“Oh, God,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Taking the disguise a step further, she slipped on Carly’s silver cross necklace, telling herself she would give it back later, and undid a few buttons on her low-cut sweater, because she didn’t want to look too angelic.
She rushed out of the apartment before she could change her mind, stashing her SIG and a pair of round- framed sunglasses in a black shoulder bag.
When Ben opened his front door, she almost forgot about her own appearance. He was wearing a dark blue pullover that hugged his biceps and a pair of loose-fitting black corduroys she wanted to snuggle up against. It wasn’t as formal as the suit from Christmas Eve, but it was a step up from the surfer bohemian look he usually cultivated.
Carly peeked out from behind him. “Holy crap,” she said. “Who did that to your hair? You look like a housewife.”
Ben gave his daughter a warning stare.
“A really hot housewife,” she clarified.
His gaze dropped to Sonny’s breasts, then jerked back up.
Carly narrowed her catlike eyes. “What’s with you two?” she asked, looking back and forth between them. “I thought you boned already.”
Sonny felt her cheeks heat. Obviously, Ben hadn’t told Carly she was an undercover agent, and neither had James. Good. Now she didn’t have to worry about the outspoken girl throwing a tantrum and giving her away at Lisette’s wake.
Ben cleared his throat. “At the risk of being redundant, Carly, I have to repeat that who, when, and how I… bone…is none of your business.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, brushing past him. She was wearing an eggplant-colored sack dress with bell sleeves and an abbreviated skirt. It was unique, stylish, and totally inappropriate for the occasion.
Nathan was hovering in the background as well, as handsome as a
Immune to cleavage, he wasn’t as easy to please as Ben.
She nodded at him, acknowledging a worthy adversary.
“Carly and Nathan are meeting us there,” Ben explained, watching his daughter flounce away with trepidation.
Judging by the somber music she’d heard coming from Carly’s room yesterday, and the almost indiscernible puffiness around her eyes today, the girl had split with James and was up to her old tricks.
Poor Ben.
He took her by the elbow and led her toward the SUV, as if she couldn’t locate it on her own, parked right next to the curb in front of Nathan’s shiny silver BMW. He also opened the door for her, a move she couldn’t find fault with even though it was out of character for him. She guessed he was using formality to keep distance between them.
As if they needed more.
The anger he felt toward her was still there, reading loud and clear, but the attraction between them hadn’t lessened. When he climbed behind the wheel, the roomy cab of the SUV seemed to shrink. She watched his hand on the gearshift and admired the muscles in his forearm. Beneath the fabric of his corduroy trousers, his right thigh was tense.
She took a deep breath, stifling the impulse to smooth her palm over his thigh, exploring the texture of his pants and the hard muscle beneath them.
“Are you cold?”
Catching his glance, she looked down and noticed the stiff points of her nipples, jutting at the delicate lace bra and thin blue sweater.
“I can turn the heat up.”
“I’m fine,” she said, face flaming.
Ignoring her, or just being contrary, he reached out to press a few buttons on the dash, getting so close she could almost taste him. He smelled good, too, like cool aftershave, clean water, and warm male skin.
She crossed her arms over her chest, forcibly reminding herself that she was here to do a job, not him. Losing focus again was out of the question. She couldn’t afford to tremble at his touch or get breathless because of his proximity. There was too much at stake.
The Bruebakers lived near Mount Soledad, in one of the ritziest neighborhoods in La Jolla, a city that was already known for being a community of the elite. Ben’s net worth was considerable, but with his modest house and casual style, he lived well below his means.
The Bruebakers didn’t. They were loaded and it showed, from the marble statuary lining the cobblestone driveway to the gold-plated hardware on the front door.
Ben parked the SUV between his brother’s pricey BMW and a vintage Rolls-Royce. Carly and Nathan strode toward the entryway like royalty, unfazed by the opulence. Sonny held on to Ben’s arm, trying not to stare at the columned balustrade and enormous chandelier as they stepped into the busy foyer.
“Subtle, isn’t it?” he said near her ear.
Hiding a smile, she looked past the small crowd, watching Lisette’s parents greet their guests. “Did you grow up in a place like this?”
“Not quite,” he admitted.
Sonny wanted to ask more questions about his past, but Carly was already saying hello to Lisette’s mother. The pained look on Sheila Bruebaker’s face as she wrapped the girl in a warm embrace robbed Sonny of speech.
“I’m so glad you came,” Sheila said, smoothing her hand over Carly’s shining black hair.
It was easy to see where Lisette had gotten her good looks. Sheila was at least a decade younger than her husband, and at first glance, she was stunning. Her dark hair was expertly tousled, her tall, surgically enhanced figure trim, and her makeup flawless.
Upon closer inspection, the perfect facade was wearing a little thin. She had faint smudges under her eyes and fine lines around them. When her focus shifted from Carly to Ben, some of the misery faded from her face.
“Ben,” she said, letting her lush red lips fall open in surprise. And a blatant sexual invitation. “It’s good to see you.”
He leaned in and brushed his mouth over her cheek, murmuring a few words about being sorry for her loss. “You remember my brother, Nathan,” he said after he pulled away.
She blinked up at him. “Of course.”
Ben placed his hand at the small of Sonny’s back. “And this is…Summer.”
Giving her a wan, dismissive smile, Sheila turned and took a sip of the martini on the table behind her, its clear contents shimmering, her square-cut sapphire ring flashing. She moved with the serene precision of a person who had been mixing pills and booze, and at that moment, Sheila Bruebaker looked exactly like what she was: an aging trophy wife with too much money invested in plastic surgery and prescription drugs.
“Thanks for coming,” her husband said, trying to cover for his wife’s rudeness by shaking Sonny’s hand. He needn’t have bothered. Sheila’s brittle exterior might have been fake, but her suffering was real, and heart- wrenching to witness.
Ben gave Tom Bruebaker a stiff nod and moved on, urging Sonny forward. Tom regarded Ben with similar distaste as he walked by. He was stout and silver-haired, a few years past his prime, so perhaps he begrudged Ben for catching the attention of his sultry younger wife.
And to think, Sonny hadn’t been sure she was going to find out anything interesting at this get-together.
Nathan cast his brother an amused glance. “That could have gone worse.”
Ben winced, tugging at the collar of his pullover shirt.
“Lisette’s mom is a total nympho,” Carly explained.
Sonny studied Ben’s handsome profile, wondering if he’d slept with her. Maybe Tom Bruebaker had a good reason to be jealous.
Instead of asking, she tore her gaze away from him and studied her surroundings, wishing the thought of Ben with another woman didn’t make her insides twist. There were white candles and silver ribbons all over the room. On the baby grand piano, next to a window with a fabulous view of the bay, there was a framed portrait of Lisette
