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Automatic Proposal
Kelsey Roberts
ARMED AND GORGEOUSKeeping her work with Miami Confi dential secret had never been a problem for skilled agent Julia Garcia. Then Luke Young, the man she left standing at the altar after a sting operation, reappeared in her life, demanding answers. With the kidnapping of her best friend, Julia had to maintain her cover at the Weddings Your Way salon or jeopardize the case. Yet their intense chemistry, combined with Luke's probing questions, had Julia torn between commitment to her job and to her heart. But once Luke became an unknown enemy's target, Julia vowed she'd do whatever it took to keep her former fiancé safe…or die trying.


You are cordially invited to…
Honor thy pledge
to the
Miami Confidential Agency
Do you hereby swear to uphold
the law to the best of your ability…
To maintain the level of integrity of this agency
by your compassion for victims, loyalty to your
brothers and sisters and courage under fire…
To hold all information and identities
in the strictest confidence…
Or die before breaking the code?

Automatic Proposal
Kelsey Roberts


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Bob… Thank you for being my hero
for twenty-five years.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kelsey Roberts has penned more than twenty novels, won numerous awards and nominations, and landed on bestseller lists, including USA TODAY and the Ingrams Top 50 List. She has been featured in the New York Times and the Washington Post, and makes frequent appearances on both radio and television. She is considered an expert on why women read and write crime fiction, as well as an excellent authority on plotting and structuring the novel.
She resides in south Florida with her family.

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Luke Young—Ex-fiancé of Julia Garcia. Owner of a construction firm, he has a difficult past.
Julia Garcia—Former FBI & DEA agent, now works as a seamstress at Weddings Your Way. Close friend of the Botero family—like a sister to Sonya.
Rachel Brennan—Runs Miami Confidential.
Carlos Botero—Multimillionaire who has a stroke while awaiting word on his kidnapped daughter, Sonya.
Sonya Botero—Being held in a jungle by kidnappers.
Juan DeLeon—Laderan politician who is about to marry Sonya, when she’s kidnapped.
Maggie DeLeon—Juan’s ex-wife in a Laderan institution.
Craig Johnson—The limo driver for the Botero family, who is involved in Sonya’s kidnapping.
AJ Taggert—Luke’s foster brother, who is in trouble with drug dealers and knows Luke’s secrets.
Tommy Anderson—Wants to avenge the murder of his father, Frank.
Betty Anderson—Abused wife of Frank and mother of AJ.
Carmen Lopez—Luke’s younger foster sister.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen

Prologue
Las Vegas, 2000
Hard to hide a gun beneath a wedding dress, Julia Garcia mused. She had a smile full of nerves as she strapped the weapon into its holster high up on her thigh, then let the bunched fabric drop to the floor. She smoothed the skirt in place. Could you tell?
Critically, she checked her image in the full-length mirror, turning this way and that. Not bad. Fortunately, the heavy cream-colored peau de soie dropped in a straight A line from the natural waist, covering a multitude of sins. And one Walther PPK.
Keeping her attention on the outline of her legs beneath the stiff silk, she walked a few steps back and forth, making sure that not even a hint of the handgun could be seen when she moved.
She made a pretty decent looking bride, she thought, meeting her own eyes in the mirror. Although this wasn’t even remotely close to how she’d imagined her wedding day, she still felt a lump of nerves clogging her throat. Not fear nerves, she told herself, more like stage fright nerves. Very appropriate, since this was all an act. Or it was supposed to be. Her heart thudded against her ribs just thinking about him. Which wasn’t part of the plan. She wasn’t supposed to have feelings for Luke. Not real ones, anyway. Julia dismissed her errant thoughts, chalking them up to stress, pressure, anything but the notion that love at first sight was real.
Luke seemed like a nice enough guy. And he was hot. Very hot.
They’d known each other for exactly one week, thanks to her assignment. Although “known” was a gross exaggeration. One couldn’t really get to know a person in seven short days. Hell, until she’d seen the application for the marriage license, she hadn’t even known his middle name.
All that was by design. Her assignment was to learn everything she could about Joe Esterhaus. Luke was collateral damage. Esterhaus was using Luke. She was using Luke. The only person who didn’t know either of those truths was Luke Young.
Julia guessed he’d be pretty pissed when he found out. Fortunately, she’d be long gone by then. She checked the time again, feeling a knot of impatience in her stomach.
“Where the hell are you guys?” she whispered. The small anteroom smelled faintly of flowers and stale perfume. Julia imagined how many real brides had stood here looking at themselves in the same full-length mirror. She guessed that they’d been filled with anticipation and a touch of fear, but most of all they’d been happy and excited about their bright new futures. Secure in the love of the men they had chosen.
Which was where her illusion shattered. My future is anything but secure, she thought, pacing for real now. Damn it. Come on, you guys, it’s hot in here, and this damn dress is starting to make me sweat. And while her weapon and harness wouldn’t show, sweat would, which would reveal her nerves. How many of those imagined brides had walked down the aisle dripping like Niagara Falls?
Stepping over to the door, she opened it a tiny crack, peering out into the chapel. Esterhaus was in the first row of chairs. On the groom’s side. He was a dapper guy in his late forties, with thick, prematurely gray hair. His shoes alone cost more than all four years of her college tuition combined. He might look like a successful entrepreneur, but Julia knew better.
She didn’t see Luke. On a personal level, she felt jilted. On a professional level, she was annoyed. This entire con required that the groom show up. “I’m losing it,” she muttered softly as she soundlessly closed the door.
Tension. Nerves coiled in every one of her muscles. Where the hell were the other agents? She was going to need backup. They knew that. They should all be sitting in those pews, dressed as wedding guests. Especially with a guy as slippery as Esterhaus.
He was normally surrounded by a half-dozen heavily armed men. But here, in the quintessentially Vegas wedding chapel, he was unguarded.
Perfect.
Just what they wanted.
Everything was in place. Everything but the groom, and the agents who were supposed to swoop in and arrest the son of a bitch seconds before she said “I do.”
If they didn’t take him now, they’d have no way of linking the drug shipment to him. The DEA needed to put Esterhaus in prison this time. Twice before, they’d been unable to make a case against the narco-trafficker. But this time, thanks to her efforts, they would finally get him off the streets. Until three hours ago, the DEA had no idea how Esterhaus was getting his product into the country. Julia’s assignment had been to get the information so that the government could find a way to shut him down.
Esterhaus was far from stupid. Three undercover agents had tried and failed to get close to him in the past. Julia had found a way to succeed where they hadn’t. That way’s name was Luke Young.
The most solid lead the DEA had was that Esterhaus used his custom home fixture business as a front for his drug trafficking operation. And that he’d been importing cocaine by the ton. But the DEA had rules to follow. Knowing what Esterhaus was doing and proving it were two different things.
So Julia had gotten close to the man by proxy.
Esterhaus had been spending a lot of time cultivating a business relationship with Luke both before and during the home improvement convention that had drawn them all to Vegas this past week.
Esterhaus had created a brilliant system. He hid his drugs in plain sight. According to what Julia had learned, Esterhaus had the drugs pressed, then encased in porcelain bathroom fixtures. All of this was cleverly and expertly done by a series of East Asian manufacturers. Then the components were run through a bunch of offshore shell corporations, making it nearly impossible for the DEA to connect the product directly back to Esterhaus.
Luke Young had unwittingly turned the tables. He had no idea about the drugs, but he was obviously a savvy businessman. His insistence that Esterhaus provide a sample of the custom fixtures before he placed a large order meant the DEA could finally get the proof they needed to put Esterhaus away for a very, very long time.
Agents were at the warehouse now, executing a search warrant. Another team was supposed to be standing by to arrest the drug lord the second they had the evidence in hand. Julia glanced at the clock again, her palms damp with nerves. If the agents didn’t show up soon, she’d have to go through with the ceremony. That was part of the arrest plan. Luke seemed like a nice enough guy, but Julia was a career agent, and she had no desire to marry anytime soon. There were a lot of things she’d do for her country, but she wasn’t sure marrying a stranger she’d known all of a week, just because her backup couldn’t get their act together in time, was one of them.
She whispered an impatient curse, feeling her stomach lurch. Part of her nervousness was normal, and due to the fact that her whole system was on high alert, as it always was before a sting. The other part was a result of trying to decide her next move should the arrest be delayed. Would she get fired if she chose not to say “I do?”
“I get married,” she grumbled. If she didn’t, she’d surely arouse the suspicions of Esterhaus. If that happened, there was no telling how long it might take for the DEA to get another foothold into the drug cartel.
“Get the lead out, guys,” she said under her breath.
But poor Luke. He really seemed like a decent guy. In another time and place, he was the kind of man she’d enjoy getting to know. Once he discovered he was nothing more than a pawn in all of this, he’d probably consign her to the depths of hell.
She drew in a deep breath to calm her pounding pulse. Again she went to the door and opened it, peering out into the small chapel. Esterhaus was still seated in place. Only now, Luke was at the altar.
Seeing him standing there in a dark tux caused her breath to catch in her throat. She hadn’t been jilted after all. He epitomized the cliché of tall, dark and handsome.
Julia was five foot six in her stocking feet, yet Luke towered over her by about ten inches. His shoulders were broad, his muscled body tapering down to a trim waist. He was very tanned, a testament to the fact that he was a hands-on kind of construction boss. Julia couldn’t see his eyes, but she didn’t need to—they were branded on her brain. Deep, rich brown, the color of Cuban coffee; rimmed in dark, inky lashes the same shade as his slightly too long hair.
Julia suffered another pang of guilt. Intellectually, she knew using Luke was the means to a righteous end. Emotionally, and she blamed this on the wedding dress, she didn’t want Luke to get hurt. It wasn’t like they’d professed their undying love for one another, right? This was just a job.
She adjusted the gown, tugging the strapless silk bodice to a more modest position. She smiled wryly. Stupid time for her Catholic school upbringing to rear its ugly head. Maybe it wasn’t her nun-induced sense of propriety. Maybe it was just that she didn’t want her fellow agents bursting through the door and getting an eyeful of her breasts.
If she had an hour and a sewing machine, she could alter the dress. Some people knitted to relax. She sewed, and she was damn good. Maybe an inch of lace across the bodice; she could take it from the hem, no problem.
What was she thinking about sewing for? Where the hell were those agents? She rolled her eyes at the idiotic turn of her thoughts.
She jumped when someone rapped gently on the door.
“We’re ready!” she heard the wedding assistant call.
Julia sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Depending on nothing more than hope that the agents found what they needed fast—like, before she turned into Julia Young—she grabbed up the pale pink roses tied with a satin ribbon, and reached for the door.
“Here Comes the Bride” was piped in through the speakers embedded in the ceiling as Julia began a slow walk down the aisle with her gun strapped to her thigh. She was ready.
She looked nervous. Terrified, actually. Luke shifted his weight from foot to foot and battled the strong urge to yank at the tight collar cinched around his throat.
Even looking as if she was walking into the path of an oncoming train, Julia was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was dark and exotic, inspiring all sorts of fantasies he felt certain were inappropriate in a church. Well, church was a stretch. The Chapel of Love was more like a matrimonial weigh station.
What in the hell am I doing? Luke wondered for the umpteenth time that day.
This wasn’t like him. He didn’t do things on a whim. He was not an impulsive kind of guy. Every decision, no matter how small, was approached with care and deliberation. A lesson well-learned by the age of seventeen.
But life’s lessons and pretty much every other rational thought zinged right out of his brain within seconds of laying eyes on his approaching bride.
She was close enough now for him to catch the scent of her perfume. Something unexpectedly floral. Sunlight glinted off the sheen of her dress. Well, it wasn’t a dress so much as it was a whisper of fabric outlining her shapely top half and hiding the just as shapely lower half in a mile of cream-colored material.
That was just one of the things he admired about his future wife. She had a woman’s body. Full and sexy as hell. Just seeing a hint of her deep cleavage sent his mind back into the gutter. He wasn’t alone, either. Luke noticed that his about-to-be new supplier had his eyes glued on Julia.
Luke suffered a surprising surge of jealousy. I’ve known this woman a week and I’m feeling proprietorial? his brain challenged. Either he was crazy in love or just plain crazy. His eyes met Julia’s as she approached and his heart skipped a beat, as it always did when he saw her.
She didn’t look nervous or unsure now. She looked like a serene and beautiful bride approaching the man she intended to spend the rest of her life with. Their love would grow, Luke was sure.
Keeping his eyes on her, he prodded his emotions. Was he sure about this? It was a hell of a commitment based on very little.
He needed to make up his mind now.
He considered turning on his heel and running, but then he looked into those incredible eyes of hers. They were a pale gray, the same shade as a storm cloud just beginning to gather strength.
The deep, rich caramel tinge to her skin set off the lightness of her eyes. She’d left her long, curly black hair loose, allowing it to fall freely over her bared shoulders.
Luke could imagine himself brushing aside the silken strands and kissing his way along her collarbone to the pulse point at her throat, then higher still until he was treated to the taste of her full, glossed lips.
He practically groaned aloud from the effect of his vivid mental image.
Julia took her place beside Luke, struggling to keep her smile in place. Where the hell was the arrest squad?
The music stopped and the Internet-ordained minister smiled up at her. “Let us begin.”
Julia swallowed and nodded, wondering if some strange quirk of fate was going to bind her to a stranger. Her hands were shaking as they gripped the bouquet.
Fixing her eyes on the knot of Luke’s tie, she struggled to keep from glancing over her shoulder to check on the focus of the sting.
“Do you, Luke, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
Impressive. Luke hadn’t hesitated at all. Julia wasn’t sure she could still speak English as her turn approached.
“Julia, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I—” The door at the back of the chapel burst open, letting in a stream of sunlight and a dozen windbreaker-clad agents. Relief and regret vied as Julia turned to the door, then back to face Luke. “Apparently,” she said apologetically, “I don’t.”

Chapter One
Miami, 2006
“You’re too close to this one, Julia.”
Rachel Brennan didn’t even bother to look up as she sat behind the large glass-and-chrome desk. Because she was the head of Miami Confidential, her word should have been final.
Julia didn’t see it that way. She was so angry and worried and frustrated she wasn’t seeing much of anything. But she knew her only hope of changing Rachel’s mind lay in convincing her boss that she was capable of working the Botero case without letting her personal feelings interfere. They’d been through this more than once since the kidnapping of Sonya Botero a couple of weeks ago. Rachel kept insisting Julia help out, but from behind the scenes. Julia wanted a more active role and refused to settle for anything less.
The three chunky, brightly colored, acrylic bracelets on Julia’s right wrist clanked loudly as she braced her fingertips against the edge of the desk.
Rachel grudgingly lifted her clear blue eyes. “Was there a particular letter in the word no you didn’t understand?”
Julia didn’t so much as blink at the caution in the other woman’s tone. “I’m not a liability, I’m an asset. I’ve known the Botero family since I was a kid. C’mon, Rachel, I lived with Sonya my last year of high school. Mr. Botero trusts me. I’m like a daughter to him.”
“Which is why you need to take a seat. Look…” Rachel paused to put her pen down next to a neat stack of folders. “Getting Sonya Botero back from her kidnappers is our top priority. I won’t have the job compromised because you’ve got a personal connection to the victim and her family.”
“How will I compromise the assignment?” Julia argued. “If anything, my affection for the Boteros only makes me more determined to find Sonya and bring her home safely.”
Rachel leaned back in the deep red, glove-leather executive chair, stroking the tip of one perfectly manicured fingernail across her chin. The woman looked more like a pageant contestant than the head of a group of highly trained Confidential agents. Her ebony hair was piled loosely on top of her head, secured with a lapis clip that matched the color of her eyes. In spite of the legendary south Florida heat and humidity, Rachel’s makeup was fashion-model perfect. But looks were deceiving. Julia knew that Rachel was a legend in the business.
“You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever worked with, Julia,” Rachel said. “You’ve got a great future ahead of you. I don’t want to see that derailed because you let your personal feelings prevent you from—”
“They won’t,” Julia interrupted. “Have I ever been anything but completely professional?”
“No,” her boss answered with complete candor.
“Then trust me, Rachel. Trust that I’m a team player who is capable of keeping my focus.”
“You’re a frustrated team player,” Rachel replied pointedly.
Julia refused to let her shoulders slump. So we’re going to beat this dead horse again. “I came to Miami Confidential because I wanted more responsibility and more autonomy than I had with the DEA.”
“Which you will get,” Rachel repeated.
Julia bit back the urge to ask how many more gowns she’d have to sew or tuxedos she’d have to alter before that became a reality. She wanted to be a full-time agent, not a seamstress. “And I appreciate your faith in me. I’m just asking you to extend that faith to include me in the Botero case. I swear you won’t be disappointed, Rachel. Have I ever let you down? Let the team down? Even once? I’m practically a member of the Botero family. You don’t have anyone else as close to them. I’m an asset,” she repeated, to make her point.
Reluctantly, Rachel shook her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Julia.”
Julia held both her breath and her tongue; it sounded as if her boss was waffling.
“But against my better judgment I’m finally going to say yes, because you’re right about being an asset. You’re not going to be the primary,” she told her flatly. “But your connection to the Botero family might be useful. Just don’t let any personal feelings for the victim blind you to what has to be done. I expect you to do your job, and remain professional and focused at all times.”
“I will.” Julia’s heart rate increased. “Thank you,” she said, exhaling the breath she’d been holding as she began backing out of the well-camouflaged offices. “You won’t regret this.”
Rachel tossed out a stern look. “See that I don’t.”
Nodding, Julia felt behind the bookcase and found the keypad that opened the secret door. Half afraid that Rachel would change her mind, she decided a hasty exit was the best option.
Using the back stairway, she entered the public area of Weddings Your Way. The scent of coffee mingled with the fragrance of freshly cut flowers as she moved across the polished tile floor toward her office.
No one would ever have guessed that the upscale Miami business was actually a front for one of the most specialized agencies in the country. Confidential agents worked out of branch offices all over the United States. Because of her sewing skills, Julia had been assigned to Weddings Your Way.
The obvious benefit was the location. Miami was her home, and after four years of moving all over the place at the whim of the DEA, she was all too ready to return to the warm, tropical, familiar surroundings of her childhood.
Julia’s office was a large space that occupied the northwest corner of the second story of the converted Spanish-style home on the shore of Biscayne Bay. A wide partition separated her desk from the actual sewing area.
Sidestepping two bolts of fabric leaning against the wall, she slipped behind her cluttered desk, sat down and began flipping through her Rolodex.
Though she and Sonya had been as close as sisters, Julia’s work as an undercover agent had created a distance between them. She felt a pang of guilt now, regretting every opportunity lost to fix the breach in their relationship, as she hunted for Sonya’s exact address and the code that would get her past the building’s security and into Sonya’s condo.
Regret was tempered by the resurgence of anger as she remembered the way Sonya had been snatched, right out front of Weddings Your Way. The Botero family was very, very rich. Uncle Carlos had his fingers in all sorts of pies, so the possibilities of who was behind the kidnapping of his only daughter were pretty much endless. Added to that, Sonya’s fiancé, Juan DeLeon, was a prominent and controversial politician in Ladera. Politics and kidnapping—particularly in struggling, corrupt South American countries—went hand in hand.
A preliminary investigation on the Laderan angle was already being investigated by Isabelle and Rafe, two other Confidential agents. So Julia decided she should focus, at least for now, on the home front.
Scribbling down the address, she glanced over and saw the message light blinking. She thought about ignoring it, but knew better. No one was more persistent and demanding than a frazzled bride, and the last thing she needed was to compromise the Weddings Your Way front by allowing a bride to suffer a psychotic break.
The first two messages were from suppliers; the beads she’d ordered were finally on their way via overnight express, and the company in Ireland would ship the lace she’d been waiting on by the end of the week.
The last call was from Carmen Lopez, whose wedding was the following week. Julia smiled when she heard her say, “I hate to be a bother, but…” Carmen was a sweet woman who apologized with every other breath.
“My brother will be in your area this afternoon. I told him it would be okay if he stopped in for his fitting around three. If that’s a problem, you can call his cell phone.” Julia jotted the telephone number on her calendar. “Thank you and I’m sorry to do this on such short notice.”
Maybe something had been overlooked at Sonya’s place. Checking her watch, Julia decided she had just enough time to go over to the condo, do a second search and be back to meet Carmen’s brother for his fitting.
Grabbing up her bulky leather satchel, she dashed out of the building. In no time, she was behind the wheel of her Jeep, the wind blowing through her hair as she crossed the Rickenbacker Causeway and headed toward the oceanfront high-rise Uncle Carlos had given Sonya as a graduation present.
Carlos Botero was a generous man when it came to his daughter. Those qualities had extended to Julia, as well. Thanks to him, when her own father died, the Botero family had given her a home, paid her tuition at St. Francis de Salles High and then sent her to University of Miami. Had it not been for the kindness of Uncle Carlos, Julia was fairly sure she’d be working in a factory for minimum wage, sewing decorations on straw bags for the throngs of tourists roaming the streets of Little Havana.
Images of Sonya’s kidnapping flashed in her brain as she navigated the perfectly groomed street that ran parallel to the Atlantic Ocean. The air was heavy, building toward the inevitable midafternoon thunderstorm. The scent of freshly mowed grass filled her nostrils as she made a left into the secured entrance of the condominium. She would find Sonya, and somehow pay back a little of that kindness.
Pulling the scrap of paper from her purse, she pressed the four-digit code and listened as the metal gates creaked open in a wide, sweeping arc. Julia pulled into the first-floor garage and shoved her sunglasses up on her head, allowing her eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior.
Sonya’s cherry-red Porsche was parked in the spot where her unit number was stenciled on the wall. Julia pulled into one of the guest spots and cut the engine.
The heat was oppressive in spite of large fans mounted near the elevators. The garage smelled dank, and occasional patches of beach sand crunched beneath her shoes as she walked to the entrance.
Stepping into the elevator was like stepping into the past, and it had nothing to do with Sonya. It was the smell. The faint scent of men’s cologne that brought a vivid and immediate image to mind.
Luke Young. The scent was woods and citrus, and a single whiff was all it took for Julia to flash back to when she’d last been in his embrace. Shivering, she rubbed her bared arms. She liked to think that the only reason Luke continued to haunt her after all this time was because of the way things had ended six years ago. Or rather, not ended.
After the arrest of Esterhaus in the middle of what should have been their wedding, she’d been a total wimp. And a rude one at that. She’d never returned any of his calls. It wasn’t as if she could tell him the truth. The DEA had strictly forbidden her from revealing her role in the sting. Not even to Luke. As far as he knew, she’d just vanished. A jittery almost-bride who had come to her senses. Why did she still care what he might think of her?
A ding sounded, jarring her back to reality as the elevator doors slid open, revealing a beautifully decorated hallway. Sonya’s condo, if she remembered correctly, was at the far end of the corridor. She pulled a small zippered pouch from her purse as she approached. By the time she was at the door, she had two small jimmies at the ready.
It took just under seven seconds for Julia to pick the dead bolt, and about half that time for her to dispatch the bottom lock and turn the knob. Ironically, her ability to pick locks was a skill learned not during her years with the DEA or even as part of the rigorous training for Confidential. Rather, she’d mastered this particular ability as a young child. Much to the chagrin of her father.
Julia was only three years old when her family had climbed into makeshift rafts in the dead of night to escape from Cuba to the United States. Like many refugees, freedom had come at a high price. Her mother and older brother had drowned during the crossing, leaving Julia and her dad to build new lives in America alone. As a single father, Ricardo had taken Julia with him to work when she wasn’t in school. While he was busy landscaping the lovely lawns of the Miami mansions, Julia developed a fascination for the large homes. By the age of ten she didn’t let something like a locked door prevent her from satisfying her curiosity. She never took anything, she just looked, amazed at how other people lived.
“I was damn lucky I wasn’t arrested for trespassing,” she mused softly.
Once inside Sonya’s condo, she was still smiling at the childhood memory, and her smile broadened at the familiarity of the room she hadn’t visited often enough over the years. Sonya’s home was an extension of her personality. It was bright and cheery and full of color. It also smelled of metallic fingerprint dust left by the crime scene unit going over the place. The maid had been through as well. A good thing since Sonya would have freaked if she ever saw what a search team could do to the place.
“Where to start?” Julia muttered as she dropped her bag onto an upholstered, modern purple chair that looked more like a sculpture than a piece of furniture. Though Sonya had been gone a couple of weeks, the smell of sunscreen lingered in the room. Sonya was a stickler for protecting herself from the harsh UV rays.
Julia could easily imagine her friend on that last morning, rushing around as she prepared to go to Weddings Your Way to finalize some of the details for her wedding to Juan.
Julia frowned as she gazed around the room. “Your fanatical neatness isn’t helping me, Sonya.”
There wasn’t so much as cushion out of place as she walked from the living room through the dining room, then into the kitchen.
The long, narrow room was equipped with top-of-the-line appliances in polished stainless steel. The cabinets were all glass-fronted, with the frames glazed white. The starkness was a perfect backdrop for Sonya’s colorful accessories. Julia was drawn to one item in particular, a ceramic soap dish perched at the edge of the sink. It was an amateurish creation, uneven and decorated with badly painted stripes, now used to cradle a sponge.
Lifting it, Julia ran her finger along the chipped edge before securing the sponge and flipping the whole thing over. There, etched into the back of the now-hardened clay, was “las amigas mejor”—best friends. Julia had ruined her nail file scratching the inscription before the dish was fired in the kiln as part of the required tenth grade art class. Sister Mary Intolerance had snagged the nail file and classified it as a dangerous weapon, and Julia had ended up in detention for a week. The punishment had been worth the crime.
“Why would you keep this?” Julia mused, wondering what the good sister would think of the gun in her purse or the backup weapon in the glove box of her car. Made the nail file seem pretty darn tame.
Putting the sponge holder back in its place, she began opening drawers and cabinets. Not much of interest. At the far end of the polished stone counter-top, she noticed a light blinking on the telephone’s base unit.
Lifting the receiver, she heard a series of rapid beeps, indicating waiting voice mail. She made a mental note to have someone make arrangements with the phone company to dump the messages when she got back to her office.
Finding nothing to inspire any immediate concern, she worked her way back to the master bedroom. Pushing through the double doors, she found herself embraced by a sea of turquoise, accented by splashes of deep coral. Sonya’s two favorite colors.
The room was dominated by a huge bed draped in silk. Matching tables bracketed the headboard, both sporting framed photographs of Sonya and Juan.
Julia rubbed her forehead, feeling her insides knot. Please let her be okay. Please.
Nothing in the massive closet had been disturbed. Likewise, the dressers were neat and organized. A small bookcase in the space that separated the bedroom from the spa-caliber bath gave her pause.
Julia found a tattered copy of The Secret Garden. Tipping it free from the shelf, she opened the book and grinned. “Thank you, Sonya. Remind me never to mock your predictability again.” As always, the pages were hollowed out, creating a small, snug home for Sonya’s diary.
Prying the smaller book free, Julia watched as a small scrap of paper fluttered soundlessly to the floor. The handwriting was familiar, as were some of the numbers on the paper. She just couldn’t place them.
A combination, maybe? There was bound to be a safe in the condo, behind one of the avant-garde paintings, or perhaps hidden in the floor.
Julia began checking the obvious places. Her hip bumped the nightstand when she searched behind the silk drape, knocking the telephone over. The cordless handset skittered across the floor.
Grabbing up the phone, Julia was suddenly inspired as she remembered where she’d seen the numbers before. Craig Johnson, Sonya’s chauffeur, had been hurt during the commission of the kidnapping. In his wallet, they’d found a business card with nine numbers on the back. To date, the MC team had been unable to make neither heads nor tails of them.
Retrieving the slip of paper, she read the numbers again. The last nine were identical to the ones they’d found on the chauffeur. A theory crystallized in her brain. She’d been thinking the numbers were related to a bank account, but what if Craig had jotted down a phone number? Or at least part of one? “Add an international code,” she said aloud. “Country, city… maybe?”
Testing her hypothesis, she pressed buttons, listening to a staticky series of clicks before a man answered. His voice was gravelly as he greeted her in Spanish.
Mentally, she translated the conversation. “Yes, sir. I’m calling from the United States. To whom am I speaking?”
“Ramon,” he said. The single word came out stern and guarded.
The name didn’t ring any bells. Julia asked, “How is the weather in Ladera today, Ramon?”
“Weather? Fine. Why? Who is this? What do you want?”
She had to think fast. “This is Julia and I’m with the Laderan-American Friendship League.” She rolled her eyes at her own lame explanation. “I got your number from the Boteros. They suggested—”
“I don’t know any Sonya Botero.”
“Really?” Then how did you know which Botero I was referencing, moron? “Because they said you might have some ideas about charities in your village that could benefit from our fund-raising efforts. We’ve collected close to ten thousand dollars and I—”
“I am a simple farmer. I have no charities.” The line went dead.
She considered calling back, but figured that would be a futile effort. No, she’d wait until she got back to the office and have Ethan Whitehawk, another Miami Confidential agent, check into it. He was already scheduled to go to Ladera, so it would be no problem for him to scope out whoever this Ramon was.
She hesitated before replacing the phone on its cradle. There was something weird about the phone call. Weirder than just Ramon-the-farmer supposedly pulling Sonya’s first name out of thin air. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Ramon was a tabloid reader and he’d heard of Sonya because she was a rich American about to marry a Laderan politician. But that didn’t explain the odd clicks on the line.
Julia made another mental note. Check the line for a trap. Maybe someone had put a tap or a listening device on it.
Glancing at her watch, she knew she had to leave or she’d be late for the three o’clock fitting. Raking her fingers through her hair, she silently cursed the annoyance of having to juggle two personas. She’d gone through everything in the condo with a fine-tooth comb, but she’d like to stay longer and do it again. And again. Until she found some small crumb of a lead. Unfortunately, she had to get back to the bridal boutique now.
The sky had turned threatening by the time she drove away from the condo, this time with the rag top up. In the distance, jagged spikes of lightning flashed down into the churning ocean. Soon the storm would blow ashore. She floored the gas pedal, hoping to make it back to Weddings Your Way before the downpour.
She was a few blocks south, on A1A, when the first large drops began to splat on the windshield. The wind picked up as she pulled into the driveway. The fresh scent of rain-washed air was lost on Julia as soon as she saw the big SUV blocking her way into the garage. What inconsiderate jerk did that?
Using her bag as an umbrella, she dashed from the Jeep just as the raindrops turned into a solid wall of water. Taking the front steps two at a time, she reached the covered porch ten seconds too late. Her purse was a lump of soggy leather. The dye from her sandals was already turning her feet an interesting shade of fuchsia. With the exception of a small part of her scalp at the crown of her head, she was drenched.
Droplets of water blurred her vision as she shoved hair off her forehead, then flapped the hem of her gauzy skirt like a dog shaking water from its fur.
A loud clap of thunder vibrated through her whole body. Reaching for the knob, Julia glanced down to assess the damage. The layered pink-and-white tank tops she’d selected that morning were soaked and clinging. Her skirt was practically transparent. It was bad. But not nearly as bad as looking up and seeing those chocolate-colored eyes narrowed in her direction.
Julia’s feet felt as if they’d been staple-gunned in place. That was nothing compared to her clenched stomach. The sudden stab of pain was just as real and palpable as if she’d been sucker punched.
He smiled then. A tight, distant expression. “Well, Julia. We meet again.”
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
“I’m here for a fitting.”
She winced. “You’re the brother?” Then her mind replayed a fast-forward version of their conversations from six years earlier. “Wait. You can’t be the brother. You told me you were an only child.”
“And you told me you’d marry me.”

Chapter Two
Even drenched, Julia Garcia had the ability to still the breath in Luke’s chest. Why did I mention the wedding?
She was even more stunning than he remembered. Damp, dark curls framed the perfect oval of her face. As always, he was transfixed by her eyes—big, expressive and a pale, sultry shade of gray that were as hypnotic as a swirl of smoke.
She must hate him. Big time. Given what had happened on their aborted wedding day six years ago, it was no wonder she’d never returned his calls and was now staring at him as though he were something the cat had coughed up. He was the one who’d gotten her involved—granted, unintentionally—with a major drug dealer.
Summoning all of his courage, Luke willed his taut muscles to relax. No sense in making this any harder than it already was. He glanced around, realizing that all eyes were trained in their direction. Great. He’d been in her presence less than a minute and already he’d managed to screw it up.
Again.
“Let me give this another shot. Hi, Julia, good to see you again.”
She peered up at him warily. “Y-you, too.”
“I’m here to be fitted for a tux for Carmen’s wedding.”
He watched as Julia grabbed a towel off a hook hidden discreetly behind a curtain, and began drying her arms and legs. He swallowed, trying not to groan as he watched the hem of her skirt rise, revealing a good amount of toned, shapely thigh. He began lifting his gaze, which didn’t help. She was wearing those clinging T-shirts, the kind with the thin straps. Because the fabric was cotton and wet, very little was left to his imagination. And Luke had an excellent imagination. He’d been thinking about Julia, and what her top was exposing, for half a dozen years. His pump was already primed. He could easily make out the outline of her tiny waist as well as the full swell of her breasts.
This was not going well. Carmen was right, much to his chagrin. The Weddings Your Way seamstress was Julia Garcia. His Julia. His plan had been to waltz into the shop as the poster child for the fully evolved guy. He’d break the ice by making a joke, then apologize for the whole Vegas thing. Let her take his measurements and be on his way. No harm, no foul. That had been the plan. Too bad it wasn’t working real well. Still, he’d felt like a jackass for allowing himself to get involved with Esterhaus, a guy he hadn’t fully trusted. He’d let a lucrative business deal override his hard-won common sense.
Now Julia watched him with the carefully blank expression one gave a stranger. An unwelcome stranger at that. She smacked her sodden purse into his midsection. “Hold this while I dry off the worst of it.”
Luke obediently held her purse, wishing he was the towel she was stroking across her damp, tawny skin. Once she was no longer dripping, Julia slipped off her shoes, grabbed her purse and padded barefoot toward an elaborate marble staircase anchoring the center of the first floor. “My workroom is upstairs. Come on.”
Here, boy. She was treating him like the dog he was, he thought as he followed her. Nodding to the rest of the staff was considerably better than turning his attention to Julia’s butt as she climbed the stairs ahead of him.
Apparently fully evolved wasn’t working at all.
Nope, by the time Julia had reached the third step, he was pretty much a walking heap of needy testosterone. Not much had changed in the six years since he’d gotten them both tangled in the drug-trafficking Esterhaus mess.
He tried not to notice the gentle sway of her hips. Tried to ignore the faint scent of her tuberose perfume lingering in the air between them. Tried, but failed.
Miserably.
“Nice place,” he commented. Croaked, actually, making him really glad that her back was to him. As glad as he could be given that his eyes were now fixed on the tiny tattoo just above her left shoulder blade. He’d lived in Miami long enough to recognize the Cuban flag on sight.
“It is,” she agreed as she neared the top of the stairs. “My office is back this way.”
Luke realized the second floor was neatly sectioned into all things wedding. Thanks to Carmen, he was becoming an expert on the subject. She wasn’t just getting married, she was having an event. He was happy for her and all, but man, it took about the same amount of planning as a shuttle launch. He couldn’t believe he and Julia had pulled off their almost wedding in less than a week, drug dealers not withstanding. Their wedding would have been efficient, expedient and just as binding as the one his crazy sister was planning. Hell of a lot cheaper, too.
Passing through the area devoted to invitations and calligraphy, they reached an etched glass door with the word private stenciled in gold.
Leaving the door ajar, Julia rounded a cluttered desk and sat down to face him—moving rather stiffly, Luke decided. He took one of the two chairs opposite hers, gripping the armrests as he leaned back against the cushion.
Almost every inch of wall space was utilized by fabric samples, bits of ribbon and lace and various drawings. Most were affixed with push pins. Beneath the tacked items, he spied some photographs. “Your work?” he asked, pointing to a glossy magazine cover in a Lucite frame.
She nodded. “Yes.” Her chair swiveled as she opened one drawer of the credenza behind her desk to retrieve a thick file folder. “Carmen Lopez and Dalton Mitchell, right?”
“Dalton Mitchell the third,” Luke remarked wryly. “I’m told the numeral is a big deal in the Mitchell family.”
He watched as her features softened. Not so much so that he could consider it a smile, but she no longer looked as if her face was set in concrete.
Her head tilted to one side, causing a curly tendril to fall free from the thick mass of damp hair she’d twisted into a knot at the nape of her long, tapered neck. Luke battled the urge to reach across the desk to tuck it behind her ear. Better for both of them if he stuck to business. He shifted in his seat.
“Carmen said something about a wool tux?” He grimaced. “She was kidding, right? That sure will be comfortable on a hot June day.”
Pulling a catalog page from inside the folder, Julia slipped it across the desk, then grabbed a pencil from a holder and used the eraser end as a pointer. “It’s luxe wool, very lightweight and breathable. I think you’ll be pleased.”
He met her eyes and smiled sincerely. “The key is for Carmen to be pleased. She started planning this day in elementary school.”
His heart skipped a few times when Julia rewarded him with a grudging smile. God, but she was beautiful. Perfect white teeth set against smooth, bronzed skin. And that mouth. Full, pouty lips sheened with a slick gloss that made him want to vault over the desk and kiss her senseless.
One of her perfectly arched brows rose questioningly. “Why did you keep your sister a secret?”
He shrugged and sat back, letting out a long breath as he redirected his thoughts. “Technically, I didn’t. Carmen and I aren’t blood relations. We spent several years together in the same foster home.”
“She adores you.” Julia stiffened slightly. “I never would have guessed that you were the wonderful brother she raves about all the time. Not in a million years.”
Luke frowned. He’d been hoping for some understanding. “I’m not a schmuck, Julia. That whole Vegas thing was—”
She held up one hand. The bracelets on her wrist clanked loudly in the sudden silence. “Let’s not go there.”
“I’d like to explain.”
“No need,” she assured him, opening a drawer and pulling out a bright yellow, cloth tape measure that she draped around her shoulders. “It was a long time ago, Luke. Let’s just be glad we didn’t go through with what would have been a monumental mistake.”
It rankled to hear the undiluted certainty in her tone. Not that he didn’t agree, he just didn’t like hearing it. “I didn’t know Esterhaus was a drug dealer.” Annoyed, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Something I would have explained at length if you hadn’t disappeared.”
She blew out a quick, irritated puff of air. “The DEA agents told me all that. Really, Luke, let’s not rehash our brief past. So…” She paused and stood up. “If you’ll step into the next room, I’ll take your measurements and you can be on your way.”
He rose and the chair legs scraped loudly against the tiled floor in the process. “I’m trying to apologize, Julia.”
“No need,” she repeated, though there was still a hint of frost in her voice. “Really.”
The instant Luke Young touched her arm, Julia felt a zing directly into the center of her being. Six years had done nothing to stifle her primal and instinctual attraction to this man. And what that was all about, she had no clue.
“Hang on.” Luke gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Hear me out. I really am trying to clear the air.”
The air I can’t breathe when you’re standing so close? she wondered. Slowly, Julia lifted her eyes, looking directly into his. The sincerity she read in his steady gaze whittled away all pretext. Relenting, she offered him a smile. “You’re right. There’s no reason we can’t be…civil.”
Cocking his head to one side, Luke studied her, his dark eyes never wavering. “Civil, eh?” he repeated, openly amused. “In this kind of explosive situation? That could mean anything.”
She attempted to shrug out of his grasp. It didn’t work. “It means,” she said mendaciously, “you should let go.”
His smile broadened as he began to stroke slow, tantalizing circles against her suddenly flushed skin. How was it possible that this man could make her want to melt into a puddle of need with just the pad of his thumb? Julia’s blood sang in her veins at his barely there touch. Warmth radiated from her arm, sending a surge of heat the full length of her spine. He’d always affected her like this, only six years ago she hadn’t appreciated how rare that heat was. In fact, she’d never been so instantly turned on since.
Swallowing audibly, she fidgeted in his light grasp, torn between the intelligent choice of jumping out of reach and the very real desire to press herself against him. She was conflicted.
How did he do this? How could Luke walk back into her life and in under five minutes have her respiration up and her knees threatening to buckle? Every one of her nerve endings pulsated as she stood rigidly, feeling his warm breath wash over her upturned face. Lifting her hand, she placed her palm tentatively against his forearm, and felt singed by the electric current passing between them.
His mouth pulled into a lopsided, cocky half smile that was surprisingly heart-wrenching and familiar. Looking into his eyes, she knew immediately that he recognized her attraction and a lot of good old-fashioned lust. The spark was still there. But how could it be?
Nonsense, she told herself very firmly. She was reading more into this chance meeting than actually existed. She wanted to believe that her overly emotional reaction was due to her concern over Sonya’s kidnapping.
But she didn’t believe that at all. She knew the powerful sensations assailing her from every angle were due to…Luke. Tall, gorgeous Luke.
“Still want me to let go?” he asked softly.
So softly that her addled brain nearly didn’t register the deep, soothing timbre of his voice. She was, however, keenly aware of the precise nanosecond that his fingers slipped away.
“If you’ll follow me this way…” she said curtly, almost stumbling toward the deep aqua, Lily Pulitzer fabric curtain separating her office from her workroom.
She wanted her composure, but just then, she’d have settled for her shoes. Especially when she stubbed her toe on the corner of the stepladder she kept next to the carpeted platform adjacent to the changing room. The metal clanged loudly, echoing off the mirrored walls.
“You seem nervous,” Luke remarked.
He was right behind her, so close that she could feel the breezy tickle of his breath against the nape of her neck. She stepped out of range, but it was impossible to not look at him. He was reflected in all the mirrors.
“You don’t need to be.”
She took a deep, hopefully calming breath and tried to find her center. A pretty daunting task when she turned and found herself standing in the shadow of six feet four inches of absolute male perfection. Luke had a kind of casual masculinity that drew her like a tractor beam. When he looked at her with those sensual brown eyes, she was half tempted to tear her clothes off right then and there and toss him down onto the floor.
“Where do you want me?” he asked.
Suppressing the obvious retort, Julia pointed in the direction of the platform. “Step up there. This won’t take but a minute.”
“Take all the time you need.”
Kneeling down, Julia pulled the tape measure off her shoulders and realized that her hands were shaking. “I forgot the order form,” she lied, spinning and fairly racing back to her office.
After brushing past the curtain, she squished the tape measure in one hand while banging the heel of her other hand against her forehead. Stop. Stop. Stop! He’s just a man. Get a grip on yourself. Julia stopped pounding her head, realizing that a) it hurt and b) it didn’t change the fact that she had a job to do. She rolled her eyes as she let out a frustrated sigh. Why did Luke have to walk into her life at the most inopportune times? Why couldn’t they have run into each other in a grocery store? Or at a park, or the beach? Something normal. At a time when she wouldn’t have to push him away. She couldn’t keep Luke now for the same reasons she couldn’t keep him then. She had to put the job first. Would there ever be a right time for them?
“Not likely,” she grumbled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been at the beach, and since there was nothing but a jar of mustard dying of loneliness in her refrigerator, the whole grocery store thing wasn’t looking very good, either.
“Okay,” she whispered, needing a personal pep talk. “I can make this calm, professional and quick.” Stretching the tape measure taut between her hands, she plastered a smile on her face and went back to her workroom.
Luke noticed the precision with which each bolt of fabric was stacked against the next. He hadn’t known that Julia could sew. Or that she’d be so good at giving other people the happy-ever-after wedding she hadn’t gotten. Fact was, he knew less about Julia than he did about those fancy fabrics. All he knew about fabric was that it could be cotton or dirty, so the fancy stuff was pretty much lost on him.
Julia’s return was not. His heart thumped in his chest when he turned and caught sight of the smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He might not know her favorite color, but he knew she felt the same pull he did. Now what could he do about it so that she didn’t run again? Cocking his head in the direction of the bolts, he said, “I never knew there were so many variations on white.”
“Brides like choices,” she stated, giving him a tellingly wide berth as he stepped back up on the carpeted platform.
“Brides like checkbooks,” he countered. “I could feed a small third-world country on what this wedding is gonna cost.”
She peeked up at him through her lashes as she knelt beside him and fixed the tape measure to an imaginary spot on the floor next to the heel of his boot. “Feed a lot of third-world countries, do you? Stand naturally.”
She rose, bringing the tape up to his shoulders and the smell of her perfume close enough to make him dizzy. In the process, her hair brushed against his forearm. It was a whisper of silky softness that very nearly made him groan. The black tendrils were still damp from the rain. He could smell the remnants of a citrusy shampoo. Luke instantly imagined her standing under the strong spray of his shower, naked and—
“Legs apart, please.”
He looked up at the ceiling so that his body focused on something other than his sexual fantasies. He practically gnawed through his lower lip as Julia tortured him by running her deft fingers along his inseam. Luke stood stick straight while she measured every inch of his body. Hopefully, she hadn’t noticed that he’d been holding his breath.
“You’re all done,” she announced, reaching for the small acrylic clipboard hanging on the wall. “We can schedule an appointment with Vicki on your way out.”
Luke felt…dismissed. “For what?”
“In about a week, I need you to come by and try on the tux. We can make any last minute adjustments before the wedding next Saturday.”
“It’s a suit,” Luke countered. “Besides, it’s Carmen’s day, right? No one will care what I’m wearing.”
“Carmen will care. The photographer will care. I’ll care.”
“Really?” he asked, stroking his chin. “Why?”
“Reputation,” she answered, tucking the nub of a pencil behind her ear. “Weddings Your Way prides itself on one hundred percent customer satisfaction.”
He found himself hurrying down off the platform to follow her back to her office. Julia had that effect on him. Ever since that first night, Luke had felt as if he was running in a circle, trying to catch up.
Unsuccessfully.
Maybe a different tactic. Instead of going to the door, he sat back down in the chair opposite her desk.
Her brows rose. “Is there something else?”
“I’m not one hundred percent satisfied.”
Her smile slipped fractionally. “Excuse me?”
“My customer satisfaction is dependent on…” he paused and glanced at his bulky, utilitarian watch “…five minutes of your time.”
“Um…okay.” She studied him guardedly as she slipped behind her desk and slowly took her seat. Propping her fingertips together, she met and held his gaze. “What do you need five minutes for?”
Rubbing his palms against his jean-clad thighs, Luke thought rapidly. He had one shot and couldn’t blow it. “Well, we can start with Vegas.”
Her head shook slightly, just enough for that distracting curl to fall forward and catch in her lashes. “Not necessary, Luke, really, I—”
He unintentionally silenced her when he reached out and brushed the lock of hair from her face. “Necessary for me,” he countered, letting his hand fall away even though he wanted very much to trace his finger from her high cheekbone down the length of her throat. “My satisfaction level is slipping. Remember, I am the customer.”
“Technically, Carmen and her fiancé are the customers.”
“And Carmen loves me,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “She’d be really upset if I—”
Julia held up her hand. “I get the point. So, do you really want to rehash the whole Vegas mess?”
“I want to apologize. Wanted to for years. I really didn’t know about Esterhaus’s sideline. I never would have done business with him, let alone put you in a position where you could have been hurt.”
She nodded, her expression bland and guarded. “I believe you.”
“Then why’d you disappear?”
She shrugged and looked away. “Seeing those DEA agents rush inside that chapel, well, I guess it just reminded me that we didn’t really know anything about one another.” When she glanced back in his direction, her features seemed more relaxed. “C’mon, Luke, you’ve got to admit that getting married back then would have been a huge disaster.”
“I do admit that,” he agreed easily. “Upon reflection.” He paused when one dark brow arched at his word choice. “What, you don’t think a guy can reflect between beers?” he joked. “Anyway, after some thought, I knew that the DEA crashing our wedding was a blessing. We didn’t know enough about each other to make a marriage last.” But we could have learned, he thought.
“All’s well that ends well.”
“Great fortune cookie sentiment,” he teased, determined to go easy. “I’m just curious as to why you refused to take my calls. I felt like an ass, and wanted to apologize to you in person. I’m sorry it ended the way it did.”
“Esterhaus going to prison?”
“Forget Esterhaus. I’m talking about us. Why didn’t you return my calls, Julia?”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“Oh, ‘I accept your apology, Luke’ would have been a great start. At least then I wouldn’t have felt so guilty about dragging you into that mess.”
“You didn’t need to feel guilty,” she assured him.
“Of course I did. You were a sweet, naive young woman working her tail off at that Vegas restaurant. You deserved better than getting drawn into some big thing with a major drug trafficker.”
“You’re falling on your sword pretty hard, there,” Julia ribbed good-naturedly. “Your version of history makes me sound like I fell from a turnip truck onto the Vegas strip. I was young. I like to think I can be sweet. But I don’t ever remember being naive.”
“You were,” Luke insisted. “You were what? All of twenty-four?”
“You aren’t exactly ready for a retirement home,” she remarked. “It was Vegas, Luke. We had a week of fun and it just got out of hand. No need for long-term therapy as a result.”
“Good, then we can start over.”
He watched as she froze in mid-exhale. To her credit, Julia recovered quickly. “Start what over?”
Luke wagged his finger in the air between them. “Us. You and me. We can date.”
“No, I…I don’t think—”
“You said you didn’t hold me responsible for Esterhaus.”
“I don’t.”
“You seemed like you were having fun when we were together, so what’s the problem?”
She blinked. “We almost got married.” God, how often had she thought of that day? Wondered what it would have been like? If he was half the man she remembered and admired in her dreams.
“Almost being the operative word there. I like you, Julia.”
“You don’t know me.”
He smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Hence the need for dating. See, we date, get to know one another. See what happens.” Discover if the heat between us will fizzle or sizzle.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” she insisted as she got to her feet. “Your five minutes will be up by the time we stop by Vicki’s desk to make your follow-up appointment.” Grabbing his shirtsleeve, she practically dragged him from the room. “Besides, I can’t date a client.”
“Technically, I’m not the client, remember?” he asked with a satisfied smile. He practically whistled as they walked down the marble steps to the desk, where a pretty redhead adeptly manned multiple telephone lines.
Julia hurriedly penciled him in for the following week, two days shy of the wedding. He liked seeing her flustered. It was the only peek he got into her closely guarded thoughts. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Not good enough,” he responded. Even though he’d kept his voice low, his remark perked the receptionist right up. She practically crawled up on the desk in order to listen in on the conversation.
Julia’s eyes darted around the room. Her jaw clenched behind a stiff smile. “It will have to be good enough, Luke. The matter is closed.” She turned, spine regally straight, and took two steps toward the stairs.
“Julia, I can’t let you walk away.”
She turned, her eyes blazing smoky fire. “Excuse me?”
“You’re blocking me.”
“What?”
He pointed in the direction of the stone courtyard and the driveway beyond. “Your Jeep, right?”
She nodded.
“You’re blocking my SUV.”
She looked pretty pissed as she marched over, grabbed her keys from her soggy purse and went out the door. “I should have known you were the inconsiderate person who parked in front of the garage,” she muttered as she stomped along the stones.
“I didn’t make it rain on you, Julia,” he said as he fell into step beside her. “It isn’t like there’s a No Parking sign, either.”
“It’s a driveway,” she grumbled. “Luke, you need to st— Get down!”
He wasn’t sure what surprised him the most, her strength or what precipitated it.
Julia lunged at him, her shoulder catching him just beneath the rib cage, forcing the breath from his lungs as she toppled him onto the hard ground. His head bounced once against the pavement, sending strobes of bright white specks into his field of vision.
At first he thought the crack he’d heard was the sound of his skull fracturing. Then he pieced the sound together with the acrid smell of gunpowder and realized what had happened. What was still happening.
He rolled, covering Julia’s body with his own as three more shots ricocheted off the stucco, showering them with a stinging spray of cement.

Chapter Three
Using a knowledge of basic physics coupled with years of martial arts training, Julia used her legs for leverage and managed to switch places with Luke. With her heart in her throat, and wishing she wasn’t lying here protecting a civilian when she should be up and at them, weapon drawn, she cradled his face tightly to her chest. The squeal of tires faded as a vehicle sped away.
Rearing back, she gently ran her hands along his head and scalp. Her fingers came away bloody. “You’re hit,” she choked out, anger overlaying the guilt that had started diluting her instincts. “Stay still and—”
“Not shot, hit.” Luke replaced her probing fingers with his own. “I hit my head.” He winced, gingerly feeling for the wound. “What about you?” He scanned her face and body for injury.
Other than coworkers and the Boteros—assuming she could think of some way to rationalize a gunshot— Julia had never had anyone give a damn one way or the other if she was plugged full of holes or not. But she’d think about it and analyze the warm fuzzy feeling later. Right now she was responsible for Luke’s injury.
Head wounds bled. A lot. She knew that. Didn’t mean she liked knowing the blood belonged to Luke. She was trained for this. He wasn’t. “I’m fine,” she told him absently, glancing down the street the way the vehicle had peeled rubber. Gone, of course.
“And fast,” he remarked, bringing Julia’s attention back to him. His gaze wandered over every inch of her until his jaw relaxed and his frown of concern eased from between his brows. “You flattened me. Then you flipped me like a pancake. You’re a lady of many talents. How’d you do that?”
“Self-defense classes,” she muttered, then ripped a strip of fabric from her skirt and pressed it against his injury. There was a good amount of blood, but that was pretty standard with a head wound. Shallow but showy. By the time she and Luke untangled themselves from each other, Rafe Montoya and Jeff Walsh were racing from Weddings Your Way, guns poised.
It was going to be hard to lie her way out of this one. And not just for the obvious reasons. This was getting really complicated, really fast.
“Everyone okay?” Montoya asked as he held out a large hand to help her up.
Luke ignored Walsh’s offered hand as he rose to his feet. “Let’s go back inside. I’d like to make sure that you’re really not hurt. That was a damn hard fall you took.”
Julia gave him a small smile. “I’m fine. I have a hard head.”
Who’d been in the car? Who was the shooter? Obviously someone who wanted her dead. Did it have anything to do with her trip to Sonya’s? Geez. She needed to make a list of her enemies. That would take awhile.
“Not as hard as the sidewalk,” Luke said firmly, holding her arm as if he thought she’d faint at any second. Faint or run, Julia mused, feeling another spurt of guilt.
She’d been stunned speechless when Luke had apologized for the wedding fiasco six years ago. Stunned but not about to tell him the real reason she’d run, nor why she’d refused to answer his calls. She would absolve him of his guilt, and keep her own guilt close to her chest. Better for both of them. Especially since things weren’t going to change.
His fingers felt warm on her skin. She’d like nothing more right now than to have a moment to lean into him and absorb his solid warmth. His strength. But that wasn’t who she was.
Luke lifted her chin with his hand. “It’s either me checking you out or a trip to the ER. Your choice.”
Who knows what she would have done if at that very moment, Rachel hadn’t appeared. Calmly assuming control as only Rachel could. It was one of the many talents Julia admired in her boss. “Gentlemen, please help Mr. Young into the salon. I’ve already called the police and the paramedics. Julia, come with me. We’ll find something more suitable for you to wear.”
Julia glanced down and silently thanked the panty gods for not letting her put on a thong that morning. The shredded hunk of fabric she’d yanked off to tend Luke had created a rather indecent slit in the front of her skirt.
“Hang on,” Luke said gruffly, stubbornly refusing to be corralled by Rafe and Jeff. “What the hell happened back there?”
“Drive-by,” Rafe easily supplied. “Happens even in the good parts of town these days.”
“And dogs dance,” Luke responded, in no way mollified. “Wasn’t there a kidnapping here a couple of weeks ago?” His voice grew louder with each word. “What kind of place are you people running that you need bodyguards?”
“Remember,” Julia began on a rush of breath. “There was a kidnapping here. We have a pretty high-profile clientele, so we’re overly cautious.”
Julia watched as Rachel mouthed the instructions “Fix this” to Rafe before she hurried Julia into the building. The two women went upstairs, then through the expertly hidden doorway to the secret offices of Miami Confidential.
Clare, Nicole and Samantha were already seated at the long, oval conference table. Laptops whirled to life as Julia went to the closet, pulled out a pair of jeans and used the partially closed door as a privacy screen while she changed.
Rachel was already barking orders to burn copies of the exterior surveillance tapes on to disks before they turned the originals over to the local authorities. “We have to appear to be cooperating fully,” Rachel reiterated. “We’ll have a hard time making headway on the Botero kidnapping if this place is crawling with Miami PD.
“Now give me a damage assessment on the guy you were with,” she said, her cool blue eyes trained on Julia.
“In for a fitting for the Lopez-Mitchell wedding. He doesn’t have any connection to the kidnapping. Just a matter of wrong place, wrong time.”
“You’re forgetting wrong man,” Rachel added. “Time’s a-wasting, Julia. I want to know what you know before the police get here.”
“Luke Young, thirty-five,” Julia told her boss as she tucked in her shirt. Why was she feeling so protective of him? “Owns a commercial construction firm here in Miami. Carmen Lopez is his foster sister. Other than that, I don’t know much.”
One of Rachel’s dark brows arched impatiently. She obviously expected every atom of truth.
Julia couldn’t tell her everything. Hell, most of the time she could barely admit it to herself. “Well, except that I left him standing at the altar six years ago.”
“Kind of an important detail.” Rachel scowled.
Samantha, Nicole and Clare sat silently, content to be spectators. Eight small screens, stacked in two neat rows of four, lined one portion of the wall. From her vantage point, Julia could see every inch of Weddings Your Way. She also had views of the exterior. The pool and long wooden dock jutting out into Biscayne Bay were deserted.
The street, driveway and courtyard were another matter. An ambulance came to an abrupt halt just behind Julia’s Jeep. Four blue-and-white squad cars positioned themselves on either side of the ambulance. The wail of sirens cut through the stucco walls as red and blue lights spun a bright kaleidoscope of color.
“You’re hurt,” Rachel said.
Julia looked down at her own body, confused. “No, I’m—”
“Hurt. I want you in that ambulance with Mr. Young. I want to know every word he says and who he says it to. I want to know everything right down to the number of gauze pads they use to clean his wound.”
“Rachel, the cops are going to want a statement from me,” Julia countered.
“And you’ll give them one just as soon as you have your injuries assessed at the hospital. Samantha, I want to know everything there is to know about Mr. Young. I want proof positive that there is no connection between him and the Botero family or Juan DeLeon.” Rachel waved her hand, indicating that they should all return to the public side of the building. As she walked ahead, she continued to issue assignments. “As soon as the cops leave, I want our forensics run on any evidence. I’ll call my contact at the state crime lab.
“Okay, ladies, let’s make this quick and painless. Except for you, Julia. You need to be hurting.”
“Got it.”
A few minutes later, Julia was rubbing her side and commenting on a phantom pain in her ribs. She was careful not to ham it up too much, but she knew slipping in a small complaint about painful breathing was a guaranteed ticket into the ambulance.
Strenuous workouts made it pretty easy for her to keep her respirations shallow. The plan was sound except for Luke’s reaction to her “injuries.”
Her guilt was multiplying by the minute. His dark eyes never left her face, and somehow he’d managed to capture her hand in his. Completely ignoring his own very real injury, he was the picture of compassion as they sped through the early evening traffic, strapped to gurneys.
“Thank God you weren’t shot,” he said, squeezing her hand. “That was a brave thing you did. Brave, but damn stupid, throwing yourself at me like that.”
“Well, there’s gratitude for you. No good deed goes unpunished.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. But, my God, Julia, this could have turned out very differently….”
“Yeah. I’d rather have bruises and contusions than a big old entry wound.”
He frowned, not in any way amused. “You might have a punctured lung.”
“I don’t.” She closed her eyes. Closed him out.
Hating that she was again forced into a situation with him built on a shaky foundation of lies and misrepresentations. Especially when he seemed to be such a decent guy. “I don’t want to talk for a while, okay?” she said weakly, feigning discomfort.
She thought about his heartfelt apology. Replaying his words in her mind only multiplied her self-loathing. Yes, keeping up the pretext of a hardworking seamstress in a wedding salon was part and parcel of her job. Just as playing the naive Vegas waitress had been an important part of her cover for the Esterhaus sting six years ago.
But all the rationalization in the world couldn’t assuage her conscience. Not when he looked at her with genuine concern evident in his gaze. Not when he was gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.
The ambulance came to a sudden, jolting stop in the emergency bay of Miami General. The doors flew open and the attendants rolled their stretchers into the bright, sterile examination area.
A thin, faded curtain was drawn between them. Julia could see Luke’s silhouette as he moved from the stretcher to the exam table with the assistance of a very chipper sounding nurse.
“What happened?” the woman cooed to him in a voice that practically begged, And can I kiss it better for you?
Julia rolled her eyes just as another nurse came into her own small cubicle—a middle-aged woman whose white shoes made squishy sounds as she maneuvered around the bed. Her black hair was pulled into a tight knot on her crown, and a pair of half-glasses rested low on her nose. “I’m Annette,” she stated in a bored tone. “I need to get some information. Name?”
In less than three minutes, Julia had provided all the basic biographical and medical information, as well as a brief recap of her chief complaint. Annette, who seemed most interested in whether she had health insurance, scribbled on a form, then made her sign her name in six different places. Then she was given a gown and a thin sheet and told to change. The nurse stood at the ready with a plastic bag, shoving each article of clothing inside and labeling the bag with a marker.
“One of the docs will be in soon and then probably send you for some X-rays,” Annette announced. Efficiently, she clipped a monitoring device onto Julia’s fingertip, then started to leave. “Oh, and the police are here. Want me to send them in?”
Julia nodded, thinking she might as well get it over with. She was distracted when the curtain separating her from Luke fluttered. Her eyes fixed on his outline.
Apparently his nurse thought he needed help removing his shirt. Yeah, right. Julia could almost hear the other woman drooling as she “assisted” Luke in guiding the shirt over the cut on his head.
“If you get dizzy, feel free to use me for balance,” the nurse suggested.
Or sex, Julia added cattily.
“My name’s Toni, by the way.”
And I dot the I with a little happy face.
“We’re pretty slow right now, so I can stay with you until the doctor is available. Just in case you need anything.”
Like me. When had she turned into a jealous woman? Luke was a handsome man. A man who didn’t belong to her. He was business.
Luke barely noticed the young nurse buzzing around his bed. He was more interested in Julia. He felt the cool air against his chest as he sat on the edge of the thin mattress, straining to see her through a crack between the curtain and the tiled wall. The smell of alcohol and antiseptic was strong and he had the beginnings of a killer headache.
The incessant sound of some machine beeping wasn’t helping. The nurse pressed a small ice pack against his scalp, then guided his hand to hold it in place.
“You should lie back.”
“I’m fine,” Luke insisted. “Can we open the curtain?”
The nurse’s hopeful smile slipped. “Oh, right. She came in with you?”
He nodded and was punished with a dull thud of pain at the base of his skull. “Is she okay?”
The nurse shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“Why don’t I see for myself?” he asked pointedly. The nurse was sidetracked by the appearance of a short, nerdy looking guy wearing green scrubs and a too-large white coat.
“I’m Dr. Hallabach.”
“Luke Young.”
The doctor had Luke remove the ice pack, then did a quick examination of the wound. “It could probably use a stitch or two. Or I can close it with surgical glue and a butterfly bandage. Your call.”
“Glue,” Luke answered without hesitation. “I love that stuff.” He thought it wise to keep to himself his own first-aid technique of using Crazy glue on a wound.

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