Buch lesen: «First Time For Everything»

Praise for Aimee Carson

‘Oh, my, what a fantastic debut by Aimee Carson. I loved it! It really has everything that I like in a good contemporary romance: a feisty heroine who is far from perfect, snappy dialogue and sizzling chemistry—and I mean sizzling. *That* scene in the elevator…phew! The romance and relationship between Alyssa and Paulo is actually quite simple, but perfectly done. Aimee’s writing flows beautifully, and she has created two great characters. I applaud her for Alyssa’s “bad girl” roots, I loved her! The book is well written and developed, with plenty of sass and sparkle. I can’t wait to read more from Aimee in the future.’ —www.everyday-is-the-same.blogspot.com on Secret History of a Good Girl

About the Author

The summer she turned eleven, AIMEE CARSON left the children’s section of the library and entered an aisle full of mills & boon^® novels. she promptly pulled out a book, sat on the floor, and read the entire story. It has been a love affair that has lasted for over thirty years.

Despite a fantastic job working part-time as a physician in the Alaskan Bush (think Northern Exposure and ER, minus the beautiful mountains and George Clooney), she also enjoys being at home in the gorgeous Black Hills of South Dakota, riding her dirt bike with her three wonderful kids and beyond patient husband. But, whether at home or at work, every morning is spent creating the stories she loves so much. Her motto? Life is too short to do anything less than what you absolutely love. she counts herself lucky to have two jobs she adores, and incredibly blessed to be a part of Mills & Boon’s family of talented authors.

Recent titles by the same author:

 SECRET HISTORY OF A GOOD GIRL

 HOW TO WIN THE DATING WAR

 DARE SHE KISS & TELL?

 THE BEST MISTAKE OF HER LIFE

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

First Time For Everything
Aimee Carson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Jacqueline “Jax” Lee, my heroine in this story,

constantly amazed me with her indomitable spirit and quirky sense of humor. So it’s only fitting that I dedicate this book to two of the strongest, funniest women I know: Wendy S. Marcus and Jennifer Probst. Not only are you both fabulous authors and my soul sisters, y’all somehow manage to keep me sane. I love you both.

CHAPTER ONE

RAY-BAN SUNGLASSES blocking the bright sun, Blake Bennington made his way down the courthouse steps, debating whether to ask Sara out before getting back to the office. Regardless of his decision, his fourteen-hour workday would have to be cut short for his appearance at the annual Moon Over Miami fundraiser tonight. Which meant, after ten hours in a tie, he was destined to trade his suit for a tux. But the discomfort would be a small price to pay given his sister Nikki’s involvement with the event was what had kept her out of trouble since her arrival back home.

Blake pushed the troublesome thoughts aside. “Thanks for the info, Sara.”

Beside him, the striking brunette in a power suit sent him a smile laced with a subtle come-hither vibe. Blake had been studiously sidestepping her interest since the first time they’d collaborated on the South Florida Drug Enforcement Task Force, years ago.

“Winning a guilty verdict in the Menendez case will solidify your chances for promotion, Blake,” she said. “I hope the file helps.”

“Every piece of information helps.” They reached the busy sidewalk and he stopped to face the beautiful lawyer. “Seriously,” he said. “I appreciate your time.”

“You know I’m always available,” Sara said as she brushed his arm with her fingers, and Blake bit back a smile.

Her touch seemed like a simple gesture, but he knew better.

Sara was classy. Poised. And intelligent. Known for being a bulldog in the courtroom, she possessed a dedication and pragmatism that rivaled his. Just the sort of woman Blake should date. Just the sort of woman Blake usually did date. One who understood his career goals and the time requirements.

So why was he hesitating?

While the question darted around his head, a passing lawyer stopped to ask Sara a question, and Blake paused, knowing he was a fool for ignoring the offer in her eyes. Nikki might be more of a time-consuming handful than a little sister had a right to be, not to mention the high-profile case that currently required his full attention, but he was a red-blooded man who enjoyed sex as much as the next guy. Despite ample opportunity, it had been six months since he’d last woken up with a woman in his bed. Six months since he’d followed through on the urge.

What was his problem?

As he contemplated the question, a female who looked barely old enough to vote plowed into him, her eyes fixed on her phone as one of her black-booted heels landed on his toes. Gripping her arms, Blake stared down at the long, honeycolored hair, the Beatles T-shirt and the enticing cutoffs—not short enough to reveal the underwear beneath, but coming pretty damn close. His internal debate made a lateral move from his sex life to whether there was lace or a thong beneath the shorts. And combined with the sight of sexy leather cowboy boots…

Man, he seriously needed to get a grip.

His feminine assailant slipped her phone into her pocket and removed her foot from his. “Sorry, Suit,” she drawled, and Blake set her back, his eyebrows pulling together in amusement at the nickname. “I’m running late,” she went on, “but that’s no excuse for body-slamming you.”

“You should watch where you’re going,” he said lightly. He nodded down at the fantasy-inducing footwear. “With boots like those, someone might get hurt.”

“Cheer up. Maybe you can successfully sue me for a hit-and-run.”

The infectious sparkle in her hazel eyes was more humor than seduction.

“Except you haven’t run,” he said, attempting to maintain a serious expression, knowing he was failing. “And technically, if you left me your name, I’d have no case.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” She stuck out her hand, and Blake took it automatically, noting the soft skin and the small tattoo on the inside of her wrist. “Jacqueline Lee,” she said. “And just in case you were considering asking me out—” she released his hand “—everyone calls me Jax.”

Blake realized his previous words had been misconstrued as a come-on, and his forehead bunched in skeptical humor. “I don’t date jailbait.”

“I’m twenty-three and of sound mind and body,” she said. He didn’t know her well enough to verify the state of her mind, but it was obvious her body was most definitely sound. She tilted her head. “Does that help?”

He lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “It would, except I never date a woman who goes by a man’s name.”

Her wide smile at his fictitious—and ridiculous—dating guideline was alluring. “That’s an awful lot of rules you got there,” she said. She turned to go and then paused, shooting him a mischievous look over her shoulder. “Give me a call when you want to break one.”

An amused scoff of doubt escaped as he watched her head out onto the courthouse lawn. When was the last time he’d engaged in a harmless flirtation? Too long, apparently. It was definitely time for him to start dating again if he was noticing a little hellion on heels. Hardly the kind of woman he needed in his life.

An old VW Beetle parked in front of the courthouse began to blast a song loud enough to fill the bustling courthouse lawn. And one minute his sexy assailant was crossing the grassy grounds, the next she was stepping out into a dance routine. Stunned, Blake struggled to make sense of her actions until, one by one, she was joined by adolescents in a clearly choreographed routine. Soon, more than a dozen youth were engaged in a dance number good enough to be aired on a professional music video.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, a flash mob,” Sara said as she came to a stop beside him. Her voice was loaded with disapproval. “Don’t kids these days have anything better to do?”

Blake stared at the group and, in particular, their leader, passion oozing from her every movement. Her earlier playful tone couldn’t be taken seriously, but the earnest enthusiasm on her face now was mesmerizing.

“They’re just having fun, Sara,” he said with a distracted tone.

There was a time when he used to live to have fun, having entirely too much of it along the way. But just because he’d crashed headfirst into reality when his father had died, leaving the responsibility for his madcap family on Blake’s shoulders, that didn’t mean the rest of the world needed one of life’s hardest lessons at the age of twenty.

“No harm in that,” he went on.

There was harm, however, in the way he was appreciating the fluid movements of the hazel-eyed girl/woman. She twisted, twirled and moved to the Latino hip-hop song—an odd choice given her cowboy boots—with a supple grace that was capable of contorting her body into almost impossible positions. Her dancing fired his imagination, turning his blood to molten metal.

“No harm? Tell that to the police. They don’t look amused at all,” Sara said. “They look ready to make an arrest.”

With effort, Blake shifted his gaze to the two unsmiling cops rapidly approaching the dance group, his mind filling with an interesting image of his hit-and-run perpetrator in handcuffs. And not in a professional capacity.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Blake gazed at the aforementioned policemen as one of them stopped to address the dancers engaged in the routine—a routine that currently involved undulating on the grass in an impressive dance move—while the other cop made a beeline for the beat-up VW Beetle blaring the music. And, for the first time, Blake noticed the leg encased in a long cast sticking out from the passenger seat of the offending car.

A weary groan of frustration escaped his lips, and his entertainment in the scene came to a screeching halt.

There was no doubt in his mind who the leg belonged to, because it was highly unlikely there could be two casts in Miami emblazoned with a red dragon from hip to toes. A cast tattoo, his sister had called it.

Hand on the VW’s hood, the police officer hunched over to speak with the hidden occupant, the cast engulfing the leg like a plaster anchor. One that Blake had thought would keep Nikki from landing in hot water—like getting thrown in jail. At least until he’d wrapped up his current case.

And there was nothing Blake hated more than being wrong.

Six hours later

“I came to arrange your release from jail as a favor to my sister, Ms. Lee,” Blake Bennington said, and Jax winced, saying a prayer of thanks, again, that she’d been the only one arrested today. The black interior of the limo and the lawyer’s dark good looks were a sharp contrast to his cool gray eyes as he went on. “Arguing the merits of the Miami Police Department with you wasn’t part of the deal.”

Beside him, Jax squirmed against the plush leather seat. Calling her new friend, Nikki Bennington, for advice had seemed logical. When the law student had shared that her brother was less than amused by today’s escapades, Jax couldn’t have cared less about some unknown stuffed shirt. Until she’d learned that Nikki’s deal with her brother meant he’d informed his chauffer to bypass a charity event and head for the jail to help. Before Blake Bennington had arrived, Jax had vowed to honor the generous gesture by holding her tongue to keep the peace.

A peace that had been most profoundly disturbed.

The hairs on her arms still stood on end from the initial electrifying sight of her hit-and-run victim materializing to offer assistance. After hours in custody, she should have been too spent to feel anything. But it wasn’t every day a girl was rescued from behind bars by a tuxedo-clad man more gorgeous than James Bond…leaving her body both shaken and stirred.

“I wasn’t arguing the police department’s merits,” she said, trying again for a conciliatory tone, which was pathetic at best. “I was just…” She forced herself to meet his gaze, the now familiar imposing form creating a jolting sizzle.

The attraction was horribly inconvenient, especially with the disapproving vibes he exuded. Keeping her opinions to herself wasn’t her usual style, and much, much harder than she’d originally thought.

She hiked her chin, aiming to bring a diplomatic end to their debate. “I was just questioning their priorities.”

Blake tipped his head. “And I’m sure the police would love to accommodate you and your priorities,” he said smoothly, clearly not meaning the words. “But they have a job to do and are bound by the letter of the law. So for future reference—” a single brow lifted, a perfect match to his wry tone “—disturbing the peace, no matter how innocently it’s done, is illegal.”

Jax bit her tongue at his tone, reminding herself to think of Nikki. Think of Nikki. During their previous run-in, Blake had appeared approachable, almost relaxed, but the moment he’d shown up to arrange her release, his intense lawyerly attitude had shown up, as well. Yet through it all the man had remained so cool. So calm. And now he was so right, damn him.

One more statement pleading her point of view and then she’d happily remain silent. “I didn’t plan this event with the intention of breaking the law.”

As if preparing for an interesting story, Blake leaned back, his posture one of a man in control. One arm thrown along the seat behind her. One leg crossed over the other. And two eyes focused on her as if daring her to impress him with her explanation.

“Then what was your intention?” he said.

“I work as a music therapist at South Glade Teen Center, an after-school club for kids. The county pulled their funding…”

Her heart rate jumped, fear squeezing her chest. The club provided a safe place for the kids to be themselves. To belong. Without the facility, her high school years would have been unbearable. Shifting from foster family to foster family, South Glade had been the only constant, the one place she’d truly felt at home. Losing it now wasn’t an option.

Seeking calm, she rubbed the small tattoo that partially disguised the two well-healed scars on her wrist. Warrior wounds, she liked to call them. Symbols of her past. They reminded her of who she was.

And how far she’d come.

She straightened her shoulders and pushed the panic aside. “So I wanted to gain a little positive publicity for our cause.”

“By getting arrested?”

Was he mocking her?

She inhaled a soothing breath, straining for patience. “That’s how Nikki got involved. A mutual friend asked her for tips on how to proceed legally.”

And you should have followed Nikki’s advice more closely, Jax.

Blake appeared unimpressed with her explanation. “Well, according to the police report, the music blaring from your VW Beetle was loud enough to disturb the peace.”

Inwardly, she winced, hating her defensive tone. “I told Nikki it’s kinda hard to keep the beat to music you can’t hear.”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Not to mention the dance move that landed you on the sidewalk where you—” he leaned forward to the seat across from them and retrieved the report, scanning the page “—and I quote…‘failed to comply with a lawful order to cease from obstructing a public sidewalk.’ End quote.”

His gaze landed on hers again, and heat crept up her face, but she refused to let him see her blush. So Jax concentrated very hard on brushing away the grains of sand clinging to her denim cutoffs, remnants of her time spent on the ground.

“I couldn’t hear the police officer’s order to move because of the music,” she mumbled.

“Precisely,” he said evenly.

She shot him a look she hoped was veiled by her lashes, her voice growing stronger. “And I didn’t intend to land on the sidewalk. I just overshot my mark doing the Worm.”

He raised a brow higher. “I assume you’re referring to the dance step that involved you undulating along the ground on your belly.”

He set the report on the seat between them and went still, as if he couldn’t wait for her to explain further. Somehow she didn’t think further details would help.

“The maneuver isn’t easy to do,” she said.

“It certainly looked painful.”

She ignored him and went on. “And I unintentionally positioned myself in the wrong spot. I didn’t know that I was getting too close to the walkway.”

“In retrospect, a fatal error in judgment,” he said drily.

The sarcasm was really getting on her nerves.

“There was no time to practice,” she said. “We needed to react quickly to the budget cuts. While the news was fresh in the public’s mind.”

He settled a little deeper into the seat. “And you thought taking the teens you were responsible for out on a flash mob and risking arrest was a good expression of your dissatisfaction?”

Jeez, putting it like that made her feel like a crazy lady. “I told you, I was trying to keep it legal.”

Above the pristine tux and the tanned, flawless complexion of his face, the two dark slashes of eyebrows were perfectly schooled into a noncommittal expression. And despite the sophisticated polish and the undertones of skepticism, she suddenly got the impression that Blake Bennington was as amused as he was disapproving of her actions.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Deep down, you find this whole thing funny, don’t you?”

“Just the part where your carefully planned flash mob was ruined by a dance move.” His lips twitched, as if suppressing a grin. “Perhaps next time you’ll plan your routine more carefully.”

The hint of restrained humor was annoying, and she said, “And perhaps Officer Brown will learn to lighten up a little?”

His eyebrows shot higher as the gray eyes grew dark, holding her in their power as he leaned closer. She’d obviously stepped on a nerve.

“I can assure you, Ms. Lee. When it comes to people who break the law—” his voice was deadly soft, and his proximity brought her attraction back in full force “—both Officer Brown and I take our jobs very seriously.”

Trapped by the force of his gaze, Jax’s heart rapped harder beneath her ribs. Getting beyond the thickly fringed, hypnotizing eyes was difficult, but she finally allowed her gaze to skim down the angular planes of his face, landing on his mouth.

Oh, great…he had lips just the way she liked them. Full. Sensual. The kind that could kiss a girl senseless and make her forget she’d sworn off men forever. Or at least until she found one who didn’t think she was certifiable.

And Superman here, with the eyes of steel, clearly wasn’t the type.

As their staring contest continued, another heated flush slowly crept up her face, but she refused to feel ashamed. Because regret would keep her tethered to the past, unable to move on.

Relying on an innocent expression to tone down her statement, she said, “Are you lecturing me?” She lightly scrunched up her face, as if she didn’t already know the answer. “Because this is beginning to feel a lot like a lecture.”

Amazingly, his lips twitched. “Not at all. But since you now have several charges filed against you requiring your attention, you should learn to follow advice.”

Advice? Pressing her lips together, Jax turned her gaze to the window, drumming her fingers against the leather seat. Advice seemed a tame description for 007’s fetish for control. Not to mention those disturbing shoulders that were so broad you’d need a map to kiss your way from one side to the other…

Shoulders currently encased in a tuxedo—a blatant reminder of how he’d sacrificed his plans to help her out, and here she was taking issue with his every word. She curled her hand into a fist.

Oh, perfect—guilt. Just what she didn’t need.

She let out a sigh. “Look, I know you had plans.” She took in the strong, stubble-free jaw and the crisp, horizontal precision of his black bow tie. “And I’m sorry I ruined your evening.”

The look he gave her revealed little. “That’s debatable.”

“Debatable I’m sorry or that I ruined your evening?”

His forehead crinkled in suppressed humor. “I can’t attest to your capacity for remorse. But rest assured…” He paused before going on, the lines fading from his brow. “It was a dinner function I was happy to miss.”

“Then why were you going?”

His tone grew vague, as if briefly stumped by the question. “Responsibilities, Ms. Lee.”

Curious, Jax paused. The air conditioner kicked on, and cold air hit. Her tank top and cutoffs, perfect for a flash dance mob under the Florida sun, now left her feeling exposed. And next to the sinfully sexy lawyer and his limousine of luxury, she felt positively scruffy. Tugging on her frayed hem, she tried to cover more skin. It was hopeless, so Jax resorted to rubbing her arms to overcome the chill.

Blake glanced at her and then flipped the AC switch, cutting off the blast of air. “Next time you plan on risking arrest, maybe you should choose a more suitable outfit.”

She suppressed a groan. “Can we just agree it wasn’t my finest moment and leave it at that?”

“Since I’ve just met you, I’ll have to take you at your word.” His gaze drifted down to her chest, and the everpresent tension expanded to a level that made the air crackle like the night sky over Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Heat filled her gut as her heart thumped loudly in response, and she prayed her body wouldn’t betray her attraction.

He lifted his hand to point at her tank top. “And you still have some mud from that less-than-fine moment stuck to Paul McCartney’s face.”

Startled, Jax glanced down. A light brown streak was smeared across her tank top emblazoned with the Fab Four. Paul’s forehead covered her left breast and was smudged in a golden-brown color. Humiliation flared as she repeatedly swiped at the spot with trembling fingers, her bracelets tinkling. She knew Blake was watching her, and the tight knot of desire grew. Until her breasts gave her up, the tips pebbling.

“I’m afraid you’re only making it worse,” he said, his rumbling voice tinged with an unidentifiable emotion.

She gritted her teeth, and her bracelets continued their musical sound as she rubbed harder. Please, God, let him be referring to the smudge she’d smeared bigger with her efforts.

Blake leaned forward to shed his coat, his white shirt pulling tight against a wall of muscle that short-circuited her brain. Which was the only reason she dumbly let him slip the jacket around her shoulders.

It was warm. Heavy. With a seductive scent of a fresh sea breeze. Enveloping her like an embrace…

Oh, heck, no. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said with a tight smile, and lifted her hand to remove the jacket.

His fingers encircled her wrist, stopping her movements, and the skin-on-skin contact sent a wave of heat up her cheeks.

“Quit being stubborn.” His usual gray gaze had gone slate, his voice low. “You’re cold, so leave it.”

Flickers of electrical energy continued to skitter out in concentric circles from his touch, until Blake released her wrist to unbutton his cuffs and push up his sleeves. As if he wouldn’t allow further debate.

Brother of her new friend or not, his attitude was hard to take.

“Look,” she said as patiently as she could, “I know I’m not the kind of woman you typically associate with, but—”

“You haven’t known me long enough to determine the kind of women I associate with,” he said without looking at her.

Jax let out a quiet grunt. “Time enough to know all I need,” she muttered.

He lifted his gaze to hers. “That’s highly unlikely.”

Every muscle in her body tensed. There it was again. The same überconfident, master-of-all-he-surveyed look. And right then and there she realized that even attempting to keep the peace was no longer an option.

She folded her arms tight across her chest. “Shall I tell you what I think?”

Leaning back, he studied her carefully. “You appear committed to sharing your every thought,” he said, his voice now laced with amusement. “Why stop now?”

His tone pricked a nerve. Without a doubt, it was time she provided him and that God complex of his with a much-needed reality check. Anticipation soaring, Jax twisted in her seat to face him.

“You choose your clothes to impress.” She paused, remembering the restrained impatience as he’d shoved up his sleeves. “Not necessarily because you like them, but as a symbol of your success. To convince the masses you’re good at—” She crinkled her brow. “What exactly do you do?”

“I’m an assistant U.S. attorney.”

“Impressive.” She avoided the cool eyes watching her expectantly. “You wear your hair conservatively short, but leave it longer on top to avoid looking too militant.” Her fingers itched to dig into thick waves and muss them up, just to see what he’d do. “What are you? Thirty? Thirty-one?”

“Thirty-two.”

So nine years, numerous tax brackets and an alternate reality separated them.

She briefly inspected the deliciously bared forearms lined with muscle and sinew, irritated that his lethal sensuality was so utterly intoxicating. She avoided the tall, dark and disturbingly intense type, but this man had the heat rising in her body like hot oil in a lava lamp.

And the reemergence of a sense of humor made him vastly more appealing.

“I’d bet big money those muscles are courtesy of your home gym equipment and not from a love of sports.” From the look on his face, she knew she was right. “You keep in shape as part of your image. The self-discipline thing and all that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, her bracelets tinkling again.

“An art you obviously don’t subscribe to,” he said, his level gaze not budging.

“In relationships you prefer women like yourself.” Biting back a smile, she went on, ignoring his dig. “Rules number one and two state they must be sensible and practical.”

“Wrong.” He leaned closer, bringing the gray eyes into sharper focus, and the breath stalled in her throat as her head spun from his towering proximity. “Those are numbers two and three,” he murmured. “Law-abiding is rule number one.”

Pinned in place by his look, the need to move grew unbearable. She crossed her legs and wiggled her dangling foot in agitation.

At five feet six, she’d never be considered outrageously tall. But he was six foot three, at the very least. And despite the easy tone and his almost-teasing words, there was nothing soft about him. He was all dark edginess, like a tightly coiled spring.

He’s too much for you, Jax. Just keep your fat mouth shut.

But she knew she wouldn’t. According to her friends, she lived with her heart on her sleeve. According to every foster family she’d ever been placed with, she simply lived with her foot in her smart-ass mouth. Realistically Jax knew the truth dwelled somewhere in between.

But the need to provoke him was too great.

Her leg stilled, and she adopted a wide-eyed, innocent air. “I still haven’t addressed the most critical issue. The age-old question—boxers or briefs?”

“I wouldn’t classify that as an age-old question,” he said, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, the first show of frank amusement.

Blinking hard, Jax stared at him. She’d thought it had been a fluke, but her first impression had been spot-on. He was extra hot when humored.

Fascinated, she continued. “Sure it is. Ranks right up there with the chicken-versus-egg question.” She noticed a small scar that disappeared under a dark slash of eyebrow, daring to mar all that perfection. “And the argument over which is more influential, nature or nurture.”

Intense interest flared in his face. “I wasn’t aware men’s underwear was as hotly contested as genes versus environment in forming personality.”

“In certain circles it is,” she said.

A droll skepticism crossed his face. “None that I frequent.”

“That’s not saying much. And as far as DNA and environment are concerned…” Jax’s face softened with the faded memories of her grandmother belting out the latest countrywestern song. “I’ve always believed we’re a unique combination of the two.”

Pursing his lips, his voice turned thoughtful. “I’ve always hoped we could overcome them both.”

Intriguing response. Very intriguing.

Troubled by the notion, she studied his scar, wondering about its origin. “Is that why you wear a suit? To overcome your DNA?”

The twinkle in his eyes grew brighter. “A better question would be, is psychoanalysis via underwear a required course as a music therapist?”

Amused, Jax swept a stray hair from her cheek. “No. But every choice you make reveals a little of your character. Today proves I lead with my heart.” She studied his endless legs, encased in what had to be custom-fit trousers, giving a decisive nod before going on. “You’re definitely a briefs man. You like everything neatly—” she lifted her gaze to his for effect “—contained.”

A quick flash of a devilish grin morphed from outrageously handsome to downright devastating, and the euphoric high it produced only made her miss the smile more when it was gone. Disturbed by the thought, she sent him a pointed look, and her voice lost the teasing tone. “Including your emotions.”

His scar shifted in surprise at her blunt statement, and she was almost ashamed she felt so smug about bringing the man down a notch.

Apparently, he didn’t agree.

“I think I’ll let the insinuation my emotions are contained in my underwear pass without comment,” he finally said. His faint smile was concerning. “Especially since my deal with my sister includes further contact with you.”