ONE

Paris, February

Dominic Knight glanced out the car window and half smiled. Even on a gray winter day, even with the clusterfuck going on in his head, Paris made him feel as though life might be worth living. Of all the cities in the world, only this one offered pleasure with an urbane practicality: suave, cultured, rowdy, risqué, money-making, or money-spending. Whatever got you up in the morning or kept you up at night.

There weren’t a lot of rules of the road here.

Unfortunately, even the thought of pleasure suddenly dredged up a flood of treacherous memories, needle sharp, frozen in time, beautiful, and a fresh, raw sense of deprivation twisted his gut. Uttering an almost imperceptible sigh, Dominic slid down lower in the seat, grim-faced and moody once again. Christ, how the hell long would this misery last?

An amateur when it came to personalizing emotion, he didn’t have a clue. Which pretty much characterized his entire relationship with Katherine Hart.

She’d signed on for a two-week IT consulting contract at Knight Enterprises and, in that brief period of time, she had completely fucked up his life. Prior to Katherine, his relationships with women had fallen into a well-established pattern: you meet a woman, you want her, you screw her, you politely say good-bye.

All perfectly normal.

Then you meet someone like Katherine and screw her continuously for a week. That’s seven whole days.

Definitely not normal. You leave her. Back to normal. But you can’t get her out of your mind. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Booze is suddenly your best friend. That’s where it gets crazy. That’s where the norm completely goes to hell.

Where the fucking misery quotient powers up big-time. You’re thinking too much, he muttered under his breath. Stop thinking about it. Do something.

And what the fuck? was always a useful game plan.

Tired as hell of debating the issue, he pulled his cell phone from his T-shirt pocket, sat up in the backseat of the black Mercedes, and scrolled through his directory of contacts. He hesitated for a fraction of a second more before he tapped the name, knowing this call might reopen doors better left closed. Then he inhaled a quick breath, dismissed the last pang of doubt, and thumbed the name.

When his contact in London picked up, Dominic said, “Nick here. Got a minute?”

“What the hell do you want?” The accent was wiseass Brooklyn.

“Your wife but she keeps saying no,” Dominic answered with a faint smile in his voice.

“That’s because your track record with women is crap. Where are you?”

“I’m on my way into Paris from the airport. Just came in from Hong Kong. I need a favor.”

“Since I owe you a couple dozen, ask away.” Dominic had introduced Justin Parducci to his wife, which was reason enough for Justin to help him. But the business deals Dominic had moved through Justin’s investment division at CX Capital had made him a fortune.

“This is for your ears only,” Dominic cautioned. “I’m not involved in any way.”

“Christ, did you kill someone?”

“If I had, I wouldn’t be calling you.”

“Speaking of which—how’s Max?”

“Steeped in domestic life in Hong Kong at the moment.”

Justin softly whistled. “Who would’ve thought?”

“You should talk. I hear another one’s on the way. You’re keeping Amanda busy.”

“She wants four. I have no idea why, but…”

“You’re willing to help out,” Dominic drolly said.

“I’m more than willing. Thanks by the way for bringing her over at George’s wedding reception. At the risk of sounding maudlin, we’re over-the-moon happy.”

“Good to hear,” Dominic said, keeping his voice neutral with effort, the nihilistic state of his own life oppressive.

“It’s even better than I thought,” Justin cheerfully noted, completely unaware of the nuances of Dominic’s tone. “I never thought I’d leave New York, but I’m beginning to think of London as home now that I have a wife and kid and another on the way. How about you? Are you in Paris long or just passing through?”

“I haven’t decided.”

That Justin noticed—the terse reply was more than Nick’s usual reserve. Not that he was about to ask for an explanation from a man like Dominic Knight, whose personal life was hermetically sealed. “So what can I do for you?”

“I need someone who can offer a woman I know a consulting contract; someone in IT who’s in charge of their own budget and hiring. Someone who can keep his mouth shut. Know anyone like that?”

“IT’s a little out of my bailiwick, lemme think…”

“Ask around if you have to. Give me a call back.”

“Wait, wait… I think Bill might be your guy. Tight-lipped, indifferent to the herd mentality, accommodating. He’s at CX Capital Singapore, VP of Security now, used to be their head tech guru. He owes me for past favors rendered.”

“Perfect,” Dominic said. “Her name’s Katherine Hart. I’ll pay all the expenses: food, lodging, transportation, salary, flowers… she should have fresh flowers in her suite every day. Have your man at CX Capital send the charges to me through you. And Miss Hart is to be paid well, not your well, mine,” Dominic specified. “After the recent scandals at CX Capital Singapore, I should think they’d be in the market for someone with her skills anyway. As for a plausible story, have your guy—”