“When will I see you again?”

She walked off down the hall. “For your sister’s sake, you better hope never.”

Then she was gone. But this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Dez got in the passenger side of the car, leaning her head back against the seat and staring up at the roof of the Chevrolet.

“Don’t do it, Dez.”

She glanced at her partner of four years. “Don’t do what?”

“Get all bunged up over this guy. He’s rich. He’s a Llewellyn. And he can have any piece of ass he wants in this town.”

“I’m a piece of ass.” Dez grinned. “That guy from last week, who believes aliens were talking to him and that’s why he tried to set his neighbor on fire, said I was fabulous.”

Bukowski, chuckling, started the car. “And he was right, even though he wasn’t the healthiest man we’ve ever arrested. But a guy like Llewellyn would never realize it. So don’t waste your time.”

“I know. I know. A girl can fantasize, though.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He pulled out into traffic and headed back to the precinct.

Mace Llewellyn. Back in New York and looking tastier than anything she’d ever seen before. Who knew he’d turn out like that? She’d always thought of him as adorable back in the day. The cute boy who sat next to her in science class, making her laugh by mocking everyone around them while trying not to stare at her breasts. He’d been brutal, witty, and her biggest crush ever. Now, however, well…now the man was a god. He had to be at least six foot four and well over two hundred pounds, without a single ounce of fat on him.

Initially, she’d been unimpressed with the males she caught glimpses of while waiting around for Missy. Too pretty. Too glossy. Too…clean. They wore Armani suits and seven-hundred-dollar watches. They were all blond. No, not blond. Gold. Seriously gold. Their skin. Their eyes. Their hair. It was hard to believe these people lived in New York. Her New York. Where you found every shade, every hue, every color under the freakin’ rainbow.

As far as Dez was concerned, her family represented true New York culture. Her father a good Irish boy from Hell’s Kitchen. Her mother a sweet Puerto Rican from the Bronx. Together those two people created one brown-skinned daughter who looked like she just arrived off the boat from Cataño. Another redheaded daughter with pale skin who looked like she should be on Broadway in Riverdance.

Then they made Dez, who dangled between both worlds. Her straight brown hair had a reddish tinge. Her skin seemed to have spent too much time in the sun. Plus she had the same damn freaky-colored eyes as her dad.

Mason seemed to have the same problem. He belonged and he didn’t.

He always had the golden hair. Thegolden eyes. Even that golden skin. But now he had something rough and ready about him. He had stubble on that strong, square jaw. He recently shaved off that golden hair, although it seemed to be fighting its way back. His pensive gold eyes showed he’d seen a lot of the world over the past twenty years. And based on the brutal scar that cut across his neck, the world had been pretty hard on him.

Yeah, but Bukowski probably hit it right on the head. A guy like Mace was way out of her league…if she had a league. It’s not like she dated much once her marriage to “The Idiot” ended four years ago.

Still, the fourteen-year-old Mace used to give her this little tingle at the base of her spine when he would smile at her in biology lab. This adult Mace, though, made her entire body tingle—violently.

She didn’t even think Mace noticed her back then. He always treated her like a sister he didn’t actually hate. After seeing him now, though…well, she really hoped he didn’t actually look at his own sisters like that.

Dez had changed. And all for the better. No longer the painfully shy girl trying to hide huge breasts behind a load of books so the jocks would stop trying to grab her, this Dez reeked of attitude and confidence. Almost cocky. Even the way she moved. She walked with her back straight, head held high, breasts straining beneath a burgundy turtleneck sweater, daring a guy to touch them. And seeing the way she moved, Mace had no doubt she would snap the neck of the first fucker who tried something.

Yup. He still wanted her. Had to have her. And, like a gazelle running past him on the African plains, he would do whatever necessary to get his paws on her.

Mace looked at the door that blocked him from his sister. With a heavy sigh, he walked toward it and prayed they got along better this time. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more stitches on his throat.

Chapter Two

“W hat exactly were you doing with that…that…police person?”

Mace’s feet sat comfortably atop his sister’s desk, and his eyes stared up at the ceiling.

“Well, if you hadn’t interrupted us, I probably would have laid her out on your desk and—”

“Mason Llewellyn! This is not funny. That idiot is a cop—believe it or not—and she’s trying to prove that I had something to do with Alexander’s death. She actually asked me if I killed him.”

Mace watched his beautiful sister. She took after their mother. He took after his father. And they got along about as well as that pair did.

“Did you?”

Missy glared at him. “Of course I didn’t!”

“Just checking. I know how cranky you can get.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”