rise, Grant let a downward pull plop him into his chair. Not only was Wilhelmina Langley hell-bent on finding another First Investment sex scandal to break in her column, the woman could detect a lie with accuracy well beyond current technology. Even Harley’s impressively casual style of twisting the truth wouldn’t fool her.

  The jig was up.

  “Grant? You look pale. Do you want some water?”

  “Only if it has a fifth of Scotch in it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Wilhelmina Langley knows you’re staying with me?”

  “Of course. I think that’s why she seemed so anxious to help me. The minute she found out I was staying with you, she invited me in for lemonade and we had a nice little chat.”
<
br />   A burst of pain exploded in Grant’s stomach. “A little chat.”

  “What are you so uptight about? I told her the cousin story and she bought it hook, line and sinker. She’s the one I got the cab company name from. She saw the cab parked in front of your gate last night.”

  “And she saw you get out in your trench coat, despite the fact that the temperature was nearly eighty degrees?”

  Harley’s lips twisted as if he’d asked the most inane question ever conceived. “If she did, she didn’t mention it.”

  Of course not. She’ll keep that tiny detail as food for conjecture in her next column.

  “I’m as good as fired.”

  Harley stood. “What are you talking about? Mrs. Langley said nothing but good things about you. And she couldn’t wait to help me. I told her I left a bag in the cab that dropped me off, but I couldn’t remember the name of the company. She gave me the name and directions to a reasonably priced store where I could shop until I found my luggage. Would she have done all that if she wanted to hurt you?”

  “Just a means to an end.”

  Harley rolled her eyes. “You’re paranoid. Without my memory, I’m very in tune with other people. Mrs. Langley sincerely wanted to help me.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. Her column doesn’t hit the paper until Sunday. That gives us two days to find out who you are and find me another line of work.”

  “Well, Mr. Gloom and Doom, I suggest you try detective work.”

  “Detective work?”

  “You can learn from me. So far, I’m pretty darned good.” She snatched the slip of paper with the cab company’s name and address from his hand. “I spoke to Hank, the driver, after leaving Mrs. Langley’s house, which is why I was so excited I came straight here. After shopping, of course.”