She returned to Chicago on Saturday. Duncan’s cleaning lady had come last week, but Lovey cleaned out the fridge, where some nasty leftovers had accumulated at the back, and set the oven to self-clean. Although calling it self-cleaning was a misnomer, in her opinion. When she’d moved out on her own, she’d thought that meant she didn’t have to do anything, and had been disappointed to know she still had to get down on her hands and knees and stick her head inside to wipe down the ashy residue that remained.

But it had to be done.

She spent the rest of the day working. Sunday, she went to yoga class and had lunch with a girl she’d gotten to know there, and that evening went out for dinner with Jillian, Leigh, and Dior, although she kept checking the score of the game on her phone.

The guys got back early Monday morning, as in one o’clock in the morning, and they were in bed asleep when she got up. She cast one longing look at Marc’s door as she passed by.

Their sex had gotten more frequent, occurring pretty much any time Duncan was out of the apartment and they weren’t. Sometimes it was fast and furtive because he was coming back; other times they had hours to play, then laze around in bed and snuggle and talk.

But Marc had been gone five days and before that it had been…Saturday. More than a week. She sighed.

She had a meeting that morning with one of her new Chicago clients to talk about the campaign she’d developed for them, so she dressed in a suit and heels. It was fun dressing up for a change. Working from home was great, and pajamas and yoga pants were comfy, but it was still nice to wear something pretty and look professional.

She felt like a real businessperson as she headed out, leaving the guys sleeping in the quiet condo.

The meeting went well. They were impressed with her plans, discussing a few minor points. She stopped for a sandwich for lunch at one of the fast food places in Water Tower Place, then rewarded herself for her hard work lately by wandering through some of the shops in the mall. A big sale at Macy’s was very tempting. She found herself in the lingerie department, fingering pretty lace bras.

Marc would like this one. He liked her underwear. A pressing desire to show him something new and sexy rose inside her and she picked up the black lace bra in her size to try on.

Half an hour later, she left the store with not only the bra but the matching panties and a nightie in apricot silk trimmed with heavy ivory lace. She would love to wear that for Marc…somehow she would make it happen.

Maybe she could sneak into his room one night after Duncan was asleep. She wished Marc would sneak into her room…how many nights had she lain there in her bed, wishing for him to appear, trying to reach out to him with the force of her thoughts and will him to come quietly into her room and slide into bed with her.

It hadn’t happened.

But she could make it happen. Maybe. If she had the guts.

Oh hell. She was tired of this. Duncan needed to adjust to the fact that she was an adult woman who could sleep with whoever she wanted.

But again, the only thing that kept her from just telling him was his relationship with Marc.

When she got home, they were both awake. Marc was mixing up a protein shake and Duncan was sprawled on the couch in a pair of plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a wrinkled T-shirt. Marc had dressed in loose black athletic pants that sat low on his hips, and a snug white T-shirt that hugged every gorgeous muscle of his upper body.

She wanted to rush him and hug him and kiss him all over and make sure he was okay after that brutal game Friday night. Instead she dropped her shopping bag on the island, set her briefcase and purse on the floor, and casually said, “You’re home. Congrats on the two wins.”

Marc turned to look at her. Ack. He had a bandage on his cheekbone. Her stomach clenched at the thought of him being hurt. Bruising was blooming around the small white plaster. She sucked briefly on her bottom lip to control her emotions. He met her eyes and gave a faint smile. “Thanks.”

As he picked up his shake, she took in the cut and bruising on his hand. Her bottom lip started to push out and she sucked it back in. “Your hand.”

“It’s okay.” He gave a rueful smile. “Should know better than to punch a bucket.”

She had so much she wanted to say to him, questions to ask about how things had gone, the new line, how the team was feeling with Dale gone, how Marc was doing…but it was all weird with Duncan there.

“Shopping?” Duncan called from the couch. “Would it be too much to hope that you went shopping after a job interview? Christ, Lovey. You need to get your shit together.”

She snapped her head around to glare at him. “My shit is together.”

Duncan swung his legs off the couch. “You still don’t have a job. How the hell do you think you’re going to pay the rent of that apartment you signed a lease on? Which you move into in just over a month, by the way.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “How I pay my rent is my business, by the way.”

She snatched up her stuff and stalked into her bedroom.

Shit. Frustration about seeing Marc again and not being able to do and say the things she wanted to, and then Duncan’s annoying comments on top of all that made a hot pressure rise inside her. She threw her stuff on the bed, then closed her eyes and tipped her head back.

She had to tell Duncan about her business. She couldn’t say anything about Marc, but she could at least get her brother off her back about finding a job.

She still had her coat on, so she shed it and left it on the bed. Without changing out of her suit and high-heeled boots, she returned to the open area of the kitchen and living room. She caught Marc’s eye as she approached, reading the concern there. She gave him a crooked smile but turned to focus on Duncan.

She sat on an armchair. He gave her a lifted eyebrow.

“I didn’t have a job interview.” She waved a hand in a downward motion in front of her, ignoring his frustrated grunt. “I’m dressed like this because I had a client meeting. I’ve started my own business.”

Duncan looked at her, then let his head drop to the back of the couch. “Oh my God. What kind of business?”

“Well, there are two things I’m doing. One is my blog.”

His head snapped up, mouth hanging open. “A blog?” Incredulity sharpened his tone. “A blog?”

“Yes. I—”

“You can’t make money from a blog,” he snapped.

“Yes, I—”

“Lovey, come on, get real. You need—”

“Hey,” Marc said in a quiet but firm voice, standing beside Lovey’s chair. “You need to give her a chance to tell you what she’s doing. Shut up and listen, man.”

Lovey’s eyes bugged out as she turned to look at Marc, even though she was grateful for his support.

Duncan frowned. He shot Marc a puzzled look, then turned his gaze back to Lovey. “Fine. Talk.”

She curled her fingers together and sent another quick look of gratitude to Marc. “I do make money from my blog.” She explained what she was doing there and then told him about Big Cheese Media. “I have clients. I was meeting with one of them today to go over the campaign I’ve developed for them. They really like it. I have more things in the works.”

Duncan just stared at her as she talked and she knew it was hard for him to stop himself from jumping in. But Marc stood there, arms folded across his chest, the muscles of his big biceps and chest distractingly emphasized by the snug T-shirt.

Duncan rubbed his face. “Okay,” he said. “That sounds…promising.”

She leaned forward. “I didn’t want to tell you until I knew I was going to make this work. I think it’s going really well, but…there are no guarantees. I know the risks of starting my own business. But it’s what I want to do.”

He now scratched the back of his head. “I thought you quit your job because you broke up with Richard.”