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“Here you go. Call me if you need anything at all, Anna.”

Her name on his lips, the intensity of his gaze, made her feel like a wounded antelope in the sights of a lion. The thing was, she didn't want to escape.

“I will.”

With that promise extracted, he gave her a wicked half smile and walked out the door, shutting it softly behind him. Following him, she looked up and then stood gazing at the colors in her living room, trying to see them—and herself—through his eyes.

Brown for steadiness and strength, red for excitement. Being alive.

Somehow, it seemed he'd taken all of the red with him when he left.

2

Grayson closed the door behind him and stood in the middle of his sparsely furnished apartment, frustration and guilt riding him hard.

As he'd started getting to know Anna Claire over the past few weeks, he'd slowly come to realize she was nothing like he'd first assumed. He'd thought she was too straitlaced and wondered that she hadn't snapped like a brittle twig. Maybe a little stuck-up, too. But she wasn't.

She was driven, determined, smart, and sexy. Kind to her employees and patrons, yet aloof to the former, perhaps because she was their boss. The woman was complicated, and yet he felt he was coming to understand what made her tick. She needed to have some fun, enjoy life a little.

He intended to help her along in that area.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings. He had a sneaking suspicion who would be on the other side, and he was right.

“You took a hell of a risk,” he growled. “Don't you ever use your brain?”

Simon King strolled inside, halting in the center of the room, and faced him wearing a grin. “I changed clothes, and nobody saw me come here. It's not like she got a good look at me anyhow.”

Gray rolled his eyes. “She knows something is off, you idiot. Once she calmed down and had time to pull herself together, she said you were too articulate and you smelled good. And it didn't escape her notice that you weren't armed.”

The cocky grin slid off his face. Good.

“Shit. I didn't expect her to be so aware of those kinds of details. Most women wouldn't be when they're scared.”

“Anna's not most women, Simon.” He sighed.

“Yeah? Well, at least we accomplished our goal,” his partner pointed out. “You got invited into the lioness's den. The question is, did you get a free pass to go back?”

“Most likely. She's a tough one, but I think this was the edge I needed.”

Simon considered that. Thankfully, he didn't mention just how far Gray might still have to go to capture their prey. “Did you get the trace put on her cell phone?” he asked instead.

“Yeah. I'll get the rest in place next time I go over there.”

“Which will be when?”

“Hopefully tomorrow.”

“It would be quicker if you just broke in and did the job.”

“And more risky, too, in a building like this with all the apartment doors facing one hallway and no access from the outside. No, being invited in is a much better scenario.”

“All right. It's your call.” Simon paused. “Who do you like for this, partner? Honestly?”

Gray rubbed the back of his neck. “That's the million-dollar question.”

“Make that multimillion. Literally.”

And that's why he and his partner were on this case, and why Gray had infiltrated the staff of Floor Fifty-Five. Several of Anna's employees were running drugs, using the restaurant as a cover and base of operations. His job was to learn the names of everyone involved, how and where they were hiding the drugs—and whether Anna was in on the scheme.

God, he really hoped not.

Lowering himself into an easy chair, he answered, “I'm the low man there, so working my way into confidences is proving harder than I expected.”

“Whoever's behind this is mob-connected, my friend. They're going to be suspicious of anyone new, and it will take too long to earn their trust, so forget making buddies. Just find the evidence and get out.”

“Can't argue there. But I am working my way through the employee list. I've been able to eliminate some people and I have a few names for our list of suspects.”

Simon took out his iPhone and opened the notepad feature. “Ready when you are.”

Grayson recited what he knew as his partner typed notes into his phone. When they were done, Simon asked, “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment. I have to tell you, my gut says Anna's not involved.”

“You sure that's not your dick doing the talking?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he laughed. “Not at all.”

“That's what I figured.” His partner shook his head. “Be careful, okay?”

“I wouldn't be anything less.”

But after Simon left, he couldn't help but think
careful
wasn't going to be a word that applied at all where Anna was concerned.

***

Damn the man, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

At the restaurant, she was worthless. She was walking around in such a fog that she barely spoke to the diners or her staff that afternoon. Sensing her distraction, some of the employees cut her curious glances, but mostly stayed out of her way. A few even looked at her with trepidation, as though she might be angry about something. But no one asked her if something was wrong. Not one of them reached out. As Gray had pointed out, she didn't talk to her staff about personal matters—so they didn't talk to her, either.

Guilt assailed her, and she decided to take action. Test the waters, show them she was human. What could it hurt?

Walking toward the bar, she spotted Brandon waiting for a drink order. As she headed toward him, she racked her brain to recall what sort of pet Gray said he'd lost. It was something unusual. A snake? A gerbil? No, a lizard of some kind.

Stopping in front of Brandon, she said, “Can I have a word with you?”

Blinking at her, he nodded and swallowed hard, eyes widening. “Sure. I mean, yes, ma'am! I . . . Did I do something wrong? Is this about the Jacksons' order? I swear I told Chef medium rare, and the steak looked fine to me, but—”

“It's not about the steak. You handled that situation just fine.” Giving him a sympathetic look, she said, “I just wanted to express my condolences for the loss of your gecko.”

“Um . . . thanks?” He was now staring at her as though she'd sprouted a third eye. “He was an iguana, though.”

“Oh, right.” She nodded gravely. “I'm sure he was a good companion, and I know how hard it is to lose a member of the family. If there's anything I can do, let me know.”

“That's really awesome of you, Miss Claire. Thanks.”

“Anna, please.”

“Okay.” The boy cleared his throat, still looking shell-shocked.

“Well, carry on.”

As she left, she was feeling pretty good until she heard Steve, the bartender, ask, “What the heck was that all about?”

Rounding the corner, Anna stopped to listen. She really shouldn't, but curiosity won.

“Uh, she said she was sorry Freddie died.”

“No shit?” Steve said, incredulous. “My grandmother passed last month and she didn't say a friggin' thing.”

“Maybe she didn't know,” Brandon replied in her defense. “Cut her a break; she's nice.”

“Yeah, I guess. A little stuck-up, but in a nice way.”

“That doesn't even make sense, buttwipe.”

“It does to me.”

Unfortunately, it did to Anna as well. Perfect sense. This was exactly what Gray had been trying to tell her last night. She was a good boss, but she was disconnected from her people. Case in point, Freddie the iguana. One kind word and two staff members were flummoxed.

That had to change. Now that she'd started to turn over a new leaf, she had to keep going.

She was on a roll, having complimented one surprised waiter on his new haircut and showing interest in another one's college studies, when her cell phone buzzed. Retrieving it from the pocket of her jacket, she peered at the screen and groaned.

“No way. What lousy timing.” Punching the button, she resigned herself to being annoyed by her mother in some new and creative way. “Hello.”

“Anna Marie, I was starting to wonder if you'd fallen off the face of the earth! I haven't heard from you in two weeks.”

Repressing a sigh, she managed to keep her tone even. “I haven't heard from you, either, Mom. Been busy?”

“Don't deflect,” Margaret scolded. “I wanted to make sure we're still on for next weekend. My flight arrives Friday at noon, and I leave on Sunday morning.”

“I thought you were coming on Saturday?”

“Nope. We said Friday, it's written right here. Unless you don't have time for your mother, and then I guess I can cancel—”

“Friday is fine, Mom,” she said, cutting off the impending pity party midstream. “I must've misunderstood, but we're good.”
No, I didn't. It was planned for Saturday. Talking to her is like conversing with a brick wall. I must get my communication skills from her.

“Well, if you're sure . . .”

The hesitation in her mother's voice made her feel like crap. “Absolutely. It'll be great to catch up. Girl time, you know?”

“Yes, it will,” Margaret enthused, good cheer restored. “That is, if I'm not taking you away from a date or anything. Are you seeing anyone?”

Here we go.
“No time, you know that.”

“Huh. It's a good thing I was a lot more open to dating when I met your father, or you wouldn't even be here.”

“You lucked out. Daddy loved you, and he wouldn't take no for an answer,” she said, momentarily overwhelmed by what a good man he was and how very much they both missed him. “They don't make men like that anymore.”

“You have to look around, sweetie. He's out there somewhere.”

I doubt that.
“Maybe.” Just then, a loud crash resounded from the direction of the kitchen. “Hey, I've got to go. I'll call before you leave next Friday.”

“Okay. Love you, baby.”

“Love you, too.”

Hanging up, she heaved a sigh. Between her mother, Gray's pursuit, and the restaurant, she was on her way to developing a headache. She headed for the kitchen to see what disaster had befallen them, hurrying when she heard the yelling. Stepping inside, she drew up short, and took in the scene. Flour was everywhere—on the floor, the counter, and all over her head chef.

“. . . the fuck do you think you're doing?” Ethan screamed into Gray's face. “You imbecile! Did you get your certification from a box of cereal? Did it come with a plastic toy inside, too?”

Gray's hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his body was tense. Lines of strain were etched around his mouth, his lips pressed into a grim line. Anna didn't know him well, but she could tell that it was very, very difficult for an alpha male like Gray to stand there and take what Ethan was dishing out. But take it he did, and he managed to keep his tone respectful, if just barely.

“I'm sorry, sir,” he said, looking the head chef right in the eye. “The container slipped out of my hands. It won't happen again.”

“You're goddamned right it won't! Because if it does, you'll be lucky to get a recommendation from me as a fry cook at McDonald's!”

“Yes, sir.”

Anna started forward, then stopped. As much as she wanted to intervene, rush to Gray's rescue, under no circumstances could she undermine Ethan's authority by reprimanding him in front of his staff. And they
were
his by unwritten rule, even though she was the owner of the establishment.

“And the cost of the flour is coming out of your paycheck! Fucking clean this shit up!”

“Right away.”

“Of all the idiotic fucking . . .” Ethan turned back to the pan on the stove, continuing to grumble to himself.

Shooting Gray looks ranging from sympathy to silent support, the others slowly returned to their tasks. None risked the chef's wrath by helping him when he grabbed a broom and dustpan and started sweeping. A pang of feeling swept through Anna, something more than sympathy. Whatever is was stirred in her breast, and in a way, it hurt.

Walking over, she addressed the angry prep chef. “I'd like to see you in my office when you're done.”

He paused in his sweeping, gripping the broom handle tightly. “If you're going to fire me, I'd prefer you do it now.”

“Whether you're fired is Ethan's decision,” she said, well aware that the others were hanging on their every word. “He's given you another chance, and that's good enough for me. This is about something else.”

“All right,” he said with a nod, expression relieved. “I'll be there as soon as I'm done.”

Giving him an encouraging smile, she patted him on the arm. “See you soon.”

In the office, she booted up her laptop and tried to busy herself studying profit and loss reports from Jeff. The numbers kept blurring on the screen as she remembered last night. Gray's strength as he fought off her attacker. His caring afterward.

He was so handsome, his blue eyes studying her in concern. His streaked brown hair sticking in every direction. Those lips that knew how to deliver a toe-curling kiss.

“Miss Claire?”

Gray stood in the doorway, practically filling the space. For one insane moment, she wanted to rip off those drab kitchen whites and see if his big body was as delectable naked as it had appeared last night in his jeans and T-shirt.

“Anna, remember?”

His full lips hitched upward. “I figured that didn't apply here at work.”

“It applies to you, no matter where we are.”

“I take it you're not planning to chew me out?” he drawled, moving inside and closing the door behind him.

“I don't think there's anything of your ass left to chew,” she teased. His gaze grew hungry, and she knew he was about to make an off-color comment, so she rushed on. “I just wanted to thank you again for last night.”

“You already did, so it's not necessary. I'm sure you'd do the same for me if I found myself in dire need of your ninja skills.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “You'd better hope that never becomes an issue. My ninja skills are sadly lacking.”

Closing the distance between them, he moved around her desk and said, “Want to tell me why you really called me in here? Could it be because you missed me?”

He was so close, she had to look up at him from her chair. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him not to be ridiculous. Then his hand covered hers and he knelt beside her chair, leaned close, and brought their lips together gently.