Tease Me

  Tease Me is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Loveswept eBook Edition

  Copyright © 1998 by Donna Kauffman

  Excerpt from About Last Night by Ruthie Knox copyright © 2012 by Ruthie Knox.

  Excerpt from Blaze of Winter by Elisabeth Barrett copyright © 2012 by Elisabeth Barrett.

  Excerpt from Lana’s Lawman by Karen Leabo copyright © 1997 by Karen Leabo.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Tease Me was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1998.

  Cover photo: © 1998 Frank Wartenberg / Gettyimages

  eISBN: 978-0-345-53789-8

  www.ReadLoveSwept.com

  v3.1

  To my editor,

  Susann Brailey

  For laughing in all

  the right places

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Epilogue

  Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Ruthie Knox’s About Last Night

  Excerpt from Elisabeth Barrett’s Blaze of Winter

  Excerpt from Karen Leabo’s Lana’s Lawman

  PROLOGUE

  Tucker Morgan groaned in deep satisfaction as strong fingers worked down his bare back. “With your hands, Steph, you could achieve world peace. One body at a time.” The only response was a short grunt, but then Steph didn’t speak much English. “I think I’m in love.”

  There was a light tap on the door. The hands stopped. Tucker’s moan wasn’t one of delight. “Yes?” He felt the tension creep back into his neck.

  “Sauna is ready for you, sir. Private, as you requested.”

  Tucker smiled and laid his head back down on the table. “Thank you.” Ask and ye shall receive. He could get used to that. It was amazing what a difference a few more zeroes on the bottom of his bank balance made.

  Steph resumed the deep massage on Tucker’s lower back. The last time he’d had a massage, it had been administered with more enthusiasm than skill by a young woman while he was on assignment in Singapore. He let his eyes drift shut with a dreamy smile.

  His job as head of an international security agency had taken him to some of the world’s most exotic ports of call. But, being a hands-on sort of boss, he’d spent most of his time sitting in hallways outside of posh suites, coordinating exit and entrance strategies, while dining on gourmet leftovers or vending-machine delicacies. And that was only when he wasn’t prowling the grounds, typically at two A.M. during a rainstorm, making sure that there were no lunatics planning to step in and burst the surreal bubble of luxury that surrounded his latest jet-setting client.

  A short slap brought him back to the present.

  Tucker sat up and pulled a warm white towel around his hips before sliding off the table. He smiled at the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound Swede. “You’re no Yuan Li, Stephan, but you give one helluva rubdown.”

  The masseur simply nodded and left the room. How much simpler his job would have been, Tucker thought wryly, if his clients had adopted Stephan’s level of involvement with his customers.

  Tucker exited through a back door that led directly into the men’s locker room at the Fairmont Hotel spa and located the saunas. His name was listed in neat, hand-inked script next to number six.

  Grinning, he entered his very own surreal luxury bubble and closed the door behind him, then sank down on the cedar bench. No more sitting on the outside, he thought. He picked up a small stoneware pitcher and poured a bit of water on the rocks piled in the center of the room. Sizzling vapor filled the air as he stretched out and rested his head on his arms.

  Yep. This was what he wanted, what he’d sold his business for. He smiled to himself, recalling the overseas phone call and the long pause when he’d shocked Gunter Lansdorf by responding with a yes to his umpteenth request to buy out Morgan & Manson Securities. Timing was everything.

  Time. Time for himself. No one to worry about, answer to, plan for, think about, protect. It was no longer him taking care of them. He was a them. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yes, it was good to be a them.

  He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, someone was touching his back. He was dreaming. The smell of perfume wafted over him. Ah, a good dream. Fingers loosened the edge of his towel. Oh, this was going to be a great dream.

  Then came a solid, stinging slap to his backside.

  “Hey!” Grabbing his towel, Tucker rolled to a sitting position, whistling in a breath when the steamy bench came into contact with his newly steaming anatomy. “What in the hell—” Peering through the mist, he saw a short woman standing in front of him. His mouth dropped open.

  He wasn’t sure, but there had to be a law somewhere against seeing any relative over the age of seventy in nothing more than a small white towel.

  “Aunt Lillian?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Tucker glanced down. In the considerable flesh.

  She smiled, reading his thoughts. One of her many irritating qualities. “And it’s damn good flesh too.” She primped at the painfully purple satin turban she’d woven snugly around her head. “Should be, I paid good money for it. Dr. Haarhuis and Sven the Destroyer are very happy men because of this body.”

  “I bet they are,” he muttered. When she arched a perfectly sculpted, penciled-on brow, he quickly said, “Sven the Destroyer?”

  “My personal trainer. He used to be the pride of the World Wrestling Federation. Well, until that unfortunate incident with Magnificent Mongo.” She extended her heavily beringed fingers and studied her matching painfully purple polish, then shot him a fast grin. “Ah, well, the WWF’s loss was my gain.”

  “This is the men’s locker room, Lillian. How did you get in here?”

  “I’m old, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

  “Buzzards have worse eyesight than you.”

  “It took me all morning to track you down. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  “If I saw any more of you, I’m pretty sure one of us could be arrested.”

  He still wasn’t up to Lillian Parker speed, which fell somewhere between light and warp—or warped as the case may be—and he didn’t move fast enough to avoid her firm pinch of the skin above his towel. He yelped—which made him feel like a very unmanly eight-year-old—and grabbed at the edge of his towel.

  “A little soft around the middle.” She gave him a quick once-over. “The big four-oh is staring you between the eyes, Tucker. Now is not the time to slack off.”

  He didn’t tell her he’d been thinking the same thing. Which was why he’d signed up for an early-morning torture session with the Fairmont tennis pro before his appointment with Stephan.

  “Nice buns, though,” she added with a wink.

  He’d missed her more than he realized. He flexed his arms in an exaggerated bodybuilding pose and with a bad Austrian accent said, “I might not give Sven a run for his money, but I still got it.” He grinned at her. “And not a scalpel mark on me.”

  “Watch it, sonny,” she warned, pointing a well-honed purple claw at him. “It
may have been a few years since I’ve swatted that hard butt of yours, but you’re still not too old to take a belt to.”

  “Gee, Aunt Lil, don’t you think this has gotten kinky enough?”

  She grinned. “Enough with the auntie stuff. You’re making me feel old.”

  “Never happen.” Lillian wasn’t actually related to him. She’d been his mother’s closest friend, and after Tucker’s mother died when he was eight, she’d become his salvation. “You’re family, Lillian.” He smiled with true affection. “And for better or worse, you’re all I’ve got.”

  Lillian sat down, wrapped an arm around him, and squeezed. He tried not to flinch. “What has Sven got you eating, anyway?”

  She laughed. “Welcome back, Tucker. I kept expecting another one of those plane tickets you’re so fond of sending. I’m getting too old to go traipsing around the world to see you. It’s about time you came home. I actually missed you this time.”

  “Thanks, I think. And you can’t be too old because you’re ageless, remember? You’ve told me so enough times.” It had been too long, though. He’d kept in contact by phone and flown her out to meet him for semiannual vacations, but he hadn’t found the time to come back to Florida in … “Eight years,” he said softly. He took in a slow breath. Guilt crept in with it. “Has it really been that long?”

  “Yep. It was almost seven the time before that.” Then she slapped his thigh hard enough to leave a mark and said, “But you got here just in time. I’m in need of your services.”

  “I sold Morgan & Manson Securities, Lillian.”

  She waved her hand. “Yes, yes, I got your letter. And how long were you going to wait to visit me?”

  He eyed her warily. “Apparently not long enough.”

  “Hmm. Not really worried about your inheritance, are you?”

  “What inheritance? You’ve always said you wouldn’t leave one red cent when you go, and I’m holding you to it.” He gave her a quick squeeze. “I was going to call you later this morning. I just got down here last night. What sort of trouble are you in this time? Speeding tickets piling up? Is old Sheriff Tumbleweed trying to put you in the slammer again, Leadfoot?”

  “Roscoe Tumble wouldn’t dream of trying to bring me up on some trumped-up reckless-driving charge. Besides, that floral landscape arrangement in the town circle was ugly, anyway.”

  Tucker wagged his finger. “We’ve talked about this before. Are you still driving that little red Miata? Remember what I said about a low profile?”

  She waved away his concern. “This isn’t about my driving record. I need you to do some investigative work for me.”

  “I’m not a detective, Aunt Lil. If you really need help, I can give you some names—”

  “You’re the closest I’ve got, Tucker. I can’t trust this to someone I don’t know.”

  She was dead serious. He covered her hand with his, instantly concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you really in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, not me. It’s Minerva. And two of my ladies. I think they might have gotten involved in something …” She lowered her voice. “Shady.”

  Her ladies, he knew, was how she referred to her clients at A Cut Above, the hair salon and minispa she’d owned and managed for the last seven years in the nearby retirement village of Sunset Shores. Minerva Cooper owned the café next door and was Lillian’s best friend.

  He relaxed. Minerva was about the same age as Lillian, seventy-two. And the average age of her clientele was about eighty. How much trouble could they be in? “I have some very reliable, discreet contacts who would be more than will—”

  She shook her head. “No. It has to be you. I could be wrong about this, and I need some proof before I decide how to handle it. I’m not involving some stranger.”

  “What exactly do you think they’ve done?”

  She leaned closer and whispered, “About a month ago I went out back to throw some boxes away and I saw Minerva, along with Bernice Henshaw and Betty Louise Strickmeyer, talking to this … man.”

  “We’re alone, Lillian. You don’t have to whisper. What was so suspicious about the guy?”

  “He was young—”

  “How young? Late twenties, early thirties? Older than a college kid, younger than you?”

  She ignored his scowl. “He had long hair slicked back into a ponytail. He was dressed nicely enough: pleated pants, nice shirt, tie, but it was all in black.”

  “It’s not a crime to wear black, Lillian. Even in Florida. Stupid maybe, sweaty certainly.”

  Lillian glared at him. “There was something about him. I can’t put my finger on it. He wasn’t … normal.”

  “Normal compared to what?”

  She swatted him. “And he was rather animated.”

  Tucker rubbed his shoulder. “Angry?”

  “Well, no. More like excited, but not happy excited. I couldn’t see the ladies’ faces. But I’m telling you it was strange. I know everyone around Sunset Shores, but I’d never seen him before. And they were talking in the alley as if it was a secret.”

  “Have you talked to them about it?”

  “Heavens, no! I didn’t want them to think I was snooping.”

  He looked at her.

  She huffed. “Okay, so I did poke around a bit. I didn’t want to embarrass them or anything, so I asked a few leading questions, gave them a few openings, but they never mentioned him or anything else unusual. Not even Minerva.”

  Which had obviously hurt Lillian’s feelings. He squeezed her hand. “Maybe he was lost and asking for directions.”

  “That doesn’t explain why they were all out there in the first place. Minerva had reason to be behind her café. But what were Bernice and Betty Louise doing back there?”

  “I’m sure there is a simple explanation. One chance meeting with a strange character doesn’t mean they’re involved in—”

  “I’m not some silly, senile old woman, Tucker. I know what I saw. And it wasn’t only that one meeting. There was another incident.”

  He swallowed a sigh. She was serious about this. “Another ‘incident’?”

  “I decided to talk to Minerva’s niece, Lainey. You know, I told you about her. She moved down here about two years ago to help poor Minerva out when she got pneumonia. When her aunt got better, Lainey decided to stay on. Not that I blame her. She’d just gone through a real nasty divorce. Oh, the mess she left back in Philly.” Lillian whistled. “I tell you, from what Minerva told me, that ex-husband of hers, Conrad, was a real spineless toad. Couldn’t even stand up to his own mother. And did I tell you about the mother?” She rolled her eyes. “Well, you would not believe—”

  “Whoa, whoa. Let’s get back to the ‘incident.’ ”

  Lillian frowned. Tucker knew she hated to have good gossip interrupted. “If you’d visit more often, you’d be more up-to-date on this stuff. I—”

  “Lillian.”

  She glared at him. “Okay, okay. Anyway, as I was saying, I couldn’t put it out of my mind, so I decided to talk with Lainey, but I didn’t want Minerva to know. I know Lainey goes to Big Sam’s early on Saturday to get something for the fish special, so I met her there. Or I would have. I was getting out of my car when I saw her across the street.” She smacked his leg for emphasis. “She was talking to the same man!”

  He rubbed his thigh. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Ol’ buzzard eyes, remember?”

  He didn’t bother trying to look repentant.

  “And they were arguing.”

  “Did you confront her about it?”

  “Didn’t get the chance. She was obviously upset, but he didn’t seem to care. He said something to her, then walked off. Before I could get to her, she jumped into her car and left. This was last week. I’ve been too busy to get her alone again.”

  Tucker still wasn’t all that concerned, but it was obvious that Lillian was. “Did you tell anyone else about this?”

  “No. If the grapevine here
got their hands on a satellite, they could put CNN out of business. Word would get out one way or another, and that’s the last thing I want. I wouldn’t want to put any of them in danger. Someone could get hurt.”

  “No one is going to get hurt. There isn’t any danger—”

  “We won’t know that for sure until I get more information.” She somehow managed to look up at him and yet down her nose at the same time. “And don’t tell me you don’t have the time to help.” She sighed and made that annoying tsking sound. “Forty years old and jobless. You should thank me. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “Thirty-nine. And I’m hardly hurting. The sale on MMSI was finalized barely a week ago. I’m on vacation.”

  “And then what?”

  He’d been afraid she’d ask that. But this was not the time to explain how deeply affected he’d been by his business partner and friend Peter Manson’s tragically early death. How Tucker had looked in the mirror the morning after Pete’s funeral and seen an almost-forty-year-old man who was heading in the same direction. Life had somehow passed him by. Like Pete, work had become his life. There was no wife—trophy, ex, or otherwise—no children of any decimal percentage, no oversized dog to dig holes in the yard he also didn’t have. He needed a new life. He needed a life, period.

  Lansdorf had called later that morning and offered him an out. With no plan, no parachute, he’d taken the offer, and he hadn’t regretted it. He looked at Lillian’s determined face. Not yet, anyway.

  “This won’t take more than a week or two,” she said.

  “Lillian—”

  “A little undercover work.”

  His eyebrows narrowed. “Undercover?”

  Her eyes brightened. “It hit me when I ran into that gorgeous young masseur while I was trying to find you. Stephan, I believe he said his name was. Those Swedes have such incredible blue eyes.…” Her eyes started to glaze over.

  “Lillian?” He snapped his fingers.

  She looked at him with a smile that made him nervous. “It’s really the perfect idea. No one at the shop knows you. They might question your name since I have been known to talk about you, but I can deal with that. Of course, you could always be Lance or something.”