Christie Ridgway - Bachelor Boss

Oh, great, Lucy thought. Just another item to put on her list. Don’t screw up the temp job, do get over Carlo, do make clear to the public-at-large that Lucy Sutton was no longer in pigtails and braces.

On that last thought, Carlo invaded her mind again.

I see that you’re all grown-up .

A woman .

For a moment she’d actually believed he did see that. That he saw her . But then she’d mentioned Elise’s name and he’d gone distant and cool. No more masculine gleam in his eyes and no more half smile on his mouth. As usual, for Carlo, it was always Elise.

So why should she go through with this “date” tonight? She could comfortably stay home and still torture herself with that particular piece of knowledge.

But no! She capped the lotion with a vehement snap. Elise was right. Lucy should be out there proving she was no longer the Suttons’ silly youngest sibling. Tonight didn’t have to be about Carlo. Or about Carlo and Elise. Or about Carlo, and never Lucy.

Tonight could be about Lucy alone. If she focused on herself, maybe she could move into the future, leaving him the lone soul left wallowing in what-couldn’t-be. Tonight, she should, no, she would go to the party as a single, sophisticated woman instead of a goosey love-struck girl.

Her older sister wandered off, leaving Lucy alone to finish prepping for the evening. After putting on make-up and smoothing her hair into straight strands with the flat iron, she wiggled into the stretchy dress she’d selected, adjusting the straps over her braless breasts and criss-crossing them on her bare back in order to tie the ends at her waist. Then she inspected herself in the mirror.

Okay. This was no baby-sister kind of dress. She’d purchased it at a boutique in Phoenix, at a supersale that even then cleaned out her clothing budget. The colors—ranging from palest yellow to the most passionate pink—mimicked a Southwest sunset and brightened her blond hair and fair skin. She paired it with high-heeled pink sandals and a raspberry lip gloss guaranteed to last all night long.

Through kisses and anything else, the product’s sexy ad promised.

She didn’t let her mind go there , though then it did, even without her permission. But why not? Maybe she would meet an attractive man at the party. Maybe he would kiss her.

It could happen.

She heard the doorbell ring, followed by the distant murmur of voices. Her brother-in-law, John’s, the deeper rumble of Carlo’s.

Her little shiver was merely because the night was turning cooler, of course.

So stifling any second thoughts, she grabbed a gauzy wrap and her evening purse, then headed out of the bedroom and down the hallway. A single, sophisticated woman on the way to a party.

Despite herself, her forward motion stopped just short of the living room. From her place in the shadows, she took in the tableau in front of her.

Her sister and brother-in-law were seated on the couch, Lucy’s “date” standing before them. Carlo was dressed in ash-gray slacks and a matching ash-gray silky-looking T-shirt, topped by a black linen sports jacket. He looked relaxed and, well, rich, the shine of his loafers mimicking the gleam of his dark hair. His mouth curved in polite amusement as John related something funny about work. After a moment, Carlo’s eyes flickered away from his friend’s face to light on Lucy’s sister’s classic features.

It seemed to her that his smile faded and his eyes turned empty.

Perhaps she made some movement then, giving herself away, because Carlo’s gaze suddenly jumped to where Lucy was lurking. Hoping to cover for her staring, she immediately stepped into the living room, her shoulders back, her hips swaying. A sophisticated, single woman on her way to a party.

A sophisticated single woman who watched Carlo’s carefully blank expression turn to one of blatant disapproval.

Her first-day nerves returned with a vengeance. Hives felt as if they were rising all over her skin. She would have turned and run, but her sophisticated, single-girl high heels allowed for no fast getaways.

Carlo Milano didn’t like parties in general. He didn’t like the one he was headed to tonight in particular. In particular, because he was accompanied by five feet and a hundred pounds of potential danger. Five feet and a hundred pounds of potential danger wearing high heels and a flaming-hot dress.

Closing his eyes as he shut the passenger door on her and the view of her bare, slender legs, he allowed himself a groan. If only he hadn’t broken things off with Tamara, she would be his date tonight.

Tamara and her palpable hopes for a happily-ever-after life story, with him starring as the male lead.

It was why he’d been forced to end what had been pleasantly pleasant enough. When she’d started making noises about shared vacations and opportunities to meet her parents, he’d felt honor-bound to halt her building expectations. He just didn’t think that type of happy ending was written into the Carlo Milano movie script.

Not that he didn’t believe in happy endings. He’d seen his sister and many of his friends successfully couple up. Not for a minute did he doubt their commitments to their lovers. He went to each wedding wishing them all the best.

But at one wedding… At one wedding he’d started letting go of the notion of a lifelong romantic partnership for himself.

Then, when he’d lost his police partner to an unfair and untimely murder…he’d been certain he was destined to do the life thing solo.

Not to mention it just seemed simpler that way.

“La Jolla isn’t in this direction,” piped up the young beauty beside him. “I thought you said the party was in La Jolla.”

He kept his focus out the windshield instead of glancing again at the blonde wrapped in salsa that was little Lucy Sutton all grown-up. Curse whatever combination of curiosity and kindness had prompted him to ask her out in the first place.

Kindness.

Right. The truth was, the water-cooler incident in the break room had snapped something inside of him. One moment he’d been remembering her as a bubblegum-popping tweenie, the next he was seeing her as a woman. Desirable. Beddable.

Though not available, of course. Not available to him, anyway. There were several reasons that made that a fact: she was an old family friend and almost like a little sister to him; her brothers were among his best friends and would beat him to a pulp if he and Lucy hooked up and he ended up hurting her; and he’d never forgive himself if—when—that very likelihood came to pass.

Still, aware of all that, he’d opened his big mouth and extended the invitation.

So here he was with Lucy. Desirable. Beddable.

Pure trouble.

His years as a street cop, then as a detective, then as a security expert had finely honed his instincts, and his instincts said she was mischief in the making. Lucy Sutton wearing that dress and looking like that in it was going to be up to her curvy hips in trouble tonight if he didn’t stay on the ball.

“Carlo?”

He sighed. “We’re making a stop before the party.” Thank God. Anything to minimize the amount of time he’d have to be on guard-dog patrol. “You wouldn’t by any chance dislike loud music and large crowds?”

He caught her grin out of the corner of his eye. “I love loud music and large crowds.”

“Figures,” he grumbled.

She laughed. “Why are we going, then, if you dislike the party scene so much?”

“You know. It’s a work obligation.” His calendar bulged with them. In a convention town that was also home to major league sports teams and that hosted big-name golf tournaments, as well as big-star rock concerts, McMillan & Milano’s services were in constant demand. “The company’s in charge of security for the Street Beat festival three weeks from now and I’ve got to put in an appearance and do the good ol’ grip-and-grin for at least a few minutes.”