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Valentine Fantasy
Jamie Denton
To: Jordan McBride, co-owner of Fantasy for HireClient: Sassy newspaper reporter Cait Sullivan. She smells a story–and she'll do almost anything to get it.Assignment: To be Cait's Valentine–in every sense of the word.Obstacle: In Cait Sullivan's opinion, Fantasy for Hire was a scandal waiting to happen. And she was going to be the one to expose the true nature of this unusual company, even if it meant going undercover as a client. But once sexy-as-sin Jordan McBride left her weak-kneed with his Valentine campaign, Cait realized she wanted him under the covers too!.



“Tell me your fantasy, Cait.”
Jordan’s deep velvet voice sent a warm little shiver down her spine. “I’d like you to kiss me,” she said. When his gaze dipped to her mouth, her lips parted in invitation. When he hesitated, she leaned out of the tub to grab his tie and pulled him close.
“Now, Jordan.”
“It’s your fantasy,” he whispered, before pressing his lips seductively against hers, his hand dipping beneath the surface of the bathwater to brush against her rib cage. Her head spun, her mind whirled with sensation as he cajoled her tongue to mate with his in a kiss more erotic than anything she’d ever experienced. She moaned when he palmed her breast in the warmth of his large hand. Heat, hot and blazing, built inside her as his thumb lightly teased her nipple into a taut peak.
Suddenly, he stopped. “We can’t do this, Cait.” He stood and walked over to pick up his jacket, leaving her wanting him, needing him….
“This isn’t exactly how I envisioned my fantasy ending,” she said, her voice still husky with desire.
“This isn’t the end, sweetheart. It’s just the beginning.” He graced her with a grin guaranteed to speed up her pulse. “By the way, you might want to add a few more bubbles to your bath.”
Dear Reader,
Writing can be such a solitary existence and if it wasn’t for the support of one of my closest friends, fellow Temptation author, Janelle Denison, Cait and Jordan’s romance would never have seen the light of day. The Fantasy for Hire books are a project close to my heart because it finally gave Janelle and I the opportunity to work together. The result of this collaboration—the McBride brothers, two gorgeous, sexy men who’ve captured our hearts and hopefully, will capture yours as well.
Janelle and I have wanted to team up on a special project for years. Thanks to the encouragement of our editors, Birgit Davis-Todd and Brenda Chin, we were given the opportunity to fulfil a long-awaited fantasy of our own. I hope you enjoy both Temptation #759 Christmas Fantasy and Temptation #767 Valentine Fantasy.
I’d love to hear from you, so feel free to write to me at P.O. Box 224, Mohall, ND 58761.
Enjoy,
Jamie Denton
Valentine Fantasy
Jamie Denton


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Tony,
You’re my fantasy come true.
Love, Jamie

Contents
Prologue (#uba0f8a94-e482-5b80-80bf-ebb383eb6e7f)
Chapter 1 (#u3aade68d-45ed-55a6-823a-ca26594a3ed5)
Chapter 2 (#uf2a93e2c-4e3d-59eb-826f-0cc28935ccfc)
Chapter 3 (#uc00f7869-5244-5df2-8da9-bfaba986390f)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue
“SEX FOR HIRE?” Cait Sullivan asked, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. “Are you serious?”
With the critical eye of a reporter, Cait examined the man across her desk. The expensive suit and Italian loafers were apparel that bespoke money, and not the garb of some crackpot. If she ignored the small bandage across his nose and the fading double shiners that made him resemble a jaundiced racoon, his face didn’t look as if it belonged to a crazy, either, but maybe someone who’d had his nose broken.
“I’m perfectly serious, Ms.—” he glanced at her nameplate, then slid his pale blue gaze back to her “—Sullivan. I know for a fact that a representative of Fantasy for Hire was paid to have sex with a client. A very wealthy client.”
Cait’s instincts kicked into high gear. There was a story here, a good story that wouldn’t require her to dress up and play nice with the debutantes of San Francisco—spoiled little girls who made her feel gauche and out of place. It might even keep her away from the boring charity auctions of the rich and infamous, another assignment she found distasteful. This was a real story. And if she could pull off the exposé Louden Avery kept hinting at, it might just mean the end of the fluff she’d been writing for the past two years and push her into the type of reporting she craved—hard-hitting news. Investigative reporting. Maybe even move her out of print and into live, on-location shots with one of the networks, or even CNN.
This is Cait Sullivan reporting live…
She tucked the fantasy away and pulled out a yellow pad instead. First things first. “What proof do you have?”
“One of my former employees obtained the—shall we call them services,” he said, his voice dripping with innuendo, “of Fantasy for Hire. I have no physical proof but I did see a one-thousand-dollar receipt for services rendered. That’s a bit steep for a male exotic dancer, wouldn’t you agree?”
She’d never personally hired an exotic dancer, but she’d been to a few bachelorette parties and pretty much guessed what these guys did for a living cost nowhere near what he was suggesting.
From what Avery had told her thus far, Fantasy for Hire was a rather small, albeit successful, agency that hired out male strippers for bachelorette parties, birthday parties and the like—something he insisted was merely a front for a more lucrative business.
“I need more than your telling me you saw a receipt, Mr. Avery,” she said, making notes on the pad.
“You’re a reporter. Isn’t it your job to find out the truth behind what I’m telling you?”
“Well, yes, but…”
He stood and looked down his bandaged nose at her. “If you don’t want the story, Ms. Sullivan, I’ll go to the Examiner. I’m sure they’d be interested.” He turned to leave.
“Wait!” She stood and circled the desk, unwilling to let her chance to prove herself as a serious reporter slip away. “Give me a few days to check it out and get back to you. If I think there’s a story, we’ll talk again.”
He smiled, but it was more of a feral grin. “Oh, there’s a story, one hell of a story, and I’m giving it to you, Ms. Sullivan.”
She didn’t want to question why he’d approached her when there were dozens of other reporters on the Herald with more experience. Who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth, as her mother would say?
She took the business card he offered and promised to call him in a few days. Propping her backside against the desk, she bit her lip and watched him walk away. Her mind spun with ideas, but nothing concrete took root. She needed something, some glimmer of proof that Avery was telling her the truth, before she spent hours investigating this agency.
With a sigh, she pushed off the desk and returned to her chair to examine her notes. She read through them twice until a slow grin tugged her lips. Drumming her short nails on the desk, her smile turned into a grin and she laughed. She had it! The perfect cover. A foolproof plan. What better way to discover the truth about Fantasy for Hire than to hire the agency herself?
She made a quick call to Ardell’s Body Works and begged the receptionist to work her into the schedule. After a few pleas, Hilary relented if Cait promised to be there within the hour. She needed a trim anyway, she thought, but with luck, Pierre could at least tame her hair into a semblance of sophistication and style. Maybe she’d even get her nails done. Rich women got their nails done all the time. She needed to look pampered and bored, and if anyone in the city could achieve that look for her, it’d be the wizards at Ardell’s.
Snagging her purse and raincoat, she left the cubicle and hurried across the busy newsroom to the sign-in board. She plucked the red peg from “in” and popped it into the “out” slot under her name, then left the office, ready to set the wheels in motion for her own private fantasy for hire.

1
JORDAN MCBRIDE HAD BEEN sure the impetuousness of youth was far behind him, until he stepped in to handle his younger brother’s booming business. Of all the stupid, idiotic things he’d done in his life, agreeing to temporarily run Fantasy for Hire until his brother, Austin, returned from his honeymoon and finalized the sale of the agency topped the list.
With a self-deprecating sigh of disgust, he examined the schedule spread over the scarred mahogany desk. Somehow he’d managed to double-book two of Austin’s employees for Valentine’s weekend. Although the lovers’ holiday was still a week away, his attempt to reschedule had failed. Both customers he’d spoken to had been adamant; if Fantasy for Hire couldn’t deliver the appropriate fantasy at the scheduled time, they’d be forced to look elsewhere.
“Great,” Jordan muttered before taking a sip from the steaming mug of coffee. He’d been at the helm for less than forty-eight hours and already Austin’s customers were threatening to jump ship. If things kept up at this rate, by the time Austin and his bride returned, Fantasy for Hire would be a distant memory.
The phone, which had been ringing nonstop all morning, jangled again. He set his coffee on the blotter, picked up the phone and took an order for a fantasy fireman to perform for the thirtieth birthday of a secretary during office hours. He bet the stuffy partners of the financial-district firm were going to be less than thrilled to have a woman’s fantasy come to life in their midst.
The front doorbell rang and he waved the visitor into the house without taking his attention from the order form. At least the financial-district fireman wasn’t needed for another three weeks, well after the Valentine’s Day rush. He still couldn’t believe how many couples married on the holiday for lovers. All fourteen of Austin’s employees were booked solid for bachelorette parties, and he still hadn’t found a solution to the double booking. One thing he knew for certain, he definitely would not be filling the void. Handling the office portion of his brother’s agency was one thing, but playing the role of male exotic dancer was out of the question. A man had to draw the line somewhere, and taking off his clothes for money was a pretty solid line as far as he was concerned.
He finished the call, assured the customer the fantasy fireman would arrive as scheduled, then leaned back in the worn leather chair. He dropped the pen on the desk and turned his attention to the woman who looked nothing like the UPS delivery man he’d expected to find. She stood with her back to him, admiring the Charles Fracé wildlife print he’d given to Austin for Christmas.
He admired her.
Legs. Sweet heaven, they were long, not to mention perfectly shaped. The kind of legs that made a man take notice. Black high-heeled pumps and sexy black nylons with seams running up the back didn’t hurt either. He followed the line with his eyes until it disappeared beneath the hem of her short black skirt, wondering if lacy elastic tops held them secure, or if she wore one of those sexy little garter belts with satin and bows. Black satin. With little bows the color of ripe, summer strawberries.
He cleared his throat, more to tighten the rein on his runaway imagination than to gain her attention. She turned around anyway, and gave him a smile capable of melting the polar ice caps.
“Hi,” she said in a soft, husky voice that set his imagination into overdrive again. Eyes the color of emeralds peered at him from beneath dusky lashes. A halo of russet curls framed a girl-next-door face complete with creamy complexion and a delicate dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She looked the type more comfortable in blue jeans and sneakers ready for a hike over a mountain trail, but he appreciated those sexy, black-seamed nylons just the same.
He stood and circled the desk. “Can I help you?”
Her smile wavered slightly and her gaze darted to the door. She took a deep breath, drawing his attention to the rise and fall of very full breasts beneath a teal silk blouse. “I have a fantasy.”
Yeah, so did he!
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” he said, forcing his mind on business instead of black satin and strawberries.
He indicated the metal folding chair, then waited until she was seated before returning to his own behind Austin’s old desk. What had once been the family dining room of his youth had been transformed into a makeshift office that served as the backbone of Fantasy for Hire, the agency his brother had begun a few years ago to help pay off school debts. A pair of old file cabinets that looked as if they’d been purchased at an army-surplus store replaced the antique china hutch that had belonged to his grandmother McBride. The oak dining table had been exchanged for a scarred mahogany desk, and the Tiffany lamp that had once hung from the ceiling had been replaced by a functional ceiling fan with overhead lighting. The no-frills office wasn’t exactly the type of place appropriate for receiving visitors or conducting business in person, but the agency wasn’t exactly the type to invite clientele into its office either.
“Wait a minute. Our address isn’t listed in the phone book. How’d you find us?” Nor was the address listed on the business cards the dancers passed out at the various parties and functions they attended. Considering the type of entertainment the agency provided, only their phone number was advertised in the book.
She offered him a sheepish grin while pushing a wayward curl behind her ear with a long tapered nail. “I have a friend with the phone company, and she checked out your agency for me.”
He didn’t like the idea that just anyone could obtain the address of an unlisted private residence. “What specifically can Fantasy for Hire do for you, Ms….”
“Sullivan. Cait Sullivan,” she said in a husky feminine voice that made him think of whispered words shared between lovers beneath a starry night sky.
He wrote her name on a form, then filled in the blanks with the Pacific Heights address she provided, along with her phone number. So much for her being the girl next door. Pacific Heights kept the daughters of San Francisco’s elite closeted from mingling with the rest of everyday society. Only a pedigree to rival royalty could breach the gated walls. No doubt Ms. Cookies-and-Cream, with her black-seamed stockings, was just bored and looking for a little excitement.
“Our prices are competitive. I don’t think you’ll find a better bargain in San Francisco to fulfill your needs. Why don’t you tell me your fantasy.”
She blushed prettily, just a slight coloring that turned her creamy cheeks a soft peach. Lord, she was adorable, and for the flash of an instant, he wished she wasn’t a potential client for his brother’s business or a part of San Francisco society. But a casual fling held little appeal, and he didn’t have the time to pursue his attraction to her in any serious way since he had a career to rebuild.
She set her purse on the floor beside her, then changed her mind and hauled the bag back into her lap. “I need a Valentine for my parents’ anniversary party next weekend,” she said, twisting the strap around her hand.
Jordan hated to disappoint her, but there was no way he could help her with a Valentine stripper. “This weekend? That’s impossible.”
“I can afford your—” she cleared her throat “—agency.”
“That’s not the problem,” he said. “I have no one available.” He stood, ready to show her to the door, but something in her voice stopped him.
“I really need your help,” she said, her eyes matching the plea of her words. “It’s my parents’ fortieth anniversary and my sisters, older brother and I are having this huge party for them. I need a date for the party.”
She was mistaken. The agency wasn’t an escort service that provided fantasy dates. He wasn’t suspicious of what she had in mind, but Jordan was well aware that escort services were often a front for prostitution. Austin’s motto was fantasy equals seduction of the mind. Sure, he provided exotic dancing, but Austin had firm rules—no stripping below the waist and no touching. Most importantly, the guys who worked for his little brother’s agency knew their number-one priority was to create a fantasy capable of making a woman catch her breath.
“I wish I could help you, but it’s out of the question,” he said.
She lowered her gaze, but not before he noted the disappointment in her eyes. Why did he feel as though he’d just kicked a puppy? He didn’t even know this woman.
He circled the desk and propped his backside against the edge. Curious, he studied her for a moment. “Why would you need a date?” he asked. Better yet, why would someone as adorable as her feel she had to pay for one? This was not a woman who should need to pay anyone to take her anywhere. She was stunning. Considering she’d had the ingenuity to track down the agency’s address told him she was no wallflower. She was definitely the type to know what she wanted and had the determination and intelligence to accomplish her goals.
She bit her lip and looked up at him. After a moment, a slight grin tugged her lips. “I don’t want any entanglements, and my parents would be thrilled if they believed I was dating again, especially since it is Valentine’s Day.” She looked him up and down. Then she smiled, one of those full, bright smiles she’d flashed him when she first walked into the house. “What about you?”
He frowned. “Me?”
She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
“I…but we…” don’t do dates, he thought. But Austin had. Not only had his brother gone on several dates with Teddy Spencer, he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. Two days ago, they’d eloped.
Maybe Fantasy for Hire did provide the type of service Cait Sullivan wanted and he just wasn’t aware of it. He wished he’d paid more attention to his brother’s business venture, but he’d been too busy building his own career as an architect to take more than a cursory interest and then issue a string of warnings. He’d always been protective of Austin, and when their parents died unexpectedly when he was eighteen and Austin only sixteen, he’d been left to raise his brother. Though he’d lived in Los Angeles for the past eight years, looking out for Austin was a habit he’d never relinquished, much to his younger brother’s irritation.
“Money is no object,” she blurted out. To express her point, she fished through her bag and pulled out a small stack of hundred-dollar bills.
He stared at the wad of cash, held securely by her long, red, tapered nails. Austin might be in the process of selling the business, but how could Jordan in good conscience turn down such a hefty commission, even though Cait obviously misunderstood the purpose of the agency? Fantasy for Hire wasn’t an escort service, but neither could he walk away from that kind of cash. Money was money and he and Austin had too many lean years behind them for him to ignore what she was practically throwing in his lap.
She wasn’t asking him to take off his clothes. He didn’t have any plans for next Saturday night anyway, unless it involved an action video and a bowl of popcorn. He’d only been back in San Francisco for a few months and his social calendar was remarkably clear. What harm could there be in standing in as a Valentine for a beautiful woman who piqued his interest?
He sighed. Damn, Austin. His brother was going to get an earful when he returned. “All right,” he said, his voice filled with resignation. “You’ve got yourself a Valentine.”
Her smile never wavered, and her eyes brightened considerably as she handed him the cash. “I…uh…I want the full treatment.”
He quickly counted the cash, then set the bills on the desk next to the order form. Two thousand dollars! “Full treatment?” he posed tentatively, almost afraid to ask. For two grand, anything was possible.
She stood and slowly moved toward him. “Yes, Mr. Valentine,” she said in that husky voice that made him take notice. The tip of her tongue darted out and she moistened her lower lip.
He swallowed. Hard.
“I want the works.” She extended her hand toward him. “Do we have a deal?”
He looked at her outstretched hand, and those long, red nails he imagined wrapped around some very interesting places, then over at the cold, hard cash. Regardless of the fact that Austin’s wife worked, getting married meant additional financial demands on his brother, and Jordan was certain he’d end up being Uncle Jordan to some adorable kids within a few years. Austin was a family man now. There was no way Jordan could turn down Cait’s offer, or ignore the crisp one-hundred dollar bills she’d just handed him.
He took her hand, surprised by the firmness of her grip. “Jordan McBride, valentine for hire at your service. I hope I don’t disappoint you.”
She pulled her hand from his and gave him a look filled with sexy promise. “I’m sure you won’t,” she said, hiking his temperature a notch or two.
She left after promising to phone him later in the week with the details for Saturday night.
A valentine!
Why would a woman pay him two grand to be her valentine? And what on earth did she mean by the works? Was she expecting the traditional candy and flowers? Certainly she expected much more, considering the cash she’d paid him.
The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He took another order, this time for a fantasy pirate, for the following month. By the time he finished the call, he still hadn’t a clue as to what Cait had meant by the works.
Austin’s business was fantasies. Women used the services of Fantasy for Hire to fulfill a particular fantasy, whether it was a cowboy, fireman or even an uptight executive type. The business that had been started to help Austin and a few of his buddies pay off their college loans had grown. Its success was due in particular to his brother’s vision of a class act, a rule he insisted be followed to the letter.
He went to the kitchen to pour himself another cup of coffee and looked out the bay windows of the breakfast nook to the backyard, still racking his brain about Cait’s reference to “the works.” When Austin had been hired for Teddy’s birthday celebration, he’d given her a Stetson to complete her cowboy fantasy. Maybe that’s what Cait wanted. Maybe she was paying him to really be her valentine. Maybe she expected candy, flowers and an entire range of small gifts and surprises designed to live up to the agency’s motto of the ultimate fantasy, the ultimate mental seduction.
He sipped his coffee, constructing and discarding a variety of ideas worthy of the sum of money he’d been paid. If Cait Sullivan’s fantasy was to have herself a valentine, and she was willing to pay for it, then he’d just have do his part in making certain the customer’s satisfaction was guaranteed.
“HOW DOES ANYONE do anything with these blasted nails?” Cait muttered as she corrected another typo. She was going to have to do something about them. She could barely function, let alone type.
“Okay, so who is he?”
Cait looked up from her computer to the smiling face peeking over the wall of her cubicle. “What are you talking about?” She frowned at Jennifer Harding, the Herald’s entertainment reporter and her closest friend.
Jen hurried around the three-quarter wall and dropped into the chair opposite Cait’s desk. “The hair, the new makeup, and those god-awful dragon-lady nails. Has to be a man.”
“It’s not a man.” Well, maybe it was, but not the way Jen meant. She hit the Save button on the computer and closed the file with her notes on her first meeting with Jordan McBride. She was unsure whether to share with Jen the news about her sideline as an investigative reporter. Not that she questioned Jen’s loyalty, but her longtime friend had a tendency toward being overprotective—and extremely nosy.
Jen drummed her nails on the arm of the gray cloth chair. “What’s with the getup?”
Cait shrugged. “I wanted a change.”
“Ha! The only time a woman wants a change is when she’s been dumped or there’s a new man in her life. Since you haven’t had a steady boyfriend in over a year, that leaves only one other option. Who is he?”
Cait sighed and ignored the gleam in her friend’s dark brown eyes. “There’s no one. Can we change the subject, please?”
“Okay, so you’re not ready to share,” Jen teased, adjusting her thick raven hair over her shoulder with a gentle flick of the wrist. “I can respect that.”
Cait rolled her eyes, then reached for the folder with her notes on a fund-raiser being held in two weeks. She winced when her clawlike nails caught the end of the plastic in-box. She really had to have these things shaved down to a workable length before she hurt someone. “Did you want something specific, or were you in the mood to harass someone and I’m your unfortunate target?”
“There’s a new play in town opening this weekend and I’m reviewing it. Wanna tag along?”
“I can’t.”
“Ah-ha!” Jen laughed. “I knew it was a man.”
Cait set the file on the desk in front of her. Carefully, so she didn’t stab herself, she clasped her hands together. “It’s my parents’ fortieth anniversary this weekend and we’re throwing a party for them, or did you forget?”
Jen sighed dramatically. “No. I didn’t forget. I’ll try to stop by after the play, but I can’t promise anything. Do you have a date for the party?”
She thought of Jordan McBride, his rich sable hair and those pale hazel eyes that had swept over her, along with the shiver she’d had a hard time suppressing when he’d looked at her. He could definitely be filed in the drop-dead-gorgeous category with his wide shoulders, lean hips and athletic body. But his eyes drew her attention and held her. Lordy, they were the kind of eyes that could hold a woman spellbound for hours. If Fantasy for Hire really was in the business of seducing wealthy women out of their fortunes as Louden Avery had implied, then Jordan McBride was no doubt a success at his chosen profession. All the man had to do was smile and flash his sexier-than-sin eyes and women would blissfully hand over their wealth.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she admitted.
Jen crossed her arms over her chest and gave her an I-told-you-so look. “I knew it was a man.”
“It’s not what you think.” Cait stood and pulled her raincoat from the peg behind her desk. “It’s strictly business. Let’s get some cappuccino. My treat.”
“This must be good if you’re buying.”
Cait glared at her friend. It wasn’t that she was cheap, but she’d been taught the value of a dollar by her parents. Spending the money for her new look and the money to hire McBride hadn’t been an impulse. She thought of it more as an investment in her future. Her future as a real reporter.
By the time they crossed the street to the Higher Grounds coffee shop, placed their order and found a table in the back, Jen was prodding Cait with more questions. “Tell me about him,” she demanded, dipping the edge of her biscotti in her cup of latte.
Cait sipped her cappuccino, then set the cup aside. “I told you. It’s business.”
“Business? On Valentine’s Day?” Jen shook her head with mock dismay. “Honey, we need to have a little talk. You know what they say, all work and no play…”
“Will help me reach my goals sooner?” Cait finished.
Jen set the cookie aside and leaned forward. “Tell me about this business date. Is he gorgeous?”
Cait bit her lip. She knew she could trust Jen, and she was dying to talk to someone about her discovery, even if it meant a well-meaning lecture. Gorgeous didn’t begin to explain Jordan McBride. “Gorgeous has nothing to do with this. He’s a story.”
“Borrrrringgg. More tales of the rich and famous.”
Cait shook her head. “Not this time.” This time, she had a lead on a real story, a story that would have her editor, Edmund Davidson, stand up and take notice. She was convinced if she broke the story on Jordan McBride, Edmund would seriously consider moving her into investigative reporting. He continually told her she was too young, she needed more life experiences. How on earth did he expect her to gain experience if he kept sending her to debutante balls and fund-raisers? Last week she’d been assigned the opening of another art gallery funded by a bored housewife of some Montgomery Street financial wizard. Not exactly hard-hitting news as far as she was concerned.
“Oh?” Interested, Jen propped her chin in the palm of her hand. “Tell me more.”
Cait looked around the coffeehouse, making sure they wouldn’t be overheard, then very quickly explained her meeting with Louden Avery the previous afternoon and his claims against Fantasy for Hire.
“So, I hired myself a date for my parents’ party,” she finished, raising her cappuccino in mock salute. “I need the inside scoop and what better way to accomplish that than hiring my own fantasy?”
Jen sipped her latte then set the cup back on the Formica table. “How much did this fantasy date cost the paper?”
“Nothing. I took the money out of my savings account. If the story pans out like I think it’s going to, I’ll put it on my expense account.”
“How much?” Jen asked again, frowning.
Cait knew her friend had only been half teasing about her springing for coffee. They’d been roommates in college and Cait was used to Jen’s lighthearted badgering about her ability to squeeze a dollar.
“Jen, it’s really not important. What’s important is—”
“Cait, how much?”
Cait sighed. She adored Jen, but sometimes her friend was just a little too pushy. She thought about evading the question, but the other woman wasn’t a reporter for nothing. “Two thousand dollars,” Cait admitted quietly.
“Two thousand! Are you crazy? Cait, what if the story doesn’t fly? Then you’re out that money.”
“Shh, lower your voice.” She looked around and was relieved to find no one paying them any attention. “It’s okay. I’ll get it back.”
“Look, kiddo, I know where you work, okay? We’re not at the Herald because the pay is stellar. The Chronicle or Examiner we’re not.”
“Stop worrying, okay? I’m house-sitting for my brother for another few months, so I don’t have to worry about rent or utilities. I don’t have a car payment. Even if the story doesn’t work out and I don’t get reimbursed, I’ll have the money back in my savings by the time Brian returns from Europe. I’ll be fine.”
“What are you hoping to gain by this?”
“You know what I want, Jen,” Cait said, her voice filled with steely determination. “This story is going to prove to Edmund that I can write real news. If I have to attend one more charity function, I’ll scream.”
“I just think there’s a way for you to do this that doesn’t include cleaning out your savings account. When do you plan on telling Edmund what you’re up to?”
“I’m not.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Cait knew her friend was merely concerned for her welfare, but she had to go through with this, on her terms. She couldn’t lose this story. “If I tell Edmund, he’s either going to take the story away from me and give it to one of the ‘boys’ or shelve the idea. I can do this, Jen. I can expose Fantasy for Hire. When I handed McBride that money, he jumped on it, so I know there’s a story there. By the time I’m finished, this is going to be the biggest scandal to hit the Bay in months.”
“I just don’t think you’ve thought this out completely. What makes you think McBride is going to attempt to seduce you out of the fortune you don’t have?”
Cait grinned, her enthusiasm mounting. “I have it all worked out. I’m living in Brian’s house in Pacific Heights. The party is at the Palace Hotel. He’s going to think I’ve got money.”
“There’s still a problem. You said that this Avery character claims that this agency was paid for sex. How exactly do you plan on proving that?”
“Easy,” Cait said, tapping her lengthy acrylic nail on the rim of her cup. “I’m going to seduce Jordan McBride.”

2
JORDAN CHECKED his watch, then set aside the designs he’d been studying for most of the afternoon before rubbing at the tension building in his neck. Going into business for himself hadn’t turned into the profitable venture he’d imagined, but he had a decent beginning, and that was just fine with him. The desire to work for no one other than himself had been too strong to ignore, and he couldn’t complain about the progress he’d made since returning to San Francisco, even if he wasn’t yet blazing any trails. He’d done the architectural-firm route in Los Angeles and had been burned, which convinced him he was ready to fly solo. If he’d learned anything during his eight years with Lawrence and Brooks, it was that he wanted his successes, or his failures, to be his own in the future.
Lifting the drawing toward the light, he carefully compared the sketches to the preliminary model for the chain of strip malls planned along the central and northern coast. His presentation for the developer wasn’t for a couple of days. He needed to wrap this up as soon as possible so he could start on the actual plans for the Wyndhaven Town House restoration project he’d just been awarded. He’d be buried in meetings with the developer and contractor in another couple of weeks, and he still wanted to bid on a new high-rise complex for downtown. He had some ideas he felt fairly confident about, and the added commissions would give him the capital he needed to hire an assistant and locate reasonably priced office space.
Office space wasn’t his only real-estate concern. He and Austin owned the house, but with Austin married, the last thing the newlyweds needed was him around cramping their style. Selling the prime real estate was out of the question. The house had been in the family for three generations, and neither he nor Austin were willing to sell. They could have done so years ago when things had been tough, but they’d made a pact never to jeopardize the house. There’d been times they’d had to survive on canned soup and peanut butter and jelly for weeks, but in the end, the sacrifices more than made up for the cash the house could have brought them. Moving out of the Victorian for Austin and his new bride was Jordan’s only logical choice. What he needed to do was find his own place, but he was going to be around until the escrow on his Santa Monica condo closed in a couple of weeks, unless he wanted to throw money away on a rental.
The thought of money brought him back to what he’d been trying to avoid thinking about all afternoon.
Cait Sullivan.
He had a few ideas on how to fulfill her Valentine fantasy, but he still couldn’t understand why a woman as attractive as Cait felt she had to pay for the services of a total stranger. She’d mentioned not wanting any entanglements, so perhaps she was recovering from a bad relationship. Anything was possible, he decided, adding another Canary Island pine to the model.
His mind refused to remain focused on his work. Cait and her black-seamed stockings continued to intrude. With a disgusted sigh, he tossed the small pine tree back onto the table. He’d never get any work done at this rate.
He flipped off the light over his desk, and left the upstairs room he’d commandeered as his temporary office space. His real-estate concerns would have to wait until at least next week. His calendar had been filled by a sexy redhead with a fantasy. And for the price he’d been paid, he’d better deliver.
CAIT SNEEZED, dropped the fingernail file, then sneezed again from the dust cloud caused by her vicious filing. She nearly had the length of her new nails down to something she could live with, but her arm ached from the constant, repetitive motion.
Time for a break, she decided, tossing the nail file on the glass end table. She reached for the cardboard container of shrimp fried rice from Mr. Wong’s she’d picked up on her way home from the paper. The shrimp was cold, and she blamed it on her nails. They were a serious impediment to her life-style. Not only did she have trouble typing, which was a problem since she wanted to add a few more notes to her story, but attempting to fasten the button fly on her favorite pair of faded Levi’s had been impossible. After a ten-minute struggle, she’d given up and slipped into a pair of sweats instead, deciding that if she was going to function and perform the everyday tasks necessary to basic survival, she’d better shave a few millimeters from her fingers first.
She bit into another cold piece of shrimp and thought about the story she was convinced would change the course of her career onto the path she’d craved since she was a little girl. When she’d told Jen her plan, her friend had called her a certifiable idiot, then continued with a list of reasons why she might fail, not to mention a lecture on the danger she was placing herself in by attempting to seduce a total stranger. At the time, she’d waved Jen’s concerns aside, but as she dug through the container in search of more shrimp, she couldn’t help wondering if perhaps she was letting her ambitions cloud her judgment.
Her plan wasn’t exactly foolproof, and she knew it. Like, how did she get around actually having sex with her fantasy date? She’d worry about that later. A good investigative reporter took risks. Woodward and Bernstein had taken a monumental risk in exposing the Watergate scandal, and for a time, their lives had been in danger. Would the savings-and-loan scandal have been exposed if a reporter hadn’t ignored the risks involved? Or what about the reporters who put their lives on the line every day to bring news from Kosovo or other war-torn areas? Did those reporters worry about the risks?
No. The story came first. The story always came first, and her philosophy was no different from the greats’ before her. She knew she’d have to be alone with Jordan, especially since she planned to make it perfectly clear to him that she was on the prowl for seduction. She couldn’t very well convince the man that she was ripe for the picking in a roomful of people, especially with her family hovering around her. She’d have to find a way to be alone with him, and although she’d need to brush up on her seductress skills to pull this off, she knew she could do it. In the name of investigative journalism, in honor of the great reporters of years past, she could and would expose Fantasy for Hire.
Setting her shrimp fried rice aside, she picked up the industrial-strength emery board and continued to work on shortening her nails while listening to the evening newscast. More rain was predicted for the Bay area later that week, but the meteorologist promised clear skies by the weekend for Valentine’s Day in the most romantic city in North America. She smiled. Not even Mother Nature would dare spoil her parents’ anniversary party.
After finishing her nails and waiting for the coat of clear polish to dry, she snapped off the television and flipped on Brian’s elaborate stereo system. She found a rock station she liked, then sat down at her laptop computer and popped in the disk containing her notes on Fantasy for Hire.
She carefully read what she’d written during her meeting with Louden Avery. So far, he appeared to be correct in his allegations. The fact that Jordan McBride had taken the huge sum of money she’d offered him led her to believe there was some truth to the claim of money in exchange for sex. Of course, it was up to her to prove the claim, but she wasn’t too worried about that, even though she had no experience with seducing a man. Flirting, yes. She could handle flirting, but actual seduction? Maybe she’d better rent a few videos on the art of seduction. Like The Graduate, she thought with a grimace.
She clicked the icon for a blank page and centered Jordan McBride’s name at the top, then started typing what she knew about him, which wasn’t much. Other than the fact that he was gorgeous and more than willing to be her Valentine for a fee, she knew nothing about the man. She didn’t know if he owned the agency, or if someone else pulled the strings behind the scenes. All she had was Louden’s claim that an employee of Fantasy for Hire took money in exchange for sex. It was up to her to prove this was a common practice for the agency.
She pulled up another blank page and made a list of things she needed to learn about the agency. She needed to find out who owned the agency, but a huge help would be a list of previous clients. If she could find one more person to verify the claim made by Louden. That, coupled with whatever her own experience with Jordan might produce, would add up to the necessary verification. Obtaining a client list would be impossible, unless she crossed the legal line and resorted to breaking and entering.
She underlined the entry to think about later.
An hour later, she took a short break and headed for the kitchen for a cup of tea. She was pleased with her progress. The beginning was already shaping up, and she had a solid line on which direction she planned to take the article. As her investigation deepened, so would the depth of her story.
She set the teakettle on the stove, then pulled a mug from the cabinet as the chimes for the front door rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but that never stopped her nosy sisters from dropping by unannounced. Sometimes having four older siblings could be a royal pain, but she loved them anyway, even if they did think her business was their business.
She strolled to the front door and peered out the side panel to find a Toyota four-wheel drive she didn’t recognize parked in the driveway.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It’s your valentine,” a deep, velvety voice answered from the other side of the door.
Her heart stopped, then resumed at a maddening pace.
Her valentine?
She wasn’t supposed to see him until Saturday night. What was he doing here? Unless, she thought, narrowing her eyes, he’d decided she required further investigation as a potential target. She’d struggled hard not to flinch when she’d handed over most of the contents of her savings account. Obviously her plan had worked, and that pleased her. She’d hate to think she’d spent the money for nothing.
“Just a minute,” she called, then frantically swiped at the fingernail dust still clinging to her navy sweatshirt. She stifled a sneeze, ran her fingers through her hair in hopes of restoring a sense of order and pinched her cheeks for color. A quick glance down at her clothes caused a groan to escape her lips. What on earth would he think seeing her dressed in baggy sweats, her hair a mess and not an ounce of makeup on her face? So much for playing the socialite. She looked more like the hired help.
Pasting a welcoming smile on her face, she straightened her shoulders and opened the door. Her stomach flipped at the sight of him. Lordy, he was even more drop-dead gorgeous than she remembered. He wore the same navy polo shirt and tan trousers he’d had on earlier, but the worn, leather bomber jacket that matched the color of his wind-tossed, sable hair gave him a slightly dangerous appeal that put her feminine senses on alert.
“Hi,” he said, that rumbling voice jarring her back into reality—the reality that Jordan was really standing on her porch.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said, taking another swipe at the dust on her shirt. She wanted him to think of her as someone who was polished and sophisticated, not as someone who lounged around the house in dust-covered sweats.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” He looked at her closely, his gaze sliding along her body as if searching for the curves beneath her baggy clothes.
Her temperature shouldn’t have heightened just because he looked at her, but it did. Good grief, how did she expect to seduce him when he had her heating up like a furnace with one simple sweep of his gaze?
“Were you sanding something?” he asked, looking closer.
She gave him a quick grin. “Sort of,” she muttered, and took a step back. Just taking precautions so I don’t poke your eye out when I get to run my hands through that thick hair of yours.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked, opening the door wider. If he was here to do a little investigating of his own, she’d be more than happy to oblige. Besides, maybe she could find an opportunity to learn more about him and the agency.
“I just dropped by to give you this,” he said and held out a red velvet, heart-shaped box of chocolates. “From your valentine.”
Stunned, she stared at the box, then up at him. She detected a hint of shyness that threw her off-kilter. When she’d first met him, she’d had the impression that Jordan McBride was the type of man who knew exactly what he wanted, and sought it with single-minded determination. She easily imagined him as the high-powered executive type. A take-no-prisoners kind of guy. Of course, she suspected the impression he gave was misleading. Take-the-money-and-run was a more appropriate description.
“Oh.” She reached for the beautifully wrapped box. “Oh,” she added with a little more emphasis when realization dawned. This had to be part of his plan to seduce her out of her supposed fortune. She recognized the shyness now for what it was—a ploy, a part of the game of seduction. Well, two could play this game.
She graced him with her best sultry smile. “Thank you, Jordan. That’s very sweet of you.”
A high-pitched wail sounded from the kitchen. “I was making tea,” she said, leading him into the house. “Would you like a cup? Or perhaps something a little stronger?”
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the foyer. “Tea’s fine.”
“I heard we’re due for more rain,” she said. With the box of chocolates still clutched in her hand, she led the way through the house to the kitchen, wishing she could think of something witty or charming to say. She’d attended enough society events, sat through numerous charity functions and listened to endless useless and boring conversations. Couldn’t she come up with anything to talk about besides the weather?
“Typical for this time of year,” he commented. He sidled up to the breakfast bar and watched as she retrieved another mug from the cabinet. “Nice place. You live here alone?”
Cait blinked. “Uh…” What did she say? She didn’t feel comfortable telling a total stranger she lived alone. To do so would violate every rule she’d ever been taught, but this was a business arrangement. She couldn’t very well conduct an investigation if she wasn’t willing to take risks.
Anything for the story.
“Yes, I do live alone,” she said, casting a surreptitious glance in his direction to gauge his reaction.
He nodded, then looked around the enormous, sterile kitchen. White ceramic tiles and white cabinets graced most of the room, the only break in color offered by way of aluminum-topped appliances and a few green plants scattered about. The plants were her touch, not that her brother was ever home long enough to see to their care. Brian had his own computer company and was often away on business.
Cait let out a slow breath, grateful he didn’t question her further on her living arrangements. Lying didn’t come easily, and she wondered briefly if that character trait would prevent her from becoming an investigative reporter.
No, she decided. She just needed more practice.
She finished preparing the tea, and led him onto the glass-enclosed patio overlooking Brian’s extensive ornamental garden. A flick of the switch bathed the sitting area in soft, romantic light, but the highlight was the illumination of the gardens with its variety of flower beds, plants and shrubs, complete with cobblestone bridge and waterfall. Whenever she saw the garden at night, she thought of intimacy and romance. Hopefully, Jordan would, too.
“Very nice,” he commented, taking the mug of tea she offered.
“My brother likes gardens,” she said, then briefly closed her eyes at her blunder. “So I had one designed for him that looks a lot like this one,” she added hastily, with a casual wave of her hand. She’d have to be more careful in the future. “Uh, would you like to see the rest of the house?”
Jordan turned to look out over the garden. “No, this is fine.” He hadn’t been sure what he’d expected to find by dropping by Cait’s tonight with the first of the valentine surprises he’d had planned for the week, but he couldn’t help being pleasantly surprised by the girl next door who’d greeted him. He still liked those black-seamed stockings, but she looked adorable right now—like the kind of woman who didn’t need the trappings of the social set to be happy, the kind of woman a man could have meaningful and intellectual conversations with, the kind a man looked forward to coming home to after a day at the office.
Bothered by the direction of his thoughts, he turned to find her watching him, her eyes filled with curiosity. She sat on the edge of a white wrought-iron chair, the box of chocolates resting in her lap. She lifted the mug to her lips and looked at him over the rim. “Thank you for the chocolates.”
“You’re welcome.”
She set her mug on the matching table, then untied the satin bow on the heart-shaped box. Carefully, she lifted the lid and placed it on the table next to the mug of tea. She stood, moving slowly toward him, the open box clutched in her hands. “I love chocolates. Don’t you?” she asked, her voice low and sultry. He dropped his gaze to her mouth and caught the barest hint of a grin.
“Yeah, chocolate’s nice,” he said, but he was more interested in the slight curving of her lips and the sweet womanly scent that wrapped around him when she stopped in front of him.
Her tongue darted out and wet her bottom lip. “Would you like a…taste?”
“Taste?” All he could think of tasting was her lips.
She plucked a piece of candy from the box and slowly brought it to her mouth, her eyes never leaving his. Like a sorcerer’s spell, her gaze held him, then she bit into the chocolate. She closed her eyes briefly and moaned, a delicate little sound that heated his blood and had his imagination whirring like an overworked power drill.
Jordan could only watch her; he didn’t think he could speak if his life depended on it. Sweet heaven, what was she doing to him?
She plucked another chocolate from the box and held it to his lips. He bit into the confection, and her fingers lingered for the briefest instant, lightly brushing his bottom lip. A surge of heat sped through his body at her feathery touch. Oh man, was he ever in trouble.
She held the remainder of the candy in front of him, just out of reach. “So, how long have you been running Fantasy for Hire?”
If she wanted to play siren, he’d gladly cooperate, and enjoy every enticing second. Leaning forward, he took the chocolate in his mouth, then used his tongue to lightly trace the tip of her finger. The green of her eyes darkened and a wave of male satisfaction reared inside him. “Just a couple of days, actually,” he said around the candy.
“Really?” She plucked another chocolate from the box. “It’s a new business?”
She appeared casual, as if his answer lacked importance, but her eyes told a different story. Mingled amid the heated darkness swirling in the depth of her gaze, he detected a note of curiosity. He didn’t know quite what to make of her interest in his brother’s agency. Was it simply because she’d hired them to perform an unusual request and she was cautious? Or was there some other ulterior motive to her questioning?
Curiosity, he told himself firmly. Yet, he couldn’t help the distrust lurking beneath the surface of his thoughts. After what he’d been through with Lawrence and Brooks, he was bound to be a little cynical. Not everyone had an ulterior motive, and Cait didn’t look like the dishonest type. In fact, she looked fresh, sweet and sexy, even if her legs were hidden beneath baggy fleece.
He set his mug on the low table behind him, took the box of candy from her and set it beside the mug. “It’s been around awhile. I’m just handling things while my brother’s out of town.”
With the caramel-covered chocolate still between her fingers, she moved closer. “Oh. Has your brother been in business long?”
“A few years.”
“Fantasy for Hire must be successful.”
He lifted her hand with the candy and brought it to her lips. “Take a bite.”
Her eyes widened in a startled reaction to his turning the tables on her, but after a brief hesitation she slowly sank her teeth into the caramel. She offered him the remainder, and he took the chocolate into his mouth, circling her finger with his tongue again. She trembled, and his mouth tipped into a smile. Something was happening between them, something that went beyond her hiring him to be her valentine, and he had the distinct impression that whatever it was would have a huge impact on both of them. He hardly knew her, but what little he did know intrigued the hell out of him.
“It pays the bills,” he said, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms and taste her sweet mouth. Instead, he took a step back. “I should be leaving.”
She drew in a deep breath, looking wary and slightly shaken by their seductive play. He hadn’t meant for things to go so far. His intent had been to play a little, turn the tables on her and give her a taste of what she’d been so willing to dish out, but he couldn’t help his feeling of satisfaction at the thought of her being affected by him. If the next few days were anything like the last few moments, it was going to be one exciting week.
She turned away, but not before he caught the delicate blush staining her cheeks. He grinned at the switch from seductress to shy girl next door.
She led the way back through the enormous house to the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, opening the door.
She looked up at him and frowned. “Tomorrow?”
He leaned toward her, his mouth hovering just above hers. The urge to kiss her was strong, and he nearly gave in to the impulse. “Tonight, candy,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, the stars.”
Instead of her lips, he brushed his mouth across her cheek, then stepped into the night air, hoping the breeze blowing in from the Pacific was cool enough to lower his overheated temperature a degree or two.
“HERE.” Cait dropped a small plastic bag filled with chocolates in front of Jen. “Have yourself a party.”
She sat in the chair beside Jen’s desk, leaned back and closed her eyes. The day had only begun, and already she was exhausted. What sleep she managed to get the night before had been restless at best. She blamed Jordan. Jordan and his blatant, audacious promise of the stars.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jen asked over the steady tap of the keyboard.
Cait opened her eyes and looked at her friend. “Chocolate is what’s wrong.”
Jen laughed and turned to face her. “You have an overdose or something?”
Oh, she’d had an overdose all right, an overdose of sexual attraction that had taken her completely by surprise. “You could say that,” she murmured, recalling the heat that had ignited her body and the flash of hunger that had leaped through her like a flame.
She might only be twenty-six years old, but she’d experienced sexual attraction a time or two in her life. There might not be a little black book with evidence of her experience lurking in her past, but she was a far cry from the blushing virgin. Never had anyone made her insides feel so tight and jittery the way Jordan had with one heated look, a whispered word filled with sensual promise, or the chaste brush of his lips against her cheek. She was definitely playing with fire.
“So what’s with the chocolate?” Jen asked, bringing her back to the present.
“It was a gift.” At her friend’s raised eyebrow, she added, “From my valentine.”
“Ooh.” Jen pushed aside the papers cluttering her desk and braced her elbows on it. Leaning forward, her eyes bright with curiosity, she asked, “The fantasy guy?”
Cait propped her elbow on the desk and rested her temple against her fisted hand. “You won’t believe what I did last night,” she said, unable to keep the smile from her lips. As she described it, she could hardly believe what she’d done to him last night. She explained how her valentine had taken control of the situation, the seducee becoming the seducer. It stung to admit she’d been brilliantly trapped by her own brazen plan. Her intent had been to garner information, which she’d managed to obtain, and at least she’d learned the identity of the agency’s owner. Her investigating had stalled at the point that Jordan had managed to completely enrapture her with his special brand of sensuality.
“I told you this was dangerous,” Jen said in her best I-told-you-so voice. “You have to put a stop to this. Demand a refund or something.”
Cait sat up straight and looked at her friend. “I can’t.” And she wouldn’t. The story was there, she was sure of it. She wasn’t about to stop now, not when she’d had a taste of real investigative journalism. And it had absolutely nothing to do with Jordan’s velvet-soft voice and his galactic promise.
The phone on Jen’s desk rang, but she ignored it. “Sure you can,” she said. “Just tell him something came up, an old friend or a relative from out of town. Something. Tell him you’re going to your parents’ party with the make-believe relative and forget about this insanity.”
Cait shook her head. “No way. I found out last night that the agency’s been in business for a while. I need to find out how many other women they’ve seduced out of their money in exchange for sex.”
Jen leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. The look she gave Cait was filled with skepticism. “And just how do you plan on doing this?”
Cait pushed out of the chair and stood. She had an appointment in two hours with a representative from the new animal shelter being funded and operated by the elite San Francisco Kennel Club and she still needed to prepare her questions and talk to the photographer scheduled to accompany her. “The wheels are already in motion. I’m just going along for the ride.”
Jen frowned, but the concern in her eyes warmed Cait’s heart. It was just like Jen to worry.
“You be careful, kiddo.”
Cait slung her bag over her arm. “I will. I promise.”
She turned to leave but Jen stopped her. “What do you plan on doing next?”
Cait let out a long sigh. “Well, he promised me the stars tonight. I guess I’d better pick up my space suit from the cleaners.”

3
HER SPACE SUIT consisted of an electric-blue silk dress more reminiscent of a chemise than outerwear, matching three-inch heels, a delicate gold ankle bracelet and a few strategically placed dabs of her most expensive perfume, a gift from her brother for her last birthday. If Jordan planned to take her to the stars, then Cait had every intention of letting him know she was ready for takeoff.
She applied a light dusting of blush to her cheeks, then finished by thickening her lashes. She blew her hair dry to soften the curls into the more stylish cut fashioned by the wizards at Ardell’s, a far cry from her usual easy-maintenance, wash-and-wear style. She completed her ready-for-sin ensemble by adding thin gold hoops to her lobes.
Examining her appearance critically, she smiled at her reflection, confident her valentine would take one look at her and forget about the dust-covered sweats she’d worn the night before. She looked seductive and sexy, and if Jordan McBride couldn’t read the signs that said, “I’m ready for a night of passion,” then the man was either blind or stupid.
The chimes at the front door signaled his arrival. With one last look, she fluffed her bangs and hurried down the stairs. She smoothed her dress, and tossed her head and shoulders back in an effort to convey a confidence she wasn’t quite feeling. Truth be told, her insides were quaking like the California coastline.
She took a deep breath, then slowly opened the door. Resting her hand on the doorjamb above her head, she struck what she hoped was a seductive pose.
“Good evening,” she practically purred, waiting for him to turn around to face her. When he did, she smiled, slowly running her gaze up and down his body, praying she gave the impression she was undressing him with her eyes.
Her confidence wavered. For a night of passion, the man had certainly dressed casually. Crisp jeans clung to his lean hips and muscular thighs, while a basic black polo shirt heightened the swirling colors in his pale hazel eyes. The leather jacket she’d admired the previous evening completed his appearance of heading out for a 49ers game.
He raked a shock of sable hair out of his eyes, eyes that held more than an appreciative glint. “You look fabulous,” he said in that deep voice that sent a shiver of delight up her spine.
“You look…comfortable.” She pushed the door open wide. “Come in.”
He grinned, just a slight curving of the lips, but as his eyes swept over her again, her confidence grew at the pleasure in his gaze.
“I thought you might like to go for a walk.”
She frowned. “A walk?” She was prepared for him to think she was ready for a night of heavy breathing, and the man wanted to take a walk? In these heels? Was he nuts? She’d have a blister before they reached the end of the sloped driveway.
He nodded, his grin never faltering. In fact, she thought he looked rather…amused. Not exactly the reaction she’d hoped for. She wanted him thinking of increased heart rates due to deep kisses and tangled limbs, not due to an aerobic workout.
He stepped into the foyer. “Along the wharf,” he added, closing the door.
She dropped her hands to her sides. “The wharf? You said something about the stars.”
His grin widened, but at least he didn’t laugh at her. “I meant a moonlit stroll. What’d you think I meant?”
Oh yeah. That was definitely amusement in his gaze. Her body heated from an embarrassment that had nothing to do with him devouring her with his eyes, but from making a fool of herself. He literally meant the stars, as in astronomy, the galaxy, or the Milky Way, not the culmination of an incredible orgasm.
She blew out a breath harsh enough to ruffle her bangs. “Never mind,” she muttered as she headed up the stairs to change into something more appropriate for gazing at stars rather than into each other’s eyes.
TWO HOURS LATER, Jordan was in no hurry to bring their evening to an end, so he suggested they grab a bite to eat at one of the more casual seafood restaurants along Fisherman’s Wharf. The hostess led them to a table overlooking the ocean, rambled off the dinner specials, then left them to study the menus.
He scanned the list of items, but his mind continued to drift to the first woman in a very long time who’d managed to intrigue him to the point of distraction. He was by no means a monk, but right now, he had difficulty recalling his last serious relationship with a woman. He knew he’d become a workaholic the past few years, and because of his professional ambitions, he’d never taken the time necessary to cultivate a lasting relationship. Most of his contact with the opposite sex had stemmed from one of a multitude of professional acquaintances, but none of the women he’d dated were “the one.”
Cait was different. She intrigued him, and he wanted to learn more about her. He found no other plausible explanation for his wanting to extend their evening together.
He glanced in her direction and watched as she surveyed the menu. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she attempted to decide on her meal. Looking up at him, she smiled, then returned her attention to the menu. A slight blush covered her cheeks. She was a contradiction in a variety of ways. Shy, yet temptingly seductive. He didn’t think he’d ever know her completely, but he decided that he’d sure like to try once he completed his contractual obligation for Fantasy for Hire.
Tonight he’d seen nary a glimpse of a bored socialite, and he found himself enjoying the company of a fun, carefree woman who grasped life with both hands and enjoyed every moment to the fullest. She’d laughed at the antics of a street mime who’d chosen her as a target for his comedy routine, tossed raw fish off the wharf to the baby sea lions playing on the rocks below, and told him that although she’d lived in San Francisco her entire life, she’d never visited Alcatraz because she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone being stripped of their freedom. When they strolled past a New Age shop, she’d explained the various crystals and the power she believed they held, then balked at the overpriced gifts in the window display of a collectibles shop. She was intelligent and witty, but it was not the biting sarcastic wit of someone raised among the privileged, with no conscience about the feelings of others.
Cait cared, a quality he found endearing.
She made him laugh. Something not many were able to achieve.
She was sinfully sexy.
And he wanted her.
“Ready to order?” he asked, closing his menu.
She peeked at him over the top of the menu. “I can’t decide between the seafood salad or the giant mushrooms stuffed with shrimp and lobster.”
“Order the salad and I’ll share my mushrooms with you.”
“Deal,” she said, then snapped the menu closed. Her smile filled with mischief. “But don’t expect me to part with my salad.”
He chuckled and signaled for the waiter. “You’re a selfish woman, Cait.”
She reached for her water glass and took a sip. “You’ve discovered my weakness.”
“Selfishness or seafood?”
She set the glass down, then trailed a short, tapered fingernail along the rim of the crystal goblet. He followed the movement with his eyes and imagined her fingers trailing a path over his chest. He reached for his own water and took a deep drink.
“I’d go to the ends of the earth for seafood,” she admitted.
He set his glass aside, braced his arms on the table and leaned toward her. “Is that your only weakness?”
A teasing smile canted her lips and filled her eyes with laughter. “Chocolate,” she whispered, lowering her gaze as if embarrassed by the reminder of last night’s sensual game.
His blood heated at the memory, and at her display of shyness. He was beginning to think her role of seductress was merely an act, but she’d been just as affected last night as he’d been—another aspect of her personality he found fascinating.
The waiter arrived, and Jordan placed their order, adding a bottle of private-label Chardonnay.
“Make it the house brand,” Cait told the waiter, then grinned sheepishly at Jordan. “I’m sorry, I don’t like to waste money on an expensive bottle that we won’t even finish.”
At the waiter’s pointed look, Jordan gave a slight nod of agreement. He watched her as she looked out at the ocean lost in thought, more than a little surprised by her frugality, but he figured this was just one of those odd little eccentricities that made up her intriguing personality.
By the time the waiter returned with their wine and poured them each a glass, Jordan surprised himself with the realization he could easily sit and watch the moonlight streaming through the window with her for hours. Only the fact that he wanted to get to know her better prompted him into conversation. “So what do you do for a living, Cait?”
Cait turned to look at him, the truth almost escaping from her lips. “People with trust funds don’t work,” she managed with a laugh, but the sound held more of a nervous edge than the dismissive tone she’d attempted to achieve. “What about you? Does Fantasy for Hire keep you very busy?”
“I’m an architect.”
“An architect?” She might have pictured him as a high-powered executive, but she was still unprepared for his answer. He was part of an agency that allegedly swindled money out of rich women in exchange for sex. He wasn’t supposed to be a respectable professional.
“You sound surprised. Don’t I look like an architect?” he asked in a low voice that rumbled along her nerve endings.
“It’s not that. It’s just that…I thought you worked exclusively for your brother.”
He laughed. “Fantasy for Hire is Austin’s brainchild. I’m merely the reluctant hired help for about a week.”
Reluctant because he didn’t like how his brother earned his living, perhaps? The thought made her uncomfortable.
The waiter delivered a basket filled with warm sourdough rolls and whipped butter, giving her a moment to regain her composure. She was letting her attraction to Jordan cloud her judgment, and it had to stop. After spending a few hours in his company, she discovered that not only was she attracted to him sexually, she actually liked him and found herself trying to justify his association with the agency. She’d never become the great investigative journalist she dreamed of if she didn’t maintain her focus on the purpose of their association. He was a story. A means to an end. Nothing more. Sexual attraction be damned.
“Do you work for an architectural firm here in the city?” she asked, unwrapping the linen napkin covering the rolls and offering him one.
“Until a couple of months ago, I’d spent eight years with a firm in Los Angeles.”
She sliced her roll and slathered it with butter. “What happened?”
A furrow of irritation crossed his face. “It’s a long, boring story.” He picked up his wineglass and took a sip, then turned his attention to the moonbeams reflecting on the ocean.
“Sounds interesting to me,” she prompted, hoping he’d give her a glimpse into his past. For the sake of her story and not because she was interested in Jordan.
The low-toned conversation of the other patrons surrounded them, along with nondescript instrumental music flowing softly from the speakers. She looked at his hands, at his long, tapered fingers wrapped around the wineglass and imagined him sketching a high-rise, or maybe a child-care center. Her mother had always told her that long fingers were a sign of creativity. In this case, Mom was right again, she thought.
If he was truly an architect, she firmly reminded herself. This could be part of the role he was playing to swindle her out of money he believed she had. She couldn’t afford to be swept away by the fantasy Jordan was creating. A fantasy she’d paid him to create.
He turned his attention back to her just as the waiter delivered their meal. As he’d promised, Jordan shared his order of giant stuffed mushroom caps by setting one on her bread plate.
She smiled her thanks and dug into the delectable seafood. “What happened in L.A.?” she asked.
“I started out at Lawrence and Brooks shortly after college,” he began while adding salt and pepper to his dinner. “I worked during the day, and went to grad school at night. It took me a while to finally finish my education, but I’d been told that once I had my master’s I’d be placed on the fast track.”
She added dressing to her salad, then worked on cutting the larger lettuce into smaller pieces. “Sounds like you had a promising career ahead of you.”
“I thought so,” he said between bites of stuffed mushroom. “Once I finished my education and they promoted me to vice president, the partners talked about a senior vice presidency in my future. After a couple of years and my next promotion, they dangled a partnership carrot in front of me.” He kept his voice well modulated, conveying a lack of emotion his eyes denied.
She paused over her salad. “I take it no partnership was forthcoming.”
He shook his head, and reached for his wine. “No partnership,” he said, the hardness of his eyes creeping into his voice.
“You’re bitter,” she said without thinking.
He set his fork aside and looked at her intently. “I suppose I am. How would you feel? I was lied to, Cait. They used me. The bastards used my talent to design a multi-million-dollar high-rise development, then failed to deliver on their promise. If we won the bid for the development, I was told the partnership was mine. I worked for six months perfecting the presentation, won the bid and made the firm a hell of a lot of money, then the partnership was handed over to the nephew of one of the senior partners.”
“Gee, where would we be without a little nepotism to ruin our plans?” she complained, and shook her head in disgust. “What’d you do?”
“I quit.”
“Quit? After everything you’d accomplished, you just walked away?” No way could she walk away. Ever since she was a kid, she’d wanted to be a reporter. She couldn’t imagine giving up something she’d worked so hard to achieve.
“I don’t like being used.”
Unexpected guilt swamped her. Was she really no better than the partners who’d lied to him? She was using him too for her own ends.
She felt like a slug.
A very low, slimy slug.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure if she was apologizing for what had happened to him, or because of what she was doing to him herself. But what if he was using her? What if this was merely a fabrication to gain her sympathy so she’d hand money over by the fistful?
He let out a long breath. “No. I apologize. It’s still an open wound.”
Was it really? She had no way of knowing what was truth and what was part of the game he was playing with her. The lines were definitely becoming blurred and she needed time to sort out everything she’d learned so far. Discovering if he was truly an architect would be relatively simple, provided she asked the right questions. “So what are you doing now?”

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