Tito had been around Sam, Jonathon and Ritchie, the founding partners of the highly successful Miami law firm Flanagan, Berrington, and Perez, enough to know the signs of wealth when he saw them. Jonathon Berrington III might call himself "Jack" now and claim that he found his high society Northeastern family's traditions tedious, but Tito would bet he had a trust fund in addition to the income he earned as an attorney. Sam might not have come from generational wealth like Jack, but he'd still attended toney private schools as a kid. And Ritchie, who had the most humble beginnings right here in Miami, now lived in a multi-million dollar waterfront home, so clearly had become wealthy himself as a result of the high jury verdicts all three of the partners routinely pulled in - and the hefty attorney's fees they recovered as a result.

Tito was happy that his sister Maria, and their younger half-brother Joey, had a life now with Ritchie where they'd never have to struggle. They deserved the best.

But for himself? As long as Tito could pay his rent, put food on his table, and take home a modest paycheck running his nonprofit helping troubled teens, that was all he wanted. More, he reflected, than he deserved, after the heartache he'd given his mother. His list of regrets in his life started with the fact that he'd been in prison when she died, and were compounded by the fact that Maria had been forced to drop out of art school and come home to take care of their mother as the cancer stole her life away, and then stay working two jobs and raising Joey on her own.

Tito hadn't been there for them. Not when it counted.

He glanced over at his passenger, already regretting his comment about getting to know her better so that he could get his eyes - and more, he'd implied - on those hidden tattoos.

Her designer luggage, even the pricey sunglasses perched on top of that wavy hair the color of mink, the casual clothes she was wearing, the understated gold jewelry, and the shoes that were undoubtedly Italian leather, all screamed wealth and privilege. She was a princess, and he had no time for princesses.

Oh, he wouldn't mind taking her to bed. He could easily imagine those delicate fingers tracing over every line of his ink. And then moving over areas of his body that weren't tattooed.

But she was Jack's cousin, and had been hired as an attorney at the law firm. No doubt she'd be at every family gathering of the combined clan, and so would Tito. Sam and Ritchie and their families spent every holiday together, which meant Tito was usually there as well. Now that Jack was married and his playboy days were over, he and Bailey would no doubt join in.

So no. It was all too close to risk indulging a physical attraction to Caylee Chandler. He'd felt the connection when he took her hand, and from the startled reaction in her eyes that she quickly masked, he was sure she'd felt it, too, on a purely sexual level. He sensed it wouldn't take much for them to end up naked together, seeing what happened when that spark turned into a raging inferno.

But would it be worth a lifetime of awkward meetings at family gatherings? Doubtful.

"So are you done?" Her voice had a snooty little edge to it, and damned if he didn't find that attractive. She was frowning at him, and he imagined kissing the pout off her lips.

"Done what?"

"Done studying me like I'm some kind of specimen you're considering what to do with."

"I'm just driving," Tito lied, "thinking about work."

"No you're not."

He glanced back over at her and grinned. "No, I'm not. You want to know what I'm really thinking about?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"I'm thinking if I met you in a club I'd be taking you home with me."

She actually snorted. "Dream on, baby."

Tito grinned.

* * *

Oh. My. God. Caylee was glad Tito couldn't see through her skin to the flash of heat that had just gone through her entire body. He was dangerous behind the steering wheel in broad daylight. She didn't even want to imagine him in a club. He was probably one of those guys who dressed all in black. She could see herself with him on the dance floor, surrounded by moving bodies and pulsing music, spinning lights. Icy drinks and hot bodies.

She could see herself off to the side, her back against the wall, short tight dress clinging to her body, those muscled arms with their fascinating tattoos braced on either side of her, trapping her, while she tilted her head up and prayed he'd just kiss her right now.

The hell with that. She revised the image, and this time it was him leaning against the wall, and her reaching up, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him down so she could kiss him and rock his world. She was the one in control.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice was low, seductive, and for a moment she thought it was just part of her fantasy.

"Caylee?"

Oh, right. They were in the van, on the way to Sam and Camilla's place. She brought her thoughts back to reality, and glanced over at him.

"Work."

His laughter rang out, showing her another side of him.

"Must be interesting," Tito said, "since you haven't even started your new job yet."

"OK, truth? I was imagining I ran into you in a club."

"Really."

"You sent me a drink. But I haven't decided yet whether I'm going home with you."

"If I saw you in a club," Tito said, "I'd do more than send you a drink."

The words seemed harmless enough. Just banter. But for some reason, they sent a shiver down her spine.

"You spend a lot of time checking out the club scene?" That's right, she told herself. Keep it calm. Conversational.

"No," he said shortly. When he looked over at her again his eyes were still full of humor, and something else. Something edgier. "I might try it though, if you agreed to meet me there."

"Meet you. At a club." Oh, he was interesting. "Is that kind of like asking me for a date, but keeping your options open?"

"No," Tito said. "It's keeping your options open."

She was so busy thinking about those options she almost didn't notice when they pulled up a circular driveway in front of an impressive home, set back a good distance from the road.

She looked around. "I guess this is it." She opened the door to the van and put her tote over her shoulder as she stepped down to the pavement. "Thanks for the ride."

"Not so fast." Tito got out and walked to the back of the vehicle to retrieve her suitcase and overnight bag, evading her arm when she reached for them.

"We can go around this way," he said, gesturing to the flagstone pathway. Bailey told me there wouldn't be anyone home this afternoon, and just to use the spare key to the pool house and let you in. She said Camilla left a key to the main house - and the code to shut off the security system - so you could make yourself at home there, too."

"Awesome." Caylee followed his lead around the path, feeling strangely a little bit awkward now that they were out of the van and alone at the empty property. "I really appreciate Sam and Camilla letting me stay here until I can find a place of my own," she said, steering the conversation away from anything flirtatious.

They circled around to the pool area, entering through a gate in the black iron fencing, and she waited while Tito went behind the bar of the outdoor kitchen and retrieved the key to the pool house. When she stood in the doorway and looked in, it was a pleasant surprise. This was more than just a pool house - it was actually more like a guest apartment. She'd have everything she needed here.

Tito had dropped the suitcase and carryon in the bedroom and was now back in the sitting area, just standing there looking all hot and gorgeous. She fumbled for something to say so that she could resist crossing the room to get a better look at his tattoos, because she didn't want him to get the wrong idea. Or maybe the right idea.

She settled on transportation as a safe topic.

"So, do you always drive a van?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "You don't like vans?"

"Sure, lots of guys in I know in their late 20's drive around in vans," she said, deadpan.

"The guys you know probably drive Ferrari's."

It was true, but she wasn't about to admit it. Personally she didn't get spending that kind of money on a car. On the other hand, why would a guy in his 20's in a city like Miami choose a van? Unless he had plans to kidnap women or transport bodies.

"That's my work vehicle," Tito said, cutting off her thought dive into absurdity. "I assumed you'd have a bit more luggage. You know, trunks of clothes?"

"I travel light."

He nodded. "I imagine you can afford to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She felt herself bristling a bit, as she always did when people judged her by her family rather than herself. She was well aware of how privileged she was. But she also worked for a living. The fact that she really didn't have to was just an accident of birth. And the connections to royalty on her father's side of the family wasn't something she went around bragging about.

Tito shrugged. "Only that if you need something you can buy a new one."

"Hmm. I guess that's true. If you're trying to offend me, it won't work. I'm not ashamed of the fact that my family has money." They didn't have much else, she thought ruefully. Certainly no tolerance for a child who hadn't fit the expected pattern. And no empathy for a situation where, honestly, she really could have used someone in her corner.

"Hey." He raised his hands, palms out. "Just stating facts. I'm not trying to offend you. I promise if I were, it won't be that subtle."

"Oh, so we're saying what we really think, are we?"

"Something you want to say?"

"No. But I'll be sure to let you know when there is." She paused. "I do have a question, though. If you use the van for work, why don't you put your logo on it? Wouldn't it be free advertising?"

"Not the kind I want," Tito explained. "OFC stands for Opportunity for Change, and we've been fortunate enough to get some really good media coverage that's led to more donations. There's even some trust that make large contributions, and I don't even know who's behind it," he said pensively, then shrugged. "But they know OFC."

"So what's the problem?" It seemed like this would make him want to identify his van and get even more visibility.

"The problem is, this is for real an opportunity for change for these kids. You think I want them getting out of a van with a sign on it that immediately stigmatizes them everywhere we go? I want them to walk into a business, a gallery, a restaurant, as kids with a future. Not kids that are trying to get away from their past."

"Wow. I never would have thought of that." This guy was a lot deeper than Caylee had expected. He'd obviously put a lot of thought into even the smallest detail of the program he founded. "You're absolutely right."

She looked around the sitting room, took in the small kitchenette to the left. "Do you want a soda or anything? I mean, assuming there's anything in there, since I haven't checked."

"Thanks, but no. I'd better get back to work. I'll see you at the party."

"What party?"

"The one Camilla will inevitably throw to welcome you."

"I'll look forward to it," she told him, intentionally not specifying whether it was the party she was looking forward to or the prospect of seeing him again. Honestly, she wasn't sure which was more intriguing.

As he was going out the door, she stopped him.

"Tito?"

He turned, that sexy smile still hovering at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah?"

"So what else do you drive? When you aren't picking up rich women with lots of luggage at the airport or transporting your teenagers incognito?"

"I have a classic Mustang convertible. Picked her up at a good price because she needed some work. She runs like a dream now. I call her Sally, after the song." He gave her an exaggerated wink. "Maybe we'll take you for a ride sometime."

Now it was her turn to laugh. "I think we could work that out." It was more banter, she knew, but she thought she might actually like that. She pictured herself riding up the coast with him in his classic Mustang with the top down, a scarf on her hair like in those old fashioned movies.

"I might come from money," she told him, "But I'm still just a regular girl."

Tito shook his head. "There's nothing regular about you, Caylee Chandler. Nothing regular at all."

Right back at you, Tito Martinez, she thought as she watched him walk across the pool deck and turn the corner toward the gate.

It was going to be very interesting getting to know Tito better. She was looking forward to that almost as much as she was looking forward to starting her new job - and her new life - here in Miami.

Just then her phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number. No, not again. She held her breath, as she opened it, then let it out in relief and smiled.

This Sunday, the text message read. Sally and I will pick you up at 2.

Caylee smiled, then told her phone to play Mustang Sally by Wilson Pickett. And danced around the pool house while she unpacked her clothes and put them away.

Author's Note: Tito keeps telling himself all the reasons why he shouldn't get involved with Caylee - is he playing with fire?

Why do you think she was so nervous when she got a text?