The Elliotts: Mixing Business with Pleasure. Brenda Jackson

system. The problem with that theory was that he’d had an affair with her before. He should have gotten enough of her then, especially after the rumors started.

      Something about Erika made him want to break all his rules. It was more than the need to get her sexually, although that need was damn strong. He liked just having her in his apartment with him. Her presence calmed and aroused him at the same time. He liked talking with her. He liked the way she didn’t take crap from him, yet he could tell she admired him and was attracted to him. She clearly liked his genes, he thought, scowling as he recalled her desire for him to donate his sperm to her. For Pete’s sake, this was a complicated situation, the kind he always avoided.

      “You didn’t ever tell me your five things you’d want on a desert island.”

      “Oh.” She took a sip from her hot chocolate and thought for a moment. “An iPod. With a battery that never dies.”

      He chuckled. “Okay. What music?”

      “Everything,” she said. “Alicia Keys, Seal, some beach tunes to cheer me up when I’m blue.”

      “For a girl from Indiana, you seem to have a thing for the beach.”

      “I do. I was landlocked entirely too long. I love the warmth, the sand, the water.”

      “The hurricanes,” he interjected.

      “Cynic,” she said and gave a sniff. “You don’t have to visit during hurricane season.”

      “Back to your music,” he said.

      “Some classical music played by a full orchestra, some standards and ‘Marshmallow World’ by Sammy Davis Jr.”

      “Sounds eclectic,” he said, hiding a grin behind his glass of whiskey. “Two items left.”

      “Hot chocolate mix with marshmallows. I would be very sad without my hot chocolate and marshmallows. And the complete unabridged collection of Louisa May Alcott.”

      “No blow-dryer?” he asked.

      She shrugged. “Why bother? The humidity would make my hair curly.”

      “No cosmetics?”

      “Some soap would be really nice. Maybe I’d trade soap for the cell phone that doesn’t work. What about you? Not that such a thing could ever happen to an Elliott because you, of course, would have a satellite cell phone. Plus a search party would be combing every inch of the planet for you.”

      “Are you mocking my wealth again?”

      “No. Just your family position this time,” she said with a sassy smile. “Five things.”

      “Sports radio with extra batteries.”

      “Can’t do without your Knicks.”

      “Or Yankees, depending on the season. The complete works of Tolstoy. A bottle of great Irish whiskey. And a woman.”

      She blinked. “A woman? Who?”

      He nodded. “A woman who satisfies my soul and body so much that I don’t care if I ever leave the island.”

      “Tall order,” she said, lifting her eyebrows skeptically.

      He looked her over and remembered how she’d looked naked, how she’d felt in his arms, the sexy sounds she’d made when they’d made love. She was there. He was here. They were dressed. What a waste. He bit back an oath and took a long swallow of whiskey.

      She pulled out his game of Scrabble and he beat her in the first round. She beat him in the second because he couldn’t stop thinking about convincing her to play strip Scrabble. Just past midnight the Godiva Liqueur took effect and she began to yawn.

      “Hot chocolate with a kick kicking in?” he asked, liking the way she looked with her eyes sleepy and her hair mussed.

      “A little. Do you mind if I take your couch tonight?”

      “I have a guest room.”

      She nodded and glanced at the fireplace. “But the fire is so cozy.”

      “It is,” he agreed, wishing he hadn’t made the stupid promise not to touch her unless she begged. Inbred cockiness had caused trouble for more than one Elliott.

      “You can go to bed if you want,” she said.

      “No rush. I’ll get a pillow and blanket for you.” He ambled down the hall in his sock feet and pulled a pillow from the guest bed and a soft, warm blanket from the closet. He returned to find her with her legs folded against her, her arms wrapped around them as she stared into the fire.

      “I always wondered why you didn’t have a full-time servant. Or several,” she mused aloud.

      “Privacy,” he said. “This is one of the few places I can be totally alone if I want to be. The cleaning lady takes care of everything when I’m not here.”

      “Phantom help,” Erika said with a soft smile.

      “Yeah, but she doesn’t get a phantom check,” he said drily. He watched her expression turn serious, pensive. “What’s on your mind?”

      “Just wondering.”

      “Wondering what?” he prodded, joining her on the sofa.

      “You said that you keep the people who are important to you out of the press. I’m wondering how many women you’ve kept out of the press.”

      He studied her. “Not many.”

      “Not many is not a number.”

      “Three,” he told her.

      She glanced at him in surprise. “I would have expected more.”

      “You would have been wrong.”

      “Hmm,” she said. “Are any of them still speaking to you?”

      “Yes,” he said, shooting her a hard look. “My breakups have always been civil. One of the women has gotten married. The other one lives in France.”

      “And the third?”

      “Is sitting beside me right now,” he said, meeting her gaze and feeling a snap of the electricity that sizzled between them.

      “Neither of the other women threw a tantrum?”

      “No.”

      “I could have,” she confessed. “I was so hurt I wanted to scream and beat my hands against the wall. Throw dishes, expensive crystal with champagne at you, a pie in your face.”

      He looked at her in surprise. “You’re joking. You’re one of the most civilized, rational women I know.”

      “Yeah, well, I guess you could say you don’t always bring out my civilized, rational side.”

      He stared at her, trying to visualize her throwing a temper tantrum, and he shook his head. “You’re too mature for that.”

      Erika sighed. “Maybe. Maybe it’s the Godiva Liqueur talking. But you know what they say—there’s yin and yang, light and dark.”

      “If you’re passionate in one way, you could be passionate in another,” he added.

      “Could be,” she said and smiled slyly. “Bet I’ve scared you.”

      “Not quite,” he said, feeling his temperature edge up a degree. He’d always gravitated toward relationships with women he knew he could ultimately control. Last year he’d been able to control his relationship with Erika. He wasn’t sure it would be so easy now, and damn if that didn’t make him want her more. He swallowed an oath. Where was this self-destructive streak coming from?

      He cleared his throat. “I’ll hit the sack and let you get some sleep.”

      “Thanks again,” she said. “G’night.”

      He