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She was tempted. Entirely too tempted. But if she accepted his invitation she couldn’t move the relationship into a business one when she needed to. She had no intention of lying to him or stringing him along. She just didn’t want to ask her favor publicly—or in costume. It was too serious for that. The party had been a way to open a dialogue. “I’d love a rain check,” she said.
He studied her for a long time. She made herself breathe.
“Walk me to my car and I’ll give you my number,” he said, standing. “You can call me when the sun comes out.”
She smiled. “All right.”
Joe offered her a hand up. He was probably crazy to pursue her. He should at least wait until his life was back on track, yet he couldn’t help but feel she was part of the solution. Wishful thinking, maybe?
They made their way through the crowded house. He guided her slightly ahead of him with a touch to her lower back, just enough to feel the bones of her vertebrae against his fingertips now and then. She turned and looked at him once, her dark eyes again taking his measure in a way no woman in his memory had. She looked deeply, as she had by the waterfall, without blinking. Did he meet her standards or pass her test or whatever it was she was doing when she looked at him like that?
They reached his SUV. He got a business card out of his glove compartment, wrote his home and cell numbers on the back and passed it to her.
“Something on your mind?” he asked when she said nothing. He curled his fingers into his palms, resisting touching her. He wondered how long her hair was. A year ago it was just past her shoulders.
“You’re different from other detectives,” she said. “I noticed that before.”
“Different, how?”
“Quieter.”
“And not intimidated?”
She smiled. “Do I intimidate?”
“Competence is often intimidating.”
Arms folded, she leaned a hip and shoulder against his passenger door. “I think I’ve been complimented.”
“You have.”
“You impress me as well.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He moved closer, crowding her space a little.
She didn’t budge, not even when he slipped a finger under her strap as he had by the waterfall. He focused on the little beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. “This is very pretty,” he said, kissing the spot. He felt her lips part, heard a soft sound, more than a breath catching, less than surrender. He moved his mouth over hers lightly, brushing his lips against hers, pulling back, making her come to him.
A horn honked. Teenage boys shouted crude encouragement. The only encouragement Joe needed was Arianna’s. When he wouldn’t take the kiss any deeper she placed her hands along his face and held him still.
“You tease,” she said, her voice husky.
“Just making sure of my welcome.”
Her hesitation lasted all of two seconds. “The door’s open.”
He wanted to skim his hands over her incredible body, to feel the weight of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the firm fullness of her rear. He settled for a long, leisurely kiss that she kept trying to deepen and he kept thwarting. He knew he had to leave her wanting more or she wouldn’t call him, so he gave her enough to think about but not to satisfy. Gave himself a lot to think about, too, like what it would be like to make love, a foreign concept to him in the past six months.
He pulled back. She opened her eyes. Her skin was drawn taut over her cheekbones. He let his gaze wander lower as she watched. Her nipples were hard. She arched her back just enough that he noticed the unspoken invitation to touch. He declined, counting on there being another time and a better place.
“Adios,” he said, forcing himself to leave her. He walked around his car and got in, then didn’t look back until he was far enough away that she couldn’t see him glance in his rearview mirror.
She wasn’t staring after him, however, but was strolling back up to Scott’s house, her hips swaying, the ruffled hem intoxicating in its undulating rhythm. She didn’t glance in his direction.
After a moment he smiled. He’d met his match.
Three
Arianna tapped Joe’s business card against her thigh as she stared out her living room window at the typical hazy Southern California morning. She had his home number. Why procrastinate?
Dumb question. Because of last night, that’s why. Because of the kiss. The almost-as-good-as-sex kiss. How could she ask him to help her now? He would think she kissed him to get him interested, to lure him so that he would cooperate. Nothing was further from the truth. She’d gotten carried away—rare for her.
She was also hesitating because she hadn’t yet recovered from last night’s nightmare, the one that had been haunting her for weeks. The one that had spurred her toward Joe Vicente.
Arianna turned from the window and sat at her piano, a shiny, black baby grand that dominated her apartment living room. She tapped out a few random notes, then eased into scales. When her fingers were limber, she played a piece she’d composed, a complex, demanding song still being refined.
After playing the final chord, she sat up straight, set her hands on her thighs and enjoyed the quiet for a moment. Then she talked to herself.
Okay, stall over. Bite the bullet.
She grabbed the portable phone and dialed. He answered on the third ring.
“Good morning, it’s Arianna Alvarado,” she said, as businesslike as possible.
“Good morning back,” he replied, a sound suspiciously like laughter in his voice. “And thank you for being specific. It could’ve been embarrassing if I had you confused with the other Arianna.”
Oh, he knew how he affected her. “The sun hasn’t broken through,” she said, forging ahead, “but I’m inviting you to lunch anyway.”
“Don’t trust yourself to have dinner with me?”
The underlying sensuality in his voice appealed to her way too much. She started pacing. “Yes.”
“Yes, you don’t trust yourself?”
“Yes, I trust myself, but I’m inviting you to lunch.”
“Sorry, but I’m headed to my parents’ house. I expect to be there all afternoon.”
Her heart slammed into her chest. Even better. She could meet his father. Talk to him. “Can I meet you there?” she asked.
A long silence, then, “At my parents’ house?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t usually bring a woman home until the tenth date.”
Like your ex-fiancée? “Will you make an exception?”
Silence again. “Sure, why not?” He gave her the address and directions.
“I have to make a stop first,” she said. “Can I bring lunch with me?”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
“Is there anything I shouldn’t bring? Allergic to shellfish or anything?”
“No allergies here.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” She hung up then went in search of something to wear to meet his parents. His father. A man she’d never met, a man whose name she didn’t know until a month ago, but whom she’d hated for twenty-five years.
Arianna pulled into a circular driveway of an impressive Spanish Colonial mansion and parked near the garage. She bypassed the front door to jog down a side path into the backyard where she saw several linen-covered round tables with umbrellas set up near the large, tiled swimming pool. The view of the Hollywood Hills was incredible.
She spotted her mother twining elegant leaf garlands around the umbrella poles. Arianna forgot what today’s event was. A fashion show, perhaps? Something to raise money for a worthy cause, probably. That was what her mother did for a living ever since she’d married Estebán Clemente, international movie mogul, when Arianna was twelve.
Estebán had changed their lives in immeasurable ways. But one topic was never brought up for discussion—Arianna’s father.
“Mom!” she called.
Paloma Alvarado Clemente never hurried. She carried herself with grace and dignity, her skin and make-up flawless, her striking silver and black hair styled in a fashionable bob. She wore brightly colored designer clothing, and jewelry that clinked and clanked—a striking silver necklace and bracelets crafted by artisans from her native Mexico.
Paloma waited for Arianna now, a serene smile on her face, her arms opening wide to gather her daughter close. Her perfume wrapped Arianna in memories. She nestled for a few seconds longer than usual.
“Everything looks beautiful, Mom. What’s the big event?”
“A luncheon for my book club.”
Arianna leaned back. “I didn’t know you were in a book club.”
Her mother brushed the hair from Arianna’s face and smiled. “We started it a few months ago. It’s mostly an excuse to eat and gossip. We take turns hosting.”
“And you’re doing your own decorating? I’m impressed.”
“That’s part of the rules. I didn’t iron the tablecloths myself,” Paloma added in a whisper.
“A small cheat, Mom.”
Paloma walked them to a table where she continued winding the leaf garland up the umbrella pole. Taller than her mother, Arianna took over as it reached the top then taped it there.
“You are looking demure today, mija,” Paloma said, eyeing Arianna’s jeans and white blouse.
“Good. That’s the look I was going for.”
“Are you undercover?”
“No.” Well, sort of, she thought. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Someone special?” her mother asked.
“Mike Vicente.” Her heart pounded as she said the name.
“No.” Paloma’s face went ashen. She clasped her daughter’s hands. “You cannot. Arianna, you cannot. I forbid it.”
Arianna squeezed back. “I have to know, Mom.”
“Why? What good can come from this now, after all these years?”
“My good.” See how important this is to me, Mom. “I need to find out what happened to my father.”
“If they didn’t know then, how can they know now?”
“A lot has changed. They’re using DNA to solve old cases now.”
Her mother shook her head.
“I’ve been having nightmares. Dad’s trying to tell me something.”
“Even if I believed in such things, why would he wait until now?”
Arianna willed her mother to understand. “Because something is different now. The truth is waiting. He wants me to find it.”
“Mija, I am begging you to leave it alone.”
“Madre, I can’t.” She forced the words out. “I can’t rest until I know. I had hoped for your support, but I’ll go ahead without it.”
“I cannot endorse this. I cannot.”
Arianna pulled her mother into a powerful hug. “I love you, Mom. I’ll keep in touch.”
After a few moments her mother hugged her back, her embrace fierce, as if she could stop her daughter from leaving. Finally she let go. “Vaya con Dios, mija.”
“You, too, Mom.” Arianna swallowed the lump in her throat and jogged back to her car. Her next conversation wouldn’t be any easier.
From his parents’ bedroom Joe could see the street, and every car that passed by. He didn’t know what Arianna drove, but he imagined it was dark and sleek, like her. Something quiet and powerful. But maybe she would surprise him—again.
Her asking to meet his parents had almost left him speechless. After so many years as a detective he was accustomed to the routinely unpredictable nature of his work—things were often not as they seemed—but his relationships had been fairly predictable…if he didn’t count Jane returning his engagement ring. That had caught him by surprise.
A dark blue BMW pulled up in front of the house. No surprise, after all. The trunk popped open, then she climbed out of the car, looking casual in jeans and a white top. Her shiny almost-black hair was down, the length just past her shoulders, which answered his question of last night. He missed the flamenco costume.
She shaded her eyes and looked at the house. He hurried down the stairs to meet her at her car, where she was unloading an ice chest.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, passing him the chest.
“Always.” Joe noticed she wasn’t making eye contact, unusual for her. The first time he met her he’d noticed how much eye contact she made, then noted it again last night. She started to walk past him, a grocery bag in hand. “Arianna.”
“Hmm?”
Distracted wasn’t the right word for her demeanor. She seemed nervous. Or anxious, maybe. “Hi. How are you?” he asked.
“Good, thanks. How are you?” She kept walking up the pathway to the house, a small, neat structure that his parents had owned since before he was born. “What a sweet house.”
