Chapter One

Chicago As assignments went, this one was odd. But as a private investigator, Lily West did what she was hired to do. Her latest mission was to attempt to break into the museum, test the night security team and see if they were doing their job.

Easy enough. She’d been casing the museum for the past week. The day shift was tight and doing a fine job handling the large crowds coming in to see the traveling Star of Egypt exhibit of artifacts. The day crew was also busy enough to allow her to wander around and study everything, map it all out, so she’d know what to look for at night.

She’d gotten her answers. The night crew was severely lax, and the museum’s overall security system sucked. No one patrolled outside and the guys mostly sat on their asses in the front lobby and talked to each other instead of making rounds.

Lucky for them not a damn thing had been going on.

These guys should be fired, which is probably what her client already suspected. She intended to hang out awhile longer and keep watch on the off chance the donut-eating morons inside might get up off their asses and decide to do their jobs for a change. Though it was probably a waste of her time. She could do cartwheels na**d across the front lawn and those guys wouldn’t notice her.

A motorcycle roared by, its loud pipes obliterating the quiet. That low-throated rumble never failed to get her attention. Or remind her of Mac. Not that he was ever far from her thoughts.

Bored and restless, she leaned against a tree and watched the front entrance. It didn’t take long for thoughts of Mac to enter her mind.

She’d always fantasized about riding him on his Harley.

She stayed hidden within the darkness, remembering how many times that particular fantasy had brought her to a blistering orgasm.

She’d hear him first—the roar of his bike rumbling in the distance. Her body would come alive. Like the vibrations of the machine, she’d tremble and hum. Her cl*twould purr, her ni**les quiver, her pu**y quake with the force of a rocketing engine. He’d pull up in front of her house and shut the engine off, but the steady beat of its power would still growl within her. He wouldn’t bother to knock, because he knew she’d be waiting for him.

She was lost in the fantasy now. The wind from the open living room window blew over her na**d pussy, heightening her arousal. She’d worn her sundress and nothing else, wanting to give him easy access to her body. She clenched her hands, awaiting the moment he would touch her aching heat, relieve the burning need flaming inside her.

The front door opened, the light from the table lamp backlit his tall frame. Worn jeans lovingly framed his muscled thighs. Too hot for his leather jacket. Just a T-shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders and wide chest. The harsh planes of his face drew her eye. He had that bad boy look. Always had. That had been the first thing to attract her to him. Sexy.

Forbidden. Oh, she’d wanted him.

As soon as he reached the sofa he dropped to his knees, placed his hands on her thighs just under the hem of her dress.

“You smell like spring, baby,” he whispered.

She gazed at him, drinking him in like cool water on a hot summer afternoon. He quenched her thirst like no man ever could.

“Hurry,” she said.

“You need it.”

“Yes.”

He raised her dress over her hips, baring her pu**y to his gaze. God, he turned her on when he looked at her like that.

Hungry, his whiskey brown eyes going dark. He licked his lips, bent over her and kissed below her belly button. Her abdomen quivered and she let out a whimper.

“Shh,” he breathed against her skin, then reached for the strap of her dress, drawing it down and freeing her breasts.

Her ni**les peaked and hardened as he covered one of the mounds with his palm, gently rubbing back and forth. She arched into his hand.

Hot, flaming her desire to an inferno.

He swept his mouth lower, kissing her mound before delving into her cleft with his tongue, finding the hood of her cl*tand circling it.

Maddening. She tangled her fingers into his hair, trying to direct him. He said something, his voice muffled against her skin. The words were unintelligible, almost like a chuckle.

He was teasing her. She loved it. She hated it. She wanted to cl**ax, to come in his mouth, to pour her cream over his tongue. She’d denied herself too long.

“Mac, please.”

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her thigh.

No man ever challenged her like this, ever brought out the wildness within her. But Mac did. He made her crazy, made her want to tell him exactly what she needed.

“Lick me. Make me come.” She squeezed her buttocks and lifted her hips, offering herself to him.

He dragged his body over hers and parted her legs, then covered her sex with his mouth. She moaned when he slid two fingers inside her pussy, then sucked on her cl*twhile he finger f**ked her.

Yes! This is what she needed. The pulses began to sharpen, heat building and melting inside her. She thrashed around on the couch, unable to hold still as she built to a crescendo with every hot lick of his velvety tongue against her throbbing flesh.

He knew just where her pleasure points were. Yes, right there. She was going to fly. She didn’t want it to end, yet she needed it.

“I’m coming, Mac! I’m going to come in your mouth.”

She heard his groan, felt it vibrate against her bare skin, and then she couldn’t hold back, crashing against him as the waves of orgasm coursed through her. She held his head against her pussy, rocking up and down as she splintered into a million pieces, shuddering and shaking.

No man could make her come like Mac could. She sighed in utter satisfaction.

The sound of the motorcycle returning shook her out of her fantasy. She blinked, fanning away the self-induced heat that spiraled up inside her.

It had been ten years since she’d last seen him and just thinking about him could still make her hot, could take her out of herself and turn her into some wild, hungry creature so unlike her real self. She wished… Ah, whatever. She could wish all she wanted, but she needed to focus on reality.

She saw the bike flying fast and furious down the busy main street, its silver chrome a flash of lightning under the street lights. Shit. Here she was, dreaming about Mac and she was supposed to be working. The moronic so-called crack security team was still hanging around the lobby. Eating snacks, no less.

Getting in was going to be easy.

She skirted through the trees, though stealth wasn’t really required since no one was on the lookout. But then she heard the motorcycle again. Closer this time. She darted behind a tree and watched as the rider cut his engine and pulled into a dark alley about a half a block away. She waited to see if he’d appear out of the alley, but he didn’t. Still, instinct told her there was something not quite right about this, so she stayed hidden among the trees.

Five minutes later, he walked his bike to the museum delivery entrance.

Her heart skipped a beat. There was something hauntingly familiar about this man. The cocky way he tilted his head, the way he leaned to one side and hooked his thumb in his belt loop as he studied the door. The way he brushed his hair off his face—a weird case of déjà vu. She studied him, trying to make a connection. Did she know him?

Then it hit her. He looked so much like Mac Canfield it was uncanny. Was it because she’d just been thinking about Mac? The memories of all those years ago washed over her in an instant. Lily placed her hand over her heart to stop the thudding beat she was sure he could hear.

Oh, shit. And then her fast beating heart skidded to a halt as she watched him expertly jimmy the lock and slip into the building. She waited for the alarm to sound, ticking down the thirty seconds before it would go off. Nothing. He’d obviously deactivated it.

Well son of a bitch. He’d just broken in. In less than a minute and a half he had circumvented what was supposed to be an expert security system.

Now what? She had to check this out. She had to call the police. She headed in the direction of the door, reaching into her purse to grab her cell phone, but something made her pause.

Of course it wasn’t Mac, even though she could clearly picture him riding a mean looking Harley like the one this guy had pulled up on.

Don’t be stupid, Lily. Make the call. Mac was in Texas, where she’d left all the pieces of her past. Plus it had been ten years. The man she was looking at now was taller, broader, and he had a mighty fine ass.

Then again, so did Mac.

Three minutes. He’d been in there three damn minutes and was out again. No security team running like hell after him, either. He’d managed to slip in and steal something without the night watch even knowing he’d been there.

Those guys really sucked.

He had something under his arm. The telltale white sheen and its unusual shape meant it was one of the artifacts!

Why the hell hadn’t she called the cops? Because this guy reminded her of Mac?

Idiot, idiot, idiot! She was so fired. Of course even the cops couldn’t have gotten here in time, and calling for the dipshit security guards would be useless. She’d have to stop him first, then call the police.

She hurried the remaining distance across the well manicured lawn, pulling her gun. As he turned toward the bike, she pointed it at his back.

“Freeze. I’ve got a gun pointed on you.”

“Fuck,” he whispered. He raised his hands above his head, the artifact held tight in his left hand.

She exhaled in relief, then smiled. This had been way too easy. “Put the item down and turn around slowly.” She’d put him face down on the ground, then call the cops.

He pivoted.

The past mingled with the present and Lily felt dizzy.

She almost dropped the gun, her worst nightmare come to life.

This was why she hadn’t called the cops. Something inside her had sent off warning bells and she hadn’t wanted him to get caught.

“Mac.”

Ten years had changed him, but not enough. Six feet of prime male flesh was instantly recognizable. Wicked sexy and hot enough to steal a woman’s panties, and her heart, right out from under her.

“Lily?”

She was relieved to see his eyes widen with shock. The rush of pleasure from her fantasy of a few moments ago was doused by the cold reality of facing the man who stood in front of her right now. He was still the bad boy of her dreams, still a thief, though he’d stolen something vital from her ten years ago that she could never get back. A very special gift. Okay, maybe stolen was too harsh a word, since she’d practically begged him to take it. But that was just semantics. He’d known what he was doing, and she’d been naïve and stupid and too damn much in love with him to know better. He’d gladly taken what she’d offered, then run like a thief in the night.

Just like he was doing now. Only it wasn’t her virginity in his hands. It was a damned valuable piece of property.

“You’ve just stolen a priceless artifact.”

His look of shock faded to a sharp frown. “What the hell are you doing here in Chicago? What are you doing at this museum?”

“I’m the one holding the gun so I’ll ask the questions.”

She held out one hand, keeping the gun steady and trained on the center of his chest. “Hand over the artifact.”

His gaze darted around, then back at her. “I don’t think so. Lily, you have no idea what you’re doing. Get out of here before you get yourself in trouble.”

She stuck her hand out farther. “Give it to me, goddamit.”

Now his posture relaxed, and danger signals boinged all over her body.

“I remember you saying something similar about ten years ago, but back then you were demanding my dick.”

Asshole. Did he think she was going to go running into his arms as soon as she recognized him? Then again, that could actually work. Time for a little payback. She lowered the gun.

“You’re right. What am I doing?” She stepped closer. “It’s really you.”

As soon as she got within breathing distance of him, his scent registered and memories assailed her. He still smelled like Mac—a combination of earthy male and soap, a lethal blow to her olfactory senses. How could something so simple fire her up so quickly. And his body heat—she could feel it even though he stood inches away.

Get a grip, Lily!

Mac dropped his hands at her approach, and when he did, she grabbed the artifact and jumped away from his grasp, lifting the gun and pointing it at him once again.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

She shrugged. “I can’t believe you fell for it. Turn around and face your bike. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“You won’t shoot me.”

She cast him a venomous glare and raised the barrel of the gun a little higher. “You in the mood to try me?” She thought about saying ‘make my day’ but figured that’d be just a bit too corny.

Besides, while she might want him to suffer for screwing then dumping her ten years ago, she didn’t want to kill him.

Of all people to run into and of all places. Mac knew everything there was to know about this museum, about the traveling exhibit—how long it would be here, where it was located—night security and what to expect.

Yeah, he had every expectation covered. Everything except finding Lily here. Goddamn.

Mac stared down the barrel of the gun in Lily’s hands, not at all afraid for his life. It might have been ten years since he’d seen her, and he might have done the cruelest thing a guy could do to a woman the last time they were together, but he knew without a doubt she’d never pull that trigger.

Lily wasn’t a cold blooded killer.

He’d broken her heart. He knew it and she knew it. But she wasn’t about to fill his chest with lead as payback. If she’d wanted to make him suffer for what he’d done to her, her rich daddy could have taken care of that years ago. Mac could be rotting in jail right now on any number of trumped up charges.