California Royale by Deborah Smith

was a total outlaw, and yet she felt giddy because deep down she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone in her life. Everything was out of control, and her serenity was shot to hell.
    “Love is a dangerous word, amigo,” she said in a taut, sad voice. “And one that I’m not very comfortable with.”
    “You will be,” he promised.
    “Where are the tequila and the candy bars?” she demanded. “I have to go. I … where are they?”
    Frowning at her turbulent emotions Duke got up and went to a cabinet in the cottage’s minikitchen. He retrieved a brown paper bag and brought it to her. Shea got up and took it, giving him a formal little nod of thanks as she did.
    “I suppose it would do me no good to ask which member of my staff you’re bribing to bring you this stuff,” she told him.
    “That’s right. It’s wonderful being the owner. People let me have almost anything I want.”
    “I suppose you’re going to get a new supply tomorrow?”
    He gave her a challenging, teasing look. “Could be. Guess you’ll have to come back tomorrow night and check for it.”
    Shea squinted at him and spoke a few short words in Spanish.
    “You must have Latin blood in you,” he countered. “Someday I want to find out where you learned to sass people like that.”
    “
Adios
,” she muttered.
    He opened the door and Shea walked out without looking back. She felt as if she’d been dipped in hot gold and was only now being allowed to cool.
    “Oh,
querida
, by the way,” he called, “I’ll be here for more than a few days. I’ve decided to stay for two weeks.” He’d just made that decision, but he wasn’t going to tell her so. She was beginning to relax, and all he needed was time.

Four
    “This dining room gives me heartburn,” Chip Greeson said to Duke as he shuttled a spoonful of whole-grain cereal and soy milk from a china bowl to his mouth. “Doesn’t it remind you of Marie Antoinette’s damned boudoir or something?”
    Duke eyed the portly, white-haired game-show host affectionately. “Can’t say,” Duke told him drolly. “Never made acquaintance with that lady’s boudoir.”
    “Well, hell, me neither,” Chip answered with a grunt. “But you know what I mean. Satin drapes on the walls, prissy little chairs with bowed legs, lots of flowers. Always feels damned funny to sit here in my jogging suit.”
    Duke glanced down at his own outfit, well-worn gray sweatpants and a blue T-shirt with Santa Anita—Race Track of Champions printed on the chest. He grinned at Chip. “Pal, at least
your
suit matches,” he noted. “And it’s purple, which seems to be the ‘in’ color around here.”
    “
Mauve
, friend, not
purple
. You’ve got to use Beverly Hills lingo in this joint.
Mauve
. Yeah, all the designersare pushing mauve this spring, my wife says. She bought this for me. Told me not to come home until it’s baggy.” He laughed. “Good thing she was kidding.”
    “Good morning. May Dan and I join you?”
    Glenda Farrar, wearing a mauve jogging suit with rhinestone butterflies appliquéd on the padded shoulders, beamed down at Duke. He stood up politely and Chip followed. “Why, certainly,” Duke said. He glanced at Chip, and they shared a secret look of amusement. More
mauve
. Dan Steinberg was a tall, sternly handsome man with gray wings in his hair. Duke noted that his jogging suit was white.
Maybe Steinberg’s a renegade
, he decided wryly.
    After Steinberg introduced himself, he grasped Duke’s outstretched hand. They shook, and Duke noted that the man had a limp, soft grip.
Bad sign
, Duke thought.
Hope he’s worth Glenda’s efforts
.
    Everyone sat down, and a waiter hurried over to take the newcomers’ breakfast orders. As he left, Duke caught Glenda Farrar looking at him.
It’s working
, the matronly brunet mouthed quickly, nudging her eyebrows in Steinberg’s direction.
Thank you
.
    Duke bit back a smile and winked at her.
Sweet little doll
, he thought for perhaps the