In Kimberly’s dream, Max was touching her.

His fingers drifted over her bare stomach, moving in slow wide circles. He was rubbing something—lotion—onto her, making her hot skin feel moist and slick beneath the sun’s heat. It was a good dream.

She pulled in her breath with a slow hiss when he ventured farther down, moving his hand over her belly button and lower, to the edge of her bikini bottoms. She bit her lip when his fingertips slid inside. Oh yes, this was a very good dream.

But then he slid them back out and she suffered a small stab of disappointment as a wet dollop of lotion connected with her thigh, and she began to think sleepily, Oh, what if this isn’t a dream? What if Max is really touching…?

She tried to grab on to the thought, but half-sleep kept her from thinking clearly, kept her from coming fully awake. Yet when she finally summoned the strength to ease her eyes open, she found…dear God, Max bending over her, applying suntan lotion to her legs. “Oh,” she breathed.

He looked up and their gazes met. But he didn’t stop massaging the lotion—he worked it into her calf now, his touch deep and slow, like the penetrating caress of a lover.

“Didn’t want you to burn,” he whispered.

“Where is…”

“Not here.”

“Oh, then it’s…”

“Just you and me. For now.”

“Mmm.” She bit her lip as his fingers caressed deeply into her lower thigh, moving back up her leg. It felt so good. Too good.

“Close your eyes, babe,” he murmured.

And she didn’t argue or protest. She did what he asked. She closed her eyes. She let him keep touching her, and touching her, and touching her.

He used both hands, smoothing the lotion into her other leg now, down her thigh, over her knee, and onto her calf. Then he slid them warmly back up, still rubbing, massaging, making her tingle with heated desire as his sweet touch came higher, closer to where she longed for it.

He pulled away then, shifting his ministrations to a new place, beginning to rub lotion onto her shoulders and slowly down each arm. And Kimberly lay there drinking it all in, each sexy touch, each sliver of excitement that it injected into her soul.

Then his fingers were—oh!—near her neck, smoothing, pressing in small rhythmic circles, working their way down one strap of her bikini top, moving onto the exposed ridge of her breast, fingertips reaching just past the top’s edge, sending her desire to a fever pitch. She bit her lip in response to the throbbing sensations below. She wanted him to touch her more, everywhere. Wanted him to slide one hand into her top, another into her bottoms. Wanted to move against him and seek her pleasure and explode for him in wild release.

Her lips were quivering now. Kiss me. Oh please, Max—kiss me.

But Max—who had always been a slow and thorough lover—continued in the same pattern, his fingers now leaving the valley between her breasts and gliding up onto the curve of the other, and she bit her lip harder to keep from whimpering, to keep from begging him.

Her heart beat a frantic cadence when he moved his caresses back down her body, the cool lotion being smoothed into the skin at her hips, and the tops of her thighs. So close, so achingly near to the center of her desire. “Oh, Max…” She hadn’t meant to utter it, but it had spilled from her lips with her escalating need.

“I didn’t get around the edges of your suit before.” He spoke in a husky timbre, making it clear to them both that this wasn’t the real reason his touch lingered in that particular area.

She opened her eyes and their gazes connected.

“Should I stop, babe?”

She released a heavy breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Then gave her head a short shake. An emphatic no.

And she watched as his dark, sexy eyes narrowed on her with a heat so intense it might have frightened her coming from anyone else. But it didn’t frighten her with Max. Nothing frightened her with Max. She loved him. And she wanted him to touch her so badly she could taste it.

He slid the tips of his fingers beneath the thin strip of Lycra at her hip. She hissed in her breath again, wanting this sweet, horrible teasing to end, wanting him to touch her there. Now. “Max,” she whispered. “Please.”

Hearing his labored breath above her, she let her eyes fall shut. And she felt his fingertips moving, sliding ever-so-slowly, ever-so-hotly, getting nearer, nearer, until she wanted to scream. And she realized that she was gripping onto the arms of the chair as if holding on for dear life, and she was panting wildly, and then his strong fingers moved over and down through the small thatch of hair and slid warmly into—

His hand was suddenly gone.

“Damn,” he said.

Her eyes bolted open and she raised her head. “Max?”

He stood above her, peering down. “I just heard a car door. He’s back.”

“Oh,” she murmured on a sigh of utter disbelief. He was back? How could this be? How could it happen? She didn’t even know where the hell Carlo had gone, why Max had been here without him, but she still couldn’t believe he was back—now, at this pivotal second in time.

They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment—thrust unpleasantly back to the reality of why they were here—and she longed to say something, anything, to make this seem less strange and uncomfortable, to make it seem normal and right. But she couldn't find any words.

“I’d…better go meet him,” Max finally said. And then he was disappearing through the French doors, that quickly, leaving her alone. She sat up, blinking to hold back tears of frustration as she struggled to catch her breath.

Oh damn it, damn it, damn it! Now Carlo was here and the role-playing would begin again and she had to be ready for him, and she had to be tough, and she had to be that way right now.

But she’d be damned if they were both going to come out and find her lying here looking shaken and bereft and nervous. She’d be damned if she were going to let Carlo come upon her stretched out body and gawk at her and feel all the things she wanted to make only Max feel.

So she rose from the lounge chair and dove swiftly into the pool, praying for the cool water to drown all her exasperation.

* * *

“Here you go, babe. Medium well, just like you like it.” Max set a sizzling hot steak in front of Kimberly on one of the bright white round patio tables.

“Thanks,” she said, returning his smile—although she wondered if that smile was real or fake. All the lines were getting blurred.

He hadn’t had to ask how she wanted her steak. But considering what had happened just before Carlo had shown back up, she could hardly concentrate on how much she liked his remembering another detail about her. There were bigger things on her mind. Like Max himself, and everything so hot and masculine about him from head to toe—from the dark, sexy stubble on his jaw to his broad chest to the alluring bulge at the front of his swim trunks. And like the strange sensations that rushed through her still—passion tainted with embarrassment. Or was that embarrassment tainted with passion?

Temper that with the ghoulish feeling of having her breasts ogled by Carlo while she cut into her ribeye, and things got icky. She’d just figured out that it wasn’t merely Carlo’s blatant lust that bothered her—she’d dealt with men like him before, men who saw women as nothing more than sexual objects, as she suspected most women had on one occasion or another. It was dealing with that at the same time as she tried to deal with wanting Max that made things so hard. It was difficult putting up the tough wall of unemotion required to deal with guys like Carlo while she was immersed in her very emotional response to her ex-lover.

She gave her head a slight shake, trying to clear it of the encounter they’d shared over the sunscreen. That was the last thing she’d have expected from Max at the moment, especially after last night, after he’d left the bed she slept in. What on earth did it mean? And good Lord—would it happen again?

“Pass the salt, will you please, Kimberly?” The request came from Carlo and the move required a long reach on her part, toward the other side of the table and then back to him. His eyes drank in her every move. Pig, she muttered inside as she handed it to him to watch him sprinkle only the tiniest bit of it on his food.

“So where did you run off to, Carlo?” she asked with a forced smile.

“My place,” he replied, gaze intent upon her now. Though it kept shifting down to her bikini top cleavage even as she worked to maintain eye contact with him. “To pack a few clothes.”

Max was quick to speak up from the grill, where he stood taking up the other two steaks. “Honey, I told Carlo how you suggested he stay the whole weekend.”

Well, that was a surprise. Yet she kept her pleasant expression in place as she said, “You did, did you?”

“I was flattered by the invitation,” Carlo said, saving Max from answering. “And when it comes from such a beautiful woman…well, how could I resist?”

And then, under the table, Carlo leaned his knee into hers. Oh, ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

Her entire body instinctively froze up.

And instinct instantly urged her to shift her legs away from him and toward Max, who was now taking a seat on the other side of her at the table—but she knew leaning her legs away would be the wrong move, casewise.

Unfortunately, casewise, it was time to start being a little more responsive to the suspect, a little more inviting. She’d not exactly been unresponsive or uninviting up to this point, but if Carlo were to make his play anytime soon, she needed to start letting him know she liked him—a thought which nearly made her gag, but it was what the job called for. And she was more than ready, at this point, to be done with this slimeball, so it seemed like time to move things along.

Thus, disgusting as it was, she forced herself to leave her knees where they were. And she even managed to toss him a coy little smile. She didn’t look at Max to see if he noticed, but she was glad he was there, just the same. And she was glad he’d be in the closet when Carlo tried to seduce her, too. She still didn’t know what the sunscreen encounter had been about—or where it left them now—but she knew she needed Max’s protection with this guy. And besides, he owed it to her. After all, it was him and his amorous attention that had her feeling so vulnerable right now.

She let Carlo’s knees touch hers for two minutes, maybe more, then moved them. That was enough—a good, bold, teaser-type invitation. And it was all she could stand.

After she finished her meal, she lay her napkin on the table and leaned back in her seat. She’d gotten a slight cramp in her neck, probably from falling asleep in the lounge chair earlier. Emotionally tired, sated from the large meal, and practically ready for another nap, she let her eyes fall shut as she slowly rolled her neck, trying to work out the kink.

Bad move.

“Here, let me help you with that.” It was Carlo, of course, rising from his chair and moving behind her to massage her shoulders. “I took a class on this,” he went on, “so I know just what to do to make it feel better.” Wow. She’d completely forgotten—for a second anyway—what a blatant opportunist the little skunk was.

But she was a good P.I. She knew when to make a situation work for her, too—when to play up her role. “Thanks, Carlo. That feels wonderful.” She let the last word drag out in a sensuous sort of way she knew he would appreciate. And she put up her little emotional wall that allowed her to be touched by the creep without needing to turn around and strangle him.

Yes, lead him on. Make him think you want him. Let’s get this show on the road. Because the sooner this mission was accomplished, the sooner she could go home and get off this crazy roller coaster ride with Max once and for all.

Being around him again was incredible, but so confusing. And if anything was going to start back up between them, it would happen much easier after this case was through.

That was when she caught Max’s gaze. He was staring at her, one elbow propped on the arm of his chair, his chin balanced on a loose fist. But as usual, she couldn’t read his expression. Anyone else in the world—yes. She’d gotten much better at that sort of thing in their time apart—Frank had schooled her on it this past year. But not Max and those warm brown pools of his. They stayed as cloaked and mysterious to her as ever.

Still, she looked back, trying her hardest not to show him any emotion, either—trying not to show her confusion and frustration over what had happened earlier, trying not to show her disgust over being touched by this leech. They exchanged a blank yet serious stare for the length of Carlo’s grating massage.

It was all Max could do to sit there acting normal while Carlo got touchy-feely with her. He hadn’t liked it last night, either, but at least then she’d been wearing a little more clothing. He knew from very recent experience just how accessible her body was at the moment, just how easy it was to reach beneath the fabric. He hated having her in such an exposed position with this guy and not being able to intervene without blowing things.

He wanted to kick himself for giving into his wants when he’d come upon her sunning—and he wanted to kick himself even harder for having left them both so on the edge of ecstasy. Man, what bad timing Carlo had. The very air had been filled with an incredibly hot, steamy tension that had practically burned his hands while he’d touched her. She’d wanted his touches as much as he’d wanted to deliver them.

And at the moment, he kind of wanted to kill her for sitting there letting Carlo touch her so much, encouraging it with her little moans of pleasure, giggling when the jerk made a stupid joke.

But then he forced himself to remember. It’s her job, you idiot. A job you hired her for. A job you insisted she do well.

And she was doing it well at the moment, all right. Gratingly so.

After all, did she really have to be that encouraging? Watching—even while he pretended to be oblivious—made Max’s chest tighten.

So she really thought this guy was handsome? Handsome? Seemed crazy to Max, but he was a guy, so how would he know.

Still…handsome? Compared to me? he’d even been tempted to say. Now he was glad he hadn’t.

And he might have started asking himself how he could account for all his feelings about this…if he hadn’t been so busy holding Kimberly’s gaze, trying to see what she was really feeling. At the moment, however, her expression was surprisingly masked, surprisingly unreadable—which bugged him more than he could understand.

* * *

Hours later, Max stood in the kitchen in his swim trunks, his back against the cooking island, arms crossed in front of him. He watched Kimberly moving around the room, putting things away, running food scraps through the disposal, scouring grilling utensils over the sink, all the while still in her sexy bikini, perky as hell. Carlo was upstairs showering, but that didn’t diminish his annoyance. After all, she’d spent the whole afternoon flirting with the other man.

He cringed at the awful memory of her sitting on the edge of the pool while Carlo pulled on her ankle, trying to get her to come into the water with him. Before it was done, the asshole’s hands had climbed up her calf to the back of her knee. She’d giggled the whole time, saying, “You’d better stop it, Carlo,” although it had clearly been in jest. And he’d simply stood by watching, getting angrier with each passing minute.

Yes, it was the role she’d been hired to play. But did she have to make him look so deaf, dumb, and blind? And did she have to do that pretty, light-hearted little giggle so damn often?

And now here she was, still flitting around in her bikini inside the house with nothing on over it. Soon enough Carlo would be back down here and Max had the bad feeling that if he turned his back for a second, the guy would be all over her, and maybe inside that bikini, too. And sure, he was here to protect her, but in his opinion she needed to exercise a little self-preservation, as well.

Now she was putting away the plates she’d just taken from the dishwasher, reaching up into an overhead cabinet on her tiptoes, arching her back to make herself taller, sticking out her cute little ass in the process. A nice view. Too nice. One he was sure Carlo would enjoy if he were here.

Only when she closed the cabinet door and looked around for her next chore did she finally notice his disgruntled look. “What’s wrong?”

“Maybe you should put some more clothes on,” he replied evenly.

The words took Kimberly aback and made her chest tighten. His tone implied that she was doing something wrong here. She refrained from responding—and instead gave him a look of warning that dared him to go on.

He took the dare. Although he kept his voice low. “I think it’s safe to say the bikini has more than done its job with Carlo. You can cover yourself up a little better now.”

Oh boy. Was he serious? She tried to keep from fuming inside, but it was hard to push it down. At this point in the game, she had no intention of taking any crap from him. But she kept her voice low as well when she said, “What’s the problem here?”

“No problem,” he said in a gruff whisper. “But I didn’t exactly see why you had to let him paw you so damn much all damn day.”

“Hmm, let’s see,” she replied, a sarcastic fingertip at her lip. “I’m supposed to make the guy think I want to have sex with him. I’m supposed to make him think I’m completely willing to be seduced. And so I didn’t run screaming from him when he started to touch me. Silly me, what could I have been thinking?”

He narrowed his eyes in response to her sarcasm. “I hadn’t envisioned it including a lot of touching, that’s all.”

She let her own eyes go wide “Are you kidding? You didn’t envision touching?” She planted her fists on her hips. “Well, for someone who didn’t envision touching, you’ve certainly been doing enough of it. In fact, I was beginning to think that was my sole purpose here—to be touched and fondled by any man within reach.”

He took a step toward her, dark eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She let out a breath of utter disbelief. He was actually going to act as if he didn’t know what she was talking about? “Well, in case you weren’t paying attention, Carlo’s not the only man in this house who’s had trouble keeping his hands off me. After all, what was that kiss you gave me at the door last night?”

He stiffened. “That was professional. To help him view you in a sexual light.”

“Oh, and then what was that at the pool today when he wasn’t even around?”

He gave his head a sharp tilt, his expression shifting from one of anger to bitter honesty—before he said bluntly, “That? That was blatant lust, Kimberly.”