And it was no small, chaste kiss, either. He kissed her long and slow and deep, his tongue gliding past her lips, stealing her strength, leaving her instantly weak. Kimberly had no choice but to twine her arms around his neck and hold on lest she faint with the utter deliciousness of him.

Well, this answered one question. Yes, apparently he’d given this some thought.

Actually, it answered several questions, the rest of which had to do with her wanting him with every ounce of her being despite him deeming her responsible for lots of bad things in his life. She definitely did. And it was definitely way out of her control.

His tongue touching hers was like electricity, shooting a bolt of lightning straight into the lace panties she wore beneath her sexy dress. His mouth on hers, the very scent of him, the feel of him, all brought back something familiar and masculine and distinctly Max that she remembered and cherished. She clutched at him still, one hand in his hair, bits of it wrapped tenderly in her fist, as her her entire body pulsed with the power of his incredible kiss.

And then he was gone, pulling back, ending it.

And she was trying to breathe again, get her balance, and remembering she had to look sexy and sophisticated in spite of the fact that Max had just kissed her senseless.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Carlo,” her pretend husband said, tainting his voice with a deep chuckle. “But I was…overcome. When you have a woman like this, you spend every second wanting to be alone with her.”

Getting her senses back about her, she couldn’t quite believe he’d done it. Because it might have rocked her world, but it didn’t seem smart to her, character-wise. He was a stockbroker. They were supposed to be dignified people. She peeked up at Carlo for a reaction.

“Oh, don’t apologize,” he said. “I understand perfectly.” And then he took the opportunity to cast her a wildly lusty look that made her want to retch, but instead she smiled and hoped it reached her eyes.

Which was when she understood—Carlo was as sleazy as sleazy got, and Max had played him correctly. Carlo didn’t realize classy people didn’t make out while greeting guests at the door. Carlo only wished it could have been him. It had done nothing but fuel his desire for her.

“Shall we have a drink before dinner?” Max suggested, and she flashed him a smile, too, because that suddenly seemed to be her business in the last two minutes—kissing and flashing smiles—and he smiled back, a really great smile that pretty much melted everything inside her to molten lava all over again. And then he even put his hand at the small of her back to escort her down the hall.

Though as they walked, and Max and Carlo made manly small talk about Max’s Porsche out front, it hit her anew—Max had kissed her! Full-on and passionate. The kind of kiss young girls dreamed of. And the kind of kiss older girls wanted more of—and oh, how she wanted more; she’d wanted more the moment his mouth had left hers. It had been the kind of kiss that drenched her soul in desire and heat and weakness and left her knowing the world would never be quite the same again.

She released a long, deep sigh and let the afterglow of it roll through her.

And then she remembered.

Oh God, she’d forgotten so quickly.

It was only pretend.

* * *

“To new friends,” Carlo said, clinking his glass first against hers, then Max’s.

“New friends,” Max echoed.

Kimberly only smiled. Like before, it seemed adequate.

But now that she’d recovered—at least somewhat—from Max’s unexpected kiss, she decided it was time to get to work. “So, Carlo, Max tells me you want to learn about the stock game.” They stood on a vast patio that overlooked the pool, and she took a step closer to him, giving her head what she hoped was a slightly flirtatious tilt.

Carlo smiled, almost sincerely—but he blew it when his gaze dropped ever-so-briefly to her cleavage before lifting it back to her eyes. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to pursue.” And now his expression told her that what he was actually interested in pursuing stood right in front of him.

“Then you’re not in banking?” she asked, not only to draw out his cover, but also to make him think she was interested in finding out more about him.

Carlo shook his head. “Shipping.”

“As in boats?” she asked, confused.

He shook his head again, with a soft laugh. “My company ships merchandise, mostly glassware and fragile items.”

“Ah,” she said, flicking a short glance to Max. She’d expected their guest to come up with something a little more exotic or at least impressive. “And how did you meet Max?”

“We both frequent Chester’s,” Max answered for him. She knew the place—an upscale bar on the ground floor of one of the shiny glass office buildings downtown.

“Max is quite a pool shark,” Carlo said.

“That he is,” she agreed, although she’d never seen Max play pool. But he’d always told her that a good P.I. possessed a variety of skills to help fit into any social setting, and she supposed this was one example—a guy who could play a decent game of pool probably made friends in a bar much easier than a guy who didn’t.

“Do you play?” Carlo asked, a suggestive light twinkling in his eyes.

She almost released a laugh at what he’d surely intended as a double entendre, but instead held her response to another smile. So far, that seemed to be the only real skill required from her—but when the time came to make their way to the dining room, she steeled herself, knowing things were bound to get more challenging, probably starting now.

* * *

Max let Carlo take the place at the head of the table, and he and Kimberly took the seats to either side. It was strategic placement—let the guy feel important, let the guy get close to her. At the same time, though, he hoped Carlo wouldn’t move in on her too quickly. The idea of the slimeball sliding his hand onto her knee beneath the table rankled.

Max hated the way the guy looked at her. That was why he’d kissed her like that when Carlo had walked in the door—part impulse, part instinct. It was as if he’d thought acting territorial would protect her. And he knew he was supposed to want the guy to react to her this way, but maybe it had happened a little easier than he’d expected. Maybe it was going to be a little tougher to play dumb than he had anticipated. He’d thought this role would be a fairly easy one—the real job falling on Kimberly—but maybe it wouldn’t be so easy on his ego to have his “wife” stolen right under his nose while he pretended to be oblivious. Especially by a piece of garbage like Carlo.

Next to him, the thief ogled her. Which was, of course, exactly what he was supposed to do. But already, Max felt the need to interrupt. “So, Carlo, what do you think of the place?” He motioned to their surroundings like a man who was the king of his castle.

“Fabulous, Max. Incredible.” But then he turned his gaze right back on Kimberly. “And a wife like this to share it all with? You’ve got the life, pal. What I wouldn’t give to be in your shoes.”

Subtle the guy wasn’t.

“Oh, now, Carlo,” Kimberly said in a half-bashful, half-flattered tone, “you’re too kind.” Then she fluttered her eyelashes at him like a teenager in heat. Subtlety wasn’t her strong suit, either. But, he had to remind himself, her job right now was not to be subtle—it was to be seducible. By another man. Another rankling idea.

“Where’d you find this beauty, Max, old buddy?”

Old buddy? I’ll old buddy you, asshole. And what was this guy’s fascination about where he and his “wife” had met? But he reined in his irritation and exchanged it for a smile. “We met in college.”

Carlo’s leer managed to increase and Max imagined thoughts of naughty co-eds dancing through his head. Kimberly was leering right back at him, too, her eyes wide, her lips pretty and pouty with lipstick the color of the red wine they were all drinking. Max’s gaze felt stuck to her.

“I knew the moment I saw her,” he said without planning it, “that she was the woman for me.” And then she turned her hazel eyes on him, which had been his hope. Although he didn’t know why. But it made him remember—how some days her eyes seemed more brown, other days gold as amber, and how, at still other times they would glitter green. Tonight they took on a warm honey-colored shade. He didn’t hesitate to hold the gaze. “She was wearing a short red skirt and a white blouse, and she had a great tan. It was September.”

He watched her tense slightly, then swallow hard, liking the effect the words had had on her. Because that really was what she’d been wearing on the day they’d met, although it hadn’t been at college. It had been on an elevator—she’d heard him mention being a P.I. and started asking him questions about it.

“We had lunch,” she reminded him, her voice silky.

Yes—her questions had turned into an invitation for lunch, and lunch had turned into a job for her. And then more.

“You ordered quiche,” he said, their eyes still locked.

He could tell by her expression that this one surprised her—she’d always accused him of having a bad memory for details. She smiled. “That’s right.”

“What did I have?” he quizzed her.

Her expression turned slightly saucy with the game they were playing. “You think I don’t remember?”

“Prove me wrong.”

“An Italian sub,” she smoothly replied. “Extra pepperoni.”

He grinned slightly at the correct answer.

“So…” Carlo interrupted uncertainly, drawing Max back to the present, and making it clear he was desperate to be the center of attention again—which Max apparently needed reminding. What had he been doing strolling down memory lane like that, anyway? He couldn’t explain it, except to again chalk it up to his ego, something he certainly hadn’t expected to come into play here. He’d have to squelch it in the future.

“Sorry about that, Carlo,” he said easily. Then glanced down to see that all their glasses were nearly empty. “More wine?”

Though he didn’t wait for an answer before excusing himself to get more. He wasn’t sure why, but he needed a quick break—from all the sexual tension, he guessed. And to get his head back on straight about what was taking place here. It was only a job, all just a means to an end, catching a crook.

Grabbing the already open bottle from a kitchen counter, he asked Mrs. Leland, the woman he’d hired to cook for them this evening, to uncork another.

Returning to the table with a bottle in each hand, ready to resume the game he’d set in play, he found his guest already ogling his “wife” again—something he’d have no choice but to get used to, and get used to pretending he didn’t see, fast.

But maybe this departure from oblivious husband had been good. If the guy truly got a charge out of stealing the wife away from the adoring spouse, Max had set it up perfectly. And it sure hadn’t done anything to scare Carlo away.

Feeling completely weirded out, Kimberly looked back and forth between the two men. She had two guys vying for her attention—every woman’s fantasy. Except that one of them was a sleazy toad and the other one was pretending. Swell. Okay, so it wasn’t a perfect fantasy.

“Those are exquisite earrings,” Carlo said. Their eyes met—ick, but she worked to maintain the gaze as she leaned a little closer for him to get a better look—and he actually reached over to diddle her earlobe with his fingertip, which made her want to retch. “Lovely necklace, too,” he said. And then—wow—his fingers were there, too, touching it, playing with it, and her entire body went rigid. But smile, damn it. Smile at the jerk.

“That’s just a bauble,” Max said across from her as Carlo continued to examine the necklace too closely for her comfort.

She flicked her gaze to Max. Did he look as tense as she felt? Or was she just imagining that?

“She picked it up on our last trip to New York,” Max continued with a grin, even if it appeared a little forced. “If you want to see Kimberly’s real jewelry, you’ll have to sweet talk her into showing it to you.”

Carlo practically glowed with lust at the suggestion—but he finally pulled his fingers away from her neck, thank goodness. “I’d love to take a look at it sometime.”

“Max has been very generous,” she said, smiling across the table at him—just as Mrs. Leland entered with a tray of dinner salads, which she placed before each of them, one by one.

“Kimberly has a weakness for diamonds, don’t you, babe?” Max asked as the cook departed.

And her skin warmed. Babe. He used to call her that. Not in the too-forward, casual way, but in the endearing, that’s-how-close-we-are way: What’s on TV, babe? What do you want to do tonight, babe? That’s a great dress, babe.

She swallowed. “Yes,” she managed. “I have a horrible weakness for diamonds.” And a horrible weakness for you.

But stop it. Stop thinking about Max, and sex, and weaknesses, and get your head back into the game here.

“She wears them constantly,” he went on. “Tonight, for instance, a casual dinner with a new friend—out come the diamonds.”

Though at this point she thought he might be pouring it on a bit thick, he seemed to know what he was doing where Carlo was concerned, so she decided to follow his lead. “Well, I wanted to look nice for your guest, of course, and make a good impression on him.” And she flashed another come-hither smile.

“Oh, you do, and you have,” Carlo gushed.

But Max kept right on going. “She actually wears them out shopping sometimes.”

“Only to the better stores, honey,” she insisted.

“And once, once—” Max paused to give another of those masculine just-between-us-guys laughs, “—I actually found her wearing them as she sat by the pool in her bikini.”

“You don’t say.” It came as no surprise that Carlo looked utterly titillated by the idea.

And so she gave a ridiculous giggle, warming to her part now. “It reeked havoc on my tan lines, but I do enjoy the feel of them next to my skin.”

After which Carlo murmured something too low for her to understand—probably some observation about tans or skin. So she blinked, still striving to appear flirtatious and vibrant. “I’m sorry, I missed that. What did you say, Carlo?”

But he got hold of himself. “Oh—I was just saying the pool looked awesome.”

She shrugged. “Actually, I find it rather small and keep bugging Max to build me a bigger one.” The pool, in fact, was enormous. But she made a pouty face at Max anyway.

“Nothing I love like catching some rays next to a pool,” Carlo said.

“Really?” Max replied matter-of-factly. “Well, you’ll have to come over for a swim sometime.”

“Soon, perhaps,” she added in a lilting voice.

Then Carlo tilted his head and glanced coyly back and forth between them. “You know…” he began, but then he stopped and shook his head. “Wait. Never mind.”

“What is it?” she prodded.

Carlo lowered his chin sheepishly. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“No, really, what were you going to say?”

“Well,” he paused and shook his head almost helplessly, “I was just thinking—my place is being painted this weekend …”

“Actually, I’ve never heard you say where you live, Carlo,” Max commented, more from curiosity about how he would reply, she suspected, than anything else.

“Oh, I’ve got a huge condo near the beach. In Malibu. It’s…just been remodeled. That’s why it’s being painted.” Hmm, not exactly the dumpy side of Venice.

“Sounds lovely,” she said. “But what does that have to do with…whatever we were talking about?” She giggled at her own forgetfulness, figuring that playing dumb, or a little drunk, might add to her assets in his eyes.

Again, Carlo looked hesitant. “Well, I was just thinking it would be a perfect time to chill at your pool, but…I wouldn’t want to impose, so just forget I said anything.” He shook his head.

“Why should we forget it?” she replied quickly. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. Max and I have no plans at all this weekend, do we, honey?”

“None at all.” Max gave his head a short shake now, too.

“But there’s no need for you to sleep in those nasty fumes,” she went on. “Why don’t you just stay here tonight and tomorrow we can all enjoy the pool together. I’m sure Max has as spare pair of trunks.”

Carlo feigned shock at such a generous offer. “Are you sure? It wouldn’t be an imposition?” Which struck her as quite silly, since he’d practically invited himself.

But it was easier to just play along. “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she replied. “And we have plenty of guestrooms. So why not? You don’t mind, do you, Max?”

She shifted her gaze back to him. And he smiled. The discussion about the pool had played right into their plans. “Of course not. We’d love to have you.”

And I’d love to have you. The words flitted through her mind as it was yanked mercilessly from her work just by looking into Max’s dark eyes.

“Well, thanks. That’s great,” Carlo was saying—but she barely even heard him. Instead, she suddenly found herself turning her come-hither smile on Max—glad she could do it under the guise of her role, but inside still wishing that it wasn’t all just pretend.