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  “And she wants us to spy on her husband because he’s been acting a bit funny lately, and she’s worried he might be having an affair, and—”

  “Wrong again. She wants you to spy on her son.”

  Nicky couldn’t help but laugh. “Her son? And exactly what has the kid done? Come home late from school once or twice? Cut a few classes? Or maybe he’s been smoking!” she sneered, focusing on the cigar hanging from her boss’ lips.

  “Cripes, Nicky. You’ve been working for me too long.” He pushed himself away from his messy desk. “You think you know every trick in the book, but believe me, this one’s different.”

  She watched him get up slowly, saunter over to the filing cabinet, and pull out a red folder.

  Red—which, in Smith’s filing system, meant red-hot.

  She’d never been given a “red file” before—hadn’t even so much as seen one. Smith usually handled those himself. But now that she thought about it, this might be exactly what she needed. She’d wanted a more challenging assignment, maybe this was it. After all, Smith knew he could always rely on her to get the job done. And if this hot little item were the reason he’d changed his mind about sending her south of the border, then just maybe she’d hear him out.

  “Here’s the woman’s son,” Smith muttered. “The kid, I think you called him.”

  A large black-and-white glossy flashed before her eyes. Nicky took one look and her heart skipped a beat.

  “I don’t know if he smokes,” her boss went on, “but cut class? Never. His college record was impeccable. And he hasn’t been known to miss meetings at his father’s company either. Never even been late…”

  Nicky didn’t hear a single word as Smith continued mumbling incoherently out of the side of his mouth as he puffed on his cigar.

  “This is the son?” she replied, her gaze glued to the photograph.

  “And you said there are no sparks in this job?” Smith chortled. “Why, I can see a whole bonfire starting right before my very eyes!”

  Nicky was once again lost to Smith’s chatter. She couldn’t help falling into the dark pools of his eyes, and she couldn’t resist noticing the curve of his irresistible grin. The man exuded sexual energy like no one she’d ever laid eyes on. And she was going to be paid to follow him around? Well, it might not be worth missing a trip south, but then again, summer in Boston was just as warm as Mexico. And by the looks of things, it could get a whole lot hotter.

  “What would I have to do exactly?” she asked slowly, relinquishing the photo to Smith’s desk.

  “That a girl, Nicky!”

  She frowned at his enthusiasm. “I believe I asked you a question.”

  “Oh, you won’t have to do much,” he replied, shrugging his soft shoulders.

  Then she noticed his eyes narrowing, revealing a devious sparkle. “But there is something different about this case,” he admitted. “As you know, your assignments normally require you to gather your evidence without anyone knowing. Well, this isn’t like that. This time you have to be seen.”

  “What do you mean? Seen by—him?” Just the thought that she might have to expose herself to those dark, dangerous eyes stirred up the heat inside her, making her cheeks feel warm.

  Just then, Smith’s secretary called him out of the office for a word in private, leaving Nicky alone with her thoughts.

  Usually it was her job not to be seen, which was the whole idea behind Hidden Eye, Inc. Secretly capturing intimate situations on film was what she’d been trained to do when Howard Smith hired her three years ago. And it had been pretty exciting at first. She’d thought of herself as an important investigator back then, naïvely believing she was helping people mend their broken lives.

  But after a while, her idealism fell by the wayside, especially when the evidence she gathered wasn’t exactly positive from the clients’ point of view. Some of it was downright scandalous, especially in cases of infidelity like the case she’d handled yesterday, openly displaying their passion in public places, or barely concealing it in cheap hotel rooms.

  Of course, in the beginning, those X-rated images had thrilled and excited her, awakening her own sexual needs and impulses. But now she was also well aware that this type of vicarious pleasure was short-lived and voyeuristic, and definitely not the kind of sexual excitement she wanted in her life. She was looking for something real—for someone who would do those same things to her, make her feel the ecstasy the women in her photos and video clips were experiencing.

  At the same time, she didn’t want to be like those women. She wanted her relationship to be exclusive. She didn’t want to hurt anyone by getting involved with a married man or someone who was already attached. She’d witnessed that scenario far too often in her job, and had seen what it did to the clients.

  But once in a while there was an altogether different kind of case that was a joy to witness, one in which estranged family members or lovers were brought back together. It was this type of assignment that made Nicky happiest and kept her in the job.

  There was nothing better than a happy ending. But as Smith had suggested earlier, she’d been in the business long enough to know happy endings weren’t as common in life as they were in the movies. In fact, these days they seemed to be downright rare, which left her feeling more than a little pessimistic about her own chances of finding love.

  “I see you’re still here. Still interested, then?” Smith asked, shuffling back into his office. “Thought so,” he said, not waiting for her to answer.

  He took a seat in his big chair and leaned over his desk towards her, his bushy gray brows arching. “Now then, listen up. The man’s name is Anderson.”

  Nicky started. That name definitely rang a bell… Glancing down at her boss’ paper-strewn desk, she found the clue she needed. “You mean, the newspaper tycoon? That Anderson?”

  “The very one.”

  Nicky hummed thoughtfully. The newspaper business was where she ultimately wanted her career to go, but first she needed to get more experience. Perhaps a job well done for the Anderson family wouldn’t look so bad on her résumé. And of course, a big case like this could mean a substantial bonus for her.

  She let her eyes wander again to the desk and the glossy photo staring back at her. With this particular assignment, she had to admit it wasn’t the career possibilities nor the money but the client that lured her. She chewed on her lip thoughtfully.

  “Here, take a look at this one,” he said, pulling another picture out of the file. This time Anderson was photographed in color. He was standing at the helm of a yacht, his dark hair blowing in the wind, his skin lightly tanned from being outdoors. He was wearing a dark blue sailor’s sweater and a pair of jeans that clung to his muscular body—in all the right places. Nicky’s mouth went dry, and as she continued to stare, her whole body began to buzz with a raw, sexual energy.

  How could a mere glimpse at a photograph do that to her? She couldn’t quite explain it, but neither could she deny the language her body was speaking. And she shuddered to think what her body might say when she actually met the man in the flesh.

  “Tell me more,” she said coolly, trying hard to curb the current of pure physical attraction flowing through her veins.

  “I see I’ve got you hooked.” Smith threaded his fingers together as he watched her thoughtfully. “So you’re definitely interested?” She could see shiftiness in his shrewd gray-blue eyes. He was clearly nervous she’d bail out, which meant there had to be more to this case than he was letting on.

  She slipped the photograph into the red folder on his desk. “First, explain the bit about being seen. What exactly are we talking about here?”

  “Your job is to go to the Anderson family mansion under the pretense of photographing it for a home and garden magazine. Imagine you’re doing some sort of article on New England mansions,” he explained, drawing circles in the air with his cigar. “I’ve already spoken with Anderson, and he was quite taken by the idea. Seems to wond
er why none of the other magazines have approached him.”

  “And our magazine is called…?”

  “I told him it’s a new one that’s just coming out on the market called ‘New England Homes’. I kind of liked the sound of that. Well, what do you say?”

  Nicky thought for a moment. She had to admit it was getting more interesting—and more complicated—all the time. “So, while I’m busy acting like a magazine photographer, what is it I’m really supposed to be doing? And what’s all this got to do with Mr. Dark Eyes in the photograph?” Her gaze fell once again to the glossy 5” x 7” headshot still lying on Smith’s desk.

  “First off, the guy’s name is Matthew—Matt to his friends. Son of the late Richard Anderson, newspaper magnate. It seems when the old man died six years ago, he left a peculiar clause in his will.”

  Smith paused, which she knew was for dramatic effect. And it was working too. He had her sitting on the edge of her seat. “All right, what was the clause?”

  “Something about Matt having to marry by his thirty-third birthday or he’d lose his present position as president of the company to his younger, married cousin. Plus, he’d also have to hand over control of the family’s investments and assets, including that mansion he lives in. And the deadline’s coming up fast. August first—just over a month away.”

  “That’s a peculiar clause all right,” she mumbled to herself, digesting the information. So, he’s still single.

  “Seems Matt is quite the ladies’ man. His father’s intention was to make sure he’d settle down and become a respectable businessman.” Smith pointed his cigar at her. “Now, this is where you come in.”

  She stared at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

  “Let me start from the beginning. Matt’s mother is also the executor of the will. A further clause states that Matt will introduce his fiancée to mommy dearest for her inspection and approval before the marriage takes place. Without that, a marriage certificate isn’t of any use.”

  Smith paused, eyeing Nicky to make sure she was following. “In other words, he can’t just marry anyone. It has to be someone who would fit into the scheme of things in the Anderson family.”

  She twisted her lips. “So what’s my role in this crazy family affair?”

  “The problem is with Matt. Whenever his mother asks whether he has a girl lined up for the altar, he says he does. Claims she lives in New York. But even when the mystery girl is around on weekends, he always finds a way to keep his mother from seeing her. And with August fast approaching, she’s starting to get concerned.”

  Smith clasped his hands behind his head, his cigar held securely between his teeth as he propped his feet up on one end of the desk. “Matt’s mother, Eleanor Anderson, moved away from the estate after her husband died. She got married again, but kept her Anderson name. You can read all those details in the file. The point is she can’t really keep an eye on Matt now that she lives outside the family fortress. Guess she’s afraid this woman of his doesn’t really exist. Either that, or there’s something terribly wrong with the girl—something Matt doesn’t want to reveal.”

  “Now I get it. Okay, so I go there and pretend I’m photographing the mansion. Meanwhile, I gather whatever evidence I can find of a possible girlfriend.”

  “Not only that, we want you to get her name if you can. That way Eleanor can find out a little about her. I’d suggest you hang around the mansion when the girl’s there, let Matt introduce her to you. You’re all around the same age so I imagine that’ll happen pretty naturally. By the way, we’ve warned him he needs to be prepared to open his house to you for as long as it takes to get the job done. Oh, and one more thing, try to catch the two of them in a compromising position. Otherwise, who knows? The girl might be just a pal rather than a fiancée.”

  “In other words, I’ve got to catch them in the act,” she said thoughtfully. “Should be challenging.” A few graphic images formed in her mind involving the dark and handsome Matthew Anderson. The trouble was, she didn’t want to imagine a gorgeous fiancée in his arms. She didn’t want to imagine anyone there at all, except her. Which made her wonder…

  “What if there isn’t a girlfriend?” she asked suddenly.

  “Then Mrs. Anderson might not be happy about it, but at least she’ll know for sure,” he replied, looking thoughtful. “I guess I can see the woman’s dilemma. She doesn’t want Matt to hand over control of the family business to his cousin just because he failed to follow a simple wish of his father’s.”

  “Doesn’t sound so simple to me.”

  “Well, that’s because you let your heart rule your emotions. If you want to see yourself married someday, I’d suggest using your head a little more.”

  Nicky put her hands on her hips. “And what’s wrong with not getting married? What’s wrong with holding off instead of settling for someone who’s merely compatible?” Of course she didn’t believe in all the fairy-tale nonsense about happily-ever-after. But she did want to believe in something more than just compatibility. That sounded so dull, so positively boring. If that’s all there was, then she wasn’t interested in getting married. She’d rather just date and have a good time.

  She glanced shrewdly across the desk. Not even Howard Smith’s marriage was as plain and sensible as he was making it out to be. Nicky had seen him send his wife flowers with a secretive smile on his face—she’d caught him calling her for no apparent reason in the middle of the afternoon, a blush rising to his cheeks as he whispered into the phone. Yes, Smith had married for love all right. He just didn’t want to admit it—not to her anyway.

  “If you’re holding out for true passion, Nicky, then you’d better stop asking for all the foreign assignments,” he advised. “Stick closer to home. If love’s out there, you’ve got to stay put long enough to let it find you.”

  Nicky swallowed hard. She knew what he was doing. He was getting her where it hurt most by referring to the dismal state of her love life. She gave him a hard look and he chuckled, knowing he’d won yet again.

  “Anyway, I thought you didn’t believe in all that sickly sweet stuff,” he added.

  “You’re right,” she tossed back, yanking open the office door. “I don’t!”

  “Oh and Nicky, before you storm out of here…”

  She turned abruptly, keeping her head held high. “Now what?”

  “You start this afternoon, which means you’d better leave right away,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Especially if you want to stop in at your apartment first. It’s nearly noon, and it’ll take a good hour and a quarter to get there. Find yourself a decent hotel or inn nearby. You might be out there for a week or more. I’m sure Mr. Anderson could suggest one or two.” Smith ignored her disgruntled face and handed her the red file folder. “I drew a map so you can find the place. It’s inside, along with everything else you’ll need. Your official papers courtesy of our invented magazine are in there too. I’m sure that estate is pretty fussy about who they let in.”

  Nicky took the folder from him and then grabbed the glossy from the top of his desk.

  “Oh yes, don’t forget Mr. Dark Eyes. You might not recognize him without that picture!” Smith teased. “But of course, if you do need to confirm his identity when the two of you meet, you could just check to see if your mouth is open.”

  Nicky turned and strode out of his office, slamming the door behind her. Then she went to her cubicle and filed away the paperwork she’d been doing earlier, clearing her desk. Lastly, she picked up the red file and the large glossy, stealing one more look at that sexy smile.

  Well, Matthew Anderson, she thought as she slipped everything into her briefcase. Obviously not everything in your life is as perfect as it seems. Let’s find out what it is you’re hiding, and why. She opened the top drawer of her desk and exchanged her passport for her car keys. One thing was certain—she was going to know more about Matthew Anderson than he would ever know about her, and that definitely gave her the upper
hand.

  Riding on the confidence that thought gave her, Nicky got to her feet, grabbed her purse and her briefcase, and strode through the office to the front door, ignoring the curious glances turned in her direction. She headed outside into the midday heat, slipped on her sunglasses, and tilted her face toward the sun. Her long legs fell into an easy, confident stride that elicited a few whistles from the construction workers across the street. Unperturbed, she smiled back at them, knowing she was more than ready for Mr. Matthew Anderson.

  But was he ready for her?

  Chapter Two

  Following Smith’s chicken scratch of a map, Nicky drove inland through the Massachusetts countryside toward the Berkshire Hills. She’d left the highway several miles back, and was now motoring along a peaceful country road. Numerous lakes and wooded areas dominated the scenery resplendent in the afternoon sunshine.

  Rolling down her window, she breathed in the fresh, clean air. This was the place for a mansion all right, but where on earth was it? She was starting to feel downright nervous. This Anderson place was simply not turning up where Smith had marked it on his map. Which could mean only one thing—she was lost.

  She was just about to start cursing when she felt her Honda lose power. She pressed down harder on the accelerator, but instead of picking up speed, the car merely choked and sputtered before rolling to a complete stop. Then she noticed there was steam escaping from under the hood. It looked like the engine had overheated.

  Reaching across the seat, she grabbed her cell phone. She began to punch in Smith’s number, but halfway through, the phone beeped at her. She looked down at the display: low battery.

  Darn Smith anyway! Now her cell phone and her car were on the blink, leaving her stuck in the middle of nowhere. So much for his little note scrawled along the side of the map, You can’t miss it! Experience told her she could do almost anything, and this proved it. Smith would be proud of her. Or, at least he’d get a good laugh out of it.

  Nicky scowled as she pulled herself, and her photography equipment, outside onto the hot pavement. She would have juiced up her phone last night if Smith had given her even a day’s notice of this assignment. Shifting the car into neutral, she managed to push it onto the shoulder of the road. She grabbed her suitcase from the passenger seat, slammed the door shut and walked back to pick up her equipment, grumbling under her breath the whole time. She would be sipping a cocktail on an airplane right now if this assignment hadn’t come up.