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country. No snow yet, but the temperature had dropped a good twenty-five degrees.
    â€œYou know, I don’t think it’s fair that you’ve got all kinds of inside dirt on me and I don’t know much of anything about you.”
    Maybe her attraction would lessen as she got to know him better. Real life had a way of dousing the best fantasies. Besides, talking about his world would keep her from picturing him watching her dance around her office in her skivvies at midnight when she realized she’d left some notes out front that she wanted to work on.
    The thought of him keeping tabs on her all that time sent a fresh wave of awareness through her. She so could not let herself start thinking he was an okay guy, damn it. She needed to help him with his investigation—find out who wanted to frame her—and get back to rebuilding her life.
    â€œYou want the life story?” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel with a staccato beat that smacked of impatience.
    Too bad. She was only too happy to turn the tables on him. Let him see how it felt to be the one under the microscope.
    â€œA few highlights would be nice.”
    â€œI’m a Midwestern farm boy turned Marine. I liked it a little too well. After my last tour was up, I figured I’d put the skills to use and became a cop.”
    The life story was decidedly condensed.
    â€œWhat brought you to Miami?” It seemed more appropriate than asking him how many women he’d spied on while they undressed.
    â€œMore varied and interesting crime.”
    â€œOh.” She wasn’t quite sure what that said about his psyche, but she could respect the desire to utilize his skills.
    â€œI’m good at my job. Rather, I was good at the job before I quit the force. At the time I figured I might as well challenge myself.” He downshifted for construction work ahead and then tapped the windshield lightly; on the other side, snow had begun to fall. “And you can’t beat the weather.”
    â€œTell me about it. I have a coat from my trips to ski destinations, but since I usually scheduled those in the off season, I’ve hardly ever worn it.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the topic of wardrobes came up. “The resort we’re headed to has extensive shopping facilities if you need anything, by the way. We’ll have to buy some clothes for the parties.”
    Up ahead, traffic condensed into three lanes as they left Washington, D.C., in the distance. The snow was falling faster and Jake switched on the wipers.
    â€œI brought a suit,” he assured her, clicking a button for the defrosters. “I should be fine.”
    â€œActually—” She adjusted a fleece blanket on her lap that he’d brought in case either of them wanted to sleep on the way. But even if she could have talked herself into sleeping, she was a little afraid that the man was so much on her mind she might end up moaning his name during a sexy dream or something equally embarrassing. Between Jake and their unconventionaldestination, she was having a hard time keeping her thoughts on the straight and narrow. “This resort caters to a very particular clientele. The name Marquis is a nod to the underground gentlemen’s clubs that served British aristocrats in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Guests are expected to uphold the fantasy element of the experience, so we’ll have no choice but to dress like the natives.”
    He cut a quick glance her way, eyes full of skepticism.
    â€œI hope you’re messing with me.”
    â€œI wholeheartedly wish that I was,” she answered, envisioning herself stuck in layers of petticoats with a bustle and corset.
    â€œWhat kind of hotel imposes a dress code?”
    â€œFirst of all, this is not your normal hotel. It’s a privately owned club—more like an elegant country house that offers exclusive invitations. Second, the period costumes