Part 1 (1/2)

With Private Eyes.

Eileen Wilks.

DYNASTIES: THE BARONES.

Meet the Barones of Boston-an elite clan caught in a web of danger, deceit ... and desire!.

Who's Who in WITH PRIVATE EYES.

Claudia Barone- She's always fixing her family's problems, but her own love life is a mess. Her former beaux never lasted longer than four months; they were too intimidated by her stubbornness and her strength....

Ethan Mallory- Despite hailing from the wrong side of the tracks, he's always been attracted to tall, cool blondes-all of whom have been Ms. Wrong. This time he tells himself he'll stay away from Ms. Barone, no matter how much it kills him....

Derrick Barone- He, more than anyone, knows you can't fight who you really are.

One.

Uncle Miles had always told him his sense of humor would get him hanged one of these days, Ethan reflected. Maybe today was the day.

”I'd like to start as soon as possible.” The blonde sitting on the other side of his desk gave him a bright smile. ”This is going to make a terrific article.”

Maybe it was his curiosity that would get him in trouble this time. As much as it tickled his sense of the absurd for Claudia Barone to present herself in his office posing as a reporter, he wouldn't have let her run through her spiel if he hadn't wanted to know what she was up to. ”I haven't agreed yet,” he pointed out.

”Oh, well.” She said that tolerantly and crossed her legs, sliding one long, silky thigh over the other. ”How can I persuade you?”

Then again, those legs might be the real culprit. The moment she'd appeared in his doorway in her lipstick-red suit he'd wanted to get her into the visitor's chair in front of his desk. He'd wanted to find out how far that one-inch-too-short skirt hiked up.

They were world-cla.s.s legs, he thought regretfully. And she knew it. She'd crossed and uncrossed them four times since she sat down. ”I don't imagine you can.”

Not a whit discouraged, she launched into a repet.i.tion of her asinine story, her hands flying enthusiastically. It was an intriguing contrast, he thought. Her posture was very proper-shoulders squared, spine straight-and she certainly didn't raise her voice. But her gestures were as loud as the color of her suit.

Even on ten minutes' acquaintance, he could tell Claudia Barone was crammed with contradictions. She looked like the prototype for a tall, cool sip of blond elegance. She was pale and slim-skinny, he told himself-with blue eyes and cla.s.sic features marred by a nose too a.s.sertive for its setting. Her honey-colored hair was pulled back in a kind of a roll at the back, very sleek and polished. The cut of her suit was conservative, too, if you ignored where the hemline hit.

And the color. Which was echoed in the siren-red gloss she'd sleeked over a cute little rosebud mouth.

Her story might be crazy, but her voice was worth listening to, even if it did tug at memories he'd prefer stayed safely buried.

She didn't really look like his ex-wife. Bianca had been a blonde, too, but the color had been courtesy of Clairol, not nature. Not that he knew for a fact Claudia Barone's sunny shade hadn't come from a bottle, too. There was one sure way to find out... Don't go there, he told himself, even as his body enthusiastically endorsed the proposed investigation.

But she sure sounded like Bianca. That smoky alto was uncannily familiar, though that had to be sheer coincidence. The Contis and the Barones were no more related than the Hatfields and McCoys had been, and for similar reasons. Her accent was the same as Bianca's, too, but that was no fluke. Upper-cla.s.s Boston was Miss Claudia Barone's natural habitat.

Unlike the office of a thoroughly working-cla.s.s detective. Ethan steepled his fingers on the desk and smiled at her blandly. ”How can you call the article 'A Day in the Life of a Private Investigator' if you're planning to follow me around for a week?”

”Oh, it will be a composite day.” She waved that away. ”Not a literal day. That would actually be deceptive, wouldn't it? Any given day might not be typical at all. It's much more accurate to pick and choose parts from several days.”

”Then you should call it 'A Typical Day.' Or 'An Average Day.'”

”Perhaps you're right.” She turned the wattage up on her smile. ”Whatever I call the article, it will be great publicity for your agency. Free publicity. And I won't be any bother, truly. What do you say?”