Lorenzo grabbed the expensive bottle of his favorite single malt, fifty-year-old Macallan, and splashed some of the amber liquid into a cut-crystal tumbler. Then he picked up the tumbler and walked restlessly over to the edge of the terrace on the top floor of his newly renovated Fifth Avenue townhouse. The view was directly over Central Park, and even though he loathed the heat and the waves of tourists that tended to flood the place over summer, he did like looking out over trees and green spaces.

It reminded him of the summers he’d spent at the family ranch out in Wyoming, back when he’d been a kid. He and his youngest brother Xavier had been the ones who’d enjoyed the rough physicality and wide-open spaces of the ranch, his sister and his other brother, Rafe, not so much.

Once, he’d wanted to take over his mother’s family’s ranch himself, use it as a vacation bolthole when big city life got too much. But Xavier had beaten him to it. His little brother now owned the ranch and had retreated there permanently, along with his fiancé Mia, a pretty little thing Xavier had rescued from Manhattan’s mean streets.

It had bothered Lorenzo at first, or more aptly, irritated the hell out of him. He didn’t get along with his youngest brother, didn’t approve of his careless, reckless life or his whole give-no-shits attitude. But this thing with his father had since consumed most of that petty annoyance.

Christ, if he’d wanted a bolthole for himself, he could buy one. Not that he had any time in his life for vacations. Most certainly not now.

Lorenzo leaned against the stone parapet that bounded the terrace, looking out over the deep green of the park. Dusk was settling in, the lights coming on, and the heat of the day lingered in the stone he leaned on. Ordinarily, he would have found it peaceful, but not tonight.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Kira Constantin. About how pale and colorless she’d been in his office. How quiet and uncertain she’d seemed. And how obediently she’d left, right when he’d told her to.

About the restless energy hidden beneath all that quietness and uncertainty.

He remembered that energy. She’d had it as a kid and as the pretty, wide-eyed teenager she’d once been. All big blue eyes and sulky mouth, filling every room she was in with her special brand of vibrant electricity. It had made her difficult to be around, like sharing the space with a furiously excited puppy who kept jumping up on everything and wouldn’t stop barking.

There had been dinners he’d had at the Constantin’s where Kira had dominated the conversation, purely by dint of talking nonstop and then interrupting other people who tried to get a word in edgewise. Her mother would always talk over the top of her to drown her out, while Ivan would get tight-lipped and silently furious, the end result always being a meltdown with Kira rushing from the room in floods of tears.

“Teenagers,” Ivan would say, rolling his eyes in exasperation and trying to hide his anger at Kira’s behavior, explaining that she was just a spoiled brat who liked to get her way.

Lorenzo had only shrugged. He hadn’t been interested in Kira Constantin’s behavior. He hadn’t been interested in much beyond himself, period.

Being in love had been the only thing he’d cared about

You should have known where that would lead.

Lorenzo took a sip of his scotch to drown out that particular thought, the smooth liquid running down his throat and settling warmly in his gut. It should have eased the unsettled feeling inside him, but it didn’t. For some reason his brain kept returning to the soft curls clustering at Kira’s nape, and the way the blouse she wore had pulled across the soft curve of her breasts. To the restless energy that burned beneath her skin, and the question of what would happen if he touched her. Whether she’d remain as pale and quiet as she’d been when she’d walked in or whether she’d wake to life . . .

You could be the one to wake her.

He gritted his teeth. No, he wasn’t waking anyone and he knew better than to indulge that particular desire. Or rather, he had other ways of satisfying it.

Reaching into the pocket of his pants for his phone, he pulled it out and glanced down at the screen, scrolling through his contact list until he found Sian’s number. Then he pressed the call button, lifting the phone to his ear.

She answered within a couple of rings, her familiar cool voice easing the heat inside him. “Hi, Lorenzo. Been a while.”

“Yes, I’ve been busy.” He stared out over the park. “You got some time free tonight?”

Sian never protested about how busy he was and never made a fuss about how often he saw her. She had her own life and it was nearly as busy as his. “Not sure. I’ve got a gallery opening and then a party afterwards.”

“What about after the party?”

“I guess so. Hey, why not come to the party with me? It’s not a big deal, a kind of after-show thing. You could come to the gallery, too, if you like.”

For a second he contemplated the idea. He’d been to one of Sian’s openings before and it was a pleasant way to spend an evening, drinking wine and talking and looking at art. The after-party probably would be a trial, since he didn’t much like parties, but maybe it would be worth it if he got to spend the night in her bed.

Not that Sian required him to do all that in return for sex.

She knew exactly what their arrangement was and got as much out of it as he did.

“I don’t think so.” He took another sip of the scotch. “I’ve got too much on my mind for any pointless socializing.”

Sian gave a soft laugh. “Pointless, huh? Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I might not be in till late and it’s possible I won’t be in the mood for anything else.”

Sian is not what you want anyway.

He drained the scotch in his glass and shoved the thought from his head. “Fine. Another time.” He pressed the disconnect button without saying good-bye, which was rude of him, but too bad. Sian could deal.

Well, if he couldn’t use some sex to get rid of this unsettled feeling, then he’d probably be better served thinking about work, his father and his creative bookkeeping in particular.

Lorenzo turned and leaned back against the parapet. The only other person he’d told about his suspicions was his half-brother, Nero. Nero had once been a recluse, but since he’d met a red-headed English woman, apparently everything had changed. Though he still handled all things digital at DS Corp., and still despised Cesare almost as much as Lorenzo did. Nero had been pleased when Lorenzo had come to him with his suspicions, volunteering to hunt for any digital evidence Lorenzo might need, a search that had so far proved fruitless.

Scrolling through his contact list for Nero’s number, Lorenzo flicked him a quick text, asking him if he’d had any luck. His brother’s reply was pretty much instantaneous. Not yet.

Dammit.

Taking his empty tumbler back to the low table on the terrace not far from him, Lorenzo poured himself another drink.

That settled it in many ways, not that he was vacillating about his decision. It only confirmed that having Kira around to potentially be a backup when it came to finding evidence against Cesare was a good idea.

And he had to find that evidence. His mother’s death demanded it.

Taking his second drink back to the parapet once more, Lorenzo was staring out over the park again, when his phone buzzed. He looked down at the screen. Rafe, his middle brother.

For a long moment, he stared at the buzzing phone, not bothering to answer.

Rafe was deeply loyal to their father for no good reason that Lorenzo could see, and that was why he hadn’t told him of his suspicions. In fact, that had been the reason he’d been ignoring him totally for the past few weeks now.

Maybe that’s why Rafe was calling him, to ask him what the fuck was going on?

Lorenzo lifted his gaze from the phone and took another sip of scotch.

And he let it ring.

* * *

Kira opened her closet and stared at the clothes hanging on the rails in front of her. It was 6 A.M. and she felt like death, but she was determined not to be late.

She’d spent the whole of the previous day waiting for the ax to fall, for Lorenzo de Santis or one of his secretaries to call her to tell her she would no longer be needed as an intern. For her father to call her into his study when she’d gotten home that evening to tell her how disappointed he was that she’d screwed up the interview. Not that being told how disappointing she was, was anything new. She’d just tried to never let it matter before.

But her cell remained uncalled and the only question her father asked her was “how did the interview with Lorenzo go?” Fine, she’d told him. “I think I made a good impression.” “About time,” he’d replied and went on with doing his crossword.

It should have been a relief and yet she didn’t feel relieved. She felt almost . . . scared. Meeting Lorenzo again had been shocking, especially considering how different he was from the man she’d once been obsessed with, but what had bothered her most was how badly the weight of his judgment had affected her.

He doesn’t matter. Only getting the information Dad wants does.

Yes, that was true, that’s what she had to focus on. Besides, she wasn’t ten-years-old anymore and she’d spent the last six months after the accident learning how to manage herself. She was doing pretty well. Certainly, well enough not to let cold-eyed Lorenzo de Santis get to her, and she couldn’t allow that. Not if she wanted to get her kids’ classes off the ground.

Pushing aside a swath of brightly colored minidresses, Kira searched for the meager store of muted professional clothing she had at the back of the closet somewhere. She tugged aside a white bandage dress and finally found what she’d been looking for—the plain black Audrey Hepburn dress she’d bought to go with the kitten heels.

She wanted to make an effort today, and more than she had the day before, especially since she had definite ground to cover. Looking professional and pulled together was a must. It would be her armor against temptation. Remind her of what she was supposed to be doing and the changes she’d made in her life.

He might even like it.

A shiver went down her spine no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

No, she was not going to think about him again, and certainly not in that way. Sex was something else that played havoc with her emotions, and if she wanted to stay in control, she was going to have to steer clear of that as well.

Not that she was attracted to him. Not in any way.

Kira gritted her teeth and reached for the dress, pulling it off its hanger.

Focus, that’s what she had to do, keep her brain on track. And if she really needed something to focus on then she should be thinking of Melissa and Sharon. And of Aisha still in the hospital, entering month seven of her coma.

Now that was some motivation.

Kira laid the dress out on the bed, then stepped into the shower, setting it to cold in the hope of feeling slightly more awake. Six A.M. was not her happy place.

Ten minutes later, wrapped in a towel, she went over to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer, where she kept her special lingerie, because today she needed something more than an Audrey Hepburn dress to keep her on the straight and narrow.

Sorting through the piles of carefully folded silk and satin and lace, she found what she was looking for. It was a simple black bra that was saved from complete plainness by the web of delicate jet beads sewn into the black lace, making the fabric cupping her breasts look like it was shimmering. There was a black thong that went with it, also beaded to match the bra.

Making lingerie was a secret and private pleasure she’d begun as a teenager, and she’d made both pieces herself in the aftermath of the accident, desperate for something to occupy her mind that wasn’t the crushing weight of guilt. Beading and sewing such delicate fabric kept her hands busy and gave her something for her brain to focus on.

She was also good at it, which had been somewhat of a revelation since there weren’t many things she was actually good at.

Of course, being good at making lingerie wouldn’t ever erase her sorry academic record or make her parents magically proud of her, but that didn’t stop her from doing it.

These days she’d probably made enough pieces to stock an entire department store.

Dropping her towel, she stepped carefully into the thong then fastened the bra. The beading pressed against her skin, not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough that she knew it was there. A subtle reminder of the importance of focus.

She took an hour to pull on the rest of her clothes and deal with her hair, this time making sure it was all coiled on top of her head, pinned there and sprayed with enough hairspray to set concrete. Then she spent a painstaking twenty minutes on the “natural makeup” look, which honestly took her longer than the old Kira’s party-girl look of glitter shadow and bright red raspberry lipstick.

Seven o’clock and she was nearly ready, standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, giving herself a critical once-over. The black Audrey dress was much better and with her hair pinned severely back and a plain white cashmere cardigan thrown over the top, it encapsulated nicely the professional look she was going for.

Yes, professional and most important of all, in control.

She could do this and she would. She would get the information for her father, fulfill the mission he’d given her. This would be one time she wouldn’t let him down. And then she’d get the money she needed for her classes, her way of atoning for the deaths of her friends.

She would not screw it up, not this time.

Frowning, she stared at herself a moment longer. Then, following an impulse she didn’t quite understand since she was supposed to be putting on armor not taking it off, she scrubbed off the nude coral lipstick she’d been wearing and put on her favorite bright raspberry shade. It was too bright, probably, but it made her less washed out.

Grabbing her purse, Kira left the bedroom, going quietly downstairs.

After the accident, she’d come back home to live with her parents in their Greenwich Village townhouse, and she planned to stay at least until she found herself a job and was able to pay for her own accommodation. It wasn’t comfortable living with their silent judgment of her 24/7, but there wasn’t much she could do about it until this little mission for her father was over.

Deciding not to bother with breakfast since she was already feeling sick with nerves at what would be waiting for her at DS Corp. Tower, Kira let herself out of the house and walked to the subway station.

Her father had a car and a driver, and she could have used those, but she didn’t like being in cars these days. They made her nervous and anyway, she could use the time to calm herself the hell down.

As the subway rattled along through the stuffy heat of the tunnels, she checked her phone just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything from Lorenzo, but there was nothing. Her inbox remained empty.

She got off the subway in Lower Manhattan and stopped at a Starbucks for an espresso, which she downed in seconds flat, desperate for a caffeine hit. Then she made her way to the entrance of DS Corp. Tower, bracing herself for security at the doors to turn her back for not being authorized.

Much to her surprise however, the guards on the desk waved her through to the elevator that lead to Lorenzo’s floor when she gave her name, which obviously meant they were expecting her.

The churning, nervous feeling in her stomach grew.

So she was going to do this thing. She was going to be Lorenzo de Santis’s intern, gain his trust, and then pass on any information that “might be of interest” to her father. Not that her father had been clear exactly about what “of interest” meant, only that she’d know it when she heard it. “Especially anything to do with Mr. de Santis senior,” her father had added, again not being very clear about what “anything” was.

A problem when she didn’t do well with vagueness. She tended to work better when she had well-defined tasks and easy-to-follow instructions, with time limits to keep her on track. Basically the opposite of the orders her father had given her.

Oh well, Ivan had never managed to figure that out about her, and hated it when she bugged him to clarify things, so it looked like she was stuck with vagueness.

Great.

She leaned against the elevator wall, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself.

Then the elevator pinged, the doors sweeping open and she stepped out into the waiting area on Lorenzo’s floor, her heartbeat suddenly going triple-time, because there was no mistaking the tall figure standing next to his secretary’s desk.

He was in another of those impeccable suits, dark blue with a very thin pinstripe and another crisp, white business shirt. His tie today was deep crimson, a shocking splash of vibrant color against the white and for some reason, she couldn’t stop looking at it. Red seemed wrong for the icy man who’d conducted her interview.

But not for the man you saw in Bryant Park, remember?

She hadn’t thought about that in years, but the memory of the smile that had curved his beautiful mouth and the warmth that had made his thundercloud eyes go from dark gray to brilliant silver hit her again. Hard.

Oh yes, and not forgetting the woman who’d flung herself into his arms.

She’d never felt jealousy until that moment.

Lorenzo straightened at the sound of the elevator doors and glanced in her direction, his intense stare pinning her to the spot.

She sucked in a breath, the look he gave her going through her like a sword blade. At the same time, an instinctive restlessness kicked inside her, wondering what he’d do if she lifted her chin and gave him attitude.

Settle the hell down. Control, remember?

Kira forced her mouth into a smile. “Good morning,” she said, and excellent, she didn’t sound as breathy and uncertain as she had yesterday. Luckily, he couldn’t know that the coffee was sitting acidly in her stomach and her palms felt sweaty.

Lorenzo’s gaze swept over her like cold rain, the expression on his face unreadable. “Leave your purse with Stacey.” His voice was dark, icy. “Then go down and get us both coffees. Mine’s an espresso, two sugars, and Stacey prefers a double trim latte with no sugar. Be back in ten minutes.”

Kira blinked rapidly, her brain still trying to catch up. “But the line in Starbucks—”

“Tell them who it’s for and they’ll have it ready in five. Go now.” He was already turning toward his office,

Stacey raised an eyebrow and held out her hand. “Your purse?”

Go now . . .

Kira swallowed, handed Stacey her purse, and went.

The line was insane by the time she got back to the Starbucks, but she gritted her teeth, straightened her back, and walked to the front of it, ignoring the annoyed looks as she told the staff she needed coffees stat for Mr. de Santis.

Exactly as Lorenzo had said, the staff made them in five minutes and then she was back in the elevator and on her way up to the 100th floor. The restless part of her wanted to dawdle a little, to be slightly longer than ten minutes just to see what he’d do, but she shoved the impulse away.

God, she wasn’t going to mess things up on her first day, she absolutely refused.

Stacey was sitting behind her desk when Kira got back, not even looking up as Kira put the coffee down on it.

“Uh, shall I take his through?” Kira waved the espresso in the direction of Lorenzo’s office.

“Yes, he’s expecting you,” Stacey said, keeping her gaze on her computer screen.

Kira nodded and turned toward his office.

Okay. She could do this. She could.

As she’d done the day before, she didn’t knock, pushing open the door to his office and stepping inside.

Lorenzo was again over by the windows, this time talking on his phone. He gave her one searing glance before he gestured for her to put the coffee down on his desk, then he turned his attention back out the window again, still talking.

Kira moved over to the desk and put the espresso down where he’d indicated then turned to leave.

Lorenzo’s arm came out in a “stop” gesture and when she glanced at him, it was to find his intense charcoal gaze on her.

She froze, the breath catching in her throat.

He pointed imperiously to the chair opposite his desk, his meaning clear.

Okay, so he wanted her to stay.

Her heart thumping, Kira nodded and perched on the edge of the seat she’d sat down on the day before. Her shoulders felt tight so she tried to relax them, because if she was this tense the whole day, she’d be exhausted by the end of it.

Lorenzo had turned back to the windows again, still talking. He had one hand in the pocket of his perfectly tailored suit pants, the other holding the phone, the deep sound of his voice like the cold wash of the ocean.

Kira shivered and tried to concentrate on something else, but his office was so extremely minimalist, there was nothing else to look at. Only that sleek black desk with nothing on it but his computer screen, keyboard, and mouse. The bookcase that stood against one wall was bare of anything personal, containing only what looked like legal texts and file boxes. The walls were bare, too, except for that gun on the wall behind the desk.

She knew the de Santis origins—gunmakers from Italy who’d emigrated to Wyoming—and clearly that gun had significance. What was it?

Her mind began to wander, filling her with the urge to go behind the desk and take that gun from the wall, see if it was loaded. See how heavy it was and what the metal felt like if she touched it.

Yeah, and she knew exactly what Lorenzo would think of her if she did that.

Jaw tight, she forced her busy brain to be still, trying to find something else for it to focus on. But there was nothing else of any interest in the room.

Nothing but him.

She turned toward him again, unable to help herself. He was tall, wide-shouldered, rangy, his body broadcasting lean, hard strength. A dangerous edge.

He was like that gun on the wall. Beautifully made yet deadly.

Her gaze roamed over him in sudden fascination. Had he always had that dangerous edge or was this something new? He’d certainly never been this cold, she knew that for certain. Had something happened to him that had changed him? And if so, what was it?

Don’t. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him, remember?

Kira tore her gaze away for the second time, looking down at her hands, studying them fiercely instead of studying him. Refusing to give in to the pull of her old obsession.

Restlessness was filling her though, making her want to get up and move, her brain beginning its inevitable spin around and around. Yes, she’d gotten used to waiting, but she still hated it. And now a thousand and one thoughts were crowding in her head, pulling her away from the very important things she should be focusing on.

God, she wished there was something she could do with her hands. If she was at home, she’d get out a needle and some silk, and a bit of lace. Start stitching. But of course she wasn’t at home. She was sitting in his office waiting. Again.

You can do this. You have to.

And she would. She’d start by not thinking obsessively about Lorenzo de Santis.

She blinked, suddenly realizing that the office had fallen silent. And when she looked up, she found Lorenzo’s hard gaze on her.