Chapter One

“Girls! What have I told you about running around Uncle Ollie’s house? You could step on a nail or knock over a can of paint. Plus, it’s not polite to go crazy when you’re a guest.”

The girls stopped on a dime, then aimed angelic faces in his direction. “Sorry, Uncle Ollie,” Lara said, her big, brown eyes on him. She poked her little sister, Anne, a wide-eyed imp, who piped up with, “We’ll be good.”

Ollie grinned. “You two are always good. Clearly your mom is confused.”

At nine, Lara immediately burst out laughing, but the more literal seven-year-old frowned, then shook her head. “No, Uncle Ollie. We were being little pests.”

He shot a glance toward their mother, Nikki. She tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear, her sea-green eyes dancing as she struggled not to laugh. “You, my friend, are a bad influence.”

“Hell, yeah,” he said with a shrug. “Isn’t that part of the Uncle job description?”

“It’s definitely part of being an aunt,” Jamie said from across the room. The three of them—Ollie, Jamie, and Nikki—had formed a tight triangle of friendship back in Texas, and those bonds had held strong over the years and the miles. They’d been tested, sure, but there were no two people he loved and trusted more in the world than Jamie and Nikki.

“Oh, come on, James,” Nikki said. “Being an aunt has nothing to do with it. You’ve always been a bad influence.”

“She has a point,” Ollie said dryly, then pretended to cower under her glare. Whereas Nikki had a girl-next-door beauty that suggested innocence, Jamie was nothing short of wildly sexy with a definite hint of badassery, a fact she knew well. And which she’d used to her advantage on more than one occasion before she’d met her match in Ryan Hunter.

Now, she shrugged, then looked at the kids. “What can I say? Your mom and uncle know me well.”

Lara giggled, but Anne asked, “Can we have some cookies now?”

“Yes, can we?” Lara chimed in.

The entourage had arrived with a dozen freshly baked chocolate chip cookies from Upper Crust, an amazing beachfront bakery near Nikki and Damien’s Malibu house.

“I thought we were giving those to Uncle Ollie,” Nikki said, making Lara roll her eyes.

“ Mommmy. You know he’d just share with us anyway.”

Anne nodded. “Uncle Ollie is very polite.”

“Only one each. Daddy’s taking us to dinner tonight. More than one means no dessert.”

They raced toward the kitchen, their responses of okay and thank you drifting back to the adults.

“Anything in there that will send a couple of rambunctious kids to the ER?” Nikki asked.

“Actually, the kitchen’s mostly done,” Ollie said. “I still need to put the cabinet doors back on, but at least this way we’ll see them if they decide to hide.”

“Do you want us to hang out for a bit? I wouldn’t be any help if you were laying tile, but I can attach a cabinet door.”

“She says,” Jamie retorted. “I won’t believe her until I see it with my own eyes.”

“Then it’s going to stay a mystery,” Ollie said. “I’m not putting you two to work. I’m just glad you were able to swing by.” Nikki had called earlier to see if he wanted to join them for lunch, and when he’d said that he was tied up painting, they decided to come see the progress.

“You’re doing an amazing job,” Nikki said. “The front of the house looks great, and the entry hall is amazing. I love the tile.”

“I wasn’t sure about it,” he admitted. “But Mom had Saltillo tile in the Highland Park house. Nostalgia,” he added, then winced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Nikki said. “I’m nostalgic for the time I spent at your house, too.”

He knew she meant it, but he still wished he hadn’t said anything. He adored his parents, and he’d loved growing up in the posh Dallas neighborhood. Being next door to Nikki had only made it better.

For her, though, those years had been torture. The visits to his house were rare moments when she was free of her abusive bitch of a mother.

“This part is looking great,” Jamie said coming back from where she’d been peeking into one of the halls. “But you’ve still got your work cut out for you back there.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Why don’t you hire someone to come in and get it finished? Jackson could recommend a zillion contractors,” she added, referring to Nikki’s brother-in-law, a world-renowned architect.

“Because he wants to do it himself,” Nikki said. “I get that.”

“Yeah,” Jamie said with a shake of her head. “Not so much. But whatever floats your boat.”

“Seriously, though,” Nikki said, “put us to work. Or is getting out of your hair the most useful thing we can do?”

“Maybe we should open a dozen colors of paint and let the girls create abstract art.” Jamie’s eyes danced with amusement. “Actually, that sounds fun. I might just help them.”

“Interesting, but no. I think I’ll forgo the abstract and stick with solid cream walls in this room,” Ollie said. “Except for that one.” He gestured to the wall to his left, perpendicular to the balcony door. “I was thinking of painting it that shade of blue,” he said, indicating the one swath of color he’d spread as a test.

“I like that,” Nikki said. “It’s like the blue you see on a gas flame.”

“Exactly.” He knew she’d get it. “And it matches the blue flecks in the hearth tile.”

She glanced around the room. “This place is actually livable. You’ve come a long way.”

“Um, hello?” Jamie chimed in. “Did you not hear me? Nothing down that hall is even close to ready.”

“Nothing on the two lower levels, either,” Ollie said. “Except my bedroom and most of the en-suite bath.”

“Kitchen, living, bedroom.” Nikki counted the rooms off with her fingers. “That’s all you need right now.”

“Exactly,” Ollie said, with more than a little pride. He’d bought the place a few years ago when he’d made the move back to Los Angeles to join the FBI full-time after a stint in Manhattan as an attorney. Located in the hills above Universal Studios, the place had been in terrible shape, which was why he’d gotten it for a song. For the last few years, it had sat empty, the improvements coming slowly as he had time.

“I’m almost completely moved in now. And it’s a huge relief. Especially since the drive from Marina del Rey to downtown is a nightmare with all the construction.”

“What’s Jackson going to do with the houseboat?” Jamie asked.

“I’m not sure.” The architect had lived on the houseboat when he’d first moved to LA, but now he had a house in the Palisades with his family. When Ollie had moved back, Jackson had offered Ollie the use of it, which was fabulous while he was renovating, but now that Ollie was no longer renting it, he had no idea what Jackson had planned. “I’m just glad this place is finally fixed-up enough that I can move in.”

Jamie made a face as she pulled a hair-tie out of the pocket of her jeans and tugged her mass of dark hair up and into a messy knot. “The place is fabulous, no doubt. And I’m terribly excited about your three rooms. But did you forget about air-conditioning? Because it’s suddenly stifling in here.”

“Yeah,” he said with a grimace. “I’m having issues with the AC. It has a mind of its own.”

“I guess so.” As she spoke, she lifted her shirt and start fanning herself, coming pretty damn close to flashing him.

“You want to be careful before this turns into a peep show…”

She waved his words away. “Not anything you haven’t seen before.”

“And I’m pretty sure Ryan doesn’t want me to see it again,” he countered as he went to open the huge sliding glass door to the balcony and the incredible view of the San Fernando Valley and Universal Studios below.

Her husband, Ryan, knew about their ill-advised tryst a decade or so ago. And thankfully that was long behind them. Even so, it was an awkward memory. They’d had fun, sure. A few rounds of guilt-ridden, confusing, sweaty fun. But sleeping with Jamie had been a mistake. And even though they could joke about it now, it wasn’t something he liked to think about. Especially not now that he was single and, frankly, more than a little confused about what he wanted.

No, about who he wanted.

His body warmed in a way that was pleasant, but also perplexing, and he was grateful for the cool breeze.

The truth was, he’d been confused back then with Jamie, too. Apparently, he made bad choices when he was confused. But he was in his mid-thirties now, dammit. He didn’t have time to be befuddled by life and relationships.

Besides, it was damned exhausting.

He dragged his fingers through his hair. He was wearing it short again, and somehow the habit was less satisfying than when it had been long. Then again, the habit wasn’t going to help anything. But talking to his friends might.

He just needed to suck it up and start the conversation.

As if taking himself literally, he drew in a breath. “Um, so, how about I grab a bottle of whiskey and snag some of the cookies for us?”

He saw the way Jamie and Nikki exchanged glances. They weren’t fools; undoubtedly they realized he had something on his mind. For that matter, they were such good friends, they could all practically read each other’s minds. Or they’d once been able to. Right now, he doubted they had a clue as to what he wanted to tell them.

All he knew was that it was time.

“Cookies and whiskey?” Jamie said. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

“Great.” He glanced around the empty living room. He had furniture being delivered in a week. Right then, there were some metal folding chairs and a card table. “Maybe we take an extra chair onto the balcony?” There was a small outdoor settee out there already, but it was only big enough for two.

Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Did Jackson check it out for you? I don’t want that big slab of concrete to snap off while I’m sitting on it and send me hurling to my death on the roof of the neighbor below you.”

“Damn,” he retorted. “Now you’ve taken all the fun out of it.”

Jamie just tilted her head and stared him down.

“Two Jackson Steele thumbs-up,” he assured her as Nikki—ever efficient—returned from the kitchen with the cookie box, a roll of paper towels, and a bottle of Basil Hayden.

“Are we just slugging?” Jamie asked.

That time, it was Nikki who stared Jamie down. “Hands full. Go grab some cups, would you?”

“I’ve got it,” Ollie said. “I want to tell the girls they can watch something on my bed if they want to. The television’s installed and everything. No satellite yet, but I can get all the streamers.”

“And that’s why he’s the favorite uncle,” Jamie said as Ollie headed into the kitchen. “I need to tell Ryan to step up his game. After all…”

He missed the rest of her words as by then, he’d rounded the corner into the kitchen and had been immediately accosted by the sound of squealing girls. A sound that only became louder when he offered them television time.

He grabbed three glasses, then like the Pied Piper led the girls out of the kitchen and into the living area, intending to cross the space to the balcony. Instead, he stopped short. Because there was Trevor Barone, looking every inch his Italian roots, with his dark hair and dark eyes. He even had on a black T-shirt and black jeans. He was lean, but muscular, and right then, Ollie was thinking about him far too much.

He tried to stop, but his mind was already spinning. The truth was, Trevor reminded him of Cary Grant from To Catch a Thief , one of his favorite old movies. He had an elegance about him that Ollie found—well, actually he found it sexy. And that, of course, was what he needed to tell his friends. What he’d probably be doing right now, if Trevor hadn’t blindsided him.

Then again, when hadn’t Trevor blindsided him? The first time he’d met the man, Ollie’s mouth had gone dry, and he’d spent the rest of the weekend wondering where this new Ollie had come from.

Definitely blindsided .

And now here was his walking, talking weakness, standing in his living room holding a pizza box in the entryway as he chatted with Nikki and Jamie.

“Trevor!” Lara called, then ran to him. He squatted down, then put the pizza on the ground as he gathered the girls in his arms. Damien tended to have the team at Stark Security over to the Malibu house when a large case wrapped, and because of that, Trevor had known the girls for years.

That, in fact, was how they’d first met. Just casually by the bar, and Ollie had felt a sensual punch to the gut. It faded, sure, and they’d chatted. It had been fine. But later that night Ollie’d been unable to get the man out of his head. And not just in a there’s a guy I could grab a beer with kind of way. More like the XXX-rated variety.

Which was more than a little disconcerting in light of Ollie’s theretofore caveman understanding of his sexuality: Him straight guy. Woman’s breasts nice. Women soft. Sex with them nice.

With Trevor, though, Ollie had somehow missed a very important memo.

Now, Trevor was crouched down, one girl in the curve of each arm for a hug. “You two are looking adorable. And getting so big.”

Watching him, something flipped in Ollie’s gut, and his mouth was suddenly dry. A moment passed, then another, then he realized he was standing there like an idiot, and forced himself to keep walking. “Hey,” he said, hoping his voice sounded normal. “Good to see you, man.”

Trevor stood, then took a step forward, a smile teasing at the corner of his wide mouth. His defined jaw boasted a hint of stubble, and his ears stuck out just a bit, which Ollie thought was just too damned endearing.

And that was the trouble. He’d been thinking about this man far too much. A man now standing in his home in jeans that were both well-worn and fitted enough to accent the fact that this was a guy in seriously good shape.

“I was down on Ventura Boulevard, so I thought I’d bring you dinner and see how it’s coming.” He glanced around. “Looking good. Need help?”

“What? Oh, no, I—”

“We’re going to cut out before you rope us and the girls into helping, too,” Jamie said, then smiled sweetly. Which, considering it was Jamie, was never a good thing. “Errands,” she added with a shudder.

“So many errands,” Nikki said, then hurried closer to give him a hug. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed a little tighter than usual, as if she was silently giving him support.

She pulled away, then called for the girls to follow. “Don’t let him work you too hard,” she said to Trevor. And then after a flurry of hugs from the kids and an order from Jamie to call her later, they disappeared.

He was alone with Trevor.

He was alone with Trevor .

He shoved his free hand into the front pocket of his jeans.

“Sorry,” Trevor said.

“What? Sorry? Why?”

He nodded toward the glasses in Ollie’s hand, then at the cookies and whiskey that Nikki had left on the ledge in front of the fireplace. “I think I interrupted family time.”

“What? No. They were just in the neighborhood. Stopped by to see my progress.”

“Just like me.”

“Yeah,” Ollie said. “Just like you.”

Except not. Really, really not.

“Except not really,” Trevor said, and it was a good thing Ollie hadn’t yet poured and sipped the whiskey, because right then, he would have spit it out from shock.

“Not? What do you mean, not ?” And when had his voice gotten high and squeaky? He was losing it. He might as well just melt into his brand-new teak flooring and be done with it.

If Trevor noticed that Ollie had turned into a blithering mess, he didn’t show it. He simply moved closer and took the glasses from Ollie, leaving Ollie with nothing left to clutch like a security blanket. “Just that I came to help, not simply to check out how much you’ve done.”

He crossed to the hearth and put the glasses down next to where Nikki had left the whiskey. “What do you say?” He opened the bottle without waiting for Ollie to reply, then poured them each a shot. “Shall we pick up a couple of brushes and knock out this wall. It’s going to look incredible in that blue.”

He returned, handed Ollie his glass, and remained standing just a little too close for comfort.

Ollie took a sip, then stepped back, hoping to find the air breathable again.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, trying to remember Trevor’s last words. “I mean, yeah. I think the color’s going to really make the room.” He wanted to head-thwap himself, if only to knock his thoughts back into alignment and banish any errant fantasies to the deep, dark recesses of his mind where they belonged.

Except why did they belong there? Why couldn’t those fantasies be front and center?

Because Trevor was a friend. And Ollie didn’t want to take a false step and screw up a friendship.

A statement that was one hundred percent true. And not the real reason at all.

The truth was, Ollie was pretty damn certain that Trevor wanted more than just friendship. They may have started out that way—even despite Ollie’s disconcerting initial jolt of attraction—but then Ollie noticed that Trev had started touching him from time to time. Nothing major. A hand on the shoulder as they waited in line for a movie. A tap on the arm while they chatted at a bar. Casual touches. Subtle.

At first, Ollie only noticed the touches. Then he’d craved them.

Dammit, he truly had wanted—no, did want —more.

And the only reason he wasn’t going for it was that he was a hypocritical, fucking coward.

“—just go?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

The corner of Trev’s mouth curved up, revealing a small dimple. “I said that if you’d rather, I can just go. You seem a little distracted. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, it’s okay.” Ollie gave himself a swift mental kick in the ass. “I am distracted. The air-conditioner,” he lied. “I was thinking about something Jamie said right before you got here. That I need to get that thing fixed before we’re into full-on summer.”

“In that case, I’ll take a look at it later. Might have some ideas. And in the meantime, we can paint or we can eat the pizza while it’s hot. Sausage and pineapple pizza plus whiskey? Does it get better than that?”

Ollie made a show of crouching in front of the box, lifting the lid, and making a face. “I’m thinking it does.”

“Not a fan of pineapple pizza?”

“Hey, I’m not one to turn down a free pizza. And I’ll try anything once.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could call them back. But Trevor didn’t jump on the opening, and for that, Ollie was grateful. “Let’s blow off painting,” he finally said. “I’m done with work for the day. But I can get behind pizza on the balcony.”

Trevor grinned. “Folks, we have a winner.”