Free Risky Business by Nora Roberts Page A

“My car’s in San Miguel.”
    Liz sat down at the table to go over that day’s schedule. “I can drop you by the El Presidente or one of the other hotels on the beach. You’ll have to take a cab from there.”
    Jonas took another sip of coffee and focused on her fully. She was still pale, he realized, so that the marks on her neck stood out in dark relief. The smudges under her eyes made him decide she’d slept no better than he had. He tossed off his first cup of coffee and poured another.
    â€œEver consider taking a day off?”
    She looked at him for the first time. “No,” she said simply and lowered her gaze to her list again.
    So they were back to business, all business, and don’t cross the line. “Don’t you believe in giving yourself a break, Liz?”
    â€œI’ve got work to do. You’d better fix those eggs if you want to have time to eat them. The frying pan’s in the cupboard next to the stove.”
    He studied her for another minute, then with a restless movement of his shoulders prepared to cook his breakfast. Liz waited until she was sure his back was to her before she looked up again.
    She’d made a fool of herself the night before. She could almost accept the fact that she’d broken down in front of him because he’d taken it so matter-of-factly. But when she addedthe moments she’d stood in his arms, submissive, willing, hoping, she couldn’t forgive herself. Or him.
    He’d made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a decade. Arousal. He’d made her want what she’d been convinced she didn’t want from a man. Affection. She hadn’t backed away or brushed him aside as she’d done with any other man who’d approached her. She hadn’t even tried. He’d made her feel soft again, then he’d shrugged her away.
    So it would be business, she told herself. Straight, impersonal business as long as he determined to stay. She’d put the rent money aside until she could manage the down payment on the aqua bikes. Jonas sat at the table with a plate of eggs that sent steam rising toward the ceiling.
    â€œYour key.” Liz slid it over to him. “And your receipt for the first week’s rent.”
    Without looking at it, Jonas tucked the paper in his pocket. “Do you usually take in boarders?”
    â€œNo, but I need some new equipment.” She rose to pour another cup of coffee and wash her plate. The radio announced the time before she switched it off. She was ten minutes ahead of schedule, but as long as she continued to get up early enough, they wouldn’t have to eat together. “Do you usually rent a room in a stranger’s house rather than a hotel suite?”
    He tasted the eggs and found himself vaguely dissatisfied with his own cooking. “No, but we’re not strangers anymore.”
    Liz watched him over the rim of her cup. He looked a little rough around the edges this morning, she decided. It added a bit too much sexuality to smooth good looks. She debated offering him a razor, then rejected the notion. Too personal. “Yes, we are.”
    He continued to eat his eggs so that she thought he’d taken her at her word. “I studied law at Notre Dame, apprenticedwith Neiram and Barker in Boston, then opened my own practice five years ago in Philadelphia.” He added some salt, hoping it would jazz up his cooking. “I specialize in criminal law. I’m not married, and live alone. In an apartment,” he added. “On weekends I’m remodeling an old Victorian house I bought in Chadd’s Ford.”
    She wanted to ask him about the house—was it big, did it have those wonderful high ceilings and rich wooden floors? Were the windows tall and mullioned? Was there a garden where roses climbed on trellises? Instead she turned to rinse out her cup. “That doesn’t change the fact that we’re