style="font-size:15px;"> She had silky brown hair that fell to the middle of her back, long and feminine just the way he liked it. And those eyes, those take-me brown eyes—what man could refuse their unspoken invitation? The clingy top and skirt she wore had given him the chance to admire her very well-shaped curves up close. She clearly spent time at the gym, and he found himself imagining what kind of sweaty workout she did to get such a sexpot body.
He imagined stripping her of her damp little shorts and top, licking the salty perspiration between her breasts, working over her body until her sweat mingled with his, and—
Whoa.
Those were exactly the kind of thoughts he needed to banish. Skye Ellison was likely a con artist herself. Okay, maybe a con artist in training, and possibly not a very good one, but still. She’d probably helped rip him off.
He recalled the way she’d gotten so defensive when he’d accused her, and that left little doubt in his mind that she at least knew about Martin’s scam. The way her hackles had risen at the suggestion of her involvement in the con, she might as well have had a guilty sign blinking over her head. It didn’t matter how damn sexy she looked if she was a criminal.
Okay, it was possible he was being paranoid. He couldn’t argue that his judgment had been a little off lately, but still, it seemed like a sure bet that Skye was not to be trusted.
Nico scowled at the person who had just pulled up in the emergency lane to the right of him and tried to wedge himself in front of Nico’s car. Only in L.A. would anyone be bold enough to try outrunning a Ferrari with a tricked-out Toyota. When the light changed and Nico edged up, coming within inches of hitting the car to keep it out of his lane, he knew he’d finally become an official Los Angelino.
Having moved to the city four years ago to join one of the premier racing teams in the U.S., he’d decided to stick around after he retired from racing. It was easier to film promotional spots from here and he’d gotten attached to his house on the beach.
He missed his hometown sometimes, but he couldn’t complain about Southern California’s glorious sunshine after having lived through Chicago’s miserable winters for most of his life. With only his mother and his sister back in Illinois—neither of whom he was very close to—he hadn’t seen any reason to return there.
Right now, in the middle of May, while there was probably a thunderstorm or something happening in the Midwest, it was a sunny, perfect seventy-five degrees in L.A.
After forty-five minutes of following Skye through rush-hour traffic, they finally made it to a North Hollywood apartment complex, where she parked her car. Nico pulled in next to her and got out just as she did.
“What are you doing here?” she said, doing a good job of acting as though she had no idea he’d followed her.
“You didn’t think you’d get away that easily, did you?” he said, wishing like hell he’d made a plan.
“I’m thinking I should call the police. Are you stalking me or what?” She began digging around in her bag, then produced a cell phone.
“Go ahead, dial 911. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Only because being an asshole isn’t against the law in the state of California.”
“Now that I know where you live, I can really be an asshole if I want to be. Until you agree to help me, that is.”
“Fine! You want my help? Go rummage through my underwear drawers. Read my e-mail. See if you can uncover my big fat plot with Martin to steal your money.”
“Don’t tempt me. How about I just come in and you tell me everything you know.”
“I know nothing! When are you going to get that through your head?”
She turned and stalked up the stairs, glancing over her shoulder at him periodically as she went. Her hot little ass tempted and teased him with every step she took.
Then she made her way along the outdoor walkway to her door, number two C, moving as if she were about to break into a sprint.
Nico followed, making a concerted effort to notice his surroundings and not his companion. Skye’s white-stucco apartment building was a little shabby, but no more so than the other residences in the area. It was what he’d expect a twenty-something woman to be able to afford in North Hollywood, so no surprises there. The neighborhood was filled with hip young professionals and wannabe actors working their way up to a house in the hills.
Nico had looked at condos in the area when he’d first moved to L.A., but in the end he’d opted for a place away from the city, on the beach in Malibu. The price had been steep, but every time he heard the ocean from inside his house, or glanced outside at the view, he didn’t regret his decision. He’d chosen his place partly because of its in-law suite located in a separate cottage, which he could use as a guest house for visiting friends and family.
And the setup had worked out great until Martin had come along and convinced Nico that he was worthy of renting the place while he tried to get his so-called business venture off the ground.
Skye unlocked her door and shot him an incredulous look. “You don’t actually think I’m going to let you in?”
Nico shrugged. “I’m an optimist. What do you have to lose by talking to me?”
“Go to hell,” she said as she stepped inside the apartment.
Then she slammed the door in his face.
3
AS IF SKYE’S LIFE couldn’t get any more bizarre, now she was being stalked by a guy whose car cost more than her entire college education?
Okay, maybe not stalked, but having him pull up beside her in his testosterone-mobile and get out right there in front of her apartment building was a little bit more than her shaky nerves could handle at the moment. She’d driven most of the way home a whimpering, sniveling ball of self-pity, picturing an evening at home with her roommate while they shared their favorite comfort food—a white pizza with extra garlic and mushrooms—and made bad jokes about her employment prospects.
Having an entirely different and unwelcome kind of Italian dish show up on her doorstep had not been part of the plan.
All her instincts were screaming, “Run! Get away from Nico! Don’t trust a guy who wears a perpetual smirk!”
But she already knew her instincts, such as they were, sucked the big one. So where did that leave her?
Out of a job, ripped off by her ex, humiliated by a guy who’d gotten famous by driving around in circles really, really fast. Totally unsure what to do with Nico Valletti.
Screwed.
Skye turned around and dropped her bag on the floor, strangely aware of the mystery bra lurking within it. Then she realized she wasn’t alone in the living room.
Her roommate, Fiona, was sitting on the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest. “Who was that?”
“Satan.”
“I always thought
