ules hated the Internet.

With cell phone access and the Google, you could jump online dang near anywhere, and find anything your heart desired, in a matter of seconds. In fact, if you weren’t careful, you could end up watching the very movie trailer that you’d spent months avoiding.

And there it was, right on the viewscreen of his Treo, for him to watch as he lurked outside of the Bijou Café, waiting for Ric and Annie to appear.

Play Riptide trailer again? his cell phone asked so seemingly innocently, like that snake in the garden of Eden.

Jules naturally clicked on yes. The music started, and on the phone’s miniature screen, Robin ran, pounding down a dock, an entire team of police and FBI in pursuit. He didn’t break stride as he reached the end, instead diving with beautiful form—thank you, Mr. Stuntman—into the water.

The movie was, according to the reviews included with the trailer, “nonstop action” and “thrill after thrill.” Underwater sequences—including a terrifying shark attack, were intercut with plenty of close-ups of Robin’s sweaty, dirt-smeared, yet still startlingly handsome face. “Chadwick delivers the year’s best acting performance,” Entertainment Weekly proclaimed—true words of praise for an action movie.

It was stupid to watch the trailer—twice. But Jules was the King of Stupidopia today, no doubt about that.

What had he been thinking, going up to Robin’s room like that?

Maybe I’ll get some?

And he could’ve—if he’d stayed. Robin had become quite the aggressive pursuer. No hesitation, no doubt, no question at all of who he was and what he’d wanted. And apparently he no longer needed to be completely blind drunk to get it.

That was an improvement that Jules couldn’t deny. And the full fantasy—Robin back in his life, in his arms, and yes, finally in his bed—had been intoxicating. The man was as charismatic as ever, and quite possibly even better-looking than he’d been two years ago. Or maybe self-preservation had dulled Jules’s memory, in order to make it possible for him to keep his distance from Robin’s shining glory all these months.

God, he really should have continued to keep his distance.

Dear Ben, So I ran into an ex… No, Robin didn’t even qualify as an ex. Ex what? Ex nothing.

So I ran into this guy to whom I’ve been insanely attracted for years… Ran into? That sounded accidental.

So I intentionally went up to the hotel room of this guy to whom I’ve been insanely attracted for years and very nearly had sex with him.

Oh, yeah. That was going to go over well.

Although it definitely underscored the nagging question: What was Jules going to say in response to Ben’s e-mail?

No doubt about it, Jules had just been handed an additional banquet of things to think about. Because the entire situation played more than one way. Maybe Jules had purposely gone to see Robin because Ben’s e-mail had scared the living bejeezus out of him. Self-sabotage had long held a place at the top of Jules’s personal bag o’tricks.

Jules pocketed his phone and faded even farther into the shadows as a stretch limo pulled up outside the Bijou. Flashbulbs went off as Robin emerged, as he helped a gorgeous, dark-haired young woman out of the car, as the pair posed for pictures for the paparazzi gathered there.

As Jules watched, Robin leaned close to woman, then laughed at whatever she’d said into his ear, as the pair walked into the party.

And yes, that was definitely jealousy Jules was feeling now—as if he needed evidence beyond the psycho websurfing to prove that he was completely insane.

There was still no sign of Ric and Annie, although Gordon Burns was already inside—Jules had seen him arrive, too. His son had been absent—which made sense. The elder Burns was the Hollywood-phile. According to some nifty information Yashi and Deb had just turned up, Gordie Junior had no use for Hollywood, although he, too, dabbled in movie producing.

Porn.

Why wasn’t that a surprise?

Jules stepped forward as Annie and Ric finally pulled up, as they left their car with the valet.

From their body language, it was obvious they hadn’t come to any compromise or agreement. Ric was still as pissed at Annie as he’d been when Jules had left their office. And now—bonus!—Annie appeared to be at least as annoyed with Ric, if not more so.

Wasn’t this evening going to be just peachy keen?

“Sorry we’re a little late,” Ric said. “I had to stop at my father’s studio. He’s AWOL again.”

“We’re not late,” Annie informed him. “We’re early. We had enough time to see if he was at the Starbucks.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Yes, we did.”

“Guys,” Jules said.

At least they looked good. Ric had the tall, dark, and handsome thing down pat, debonair in his rented but well-fitting tux. The former police detective was very easy on the eyes. And the dress and shoes really worked with Annie’s statuesque physique, although she could’ve gone a bit heavier with her makeup and done something snazzier with her hair.

Still.

“You look amazing,” Jules told her. “Good pick with the dress, huh?”

If looks could incinerate, he’d’ve had to stop, drop, and roll.

“Next time we attend a party, I get to pick what you wear, and it’s going to be a loincloth,” she said as she stalked toward the restaurant door.

Huh?

Ric just shook his head.

Jules chased Annie, caught her arm, and pulled her off to the side, where they wouldn’t be overheard.

“It wasn’t my intention to make you feel uncomfortable, and I’m sorry if I did,” he told her. “I just thought, with your coloring and height…You do look incredible, despite the roiling vibe of anger. You’re really going to have to lose that before we go inside.” He included Ric in his dressing-down. “Both of you. Dial your hostility down a few notches.”

Annie looked at Ric, who glanced only briefly at Annie—like, if he maintained eye contact for more than a half a second she might realize just how unbelievably hot he thought she looked in that dress.

God forbid that happen.

“Sorry,” Ric said, and Annie echoed him. But the apologies were to Jules. They were still both standing there with their arms crossed, rigid in their pointed disregard of one another.

“So I guess the plan is to make Gordon Burns believe you’re breaking up,” Jules said.

“No,” Ric said quickly. “It’s not.”

They both got the message, glancing at each other again as they awkwardly shifted closer. Ric even gritted his teeth and put his arm around her.

And Jules no longer had any doubt. Before this assignment was over, they were either going to kill each other, or end up in bed. Either way, it was going to be quite the mess.

“Before we go into the party,” he told them, “I wanted to update you. We’ve got some interesting information about your gun-toting client—Lillian Lavelle, which, by the way, is only one of many aliases. She’s got a number of different names—stage names, I’d guess you’d call them. She’s, um, an adult entertainment artist. Or rather, she was, before she retired.”

Annie put it into plain-speak. “A porn star?” She looked at Ric and said with exaggerated enthusiasm, “You almost had sex with a porn star. Dude. Bruce would be so proud.”

To anyone unable to listen in, her smile would’ve looked genuine. It lit her eyes and she sparkled up at him in seeming adoration.

A muscle jumped in Ric’s jaw as he finally met and held her gaze. “You heard what Cassidy said. Dial it down.”

“Or what?” she countered sweetly, leaning in to kiss him, no doubt purposely right on that twitch. “You’ll get me pregnant, steal my shoes, and lock me in the kitchen? You adorable misogynist you?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he shot back.

“Children,” Jules said sharply. “Was this a mistake?”

“Probably,” Ric said. “What does Lillian’s former career have to do with Gordon Burns?”

“Not so much Gordon as Gordie Junior,” Jules told them. “He’s been working hard to join the twelve-billion-dollar-a-year porn industry with his company, GBJ Productions. Long story short, he’s been having trouble finding funding, since Dad doesn’t approve and no one Stateside wants to piss off the old man.”

Yashi was focusing on investigating all interest in GBJ from overseas investors. It was probably a dead end, but Jules was determined to check it out. Because what if it wasn’t Gordon Burns who was involved in smuggling terrorists into the U. S., but instead his son?

“Apparently someone at GBJ convinced Lillian to come out of retirement. They’ve got a relatively new title on their list of DVDs—The Return of Trixie Absolute. That was her…well, her porn name. Not the childhood-pet, street-name thing, but her real one. She was quite the star in the eighties, famous for…Well.” He cleared his throat. “Just Google her, and…Anyway, financially, she had no reason to get back in the business—why she did, for GBJ, is something of a mystery—and possibly the reason behind why she’s trying to gun down Gordie Junior. Just to make things worse, her new DVD has been pretty much panned.” He paused as he realized what he’d just said. “Which means that there are actually porn critics. Go figure.”

“Have you contained her yet?” Ric asked. “Trixie or Lillian or whatever her name is.”

“Lillian works,” Jules told him. “And no.”

Ric was not happy, silently grinding his teeth into stubs.

“This is going to make you even more annoyed,” Jules continued, “but she’s recently withdrawn a huge chunk of change from her savings account. It’s going to be a challenge to find her if she’s not using credit cards, which we strongly suspect she won’t be. There’s been no activity in her accounts for the past five days. Plus, as an actress, she’s probably pretty good at altering her appearance.”

Ric took the news well, considering. “Does the daughter—Marcy—even exist?” he asked.

Jules nodded. “Past tense. She died just around the time the DVD was released. And Brenda Quinn? She’s GBJ’s workhorse. The majority of their titles feature her, um, acting skills, under a variety of different names.”

“So maybe Lillian has more than one reason to want Junior dead,” Annie suggested.

Ric looked at her. “If he’s at this party, I want you to stay far away from him.”

“Shouldn’t that rule apply to you, and Jules, too?” Annie asked. “Unless your penises make you magically bulletproof.”

Jules had to work not to laugh, mostly because the word magically made him think of Lucky Charms breakfast cereal and the phrase—magically delicious—that came to mind was particularly inappropriate.

“We’ll both be careful, too.” Ric’s voice was tight, but not because he found any of this even remotely funny.

Okay, then. Jules looked at his watch. “We better go in. Are you ready?”

Were they ready?

Annie was more than ready for a drink, but she ordered a ginger ale from the waiter who’d approached the minute they’d stepped through the door.

The party was in full swing, with a band on an outside patio, music drifting in through the open windows.

Despite that, the AC was blasting. It was cold in there, and she was already starting to freeze despite Ric’s hand, warm at her waist.

The place was packed, but even though Annie stood on her toes, she couldn’t see any of the celebrities who were supposed to be in attendance. She did, however, spot Gordon Burns over by the bar.

Yeesh. He gave her the creeps. For the first time all evening, she was glad Ric was standing so close.

But then he squeezed her slightly, and she turned to see that he had his phone in his hand. “I’ve got to take this call,” he told her. “I’m going to step outside. Stay close to Jules.”

She nodded. “Come right back in.” He wasn’t the only one who could give orders.

He sighed, because he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I meant to say please.”

“I didn’t,” she told him. “I don’t need to.” She discreetly flexed the muscles in her right arm. “I don’t need no stinkin’ polite words to get my way.”

Ric actually smiled, and possibly even laughed, although it was more of a heavily exhaled eye roll. Still, it was a potential start in the dial-down-the-hostility plan.

But wow, he’d really pissed her off before—although to be honest, the you’re a woman, you should be protected thing wasn’t exactly news. She’d seen it in action plenty of times back when they were growing up. He was always swooping in to save her. And calling him a misogynist wasn’t very accurate. He didn’t hate women, he loved them. He just needed to work on respecting them—her—as an equal.

And as long as she was being honest here, part of her pissiness came from her annoyance with her own stupid self. When he’d helped her tighten the lacing of her dress, his hands warm against her shoulders and back, she’d found herself feeling things and wanting things that only a certifiably insane person should have been feeling and wanting.

Like for him to push aside her hair and kiss her on the neck. And then help her out of the dress.

As Ric went back out the door, phone to his ear, Annie leaned in closer to Jules, who had just finished a conversation with one of the film festival’s organizers. “I’m sorry about before,” she told him quietly. “I’ll try to remember to act more like a grown-up.”

“Don’t worry about it. But for the record,” Jules said as the waiter delivered her ginger ale and whatever he’d ordered to drink. Annie took Ric’s beer, too. “I happen to look great in a loincloth.”

“I’ll bet you do,” a familiar voice said.

And so much for her celebrity search. While she’d been eyeballing the other half of the room, the one and only Robin Chadwick had been standing mere feet away, an extremely pretty woman on his arm.

Jules had his back to the movie star, and for one brief instant, he looked at Annie with an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite read. It looked a little like murderous rage mixed with hysterical amusement and a solid dash of sheer panic. And she wasn’t quite sure, due to the noise of all the partygoers talking and laughing, but she was pretty certain Jules muttered, “Fuck.”

But then there was only People magazine’s future Sexiest Man in America, holding out his hand to her, as he gave her that trademark Chadwick grin. “Hi, I’m Robin.”

Yes, he was. Annie put Ric’s beer down on a nearby table, and took Robin’s hand.

It was big and warm, and although he wasn’t quite as tall as he looked in the movies, he was still taller than she was in her heels.

“I’ve been trying to get this guy around to the front of the camera for years,” he told her, gesturing toward…Jules? The FBI agent was now smiling in what could only be described as pleasant desperation. “So what’s your gig? Are you a casting director trying to recruit him for a Tarzan picture, or maybe something with cavemen…?”

“Oh,” she said, flustered. “No. I’m not…You actually know Jules, I mean—” God, the FBI agent was using a different name for this undercover operation, and now she’d gone and blown it.

But Jules saved her, reaching out to shake the hand of the midget supermodel clinging to Robin’s arm. “Julian Young,” he introduced himself, shooting Annie a reassuring smile. “My friends call me Jules.”

“Dolphina Patel,” Robin’s girlfriend told him.

“Dolphina,” Jules repeated, with a look at Robin. “Interesting name.”

“My father’s a marine biologist,” she explained, “and my mother’s crazy, so…” Her laughter was musical and perfect, just like the rest of her.

“This is Annie,” Jules introduced her.

“Annie, would you do me a favor?” Robin asked. “Dolphina was looking for the ladies’ room. Would you mind helping her find it?”

And risk Ric’s wrath when he came back inside to discover that she’d unglued herself from Jules’s side? Not a chance. Still, Annie had spotted the facilities right by the maître d’s desk when they’d first come inside. “It’s over this way.”

She took a couple of steps in that direction, pointing it out to the other woman, who leaned close to ask, “Do I have something in my teeth?” But she didn’t wait for Annie to answer. She just scurried off.

“I told you—” Annie heard Jules say to Robin.

“To stay away from you.” The movie star finished for him. “Yeah, I thought about that and…Sorry, I’m not gonna.”

Jules lowered his voice even more. “You really don’t want to mess with me.”

“Yeah, actually, I really do, and oops, look, here’s Annie, back so soon? Are you from Sarasota, Annie?” Robin asked her, his smile easygoing and relaxed, as if he hadn’t been having an intense, cryptic conversation with an undercover FBI agent mere seconds ago. “It’s a beautiful area.”

“Yeah, I’ve just moved back,” she told him, glancing at Jules, who’d gone absolutely expressionless. Totally blank. “I’m originally from Massachusetts, but we came down here—my mother, my brother and I—when I was eleven.” As if he really cared.

“Parents got divorced?” Robin asked, with a wince.

Annie nodded. His charisma was off the charts. He probably got babbled at constantly by people who didn’t know what to say to a movie star and he’d learned to deal with it graciously. His full attention—with focused eye contact and active listening—could make everyone else in the entire room fade into nothingness.

Everyone except, of course, Ric, whose unhappiness radiated from him in waves strong enough to penetrate even her deepest fog. Annie spotted him immediately, over Robin’s shoulder, as he came back inside.

“That must’ve sucked,” Robin was saying. “Believe me, I can relate. My folks split up before I could walk. Although living near these beaches as a kid? That had to rock.”

“Good, here’s Ric,” Jules said briskly. “Robin, Ric, Ric, Robin. Ric, why don’t you and Annie get yourselves something to eat while Robin and I briefly step outside?”

Ric shook Robin’s hand without any reaction whatsoever. He didn’t even say “Nice to meet you.” Instead, he spoke to Jules. “I’m going to need to talk to you, too. As soon as possible.”

Whatever that phone call had been about, it hadn’t been good.

Annie could see that Jules, too, realized that something was up, but he didn’t get a chance to ask before Robin said, “Hey now, here comes somebody I want you all to meet. The host of this party, in fact. Mr. Burns, say hello to my good friends.”

And just like that, the game was in play.

“We’ve had the pleasure. Miss Jones.” Gordon Burns took Annie’s hand first, smiling up at her. He was shorter than she remembered, but then again, she was wearing the Heels of Death tonight. She towered over Jules, too.

She dug deep and found a smile that she hoped was both gracious and warm. “How are you, sir? You remember Ric Alvarado, my…significant other.” Wow, that really sounded stupid. What was wrong with her, that she couldn’t utter the word boyfriend?

But Burns didn’t seem to care. “Of course I remember Ric. I didn’t expect to see either of you here.” He shook Ric’s hand, too.

“And this is Julian Young.” Annie got his name right this time, thank God. “Mr. Young is Ric’s business associate. He’s also a movie producer—he invited us here tonight to celebrate the release of one of his films.”

“Oh, really?” The interest in Burns’s voice was genuine. “Which film is yours, Mr. Young?”

“Believe it or not”—Robin spoke for him—“Julian’s a financial backer for Riptide. He’s uncredited—it was really just an investment deal, based on my recommendation.” He turned to Jules, and smiled. “Good call, huh? They’re predicting the movie’s gonna open huge. Hey, you know Gordon’s a backer, too. Small world, right? You’re business partners, and you didn’t even know it.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Jules lied seemingly effortlessly to Burns, shaking his hand. “Gefilte Fish out of Water is mine, too. It’s a documentary short about the Jewish community in Dublin, Ireland. And okay, to be honest, it’s not really mine, it’s Westland’s—the production company I work with. But it’s a fun little film.”

“I’ll make a point to check it out,” Burns said. “Westland Productions, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

The FBI had set up an intricate cover for Jules. Aside from creating a producer’s page for Jules on imbd.com, they’d also gotten him included on Westland’s massive website. They’d gone so far as to create individual websites for Jules’s fictitious direct-to-video movies. They’d even provided links to fabricated reviews. When Burns checked him out—and he would—he’d be convinced of Julian Young’s status as an up-and-coming Hollywood player.

“Julian and I go way back,” Robin told Burns. “In fact, he’s the reason I can’t attend your dinner party tomorrow night.”

“You were invited to—” Jules cut himself off, giving Robin a disbelieving look that instantly morphed into a smile. “Yes, that’s right. We, uh, have plans, don’t we?”

“J and I are meeting to discuss future projects,” Robin told Burns. “There’s one that’s really intriguing—there’s this FBI agent, and he’s gay, right? It’s Brokeback meets the Untouchables. I’m telling you it’s got Oscar all over it.”

“I’ve been hearing Oscar talk about Riptide,” Burns pointed out.

“Fingers crossed,” Robin said. He turned to Jules. “You know, you should set up a meeting with Gordon—get him involved.” He turned back to Burns. “Why don’t you come to our—oh, but you can’t. You’ve got that party. Duh. Brain fade. Sorry. I’m telling you, I’m lucky I know what city I’m in.”

“Why don’t you just come to my party,” Burns suggested. “All of you. It would be my pleasure.” He looked at Ric and Annie. “You know how to get to the Point. Tomorrow night, seven sharp.”

Robin hesitated. “Well, I guess that could work. Maybe if J and I could reschedule our meeting…” He looked at Jules. “Maybe for later tonight?”

Burns, too, looked expectantly at Jules, who missed only a half a beat.

“Sure,” Jules said. “That’s…fine.”

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, then,” Burns said. “Right now I need to mingle.” He gave Annie one last lizard smile. “You really do look lovely, dear.”

“Thank you,” she said, and he was gone.

“What just happened here?” Ric asked. He looked at Robin. “You’re Robin Chadwick.”

He was just realizing this now? He looked almost shell-shocked, Annie realized. “Are you all right?” she asked him, but he didn’t respond.

“That is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Robin’s full attention was on Jules.

“Yeah.” Jules laughed, shaking his head. “Damn, you’re good.”

“Yes, I am,” Robin said.

As they gazed at each other, Annie felt that same odd intensity she’d intruded upon earlier. But this time it was Robin’s date—Dolphina—who interrupted them. She came slinking back from the ladies’ room. “I’m sorry, but Robin really needs to circulate.”

Ric turned to Annie. “Robin Chadwick got us invited to Burns Point. Tomorrow night,” he said as if their entire conversation with Burns had been in Chinese and he needed confirmation.

“Yes,” she told him. “What’s going on? What was that phone call?”

“My father,” he said. “He had a heart attack.”

“Oh my God.” Jules, of course, overheard, as did Robin and Dolphina. “Is he all right? How bad is it?”

“I don’t know,” Ric admitted. “I have to get over to Doctors’ Hospital. Will you stay with Annie until Martell gets here?”

“I’m going with you,” Annie insisted.

“The valet’s going crazy—it’s going to take forever to get your car.” Robin stepped in. “My limo’s out front. Take it.” He turned to Dolphina. “Go clear that with Sean.” She vanished, and he turned back to Ric. “He’s the driver. Just tell him where you need to go and he’ll get you there.”

“Give me your car keys, and valet tag,” Jules ordered Ric. “I’ll bring your car over to the hospital for you.” He spoke directly to Annie. “Give me a call when you arrive, okay?”

She nodded, and they ran for Robin’s limo.

“You all right?” Robin asked.

He and Jules were finally alone. Okay, not alone alone. The party was still swirling around them. But Annie, thank God, was gone. She was, no doubt, one of Jules’s fellow FBI agents despite the fact that she seemed impossibly young. But she clearly knew Jules, and therefore knew that he was gay. She also now knew a thing or two about Robin—that was obvious from the dawning realization in her wide gray eyes as she’d looked from him to Jules and back again.

Whatever it was that she’d seen, he should’ve been able to hide it. He was a better actor than that, wasn’t he?

Apparently not when it came to Jules.

“I’m fine,” Jules said now, but he was obviously lying. Robin knew that Jules’s father had died during heart surgery, not long after suffering a massive coronary. This situation had to bring back a lot of unpleasant memories.

“You were fourteen, right?” Robin pulled him over to an empty table in the corner. “When your father died?”

But Jules didn’t take a seat. He did a quick scan of the room and lowered his voice. “Why are you doing this? I told you it was dangerous.”

Robin snagged a couple of drinks from a passing tray. Jules, of course, declined the one he’d grabbed for him, so Robin put it down on the table. “I thought I made that obvious.”

“You want me?” Jules asked, his voice low. “Come on, then. Let’s go. Let’s do it. I’ll go to your room with you right now. Right now. God knows I’ve wanted you from the moment you first smiled at me.”

Robin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. And then he could because Jules wasn’t done.

“All you have to do,” Jules told him, with that heat in his eyes that promised pure heaven, “is kiss me. Right here. Kiss me and take my hand and I will go anywhere with you.”

Robin had to look away. “You know I can’t do that.”

“No,” Jules said. “I know you won’t do it. Frankly, I’m not sure I would’ve asked if I’d thought you could. Yeah, I want you. But I also want to have steak and french fries every night. Doughnuts every morning for breakfast. Heart disease runs in my family—I’d be insane to eat that crap.”

“My agent’s negotiating a new contract,” Robin tried to explain. “I’m about to make more money than I ever dreamed—”

“That’s one of the ways we’re different,” Jules told him. “When you dream, you dream about money.”

Well, yowch.

“Here comes your girlfriend,” Jules said. “I gotta go, see if I can’t help Ric.”

“We’re going to have to talk before tomorrow night,” Robin pointed out. “If I’m going to help you…”

“Thank you for what you’ve done,” Jules said, all cold FBI professional. “But your help? It ends here. Make up an excuse and go back to L.A., ASAP. I’m serious, Robin. I need you gone.”

Jules headed for the door as if their conversation was over, nodding to Dolphina as he went past her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Robin called after him, and Jules stopped and turned.

And in that split second, when their eyes met and the very air seemed to crackle around them, Robin almost did it. Three long strides would bring him to Jules’s side. He could picture the disbelief in his eyes—disbelief that would turn to wonder and then heat as Robin drew him into his arms and kissed him as ardently as he’d kissed his co-star, Susie McCoy, at the end of Riptide.

But there was no disbelief in Jules’s eyes right now—only solid certainty that Robin’s feet were glued to the floor.

And sure enough, the moment passed, and Robin realized that his raised voice had caught the attention of a number of the partygoers, who watched him now with unabashed curiosity.

“Except up,” he tacked on to his I’m not going anywhere, adding a little extra het to the whole exchange with a “Later, dude.”

No way could he throw away everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. Still, his stomach hurt as, shaking his head, Jules turned and walked away.

“You need to mingle.” Dolphina startled him. She was right at his elbow, and he nearly spilled his drink.

“I know.” He tossed it back, finishing it. “Just give me a fucking minute.”

He’d spoken much too sharply, but she didn’t flinch or even back away. In fact, she put her arms around him and hugged him. And then surprised him even further. “Was that him?”

Was that…what? “Excuse me?”

She pulled her face from the front of his tux jacket and said it again, still quietly, but unmuffled this time. “Was that him?”

Robin looked down into Dolphina’s brown eyes. They were pretty—warm and lively—but not even half as captivating as Jules’s.

“You don’t remember anything you told me last night, do you?” she asked, making a face at him.

Uh-oh. “I remember…behaving inappropriately.” He chose his words carefully. “And I guess…I must’ve given you my key at some point.”

“You gave me your key so I could check on you. You spent the night throwing up,” Dolphina told him. “And crying.”

“Oh, good,” he said. “I was afraid I’d simply screwed you and passed out.”

“We didn’t have sex,” she informed him. “You sort of tried, but you were really drunk and it was pretty halfhearted. Not that I would have let you. Smile.” She pulled him closer, their faces together, turning toward a news photographer, who snapped a picture for the local paper. “You told me”—she looked around, no doubt to make sure no one was standing close enough to overhear—“that you were in love with this, um, person you met a few years ago, and I was just wondering if that was…the person.”

Robin nodded. Apparently he hadn’t bedded Dolphina last night as he’d feared. Instead, he’d come out to her. Great. “What makes you think that?”

“Because I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him,” she admitted. “I hope someday someone looks at me that way. But…” She looked up at him, her eyes apologetic. “You’re either going to have to stay away from…this person or really tone it down.”

“Who exactly do you work for?” Robin asked her. It was stupid that he didn’t know, but his entourage was so large, with various assistants working for Riptide ’s production company and the distribution company and probably even a few sister companies that he didn’t even know about.

“You,” Dolphina told him. “Well, and Don. I also work for Don.”

Don. His agent. Who was working on pounding out a mega-million-dollar three-picture deal. Three pictures. With tight scheduling, Robin could make three pictures in a mere year and a half.

“Tell Don not to worry,” Robin told Dolphina. “I’m not going to fuck this up.”