And then there was his little girl in a long formal gown, looking absolutely stunning and too sophisticated for her tender young age, standing with a sandy-haired boy who had his arms around her waist and held her much too close for Steve's liking. Her hands rested on his chest, their heads were touching, and the look of adoration glimmering in Steffie's eyes made Steve's heart constrict with a startling sense of deja vu.

Steve took another gulp of beer as a jarring realization crashed over him. His daughter, age sixteen, was not only allowed to date, but she was the same age that he and Janet were when they'd started going steady. They'd become high school sweethearts, and after two years of dating exclusively and just a month after graduation, Janet discovered that she was pregnant.

Eight months later, Steve was a married nineteen-year-old, and a daddy to a sweet baby girl who'd wrapped him around her little finger the moment she was born. He'd worked two back-to-back jobs to support his new and unexpected family, until he'd graduated from the police academy and landed a decent-paying job with Chicago's finest.

For ten years, he'd devoted himself to raising Steffie, done his best to keep his marriage together despite the growing tension between him and Janet, and taken his job as a police officer seriously-until he'd taken a bullet to his upper right arm, which had affected some nerve endings in his hand. The injury hadn't caused any paralysis, thank God. The only time he felt any discomfort was when he did a lot of heavy lifting or worked out with his weights too much. But there had been enough damage for the doctors to worry about his reflexes when it came to shooting his weapon. They'd made the recommendation to Steve's lieutenant that he be reduced to modified work duty, which in essence meant sitting behind a desk pushing paperwork, or writing tickets for expired meters. That hadn't been an option for him, since he wasn't one who could handle a desk job, thus his change in careers to a private investigator.

The shooting, and the stress of his job, had brought a lot of things to a head in his marriage that he and Janet had ignored for far too long. When she asked him for a divorce, he didn't protest. He'd known for years that they were only going through the motions of being husband and wife, more for Steffie's sake than anything else. Their split had been amicable, and they were both much happier as a result of going their separate ways.

And now here he was, six years divorced and a confirmed bachelor who enjoyed his lifestyle and career. He just wished that Steffie didn't live so damn far away.

He sent an E-mail back to his daughter and checked a few other messages. Finally, the time arrived for him to call Liz, to establish himself as a regular caller and client. To do his best to unearth some of her secrets and fantasies, and share a few of his own.

Anxious to hear her voice and be the recipient of her attempt at verbal seduction, he finished off his beer, shut down his computer, and headed to his bedroom down the hall. He striped off his clothes and donned a pair of boxer shorts for the sake of comfort, grabbed the cordless phone from the night-stand, and sat down on his king-size bed, which suddenly seemed much too big and empty when all he could think about was having Liz filling the vacant spot next to him.

Punching in the phone number he'd memorized the moment he'd seen it on the business card Liz had given him, he settled himself against the pillows pushed against the headboard, more than prepared to seduce and be seduced.


***

The phone on the small table jangled, and Liz's gaze automatically shot to the watch on her wrist, to gauge the time, as she'd done with each call since the beginning of her shift over two hours ago. It was 11:15, her designated meeting time with Steve, but that didn't mean another call couldn't slip past the switchboard operator before Steve's and keep her on the line for another ten or twenty minutes of sex talk.

Please, please, please let it be Steve, she silently prayed as another shrill ring echoed in the small confines of the room. She wore a headset, which left her hands free, and all it took to connect the call was a press of a button on the phone unit on the table. She reached out, touched the flashing button with her index finger, and hesitated, her heart drumming hard and fast in her chest-in an odd combination of anticipation and dread, because she had no clue who was on the other end of the line.

God, she didn't think she could handle another anonymous caller desperate for sexual attention, and a down-and-dirty verbal exchange to get him off. She shuddered in disgust, knowing the previous men she'd talked to this evening had climaxed from the requested fantasies she'd fulfilled-or had pretended exceptionally well, just as she'd fabricated loud and robust orgasms on her end just to end the call as quickly as possible. So far, her act had been convincing enough to earn her praise and compliments from her male patrons.

She couldn't even begin to imagine what her cousin found so enticing about being a phone sex operator. Liz was far from being a prude, but she found the job downright creepy in terms of engaging in intimate and very explicit conversation with so many faceless strangers. It had taken monumental effort for her to separate her real personality from the sex kitten the caller expected her to be, and that meant pretending to be a woman who was sophisticated and experienced when it came to lewd, outlandish, and kinky sex acts.

All for the sake of finding her wayward cousin and saving Liz from having to involve her aunt and uncle in another one of Valerie's impossible escapades.

A third loud ring jarred her back to the present, demanding she pick up the line before someone peeked in on her to find out why she wasn't answering. Forcing herself back into the role she'd been playing, she inhaled a calming breath and connected the call.

"Hi, baby," she greeted huskily, using the opening line another operator had suggested she use to immediately break the ice and make the customer feel like he was special.

"Hello yourself," a familiar male voice drawled, the low, sexy timbre making her heart beat even faster.

Steve. Thank God. Relief flooded through her, so strong, she felt light-headed.

"Is this Sindee?" he asked, playing the game like the dedicated nightly caller he would become.

"In the flesh," she replied automatically, her flirtatious comment coming easily with him, and without any pretense.

"Mmm, I like the way that sounds." There was a smile in his tone, one she knew would be all male and pure seduction in person.

Letting the night's tension drain from her limbs, she leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and conjured his image in her mind. Thick, silky black hair that was undoubtedly tousled around his head. Sinful blue eyes filled with heat and hunger. And a lean, muscled, aggressive body she couldn't wait to see and feel in action. There was only one thing left she needed to know to complete the picture.

"Where are you?" she asked curiously, and readjusted the earpiece to her headset to make it fit more comfortably.

"In my bedroom, in my bed," he said softly, seductively. "Wearing very little."

Oh, he was very, very bad. Unbidden, more mental images appeared, of Steve stretched out on his mattress in a classic Playgirl centerfold pose-hands behind his head, a come-hither look in his eyes, and a whole lot of sleek, naked skin showing around the silk sheet draped strategically over one thigh and the bulge between his legs. The delicious, arousing fantasy caused her breasts to swell and her nipples to tingle and pucker tight, her first physical response to a man tonight. One she welcomed, because it was Steve.

It was hot and stuffy in the small room, and she was certain he'd just raised her internal temperature into the triple digits. Reaching for her bottle of water, she took a quick drink to quench her suddenly parched throat before responding. "I didn't think eleven-fifteen would ever get here. I can't tell you how glad I am to hear your voice."

"Likewise. I guess it's been a long night, for both of us." He paused, letting the subtle insinuation in his words-that he'd been equally anxious to talk to her-settle between them before he asked, "What's it like there?"

"Claustrophobic," she said, and laughed as her gaze swept the six-by-six area she'd been assigned for the evening. The walls were a dingy beige color, with no extras to bring a little brightness or cheer to the room. "My so-called office is about the size of a janitor's closet. And it's so warm in here, it's almost stifling. But at least it's private." And thank goodness for that, considering all the moaning, groaning, and heavy breathing she'd had to feign.

"Have you been able to talk to any of the other operators?"

"Only briefly before I started my shift and during my ten-minute break." Kicking off her sandals, she propped her feet up on the table and wiggled her toes in front of the small handheld fan she'd set on the table to stir up the air in the room. Another thirty-five minutes of idle chitchat with Steve, and her shift was over, she thought gratefully. "Roxanne wasn't here tonight, but I introduced myself to a few other girls."

"That's a good start." Approval resonated in his tone. "Any mention of Valerie yet?"

"No, and there hasn't been an opportune time to bring her up, either." She sighed, hoping it wouldn't take more than a few evenings for her coworkers to warm up enough to give her the answers she sought, or for her employer to extend an invitation to The Ultimate Fantasy private parties.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. It's only your first night," he said, as if reading her mind. "So, how has it been with the callers?" His question was direct and undeniably curious.