Sizzle in the City (12 page)

“You haven’t failed, Trevor,” she said gently, watching him walk away.

“I have.”

“You have no control over Max’s decisions.”

“I should.”

“How?”

The simple question fired his temper, something he rarely let loose. “Because it’s my responsibility.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what I do!” He slid his hand through his hair and tugged, hoping to get a hold on his frustration. “I thought I was doing it well. My family
expects
me to do it well.”

“Max is clever. He works a room by being unthreatening, by not pushing too hard, by appearing to know less than he does.”

“But he is all those things in reality.”

“Which is why the ploy is effective.”

“I should have known,” he said, clenching his fist. “I’ve been bailing him out often enough, I should have seen what was really going on.”

“You’ve been bailing him out?”

He heard the astonishment in her voice and held up his hand. “Not in the way you think. A lot of gambling debts and bar tabs, sure. I’ve paid off the paparazzi not to publish embarrassing pictures, but mostly it’s been ridiculous stuff. He wanted to start a company that would give tourists hot-air balloon rides through Manhattan.”

“There’s very little open space. How would—”

“Exactly. It was preposterous. Then there was the time he bought a pair of fishing boats, intending to catch Alaskan king crabs.”

“Isn’t that really dangerous?”

“He was going to hire people to do the actual work. At least until he saw the insurance he’d have to carry on the business.”

“Which I’m assuming he didn’t investigate until
after
he’d bought the boats.”

“You know him well.”

“I’m beginning to. So how did you bail him out?”

“I found someone who could renovate the boats, add better navigational equipment and the like, then resold them at a profit.”

“And who invested in the upgrades?”

“I did.”

“Who got the profits?”

“I split them with Max. I’m not a complete fool.” Though right now, he certainly felt like one. “I was trying to teach him something. To show him that mistakes can be recovered from, that a wrong step can sometimes lead to a right one.”

“If you’re you.”

“Not only me. Anyone with a kernel of sense—”

She lifted her eyebrows.

“Ah, yes, well… You have a point there.”

“And what Max is doing now isn’t a mistake, it’s on purpose.”

He sighed. “I know. Buying the hotel sent off glaring alarms for me, too. I had no idea where he got the money for that.”

Shelby looked astonished. “Retirement and condo scams would be a safe bet.”

Trevor’s stomach twisted. “You’re undoubtedly right. But at the time of his big grand opening party, I didn’t know. That’s why I was there the night we met.”

“You said you were there to toast his success, as I recall. You hugged him.”

“I was there to find out how he’d acquired the hotel and to warn him to stay out of the gossip columns. I wanted him to know I was watching him.”

“That’s why you were so suspicious of me and my friends,” she said, her eyes alight with understanding. “Why you didn’t tell me your last name.”

“I didn’t give you my last name for the reason I told you then—finding out about my family tends to make people change.” Despite the seriousness of their conversation, he recalled her flushed face and direct gaze meeting his across a tray of crab puffs. He’d fallen hard for her and her succulent food immediately. “I liked you exactly as you were and didn’t want to spoil it. But, yes, I was suspicious of you. I like to keep tabs on Max’s associates.”

She glared at him. “So you can buy them off?”

With a wince, he nodded. “I’m sorry to say I have before.
It’s time to push the baby bird from the nest,
Florence, my assistant, is fond of saying. My lack of willpower has led to disaster.”

“It’s admirable you tried to save him, but you do realize he’s a lying, no-good, son-of-a—”

He snagged her hand and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “Such passion from the Yank. And my mother is quite nice actually. She has extremely poor judgment in matters of the heart, however.”

“Nice to know Max comes by his lousy qualities naturally. How much of your time, money and energy have been wasted keeping him from drowning?”

He kissed her forehead and let her comfort wash over him, even though she was kind of annoyed with him. “Too much.”

“It’s pretty weird to be called a Yankee.”

“Mmm.” He kissed her the tip of her nose. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He kissed her cheek, then kissed his way along her throat.

She planted her hand against his chest and pressed back. “You go over there. I’m sitting down. I can’t think with you touching me.”

Capturing her hand, he held on by his fingertips, which was a decent metaphor for their relationship. “But later…?”

A smile flirted at the edges of her mouth. “We’ll see how it goes, Your Lordship.”

“I’ve always thought formal titles were products of generations passed, and certainly not anything due me.” He playfully tugged her against him. “But I’m beginning to see why my father enjoys the perk.”

He pressed his lips to hers, lingering longer than he should, but not as long as he wanted. Then he led her to the sofa and stepped back, as requested.

“I went to the hotel party to see how Max had gotten thirty million dollars, which I suspected had come from our new stepfather, but wasn’t sure. I never dreamed he was actually conning anyone. I went to the investors’ meeting because by that time I knew for sure Max was into something sleazy. He told me about the real-estate project, converting the deceased artist’s space to condos. I also learned he’s romantically involved with the artist’s former lover.”

“Yuck.”

“Well said.”

“He’s getting desperate.”

“I agree. The morality and legality of his projects and his judgment are falling at a rapid pace.”

“Desperate. You’re so cute when you’re wordy.”

The unexpected compliment stirred him. “Come over here and say that.”

She shook her head. “You need to read that first.” She nodded at the folder on the coffee table. “It ain’t pretty.”

Trevor would have rather prodded a live snake, but he knew Shelby was right. Could it be any worse than hearing her say she was involved in her own undercover sting operation in an effort to expose Max’s alleged crimes? Could it be any worse than two respected NYPD officers telling him his brother really was under investigation?

He looked through the folder with a sickening heart. Several statements by would-be retirees, including Shelby’s parents, documented giving Max their life savings to invest in certificates of deposit, only to have him skip town with their money and leave behind only broken dreams and fake certificates.

Yep, it was worse.

The woman he cared about, who’d shared his bed and brightened his life, was a victim of his own brother’s greed and unscrupulous behavior.

Still carrying the folder, he wandered around the living room. The scent of garlic, cream and bacon lingered in the air. The indulgent aroma reminded him of the people who couldn’t indulge, who wondered how they’d make the next rent payment, how they’d survive without their savings.

While his brother cashed checks and looked toward the day the family coffers would open to him completely. While Trevor sat in his high-rise fortress of privilege.

He sat next to her on the sofa, close enough to touch, but still apart. The whole bloody business was starting to sound Shakespearean.

“Do you want to hit me?” he asked her.

“No.” She glanced at him askance. “Though I wouldn’t mind taking a swing at good ole Max.”

“The line will no doubt be forming around the block any minute.”

“It’s already formed.”

“I suppose it has.”

But would he join?

He couldn’t stand with Max against Shelby, but could he really battle his own family? Should he allow his brother to take the full brunt of the consequences of his actions? Especially considering Trevor had enabled him along the way.

Certainly he had to do something.

“When I talked to the police, they told me that though they don’t have jurisdiction over the scheme he conned your parents with in Savannah, there’s a complaint from Mrs. Iris Rosenburg, who lives right here in the city.” He tossed the folder onto the coffee table. “Quite a resume.”

“He gets around.” She laid her hand on his thigh, and he linked their fingers. “And the past is quickly catching up with him—one way or another. When Calla talked to Detective Antonio, he agreed to reinterview Mrs. Rosenburg for further information.”

“But he says there’s a body in the East River—”

“Not anymore, I guess. Still, the detective has problems of his own. Not to mention there’s something about him.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Trevor prompted. “Something about him…?”

“I’m not sure. Except that he’s sort of supporting us and sort of annoyed we’re invading his space. Mostly annoyed, I think. Oh, and Calla is hot for him.”

“How wonderful for them.”

She didn’t comment on his sarcasm. She knew as well as he about all the barriers that remained between them.

“Detective Antonio also made an effort at convincing me to talk you out of going any further with your personal vendetta.”

“Like I said, mostly annoyed.”

“Did you really break into Max’s office?”

She lifted her chin. “I’ll refrain from answering that question without my attorney present.”

“You didn’t think I’d tell you the truth about the meeting? You had to get proof?”

“I’d already asked you to check with Max when my buddies came up with the alleged break-in at the office.”

“And you didn’t want to wait for my answer before committing the alleged break-in?”

“That, and I didn’t want you in the middle. I didn’t want you right where you are—forced to divide your loyalties.”

“The evidence against Max is piling up.”

“Knowing and acting against him are two different things.”

The fact that she understood the position he was in didn’t make the decision any easier. “Yes, it is.”

“I guess you agree with the detective? You think my friends and I should step back and let Max go until the police can catch up.”

He met her gaze directly. Brother or not, Max had crossed way over the line between right and wrong. As sick inside as he was about the whole business, he couldn’t let Shelby and the others go on alone. And while he wasn’t at the point where he could hand over his only brother to the police, he knew Max had to be stopped. “No, I think we need to handle this ourselves. I want in on the Robin Hood project.”

11

“I
HAVE
A
FAVOR
TO
ASK
first, though.”

Shelby’s ears were still ringing from Trevor’s announcement and not entirely prepared to hear his request.

“I’ve been—”

“Are you sure about this?” she interrupted.

“I am. Max can’t continue on this path. He’s hurting people.” He stroked her cheek with the tip of his finger. “Namely, you.”

“So you’re doing this for me?”

“Mostly. Is that a problem?”

Her heart squeezed in her chest. “I guess not.” At least not until she completely fell for him. Their relationship had started with lies and vigilante justice. They had nothing in common, other than Max and their desire. How could anything lasting come of that?

“I’ve been concerned about Max’s behavior for a while,” Trevor continued. “Babysitting him used to be easy, even second nature.” He shrugged. “I watch him to keep him from embarrassing the family and the title we’ve held for more than two hundred bloody years.”

“Because your father asks you to.”

“Now, yes. Publicly, he’s cut Max off. He was practically humiliated into doing so by his peers, even though I think he’s convinced he’ll turn around one day and find a clone of himself staring at Max’s image in the mirror.”

“You never told me delusion ran in your family.”

Trevor’s smile was as weak as her attempt to joke. “They must, since, in the beginning, I was truly trying to help. We’re brothers. I wanted to support him. But I’ve been resenting him lately and feeling guilty about it. Now, given that his actions have gone far beyond embarrassment, I feel foolish.”

“And angry? It’s okay to be angry.”

“Believe me, I am.” He squeezed her hand. “But I’d like you to do something for me before going forward with your plans.”

“And that is…?”

“I want to give Max an opportunity to apologize and make restitution.”

She leaped to her feet. “No. Absolutely not. We’re way past apologies.”

“And restitution,” he reminded her calmly. “Obviously, your parents are struggling. Their financial situation has driven you outside the law. If I can get Max to pay…”

“It’s not only about the money.”

“What’s it about, then? Revenge?”

“You’re damn right it is!” She attempted to pace off her fury, only to find her temper snarling even louder. Freakin’ rich people. If they didn’t like how their life was going, they bought a new outcome. How many demanding, irrational, privileged jerks had she placated and served and…

Whose checks she’d cashed to live the life she wanted.

Stopping, she curled her hands into fists and tried to think rationally. Trevor wasn’t Max. And being a jerk wasn’t limited to those with money.

Facing her lover, she crossed her arms over her chest. “After all the suffering he’s caused why does he get to write a check and make it all go away? No. I want him prosecuted.”

“You want him punished.”

“And what’s wrong with that? Too uncivilized for you, Your Lordship?”

Slowly, he rose to his feet. His blue eyes had hardened like ice. He clearly didn’t like her mocking his family title, especially since she’d used it often as an endearment. “You want people to take the law into their own hands? To ignore rules and procedures? To decide who’s guilty among themselves and pass judgment and sentencing?”

“There are times when desperate measures are needed.”

“And who decides that?
You?
”

She certainly didn’t want the days of the Wild West again, but when the law turned its back on hardworking, if somewhat gullible people, somebody had to step up and make things right.

The law isn’t turning its back. Lady Justice is simply moving too slowly.

What would it hurt to give Trevor this opportunity so they could fight for the same side? Max wouldn’t dish out a dime to her parents or anybody else. She’d bet her new deluxe convection oven he’d laugh in Trevor’s face when he made his reimbursement request.

“Fine,” she announced. “But I have no control over any charges the police eventually manage to scrape together.”

“Agreed.”

“And Max will pay. Not you.”

“I’d be glad to—”

She glared at him. “
Max
will pay.”

“Your parents shouldn’t continue to worry. Let me help.”

“I’m helping them.”

“A loan?”

“No.” Drawing a deep breath, she fought against the humiliation of her lover knowing she’d failed to protect her family, particularly when he was so adept at sheltering his. “Thank you, but no. This is my fight.”

“Mine now, too. My family has lived by a code of honor, loyalty and civility for generations. I can’t let this go.”

“Neither can I.”

“So we agree.”

Close enough to touch, yet she felt as though they’d traveled miles in opposite directions.

She didn’t like the distance. There would be battles enough to contend with. It’d be nice to have him beside her.

She looped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. His heart beat soundly against her cheek. “Even if Max agrees to restitution, you’d better hire him a darn good attorney.”

Sighing, he held her against him. “I will. Still, he’s hardly a criminal mastermind. Certainly not front-page news.”

She pressed her lips to his jaw. “The gossip columns seem to love him.”

“Don’t they just?”

“Bet Daddy isn’t happy about that.”

“No, he definitely isn’t.” Trevor’s mouth twitched with amusement. His eyes thawed. “Daddy?”

“It’s a Southern thing. What do you call him?”

“Sir.”

“Not
my lord
or
milord?
That kind of thing?”

“In public, I do. In private he relaxes the rules.”

Shelby rolled her eyes. The guy sounded like a true stuffed shirt. How fortunate was she that his son—the insignificant second one—was so deliciously passionate.

She bumped her hips against his. “I think
milord
is sexy.”

“Do you?” He slid his hands down her backside and held her against his body. “Instead of getting revenge on Max, we could knock him and my cousin off, and I’d have quite a few titles coming my way.”

“Oh, yeah?” She glided her tongue across his bottom lip and reveled in the way he tensed. “Name them.”

“There’s the Earl of Westmore, of course.”

She unfastened the buttons on his shirt. “That’s your father’s title, right? Even without Max in the picture, you’d only get that when he passes away.”

“True, but—”

She slid her hands across his bare chest, clearly distracting him. His skin was warm, but she knew she could make it hot. “So now we’re knocking off three people. Too complicated. What else?”

“My second cousin’s the Viscount Carlton.”

“That’s pretty hot.”

“Is it?”

“If you’re into that kind of thing.” She shoved his shirt down his arms, then dropped it on the floor. “What about you? Without us committing patricide or fratricide or…whatever killing a cousin might be.”

“Very formally I’d be the Honorable Trevor Banfield, but I have no actual title.”

She unbuttoned his pants. His erection pulsed against her hand. “What a shame. I’d like you so much more if you did.”

He closed his eyes as she stroked him. “You lie.”

“See what a good vigilante I am?”

She backed him to the sofa and let go of him long enough to strip off her clothes. Naked, she straddled him, rubbing herself against his hardness, enjoying the building of tension, the desire that slammed her body and soul.

He braced his hands on her hips, encouraging her to rock with him. “The best I’ve ever seen.”

Protection was essential before their hunger climbed beyond the point they could think. Before they became one.

Still…for the moment, she liked the teasing.

“Titles are kind of boring,” she said.

He cupped the back of her head and angled her face for his kiss. “I so agree,” he said hungrily before he captured her mouth.

He tangled his tongue with hers. The potency of his warm, familiar sandalwood scent, and the obvious need to be with her, have her, left her trying desperately to catch her breath.

“I was thinking we’d play master and maid,” she said against his lips.

“You sure you don’t want to be the duchess?”

“Hell, no. Besides, I already have a French maid’s costume.”

“Do you?” He tongued his way down her throat. “Make it an English maid, and you’ve got a deal.”

She halted her teased rubbing, planting her hands against his shoulders as she leaned back. “You want to be diplomatic
now?
”

“I have to be loyal to the motherland.”

“Uh-huh.” She climbed off his lap and rose. “I’ll get my stuff together, go home and sew a tiny little British flag to my costume.” Glancing over her shoulder, she wiggled her bare butt and pointed at him. “You wait right there till I get back.”

She’d barely taken another step before she heard him charging after her.

“Have pity, milady,” he rasped in her ear as he lifted her off her feet and carried her to his bed.

Project Robin Hood, Day 22
Office of Maxwell Banfield Inc.

“T
ELL
ME
ABOUT
F
IRST
R
ATE
Investments,” Trevor asked his brother on Monday morning.

“It was a business I owned for a while. Things didn’t work out.”

Typical Max. Nothing concerned him except his own neck. Was he oblivious even now to the grave jeopardy he was in? Did he have any instinct about how far apart they’d grown in the last few days?

Trevor glanced around the office. It communicated confidence and prosperity but seemed overdone. Trevor had always noticed something was wrong. Because Max had poor taste or because there was something truly wrong?

“Mind if I sit?” Trevor asked him casually.

Deliberately insulting, Max glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

Trevor held on to his temper just barely. He thought of Shelby, of how much she meant to him. Of how desperately he wanted this whole disaster over with, so he could concentrate on her. On them.

In between her catering jobs, he and Shelby had spent the weekend in bed. Again.

He was starting to see a pattern form, and he liked the picture.

“This won’t take long,” Trevor said, lowering himself into the chair in front of Max’s desk. He and Shelby had come up with a strategy, and he hoped to hell it worked. “One of your former clients came to me and said you swindled her and her husband out of their retirement savings.”

Max’s casual pose and expression disappeared. “Who? When?”

“It hardly matters. Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Swindle them.”

“Of course not.” Max clenched his hands together. “How could you ask me something like that? I connect people with good deals, but not every investment works out.”

“Invest in what?”

“For retirees I generally recommend CDs.”

“CDs are pretty secure.”
Unless there are no CDs.

“Who are these people?”

“The Rosenburgs. Nice couple. Even nicer apartment on Park.”

“I remember them,” Max said, nodding sagely, though Trevor caught the whiff of another false note. His brother had no memory of taking their hard-earned money. “Shame the project didn’t pan out.”

“How did the…” Trevor bit back the word
scheme
“…project fall apart?”

Lurching to his feet, Max shrugged. “I don’t really remember.”

“Think.”

Max’s gaze darted to Trevor. His tone had burst his brother’s self-indulgent bubble.

“You have to reimburse your clients.”

“No, I don’t. I told them there are risks with any investment.”

“But you didn’t invest the money.”

“I gave it to a friend to invest.”

The accusation had been a guess. One he was disheartened to have confirmed. “What friend?”

“A—a stockbroker.” Max’s face flushed—either from anger or embarrassment. Or guilt. “He’s the one who said he was buying CDs. Get the money from him.”

Trevor didn’t believe him. Seeing his brother through Shelby’s eyes had changed him. There was no friend. He’d never intended to invest the money.

And yet, whether it was old habits or protective instincts, Trevor couldn’t resist giving Max one last opportunity to save himself. A window to crack and reap the benefits of having powerful family backing. “Your friend skipped town with the money. It’s your responsibility to compensate the clients who trusted you with their savings.”