In her second romantic caper, Starr Ambrose raises the stakes and the heat as a woman on the trail of her missing sister teams up with the wrong—or is it right?—kind of man.

Callista smiled at Drew. “I’ll see you there,” she purred. “Come alone.”

Lauren lowered her drink and watched Callista strut away. “Wow. You’re good with sluts. You must get a lot of practice.”

She looked so genuinely impressed Drew nearly laughed. “Not that much.”

“How are you with good girls?”

His amusement died in a rush of heat, and he took a closer look at her. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the dancing that had raised the pink glow in her face, but he found himself suddenly imagining what it would be like to press his mouth to her flushed skin and lick the champagne off her wet lips. The flirtatious look she was giving him wasn’t making her easier to resist.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered harshly.

“Like what?” The pink tip of her tongue ran over her upper lip and wide eyes blinked innocently at him.

“Like you’re not married to my father!”

“I’m not.”