A boyish smile quirked at the corners of his mouth and she knew exactly what he was thinking. He glanced up and down the road, then squatted down beside the door of her car. “I don’t think that’s appropriate for this location, Miss Arantes. We’d need a bit more privacy.”

He pulled out his little ticket book, but this time she wasn’t going to let him use it. There had to be some benefit to their “friendship.” Marisol reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer until his face was just inches from hers. “You moved my sculptures,” she whispered.

“You ripped up my citation. I figured I was keeping you out of further trouble.”

Marisol let go of his shirt, but he didn’t step back. She smoothed her hand along his chest, toying with a button on the front of his uniform. “I put them back in the window where they belong.”

Ian shrugged. “Then I’ll be back to write you another ticket.”

“Why waste your time writing out tickets? You’re far more successful at other efforts,” she said.

He took off his sunglasses and Marisol caught her breath as his gaze met hers. Those eyes, she mused. Every desire he felt was reflected in the blue depths. “Where are you going in that dress, Miss Arantes?” His gaze dropped to her chest. “Because that dress is definitely against the law.”

“To a cocktail party. Would you like to come?” She paused. “To the party, I mean?”

“I’d love to come,” he replied, making a careful examination of her lips. “To the party. But I’m not dressed for a party.”

“Then go home and get dressed. I’ll put your name on the guest list. It’s in Newport at George and Cheryl Templeton’s estate.” She turned to Sascha. “Do you have the invitation?”

Sascha stared, confused and utterly speechless at the exchange between them. She fumbled in her purse and withdrew an envelope. Marisol handed the envelope to Ian. “Don’t wear the uniform,” she said. “But bring the handcuffs.”

He grinned, then slipped his sunglasses on and walked back to the squad car. Marisol watched his retreat in the rearview mirror, admiring his easy stride and the fit of his uniform. A lot of men had modeled for her during her career so she’d become rather immune to the male form. But Ian’s body intrigued her. She’d touched him, but she hadn’t had a chance to just look…to breathe him in and let the beauty of his body burn into her brain. She’d had several very vivid fantasies about what might lie beneath the uniform and suddenly she felt desperate to know for sure.

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” Marisol said. She waited for Ian to make a U-turn and head back into town, then she pulled back into traffic.

“Nothing? That was not nothing,” Sascha sputtered. “That was something. And I want to know what it was.”

“We’ve met before,” Marisol explained.

“I would hope so. That’s not the way one talks to strangers.”

Marisol smiled slyly. “He’s going to be my next lover,” she said. “And it’s going to be wonderful. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

“WOW, YOU LOOK SHARP.” Sally stared at Ian as he walked into the station. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tie. Don’t tell me you have a date.”

“You think it’s too much?” Ian asked, turning to stare at his reflection in the window. “I’m going to a cocktail party. What the hell is that exactly? I’ve never been to a cocktail party. I’m not sure what they wear.”

“It’s summer, so it’ll be pretty relaxed,” Sally said. “You could probably get rid of the tie. And maybe even your socks. Loafers without socks are cool.”

Ian glanced down at what he was wearing. He usually took his fashion cues from Declan, who spent enough time with rich people to know how to dress. Thankfully, Declan had left a closet full of clothes at Ian’s house, just in case he didn’t have time to drive back to his place in Providence before attending an event in Newport. The linen trousers were finely pressed and a nut-brown shirt and tan blazer had been clipped together in the dry cleaning bag so Ian took that as a cue that Dec had worn them at the same time.

“Did you get anywhere with the Penis Lady?” Sally asked.

“Don’t call her that,” Ian muttered as he unknotted the tie. “Her name is Marisol Arantes.”

“Are you really going to let her show all those…bits and pieces in her front window?”

“She’s an artist. It’s freedom of speech. There’s no law against it. In fact, I remember a few years back when a few of the old biddies in town wanted to put a dress on that naked statue in the lobby of the library and the village board said no.”

“That was a woman,” Sally said.

“We can’t discriminate,” Ian replied.

She frowned. “I suppose not. So what do you want me to do with all the calls?”

“Tell them I’m working on the problem. And if they have any more complaints they can call Ken Francis. He’s the village president. Let him pass an ordinance.”

Ian glanced over at the clock. It was nearly seven. He figured if he arrived late, he’d have a better chance of spending the rest of the night with Marisol. But he didn’t want to arrive after the party was over. “This thing started at four,” he said. “How long do you think it will last?”

“It all depends on the guests,” Sally said. “If it’s a good mix, it could go all night. From what I understand, the Templetons are known for their parties. My brother’s wife’s sister does their catering and she says Cheryl Templeton would throw a party every night if her husband would allow it.”

Ian waved to Sally, then remembered the favor Marisol had requested. He hurried back to his office and grabbed his handcuffs, then shoved them into the waistband of his trousers, beneath his jacket. “You know where I’ll be,” he called as he walked out the front door of the station.

The ride over to Newport was slow going, a fender bender on the bridge bringing traffic to a halt. He glanced down at the clothes he wore and wondered what Declan would have to say about…his smile faded. Oh, hell, what if his brother was working the party tonight? Declan provided security for many of the big events in Newport. But this really wasn’t an event, was it? A cocktail party was just a-

Ian cursed and banged his hand against the steering wheel. He’d made a pact with his brothers to stay away from women for the next three months. And he’d hadn’t even lasted twenty-four hours. But they’d have to understand. When a woman as beautiful as Marisol Arantes comes along, a guy just can’t walk away. She was a once-in-a-lifetime, the kind of woman he’d still be talking about years from now.

The idea behind the pact had been valid. Taking a break from the opposite sex could provide some valuable perspective. But he’d been in the midst of a five-month drought when they’d made the deal and he hadn’t experienced any miraculous revelations in that time. He’d enjoy Marisol for as long as she’d have him, guilt free, and if the time came, he’d pay his brothers for the pleasure.

The sun was beginning to set when he pulled onto Ruggles Avenue and drove toward the water. The address was easy enough to find and Ian took some small comfort that the party wasn’t in one of Newport’s largest “cottages.” But he still couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place as he steered the Mustang up the circular drive.

A valet ran out to take the keys and Ian pasted a smile on his face as he walked to the door. If Dec was here, he’d have to come up with a plausible excuse for his invitation. But to his relief, the guy at the door discreetly checked the invitation and asked Ian’s name, then encouraged him to have a pleasant evening.

Music drifted in from the terrace and Ian wandered through the elegant house, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Paintings hung in every available spot and Ian stopped and stared at a colorful depiction of two horses, appreciating the power of the painter’s vision. He searched the room, looking for something he’d recognize as Marisol’s, but the Templetons seemed to prefer animals to naked men.

Wide French doors lined the back side of the house, providing a beautiful view of the ocean just past the Cliff Walk. Ian stood in the doorway, sipping his champagne and observing the small clusters of guests enjoying their drinks and eating hors d’oeuvres in the warm summer night.

The only time he ever came in contact with these people was when they wandered across the bay to shop in Bonnett Harbor. Bonnett Harbor couldn’t boast a single 30,000-square-foot summer cottage or even a few billionaire citizens. It offered just enough to tempt the tourists across the bridge for an afternoon of shopping or a nice dinner at one of the town’s many restaurants.

“Nice view.”

The voice sent a shiver through his body and Ian slowly turned to find Marisol watching him from a nearby doorway. His gaze drifted from her face to her feet and back again.

“I like my view better,” he said, chuckling softly. “That dress is definitely going to get you in trouble.” The way it clung to her body, he was certain she wore nothing beneath it. He could see the curves of her breasts, her nipples as they pressed against the fabric and the sweet spot between her legs as she leaned against the door.

She crooked her finger at him and Ian walked across the room. Grabbing his hand, Marisol pulled him through the doorway and into a wide hall. They walked past the main stairway and Marisol opened another door and pulled him inside a tiny powder room built beneath the stairs. As soon as she locked the door, she turned to him and began to unbutton his shirt.

Ian leaned back against the edge of the sink and watched her, his heart slamming in his chest, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to stop her. Her hair brushed against his chin and he smiled as the scent of her perfume wafted up to his nose. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Undressing you,” she said.

“Why?”

“I have to.” She shoved his jacket and shirt off his shoulders at the same time. Ian reached behind himself to unbutton the cuffs, then let the clothes slide to the floor. She immediately began on his trousers, unbuckling his belt and working the zipper open.

When she slid them down, the handcuffs clattered to the floor unnoticed. Ian kicked off his shoes and stood in his bare feet, left in just his boxers.

Marisol stepped back, to the far wall of the bathroom, her hands clenched at her sides. “Now the rest,” she said.

Ian shook his head. “What are we doing here?”

“I have to see you,” she said. “Naked. I just have to. Humor me.”

Ian wasn’t sure what kind of game they were playing now, but she seemed dead serious. Her brow was furrowed and her breath came in quick little gasps. He reached for the waistband of his boxers, then slowly slid them down to his ankles.

Ian straightened, bracing his hands behind him on the edge of the sink. He’d been so surprised by her behavior that he hadn’t had time to react. But now, as her gaze drifted over his body, he felt a rush of heat course through his veins. Ian glanced down and watched as he grew harder with each passing second.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, a tiny smile curving her lips. “I knew you would be.” Slowly, she crossed the space between them, then reached out and ran her hand over his chest. Her fingers slowly outlined each muscle, as if she were making a scientific study rather than beginning a seduction.

Her fingers dipped lower, to explore his belly, and then even lower still. The moment she brushed against his erection, Ian sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand stilled for a heartbeat, her gaze fixed on his crotch. Ian wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but the curiosity was just about killing him.

Marisol slowly sank to her knees in front of him, her gaze still fixed in one spot, her hands exploring every detail. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, hoping that she didn’t intend to stop. If this was one of the activities usually practiced at cocktail parties, then he’d have to attend many more.

He watched as her lips came closer. The wait was excruciating but it was sweet torture, the kind that made the anticipation as much fun as what was about to come. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. What act of fate had put this woman in his life? He felt as if he’d been caught up in some fantasy. Things like this-women like Marisol-just didn’t happen to him.

Ian closed his eyes and drew a deep breath as her hands circled his hips to smooth over his buttocks. And then, she kissed him, her lips damp against the base of his penis. He groaned softly as she worked her way up the length of his shaft. If this was a dream, if he was somehow asleep, he’d feel like a fool later. But awake or asleep, he planned to enjoy it.