Kent’s gaze filled with shock. “You’re thinking about it.”

Was it so unreasonable? So ridiculous? “So?”

“Well…I guess I can’t believe you’d go to a strip club.”

She gaped at him. “I’m talking about the makeover.”

“Oh.” The bad-boy grin he shot her had probably melted hundreds of hearts. Thousands. “And here I thought you were all work and no play,” he said softly, challengingly.

Okay, that did it. Sealed the deal.

Yanking up the phone, she pounded out the number to Summer’s Place and waited impatiently, foot tapping. “I wanted adventure,” she muttered. “I wanted a change. And darn it, that’s exactly what I’m going to get, if it kills me. This makeover is just the beginning. When I’m done there, watch out.”

“Watch out what?” Kent wanted to know, sounding unsure.

Good. “I just might go find a strip club for real!”

The look on his face might have been priceless if she wasn’t so worked up. “To watch or participate?” he asked carefully.

“Both.”

All amusement had drained from his face. “Okay, wait a minute.”

“I’m tired of being good. Why isn’t Summer answering?”

“Hold on a sec,” Kent said. “Back the train up.”

“No more boring and predictable.”

He watched her pace as far as the phone cord would allow. “What did you put in your Wheaties this morning?”

“I need action.” She whirled and paced some more, waiting impatiently for Summer to pick up. “I need red lace panties.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” she whirled away, but Kent turned her back to face him. “Becca-”

Shrugging him off, she clutched the phone tighter to her ear, relieved when Summer finally answered.

“I’ll do it. All of it,” Becca snapped, then before Summer could gloat, she hung up. “There. That should get the ball rolling.”

2

HOURS LATER, Kent watched Becca fidget on her stool as she bent over her microscope.

She wasn’t a fidgeter.

Her wriggling was what had originally gotten his attention, but what held it was how she wriggled.

His gaze fixed on her hips as she scooted herself first one way then another.

It was difficult to tell her exact shape beneath all those layers she wore, just as he had no idea what she looked like without glasses on her face. He’d never seen her with her hair down, either, and because of the way she twisted it up out of her way, he had no idea how long it was.

Which was fine. He liked her-everyone liked Becca-she was generous, open, warm. And because he liked her, he was careful not to be attracted to her. It was a law with him, written in stone. Don’t ever like the women you date. Lust after them, yes. Sleep with them, whenever safe and possible. But absolutely do not like them. It was a well-known fact that friends and sex should never mix because then there were expectations.

He hated expectations.

So when his mouth opened and said, “I think we should talk about this adventure thing,” he both surprised himself and broke his personal law number two, which was don’t pry, because once you do, you’re involved.

Becca ignored him.

Good. He should let it go. That was the smart thing to do, and he was nothing if not smart. But Becca seemed to be itching for trouble, and while he understood the need for trouble all too well, the thought of her going after it, and maybe even finding it, disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think she could take care of herself. He actually didn’t know her well enough to make that decision. But she seemed sweet and kind and yes, dammit, naive. “Becca.”

She shot him a smile filled with nerves, and it was such a dazzling one his heart actually skipped.

Not a good thing.

Not when, earlier, he’d touched her in concern and felt that heady shock of awareness. And now a mere smile tipped his inner organs out of whack.

Food, he decided. He must be hungry.

“I need to run,” Becca said suddenly. “I don’t want to be late.”

Everyone else had quickly scattered at exactly five o’clock. Normally Kent would have scattered with the best of them, but something had held him back tonight. “Late?”

Her pencil broke. “Darn it.” Her lips tightened as she patted herself down, searching for another one.

Pointedly, he looked at the one she had behind her ear, but she was grumbling, not paying any attention. “I can never find-”

Reaching close enough to see the few freckles scattered on her nose, he slid it out and held it up. “This what you’re looking for?”

“Thanks,” she muttered, making a grab for it, but he held firm.

“Late for what, Becca?”

“I’d rather not discuss it.” She gave up on the tug-of-war and pushed at her glasses. Then once again glanced at the clock.

“It’s still six o’clock.”

“Yeah. I’d better go.”

She didn’t seem too eager, which upped his worry factor. “What’s with you today?”

“Nothing. Look, don’t you have something to do? Like maybe, oh I don’t know, read your catalog?”

He let out a grin. “You know very well it’s not my lingerie catalog. It came for you, but you tossed it. I couldn’t just stand by and let you waste paper that way.”

Her gaze shot heavenward. Then at the clock yet again. “I’ve got to go.”

“So you’ve said.”

Her voice held a bit of something he couldn’t put his finger on. Panic? He really hated this. She was going off to find some sort of excitement.

Who would look after her?

He knew the answer to that, but he didn’t have to like it. “Okay, dammit, I’ll come with you.”

She looked confused. “What?”

“To keep you out of trouble. Nothing more.”

She cocked her head. “To keep me out of trouble?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“You know, if this were anyone else in the lab, say Sherry-” She dragged out the name of his secretary. “If she were going out, you’d want details. Lurid details.”

“Hey, I’ve caught you listening to the stories, too.”

“My point is, I find it interesting that you never worry about anyone else in the lab.”

She had him there. “Sherry can take care of herself,” he said finally, knowing by her instant flash of temper he’d said the wrong thing.

“I’m eight years older than she is!”

How could he explain that she seemed like an innocent? He decided not to explain at all, not to do anything to drag himself in any further.

“I think I’ll just head out,” she said stiffly, sliding off her stool. She walked to the door, lifted her purse and coat off the wooden hanger there. Then she hesitated, her back to him. “I’m wondering why you treat me as if I were your baby sister. Is it because we work together? Or because I look…the way I do?”

Uh-oh. He sensed this was one of those girl traps. “This has nothing to do with your looks.”

She crossed her arms, cocked her head and gave him one of those long-suffering, mock-patient expressions every woman has perfected. “What does it have to do with?”

“Well…” With longing, he glanced at his own coat, and the door.

“Oh, never mind,” she said, disgusted. “Men.”

The door shut not so quietly behind her.


BECCA DROVE ALONG the narrow, curvy, two-lane highway of Incline Village, thinking things were going to change from this day on.

The sun disappeared behind the horizon, and in its wake a glorious array of colors bounced off Lake Tahoe where it glimmered on her right. Its waters were a shimmering, brilliant blue that spoke of its amazing depth. The Sierra mountains towered on her left, magnificent and still peaked with snow, though it was already May. And as she drove through Incline, a place she spent both her days and nights, she thought it sad it was a place she’d never played.

Never really lived.

Well that was going to change too.

She turned into the parking lot and looked at the old wooden building that served as the lake’s equivalent of a mini-mall. The structure was two stories tall and built to resemble a cabin. It dated from the early part of the twentieth century, when Lake Tahoe had been an exclusive resort for the rich and famous from the San Francisco Bay area. Nearly a hundred years later, little had changed. Not the look of the place, or the wealthy tourists.

The area, especially this building, exuded charm and nostalgia, just as the various entrepreneurs inside the building wanted.

Summer’s Place was at the end of the mall, newly converted from a small but exclusive dress shop. The rent in this district was unspeakably high, as it was throughout Incline Village.

Income Village the locals had dubbed it.

And though Summer was wonderful, resourceful and very talented, even she couldn’t have possibly afforded the rent by herself. The story in town was that her sweet, kind, rich ex-boyfriend had given her a rent-free ten-year lease.

That was true, but only half of the real story.

She’d actually won it from him in a game of poker. Strip poker. Becca had expected Summer to hide that little tidbit, but she was actually proud of it.

And Becca was proud of her. But a makeover?

Faltering on the steps, she looked out to the lake. A small company that took tourists parasailing was set up on shore, bringing in the latest paying customer, who was hooting and hollering with delight.

Becca turned and stared up at the bright, cheerful sign that read: Summer’s Place, Full Service Salon.

Her stomach tap danced. Her nerves skittered.

She wanted this, she reminded herself. It was just step number one to a more exciting, satisfying life.

When she almost believed it, she went inside.