smell that scent again, and it made him want to pin her arms down and bite the side of her long, white neck. “Why not? Why should Michael and Kate get everything?”
“No fraternization. Those are the rules. And you helped make those rules.”
“I’ll break them.”
She gave a short laugh. “Have some respect for yourself. Stop while you’re ahead.”
“Let me make you feel better.”
“Roger, get the fuck away from me.”
The word fuck coming from her mouth made him angry and yet it turned him on even more. He was losing a little bit of control. He saw that. But he liked it. It had been a long, long time.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “C’mon. Come back to my hotel.”
“Roger, maybe you’re not understanding. I have no interest in you, I have no interest in your body, and I’d rather spend six months in solitary confinement than go to your hotel room.”
He tightened his grip on her arm. Now she was pissing him off.
She dropped her voice. “If you don’t get your hand off me, I’ll break it. I will break every phalanx and every joint and every metacarpal.”
Just then, one of Kate’s brothers yelled “Liza!” from the end of the bar.
She yanked her arm away and shot them a smile. “Be right there,” she called.
She turned her attention back to him, her features growing stern again. “I’m going to pretend this didn’t happen. And it will not happen again. Do you get that?”
He felt the urge to smash her face with his fist. He was embarrassed now that he’d let her get the better of him, but he would never show her that. He merely gave her a smirk.
Liza tossed her shoulders back and walked to the end of the bar. She accepted a beer from one of Kate’s sisters-in-law and pecked one of the brothers on the cheek.
A minute later, she glanced over her shoulder to see if Roger was still there. He stood, trying to let his anger sift away. She was a star in their world, yes, but the way she treated him, as if he were some commoner, as if he weren’t someone, was inexcusable.
Finally, Roger turned and left the bar. The cobblestone streets of St. Marabel were slick. It must have rained. Roger put his hands in his pockets and headed for his hotel. He’d been able to clear most of his emotions and leave them at the pub—he’d left behind his desire and his momentary lack of control. But he was still carrying one emotion with him. His anger. He was having a very hard time getting rid of that.
10
Chicago, Illinois
L iza Kingsley crossed LaSalle Street at Madison and entered one of the block’s smaller buildings, which bore brass plates by the entrance. Nine of those plates proclaimed the names of local law firms. The other plate read simply, Presario Pharmaceuticals.
“Morning, Ed,” she called to the security guard, as she did every morning she came to the office.
“Morning, miss.”
Liza walked to the elevator and got in with two lawyer types who hit the button for a firm called Toffer and Brodley. She nodded at them and smiled.
“Hey,” one guy said to her, allowing his eyes to linger on her face. Those eyes had also darted down Liza’s body when she stepped inside the elevator. He probably thought she hadn’t noticed. She had.
Liza wore a sleek, black pantsuit, as she did many days at work, but today she’d added a low-cut, salmon-colored silk blouse. Something about seeing Kate and Michael at their wedding last week had made her think that it was about time she found someone to date. Or at least someone to sleep with. She’d spent her weekend deciding that it had been entirely too long.
“How was your weekend?” the guy asked Liza, as if they knew each other.
She turned to face the lawyers. The one who had spoken wore khakis and a blue button-down shirt that matched his eyes precisely. He had brown hair, cut short—typical lawyer fashion—but he had a wicked grin. Liza knew his type. Full of confidence. Full of bravado. Full of himself. And usually very good in bed.
“A little lonely,” she answered.
His grin deepened. “Yeah, me too.”
They stood, their eyes not leaving the other’s face.
“So you work at Presario Pharmaceuticals, huh?”
She nodded.
“What kind of pharmaceuticals do you specialize in?”
The elevator dinged and the door opened to the spacious, ivory-painted foyer of Toffer and Brodley. The other lawyer got out and took off down the hallway.
Her guy stood in front of the doors so they couldn’t close. “I’m Rich Macklin,” he said, holding out his hand.
She shook it. “Liza Kingsley.”
“I’m from Boston, but I work out of this office part-time. Maybe I’ll stop up at Presario and say hi someday.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that.”
His cocky grin faded.
“It’s a zoo, and the receptionist can never find anybody.” She rolled her eyes at the imagined craziness of her office.
He pulled a card out of his pocket. “Well, then, call me when you’re heading downstairs for a coffee sometime, okay? Or whenever. My cell phone number is on there, too.”
“Sure,” she said, taking it from him, liking the tiny race of her pulse.
Even though the number for her floor was already lit, she hit it again. “I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you.” He gave her that grin again and stepped back.
Liza held Rich Macklin’s card as the elevator climbed. She liked the feel of it—light but with sharp edges. She stepped out when the elevator reached her floor. A large, glass block sign hung in the foyer with heavy, steel letters spelling out Presario Pharmaceuticals. Below that were two visitors’ chairs with an end table between them and a single black phone atop the table.
Liza lifted the phone, which was a STU-III, a secure telephone device designed to take audio signals, mix them digitally into a serial data stream and encrypt the voice. She rattled off a series of letters and numbers. “X68BTY233BR5Y780.”
A door in the side wall, barely perceptible, clicked twice. Liza pushed it open and entered a hallway with thick beige carpeting, the kind that might be seen in Rich Macklin’s law office downstairs. But the offices here weren’t filled with open doors and chatting lawyers. Every door was locked. No sound filtered into the hall.
Liza walked to her office door and held her thumb to the fingerprint pad. When prompted,
