Legal Heat

Chapter Two


“You have a wine cellar? In a fetish club?” Curiosity warred with Katy’s natural instinct to stay out of dark places and away from devastatingly handsome men who could stoke her arousal with one scorching look.

Did she dare go down another rabbit hole? With him?

As if sensing her trepidation, he slipped a wedge under the door. “I’ll leave the door open, although it’ll play havoc with the climate controls.”

Katy’s mouth watered in anticipation. She rarely indulged her passion for wine. A cardiac surgeon, and almost always on call, Steven rarely drank and she didn’t like to drink alone. Since the divorce, work and the kids had taken precedence over nights out with the girls and she had learned her lesson about drinking at client functions as a law student.

One quick look and she would come back upstairs.

She followed him through the door and down a well-lit, stone stairway into the cellar of her dreams. No expense had been spared. Floor-to-ceiling redwood racking housed a vast collection of what she suspected were vintage bottles. Cooling units, flagstone floors and incandescent lighting modernized the room. She breathed in the rich, heady scent of wine and cedar. “This is amazing. Can I look around?”

He nodded and settled himself in a high-backed, red leather chair. “Take your time.”

Katy roamed the wine cellar, randomly pulling out bottles. Shivers ran through her body, but they were not solely from her delight at finding rare and exclusive labels. She could feel his eyes on her, following her every movement, watching her every breath, boring into her soul.

“So what do you think of the club?” His deep rumble filled the silence.

“It’s very intimidating.” But not as intimidating as you.

He chuckled. “You’ve only seen the public space. The private playrooms are in the back.”

Katy shivered, suddenly regretting her decision to leave the safety of the crowd. “I’m not really interested in that side of things. I don’t usually come to places like this.”

She paused and gave him a sidelong glance. “Do you come here often? I mean, other than working the bar?”

Mark laughed. “Are you using a line on me?”

Katy bit her lip and turned away to hide her heated cheeks. “No. Of course not. I was wondering if you were…”

“You want to know if I’m in the scene.”

His gentle tone gave her the courage to turn around. “Are you?”

“It’s not something I need, but it can be enjoyable with the right person.”

Katy breathed out a soft oh and then froze. Had he heard her? Could he tell her response was one of curiosity and not condemnation?

“What about you?” He folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Did you come here with a secret agenda?”

“No secret agenda. When Valerie told me she worked at the club, I was curious so I agreed to meet her here instead of at my office.”

“Brave girl,” he murmured.

Katy cocked an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. She hadn’t been called a girl since she turned eighteen. “That was slightly condescending.”

His eyes crinkled and a smile played at the corners of his broad, sensuous mouth. “The correct response to a compliment is thank you.”

She walked over to another part of the collection and pulled out a dusty bottle. “I hardly think that was—”

“I’m waiting.”

Surprised by his warning tone, she turned to face him.

He sat back in his chair, long, muscular legs spread, corded forearms crossed, dark eyes calm and focused. But despite his casual manner, she sensed power and tension coiled in his lean body, like a cobra ready to spring.

A thrill of fear raced through her, followed by a sharp spike of arousal. She tempered it quickly. No way would she be pushed around even if secretly his commanding tone turned her on. She replaced the bottle in the rack. “I think we’d better get back upstairs.”

His voice softened. “Why are you running away?”

She spun around to face him. “I’m not running away. I…I’ve seen the wine cellar so I thought—”

“You’re afraid.”

Katy folded her arms. “Not at all.”

“Your body says otherwise.”

She froze and then sucked in a breath. “What do you mean by that?”

“Body language. You’re flushed, trembling. Your breathing rate has increased. Your eyes are wide. Your hands are clenched into fists. Your tongue…” He paused and his voice lowered to a husky growl. “Your tongue keeps darting out to lick your lips. If that isn’t fear, sugar, what could it be?”

Arousal, fierce and unfamiliar, shot through her like an electric current, flaming her body, burning a path to her core. Sweat broke out on her heated skin. Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out.

Mark’s lips curled into a slow, sensual smile. “Come here, Katy-who-isn’t-afraid.” The sound of his voice, hard and low, sent a chill down her spine.

No, not a chill. A heat wave. A fever. Maybe she was ill. Maybe that’s why her cheeks burned and sweat trickled between her breasts.

But that didn’t explain the deep yearning that had risen up within her. Oh, she wanted to go to him, tear his clothes off, climb onto his lap, run her hands over his broad chest and then lower. It was as if she had been starving for years and he was a banquet waiting to be tasted.

Maybe that was the truth of it.

Giving herself a mental shake, she willed the sensation to go away. What the hell was going on? Was she seriously contemplating having sex with a stranger in the basement of a fetish club?

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Why?”

“Didn’t you want the Meursault?”

Katy nodded and her pulse kicked up a notch.

“Third row down, second bottle from the left.” He pointed above his head.

Katy raised an eyebrow. “A gentleman would get it for me.”

“I’m not feeling like a gentleman right now. Especially after your stirring performance upstairs and the way you’re looking at me now—like you want to devour me.” The heat in his eyes matched his voice, dark and sinful, like a rich Amarone. How long had it been since a man gazed at her with such desire? After Justin’s birth, Steven had never once looked at her with anything more than mild interest.

Katy lowered her eyes. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…”

He cut her off. “Katy.”

She looked up into amused brown eyes and then drank in the sight of his hard, muscular body sprawled across the chair; his long legs open and inviting.

Craving, deep and delicious, flooded her veins.

“Come here, sugar. I won’t bite.”

“It’s not the biting I’m worried about.” Nor was it him. Her gut told her he wouldn’t hurt her. If he had wanted to try anything, he wouldn’t have waited this long. No, it was her. She had lost control of herself and she had no idea what this new, lust-driven Katy Sinclair was about to do.

Still, his soft, cajoling voice drew her forward. Although she wanted the wine, she wanted him more. But after ten years on the bench, she didn’t remember how to play the game.

Her heels clicked on the flagstone floor as she closed the distance between them, stopping only a foot away. Even seated, he intimidated her. But God was he sexy. Her pulse raced and her throat turned dry.

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m beginning to wonder if we haven’t met before.”

Katy shook her head. “We haven’t. I’m sure of it. You’re not someone I would ever forget.” Or ever will. She stepped closer, her body now only inches from his. She caught the scent of his spicy aftershave and something raw and purely masculine. A quiver of fear ran through her followed again by the fierce rush of arousal.

“Good girl.”

“I’m hardly a girl.”

He reached out and put his hands on her hips, drawing her close, until she could feel the heat of his breath on her breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt. She bit her lip to stifle a moan.

“Most definitely not,” he murmured.

Inexplicable desires wracked Katy’s body. She wanted to thread her fingers through his hair, straddle his body and press her breasts against his full, sensuous lips.

Her briefcase dropped, unbidden, to the floor. She ran a tentative finger along the square line of his jaw, rough with stubble, but pulled away at his sharp intake of breath.

“Put it back.” He lifted her hand and pressed it against his cheek, trapping it with his own. His skin was warm, firm. So sexy. She felt the slip of arousal between her thighs and drew in a ragged breath.

Get a grip, Katy. This isn’t you.

She eased herself out of his grasp. “You’re going to have to move. I’m not reaching over you.”

“Shame.” He stood with the grace of a man half his size and pulled the chair out of her way.

Katy reached for the bottle. Too high. She looked over her shoulder. Mark’s gaze was fixed firmly on her…ass. She snorted a laugh. “When you’re done, maybe you could give me a hand.”

Mark grinned and walked toward her, stopping so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body across every inch of her back. He put one arm around her waist and pulled her into his broad chest.

“Where do you want it, sugar?” he whispered, his breath warm and moist in her ear.

Red, hot flames of need licked through her body. “Want what?”

“My hand.”

She could think of several places she wanted his hand. Places Steven had rarely touched. Emboldened by his obvious interest, and her own simmering arousal, she let her head fall back on his shoulder and looked up at him. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

His body shook with laughter. “What kind of girl?”

“The kind of girl who tells a man where she wants his hand.”

He stroked the curve of her waist and brushed his lips over her ear. “You don’t have to tell me, sugar. I know.”

Ardor overwhelmed her and she scrambled to justify her actions. Sex club. Too much alcohol. Sinfully hot guy. Romantic wine cellar. Ten years of cold, loveless marriage, loneliness and unfulfilled need.

Good enough. She put her hand over his, sliding them both across her stomach. Mark grunted his approval and pulled her tight against his body. His soft lips blazed a trail of gentle kisses down her neck.

“You are so beautiful,” he growled. “So f*cking hot.”

Katy hissed out a breath. She had steeled herself for a little flirting, not for the raw hunger of desire or the burning need for the touch of a stranger. Embarrassed and shocked by her body’s response, she made a half-hearted attempt to pull away.

His arm tightened around her, pressing her so closely against his chest she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her back. He traced his fingers along her shoulder, over her collarbone and down the V of her shirt to the swell of her breasts.

Katy shuddered. His touch electrified her, sending shivers of sparks along every nerve in her body. How long had she dreamed of such an erotic, sensual caress? So different from Steven’s ham-fisted pawing in the dark.

Ever so gently, he traced a finger along the lace edge of her bra, burning a slow trail over each soft crescent. A shiver of need chased down her spine and her betraying body arched toward his touch.

Emboldened by her response, he slowly undid the first few buttons of her shirt and slid his hand beneath the cotton barrier to cup her breast in his heated palm. With firm, but gentle strokes of his thumb, he teased her nipple into a tight peak through the thin lace of her bra, stoking her arousal hot enough to make her whimper with need.

“Shh, sugar. Tony won’t be too happy if I lose control in his prized wine cellar.”

Her sex clenched at his words and delicious anticipation ratcheted through her body. Please. Lose. Control.

The tips of his fingers drifted lower, exploring her, gliding over every curve and into every hollow of her body.

Desire became a raging inferno, incinerating reality in a tidal wave of emotion. Within minutes this stranger had aroused a passion in her she didn’t even know she had.

“Why did you really come to the club, sugar? Is there something here that called to you?” He inched up her skirt and skimmed his fingers along the inside of her thigh, closer and closer to the tender folds hidden by her very wet, red lace panties.

Dark, erotic sensations pulsed through her body. Yes, something called to her, but she couldn’t put it in words. She couldn’t muster the effort to think instead of feel, speak instead of whimper. So she didn’t even try.

“I’m waiting.” The hint of warning pulled at something low in her belly.

She hissed in a breath and forced the words out. “It’s different. Dangerous. I thought it might be…exciting.”

“Are you excited, sugar?” He cupped her breast and kissed the sensitive hollow at the base of her neck.

Her head fell back against his shoulder and her strangled groan pierced the quiet of the cellar. Lust electrified her skin and sizzled away the last of her doubts.

Mark eased his hand away and smoothed down her skirt. “We’d better slow down.”

“No.” Katy shocked herself at the vehemence in her response. She should be happy. He was, in a perverse way, being a gentleman. But in her wild state of arousal, she had no desire to be a lady.

She spun around to face him. At the sight of his handsome face, now taut with need, something loosened in her core. She pressed her body against his and cupped his face in her hands. “Don’t stop.”

“Christ,” he murmured. “You are tempting beyond belief.” His hands splayed across the curve of her buttocks and he crushed her pelvis against his, pressing his hot, hard erection into her belly.

The evidence of his desire only served to further inflame her arousal. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down toward her aching lips.

But Mark wouldn’t play the game. He kissed her throat, her breasts, her neck—everywhere but where she wanted his hot, wet mouth. His fingers dug into her flesh so hard the pleasure pain ripped a moan from her throat. She tilted her head back, desperately seeking the kiss he was so mercilessly withholding.

Suddenly Mark released her and pushed her away. “I can’t…I want you, sugar. But not like this.”

Reeling, confused, Katy looked away. She didn’t want him to see the bloom in her cheeks. She had never been forward or sexually aggressive in her life. Was it really the combination of alcohol and the highly erotic, sensual environment? Or was it desperation for the intimacy she had craved so long? Maybe it was chemistry, pure and simple. All she knew was that she wanted him so badly, she would do almost anything to have him. Despite his rejection.

“Sugar?” His handsome face rumpled with consternation.

Katy swallowed past the lump in her throat. She was never going to see him again. If she was going to spend the next year getting off on this fantasy, she wanted at least one taste to remember him by.

Heart pounding, she closed the distance between them and leaned up to brush her lips over his. Warm. Firm. He tasted of the richest wine and the darkest coffee. Lush and sensual. She had never known it until now, but sex had a taste. And he was it.

He stiffened and then groaned—a low, guttural, entirely thrilling sound. His mouth moved over hers, softly, gently, sweetly, but only for heartbeat, and then his lips slid away. Cool air rushed into the heated space between them.

Case closed.

She spun away, quickly buttoning her shirt before she grabbed her briefcase. “Time to rejoin the party.”

“Katy.”

She steeled herself to keep her face impassive as she turned around to face him, feigning calm, even as her bottom lip trembled and her body shook at the sudden drop in her arousal.

“Don’t think I don’t want you. I do. More than you could possibly imagine. But maybe…we should have that drink.”

She shrugged and then nodded. For the first time in her life, she had nothing to say.



What the hell was wrong with him?

He couldn’t believe he had stopped himself. Everything had been perfect: the intimate space, the dim lighting, the rich, heady scents of cedar and wine, and the lush beauty in his arms.

But a part of him knew if he took their encounter even a step further, he would never see her again. He sensed she truly was, as she had said, not that kind of girl, and he didn’t want to be the one to make her think otherwise.

He grabbed the Meursault and motioned for her to go up the stairs, enjoying the sway of her hips beneath the thin wool of her pencil skirt. He couldn’t let her just walk away. He wanted to unravel her secrets, bare her soul and discover the real reason behind his intense attraction.

They emerged from the quiet intimacy of the cellar into a maelstrom of light and sound, dancers and drinkers. Catching Katy’s desperate glance at the door, Mark grasped her arm. “Stay for a glass of the Meursault. You won’t find a better vintage in Vancouver, I promise you.”

He held up the bottle and smiled at her careful appraisal of the label. He didn’t often meet a woman who shared his appreciation of wine.

She bit her lip and studied him for a long moment. He steeled his mouth into a neutral expression while his heart thundered in his chest, ripe with anxiety.

Finally she gave him a non-committal shrug and rounded the bar.

Mark nodded toward a vacant seat while he fished around for a corkscrew. He pulled two glasses from the rack and turned to place them on the counter. Only then did he realize he was alone.

He made a quick visual sweep of the club, but it was once again a sea of PVC and leather. A trip to reception told him what his gut already knew.

Katy was gone.

And he was damn sure she wouldn’t be back.





“The body is this way, Detective Hunter.”

James shuffled through the living room of the run-down apartment, his crime suit rustling as he walked. The thrill of attending a new crime scene never faded, even after twelve years with Homicide, six in the drug unit and a couple of years on patrol. His colleagues called him a lifer. He called it love.

Mike, the newest member of his investigation team, shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waited on the other side of the room. New rules meant Mike had made it through to the homicide team with only three years under his belt instead of the usual seven. His youth and inexperience were evident in his lack of patience. As primary investigator, James had responsibility for the overall investigation and he needed time to take a good look around.

He nodded to the forensics squad scattered around the small space. With the blaze of floodlights setting their white suits aglow, the scene had a surreal, alien feel. He had never been interested in the painstaking and detailed procedures involved in forensic science. He enjoyed putting the pieces together. A big-picture kinda guy.

He skirted the empty pizza boxes and beer cans strewn across the threadbare carpet in the main living space. Peeling wallpaper hung in strands off the water-stained walls, and the scent of stale cigarette smoke filtered through his mask. Typical East Side apartment. Cheap. Run down. Rented by the week, sometimes by the day.

His feet thumped on the scratched linoleum tiles and he followed Mike down a narrow hallway to the bedroom. Mike pulled away the police tape and stood to the side to let James through. The coroner, always the first person allowed in the crime scene, had already come and gone, as had James’s supervisor, Sergeant Donaldson. Something in the room had rattled the two most imperturbable men he knew, and he steeled himself as he stepped across the threshold.

“We’ve unofficially identified him as Manuel Garcia, but the forensics department and the coroner’s service will have to confirm the identity because of the state of the body.” Mike swallowed hard and stiffened his spine. “No passport or immigration papers and nothing showing up on the database except a fake driver’s license. We believe he’s illegal. Wallet shows he works as a taxi driver for Speedaway Taxi Service. His girlfriend found him and called it in. She talked to him just a few hours ago.”

They skirted past a wooden dresser, broken armchair and small table. Garcia’s personal effects had already been tagged and bagged. No obvious signs of a struggle or break-in, but then people in this neighborhood didn’t have anything worth stealing.

Mike sucked in a sharp breath when they reached the bed. Garcia lay curled in a fetal position, covers drawn up to his shoulder and clutched between his hands. A silver bowl lay on the floor beside him. The pungent, acrid smell of bile permeated James’s protective mask and he gagged as he crouched down beside the victim to get a closer look.

“What the f*ck?”

For a split second he thought his first assessment of aliens might be true. Barely recognizable as human, Garcia’s swollen, misshapen head dwarfed the small pillow on which it lay. He had seen pictures of John Merrick, the Elephant Man. The similarities were remarkable.

“Forensics has only just started processing the bed, and I’m not planning to be around when they lift the sheet,” Mike said.

James stood and took a step back. He thought he had seen everything after his years in the homicide unit, but there had been nothing like this. “Is it congenital?”

Mike shook his head. “We interviewed the landlord. He described Garcia as a regular guy. Nothing out of the ordinary. Hard-working. Honest.”

“Looks like some kind of allergic reaction. I have a friend who’s allergic to bees. He swells up whenever he gets stung, although I’ve never seen him as bad as that.”

“Maybe…we should tell Sergeant Donaldson it might not be homicide-related. He breezed in and out of here pretty fast.”

James snorted a laugh. “You don’t tell Donaldson anything. He tells you. He’s decided we should be involved, so we’re involved. You’ll benefit from the experience. Sometimes years go by with nothing more than gang murders and domestic violence to keep us busy.”

His cell buzzed against his hip. “I’ve seen all I need to see. I’m going to head back to the office. Let me know which pathologist the coroner’s office puts on the autopsy. We’ll definitely need a toxicology report on this one.”

James left the apartment and quickly shed his crime suit. Flipping open the phone he checked the caller ID. Mark. He hit Call Back and walked down the street, dodging pop bottles and condom wrappers as he headed toward his standard-issue dull gray Crown Victoria.

Mark didn’t mince words. “There was a woman at the bar on Friday. A lawyer. I want you to find out who she is.”

“I remember her.” James tried to suppress a smile. Mark must have it bad. In the twenty-three years they’d been friends, he had only rarely asked for a favor.

“I’ve searched the Law Society website but there are dozens of female lawyers named Katy. I can’t call them all. Valerie knows where she works but I can’t get in touch with her.”

“You could wait.” James stifled a laugh. “Valerie will be at the club next weekend.”

“I can’t wait,” Mark snapped. “Trixie walked her to her car. A black GM Acadia. First two letters of the plate are TX.”

“Trust Trixie to remember a detail like that.” James stopped to pick up a shard of broken glass and deposit it in a nearby garbage can.

“Trixie said the license plate reminded her of her name.”

James couldn’t help pushing his agitated friend. “Has she committed a crime? Because I’m finishing up at a crime scene and wasn’t really looking to waste an afternoon breaking into the police database because you’re desperate and can’t control your dick.”

Mark was immediately contrite. “Sorry. Bad time?”

“Same old, same old. So, did your mystery woman commit a crime or not?”

“She was probably illegally parked.” Mark huffed into the phone. “We arrived at the same time and I couldn’t find a parking space within five blocks.”

James chuckled. “Maybe I’ll go with theft. She seems to have stolen your sanity. Has it occurred to you, if she wanted to see you again, she would have given you her number?”

“I knew you weren’t going to make this easy for me,” Mark sighed. “Maybe I’ll have to start a civil suit for negligence and intentional infliction of mental distress.”

James turned the corner and looked for his vehicle. “I have a friend who’s a private investigator. I’ll give him a call. Not worth losing my career over a girl. What are you going to do when you find her? You can’t just show up at her door.”

Mark’s long silence told James everything he didn’t want to know.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” James warned. “They don’t pay me enough to bail your ass out of jail.”

“I won’t have to,” Mark said quickly. “She’s a lawyer. I can think of a dozen places I might accidentally bump into her.”

James exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Don’t bump too hard.”





Lana Parker, private investigator, hung her shiny new license on her wall. The frame had been an extravagance, considering she barely had enough money to fuel her beloved Jetta, much less eat, but she couldn’t resist. She had completed the private investigator course and realized her dream. She wanted everyone to know that a badass, high school dropout could turn her life around. Not that anyone would ever visit her cheap East Side apartment, but when they did, they would see the evidence of her tremendous accomplishment.

Now, she just needed some clients.

She picked up the stack of brochures she had printed with the last of her savings. She hated windshield flyers, but she couldn’t think of a better, or cheaper, way to advertise her services. She had already scouted out the parking lots she planned to hit in her first advertising blitz. Then, she could sit back and wait for the calls to roll in.

She stuffed the flyers in her worn backpack and headed out the door, taking care to lock the three deadbolts. Security was essential if she intended to run her business from home. She would be dealing with highly confidential information and she had to ensure her clients’ privacy would be well protected.

After jogging down the stairs to burn off a few extra calories, she slowed to a walk and headed up the street. Emergency vehicles lined the sidewalk and police tape cordoned off a nearby apartment building. She didn’t stop to look. Typical day in East Van. She turned the corner and spotted a gray Crown Victoria parked just ahead of her. Ghost car. So mundane it stood out like a sore thumb. She walked over and pressed her face against the window. A siren glinted on the dashboard.

No. But her hand had already reached into her bag. “Self-destructive impulsiveness” her high school principal had called it. Her mum just thought she was cheeky.

She pulled out a brochure and slid it under the windshield wipers. Her instructor had hinted at friction between private investigators and the police in Vancouver. She couldn’t resist letting the cops know there was a new PI in town.

“Hey. Get away from the vehicle.”

Lana spun around. Damn. She should have checked the street. The cop stalking toward her was no one she wanted to meet. Hard, angular face, lean tight body, severe buzz cut. She hauled ass around the corner and raced down the road. Her breath came out in short pants as she pushed her usually sedentary body into action. At least she’d had a warm up.

After a block of torture, she glanced over her shoulder and collapsed against a wall. The cop wasn’t coming after her. She wheezed out a giggle until she realized with horror he didn’t need to.

If he wanted to find her, all he had to do was call.