Max wasn’t much of a cook. But he’d found some heat-and-serve sausage in the freezer and a bunch of eggs in the fridge, which he planned to scramble. He dug a big bowl from an overhead cabinet and began breaking the eggs into it. And he tried his damnedest not to let himself remember similar breakfasts on similar mornings, mornings after spending the night with Kimberly. After all, this was a lot different. He would be setting three plates.

Still, his thoughts swirled as he broke the eggs, one by one, and let the white shells plop into a garbage can. Because now he’d admitted to himself that he felt something for her. Something big.

And he wasn’t ready for that—three plates or not.

Because there was a lot to take into consideration here. For one thing, the job. For another, the Carpenter case and all the loss that had come with it.

He turned the heat on under the skillet, then held his hand over it until he felt his palm warming. Kimberly had been right—he’d never really thought about forgiving her for the Carpenter case. But not because he was a rotten hard ass of a guy. It was because she’d never been around for him to forgive. She’d walked out of the room, and he’d gone to Vegas and spent the next two and a half years rebuilding his business. Forgiveness had never become an issue.

He mixed the eggs and milk with a fork, an array of questions wandering through his head. Could he forgive her? Could he forget? Where did trust come into play here? Did he really believe he could trust her now? In business? In pleasure? That was the part that had been so hard to take: Being betrayed by your partner was one thing—but being betrayed by your lover was much worse.

In one way, he felt like he didn’t know her at all anymore—she was so much tougher and saucier now than she’d been then. But in another, he felt like he knew her completely, to her very core. And maybe somehow wanted to know her even better.

If only he could forget. And forgive. Forgive her for what she’d done, even if he didn’t know why she’d done it. She’d tried to tell him the other day and he’d refused to listen. He had no desire to go back to that place, that time—to feel the betrayal and emptiness all over again.

Maybe he was afraid that whatever she said would never be enough to make him forgive or forget. Or…maybe he was afraid it would?

He dumped the egg mixture into the hot frying pan, surprised by his thoughts. He wanted to know her even better. Did he? Really? If anyone had asked him that three days ago, he’d have easily said no. But now things had changed. He’d spent some time with her, both as his pretend wife and also as Kimberly, the woman who had been his partner and his lover. It hit him suddenly that she was both of those things again—even if not by design. And as to the question of whether he could invite her back into his life again…well, it still all came back to forgiving and forgetting, two things he didn’t know if he was capable of.

But first things first. First came the case. First came putting Carlo and his boss or bosses behind bars and getting his client’s property back. And until that was over, he couldn’t think about this stuff.

After turning the eggs with a fork, he flipped the sausages he’d put in another skillet, then shoved some bread into the toaster. As he got out three juice glasses, he looked up to see Kimberly walk in, wearing cut-offs and a tee.

“Hope I’m not too dressed down,” she said.

He gave his head a short shake. “No, I think we’ve already got him where we want him. You look fine. Nice.” In fact, she looked like the old Kimberly he remembered. That rainy day Kimberly. The let’s-grab-a-quick-burger-and-catch-a-movie Kimberly. The easygoing girl he’d loved to be with, laugh with, watch TV with, do anything with. Go to bed with. He couldn’t think of Kimberly back then without thinking about taking her to bed. They’d spent a lot of time in bed. Which probably explained why last night had felt so much like…coming home.

Damn it. He shook his head. Hadn’t he just told himself he couldn’t think about that anymore right now?

“What?” she said in response to his expression.

“Nothing.” He looked away. “Can you, um, pour the juice for me?” Then he started turning the eggs again, amazed he hadn’t scorched them by neglecting them for so long.

“Sure.”

“Any sign of him up there?” he asked, glancing her way. She was busy grabbing a glass container of orange juice from the fridge, and looking cute as hell in her shorts.

“I heard the hall shower.”

“Good.” Although this was no time to be thinking about Kimberly’s shorts—he needed to concentrate on business. “I’ll plan on getting my imaginary call from the office around two. Are you ready for this?” He met her eyes for that last part. It was necessary—he had to see how she reacted.

“More than.” She sounded eager. Looked eager. Which was a good attitude for a P.I. Still, it suddenly bothered him. Which he tried to hide, but she saw it anyway.

“What’s wrong, Tate?”

“Nothing.” He turned his back to her, removing the scrambled eggs from the burner. And he realized that, to his unmitigated surprise, he was having second thoughts about sending her in with Carlo. He couldn’t believe he’d be willing to scrap this whole setup, but suddenly he was.

“Brandt, this might be too dangerous.” He still didn’t look at her, instead spooning fluffy eggs into a glass bowl.

“Dangerous?” Even keeping his gaze down, he could almost feel her eyes widen in surprise.

“What if you can’t hold him at bay?” he asked. “What if he gets rough?”

“I can handle it. And you’ll be right in the closet, remember?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Still, I don’t know. I’m not sure I like it.”

She blinked. “You liked it fine before.”

“That was then.”

“Something change?”

It was as if she was daring him. To admit the sex had been more than sex, more than what he’d wanted or expected it to be. To admit that he worried for her, that he wanted to take care of her, protect her. And he remained just as unready to go there as he’d been five minutes ago. “No,” he finally said.

“Then come on, Tate—toughen up. This isn’t that big of a deal.”

He looked over at her then, their eyes connecting, and their gazes held for a long, painfully slow moment. And he thanked God that she’d never been able to read his expression, or she’d see that he was having more of those damn tender emotions toward her again, that no matter how he tried, he was having a hard time pushing them into the background where they belonged.

“What smells so good?”

Max flinched and looked up—to see Carlo standing in the doorway. Although it appeared that he missed the look they’d been sharing. Showtime.

“Eggs,” Max replied.

“And sausage,” Kimberly added.

Carlo rubbed his hands together. “Mmm mmm—sounds great. I’m starving.”

“Take a seat at the table,” Max told the crook. Then turned back to the counter. “You, too, babe. I’ll handle all this.”

“So what’s up for today?” Carlo asked as he sat down.

“Nothing special,” Max said. “Have anything in mind?” Like seducing my wife and stealing some jewelry maybe?

“I could go for some more time by the pool.”

That Carlo—he was a sucker for that particular luxury. Nice that the house had come with it—it made the lunkhead easy to entertain.

“Sounds good to me,” Max said, lowering the food to the table and sliding into a chair himself. “You, babe?”

Their eyes met across the table—and he saw her slipping into character as she gave him a smile. “You know how I love to bask in the sun. Sounds wonderful.” Then she shifted her smile to Carlo. Which Max hated. But he had to admit—she was good.

* * *

“Hey, Kimberly, watch this!”

Kimberly politely lifted her head from her lounge chair in time to see Carlo do a huge cannonball into the pool. How mature. She waited for him to surface and said, “That was a good one, Carlo.”

“Something to drink from inside, babe?” Max asked from his seat at one of the patio tables.

Babe. She was trying not to let the old endearment make her feel anything, but it still did. Especially now, after last night. “A wine spritzer would be nice.”

She’d been trying desperately to come to grips with what Max’s actions had made clear—that he simply felt nothing for her beyond a sexual attraction. So inside she felt snappish toward him. Quit smiling at me with those seductive brown eyes. And stop calling me babe. Because none of that was helping her keep her hold on the reality of this situation.

And yet, she knew it was necessary. For the rest of the day they were husband and wife, whether or not the pretense broke her heart more with each passing second.

“Here you go, babe.”

She opened her eyes to find Max holding out a festive glass covered with bright tropical fish, the spritzer fizzing inside. And he was smiling again. Damn him.

“Thanks.” She reached up to take the glass with an obligatory return smile that nearly killed her. Because inside she wanted to cry. She might be completely capable of nailing Carlo to the wall, but that didn’t mean she was immune to the emotions of unrequited love.

Her dainty fingers touched Max’s as he passed her the glass—and something inside him tingled as he pulled his hand away. He gave his head a short shake to shrug off the sensation and hoped she hadn’t noticed, hoped she didn’t start wondering what was going on with him. Of course, he wondered that, too. This was getting worse, this thing with her.

To allay the feeling, he swung his gaze to where Carlo now sat dripping wet at the edge of the pool. Wouldn’t hurt to do a little more digging, even if it led nowhere. “You know, Carlo,” he said, “last night Kimberly was asking me where you were from and I realized that I didn’t know, either.”

Carlo smiled in reply. “Me? Oh, nowhere in particular. I’ve always moved around a lot.”

“You have to be from somewhere,” Max said with a friendly grin. If he could find out even that much about him, it could be a place to start looking into his background. Especially since random Internet searches came up dry. He still remained unsure about putting Kimberly in Carlo’s hands up in the bedroom later. And if he had anything else to go on, it might help in his decision, even as irrational as his current thought process seemed—even to him.

“Nope, always just moved around,” Carlo replied, cheerful as ever. “Even when I was a kid.”

“Where do your parents live?”

“No parents,” he replied simply.

From the corner of his eye, Max saw Kimberly sit up, adjusting the back of her lounge chair to the raised position. “No parents?” she asked.

Carlo shook his head. “Lost them both a couple years ago.”

She tilted her head. “Oh, I’m sorry. What happened to them?”

“They were old, both of them in a rest home,” he said, and left it at that, as if dying parents were a very small thing.

“I know it’s hard to lose a parent,” she replied. And at first Max thought she was trying to help coax information from the guy, but then her words really hit him.

“You’ve lost your parents?” Carlo asked her across the pool then.

She nodded. “My father died when I was little and I don’t remember him. But my mom passed away just over two years ago. She had cancer.”

Max swung his head around toward her—as she glanced away. He hoped Carlo hadn’t noticed his shocked expression, but he couldn’t hide it. When Max had known her before, her mother had been alive and well. He’d only met the woman a few times, but she’d been a nice lady, only in her fifties, and he knew Kimberly was close to her, being an only child.

“That was, um, two years ago in …?” he asked uncertainly. He felt like an idiot to have to pose such a question in front of Carlo, but he felt like an even bigger clod to be hearing the news like this, now, without being able to react.

“You remember, honey,” she said, looking at him without really looking at him. “In April. Two years ago in April.”

“That’s right.” Max didn’t know what else to say. Inside, his heart was crumbling with sorrow for her and he wanted to show his concern, find out if she’d coped okay, do something to comfort her. But he couldn’t—at least not right now.

He ran his hand back through his hair. Why hadn’t she told him?

But, of course, when would she have?

Well, maybe when she’d asked about his parents on the ride here two mornings ago, if he’d only been civil enough to ask about hers in return. He couldn’t believe it. What a devastating loss for her.

“I’m sorry, Kimberly,” Carlo said. Carlo, of all people, comforting her when it should be him comforting her. He stifled a groan of frustration. “What kind of cancer did she have?”

“Breast cancer—that had spread to other parts of her body,” she said, then swung her feet to the patio and stood up. “Time for a bathroom break.”

Max watched her slender form move away from him and into the house. And he decided he had to talk to her—now.

“I’m gonna grab some snacks,” he told Carlo, then followed after her—his partner, his lover, his “wife.” Oddly, it was starting to feel like she was really all three of those things.

“Brandt!” he called after walking in the house.

“What?” she replied from the hallway.

“Wait up, I need to talk to you.” He hurried through the kitchen and toward where she’d stopped just outside the bathroom. He stepped up close. Lowered his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About your mother. I’m sorry, Kimberly. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

She nodded, then glanced down, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “Yeah—it was tough. But I got through it.”

He nodded. His new, stronger Kimberly. Something about that strength made his stomach clench in a mixture of admiration and affection—yet also a little bit of fear. He only hoped the same sweet, gentle young woman he’d known before remained inside her, too.

He lifted a hand to her soft cheek, pinkened by the sun. “I just…wish you’d have told me. Wish I’d have known. I wish I could have…been there for you.”

She shook her head, looking incredulous at his sincerity, and he supposed he understood why. It made him pull his hand back. “When would I have told you? We haven’t exactly been in touch with you hating me and all. And you haven’t been much for small talk this weekend.”

She had him there. On all of it. He’d been heartless toward her. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Tate. We’re here on a job, not to socialize. But just don’t expect to know every detail of my life.” She looked him squarely in the eye. “I’m not the same girl you knew, Max.”

“That’s completely clear to me.”

“Oh?”

“It’s like you told me before. You’re tougher.”

Kimberly studied the handsome man before her. Was that a hint of appreciation in his eyes? Probably not. Since when could she read Max’s always well-disguised expressions anyway? Still, she somehow got the impression he approved of who she’d become.

Now, she only wondered what he’d think to know that some parts of her remained as soft as ever underneath it all. That, in fact, sometimes she wondered if all this toughness she wore was truly genuine, really her—or if it was all just a complete fabrication to cover up her weaknesses. He’d likely be disappointed. But that hardly mattered—he didn’t really care for her anyway.

Oh sure, maybe as a person—his concern right now over her mother’s death demonstrated that. But it was a far cry from what she had going on in her heart for him and she knew it. So it was best not to start entertaining any thoughts to the contrary.

“And babe, I really am sorry about your mom.” Lifting the same hand he’d used to touch her cheek, he now placed it on her shoulder, firm and comforting.

And at the moment she sort of wanted to collapse into his arms and quit being tough girl Kimberly.

But this was no time for that. Nor was this a man who really wanted that. Be the employee he’s paying you to be. Pull away from him.

Hard as it was to make herself do it, she shrugged free from his touch. “Thanks, Max.” Though her voice had come out breathier than intended, and she felt uneasy—about everything—and suffered the urge to just get away. “You know, I think I’ve had enough sun for today. I’m going to go shower and change.”

He nodded. “I’ll go hang out with Carlo some more, maybe grill some hamburgers for lunch.” He glanced at a clock down the hall, so she followed suit. It was noon. “Two o’clock will be here before long.”

And thank God. The sooner this was all finally over, the better.

“You’re…sure you’re ready to go through with the plan?” he asked her.

“Damn it, yes!” she snapped, stomping her bare foot on the hardwood floor. When would he ever start trusting her to do her job?

“All right, all right,” he said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Don’t get mad.”

“I’m not. I just want you to quit questioning me on it, that’s all.”

“Okay, Brandt, whatever you want. No more questions.”

“Good.”

* * *

Kimberly stepped out of the shower, refreshed in body, but not in mind. She still hadn’t managed to wash away the mounting pain of all she felt for Max but couldn’t express.

Two more hours, though, and this would all be through. Two more hours and they’d have Carlo on film trying to steal her jewelry. She’d have proven herself to Max, once and for all. And then she could go home.

After which she could begin the business of trying to get over him again—which she knew from experience would be futile. She would always love Max, and her life would always feel less complete for not having him in it.

She toweled off in another of the thick bath sheets, then put on a short, summery dress that buttoned up the front, hugged her shape, and showed plenty of thigh and cleavage. She’d long since gotten bored with using her body to lure Carlo in—frankly, it hadn’t taken much work—but most of the clothing she’d brought fell into that category. And besides, she had to wear something at least sort of sexy—since it was time for the “seduction” to finally come down.

She pulled her hair back from her face into a pretty chignon, then applied a little make-up, noticing the bit of tan she’d picked up the last couple of days and thinking she looked pretty in a summery sort of way. Maybe Max would, too. Not that it mattered, of course. His interest wouldn’t go beyond her skin.

Well, back to work. Through the open balcony door, she could smell burgers on the grill. She’d go down in a few minutes, but first decided to test the combination and check out the jewelry again. After all, she’d gotten interrupted yesterday when she’d tried to do that. And in less than two hours it was showtime for real.

Padding across the carpet to the safe, she spun the combination. Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two. Voila. It opened, and she reached inside to extract the black velvet box.

She’d seen it only hours ago, but something about it still managed to captivate her senses—as if the jewelry inside was real, as if everything about this weekend was real.

But it’s only pretend. Remember that, Kimberly. Soon she would click her heels and be returned to the Kansas of her apartment, her real life, and all this would be nothing more than a dream. The only part that would count for anything would be putting Carlo Coletti—and hopefully his bosses, too—behind bars.

As she lifted the lid of the round black box to look inside, the reflected colors of the shimmery fake jewels danced in the sunlight that shone in from the balcony, catching her eye. The truth was—tough chick or not, saying goodbye to this weekend, and Max, forever, was going to be difficult, so for just a moment, she let herself get caught up in the wistful fantasy of it all, the best part, of course, being Max’s wife.

“Kimberly.”

The voice came from behind and caught her off guard.

Because it didn’t belong to Max.

She tensed, then turned to see Carlo step into the room in his swim trunks and a T-shirt, a lecherous grin beaming from his smarmy face. He fixed a hungry gaze on her, then firmly shut the bedroom door.