"But, Leanne, you’re my best friend."

"I don’t need a singles service to find a guy."

"And yet you’re still single."

Leanne scowled at her soon-to-be-ex best friend, Jenny Pogue, whose brilliant blue eyes were wide with innocence. Leanne wasn’t fooled.

"Low blow."

Waitresses bustled around the two friends, clearing space for the escalating lunch crowd in the bagel and bread restaurant as Leanne nibbled her cinnamon toast.

The blue eyes narrowed as Jenny pushed her perfectly-colored blonde hair behind her ears. "You’re always saying how you’re too busy for the dating scene, so this is perfect. Valentine’s weekend. A full night to get to know several men and maybe have breakfast with one of them."

"And some bank loaned you the money for this venture?"

"The Bank of Daddy."

"Ahh, that explains it."

Jenny tapped her lower lip and sighed. "But this time it’s going to work. I’ll pay him back with this one, you’ll see. I just made a mistake the last time, not getting the flood insurance. It was so expensive. Damn James River anyhow."

"Yeah, that pesky river. One of the reasons Richmond was founded, I’m sure." Leanne smiled. Poor Jenny was blessed with family money and model looks, but not with business acumen. She did have a degree in accounting, but Leanne suspected that dating one or two of her college professors had helped with that.

"Well, my tea shop would’ve worked if not for Gaston." She referred to Hurricane Gaston that had wreaked havoc in Shockoe Bottom a few years ago. Leanne had to admit that, other than the Pepto pink interior, the tea shop had been cute and offered some novelty to the daytime business crowd. It might’ve made it, but adult slumber parties? No way. Adults did not want to wear their pajamas in front of the opposite sex.

"How many people do you have signed up for this thing?"

Jenny beamed. "I ran a promo on the radio giving away one free slot. I announced the winner everywhere, and because of the publicity, I booked ten paying slots. So with you, that will be an even twelve and an even number of men and women."

"Six men signed up?" What kind of man would go to an adult slumber party? The horny kind, she supposed. "Are the police going to be on call? And what about you? Sounds like the number is already even without me."

Jenny put on a stern face. "I can’t participate. I’m the hostess. And it will be perfectly safe. Daddy’s secretary has been screening the applicants for me. Of course, I’ll hire someone else to do that once this first party is a success."

"Of course."

Ah, the luxury of being not only rich, but an only child. Leanne longed to be that lucky, and she had been once—rich, that is, not an only child. She was the second oldest of four siblings and had only managed to get rid of them by moving into her own place during college. They’d argued constantly during the lean years, especially since the three sisters had shared one room.

Meanwhile, she was on track with her life plan. She had the college degree in advertising framed and mounted on her wall and hefty student loan bills to pay with her own paycheck from a small graphics design firm. She was content, no matter what Jenny thought. Not happy necessarily, but content.

"So how many times a day are you going to nag me if I say ‘no way in hell’?" Leanne asked, sipping her now tepid latte while trying not to notice her reflection in the wall-length mirror. She played with the end of a strand of brown hair, noting it could use a split-ends trim. She’d only thrown on mascara and neutral lipstick before leaving the house. Not exactly a model-in-the-making like her friend, but then who was here to notice anyway? Besides Jenny. She simply did not count, especially when she was begging her to participate in a promised disaster.

Jenny scratched her chin. "Fifty, at least. And I might get Daddy’s secretary to nag you, too."

Leanne grinned. "How is Esmerelda?"

"Same as always, except older."

The dependable secretary was practically a member of the Pogue family. She lived on their estate in the Blue Ridge, in an apartment over the three-car garage, and worked in a small room adjacent to Mr. Pogue’s grand office. But office was the wrong word for his space. It was more like a parlor, with floor to ceiling brocade drapes and rich Persian rugs over the hardwood floor. Mr. Pogue’s desk was big enough to serve as a boat if the house ever flooded—highly unlikely considering its elevation. The Pogues had money and lots of it.

Leanne submitted to the inevitable. "All right. I’ll go to this slumber party, but you will totally owe me."

"How about a dinner at Ruth’s Chris and dessert at The Trellis?"

Jenny knew all of her weak spots. "Damn you’re good." The women grinned at each other. "You’ve got a deal."

                            ***

Gage Braxton barely registered the ringing phone as he glared at the information on his computer screen, but he picked up the receiver automatically.

"Gage here."

He shook his head as he scanned the rap sheet that he practically knew by heart. An informant on two previous cases had told him this jerk was the "go to guy" for drugs in the area, the middle man.

And this guy just keeps getting out on a technicality. Three arrests and no convictions.

"Hey, are you listening to me?"

Gage scowled. "Hell no, Carter. I’m working here."

"You’re always working."

"Which is more than I can say for you," he lied. The truth was that his little brother worked harder than he did, putting his life on the line as a Richmond City police officer. Gage was damn proud of him.

Carter chuckled over the phone line. "Shut up. Look, I’ve got a lead on Hunton that might help get Mom off your back. Are you interested?"

Suddenly Gage was on full alert. His mother had given him a major set-down at the family dinner last night, a scene he did not want to repeat, about not putting enough effort into her friend Trisha’s case. He’d been working his ass off on it, but pinning down someone as wily as Hunton took time. Unfortunately, his mother brooked no excuses.

Gage’s ratty desk chair creaked, as he opened a new Word file so he could take notes. "Absolutely."

"This is a good one. You’ll like it."

Gage shook his head and waited for Carter to spill the beans. "Like" wasn’t a word he applied to leads. "Necessity" and "urgency" were his usual qualifiers. Yeah, he got a certain thrill from the chase with this PI gig, but it also paid the bills, so some days were a total drag. Sometimes, though, he got to punch the bad guys. Fun times.

"Have you heard the ads on the radio about this new slumber party dating service? You know, Pajama Dates?" Carter asked.

"No." What the hell did this have to do with Hunton? "Who came up with that lame idea?"

Carter snorted. "Who else? Jenny Pogue of the Pogues. Too rich for her own good."

Gage shook his head. Everyone knew the Pogue family. They owned several stores and banks throughout Virginia. Their estate in the Blue Ridge Mountains pre-dated the Civil War.

Carter continued, "So it might be a lame idea, but here’s your chance to check it out. Maybe it’ll be your ticket out of singledom."

"Not a chance." Gage’s stomach tightened. Between his mom and Carter’s matchmaking attempts, he was ready to become a monk, just to spite them. Unfortunately he liked sex too damn much, so he settled for short-term relationships with women he never introduced to his family. His job took up too much of his energy; he didn’t need a wife to add to the drain. "Okay, out with it. You said you had a lead."

"Hunton is going to this slumber party thing."

"What the hell for? And how did you find that out?"

"The secretary, Esmerelda, called me for a background check on the people invited to the slumber party—she’s a friend of Mom’s, you know."

He groaned. "No I didn’t know." The problem with his mother was that she had too many friends, and they all wanted favors from her sons.

Carter ignored him. "And Hunton is one of those people. Why is anyone’s guess, but I think he may have set up a meet at the party."

"Man! I’d high-five you if you were here." Something he rarely did, but on this occasion he’d do it. He slapped his feet up on the dented metal desk and rocked back in the chair. "How do I get in on this thing?"

"For this, bro, I expect two cases of beer. I got you in. Vouched for you with Esmerelda, the secretary. They needed an extra man because apparently some Joe chickened out at the last minute. Think of the fringe benefits here."

"The only fringe benefit I’m thinking of is finally pinning that bastard down long enough to get him put away for life." He clicked on the thumbnail of Hunton’s photo, enlarging it on his computer screen. He knew the crook’s rap sheet by heart: drug possession, assault and battery, soliciting prostitutes, nothing that really stood out and nothing that resulted in a long jail term. Usually he made some deal with the DA to turn someone else in.

"Not to mention getting Mom off my back."

A week ago, a mother had walked into Gage’s office. With tears in her eyes, she’d described how she’d found her son’s body after he’d overdosed on cocaine. Gage was already feeling for her and ready to take the job, but then she’d played the Mom card, too. Yes, another friend of Mother’s. At least she was paying this time, not another favor, but he had his mom calling him nightly inquiring about his progress.

Trisha Wicks, his client, had no idea who’d dealt the drugs to her son, but she wanted to know everyone involved in the transaction, from the street dealer up to the drug lord, and she wanted damning evidence to turn over to the police. Gage knew Hunton was a big link in that chain, but he had to catch him in the act and find out who worked with him to get the drugs to the school kids.

Gage gripped the phone, annoyed at his brother’s chuckles. Carter had had his share of Mom cards played. "You didn’t tell the secretary about Hunton’s background?"

"No, so don’t make me regret that. Mom will bust my ass if she finds out, even if you do solve the case."

"No worries. Can you give me the names of the participants?" He knew he’d have time to do a more thorough background on each person than Carter, since his brother had been put on mandatory double shifts. And by thorough, he meant questionable. He could pursue avenues of inquiry that might be against regulations for his brother.

"No problem, and there’s one Esmerelda said I didn’t need to run a check on, since she’s Jenny’s best friend."

"What’s her name?"

"Leanne Aimes."

Gage typed in that name with the others. "And I will buy you beer, bro." Feeling more determined than ever, he stared at Hunton’s picture, which showed a clean-cut older man dressed in black. "When is this thing and where? I refuse to wear any frou-frou pajamas or slippers."

"Send me pictures, man. I’ll pay you a hundred bucks."

Gage would’ve smacked his brother if he’d been in the room.

                            ***

Leave it to Jenny to make the already insane even more complicated. Instead of renting a suite in a Richmond hotel, which would’ve allowed Leanne to walk there after work, the looped girl decided to use her family’s estate in the mountains. To cut costs, she’d said. Yeah, right. More like to impress the guests into telling their friends about Pajama Dates.

This meant that all of the date-night dupes had to meet up in Charlottesville at a hotel. From there, a pair of limousines would whisk them deep into the mountains. Deep. Away from everything. The estate was its own little island of civilization in the middle of a thousand acres of trees and rocks, butting up against a National Forest. It had its own generator, water supply, and satellite dish. Just getting to the main house would take an hour.

An hour in a limo with five unknown and probably catty women. Flashbacks to prom night assailed Leanne. She and her sisters had shared one Lincoln Continental with their dates. At least there’d been beer. She hoped this limousine had a well-stocked bar.

The men would travel separately. Apparently Jenny didn’t want sparks flying until the participants were all under her watchful eye. The devious mastermind had also decreed that Leanne had to travel as one of the group, keeping her identity as ex-best-friend a secret. She was supposed to be the "sure thing" to keep the party rolling. Jenny obviously had her confused with someone else, someone who knew how to mingle and chat.

This is going to be a disaster.

Leanne grimaced as she stared at the descending numbers in the empty elevator. The front desk had called to tell her that her ride awaited her, but she had the urge to press the Emergency Stop button on the elevator panel and wait it out. Unfortunately Rex, another of the Pogue family retainers, was the limo driver and he’d likely hunt her up if she didn’t show at the stated time. Dire threats from Jenny tended to have that effect on people, the little demon.

Leanne smoothed the front of her conservative sage blouse. The first button was low enough to hint at her cleavage, without giving free peeks at her beige lace bra. She wore a textured wraparound skirt that had the same sage color as her blouse threaded in with pine greens and browns. Her legs had long ago lost their summer tan, so she wore a pair of nude pantyhose and sensible leather loafers. Not bad, in Leanne’s opinion, though she’d been in such a rush that she’d barely checked the mirror.

She practiced a smile, judging its effect in the reflective elevator doors. Not bad.

I can get in the mood. This could be fun.

She thought about the last blind date she’d been on—an unmitigated disaster—and her smile morphed from fresh to pasted.

Or not.

Stopping on the fifth floor, the elevator’s opening doors treated Leanne to the most spectacular view: a tall, dark, and handsome he-man with a leather jacket slung over one shoulder and a beat-up backpack over the other. Well-worn denim draped casually over his legs, but that didn’t hide his physique at all. The man was s-o-l-i-d. Broad shoulders and a broad chest stretched the fabric of a white business shirt with blue pinstripes. No tie; the shirt was open at the collar revealing a light tuft of chest hair.

Leanne was torn between the need to step back and give the strong man his space and the desire to slap her body against his and rub up and down like a cat in heat.

"Hi," he said as he stepped across the threshold. His lips curved up and oh-so-sexy laugh lines framed his rich brown eyes.

Holy Mama, Leanne was ready to melt into a puddle. When was the last time she’d ever seen such a sexy man? Like, never. And she had to go to this stupid slumber party and lose this opportunity forever. Maybe she should slip one of her business cards into his backpack. If only she could be that forward!

"Hi," she replied, feeling like her mouth was padded with toilet paper.

He faced the door as was customary, while also leaning back against the wall so he could look at her. "Hi."

Was that steam coming from his eyes? If ever the definition of bedroom eyes applied, it was here. But the one syllable from his dreamy mouth wasn’t enough. How could she get him to say more?

"So, been at the hotel long?"

And Jenny wanted her to be the guest to keep the conversation going? Hah!

"Got in last night."

His dark brown hair, just a bit longer than fashionable, curled about his ears, one of which was pierced with a small silver stud. Leanne longed to run her fingers through his locks while pulling his head closer and closer to her mouth. And look at those lips, perfect for kissing. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo as the longing to taste became a tangible thing. Geez, what was wrong with her?

It’d been too damn long—that was what was the matter with her.

"Like what you see?"

Rich chocolate voice to go with the eyes, but his grin finally clued her into the fact that she’d been ogling him for five floors.

The elevator reached the first floor and the doors dinged open, saving Leanne from a "duh" answer to his question. A gang of business folk waited to enter. The yummy man politely gestured for her to exit first, still grinning. As she stepped through the doors, though, he suddenly stopped her, tugging her back into the elevator—for a kiss maybe? Better than a kiss but wildly inappropriate, his hand slid over her butt and lower still to her thighs.

What on earth…?

Okay, Leanne wasn’t being so literal about the bedroom eyes that she wanted the man to feel her up in the elevator.

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Your skirt was tucked into your pantyhose."

"Oh my God!"

Oh yeah, her face flamed as if doused in lighter fluid and lit by a match. She reached back to check the man’s handiwork, but dared not meet his eyes. Holy crap, the whole time she’d been standing there… Had he spotted it immediately or just as she’d exited?

"I want to die…right…here."

He chuckled and tapped her shoulder consolingly, but then he was gone. The waiting mob engulfed Leanne, as Mr. Hottie headed in the direction of the hotel bar without looking back. And why would he? She was obviously someone who lacked the basic skills for public appearance.

Straightening her shoulders, Leanne focused on escaping the group and calming her heart rate. And, oh yeah, she had to get to the waiting limousine.

Forget it, forget him.

Her mental mantra did little to ease the heat in her face, as she wheeled her small suitcase through the bustling lobby and tried to keep her purse strap from falling off her shoulder. No easy task.

Beyond the hotel entrance, a black stretch limousine drew glances from the folks driving past on Ridge Street. The limo’s familiar driver held one of the rear doors open and tilted his hat in greeting, as Leanne struggled to pull her bag through the revolving door. Rex had gray hair, dark skin, and slightly stooped shoulders, but bright eyes and a friendly smile.

"I’ll get that, ma’am," he said, referring to her overnight bag.

"Thank you." She reached for the five she kept in her purse and offered it to the Rex, as was her custom.

"No thank you, ma’am." He declined it, as was his custom, a custom started after her parents’ divorce. Rex knew all about her family’s fall from grace.

"As you wish," she said, smiling as she tucked the five back in her purse. Then she clamored into the dim vehicle, hoping she didn’t trip over a passenger. Rex closed the door behind her, shrouding the interior in darkness. She heard the trunk open and close as he stowed her bag. When her eyes finally adjusted to the dimness, she discovered two women sitting opposite, eyeing her with judgement.

"Hi," Leanne mumbled, still feeling a clench of disappointment that she’d mooned the Sex God of the World on the elevator. She could only pray that she never saw him again, but not seeing him again…what a depressing thought. And now her new companions seemed out for blood.

She must have passed the test, because the woman with the crispy blonde hair leaned forward and offered her hand.

"I’m Rebecca Shalot." She smiled, but her eyes narrowed as she glanced at her seatmate.

Leanne shook it and said, "I’m Leanne Aimes."

Rebecca was an older woman, probably late forties, but she hid it well with bleached hair, a botoxed forehead, and caked make-up, the kind usually worn by news anchors. It looked much better on a nineteen-inch screen than it did in person.

Leanne faced the other lady and smiled. "And you are?"

The attractive woman leaned forward. Okay, this one might make a successful match, Leanne thought. She had to be late thirties or early forties, but she was slim, with tasteful make-up, and rich auburn hair stylishly streaked with gold.

She offered her hand. "I’m Doreen Waters. Nice to meet you."

Before Leanne could reply, the door opened and two more women, blinded by sunlight, stumbled into the darkness, chatting about Rex’s crisp uniform, the size of the limo, and who turned out the light. While they felt around for their seats, Rex popped his head in and said, "We’re waiting for one more. Then we’ll be on our way." The sunlight left his face in silhouette.

"I certainly hope so," Rebecca said. "Seems like we’ve been sitting here all morning."

Leanne blinked as the door closed once again.

"That just gives us time to get acquainted," Doreen said pleasantly. Rebecca scowled at her.

"Hey ya’ll, I’m Vicky Uten. Nice to meet yah."

Introductions were made again, including Mercedes Vega and finally the last passenger, Ann Jipson. Mercedes looked to be the youngest of the group, probably fresh out of college, if that, judging by her affinity for swear words. Brown hair curved over her shoulders and feathered onto gorgeous Latino cheekbones. Dark eyeliner enhanced already large hazel eyes.

Leanne settled back as vibrations told her the limo’s engine had come to life. The quiet vehicle pulled into traffic and they were on their way.

"So what do you all think about this sleepover thing?" Mercedes bubbled like pink champagne, but her Chicano accent made Leanne think of cocoa spiked with cinnamon and sugar. "Isn’t it exciting?"

"Marvelous," Doreen agreed. "I’ve needed a new way to meet men for a long time now." Beside her, Rebecca snorted, but Doreen straightened her shoulders and ignored her.

"Exactly! I mean meeting guys at VCU is fine, but really getting to know them…everybody’s so caught up in their studies." Mercedes frowned. "At least the guys I like. The frat boys do the partying, but yuck—not my type at all."

Leanne smiled. "Sounds like you have good taste." This girl would be fun to be around. For Jenny’s sake, she hoped her enthusiasm spread to the other guests.

"Well, I’m hoping to meet The One." The speaker, Vicky, sat against the far window. She seemed the closest to Leanne’s age, late twenties, and her shoulder-length blonde hair, tied in a loose ponytail, blended with her cool coloring. She’d adorned her eyes in neutral tones with dark lashes and eyeliner. The final passenger, Ann, had the look of a mom, late 30s, with short, curly dark hair, no make-up, and a puffy-sleeved top. She leaned against the leather-upholstered seat across from Vicky, face in shadow.

"The One?" Doreen sounded skeptical. "Darling, why not the many?"

Rebecca leaned forward with darts in her eyes. "Maybe one is good enough for some people."

Definitely some history between those two women. Ouch. This was going to be a long ride.

                            ***

Gage stared at the beveled mirror above the mahogany vanity, but his mind’s eye reflected the woman from the elevator, her conservative skirt and shapely legs. The long limo ride to the middle of nowhere, punctuated by the impressive views of the gatehouse, the lake, and the Pogue’s "hunting lodge," should have occupied his thoughts. Not to mention the fact that his quarry, Hunton, hadn’t been in the limousine at all! Instead, his brain dwelled on the memory of creamy thighs. How had she managed to get her skirt stuck like that anyway?

He’d recognized Leanne Aimes immediately from newspaper clippings he’d found during his background research. The articles had always been about Jenny Pogue, usually at some high profile party or charity auction, but Leanne was often at her side, having a good time while keeping a low profile. What the photos had failed to capture were her eyes. He’d never seen sexier eyes, and the look she’d given him in the elevator…whoa! He’d wanted to proposition her right then, but the more contact with her, the more likely he’d betray his prior knowledge of the slumber party participants, so he’d deserted her at the hotel and he planned to act surprised when he met her again downstairs at the party.

A knock on his room door had him tugging his white thermal top down his chest in a hurry. Both the top and the new flannel bottoms were surprisingly comfortable. They’d been last minute purchases to help him blend better. He had to play the part of a potential Romeo to keep Hunton’s suspicions at bay.

If his quarry showed up.

Gage had met the other four men in the limo, but the weekend would be a wash if Hunton didn’t appear as planned.

A muffled knock sounded at his door, muffled because the door seemed to have been made from an entire tree. Gage yanked it open and found the petite Pogue girl on the other side, wearing sweats and a cute top.

"Are you ready to find your love?"

He forced a grin to his face. "Absolutely!"

"Awesome! I can’t wait for you to meet the ladies. Follow me."

She knocked on the next door along the wood-paneled hallway, and Ciro Cruz, one of the men from the limo, appeared. He smelled faintly of cigar smoke and sported a broad grin.

"Hey, man," he said, offering Gage his fist to knock, while meeting his eyes dead-on, as he had outside of the limo. Apparently simple handshakes were out with the younger crowd, hair as well, judging by Ciro’s bald-head. He had a Spanish word tattooed at the base of his skull and a pencil-thin goatee. "Rarin’ to meet las chicas?"

"Oh, definitely." Gage needed to ratchet up his enthusiasm if he wanted to blend in.

Jenny had already bounded down the hall and knocked on the next door. Gage concentrated on forming a mental map in his head of each man’s room. Dave Phillips came out, glanced at the two men, ignored them, opting to head directly to the landing.

"He’s going to have serious problems getting to know the ladies," Ciro commented.

"No kidding." And it wasn’t like Dave was bad looking. He was geeky sporting black wire-frame glasses with thick lenses, but he was fairly tall and had close-cropped light brown hair. Gage thought he might have the Bill Gates thing going for him. You know, the I’m-so-smart-I’m-bound-to-become-rich thing.

The next two doors opened at once. Roger Dunne walked across the hall and slung his arm around Trevor Whitehood’s shoulders as he exited his room. The other man promptly punched his arm, but Roger just chuckled and swung him around to face Jenny, who grinned at his antics.

Roger was the one man to rub Gage the wrong way while in the limo. He was too handsome, a real golden boy in his Tommy Hilfiger shirt and Kenneth Cole watch. Flax hair with sunny streaks was cut short in the back and along the ears and left long to flop on his forehead. His eyes looked too blue to be real—had to be contacts—and you could just tell that he had the sort of easy-going personality that would attract all the women.

In contrast, Trevor’s reddish kinky curls and receding hairline would make for a harder match.

"So do you two know each other?" Gage asked.

Trevor scowled, trying to shake his head from under Roger’s arm.

"Naw," Roger drawled. "Trevor here just took an instant like to me."

"More like dislike," Trevor grumbled.

Jenny shushed the men and held up her hands as they reached the landing. A mammoth grandfather clock stood sentry against the wall and a dripping crystal chandelier lit the landing and the hallway below with refracted light.

"Wait here please."

But before she descended the carpeted steps, she gave Roger’s abs a lustful look. The man was wearing shiny boxers low on his hips and no shirt. He preened the minute the lady was out of sight, so Gage imagined the man’s six-pack abs morphing into a Santa-sized beer gut. If only visualizing could make it so!

A slamming door and voices from the foyer prompted the men to look over the intricately carved railing. A man in a black overcoat had entered. His silver-black hair glistened with raindrops as he removed his glasses and shook them off, glasses he didn’t need, Gage knew. He’d added them to hide the cold blue of his eyes. As Jenny helped the man remove his coat revealing a black turtleneck and pants, Gage’s gut tightened. Julian Hunton had arrived.