“Anything you want,” he says, then slides a hand under my neck as he rises over me, his mouth closing hot and gentle over mine, a kiss like making love slowly, lazily. A kiss that holds a promise of things to come, and when he pulls away, I regret the pain in my thigh and the exhaustion and drugs that weigh down my body. But at the same time, I know it doesn’t matter. There will be so many more nights between us, and so very much to look forward to.

“I love you, Riley Blade.”

“Oh, Tasha, I love you, too.”

I sigh, deeply satisfied, then press my cheek to his bare chest. “We do have one problem though, you know.”

“We do? Wait. What are you talking about?”

I rise up, perversely enjoying the hint of panic I hear in his voice. “It’s just that you’re too good at what you do.”

I watch as his face relaxes as he realizes he’s being teased. “Is that so?”

“You caught my stalker without having to take me back to The Firehouse.”

“I see. And that’s a problem?”

“Not if you promise to take me back.”

His grin is pure, carnal wickedness. “Sweetheart,” he says as he carefully curls up next to me. “I’ll buy us a membership in the morning.”

Epilogue

Eight Months Later

I wake to the sun streaming in through the windows of Riley’s Malibu house. He says his love-hate relationship with Los Angeles is all over, and that he only bought property in Malibu because he wanted beach access, but I know better. After all, as Ian Taggart told me when he was in town last month, Riley knows perfectly well that Malibu isn’t really Los Angeles.

I smile at the memory, because that was also the day when Ian told Riley that he was off the books of McKay-Taggart for the next four months, freeing Riley’s schedule for another consulting gig—this time for Her Secret Service, Lyle’s next movie based on Serena Dean-Miles’ erotic thriller.

I roll over, enjoying the feel of the cool sheets against my naked skin as I think about all the wonderful perks that consulting job will bestow on me. Then I frown, realizing that cool sheets mean that I’m alone in bed—and have been for a while.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Riley’s voice caresses me, as smooth as whiskey and just as intoxicating. I prop myself up on my elbows and raise my brows. “You want to explain to me why, on the first day of my two-week vacation, I wake up alone in bed?”

“Might be because I had to feed your cat.” He takes a step toward me. “Or it might be because I had to answer the door. A delivery man brought this.” He passes me a letter-sized brown envelope.