LITMIR.BIZ

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was picturing a wedding for hundreds of family, friends and assorted business associates.

      The historic Fairmont Hotel, with its gilded rooms projecting an old-world elegance, was well suited for the purpose.

      The problem was, Eva acknowledged, that she herself longed for something more intimate.

      But Carter seemed to be on the same page as her mother.

      “What about the Palace of Fine Arts then?” her mother asked, naming another popular and elegant San Francisco wedding location.

      Eva sighed.

      “I heard that,” her mother said.

      “Did you?” she asked absently.

      “It’s too bad your father owns only commercial office space,” her mother remarked with dry humor. “At a time like this, we could use an inside edge.”

      “I’m not sure Dad will even attend the wedding.”

      “Oh, he’ll come around,” her mother said breezily, repeating her unwavering opinion up to now. “You’re his only child, and though he may have a hard time showing it sometimes, he really does care about you.”

      The buzzer sounded, and Eva wondered who could be ringing her doorbell.

      Her town house condo was in a low-rise development in Russian Hill. Though she had friends nearby, no one was in the habit of dropping by unannounced. And she knew her close friend, Beth Harding, was out of town at the moment.

      “Mom,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Someone’s at the door.”

      “All right. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow so we can continue to talk about wedding plans.”

      Her heart lightened. “It’ll be fun.”

      This was what she’d looked forward to. Sharing one of life’s passages with her mother.

      “Oh, I just know I’m going to get teary seeing you in a wedding gown,” her mother responded, her voice suddenly choked.

      Eva felt tears clog her own throat. “I know, Mom. I know.”

      After ending the call with her mother, she slipped her feet into her shoes and went to her front door.

      Because the ground level of her condo housed a garage and storage area, her front door was one flight up from the street, accessible via an enclosed external stairwell, at the foot of which was a tall locked iron gate.

      She opened the door and locked eyes with the last person she expected to see darkening her doorstep. Griffin Slater.

      Automatically she tensed.

      “Can I come up?” he called.

      Her mind ran over the possibilities. Yes, no, when hell freezes over?

      “What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone coming out more suspicious than she intended.

      He seemed to find her question amusing.

      “Would you believe I just happened to be in the neighborhood?” he responded.

      “Actually, no,” she replied, even as good manners impelled her down the stairs to open the gate.

      She knew he lived in nearby Pacific Heights, but she’d never run into him on her home turf.

      They ran in different circles. She was too bohemian, too much of a free spirit, she was sure, for Griffin Slater’s taste. On the other hand, he probably even scheduled sex with the women he dated.

      She didn’t understand why he was so irritating by nature. His siblings were pleasant people. She even counted his sister among her extended circle of friends.

      With Griffin, however, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was letting the Big Bad Wolf in.

      As usual, he wore a conservative business suit—this time set off by a herringbone shirt and bright yellow-and-blue striped tie. In contrast, her mauve shirt and tan pants—which she’d worn at work that day and hadn’t yet changed out of—felt almost casual in comparison.

      Opening the gate, her eyes met his, her one step advantage on the stairs bringing her close to his height.

      The corner of his mouth lifted. “Am I invited in?”

      “Are you on a mission for my father?” she countered, her eyes skimming over the envelope in his hand. “If so—”

      “Mission impossible,” he said. “I know.”

      She gave him a serene smile. Well, at least they both knew where they stood.

      “Actually I’m here for a personal reason.”

      Despite herself, she was intrigued. She didn’t think she and Griffin had anything of a personal nature to say to each other, but curiosity got the better of her.

      She turned, leaving him to follow her up the stairs. “Come on in.”

      On the way up, she could feel his presence behind her. Why, oh why, did she always have to be so aware of him?

      When they stepped inside her condo, she shut the front door. “Can I get you something?”

      “Nothing, thanks,” he replied.

      She watched him look around her apartment, which was almost loftlike in its layout. From the marble-floored entry area, the cool ambiance of the living and dining room area was visible. The kitchen, with its granite surfaces and stainless steel appliances, was situated beyond a waist-high counter with bar stools.

      She watched Griffin’s eyes linger on the display of fresh flowers set on a tabletop. She loved newly cut blooms.

      Still, since she was a little unnerved by his presence in her apartment, she was grateful no more personal touches were visible. Her bedroom—along with a guest room, two baths and a terrace—was tucked away upstairs.

      She wondered again about why he was here. “Is it Dad?” she blurted. “Is something wrong with my father?”

      Griffin had said her father hadn’t requested he come, but that didn’t mean Griffin’s appearance at her door didn’t involve her father.

      Her father was in his late sixties, and she dreaded the day something would befall him. As strained as their relationship sometimes was, she still loved him. And she worried he would try to protect her by hiding any health problems until they were dire.

      “No, don’t worry,” Griffin responded. Then he asked abruptly, “Do you know what Carter was doing two nights ago?”

      Caught off guard, she said, “No. Why?”

      Griffin regarded her intently, and even though not a muscle moved in his face, there was something she didn’t like in his expression.

      A sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach.

      “Why?” she repeated.

      Griffin’s eyes pinned her like lasers. “Carter Newell has been sleeping with another woman behind your back. He was with her two nights ago.”

      She looked at him uncomprehendingly, but after a moment, his words hit her, washing over her like one big tidal wave of disaster.

      Her mouth worked.

      She was still unable to look away from Griffin’s eyes, and somehow they were the only thing keeping her standing.

      Panicky dread coursed through her, making her feel ill.

      “How—how do you know this?” she managed at last, showing a composure she didn’t feel.

      “Does it matter?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

      Because he’d seemed ready for the question, she became suspicious.

      “How did you find out?” she asked,

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